“Look at you,” Cliona drawls, taking her hands and kissing her on each cheek. “No one would know you almost died just a day ago.”
“Aren’t you kind,” Daphne replies, and Haimish has to hide his snort of laughter with a cough. Cliona glares at him anyway.
“If you aren’t feeling up to this—” Bairre begins, his brow furrowed.
“I think a bit of fresh air is just what I need,” Daphne interrupts, even though the cold is already getting to her. It doesn’t matter, she reminds herself. Beatriz matters. If Daphne has to feel a little cold to help her, so be it. “Shall we walk?”
Bairre still doesn’t look convinced, but he offers her his arm and she takes it, letting one of her gloves drop as she does. No one notices. Cliona takes Haimish’s arm, and for a moment, they walk in silence. When they’ve gotten far enough away from the palace, Daphne releases Bairre’s arm and makes a show of searching for her glove.
“Oh no!” she exclaims. “My glove! I must have dropped it.”
Bairre looks at the ground around them. “Do you know where?”
Daphne bites her lip and shakes her head. “I know I had it when I came outside. Do you mind doubling back?” she asks him. “I’m sorry, I hate to ask, but it’s so cold out and I don’t want to catch a chill.”
It’s a cheap card, using her recent illness, and when his face goes a shade paler, a pang of guilt goes through her.
“Of course,” he says. “You three stay here with the guards, I’ll be right back.”
As soon as he’s out of earshot, Daphne turns to Haimish and Cliona. “Lord Cadringal’s lands are troubled; he’s overwhelmed by his new duties. If the rebellion approached him, he could be convinced to join, despite his friendship with Bairre,” she tells them. “I did what you asked. Now I need that stardust.”
They exchange a look she can’t read. “We’ll have to see if your reading of Rufus pans out—”
“I need it now,” Daphne interrupts. She pauses, pressing her lips together into a thin line. She hates how desperate she is, how at their mercy, but she can’t deny that she is. “Please,” she says, softening her voice. “I need to use it to speak with my sister. It’s urgent.”
Haimish and Cliona exchange another look. “A wish like that will require a lot of power,” Cliona points out. “Stardust might not be enough—”
“I know,” Daphne says. “But I have to try.”
Cliona looks like she wants to ask questions, but after a moment, she shakes her head.
“It’ll be beneath your pillow after lunch,” she says.
Daphne gives a nod. “Thank you.”
“You can save your thanks—you owe us,” Cliona says.
Daphne opens her mouth to argue, but she sees Bairre approaching at a jog, her glove clutched in his hand. She swallows down her protest and nods. “Fine,” she answers through clenched teeth before greeting Bairre again with a smile.
—
Daphne makes excuses about not feeling well halfway through lunch. After the last few days, no one questions her. Two guards escort her back to her room and inspect every corner, the wardrobe, and under the bed before leaving her alone. She supposes their attention should make her feel safer, but instead it chafes. They’re trying to keep her alive, she knows this, but she has too many secrets of her own to hide.
As soon as she’s alone, she crosses to her bed and reaches under the pillows. It takes a moment, but she finds the vial of stardust from Cliona, along with a set of directions on how to use it to call on someone.
Daphne wastes no time unstoppering the vial. She reads the instructions and pours the shimmering black dust over the back of her hand.
“I wish to speak with Princess Beatriz,” she says.
As soon as the words are out of her mouth, everything around her goes muffled: the wind whistling outside, the guards’ voices on the other side of the door, even the sound of her own heartbeat.
“Triz?” she says.
She hears a sharp inhale, followed by a mad laugh that can only be Beatriz’s. “Daphne?” her sister asks.
“It’s me,” Daphne says. “I don’t have long—Frivians have a way of using stardust to communicate, but I don’t know how long it will last.”
“What—”
“No questions right now,” Daphne says. “I looked at the wine you sent me. You were right, there was something off about it. Ground apple seeds.” Daphne is speaking so quickly she wonders if she’s making any sense at all. For a moment, Beatriz doesn’t respond.
“Apple seeds?” she asks finally. “But…”
“They’re a source of cyanide,” Daphne says. “Surely you remember that from our lessons.”
“I never paid nearly as much attention as you did,” Beatriz says. “But I do remember that cyanide is lethal. King Cesare is very much alive, though I’m told his servants dilute his wine.”
Daphne shakes her head, even though she knows Beatriz can’t see her. “The wine you sent me wasn’t diluted, but the dosage is small—it will be killing him slowly, though if they used any more than they have been, the addition would be noticeable. It may also be affecting his mind, depending on how much he ingests every day.”
Beatriz goes quiet again. “He ingests quite a lot,” she says. “And he’s become more and more erratic. Pasquale says it’s been going on for months.”
“It will kill him,” Daphne says. “Maybe not right away, but soon.”
Beatriz lets out a long breath. “I wish you’d told me this days ago,” she says, sounding annoyed.
Daphne rolls her eyes. “Apologies, I was only recovering from being poisoned myself. Perhaps if you’d paid better attention—”
“You were poisoned?” Beatriz asks.
“I’m fine,” Daphne says emphatically, thoroughly tired of being fussed over. “How are you?”
That gives Beatriz pause. “Oh, under house arrest, currently. For treason.”
“Are…you joking?” Daphne asks.
“Afraid not.”
“But you have your wish to get you out of trouble,” Daphne says.
“I had a wish,” Beatriz says. “It’s possible, though, that you just gave me what I need to get out of this mess.”
Daphne bites her lip. “Beatriz,” she says slowly. “How much trouble are you in?”
For a long moment, Beatriz doesn’t answer. “It’s only trouble of my own making, Daph. You know I’ve always been good at that, just as I’ve always been good at getting myself out of it.”