“That’s enough,” she snaps, dabbing her mouth daintily with her napkin, her expression queasy. “It is poor form to discuss such unpleasantness while we are dining.”
Sophronia can’t help but roll her eyes. Eugenia can block out the mention of the unpleasantness all she likes, but she had an active hand in causing it. And if she forgets it, Sophronia will gladly remind her.
“Oh, Genia,” she says, biting her lip. “You look unwell—I know how guilty you must feel. Would you like to lie down?” she asks.
Leopold gives her a warning look—still loyal to his mother. It’s why Sophronia needs Beatriz to confirm her suspicions about the vineyard. He won’t believe his mother capable of treason and treachery without proof.
“I’m fine,” Eugenia bites out.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Sophronia says, before turning back to Ansel. “Did you spend much time in Friv while you worked on the ship? Or Bessemia, perhaps?”
Ansel glances from Sophronia to the still-glaring Eugenia. “I can’t say I did—I only worked on the ship for a year, and as the newest member of the crew, I was never allowed off when we docked. I’ve never set foot on soil that wasn’t Temarinian.”
Sophronia nods and nibbles at her dinner roll. She wishes Daphne were here—Daphne could lure information out of anyone, their mother’s always said so. She could ask them about the weather and by the end of the conversation, somehow know their darkest secrets. Sophronia, on the other hand, isn’t even sure Ansel is his real name, let alone who he has ties to.
“We can find a job for you,” Leopold says suddenly, looking quite pleased with himself. “Somewhere in the palace, perhaps? Do you have any skills besides fishing?”
The last thing Sophronia wants is for Ansel to be lurking around the palace, but she holds her tongue for now.
“That’s too kind of you, Your Majesty,” Ansel says, shaking his head.
“It isn’t kind enough,” Leopold says. “You likely saved my brother’s life,” he adds, glancing at Reid, who sinks down in his chair, his ears going red.
“Well, I appreciate it all the same,” Ansel says before pausing. “I’m good with horses. Is there an opening in the stables?”
Leopold smiles. “I’ll speak to the stable manager myself tomorrow morning,” he says.
“Leopold, I really don’t think—” Eugenia begins, but she’s interrupted by the dining room door opening and a flustered messenger hurrying in. He manages a quick bow.
“Your Majesty, Your Majesty,” he says to Leopold and Sophronia in turn. “We’ve just received worrisome news from Cellaria. Our ambassador, Lord Savelle, has been arrested for sorcery—they say they’re going to execute him.”
The rest of the table—even Eugenia—is shocked, but Sophronia isn’t surprised by the news. She sees her mother’s plot coming together in this, sees an unavoidable war on the horizon. A war she is supposed to shove Temarin into. Daphne did her duty, now Beatriz has done hers. It’s Sophronia’s turn at last.
* * *
—
In the wake of the messenger’s announcement, everyone leaps into action. Servants are sent to find Lord Covier and Lord Verning, the princes are sent back to their rooms, and Sophronia, Leopold, and Eugenia are brought to the council chambers. It isn’t until they are near the door that Sophronia notices that Ansel is still with them.
“I’m sorry our dinner was cut short, Ansel, but if you come back tomorrow we can get you situated in the stables,” she tells him, hoping he takes the words as the dismissal they are.
Ansel glances at Leopold. “Actually, Your Majesties, I was hoping I might join you.”
Eugenia lets out a loud snort she makes no effort to disguise. “Why in the name of the stars should you?” she asks. “This is a matter of great national importance, and you are…a failed fisherman’s apprentice,” she says.
“Mother,” Leopold says, giving her a warning look before turning back to Ansel. “But I’m afraid she’s right.”
“All due respect, Your Majesty, but you are making decisions that affect the entire country, while only consulting with a very narrow segment of it. Perhaps the voice of someone less privileged by birth would be welcome?”
Sophronia wants to argue that point, but she knows it’s a valid one. Her mother has several members of Bessemia’s merchant class on her council and has always said that different viewpoints can be helpful. Sophronia just doesn’t want Ansel’s viewpoint. Leopold’s brow furrows for a moment and he glances uncertainly at his mother, then Sophronia.
“Leopold,” Eugenia says. “You can’t possibly be considering this.”
“He has a point,” Leopold says. “We’re discussing the possibility of war here, Mother. A war that will mainly affect those outside the palace walls. If I want to create a better Temarin, I need to hear from those who live in the heart of it. He stays.” With that, Leopold strides into the room and sinks into the chair at the head of the great oak table
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Ansel says, bowing his head before following Leopold into the room and taking the seat to his left—the seat that usually belongs to Eugenia. With a clenched jaw and a murderous look in her eyes, Eugenia takes the one next to Ansel, while Sophronia takes her usual chair at Leopold’s right.
Seconds later, Lord Covier and Lord Verning arrive, taking two of the remaining seats at the table. They both spare Ansel a bemused look but don’t question his presence. Instead, Lord Covier clears his throat and begins.
“According to our sources, Lord Savelle was arrested a few days ago—they found a vial of stardust among his things, and they say he acquired it because he’s an empyrea who used star magic in order to harm King Cesare,” he says. “There has never been any evidence that Savelle is an empyrea, and as to the stardust…well, he knew that giving up magic would be required of him when he took his post. He’s held it for two decades without even a hint of an issue, that unfortunate business with his bastard aside. I find it difficult to believe that has suddenly changed.”
Eugenia jumps in. “As I said before, Cesare has always been mercurial, and we had word that he was becoming increasingly paranoid. These charges are at best a figment of his imagination, at worst a flimsy excuse to force us into another war. And if he wants a war, we can give him one.”
“With what money, Eugenia?” Sophronia asks before she can stop herself. This may be her mother’s plan, but it is Eugenia’s as well, and she knows better than anyone how ill-equipped Temarin is. They couldn’t win a snowball fight.
“We will find money,” Eugenia says, as if that much can simply be dug out of a parlor sofa. “If they execute Savelle, they are declaring war. We have no choice but to defend ourselves and our countrymen.”