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Chapter 2 – Princesses in a Tower

Year 827 of the Divine House of Agnephus

The Palace of Mirrors began life as a folly.

Built on the order of Emperor Tanquerin Agnephus as a pleasure-house for his new Empress, it was a small and beautiful palace near the center of Starfall, with a tall central tower and many glass pavilions, whirling from its base like kaleidoscopic skirts. It was more art than architecture, and though it was far too small for a ruling Empress’s household, it was perfectly adequate for a princess.

By the summer of 827, Crown Princess Selenne Agnephus had been ruling her small domain for more than a year, and greatly enjoyed the palace for both its aesthetic and practical properties.

Until very recently, she had not considered its defensive ones.

“Drive on,” she ordered as she climbed into her carriage, sitting in the seat opposite her elder half-sister. The Duchess of Andelin sobbed in peculiar silence, turned away in the corner of the carriage with one hand covering her face and the other laid on her belly, which contained her growing child.

“My messengers will return from the palace with word the moment it is over,” Selenne said, her voice cool and distant to her own ears. “We will know what happened very soon.”

Meaning, they would know whether or not Ophele’s husband, the Duke of Andelin, had been slain.

Surely not. Surely not. Even the Emperor would not dare.

But his wishes might be an afterthought once swords were drawn, and Selenne had seen that happen with her own eyes as she and Ophele were hurried out of the Greater Court, and had heard the screams of the watching noblewomen as one of those blades had sliced into Remin Grimjaw’s flesh. She had heard the steel rattle as he wrenched one of the Imperial Guards’ heads in entirely the wrong direction, and the man dropped like a stone. Then the doors had closed, leaving her to guess what had followed.

And to wonder what would happen to her, if the giant of Andelin came to collect his wife.

Selenne’s mother had long ago broken her of any nervous habits. She sat perfectly still, upright with her hands folded in her lap, outwardly calm even as her mind was furiously working. Foremost was the question: why was her father doing this? And second: what was she going to do about it?

“Did you know he was going to do this?” Ophele asked, turning her head, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“No. I swear it by every star,” Selenne said immediately.

There was something very familiar about the way Ophele’s golden gaze settled upon her.

“Do you know what he wants?”

“No. I do not.”

Ophele’s throat worked, and she turned back to her corner of the carriage, her shoulders shaking. It felt dishonest to try to console her. They were not close enough for that, and Selenne had no idea what to say. People did not cry in front of the Crown Princess. Or if they did, Selenne only had to wave her hand, and her ladies would escort the afflicted person away.

But though Selenne did not yet understand what had brought them to this pass, every instinct warned her that she and Ophele—no, she and her sister—must walk it together.

The carriage rolled into the courtyard of the Palace of Mirrors, and Selenne was the first to descend.

“Have a healer brought at once,” she told her housekeeper, who was hovering anxiously at the main doors. “I have a guest who will be staying with us.”

“Oh—yes, Your Highness,” the woman said, spotting Ophele as guards helped her down from the carriage, as careful as if she were made of glass. Women miscarried over far less than this. “I will have a room prepared.”

“The Room of Chalcedony,” Selenne ordered, waving over Lucan and Fricon, two of her personal guards. She was loath to spare Lucan now, but she could trust no one else. “I need both of you to go and see what we are about,” she said, lowering her voice. “Discreetly. We must know if—we must know what we are facing.”

Fricon would go straight to the Empress. But sending Lucan only would single him out, so Selenne could only bite her tongue as she watched them go, and hope Lucan knew her mind. The Palace of Mirrors was a dollhouse, not a fortress, and half her guards were sworn to her father. The other half had made secret oaths to her mother’s house.

The number loyal to Selenne herself was statistically insignificant.

“Sister.” Selenne gave herself a shake and set her features in sympathetic lines. “Forgive me. I hope you will not mind if I call you sister, when our divine father has made his will clear in setting us together. I swear I intend no harm to you or your child, but you must be calm. Please.”

That was as much for her own sake as Ophele’s; stars, what would happen if she lost her child, the heir of House Andelin? But Ophele was hardly having hysterics. There was only the constant river of her tears as Selenne led her upstairs, where the maids were already airing the Room of Chalcedony.

“It is called that for the ceiling,” Selenne explained as they entered the fourth-floor suite, one of the few guest chambers in the palace. “Blue chalcedony from Dulcia. See the marquetry pattern around the edges? The artist called it blue heaven…”

Selenne signaled for wine as she spoke and pressed a cup on Ophele, who gave no sign of having heard a single word. And though Selenne was fully prepared to offer the history of every stick of furniture in the chamber, it was fortunately unnecessary. They barely had time to ignore a snack tray before Lucan returned, knocking once on the door and then coming to kneel before them.

