The infirmary was located in the Corporalki wing of the Little Palace, behind the imposing red-lacquered doors. There were private rooms for patients who needed extensive care and quiet, and one of them had been set aside for Princess Ehri Kir-Taban. The hallway was heavily protected by both Grisha and palace guards.
Ehri lay in a narrow bed. She wore a green silk dressing gown embroidered with pale yellow flowers. Her skin was a raw pink, shiny and taut. The fire had scorched the hair from her head, which was wrapped in soft white linen. She had no eyebrows or lashes. Genya had explained that it would still take several days to bring Ehri’s flesh and hair back to full health, but they had reversed the worst of the damage. It was a miracle she had survived—a miracle wrought by Grisha Healers, who had restored her body and kept her pain in check as they did it.
Nikolai sat down beside the bed. Ehri said nothing. She rolled her head to the side, turning her gaze to the gardens and away from him. A single tear slipped down her pink cheek. Nikolai drew a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed it away.
“I would prefer that you left,” she said.
That was what she’d said every time he’d summoned the will to speak to her since her true identity had been discovered. But he couldn’t put this off any longer.
“We should talk,” he said. “I’ve brought novels and summer cherries by way of a bribe.”
“Summer cherries. In the dead of winter.”
“It is never winter in the Grisha greenhouses.”
She closed her eyes. “I’m grotesque.”
“You are pink and rather hairless. Like a baby, and people love babies.” Actually, she looked more like the hairless cat his aunt Ludmilla had favored more than any of her children, but that seemed an impolitic thing to say to a lady.
Ehri did not wish to be charmed. “Must you make a joke of everything?”
“I must. By royal mandate and the curse of my own disposition. I find life quite unbearable without laughter.”
She returned to studying the gardens.
“Do you like the view?” he asked.
“This palace is nothing compared to the grandeur of Ahmrat Jen.”
“I imagine not. Ravka has never been able to match Shu Han for monuments or scenery. I’m told the architect Toh Yul-Gham took one look at the Grand Palace and declared it an affront to the eyes of god.”
The corner of Ehri’s lips tugged up in the barest smile. “Are you a student of architecture?”
“No. I just like to build things. Contraptions, gadgets, flying machines.”
“Weapons of war.”
“That has been a necessity, not a calling.”
Ehri shook her head and another tear escaped. Nikolai offered her the handkerchief. “Keep it,” he said. “It’s got the Lantsov crest embroidered on it. You can blow your nose into it and take revenge upon your captors.”
Ehri pressed it to her eyes. “Why? Why would the Tavgharad do such a thing? Shenye guarded my cradle while I slept as an infant. Tahyen taught me to climb trees. I don’t understand it.”
“What happened before we arrived that afternoon?”
“Nothing! Your guards brought me a letter from my sister. A reply to the wedding invitation you insisted on sending. She asked that I inform the Tavgharad of the wedding, and I brought it to them. They … they told me the message was a code. That it was time to escape.”
“But there was another command in your sister’s letter.”
“I read it myself!” Ehri cried. “There was no such thing!”
“What else could make the Tavgharad take such an action?”
Ehri turned her head away again.
Nikolai hadn’t really expected her to believe him. The princess had never been willing to accept that she was not meant to survive her trip to Os Alta, that her older sister had been planning her death all along. Even after what she had suffered, maybe because of what she had suffered, she couldn’t stand the thought. The physical pain was bad enough, but another betrayal from her sister was too much to accept.
The proper thing was to give her space, a chance to heal. But he’d squandered the time required to be a sensitive suitor. And now he needed someone else to make his argument for him.
“A moment please,” he said, and headed into the hall.
He returned pushing a wheeled chair.
“Mayu!” Ehri exclaimed.
Nikolai had deliberately kept them separated in the weeks since Mayu Kir-Kaat’s attempt to assassinate him. Until last night, there had been no little chats with Mayu or attempts to win her to his side. It had been impossible for him to feel sympathy for the girl who had killed Isaak. His own guilt was too overwhelming. Commanding armies had meant sending countless men to their deaths. Being a king meant knowing there would be more. But Isaak had died pretending to be Nikolai, wearing Nikolai’s face, protecting Nikolai’s crown.