She says the words lightly, and Daphne knows the truth of them, but it does little to unknot her stomach.
“Have you heard from Sophie?” Beatriz asks, changing the subject.
Sophie. Daphne’s memories of the day she was poisoned are fuzzy, but at the mention of Sophronia, the letter comes filtering back. She closes her eyes. “She sent a letter,” she admits. “Please tell me you managed to talk sense into her?”
For a moment, Beatriz doesn’t speak, and Daphne worries that they’ve lost the connection.
“You and I both know I’m not the sensible sort, Daph,” Beatriz says finally. “Besides, I happened to agree with her.”
Frustration wells up inside Daphne, and she snatches a pillow from her bed and throws it across the room. It lands with a delicate thud, causing no harm and making Daphne feel no better. Appropriate, she supposes, given how helpless she feels at the moment.
“No wonder you got yourself into so much trouble, Triz,” she snaps. “If you both could just have done as you were told—”
“Do you think it’s the right thing, Daphne?” Beatriz interrupts. “Tell me honestly now: Do you think Mama’s taking control of Vesteria is in everyone’s best interests? Or only hers?”
The next time Daphne sees Beatriz, she’s going to strangle her.
“It isn’t the right thing, or the wrong thing,” Daphne tells her. “It’s the only thing. You’re under house arrest, Triz, so clearly your way of doing things isn’t working out so well for you. Here’s what you’re going to do—write to Mama, apologize, beg for her help, and fix the damage you have done.”
Beatriz is silent again, but this time Daphne knows she’s still there. Hundreds of miles away and Daphne can still feel her sister’s fury.
“I didn’t get you into this mess,” Daphne continues, because she knows that fury is directed at her. “And you know I’m right—Mama is your only hope now.”
Another long pause.
“Of course,” Beatriz says, again with that faux lightness that makes Daphne want to tear her hair out. “I’ll get myself out of this. Try to avoid getting poisoned again, will you?”
She is gone before Daphne can respond.
Sophronia keeps an eye on the clock as night bleeds into morning, which gently fades into noon. Their execution isn’t set until sundown the next day; while Sophronia isn’t keen to cut too close to that deadline, she needs to give Violie enough time to reach the rendezvous point, as far from the palace as they dared. She tells Leopold the plan she and Violie came up with, simple as it is: when the clock strikes three, she will unbind her wrists and break her bracelet, wishing for her and Leopold to be transported to a cave on the far side of the Amivel Woods, where Violie will be waiting for them.
Like Violie, Leopold wasn’t sure the wish would be strong enough to accomplish that, but she assured them both that it would.
The clock is only a few breaths from three o’clock when the door opens and Ansel enters. He appears to have changed into fresh clothes, but Sophronia doesn’t think he’s slept. There are dark circles under his eyes that weren’t there last night. He glances between the two of them and runs a hand through his hair. He doesn’t seem to know what to say, which is fine since Sophronia has a question for him and it will be the only chance for her to get an answer.
“When did my mother recruit you, Ansel?” she asks.
Ansel blinks in surprise. “Queen Eugenia reached out to me after Leopold declared war—”
Sophronia interrupts him with a laugh. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I just expected my mother would hire a better liar. You were talking with Violie at the speech, and then you just happened to rescue the prince from the same crowd of rioters you’re now leading? Contrary to what my mother might believe, I’m not an idiot.”
Ansel looks at her for a long moment, then seems to make a decision. “Well, you’ll be dead soon, so where’s the harm?” he says, coming to sit in the armchair across from Sophronia and Leopold. “Yes, fine, I’ve been in contact with your mother for a year and a half. The fishing boat story was true enough, but I did go onshore once, when we were docked in Friv. Got into a bit of trouble at a tavern, cheated at cards, got into a fight. One of the men had a nasty right hook and when I came to, I was in one of the tavern rooms, and an empyrea was there offering to heal me with stardust.”
“Nigellus,” Sophronia says. Of course her mother’s lapdog was involved.
Ansel shrugs. “Didn’t ask who he was and didn’t care. But he knew me—knew my name, my position on the boat, knew of my family in Kavelle.”
“Don’t tell me he offered to heal a sick family member for you, too,” Sophronia says, remembering Violie’s story.
Ansel laughs. “No, I’m a simple sort—he just offered me money. All he wanted me to do was return to Kavelle and begin stoking anger against the aristocrats. It wasn’t even hard after King Carlisle died.” He turns to Leopold. “You were very easy to hate, you know,” he adds conversationally.
Leopold winces but doesn’t reply, so Ansel continues.
“I didn’t even realize your mother was involved until Violie sought me out. Then you arrived, Queen Sophie, and everything came together.”
“Until it didn’t,” Sophronia says. “Until I went against my mother’s plans.”
For a moment, Ansel stares at her blankly; then he bursts into laughter. “Oh, maybe you aren’t as smart as you think you are,” he says. “You followed your mother’s plan perfectly.”
It’s Sophronia’s turn to be shocked to silence, the wheels of her mind spinning as she tries to make sense of that.
“No, I refused to push Leopold into war, I even tried to rebuild Temarin—”
“You behaved exactly as she thought you would,” Ansel interrupts. “All of it. The only surprise, really, was Eugenia, and that was an unexpected boon. But this”—he pauses to gesture around the room—“this was always your mother’s plan—a palace besieged by rebels, dead aristocrats, a beheaded king and queen, chaos around every corner. Her troops will arrive by the end of the week and their path will be clear. Thanks to you,” he adds.
Her mother wants her dead—Sophronia knew this already, she told Leopold as much last night—but she thought it was because Sophronia had failed her. She thought her mother’s anger toward her was her own fault, like always. There is something strangely freeing in knowing it has nothing to do with her at all.
The clock behind Ansel chimes three, but he ignores it. Sophronia and Leopold exchange a glance, and she gives a quick nod. It’s time. She twists her wrists at the right angle, with enough force, to break the bindings. Before Ansel has the chance to react, she grabs the bracelet around her wrist and throws it on the floor, positioning it under the heel of her boot.