“The Duke of Andelin lives,” he said, and Ophele gave a stifled gasp that made Selenne reach automatically for her hand. “He was sent over the bridge, where I am told there was a carriage waiting for him. He was wounded, but he walked over the bridge unaided.”

“Oh,” Ophele breathed, and then burst into tears, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving as she sobbed. “Thank you, thank you. Oh, stars, he’s alive…”

“Thank you, Lucan.” Selenne’s throat felt tight as she awkwardly patted Ophele’s shoulder. “There,” she said softly. “There, he is safe, you see? So you must keep well for him.”

“Yes,” Ophele wept, and Selenne patted and murmured, her ears pricking for the sound of footsteps in the hall. This was going to be a very complicated afternoon.

“Perhaps you would like to sleep a little,” she suggested presently, when it seemed the worst of the tears had passed. “The bed has been made up fresh, and then we will have something light to eat after. Perhaps a nice salad?”

“Yes. Thank you,” Ophele said again, and allowed herself to be steered to the bed and undressed by the maids, so she could sleep comfortably.

She was so polite and so soft-spoken, it would have been tempting to think that she, at least, would pose no challenges in the days to come. But then those golden eyes lifted to Selenne again, red and swollen and sharply intelligent.

“If I write a message to Rem…my husband, will you deliver it?”

Selenne did not need to consult their father to know this would not be allowed.

“No. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Ophele turned away, reaching for a pillow to curl up in the middle of the bed.

Waving the maids out of the room, Selenne shut the door and found Lucan waiting for her in the hall.

“The healer should be here soon,” she said, with some relief at placing Ophele in the hands of an expert. “Do not let anyone else approach her without summoning me, and send for me at once if anyone tries. I will need you to watch over her for me.”

“I am sworn to watch over you,” Lucan hissed, his expression thunderous. “Do you not realize your own danger, with her here?”

“Of course I do. And if any harm befalls her, all fingers will point to me,” Selenne replied impatiently. She had already begun an extensive mental list of possible disasters. “And I will have to set another to watch with you, or you will find yourself taking a tumble down the stairs. Would you prefer Fricon or Francot?”

“Francot.” Lucan’s lip curled. He had nothing but contempt for men who betrayed the sacred oaths of the Guard of Ange, but House Melun had made deep inroads into this brotherhood.

“Very well. I will be careful,” she promised, lowering her voice. “I will keep with my ladies.”

“At least we might have the pleasure of watching them pitch into each other, if one side tries to steal you away,” he said, without humor.

“There will be many more eyes on us now. Perhaps that is why my fa—”

“Your Highness?” At the end of the hall, a maid appeared and curtsied. “I beg your pardon, but the Empress your mother has arrived…”

“Oh, stars, she would,” Selenne huffed, and turned away from Lucan without another word to betray her. From the look in his green eyes, they were not finished with this conversation.

It was surprising that Esmene had not come directly up the stairs herself; she never allowed Selenne’s household to stop her from going wherever she wished. But as Selenne descended the steps, she found a great many visitors waiting, most of them clad in Imperial blue.

“Your Highness,” said one man, stepping forward to present himself with a bow. “I am Sir Tcherlin of Lorre. Your divine father has ordered an additional guard set on your palace to ensure your safety, and that of your guest.”

“You mean his prisoner,” said Empress Esmene Agnephus, née Melun, approaching to embrace Selenne with a scornful look at the knight.

“The Divinity will call tomorrow,” the man replied, unmoved. “We will endeavor not to inconvenience you, Your Highness.”

“Until such time as you must,” Esmene retorted, as Selenne inwardly sighed and placed Sir Tcherlin of Lorre under the column of Agnephus loyalists. The blue tunic was no indicator of a guard’s true loyalty, but her mother’s antagonism helped.

“Thank you, Sir Tcherlin,” she replied, offering her cheek to her mother. “It cannot be helped, Mother. I am sure Father wishes to be certain his eldest daughter will be safe in my care.”

“And to be sure you are blamed if she comes to grief,” Esmene replied, taking her hands and squeezing them. She had come alone to the palace, saving her guards, and dressed in simple gray and white elegance. “My beautiful daughter. What a harrowing day for you. Where is she?”

“Sleeping, I hope,” Selenne replied, nodding to the Imperial Healers who had just appeared at the door, hopefully bearing a calming draught for Ophele. It would be the kindest thing for her.

Together, the two women moved toward the west gallery of the palace, wide and empty and one of the best places to speak privately. It contained many beautiful objets d’art, though it was uncomfortably warm with the afternoon sun beating through the windows.

“I must thank the stars that my day was not so harrowing as hers,” Selenne said, once they were alone. “I heard the Duke of Andelin is alive?”

