“Yes,” the woman said. “When the previous Wellmother disappeared, Tamar Kir-Bataar took the opportunity to install one of her spies there. I was undercover at a convent in the Elbjen before that.”
“How long have you been living this way? As a Fjerdan?”
“Thirteen years. Through wars and kings and coups.”
Thirteen years. Nina couldn’t fathom it. “Do you never … do you miss home?” She felt like a child asking.
“Every day. But I have a cause, just as you do. Your campaign of propaganda has been a bold one. I’ve seen the results myself. The girls under my care share stories of the Saints by moonlight.”
“And they’re punished for it?”
“Oh yes,” she said with a laugh. “The more we forbid talk of the Saints, the more fervent and determined they become.”
“Then I’m not in trouble?” She’d been following no order when she’d come to the Ice Court with Hanne and started staging miracles. After the stunt she’d pulled in Gäfvalle, she could have been dragged back to Ravka and court-martialed.
“General Nazyalensky said you would ask that and she said you absolutely are.”
Nina had to restrain a laugh. “How is she?”
“Terrifyingly competent.”
“And Adrik? Leoni?”
“Now that they’re Saints, they’re not fit for espionage work, but Adrik is commanding a team of Squallers and Leoni is working with David Kostyk’s Fabrikators. She did essential work on the antidote to jurda parem.”
“So,” said Nina, “they’re both stationed at the Little Palace.”
A slight smile touched the Wellmother’s lips. “I hear they’re often in each other’s company. But I didn’t come to share gossip or offer comfort. The king has a mission for you.”
Nina felt a spike of exhilaration. She’d defied direct orders from Adrik to come to the Ice Court, to put herself in the position to help Grisha and help Ravka. She’d done what she could with her phony miracles; she’d eavesdropped and used every wile in her possession to gather information, passing along coded letters full of whatever she’d managed to glean about troop movements and weapons development. But Brum’s disclosure of the places Fjerda had intended to launch their invasion had been mere luck, not true spy work.
“Listen closely,” the Wellmother said. “We don’t have much time.”
* * *
“She wants you to do what?” Hanne whispered, her copper eyes wide, when she returned to the rooms they shared and Nina described her mission. “And who did I just give my confession to?”
“A Grisha spy. What did you tell her?”
“I made up something about too many sweets and swearing on Djel’s holy days.”
Nina laughed. “Perfect.”
“Not perfect,” Hanne said with a wince. “What if I’d told her something personal about … something.”
“Like what?”
“Nothing,” said Hanne, her cheeks flushing. “What does she want you to do?”
The Wellmother’s orders had been simple, but Nina had no idea how she was going to pull them off.
“Find out where the letters from Tatiana Lantsov are being kept.”
“That part isn’t so bad.”
“And get close to the Lantsov pretender,” Nina said. “Discover who he really is and if there’s a way to discredit him.”
Hanne bit her lip. They’d settled on her bed with hot tea and a tin of biscuits. “Couldn’t we just … well, couldn’t you just eliminate him?”
Nina laughed. “Easy now. I’m the ruthless assassin and you’re the voice of reason, remember?”
“I think I’m being eminently reasonable. Is the Ravkan king really a bastard?”
“I don’t know,” Nina said slowly. “But if the Fjerdans prove he is, I’m not certain he’ll be able to keep the Ravkan throne.” In times of trouble, people tended to cling to tradition and superstition. Grisha cared less about royal blood, but even Nina had been raised to believe the Lantsovs had been divinely chosen to lead Ravka.
“And Vadik Demidov?” Hanne asked. “The pretender?”
“His death won’t buy back Nikolai’s legitimacy. But if he’s shown to be a liar, it will cast doubt on the entire endeavor and everything the Fjerdan government has claimed. Only … how are we supposed to do that?”
Brum had close contact with Fjerda’s royal family and presumably Demidov, but Nina and Hanne had only ever seen them from afar. The Brums dined occasionally with high-ranking soldiers and military officials, and Ylva sometimes went to play cards with the aristocratic women of the court. But that was a far cry from meeting people who could be mined for information on the Lantsov pretender.
