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.