That should make me angry.
The thought came and went. She felt like she was drowning, but she didn’t want to fight to surface. She wanted to lie here, in this bed, the covers heavy like the weight of water. She didn’t want to think and she couldn’t pretend she was all right.
She felt as if someone had cracked open her chest and carved the heart right out of her. The Fjerdans had bombed Os Alta. They’d bombed houses where children slept in their beds, markets where innocent people did their business. They’d bombed Nina’s home, the place she’d found joy and acceptance as a little girl. How many of her friends had died? How many had been injured? She had been in Brum’s office, she had seen the map of Ravka’s capital, but she hadn’t understood. If she had … Nina sank deeper, down, down.
The news had come during a party, just days after the royal hunt. She’d been with the Brums in the ballroom, the same room where the prince had collapsed. She was holding a plate of smoked fish and roe, idly contemplating that no spy had ever been so well fed. Word had spread that Prince Rasmus had not been permitted to join the royal hunt, but the damage to his reputation was somewhat tempered by reports of how handsome he’d looked in his riding clothes and how much stronger he seemed every day.
“We’ll see,” Brum muttered. “Padding the shoulders on his jacket won’t make him any more a king.”
The grizzled Redvin had merely let out a snort. “Let’s get him up on a horse and see what happens.”
“That’s cruel,” Hanne had said quietly. “You mock him for his weakness and then punish him when he dares to change.”
Redvin had laughed. “Your girl has a fondness for that whey-faced whelp.”
But Brum’s face had been cold. “There is no punishment for a prince, Hanne. And you would do well to remember it. Rasmus may favor you now, but if his opinion turns sour, I will be unable to protect you.”
Those words had sent a shiver through Nina, remembering Rasmus with the crop in his hand, the blood on Joran’s cheek.
But Hanne had refused to drop her chin, returning her father’s stare with hard determination. Nina knew she should give her a nudge, a gentle touch of the hand, a reminder that they were meant to show vulnerability and softness here so no one would guess at their strength, but she couldn’t. This was the true Hanne, a girl with the heart of a wolf. Healing the prince hadn’t just made Rasmus stronger; it had reminded Hanne of who she could be, who she might become if Fjerda weren’t in the grip of men like her father.
Their standoff had been broken by some kind of clamor in the throne room, a buzz that had risen to a roar, then cheers, applause.
“What’s happening?” Ylva had asked.
Nina would never forget the smile that split Brum’s face in that moment, a look of pure pleasure.
“The Ravkan capital burns!” someone shouted.
“We bombed Os Alta!”
“We have them on the run now!”
Nina couldn’t quite tell where the voices were coming from. People were shaking Brum’s hand, clapping him on the back. She felt like she was standing on the shore of a wild sea, the waves striking her again and again, as she tried to find her balance.
Hanne took hold of her hand.
“What is this?” Nina whispered. She heard her own voice as if from a great distance.
“It sounds like there was a raid,” Hanne replied. “Fjerdan bombers struck Os Alta.”
“But that’s … It’s impossible. The city is too far away.” The floor was tilting beneath her feet.
“Are you all right, Mila?” Ylva asked.
“You must rally,” Hanne whispered in Nina’s ear. “My father will see.”
Nina summoned every bit of her strength and forced an expression of wide-eyed surprise onto her face. “Then is Nikolai Lantsov dead?” The words tasted foul in her mouth. She could feel cold sweat on the back of her neck.
“No,” Brum said bitterly. “The little bastard wormed free this time.”
This time. What about Adrik and Leoni? Zoya? All of the others?
“One of the pilots came back with a bizarre report of monsters in the skies above the city,” Brum continued. “I think he’s shell-shocked.”
“Help me,” Nina begged Hanne. “Get me out of here.”
And Hanne had, letting the flood of well-wishers envelop her father and mother, herding Nina out of the room.
Nina hadn’t known what was happening to her. She had faced battle. She had held her beloved as he died, and yet now her whole world felt like it was crumpling around her, as if it were made of paper. Her heart was racing. Her gown felt too tight. How many had died while she was playing at spy? She’d seen the targets; she just hadn’t understood. She wanted to scream, to weep. But Mila Jandersdat could not do anything like that.
By the time they reached the Brums’ chambers, her clothes were soaked through with sweat. Trembling, Nina seized hold of the washbasin and vomited into it, then slid down to the floor. Her legs wouldn’t hold her any longer.
Bless Hanne’s strength, because she must have dragged Nina to her bed and gotten her into a nightgown. Nina knew she was going to pass out. She had seized Hanne’s hand.
“Make him sick,” she demanded.
“What?”
“Hanne, go back to the party and act as if nothing is wrong. I need you to weaken the prince.”
“But Rasmus—”
“Please, Hanne,” Nina begged, clutching her fingers. “Do this for me.”
Hanne brushed the hair back from Nina’s sweat-slicked face. “All right,” she said. “All right. Just promise me you’ll rest.”
Only then had Nina let herself sink beneath the waves. And that was where she had remained, buried beneath the covers, all through the night and the following day. Hanne came and went. She tried to get Nina to eat. But it was as if Nina heard her from far away. She was floating somewhere quiet and she wanted to stay there, wrapped in silence. There was too much pain waiting on land.
Until she’d heard Brum’s voice outside her room.
“I don’t care if she’s ill. I don’t care if she’s on her deathbed. If the queen wishes to see her, then that fishmonger’s wife will drag herself out here.”
Queen Agathe. Dimly, Nina remembered what she’d said to Hanne. Her instincts had taken over and she’d had the sense to set this new deception working. But she had to pull herself together to capitalize on it.
“Surely if it’s something she ate, she’s feeling better?” said Ylva. “She must see the queen.”
“I don’t have time for this. I have to be outside the ringwall in a half hour for Drokestering. I won’t keep my men waiting for the sake of a simpleton with a weak constitution.”
Drokestering. Nina tried to remember the word. It was old Fjerdan, a drüskelle celebration of victory in war. It was held in the woods, usually for an entire night.
“I’ll get her,” said Hanne. “Just … just give me a moment to make her ready.”
Nina pushed herself to a sitting position. Her skin had the sour smell of sweat and fear on it. Her hair was tangled, and she was dizzy from lack of food and water.