“Don’t say I look beautiful. Please.”
“Okay, but don’t cry,” Nina said helplessly. She brushed a tear from Hanne’s cheek with her thumb. “You’ll be blotchy for the party.”
“Cry?” said Ylva, bustling through the doorway. “Is something wrong?”
Nina and Hanne jumped at the sound of her voice, and Nina felt a flush heat her face, as if she’d been caught at something.
Hanne mustered a smile and said, “I don’t think Papa is going to approve of this gown.”
“Heartwood is not about your father’s approval,” Ylva said, beaming. “You will be the talk of the ball, and that can only be good for securing a husband.”
Saints, Nina couldn’t stand those words. They’d been playing a game with Heartwood and it hadn’t been without its victories, but what would the end of it mean for Hanne?
They gathered their wraps and joined Ylva to wend their way to the palace. Brum was nowhere to be seen, and Nina wondered if he was hunting Magnus Opjer or if Fjerda’s royal family even knew that their most valuable prisoner was missing.
The ball was held in the same cavernous room where they’d first met the prince, but the place was nearly unrecognizable. White trumpet lilies crowded every surface, wound around columns, twined in chandeliers, their petals spread like bursts of fireworks, their sweet scent thick in the air. Nina felt like she was walking through a tide of honey. Had these flowers simply come from Fjerdan hothouses or had Grisha power made them bloom?
Musicians played, and the buzz of laughter and talk rose and fell in giddy waves. It was as if no one cared a war was looming. No, she realized, it’s that they’re not afraid. They know they’re going to win. The king and queen sat their thrones, watching the proceedings with impassive faces. Nina saw prayer beads clutched in the queen’s left hand.
At the center of the room, above the fountain consecrated to Djel, hung a huge wreath of lilies and green ash boughs. This was life in winter, the Wellspring as the father of renewal, the flowers symbolizing fertility. Nina glanced at Hanne, at the other girls who had been presented at Heartwood, all displayed in their finery, blossoms in their hair. This was the last moment of their girlhood, before they were expected to become wives and mothers.
“They’re eager,” she said, more than a little surprised.
Hanne’s eyes roamed over the girls—some talking, others standing nervously beside their mothers or chaperones, trying to keep from mussing their hair in the heat of the ballroom. “They want to make their parents proud, stop being a burden on their families, manage households of their own.”
“And you?” Nina asked.
“Honestly?”
“Of course.”
Hanne cast her a single glance. “I want to throw you onto my horse and ride as fast and as far away from here as we can get. Not sidesaddle.”
Before Nina could even think of a reply, Hanne was drifting toward the refreshments table.
Nina watched the long line of her back. She had that same startled feeling she’d had when Joran discovered her in the drüskelle sector. Did Hanne mean it? Or had she just been joking? Nina set her hands on her hips. She damned well intended to ask. Because yes, she was a soldier and a spy and her duty belonged to Ravka, but … but the idea of riding into a new world with Hanne Brum was not a chance you just let slip by.
No sooner was Nina at Hanne’s side than Joran appeared to take them to the prince. Ylva shooed them on their way with a happy smile and a wink. She was delighted at the attention her daughter had garnered from Prince Rasmus. Hanne and Nina had visited with him every day this week, and Hanne had begun to heal the prince aggressively. There were talks of an alliance forming between Fjerda and West Ravka to unseat Nikolai, and Nina had to hope that a healthy prince might dare to face Brum and finally assert himself as a king-to-be. If she just had a little more time, she might be able to turn both Rasmus and his mother toward peace.
As for Joran, Nina knew that if he’d spoken a word to Jarl Brum, she would have long since been dragged away in chains. The prince’s guard gave no indication of what he’d seen or the conversation they’d shared.
The crown prince had staked out an entire corner of the ballroom to himself beneath an arched alcove. The lilies were so heavy here it was as if they’d entered some kind of enchanted bower, and Rasmus looked every inch the fairy prince, lording over the caves of Istamere. His color was high, his shoulders straight. Quite a change from the week before, when he’d suddenly lost so much of his vigor. Nina almost felt guilty, but that feeling evaporated when she thought of the bombs that had fallen on Os Alta, when she remembered him striking Joran, that excited laugh escaping his lips. He held court amid a group of lords and ladies but had eyes only for Hanne as she approached.
“All the works of Djel,” the prince exclaimed. “You look extraordinary, Hanne.”
Hanne curtsied and smiled, any hint of wild rebellion, of galloping away from the Ice Court to freedom, gone. Despite her short hair and her scandalous gown, she radiated demure Fjerdan womanhood. What an actress she’d become. Nina hated it.
“Go,” said Rasmus, waving his hand at the courtiers who had gathered around him. “I want no distraction from gazing at this marvelous creature.”
The nobles left with a few knowing glances directed Hanne’s way, but they made no objections, accustomed to obeying the prince’s whims.
“You look well too, Enke Jandersdat,” said Joran as Hanne and Nina settled on the low chairs before Rasmus.
“Poor Joran,” said the prince. “Do you think I’ve been rude ignoring Mila in her cheap silver sparkles?” Joran’s cheeks flamed bright red, and Rasmus’ brows rose. “Has my loyal guard been struck by an infatuation? She’s too old for you, Joran, and you’re here to be my vicious bodyguard, not moon over a fishwife.”
Nina gave a merry laugh. She didn’t care what the prince thought of her, and she understood that the remark about her gown was a jab at Brum, who had paid for it.
“Now you are being unkind, Your Highness,” she said. “But I am happy to orbit Hanne’s sun. You’re looking very well yourself, if I may say so.”
“You may—though you will make our friend Joran jealous. Perhaps you should pay him a compliment too.”
Nina smiled at Joran. Your secret is safe with me. “You look slightly less stern tonight, Joran.”
“Does he?” Prince Rasmus mused. “Maybe a bit around the forehead.”
“It’s quite a crush tonight,” said Hanne. “I’ve never seen this ballroom so full.”
“They all want to gawk at me, and I’m happy to let them. And of course, everyone wants to talk about the war.”
“I see Vadik Demidov here, but not the Apparat,” said Nina.
“Demidov is happiest at a party, eating someone else’s food and drinking someone else’s wine. As for the priest, he’s been most secretive lately. Your father isn’t happy about it. He wants my family to banish him back to Ravka or the underside of whatever rock will have him.”
A glorious idea, thought Nina. The less she saw of the priest, the better.