“I have been very fortunate, Your Majesty.”
Nina’s cover was designed to withstand scrutiny. There really had been a Mila Jandersdat from a little town on the northern coast. Her husband really had been lost at sea. But when Mila had run off to Novyi Zem to begin a new life with a handsome farmer, her identity had been pilfered by the Hringsa for Nina’s use.
“I have sent my men to inquire about this Mila Jandersdat, to ask what she looks like, to discover if we have a spy in our midst.”
Nina let her head snap up at this, her expression shocked. “A spy, Your Majesty?”
The queen’s lips thinned. “A talented actress.”
“Your men will find I am just who I say I am. I have no reason to lie.” Nina had been tailored to look like Mila. It would do for a description. But if the queen’s investigators brought back any of Mila’s friends or neighbors to confirm her identity, that would be another thing entirely.
The queen studied Nina for a long moment. “My eldest son was not supposed to survive childhood. Did you know that, Mila Jandersdat? I miscarried three times before I bore him. It was a miracle when he took his first breath, when he lived through his first night, his first year. I prayed for him each morning and each evening, and I have done so ever since.” The queen tapped her fingers on the arm of her throne. “Perhaps I won’t wait for my inquisitors to return. My son is vulnerable. You saw that well enough today, and I do not take any threat to him or my family lightly. It might be easier just to send you packing.”
So why haven’t you? Nina waited.
“But I think that might cause him some distress, and … and I want to know what happened today.”
Now Nina understood. Brum hadn’t questioned the prince’s quick recovery, not even Prince Rasmus himself had. But the queen had a mother’s care, a mother’s fear—a mother’s hope.
She’d chosen to interrogate Mila Jandersdat, not Hanne Brum, because she knew Mila was defenseless, without name or status. If Mila wanted the queen’s favor, if she wanted to stay at the Ice Court, and if she knew something about Hanne or what had happened, Mila was more likely to talk.
And Nina intended to do just that.
When she had first heard the voices of the dead, she had shrunk from them, tried to ignore them. She’d been too deep in her grief, too desperate to keep hold of her tie to Matthias. Death had still been the enemy, the monster that could strike without warning and take all you held dear. She hadn’t wanted to make peace with it. She couldn’t. Until she’d laid Matthias to rest. Even now her heart rebelled at the thought that there was no loophole, no secret spell to return him to her, to give her back the love she’d lost. No, she hadn’t made peace with death, but they’d come to an understanding.
Speak. Nina reached out with her power, feeling the cold river of mortality that ran through everyone and everything, letting it carry her to the sacred burial ground that lay in the shadow of the Elderclock only a few hundred yards away. Who will speak the name of Agathe Grimjer, queen of Fjerda?
The voice that answered was loud and clear, a strong soul, recently gone. It had a great deal to say.
“Six miscarriages,” Nina said.
“What?” The word fell like a stone in the old throne room.
“You miscarried six times before you gave birth to Rasmus. Not three.”
“Who told you that?” The queen’s voice was harsh, her cool demeanor shaken.
Linor Rundholm, the queen’s best friend and lady-in-waiting, dead and buried on the White Island.
“You had given up on praying,” said Nina, letting her eyes close, swaying as if she was in a trance. “So you had a Grisha Healer brought from the dungeons to see you through your pregnancy.”
“That is a lie.”
But it wasn’t. Linor had whispered it all. The queen had resorted to what was considered witchcraft.
“You think your boy is cursed.” She opened her eyes and stared directly at the queen. “But he is not.”
Queen Agathe’s slender fingers gripped the arms of her throne like white claws. “If what you were saying were true, then I would have committed heresy. My son would have been born with the demon’s mark upon him, forsaken by Djel. There would be no hope for him, no matter how many prayers I said.”
Nina almost felt sorry for this woman, a helpless mother wanting only to give birth to a healthy child. But once Rasmus had been born and weaned, she’d sent the Grisha Healer who had helped her to her death. She couldn’t risk anyone learning of what she’d done. Only Linor knew, her dear friend, a friend so beloved the queen had refused to let her travel with her husband to the front. I need you with me, Agathe had said, and a queen’s need was as good as a command. Linor’s husband had died on the field of battle and Linor had remained year after year on the White Island, her grief turning bitter as she tended to a selfish queen and her sickly son.
“When I was a little girl,” said Nina, “I fell into a river. It was the dead of winter. I should have frozen. I should have drowned. But when my parents found me lying on the banks nearly two miles from where I’d fallen in, I was warm and safe, my cheeks pink and my heartbeat even. I was blessed by Djel. I was touched by his far-seeing. Ever since then, I have known things I have no right to know. And I know this: Your son is not cursed.”
“Then why does he suffer?” Her voice was pleading, all dignity lost to desperation.
A good question. But Nina was ready. As a Grisha, she’d learned to use the dead as her informants and her weapons. As a spy, she’d learned to do the same with the living. Sometimes all they needed was the right nudge. She spoke the words she knew the queen would want to hear, not because of what the dead had whispered, but because of the need she’d felt when Matthias died, the terrible longing to believe there was a reason for her pain.
“There is a purpose to all of it,” she said, a promise, a prediction. “And to your suffering as well. Djel spoke through the waters today. Your son will heal and grow strong and he will find greatness.”
The queen drew in a long, trembling breath. Nina knew she was struggling to keep tears at bay. “Leave me,” she said, her voice quaking.
Nina curtsied and backed from the room. Before the doors closed, she heard a sound like wailing, as the queen went to her knees, her head in her hands.
11
ZOYA
NIKOLAI AND ZOYA WERE SILENT as they descended the stairs, the gloom heavy after the unnatural brightness of the Darkling’s prison.
Outside, a full moon hung low on the horizon, its light staining the night blue. The white gravel of the path back to the Grand Palace shone bright as spilled stars. They didn’t speak until they were in Nikolai’s sitting room, the door safely closed behind them.
“He’s fun,” said Nikolai, pouring a glass of brandy. “I forgot how fun he is.”
She took the glass he offered. “It has to be Alina’s choice.”
“You know what she’ll decide when she understands the stakes.”
Zoya took a long sip and crossed the room to the hearth. She set the glass on the mantel. The heat from the fireplace felt like comfort, and the beast within her seemed to sigh with pleasure. “She shouldn’t have to be the hero again.”