Hanne stood and slowly paced the room. Nina loved who Hanne became when they were alone together. Around her parents, there was a tension in her, a hesitation, as if she was second-guessing every movement, every word. But when the door was closed and it was just the two of them, Hanne became the girl Nina had met in the woods, her gait loose and long, her shoulders freed from their rigid posture. Now Hanne’s even white teeth worried her lower lip, and Nina found herself studying the movement like a piece of fine art.
Then Hanne seemed to reach some kind of decision. She strode to the door and opened it.
“What are you doing?” Nina asked.
“I have an idea.”
“I can see that, but—”
“Mama?” Hanne called down the hall.
Ylva appeared a moment later. She’d taken her braids down and her hair hung in thick, ruddy brown waves, but it was clear she’d still been awake, probably discussing the Wellmother’s visit with her husband.
“What is it, Hanne? Why are you two still up?”
Hanne gestured for her mother to enter, and Ylva sat down on the edge of the bed.
“The Wellmother got me thinking.”
Nina’s brows rose. Oh, did she now?
“I want to enter Jerjanik.”
“What?” Ylva and Nina said in unison.
Jerjanik meant Heartwood, and it coincided with the winter festival of Vinetkälla, which had just begun. The name was a reference to Djel’s sacred ash. But it really referred to the tradition of eligible young women being presented at court with the goal of making a marriage. The idea of Hanne participating was brilliant. It would throw them both into a six-week whirlwind of social events at court and potentially put her in the path of the very people who could lead them to Vadik Demidov. But Nina had thought … She didn’t know what she’d thought. All she knew was the idea of Hanne being courted by a roomful of Fjerdan men made her want to kick something.
“Hanne,” Ylva said cautiously. “This is not something to be entered into lightly. You will be expected to wed at the end of Heartwood. You’ve never wanted such a thing before. Why now?”
“I have to start thinking about the future. The Wellmother’s visit … It reminded me of my wild ways. I want to show you and Papa that I’m beyond that now.”
“You needn’t prove yourself to us, Hanne.”
“I thought you wanted me to join the court? To find a husband?”
Ylva hesitated. “Please don’t do this to make us happy. I couldn’t bear to think of you miserable.”
Hanne sat down next to her mother. “What other options are open to me, Mama? I won’t go back to the convent.”
“I have a little money set aside. You could go north to the Hedjut. We still have relatives there. I know you’re not happy cooped up at the Ice Court.”
“Papa would never forgive you, and I won’t see you punished for my sake.” Hanne took a deep breath. “I want this. I want a life we can all be part of.”
“I want that too,” said Ylva. Her voice was barely a whisper as she hugged her daughter.
“Good,” said Hanne. “Then it’s decided.”
Nina still didn’t know what to think.
“Hanne,” she said after Ylva had gone, “the ritual of Heartwood is binding. If you’re offered
a reasonable proposal, they’re going to make you choose a husband.”
“Who says I’ll get any reasonable proposals at all?” Hanne said, wriggling beneath the covers.
A proposal would have to come from a man of equal social standing who could adequately provide for Hanne and who had the approval of her father.
“And what if you do?” Nina asked. Hanne didn’t want that life. Or Nina didn’t think she did. Maybe Nina just didn’t want it for her.
“I don’t know exactly,” Hanne said. “But if we’re going to help your king and stop a war, this is how we do it.”
* * *
The preparations began the next morning in a whirl of fittings and lessons. Nina still wasn’t sure this was the right choice, but if she was honest with herself, the chaos of readying for Heartwood was shockingly, horrifyingly … fun. She was distressed at how easy it was to get lost in the business of new gowns for Hanne, new shoes, dancing lessons, and discussions of the people they would meet at Maidenswalk, the first event of Jerjanik, where all the hopeful young ladies would be presented to the royal family.