“Furiously so,” Esmene replied dryly. “We will see many interesting things in the days to come. The Emperor may regret that he provoked this bear.”

“I cannot understand why he did,” Selenne replied, with a pretty look of confusion that allowed her mother to speculate for her. There had been no time yet to breathe, to consider all that might follow from her impulsive offer in the Greater Court. In the moment, Selenne had only spotted an opportunity, and it had seemed that things were likely to get out of hand otherwise.

Her motives might not have been entirely altruistic.

But their father had certainly been quick to accept. Had he expected it? Even hoped for it? Was that why he had invited her to attend court in the first place? No doubt it quelled some of the outrage among the watching nobles, and perhaps he had even intended it as reassurance to Selenne herself. If his purpose was to replace her, it was very risky to place Selenne’s rival in Selenne’s hands. And if he did not propose to replace her, then he was expecting Selenne to protect her sister, if only out of self-interest.

To protect the child he had wanted, Selenne thought before she could stop herself. The thought still hurt, a raw wound. And to be fair, she could not know if that was true.

It was possible their father hadn’t wanted either of his daughters.

“You have done very well, my dearest,” Esmene was saying, squeezing her elbow. “Your grandfather will be very pleased to know she is in our hands.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Selenne said dutifully.

* * *

Seated on a bench in the sun parlor of Mimosa, Remin watched the flash of the surgeon’s needle, stitching him back together.

He was an island of stillness in the uproar of the household, with many servants in livery moving up and down the halls, and many faces passing outside the open door: the ladies of Ereguil murmuring urgently together, the guards taking up new posts, and a glimpse of Leonin’s bright blue eyes, sick with guilt. Edemir was at Duke Ereguil’s desk, writing a multitude of charges to be filed against the Emperor and the Temple, and Juste and Auber stood guard by the doors, glancing back at Remin as if in silent agreement that this would not stand.

The remains of his shirt hung loose at his sides, blooming red as blood trickled from his wounds. He had taken a number of injuries during the altercation in the Greater Court, three of them serious enough to need stitching, and Healer Nascrene had already closed one long gash in the meat of his palm, a four-inch slice where he had slapped a sword out of his way. There was another, longer cut in his left forearm, but it was the slash over his ribs that Remin resented most: not dangerous, but long enough and deep enough that he was going to feel the stitches yank every time he moved for the next few weeks.

“I didn’t see who drew their sword first,” he said, in answer to Duke Ereguil’s question. Alone among all the nobility of the Empire, House Ereguil had been forbidden to attend court today. The old man had taken the seat beside Remin with the excuse of asking what had happened, but he frequently patted Remin’s hand, as if to prove he was really there. Remin was not the only one who had thought he was going to his death. “It was someone behind me, but all the guards wore helmets.”

“The Emperor did not command them to attack?”

“No. He ordered them back.”

The old man frowned.

“I wonder,” he muttered, and his gaze shifted back to Remin’s face. “Did you kill any of them?”

“Three for certain. Maybe a fourth.” Remin bared his teeth, and not just because Healer Nascrene was suturing together the deepest part of the wound in his arm. “I would like to see them offer a complaint against me, when they drew steel against a nobleman, and knew I was unarmed.”

“I do not understand why they would, when he meant all of it to be seen,” Duke Ereguil replied. “He wanted everyone to hear him make his accusation, and he did not care what you or Ophele might say in response.”

“She said it was a lie,” Remin said, his chest tightening. “Loud enough for the whole court to hear.”

He could still hear her voice shrilling as she was dragged away, crying his name.

“Your Grace, please be still,” said Healer Nascrene, and then applied a cleansing salve that felt as if he had jabbed a hot poker directly into the wound in Remin’s side.

Remin would recount the story many times over the next few days, arming Juste, Edemir, and the Ereguil ladies with this knowledge before they went out to face society. But there were more immediate concerns now, and after the healer had dropped another twenty stitches into Remin’s side and bowed himself from the room, they gathered for a council.

“We need to verify that she is in the Palace of Mirrors, and being well-treated,” Remin began, tugging the bloody scraps of his shirt off and tossing them aside. “Find someone who has seen her with their own eyes. Juste.”

“We have no agents in the Crown Princess’s palace,” Juste admitted, to no one’s surprise. That was the most closely guarded place in Starfall. “All the servants who work there are Starfall-born, and no guard may be sent there who has not served at least seven years in the Emperor’s own palace. The Crown Princess is attended by two of the Guard of Ange at all times. Any attempt to place someone beside her will take time.”

“The Temple?” Edemir suggested. “No one would expect it, and they have access to the Crown Princess’s palace. We know there is a faction that would prefer House Andelin’s Daughter of Stars.”

