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  “I’m sorry for that outburst,” Theodor said as we drove away. “I shouldn’t have pressed Whiteacre—he’s a blowhard. Knows the military but couldn’t maneuver through passing a new law for his life.”

  “He’s certainly not the only one with those particular opinions,” I replied. If Theodor’s goal for the evening had been to encourage an elite nobility to consider and begin to accept a commoner as a consort, I wasn’t sure that we had been even remotely successful. “And it isn’t only reform he’s rejecting,” I said, staring out the window. It was the idea that he was equal to someone like me at all. I was glad my side of the carriage overlooked the bluff and the river rather than the oversize houses on the other side of the road.

  Theodor edged closer to me and laced his fingers through mine. “Men like him can bluster all they like, but they can’t unmake this alliance. They can’t go against legal reform. We’ll outlast him.”

  “What if—what if we don’t?” I recalled something from one of Kristos’s books, one of the thick tomes I now suspected he had borrowed from Pyord Venko. Despite the dubious source of the material, the line stuck with me. “Stasis is easier than change, and it has its own momentum, entrenching itself,” I paraphrased. “What if they won’t change?”

  “If reform passes, they have to change. Whether they like it or not.”

  “Do they?” My voice was small, barely a whisper. It challenged everything we had built our hopes on, but I had to voice the creeping doubts that Whiteacre had stirred in me.

  “For them to go against the law would be treason. Just as much as assassination or secession or any other unthinkable act.” He edged closer to me as we jounced over a particularly deep rut. “Reform won’t be theirs to give or withhold any longer.”

  “But they still have the money, and control so much of the provincial regions—how will you make them?”

  “They’ll follow the law,” Theodor repeated.

  I hesitated. “Theodor, I—I don’t mean to mistrust you, but these nobles—they’ve been working within a system of governance that gives them all of the authority for generations. Isn’t it—perhaps—just a bit too optimistic to assume they’ll bend to new laws?”

  “Are you suggesting that the nobility would—what? All turn criminal overnight?”

  “No,” I answered, frustrated. “But when you see them, you see them as equals. I see them as people who have been at the top of a very unfair game of king of the mountain for a very long time. They don’t know what the view looks like from anywhere but the top.”

  “Are you saying I’m… stepping on you? Keeping you below me?”

  “No!” My hands clenched into fists around my silk petticoats. “That is, not on purpose. You can’t help that you were born on the top of the mountain and I’m farther toward the bottom, but can’t you see how you’re allowed power that we’re not?” I breathed out, quick and relieved to have finally said it out loud.

  “But I’m trying to help! I’m trying to do right by you and everyone else in Galitha without the whole damn country falling apart!”

  “I know! But—damn it all, Theodor, can’t you see how you doing it is part and parcel of the problem? How it feels like something is being given?” I sucked in a breath. “How it feels like it could be taken away?”

  He stared at me, at the crumpled silk in my hands and my stalwart confidence. He took a measured breath. “I can try to understand that better.”

  “Thank you.”

  “In the meantime, I think we can proceed with some assurance that even if they don’t truly want to change, they’re not interested in fighting a long-scale rebellion, so they’ll pass the bill.”

  I accepted his confidence with a tentative smile. “I don’t suppose they fancy fomenting civil war, disobeying the reform once it’s law.”

  “Indeed not,” he blustered with mock indignation. “Leave that to the upstart common rabble who think they can govern themselves! Poppycock!” I laughed—his imitation of Whiteacre was on the nose. “For now, there’s piles of work to be done, and plenty of long evenings like that ahead of us.” He took my hand. “I’m glad I’m facing it with you beside me.”

  7

  SUNLIGHT ALREADY GILDED A PATH ACROSS THE COVERLET WHEN I woke. Theodor was still sleeping, his hair falling into his face. I gently extricated my arm from under his and slipped out of bed, draping myself in the rosy silk wrapper Theodor kept for me and tiptoeing to the window. Another rich summer day bloomed outside, the sun burning the nighttime chill from the distant harbor in a golden haze.