Some part of Nina had missed frivolity. There had been too much sadness in the last two years—her struggle to free herself from addiction, losing Matthias, the long, lonely months in Ravka trying to cope with her grief, and then the constant fear of living among her enemies. Sometimes she wondered if she’d made a mistake leaving her friends in Ketterdam. She missed Inej’s stillness, the knowledge that she could say anything to her without fear of recrimination. She missed Jesper’s laughing ways and Wylan’s sweetness. She even missed Kaz’s ruthlessness. Saints, it would have been a relief to hand over this whole mess to the bastard of the Barrel. He’d have sussed out Vadik Demidov’s origins, raided the Fjerdan treasury, and placed himself on the throne in the time it took Nina to braid her hair. On second thought, probably best Kaz wasn’t here.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Hanne asked, as she sat at their shared dressing table while Nina applied sweet almond oil to curl the short strands of her hair, red and gold and brown. A color she could never quite name.
“If I am?”
“I guess I’m jealous. I wish I could.”
Nina tried to meet her eyes in the mirror, but Hanne kept her gaze trained on the array of powders and potions on the table. “This was your idea, remember?”
“Yes, but I forgot how much I hate all of it.”
“What’s to hate?” Nina asked. “Silk, velvet, jewels.”
“Easy for you to say. I feel even more wrong than usual.”
Nina couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She wiped her hands clean of oil and sat down on the bench. “You’re not an awkward little girl anymore, Hanne. Why can’t you see how gorgeous you are?”
Hanne picked up one of the little jars of shimmer. “You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t.” Nina plucked the jar from her fingers and turned Hanne toward her. “Close your eyes.” Hanne obeyed and Nina dotted the cream onto her lids, then her cheekbones. It had a subtle, pearlescent sheen that made it look like Hanne had been dusted in sunlight.
“Do you know the only time I felt beautiful?” Hanne asked, her eyes still closed.
“When?”
“When I tailored myself to look like a soldier. When we cut off all my hair.”
Nina exchanged the shimmer for a pot of rose balm. “But you didn’t look like you.”
Hanne’s eyes opened. “But I did. For the first time. The only time.”
Nina dipped her thumb into the pot of balm and dabbed it onto Hanne’s lower lip, spreading it in a slow sweep across the soft cushion of her mouth.
“I can grow my hair, you know,” Hanne said, and moved her hand over one side of her scalp. Sure enough, a reddish-brown curl twined over Hanne’s ear.
Nina stared. “That’s powerful tailoring, Hanne.”
“I’ve been practicing.” She drew a small scissors from a drawer and snipped away the curl. “But I like it the way it is.”
“Then leave it.” Nina took the scissors from her hand, brushed her thumb over Hanne’s knuckles. “In trousers. In gowns. With your hair shorn or in braids or down your back. You have never not been beautiful.”
“Do you mean that?”
“I do.”
“I’ve never seen your real face,” Hanne said, eyes scanning Nina’s features. “Do you miss it?”
Nina wasn’t sure how to answer. For a long while she’d startled every time she glimpsed herself in the mirror, when she caught sight of the pale blue eyes, the silky fall of straight blond hair. But the longer she played Mila, the easier it became, and sometimes that scared her. Who will I be when I return to Ravka? Who am I now?
“I’m beginning to forget what I looked like,” she said. “But trust me, I was gorgeous.”
Hanne took her hand. “You still are.”
The door flew open and Ylva bustled in, trailed by maids, their arms full of dresses.
Hanne and Nina leapt up from the bench, watching the maids heap piles of silk and tulle onto the bed.
“Oh, Mila, you’ve worked wonders!” Ylva said when she saw Hanne’s gilded cheeks. “She looks like a princess.”
Hanne smiled, but Nina saw the way her fists clenched. What have we gotten ourselves into? Heartwood might give them everything they wanted—access to Vadik Demidov, a chance to locate Queen Tatiana’s love letters. But what had seemed like a straight path felt more like a maze. Nina picked up the amber curl Hanne had dropped onto the dressing table and slipped it into her pocket. Whatever happens, I’ll find a way out, she vowed. For both of us.