“And their strength died with Prior Balliot,” Duke Ereguil replied, shaking his head. “The Temple had one road to Her Grace, and they delivered her to the Emperor. That bridge is burned.”

“There may be another way,” offered Lili. She stood beside her husband, gripping his broad shoulder as if she needed his strength. “Princess Selenne’s ladies-in-waiting may be detained in Starfall with her, but they cannot be barred from communicating with their families. There may be one who will consent to carrying a message.”

“I will trust that to you,” Remin agreed. “We will not ask any favors, but it would be enough to know that—that she is not hurt.”

Despite his best efforts, his voice faltered.

“I will tell them so,” Lili replied softly. “I also counsel you to grant us a few days to work before you have any hearings at the Court of Nobility. Let us fan the fury of the Roses.”

“Do that,” Remin agreed, as Duke Ereguil nodded his agreement. They were a formidable pair, and he had grown up listening to them plot such maneuvers. “It may be good to let them all stew a little while.”

“Not too long, my lord,” Juste cautioned. “Or they may think that all these rumbles are only a storm that will pass them by. They had ample opportunity to stop this, and they chose to appeal instead to the Temple, to each other, and the will of heaven rather than enforce the clearly written law.”

“Then they will wait upon my will now,” Remin replied, unmoved. He knew what Juste wanted to hear, but he would not be rushed even by his own men. “Find me a way into Starfall.”

“Yes, my lord.”

That was the command that would pass from Juste to Bram and Darri in Waterside, and from Edemir to his agents in the Wold. It was one thing to have plans in place for Ophele’s removal from Segoile. Stealing her back from Starfall was a much more difficult proposition. Even if House Melun consented to lend their aid—and they had not yet—there was no way to be sure that Ophele would not be slain the moment the gates of the Emperor’s city were breached.

Somehow, they must get someone to her side.

And until then, everyone was going to have to be patient.

Well. Almost everyone.

“Leonin,” Remin said, once everyone had been given their assignments. “Stay. Auber, I will meet you at the stoneyard shortly.”

“My lord,” said Auber, accepting the order and dismissal, and shut the door of the parlor behind him, leaving Remin and Ophele’s would-be hallow knight alone.

“Your Grace.” Leonin approached stiffly. There had been no time for the two of them to speak since Ophele’s abduction, and Remin said nothing now. Seated on the wooden bench with the bloody marks of the altercation in Starfall marring his flesh, he only looked at the other man in silence, his wounds a wordless accusation.

Leonin swallowed and sank to his knees.

“You failed me,” Remin said quietly. “You failed to protect my wife. You failed to protect my child. You knew the Temple was not to be trusted. Didn’t you?”

“Yes, my lord,” Leonin whispered.

“You knew that incense could be used in such a way. Did you not?”

“Yes.”

“Yet you allowed them to draw that weapon against you.”

“Yes.” Leonin’s face was white.

“When did you realize that something was wrong?”

“When my lips went numb,” Leonin admitted. “It was difficult to breathe.”

“And what did you do then?”

“I tried to speak to warn Her Grace. But my legs…” His throat worked. “I fell.”

“Did you see her?” Remin asked, pitiless.

“Yes.”

“Describe what you saw.”

“She turned when I fell, and she tried to stand up.” Leonin’s jaw tightened. “But she could not.”

Remin’s fists tightened.

“Was she afraid?”

“Yes,” Leonin whispered, and Remin let that linger, so both of them could absorb the full agony of this failure.

“I chose you to protect my wife and my child,” Remin said quietly. Leonin’s face was frozen, a caricature of his polite society mask, fracturing at the edges. “There are many lords who would have you slain for this. I could kill you myself, here and now, and there is no one who would gainsay it.”

“If that is your wish, my lord—”

“I am told Davi has awakened,” Remin went on, ignoring him. “You will tell him yourself what has happened. And then you will pack your things and go out of this house. Today.”

“Your Grace…” Leonin began, agonized. “I beg you—”

Remin silenced him with a look.

“You will return to your own House,” he said. “House Breuyir. I should have known better than to trust the son of that House. Bannermen of the Duke of Tries, the faithful servant of the Emperor, who is my enemy.”

Leonin caught his breath. His eyes suddenly filled with wild hope.

“You will not return to my service until you have made amends for this failure,” Remin said, with no softening in his face. “I release you from your oaths to me. Go. I will no longer speak your name.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Leonin managed. He was shaking as he rose, bowed, and departed.

It seemed Leonin of Breuyir had finally found something he cared about.