  A knock at the door woke Theodor and startled me. “Come in,” he called lazily. I flushed—I still wasn’t used to being seen here, to the servants knowing I had spent the night. I imagined them gossiping about me in the kitchen and their quarters.

  The footman opened the door with his usual careful ceremony and deliberately avoided looking at me in my undress clothing. “Lady Viola Snowmont is here for you, Your Grace.”

  “Viola? What time is it—she can’t have already gotten up.” Theodor laughed. “Tell her she can wait in the boudoir if she’s willing to let me receive her in a banyan.”

  “Very well, Your Grace.”

  “I’ll just—I’ll wait here,” I said awkwardly after the footman closed the door.

  “No need, I’m sure. Viola could have guessed you’d be here.” He rolled out of bed, running a hand through disheveled hair and reaching for his shirt.

  “Let me get you a fresh one.” I laughed. I took a newly pressed shirt from a pile of neatly folded clothes in his clothespress. “Socks, too?”

  “I suppose that would be appropriate.” I tossed him his underthings and he snatched them in midair. “You look presentable already.”

  I tugged on a pair of shoes. “Barely. What could Viola possibly want this early in the morning?”

  Theodor shrugged, buttoning his breeches. “Who knows.” He shrugged his shoulders through his chintz banyan and rubbed the last of the sleep from his eyes.

  I was still blushing when Theodor opened the door for me into his boudoir. Of course Viola must have assumed that I spent plenty of nights here, but the acknowledgment in seeing one another here was different.

  My apprehension melted when I saw Viola. Still wearing the gown and jewelry she had worn the night before, she was pale and pacing the boudoir, wringing her hands.

  “Viola!” Theodor crossed the room in three strides to her. “What’s wrong?”

  She gripped his hand and took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, Theo. I didn’t—it wasn’t anything I ever meant for anyone else to see.”

  “Viola, calm down. Sit down.” Theodor guided her to a settee and she sank into the cushions. “I’ll call for tea,” he added, clearly gauging that his usual morning coffee would not help Viola’s nerves.

  “I can’t just calm down, you’ve no idea!” She inhaled sharply, her collet necklace rising along with her voice as she added, “It’s not that it’s such an imposition for me, but it reflects on the royal family and—oh, I can’t believe this.”

  I sank farther back against the silk-covered walls. “Sophie, I’m sorry to barge in on you like this,” Viola said, taking a shaky breath. “But this—it affects you, as well. So please, please stay and listen, too?”

  I nodded, trying not to look as worried as I felt.

  “Theo, I just—I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want you to find out from anyone but me.” She looked up at him with pleading eyes as she used the childish nickname.

  “Vivi, please. You have to tell me what happened.” Theodor sat patiently across from her, taking one of her trembling hands.

  “After the dinner last night, I wanted to finish a… sketch I had started. Of Annette.” She hesitated. “I pulled out my portfolio and charcoals, but that sketch, and several others, were missing.” She flushed deep pink. I had never seen Viola embarrassed before. “Someone must have taken them during the dinner party I had the day before.”

&nbs
p; “I don’t see why that matters so much. It’s no secret that you and Annette are great friends and that you paint the royal family.”

  “They weren’t for public viewing,” she answered in a flat tone. “They were private. They were just for us.”

  My brow constricted in confusion, then released in surprise. Of course—I should have realized it, with all the time I had spent with them. Their dedication to one another, their shared grief when Annette was going to be married. The tranquil depth that ran between them like a swift-running river. Quietly, without naming it aloud, they had practiced a devotion that extended beyond friendship, and these sketches were Viola’s expression of that intimacy.

  Viola looked toward me. “I’m sorry, Sophie, I know it’s… we have always endeavored to be discreet, for the reputation of both of our families. Very few people know, I hope you’re not offended that you were kept in ignorance.”

