Clarice flushes. “Seymour told me not to. She told me that if anything happened to her, I should inform Queen Howard. I was on my way to do so when your butterfly intercepted my ship.”
Cleves closes her eyes and rubs her face. It is too early, and her mind is not working as quickly as it should. She takes deep breaths: Clarice is an ally. Cleves must not lash out at them.
“You must be tired and hungry,” she says.
“I am fine.”
“Nevertheless.”
The servants always leave a jug of purple wine and a bowl of dried fruits in Cleves’s chamber so that she can break her fast in solitude. She pours some wine for Clarice, who finishes it in a few gulps.
Cleves swallows. “I am sorry to ask you this but—”
“How do we know she’s still alive?” Clarice says.
“Yes.”
“Because she must be.”
Clarice wipes their eyes on their sleeve, and Cleves turns away, pretending to look at the view from her window. From here she can see a dozen courtyards. The gryphon is dozing, its legs hanging from the tree branch it is balanced upon. The other animals are holed up in their kennels or stables, and the servants are not yet awake. All is still, but for the gentle sway of the trees in a silent wind.
“You should not allow your emotions to cloud your reason,” Cleves says.
“If I give in to reason then I will lose my mind entirely.”
Better not to have grown so fond in the first place, Cleves thinks. She pours Clarice another goblet of wine and makes them sit.
“If you will not help me, then I will go to Howard as Seymour instructed. And if Howard will not help me, I will return to Perfugi and destroy the city to get her back.”
Cleves smiles. “Yes, well, let us not resort to suicide just yet.”
Clarice looks at her so fiercely that she almost steps back. “Would you not do anything for the ones you love?”
Cleves laughs. “No one is worth risking your life for, Clarice.”
“She is.”
Silence falls between them. Cleves feels strangely humbled, even as she pities Clarice for such reckless emotion. She crosses her arms. “Well, before we invade a country, let us sit with reason a while. You saw Cecilia take your mistress and Haltrasc.”
Clarice takes another sip of wine. “Yes.”
“Did she injure them?”
“No. She had them both shackled and taken back to her palace.”
Cleves doesn’t ask if Clarice tried to rescue them from the palace. Of course they tried.
“I only know a little of Queen Cecilia, and have never met her. She was in Perfugi already by the time I left Ezzonid to marry Henry. I do know that she is reckless and prideful.”
“She’s ambitious,” Clarice almost spits, as though ambition is a sin.
“So is your mistress, Clarice. She did not become a Queen of Elben by doing nothing. Not if the stories I’ve heard are to be believed.”
It is Clarice’s turn to look away, their salt-sun-worn skin flushed.
“She has commissioned a ship,” Clarice says after a moment.
Cleves sits on the side of her bed, her elbows resting on her knees. “She is going to return Seymour to Elben.”