Alone, Remin finally let himself slump forward, elbows on his knees, stitches tugging at his side. In truth, Leonin’s failure was no more catastrophic than anyone else’s. From the Mimosa guards to the Duke and Duchess of Ereguil themselves, they had all sworn the most sacred oaths to protect her, and all of them had failed. But Leonin could go places Remin could not, and Remin would do anything to bring Ophele home.

He had gone to Starfall with the full intention of giving his life, if that was the cost. He had prayed that that would be the cost. All these years, it had been other people who paid for him, with their blood and their pain and their lives. Every night, Edemir was out among the vipers of society, knowing that any moment someone might decide he was being too effective. Bram and Darri in Waterside, breathing poison day and night on Remin’s behalf. Juste at his ugly work, corroding his soul in the basements and back alleys of the capital. Auber, putting his own body between Remin and the crossbows of assassins.

Davi, who had nearly died from one of those bolts.

Everyone at Mimosa had already sacrificed so much for him. They paid, and he lived, and he was sick of it. No more. Not again.

Please.

* * *

It was the height of summer, and the scent of wisteria was enough to make one giddy.

Bees buzzed among the blossoms as Selenne waited for the Beloved of Stars at the Lily Pavilion, one of their favorite places in the Palace of Mirrors. It was a stone gazebo built in the middle of a decorative pond, with sturdy wisteria vines winding about its posts and a sea of lilies on the water. It had witnessed many long conversations and idle summer afternoons, and Selenne and her father found their way there without ever having to speak a word aloud.

Indeed, now that he was finally here, Selenne could not think of a single thing to say. It was the first time they had been alone together since that dreadful day at the Court of Nobility, when he had sworn to destroy House Melun.

“Come and sit, Daughter,” he said, pulling out a chair for her. He did not meet her eyes. But having come so far, Selenne allowed him to seat her, acutely aware of the silence but resolved that she would not be the one to break it.

Behind her, he pushed her chair forward, and then stopped. She could feel him hesitate before his hands came to rest lightly on her shoulders.

“Selenne,” he said. “We are sorry. We should have come to speak with you before this.”

“You have been quite busy.”

“Selenne.”

The rebuke was gentle, and she looked away.

“Did you mean it?” she couldn’t help asking. “What you said to Mother?”

“Yes,” he said softly. “We never wanted a child with her. But we try to think that that has nothing to do with you. We would never wish you…unmade. We would only wish that you had come into the world some other way.”

She wanted to believe him. But when she reached for him, he was already withdrawing.

“We know we should not argue with your mother before you,” he said, moving to the other side of the table and sitting down. His hands pulled restlessly at the cloth napkin folded on his plate. “We are sorry if our words wounded you. What she said—she knows we cannot tell you the truth, and she goes right to the edge, she provokes us, when…we can never tell, but she twists things so that we must tell you, or else—”

“Father,” Selenne interrupted gently. It appeared today was one of his bad days. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No,” he said, and lapsed into silence as she beckoned the maids to bring over bread, fruit, and cheese, and open a bottle of fruity red wine.

“This is from Capricia,” Selenne said, dismissing the maids and rising to pour the wine herself. “I have heard there is some aromatic they infuse in the wine, though that will have to be sufficient magic for us. Will you try the bread?”

“Thank you.” He picked at it. “We should have spoken to you sooner. We hope you have been well.”

“Very well,” she soothed. “My ladies have been great company, and Master Chenouin came this morning for music practice. Lady Lisalet is coming along nicely with her lute.”

“Lisalet of Melun.”

“Yes, Father.” Selenne cast about for a more neutral subject. “Oh, my secretaries came to report yesterday. They have finished their audits in the city and it seems it wasn’t a single counterfeiter, but rather several varieties of fraud…”

The painful tension in his shoulders eased as she spoke, coaxing him to have a few more bites of his bread, or to take another sip or two from his cup. The Emperor of Argence could never go unkempt, but when he was anxious, her father neglected himself in other ways.

“I suspected something of the sort,” he said at length, and it was a relief to see his eyes were sharp and focused again. “You have done well, Daughter. How will you proceed?”

“Well, I thought I would begin with the merchants, since you said I cannot have any more inspectors,” Selenne said, teasing him to win a small smile. “They should be checking for clipped or plated coins themselves. Both they and the treasury have been careless. I have ordered that we will not honor such coins, and if we have to find them ourselves, they will be confiscated.”

“The Court of Merchants will complain,” he warned. “You are shifting the burden of enforcement to the shopkeepers.”

“The Court of Merchants is supposed to be protecting our coin in the first place,” Selenne said, biting into an apple. “And yet my inspectors said they did not find a working set of scales in a third of the shops they audited, and the Court itself had a scandalous quantity of counterfeit coin. I would not be surprised if one of our dear Merchant Masters was somehow involved in the scheme.”

