Varia says nothing to this, wordlessly letting her maids in to dress her, which inherently forbids any more heretical talk of witches. Fione comes in soon after, and we wait together, awkwardly sitting on the couches facing each other while the maids finish Varia’s hair. Her cane with the valkerax head on it gleams in the morning sun, and I marvel that such a seemingly small thing can transform into a fully fledged crossbow.

“Bonbon?” I offer her a chocolate from the plate of them. She stares at the ground, determined not to meet my eyes. What do I say to her? Don’t be scared? It’s all right? She should be scared. And nothing is all right.

“Did you make that thing yourself?” I jerk my head to the cane, and Fione finally nods.

“Yes. Using my uncle’s materials and blueprints.”

I whistle, impressed. “You ever consider being a polymath if the whole ‘archduchess’ thing doesn’t work out?”

“It…it sort of will always work out,” she says softly. “Because I was born into it.”

There’s a beat of awkward but somehow ridiculous silence, and to my surprise when I burst out laughing, so does she. We lock eyes over our laughter, hers much quieter but still there, and for a moment it’s like everything is back to normal. I savor it as long as it lasts.

“How could I forget?” I wheeze. “About how fairly nobility works?”

“Extremely fairly,” Fione rolls her eyes through her laugh. When we’ve calmed, I inhale hugely.

“I’m glad, you know,” I try. “That you got the chance to tell Varia how you feel.”

This gets her eyes to stutter up to me, and I smile. She starts to open her mouth to say something when Varia walks in, putting a hand on Fione’s shoulder and grinning at her.

“Are you ready to go?”

Fione looks between her and me and then nods up at Varia, taking her hand and rising. They leave, and I see Fione pause at the door.

“Something wrong, darling?” Varia asks her gently.

Fione shakes her head. “No.”

I stare at the place where she used to sit, the remnants of our laughter still ringing in my ears. It’s then I notice something sticking out of the cushions of the couch she was sitting on. Brown, leathery. I walk over and pluck it out. It’s a notebook of some sort. I open it up and parse through the wild scribbles, the diagrams of strange contraptions and a sketch of a sword I recognize—Varia’s white mercury sword.

This…this is Gavik’s diary. Fione actually brought it for me.

My unheart leaps as my fingers leap faster, flipping through the pages frantically. I calm down enough to realize being hasty isn’t going to get me anywhere, and while I finish my drink, I read the whole thing.