“Of course I did. If one can, one ought to. You know the skylight in the western ballroom?”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t always there.”
“You put a hole in the ceiling?”
“A small one.”
“Those frescoes are hundreds of years old!” she cried.
“Sometimes one must break with tradition. Quite literally. Now would someone please distract Genya?”
Nadia sat up a bit straighter. “There are three challenges to a rocket. Launching it without blowing it up. Arming it without blowing it up. And aiming it without blowing it up.”
Nikolai nodded. “I detect a theme.”
“We seem to be able to manage two out of the three, but never all three at once,” said Leoni, her sunny smile bright against her brown skin. Somehow she still managed to make it seem like she was delivering good news.
If they could master the rockets, Nikolai knew it would change everything. Ravka and Fjerda were nearly evenly matched in the air. But Fjerda had what could be a decisive advantage on the ground. The rockets would allow Nikolai to keep Ravka’s troops well away from the front lines, and they’d have a real answer to the might of Fjerda’s tanks. It would become a game of range.
“Just how big can these rockets get?” asked Nikolai.
“Big enough to level an entire factory,” said David. “Or half a city block.”
The room was suddenly very quiet, the reality of what they were discussing settling around them, making the air feel thick with the consequences of what they would decide here. Give me a chance to show you what might be, Nikolai had told Zoya. He’d meant peace. He’d meant compromise. Not this.
“At what distance?” Nikolai asked.
“I don’t really know,” said David. “The issue is weight. Steel is too heavy. Aluminum may be too. They’re fine for testing, but if we’re serious about using these rockets, we need a lighter metal.”
“Like what?”
“Titanium is lighter but more durable,” said Leoni. “And it doesn’t degrade.”
“It’s also rarer,” said Nadia, tucking a loose strand of her blond hair back into a twist. “We don’t have much of a stockpile.”
“Are we seriously considering this?” Genya said softly.
“I’ll give you the rockets we’ve been working on,” said David. “But even if we can source more titanium, I won’t build them bigger.”
“May I ask why?” said Nikolai, though he thought he knew.
“I won’t make a city killer.”
“And if it’s the threat we need?”
“If we build one,” said David, “it won’t stop with us. It never does.”
David was one of the most talented Fabrikators and thinkers of his time, maybe of any time. But his gifts had always been turned to waging war. That was the nature of being Ravkan. It had been for hundreds of years.
And David was right. Only a short time ago, they’d all been fighting with sabers and muskets, then the repeating rifle had come along and made swords all but useless. What they were talking about would be a frightening escalation, and once Ravka mastered targeted rockets, Fjerda would as well.
“We have to decide what kind of war we want to wage,” David said.
“I’m not sure we get to make that choice,” Nikolai replied. “We can’t ignore what will happen if Fjerda masters this technology first. And even if they don’t, they’re going to be ready the next time we meet.”
David was silent for a long moment. “The things the Darkling asked me to do … I did them mindlessly, thoughtlessly. I helped put the collar around Alina’s neck. I created the lumiya that allowed him to enter the Fold without her power. Without my help, he never could have … I won’t be responsible for this too.”
Nikolai turned his attention to Genya. “And do you agree with this?”
“No,” said Genya, taking David’s hand. “But I was the Darkling’s weapon too. I know what that feels like, and this is David’s choice to make.”
“We don’t have enough titanium for a city killer,” said Leoni, eager to make peace. “Maybe it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters,” said Adrik. “There’s no point to fighting a war if you don’t intend to win it.”
“There’s more,” said Nikolai. “There are rumors the Fjerdan crown prince may not survive the winter.”
Genya shook her head. “I didn’t realize his condition was so severe.”
“No one did. I suspect his family has worked hard to keep it a secret, something with which I can certainly sympathize. It’s possible that our alliance with the Shu will give them pause—assuming we’re successful in forging it. But we need to accept that the prince may die and the Grimjers may have no choice but to wage war.”
Leoni rubbed her thumb over the chip in her saucer, using her power to slowly repair it. “I don’t understand. If Rasmus dies, his father will still rule. His younger brother will become heir.”
“Heir to nothing,” said Adrik. “Fjerdans don’t think of the royal family the way that the Shu do, or even the way Ravkans do. They follow the will of Djel, and strength is the way Djel shows favor. The Fjerdan dynasties that have reigned have always taken their place by force. The Grimjers will need to prove they still deserve the throne.”
“Perhaps I should try to take that crown instead,” suggested Nikolai.
Adrik sniffed. “Do you even speak Fjerdan?”
“I do. So badly a nice man named Knut once offered me a sizable ruby to stop.”
“So now the Grimjers have a young, weak, sickly prince poised to succeed an elderly king?” asked Nadia.
“Yes,” said Nikolai. “The royal family is vulnerable and they know it. If they opt for peace, they risk looking weak. If they opt for war, they will be determined to win at any cost, and Jarl Brum will be there to goad them on.”