“Nor would I,” the Emperor agreed. “I will leave the matter in your hands. It will be good experience for you. When you are Empress, you will often have to leave such matters to others, and find some way to ascertain whether they have achieved your aims. You can hardly go riding out into the city to audit the coinage yourself.”

“My inspectors will perform more audits in six months,” Selenne replied, her heart lightening. He had said it so easily, as if it were nothing at all, as if there had never been the least doubt. When you are Empress.

It was a pleasant visit, and she was loath to disturb it when he already had two-thirds of the Empire howling down on his head and was distressed enough to let her see it. But he was the one who had brought this disaster upon them, and the longer it lasted, the worse it would become.

Did he understand that? Or was he feigning his confusion to manipulate her? It was a mercy that he had never revealed this weakness more publicly, or House Melun would have eaten him alive. But Selenne wondered that he had sufficient self-control to hide it so well, except before her.

Selenne’s mother had always warned that Bastin Agnephus was an extraordinary liar.

“Father,” she said finally. “About the…about my sister. Is this really necessary? I have seen her with her husband myself. I do not believe he would ever raise a hand to her.”

“I have told you that sometimes unpleasant things are necessary,” he said, busying himself with a section of tangelo. “It is the burden of our rule.”

“But why,” she persisted. “In this much, I think Mother is right. This is making enemies for us, taking her from her husband and family when she is with child. Even our allies must misunderstand when you summon her suddenly to the city, when you show her favor, when you never even told anyone she was alive—”

“She is my child. My family,” he snapped. “What I do with her is my affair. You must learn this lesson as well, Daughter, for they will take every power you grant them. What will you tell them when it is your child? It is not their place to question the matters of our sacred House, and our only error was that we ever allowed them to believe otherwise. It is our will that she stays here, for as long as it is our pleasure to keep her.”

“Then…at least allow her some correspondence.” Selenne was shocked at his sudden vehemence, but rallied. “Or a few visitors. The ladies of Ereguil, or her friends among the young ladies of the city. They can do no harm, and it would be a great comfort to her. It would go some distance to calm—”

“No. No visitors.” He rose, and he did not look confused now. “You will understand, when your time comes. They cannot be allowed the least opportunity. Do not allow anyone to be alone with her.”

“You are making me her jailor.” Selenne hurried to intercept him, wishing she could shake him. No one could be trusted? And yet here he was demanding her trust, pushing this mess into her hands and refusing to explain why, making her the enemy of House Andelin when she already had so few allies of her own.

“You may tell her it is at our command.”

“Because you cannot bear to tell her yourself!” Selenne flared, and he stopped short, his shoulders stiffening.

“Because there is nothing we can say that she will believe,” he said, with a look in his unearthly blue eyes that struck her to the heart. And then he slipped past her out of the pavilion, careful as always not to touch her.

Fine.

Fine, fine, it was fine. All her life it had been this way, with Selenne acting as eternal go-between for her parents, yanked back and forth in their skirmishing, their insinuations, their constant lies. It would not be so different to play the role of diplomat for her father and his other daughter, the one he had hidden for seventeen years, for whom he was willing to antagonize the entire Empire.

But Selenne felt far more jailor than diplomat as she climbed the steps to the Room of Chalcedony, nodding to the guards posted outside the door. Lucan could not stand watch every moment of every day, and Selenne had chosen his replacements carefully.

“She has not attempted to leave, Your Highness,” said one, anticipating the question.

“Has she eaten?”

“Tray went in,” said the other.

Whatever draught the healer had given Ophele the day before, it was extraordinarily effective; it had felled her for nearly a full twenty-four hours, and it looked as if she had only lately risen. Selenne found her half-sister seated before the wide windows overlooking the courtyard of the palace, dressed in only a morning robe and chemise, with her long hair still tousled.

“Sister,” Selenne said. The word still felt foreign on her tongue, but they were going to need that relationship. “Pardon me for intruding. I hope you are feeling a little better. Is there anything you need?”

“Only to go home.”

“That is not in my power.” And though Selenne resented being forced to say so, she hid it, along with so many other things, as she approached Ophele and sat down. “I did ask. Our divine father was just here.”

“I know. I saw him leaving,” Ophele replied, without turning from the window. “You have come to tell me the rules?”

“It is the Divinity’s will that you be kept safe here,” Selenne replied. Even if she disagreed, his was the will of heaven, and she was not ready to contest it. “You may go wherever you wish within the walls of my palace, but you will have to be escorted by guards if you go anywhere on the first floor. I would prefer to consider you my guest. You may keep company with my ladies and myself, and you are invited to dine with me. I will pass any requests you may have to my cook.”