  “Of course not,” I stammered. Affairs were understood but rarely acknowledged in Galatine society, and romance between two women could only be an affair, never sanctioned by the legal name of marriage. I felt suddenly foolish and childish, first acknowledging that Annette and Viola were the first such pair I had ever known, then the slow and embarrassing realization that I had probably known others with unspoken but enduring bonds and been too blind to see them.

  “But these sketches, Vivi. Someone took them,” Theodor said. “You don’t know who. You’re absolutely sure you didn’t misplace them, that Annette didn’t take them home?”

  “Of course I’m sure! I’ve been up all night searching the house, and Annette would never have taken them home, are you insane?” She stood up again and resumed pacing.

  “Maybe someone took them as a joke,” Theodor offered. “And even if not—what? Who doesn’t know already?” he asked, a little too cavalier.

  “No one knows, you know that. My dearest friends only. Annette has, bless it, never even been one of the rumored victims of the insatiable nymphomania the gossip rags invented for me. This is—this is your reputation, Theodor.”

  “I really don’t care about that, Vivi. So there will likely be a spate of rumors, some unflattering things printed in the magazines, maybe you won’t be invited to some of the best parties this season. But it will blow over.”

  “This reflects very badly on the royal family,” she repeated. “Your father’s reign is very new, and anything that damages the family damages him.”

  “Really, I wouldn’t worry about it. All of this matters much less than how my father manages his politics.” Theodor turned and walked toward me for a moment, meeting my eyes only briefly. I could tell he was lying. “This will blow over. You did nothing wrong.”

  Viola shook her head. “I can’t even begin to make this up to you.” Her big brown eyes misted over. “I’m sorry.”

  “Just keep your head down for a few weeks,” Theodor said. A knock on the door announced the tea. I took the tray from the maid and shooed her away with a whispered apology.

  I poured Viola a cup and dosed it with the splash of cream I knew she preferred. Her hands shook, the sound of rattling porcelain like the sound of nerves themselves.

  “Thank you,” she whispered to me.

  “I just poured the tea,” I said with a pale smile.

  “No, for being… understanding. I know this is not exactly orthodox, and dragging you two down with me—you would have every right to be upset.”

  “Over what?” I picked up my own tea, then set it down, laughing. “Viola, I’m currently one half of the least orthodox romantic pairing in the entirety of Galitha.”

  She almost laughed along with me, but her smile stalled and she sipped her tea instead.

  “Well,” Theodor said after she had departed. “That worries me.”

  “I’m sure—I mean, it’s fodder for vicious gossip, but hasn’t Viola always been at the center of gossip?”

  “Of course, yes. I feel badly for Viola, and my cousin, but what worries me is why someone would do this now.”

  “Isn’t it just a nasty joke?”

  “I hope so.” Theodor sighed, leaning back. His banyan flopped open and I saw that the silver buckles at the knees of his breeches were still undone. “I worry it’s a deliberate attempt to cast the royal family in a poor light, and right now, while the Reform Bill is under review.”

  “Why should this particular affair matter more than the usual lineup of salacious gossip?” I asked, knowing full well that it probably did.

  “No one cares about our little dalliances and affairs, within reason. But of course we are expected to do our duty and marry and produce heirs, eventually. The noble families have always cared about that even if the populace doesn’t. It’s insurance for our own stability, keeping titles in families.”

  “And one affair threatens that?”

  “In a way, yes.” The maid arrived with Theodor’s customary morning coffee. “We may be rather more open than the populace in terms of mistresses, but this is still beyond the pale. The implication is that Annette actively avoided marriage in favor of Viola. That interferes with the system. And the fact that, while daughter of the reigning monarch, Princess Annette could have compromised her duty for such an affair—it won’t read well.”

  “I see,” I said, balancing a delicate coffee cup on its saucer. “And you and Annette and Viola are particularly close, and that Annette is the king’s niece—you all look irresponsible.”

  “Irresponsible and careless, to an old-guard noble’s view.” He sighed. “And given that proximity, my assumption has to be that someone stole those sketches as a deliberate attempt to undermine my father or me by association. Or both.”

