“What are you doing?” Nina asked.
“I have an idea.”
“I can see that, but—”
“Mama?” Hanne called down the hall.
Ylva appeared a moment later. She’d taken her braids down and her hair hung in thick, ruddy brown waves, but it was clear she’d still been awake, probably discussing the Wellmother’s visit with her husband.
“What is it, Hanne? Why are you two still up?”
Hanne gestured for her mother to enter, and Ylva sat down on the edge of the bed.
“The Wellmother got me thinking.”
Nina’s brows rose. Oh, did she now?
“I want to enter Jerjanik.”
“What?” Ylva and Nina said in unison.
Jerjanik meant Heartwood, and it coincided with the winter festival of Vinetk?lla, which had just begun. The name was a reference to Djel’s sacred ash. But it really referred to the tradition of eligible young women being presented at court with the goal of making a marriage. The idea of Hanne participating was brilliant. It would throw them both into a six-week whirlwind of social events at court and potentially put her in the path of the very people who could lead them to Vadik Demidov. But Nina had thought … She didn’t know what she’d thought. All she knew was the idea of Hanne being courted by a roomful of Fjerdan men made her want to kick something.
“Hanne,” Ylva said cautiously. “This is not something to be entered into lightly. You will be expected to wed at the end of Heartwood. You’ve never wanted such a thing before. Why now?”
“I have to start thinking about the future. The Wellmother’s visit … It reminded me of my wild ways. I want to show you and Papa that I’m beyond that now.”
“You needn’t prove yourself to us, Hanne.”
“I thought you wanted me to join the court? To find a husband?”
Ylva hesitated. “Please don’t do this to make us happy. I couldn’t bear to think of you miserable.”
Hanne sat down next to her mother. “What other options are open to me, Mama? I won’t go back to the convent.”
“I have a little money set aside. You could go north to the Hedjut. We still have relatives there. I know you’re not happy cooped up at the Ice Court.”
“Papa would never forgive you, and I won’t see you punished for my sake.” Hanne took a deep breath. “I want this. I want a life we can all be part of.”
“I want that too,” said Ylva. Her voice was barely a whisper as she hugged her daughter.
“Good,” said Hanne. “Then it’s decided.”
Nina still didn’t know what to think.
“Hanne,” she said after Ylva had gone, “the ritual of Heartwood is binding. If you’re offered a reasonable proposal, they’re going to make you choose a husband.”
“Who says I’ll get any reasonable proposals at all?” Hanne said, wriggling beneath the covers.
A proposal would have to come from a man of equal social standing who could adequately provide for Hanne and who had the approval of her father.
“And what if you do?” Nina asked. Hanne didn’t want that life. Or Nina didn’t think she did. Maybe Nina just didn’t want it for her.
“I don’t know exactly,” Hanne said. “But if we’re going to help your king and stop a war, this is how we do it.”
* * *
The preparations began the next morning in a whirl of fittings and lessons. Nina still wasn’t sure this was the right choice, but if she was honest with herself, the chaos of readying for Heartwood was shockingly, horrifyingly … fun. She was distressed at how easy it was to get lost in the business of new gowns for Hanne, new shoes, dancing lessons, and discussions of the people they would meet at Maidenswalk, the first event of Jerjanik, where all the hopeful young ladies would be presented to the royal family.
Some part of Nina had missed frivolity. There had been too much sadness in the last two years—her struggle to free herself from addiction, losing Matthias, the long, lonely months in Ravka trying to cope with her grief, and then the constant fear of living among her enemies. Sometimes she wondered if she’d made a mistake leaving her friends in Ketterdam. She missed Inej’s stillness, the knowledge that she could say anything to her without fear of recrimination. She missed Jesper’s laughing ways and Wylan’s sweetness. She even missed Kaz’s ruthlessness. Saints, it would have been a relief to hand over this whole mess to the bastard of the Barrel. He’d have sussed out Vadik Demidov’s origins, raided the Fjerdan treasury, and placed himself on the throne in the time it took Nina to braid her hair. On second thought, probably best Kaz wasn’t here.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Hanne asked, as she sat at their shared dressing table while Nina applied sweet almond oil to curl the short strands of her hair, red and gold and brown. A color she could never quite name.
“If I am?”
“I guess I’m jealous. I wish I could.”
Nina tried to meet her eyes in the mirror, but Hanne kept her gaze trained on the array of powders and potions on the table. “This was your idea, remember?”
“Yes, but I forgot how much I hate all of it.”
“What’s to hate?” Nina asked. “Silk, velvet, jewels.”
“Easy for you to say. I feel even more wrong than usual.”
Nina couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She wiped her hands clean of oil and sat down on the bench. “You’re not an awkward little girl anymore, Hanne. Why can’t you see how gorgeous you are?”
Hanne picked up one of the little jars of shimmer. “You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t.” Nina plucked the jar from her fingers and turned Hanne toward her. “Close your eyes.” Hanne obeyed and Nina dotted the cream onto her lids, then her cheekbones. It had a subtle, pearlescent sheen that made it look like Hanne had been dusted in sunlight.
“Do you know the only time I felt beautiful?” Hanne asked, her eyes still closed.
“When?”
“When I tailored myself to look like a soldier. When we cut off all my hair.”
Nina exchanged the shimmer for a pot of rose balm. “But you didn’t look like you.”
Hanne’s eyes opened. “But I did. For the first time. The only time.”
Nina dipped her thumb into the pot of balm and dabbed it onto Hanne’s lower lip, spreading it in a slow sweep across the soft cushion of her mouth.
“I can grow my hair, you know,” Hanne said, and moved her hand over one side of her scalp. Sure enough, a reddish-brown curl twined over Hanne’s ear.
Nina stared. “That’s powerful tailoring, Hanne.”
“I’ve been practicing.” She drew a small scissors from a drawer and snipped away the curl. “But I like it the way it is.”
“Then leave it.” Nina took the scissors from her hand, brushed her thumb over Hanne’s knuckles. “In trousers. In gowns. With your hair shorn or in braids or down your back. You have never not been beautiful.”
“Do you mean that?”
“I do.”
“I’ve never seen your real face,” Hanne said, eyes scanning Nina’s features. “Do you miss it?”