“It does not change the fact that you are holding me against my will.” Ophele’s voice was soft, but there was a hint of steel. “You would have the gratitude and friendship of my House forever, if you were to help me.”

“How can I help you?” Selenne replied, equally soft. “Shall I scheme with you against the Divinity? Do you see armies waiting my command? We are two birds in the same cage, Elder Sister.”

Ophele looked at her for a long moment.

“Princesses in a tower,” she said, and turned back to the window.

* * *

Davi Gosse looked terrible.

His brown hair was rumpled on the pillow when Leonin entered the sickroom, his lean face hectic with fever. During the long hours of his delirium, he had frequently pulled his eyepatch out of place, and now it sat on the table beside his bed, baring the empty socket of the eye he had lost during the war. Davi had never been ashamed of the wound. He only wore the patch for the comfort of others.

His other eye, a rich brown like good earth, was hazy, but open.

“Leonin,” he said, struggling to sit up, and Leonin quickly motioned him down.

“Don’t move. They told me you had awakened,” Leonin said, trying to sound natural.

“Wish I hadn’t, if you want to know the truth,” said Davi, with a ghost of his crooked smile, and the relief at the sight was so great, Leonin was glad of the excuse to find a chair and drag it over to the left side of the bed, where Davi could see him clearly.

Davi’s bed was in an alcove overlooking the gardens, where wide windows admitted plenty of sunshine and fresh air. Sufficient time had passed since the attack at Perne’s Findery that Davi could be laid on his back, with many layers of bandages covering his middle. The wound beneath was no shallow slice. Davi had taken a heavy crossbow bolt to his back, and his abdomen was still black with bruising from his damaged liver.

“You made us all worry for you,” Leonin told him. Davi had always been a lanky fellow, but he had lost a great deal of flesh to the infection. “I hope you will not do so again.”

“Do my best. Ain’t all bad,” Davi said judiciously. “One of the maids came to see me, said I needed looking after. Pretty Ereguil girl with copper in her hair. I didn’t like to argue.”

“I suppose you have earned it,” Leonin replied, trying to smile.

“I wouldn’t like to do it again,” Davi said, turning his head so his left eye fell fully on Leonin. “How’s Her Grace? And the little one?”

“Gone,” Leonin said, and moved quickly to press Davi back down on the bed. “They are alive. The Emperor took her. It was my fault. Sister Simoune drugged us both with incense and slipped her out of the estate. She is in Starfall now, with the Crown Princess.”

“That motherless fuck, he did what?” Davi exploded, and his hands clenched white on the sheets, knuckles popping. “I knew that old bitch was up to something, didn’t I say it? Looking at Her Grace like she was a trophy at the end of a hunt. How? When?”

Leonin understood that this was part of his punishment. Not just that he had to relate the details of his failure, but that he had to confess them to Davi of all people, a man he had privately disdained. Davi Gosse, the son of a Lomonde farmer, a man of no breeding or refinement. They had been an ill-matched pair from the beginning, and Leonin thought him far too vulgar for the company of the Duchess of Andelin, shy and unworldly as she was.

But even if Davi was sometimes crude, it had turned out that he was just what she needed. All last winter, when she was struggling through a dozen different lessons every day, it was Davi who had shown her that there was no shame in making mistakes by cheerfully making his own right in front of her. He might not be an educated man, but he was a shrewd one.

Leonin could only hope that a little of that grace might be left over for him.

“We have been told she is at the Palace of Mirrors,” he finished, his voice brittle. “If that is so, then she will be…safe.”

“Until we get her back,” Davi said at once, as if he meant to rise from his bed and storm the walls of Starfall straightaway. “Juste’s got a way in, I bet, the slippery bastard.”

“I am certain he will,” Leonin replied, steeling himself. And then: “I have been dismissed.”

Davi stared.

“His Grace said that I must leave today, once I have spoken to you. I must make amends before I am allowed to return.”

Davi’s eye widened, then narrowed.

“Breuyir. He’s sending you for Tries?”

“Yes. I am to go and capture a sea lord.” A laugh burst from him, and Davi’s hand covered his, gripping tight. The hand of a farmer turned knight. For as long as Leonin had known him, it seemed Davi always had dirt under his fingernails.

“You will take care and heal, while I am gone,” he said, lifting his head. “Let the maids look after you. You’re worse than His Grace at keeping tidy.”

“Ladies like an excuse to get their hands on a man,” Davi replied, trying to smile. But both of their smiles fell away. “Bring her back,” he said, meeting Leonin’s gaze squarely. “That’s what we swore. We haven’t failed unless she’s dead. Right?”

“Yes,” Leonin agreed, feeling a familiar urge to thank him and punch him. And so they parted, and Leonin left to pack his few belongings, none of which he really needed. He was just delaying his departure.