  “Or the reforms.” I swallowed this along with my coffee. My view of the conflict had been simplistic, the populist struggle Kristos had introduced me to—the common people against the oppression of the nobility. Theodor and Viola had complicated this already, making me understand the delicate international balance and economics these political questions affected. This added an entirely new wrinkle—that “the nobility” was no more homogenous than the populace, and could faction and infight on their own accord.

  Theodor set his coffee cup down, staring at the dark liquid as though it could tell him what to do next. His shoulders slumped.

  “I’m not making this easier, am I?” I whispered.

  “You’re making my life far more bearable right now.”

  “You know I mean in terms of reputation.”

  “I don’t care. I didn’t want you to speak, last night, at the dinner, didn’t want you to have to feel that kind of scorn. But you did, and you—you only saw Whiteacre’s face, didn’t you?” I nodded. “But I saw the others around me, and they were listening, to you.”

  “To the harbinger of bad news,” I replied. “Lovely.”

  “To the future.” He sipped his coffee. “I’m not ready for this,” he said, and I wasn’t sure if he meant the coffee, the morning, or the entire situation as he plucked me from my chair and carried me back to bed.

  8

  I WAS RIGHT IN GAUGING THE POPULARITY OF THE WHITE COTTON dresses for daytime social events—they bloomed and bobbed along the riverbank. Different seamstresses had lent different touches; some sleeves were slim and fitted, others ballooned like sails in the wind; some added tiers of ruffles to the low-cut necklines, others, to the hemlines.

  “You didn’t wear one?” Theodor asked, gesturing toward Viola, Pauline, and a trio of women I didn’t know, all wearing chemise gowns and huge silk-covered hats that looked like partially deflated mushrooms.

  “I wanted to be different,” I said blandly. I had remade an old pale gray silk gown to cut away in the front and reveal a red stomacher, a plain homage to the colors of reform.

  Theodor suppressed a laugh. “It seems your success ran away with itself a bit.”

  As I looked over the sea of white gowns, I noticed something punctuating each of the white cotton dresses—red and gray, in sashes and
cockades and ribbons. Like wine on a tablecloth or blood on snow, impossible to miss. I smiled, faintly. The chemise gown of my design was not only a fashion statement but, it seemed, part of a political one as well. I brushed the cockade nestled into a large double-looped bow at the top of my gown.

  A gentleman in a dark blue suit approached Theodor. “I had hoped you’d be here, Your Grace,” he said. Theodor forced a smile at the deferential title; this was a social occasion, but unlike Viola’s salon, formality of rank persisted here.

  “I had a question of clarification on the election procedures outlined in the Reform Bill before I feel, shall we say, comfortable placing my vote.”

  Theodor’s resigned sigh was barely noticeable. “Of course.” I slipped quietly away, drifting toward Viola.

  “Sophie!” She caught my hand as soon as I was close enough to snare. Pauline greeted me as well, but two of the three women they had been talking to glided toward the rose arbor. “I’m glad you came. Theodor said you might not,” she added. I was grateful she didn’t continue—that my reasons for refusal would have been the back order at my shop.

  Pauline smiled. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you!”

  “You really should come to the salon more often,” Viola said. “Or are you too busy selecting bridal silks and tasting cake recipes with Her Majesty the Queen?”

  I forced a laugh; it sounded like a nervous squeak. “There’s been so much to do,” I said. I hadn’t told Viola that Theodor’s parents had yet to acknowledge the betrothal. “But you’re both staying over the summer?”

  Pauline shook her head. “I’m planning to leave for the old family haunt down south within the fortnight. Mother and I were waiting for Father to be free to come, but…” She hesitated, glancing at the other three women standing nearby, and decided not to continue.

  “Old family haunt, indeed!” Viola laughed. “Sophie, the Hardinghold family has the loveliest estate on the Rock River, with an orchard you couldn’t believe.”