“We have the Zemeni,” said Leoni, hopeful as always.
“And the Kerch won’t ally with Fjerda outright,” Genya added. “Not at the risk of their precious neutrality.”
“But they may be angry enough to secretly lend Fjerda aid,” said Adrik.
“What about the Apparat?” Genya asked, turning her cup in its saucer.
Nikolai shook his head. “The man has changed sides so many times, I wonder if even he knows where his loyalties lie.”
“He always goes to the side he believes will win,” said David. “It’s what he did in the civil war.”
“That explains why he’s in Fjerda,” Adrik said gloomily.
“Unfortunately,” Nikolai admitted, “Adrik is right. Fjerda has the advantage and if they march, it will mean an end to a free Ravka.” Demidov would take the throne. Grisha would be rounded up for trial. His people would be subjects of a puppet king committed to serving Fjerda’s interests. And his country? It would become a staging ground for the inevitable fight between Fjerda and Shu Han. “My desire to be beloved conflicts mightily with our need to win this war. I’ve become an accountant, tallying lives to be taken, lives to be spared.”
“The choices we’re making are awful ones,” said Genya.
“But we must make them just the same. I hope diplomacy may still win this fight. I hope we can offer Fjerda a peace that they will take. I hope we’ll never need to unleash the terrors we seek to build.”
“And what happens when we’re out of hope?” asked David.
“We end where we always end,” said Nikolai. “With war.”
13
NINA
THE ROYAL GUARDS ESCORTED Nina back to the Brums’ quarters. With every step, she wondered if an order would ring out down the corridors for her to be clapped in chains and thrown into a jail cell, then burned as a witch for good measure. Her whole body was slicked in cold sweat and her heart was pounding.
But no alarm came. Once Nina had understood the Grimjer queen’s longing, her fear for her son, she hadn’t hesitated to play on it. It was cruel, but if she could guide the queen’s faith in
Djel, that meant she might open the door for the Saints, possibly even Grisha. Nina’s life and her country’s future were at stake, and she would use whatever weapon she could fashion to win this fight.
All of the Brums were waiting in their grand parlor, a fire roaring in the hearth. A tray with a cold supper of cured meats and pickled vegetables had been laid out along with barley water and a bottle of brännvin, but it didn’t look as if anyone had done more than pick at it. Nina went straight to Hanne and practically fell into her arms.
For once she didn’t have to pretend weakness or worry. She had taken a huge leap with the queen, made another reckless move, but maybe, maybe it would pay off.
“What happened?” said Hanne. “What did she say?”
“Very little.” Nina tried to pull herself back together as Ylva settled her onto the sofa and poured her a glass of water. She had been too busy recovering from her audience with Queen Agathe to come up with a proper lie to tell. “I scarcely know what to think.”
At least that much was true.
“What did she ask you?” Brum queried. He was watching Nina very closely, and everything in his stance spoke caution. He had invited a near stranger into his home and today, both his daughter and this stranger had put his political career at risk.
“She’s concerned for her son,” said Nina. “I was never blessed with children, but I do understand. She is sending investigators to my old village to confirm that I am who I say.”
Hanne drew in a breath at this, her face turning ashen.
“And what will they find?” asked Brum.
“Jarl!” exclaimed Ylva. “How can you ask that?”
“It’s better that we know now so that we can better protect ourselves.”
Nina took Ylva’s hand. “Please,” she said, forcing admiration into her voice. “Do not quarrel. Of course your husband would want to protect his family. It is his duty and his honor to do so. I can’t tell you how often I wish my husband were still here to look after me.” She let her exhaustion pour into her voice, making it quiver. “Commander Brum, I can only assure you that the queen’s men will find no reason to doubt me or my sad history.”
Brum seemed to thaw a bit. “It is a dangerous time. For all of us.”
“But maybe that will change,” said Ylva. “Through their kindness and piety, Hanne and Mila earned Prince Rasmus’ true regard today. He wishes to see them again. That favor can only be a good thing.”
“I’m not so sure,” muttered Brum, pouring himself a tiny glass of brännvin. “The prince is capricious. His health has made him unpredictable and secretive.”
Hanne bristled at this. “He is in pain, Papa. Perhaps that’s why he isn’t always in good temper.”
“Perhaps.” Brum sat. He was choosing his words carefully. “He’s not fond of my advice. It’s possible he may take it out on you.”
“If that’s the case, there’s nothing we can do about it.” Hanne’s tone was matter-of-fact. “He is the crown prince. If he wishes to string me up by my toes, he may do it. If his mother the queen wishes to send Mila out into the snow barefoot, then she may do that too. But for now, all he has done is command us to join him for lunch, and I hardly see how we can refuse him.”
Ylva was smiling. “She’s right, you know. We’ve raised a very sensible daughter.”
Brum’s expression remained unyielding. “Just be on your guard, Hanne. And you too, Mila. The Ice Court is a sorry place for soft hearts.”