He hadn’t the faintest idea how to do what must be done.

Outside the windows of his bedchamber, he could see the guards moving along the many inner terraces of the estate. The bustle on the distant docks, where Duke Ereguil was quietly shuffling men and materiel in preparation for both attack and defense. Leonin had not been privy to those plans. His task was no longer war, but protection, and his place all these months had been at Ophele’s side.

“Lord Breuyir,” said a voice from the door behind him, and Leonin turned to find Justenin there, dressed in a plain leather jerkin and light shirt against the scorching summer heat. “Please come away from the windows.”

There were open balconies on either side of Leonin’s room.

“You have instructions?” he asked hopefully.

“A few. It is better to be ignorant than to have to lie,” Justenin replied, shutting the door behind him. “I assume you do not intend to leave our lady to her fate.”

“No.”

“You were not particularly honored to be her guard,” Justenin said, with no alteration to his expression. “His Grace promised rich rewards for your service, because of your experience in society, but that was the only reason you accepted. It is fortunate that you maintained the proper distance from her, at least in company. There will be no evidence to the contrary. Will there?”

Leonin shook himself.

“No,” he said. “Her Grace urged me to visit my mother, so she knows a little of my aspirations, but she did not understand or approve of them. It will not be difficult to persuade her I have…reconsidered.”

“We will adjust as needed. And we will not broadcast your dismissal in any case,” Justenin said briskly. “Nor should you seek out any particular company, at least at first. It is my hope that Her Grace will not be detained long enough for your aid to be necessary—”

“But you will let me go and get her. Please,” Leonin interrupted, feeling all at once that he couldn’t breathe. “I must…His Grace said that I must make amends.”

“You will,” Justenin replied, with a flicker of pale eyes. “But you are presently intended for more strategic work. There will be many who seek you out, hoping for information about His Grace. We hope the Duke of Tries will be one of them, and you must enter his confidence, if at all possible. There are also the Crown Princess’s ladies-in-waiting. They must be released from Starfall sooner or later, and there are three you may encounter in society. Despite this…setback with our House, your family is quite respectable, and you are a war hero. You would make an excellent match.”

Leonin’s mouth fell open.

“My intention is to return to Her Grace’s service,” he said, rallying.

“Engagements are long in the Empire, and easily broken,” Justenin replied callously. “One of our first hurdles is finding some way to establish communication with Her Grace. Your mother will be eager to find a match for you, will she not?”

“I will not resist if she proposes it,” Leonin said dubiously. It would only raise suspicions if he volunteered.

“They are not your primary objective,” Justenin replied, waving a hand. “The Duke of Tries will be easiest for you to access, and it’s entirely possible he will contact you first. He is one of the Emperor’s closest allies, and has supported him for more than thirty years. It is unlikely he will be persuaded to betray him outright. But he might be convinced to save the Divinity from himself.”

“Ah.” So that was the approach the Ereguil ladies had agreed upon.

“It would not be productive to assign malice to him, at this time,” Justenin added, with the slightest curl of his lip. “Duchess Ereguil has pointed out that if we wish to sway the Emperor’s allies to our side, we must give them a way to save face. If we say the Emperor is merely mistaken in his fear for his daughter’s safety, it allows room for a peaceful resolution.”

“It is diplomatic,” Leonin agreed. It was also just the sort of thing he hated, painting over all manner of unforgivable cruelty to keep the peace. Ophele’s frightened face flashed again in his memory, and he looked away to hide a flare of rage.

“It will soften the opposition to us,” Justenin agreed. “We need only remove her from Starfall, and then we may deal with it properly.”

“I will find a way.”

“If anyone knows it, it will be the Duke of Tries,” Justenin replied, and outlined a few other possibilities that Leonin duly engraved in his memory, with another pang at how often he had watched Ophele doing the same. She was his charge, but in the end, Davi had been right; it had been something like having a little sister, protecting her and teaching her the useful things they knew. Leonin had been the youngest in his own family.

“How will I contact you?” he asked, belting his sword at his waist and slinging his pack over his shoulder. He would be leaving all the rest behind: clothing, armor, all the accoutrements given to him by House Andelin.

“There is a bookshop in Dockside. Venable’s Books,” Justenin began, and related the particulars of the place and its proprietor, which was just respectable enough for the patronage of a capital gentleman.

For that was all that Leonin was.

He recited the details again to himself when Justenin was gone. He tried not to notice the pitying glances of the servants as he passed them by, or the sorrow in Nencion the butler’s face. It could have just easily been any one of them walking out into the Segoile afternoon, cast out of their home, bereft of their chosen master.

He would find a way back, Leonin swore, and set off into the city that he had gone to war to escape.