* * *
Maidenswalk took place in the grand ballroom in the royal palace, just a short walk from their rooms on the White Island. Nina had been here before in a different disguise, dressed as a member of the notorious Menagerie. That had been during Hringkälla, a raucous party full of indulgence. This afternoon was a more staid affair. Noble families packed the alcoves. A long, pale gray carpet stretched the length of the room, pausing at a giant fountain in the shape of two dancing wolves, and then rolling on to the dais where the royal family sat. Gathered there, the Grimjers looked like a beautiful collection of dolls—all blond, blue-eyed, and sylphlike. They liked to claim Hedjut blood, and the evidence could be seen in the tawny warmth of the king’s complexion and the younger son’s thick curls. The little boy was tugging on his mother’s elegant hand as she laughed at his antics. He was sturdy and rosy-cheeked. The same could not be said for the crown prince. Prince Rasmus, lanky and sallow, looked almost green against the alabaster throne he sat beside his father.
Through a tall, peaked window, Nina could just see the gleam of the moat that surrounded the White Island, covered in a thin skin of frost. The moat itself was ringed by a circle of buildings—the embassy sector, the prison sector, and the drüskelle sector—all of them protected by the Ice Court’s supposedly impenetrable wall. It was said the capital had been built to symbolize the rings of Djel’s sacred ash, but Nina preferred to think of it the way Kaz had: the rings of a target.
The young women participating in Heartwood gathered with their parents in the back of the ballroom.
“They’re all staring at me,” said Hanne. “I’m too old for this.”
“No, you are not,” said Nina. It was true that most of the girls seemed to be a few years younger, and they were all shorter.
“I look like a giant.”
“You look like the warrior queen Jamelja come down from the ice. And all these little girls with their simpers and blond curls look like undercooked puddings.”
Ylva laughed. “That’s unkind, Mila.”
“You’re right,” said Nina, then added beneath her breath, “But it’s also accurate.”
“Hanne?” A pretty girl in pale pink wearing enormous diamonds approached them. “I don’t know if you remember me. I was at the convent two years ago.”
“Bryna! Of course I remember, but I thought … What are y
ou doing here?”
“Trying to catch a husband. I’ve been traveling with my family since I left the convent, so I’m a bit late to all of this.”
Ylva smiled. “Then you can be late together. We’ll leave you now, but we’ll be waiting for you after the processional.”
Nina gave Hanne a wink, and then she and Ylva went to join Brum, where he stood with a general and an older drüskelle named Redvin, who had trained with Brum in their youth. He was a spiteful, humorless stick of a man, and his constant demeanor of bitter resignation entertained Nina to no end. She delighted in being as ridiculous as possible around him.
“Isn’t it all glorious, Redvin?” she exclaimed breathlessly.
“If you say so.”
“Don’t they all look just splendid?”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
He looked like he wanted to hurl himself over a cliff rather than spend another minute with her. A girl had to take her pleasures where she could.
Brum handed Nina a glass of sickly sweet punch. If he was troubled by the Fjerdan defeats at Nezkii and Ulensk, he hid it well. It would have been nice to string up the fox on our first hunt, he had said when he returned from the front. But now we know what the Ravkan forces can do. They won’t be ready for us next time.
Nina had smiled and nodded and thought to herself, We’ll see.
“Is it hard to watch another woman swathed in silks and made the center of attention?” he asked, his voice low and uncomfortably intimate.
“Not when it’s Hanne.” That had come out with an edge on it, and she felt Brum stiffen beside her. Nina bit her tongue. Some days meekness was harder than others. “She is a good soul and deserves every indulgence. These luxuries are not meant for such as me.”
Brum relaxed. “You deal unfairly with yourself. You would look most fetching in ivory silk.”
Nina wished she could blush on command. She had to settle for a maidenly giggle and staring down at the toes of her shoes. “The fashions of the court are far more suited to Hanne’s figure.”
Nina expected Brum to wave away her talk of fashion, but instead the glint in his eye was calculating. “You are not wrong. Hanne has flourished under your tutelage. I never believed she could make much of a match, but you’ve changed all of that.”
Rule of Wolves Page 8