Niweh sesh, Nina thought as she and Hanne said their good nights.
I have no heart.
* * *
Two days later, Hanne put on one of her new gowns of sea-foam silk and Nina dressed in more modest rose wool. They’d been too deluged with invitations since Maidenswalk to do much more than try to keep up, but now Nina fastened a necklace of blue topaz around Hanne’s neck and said, “Your father was right.”
Hanne laughed. “Words I never expected to hear from your lips.”
“This is a dangerous time. You were healing the prince when we spoke to him the other day. You can’t keep doing that.”
“Why not? If I can offer some small comfort, I should.” She hesitated. “We can’t just abandon him. I know what it’s like not to measure up to what Fjerdans idealize. That’s a hurt that never goes away. And he has thousands of people staring at him, judging him. What if we could help him heal, help him become a better prince and someday a better king?”
Now, that was interesting. A tonic to Brum’s warmongering, someone who might guide Fjerda in the direction of peace. All of Nina’s instincts told her this could be worth the risk, a perfect complement to her gamble with the Grimjer queen. It just felt different when Hanne was taking the risk too.
“If he were to find out what you are—”
Hanne picked up her wrap. “How would he find out? I am the daughter of Fjerda’s most notorious witchhunter. I attended the Gäfvalle convent under the watchful eye of the Wellmother—”
“May she rest in misery.”
“As Djel commands it,” Hanne said with theatrical primness. “I healed the crown prince before the entire royal court and no one has discovered what I am. Besides, isn’t this what you wanted? A chance to get close to people who might know something about Vadik Demidov?”
“Not this close. A nice count. Maybe a duke. Not a prince.”
Hanne grinned. “Why settle?”
Her eyes were sparkling, her cheeks were flushed. She looked happier than Nina had seen her in weeks.
All Saints, it’s because she’s helping someone. Grisha always looked and felt healthier when they used their power. But this was something more.
“You are too good, Hanne. You get the chance to help some spoiled royal whelp and you light up like you’ve just seen a three-foot-tall stack of waffles.”
“I’ve never actually had a waffle.”
Nina clutched at her heart. “Yet another thing this cursed country has to account for.” She paused, then fluffed a bit of pale green lace that had gotten caught on Hanne’s neckline. “Just … be careful. And don’t get carried away.”
“I won’t,” said Hanne, rising in a cloud of rustling silk. She glanced over her shoulder. “Anyway, that’s your job.”
* * *
This time, they were brought to a larger, circular receiving room, ringed by columns, a fountain at its center—three stone sylphs holding a pitcher aloft in their slender arms. There was some kind of party or salon going on, and murmured conversation filled the echoing space.
“What exactly do we do here?” whispered Hanne.
“I think we find something to drink and try to look like we belong?”
“Have I mentioned that I loathe parties?”
Nina looped her arm through Hanne’s. “Have I mentioned that I love them?”
They made their way through the crush of people toward a table covered in glasses of something pink and sparkling. Could it possibly be—
“The look on your face,” Hanne said with a laugh. “It’s lemonade, not champagne.”
Nina tried to hide her disappointment. She should know better by now. If Fjerda could have made fun a punishable offense, they would have. Then she spotted a pale blue sash and a muddy-blond head moving through the crowd.
She didn’t let her gaze linger, but that was most definitely Vadik Demidov, surrounded by a cluster of noblemen—and trailed by the Apparat.
“Let’s try to get closer,” she whispered.
Before they could even take a step in Demidov’s direction, Joran had swooped down upon them. He looked like a rotten tooth in his black uniform, completely out of place in this confectionery of pastel silk and chiffon. “Prince Rasmus commands your presence.”
“Of course,” said Hanne. There was no other reply to a prince. They were led to an alcove nearly hidden from the room by silvery potted trees and thick cream curtains. It was the perfect place to spy without concern for being spied upon.
Prince Rasmus sat on a
cushioned chair that was something between a throne and a settee. He was not reclining in comfort as he had been last time, and the effort of remaining upright and hiding his fatigue was costing him. He looked pale, and Nina could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. This was what Brum had meant. The royal family knew the prince had to appear in public—particularly after the disaster at Maidenswalk—but they had tried to place him away from the bustle so that he wouldn’t be overtaxed.
Nina and Hanne curtsied.
“Go on,” the prince said with a disinterested wave of his hand. He was far more out of sorts than he’d seemed the other day.
They entered and sat themselves on low tuffets.
“You both need to work on your curtsies,” he observed with displeasure.
But Hanne only smiled. “I fear mine will get no better with practice. I’ve never been known for my grace.”
That wasn’t true at all. Hanne was graceful running or on horseback. The artifice of court didn’t suit her. And as for Nina, she could manage an exquisite curtsy, but Mila Jandersdat, widow of a man who traded frozen fish, certainly could not.
Rasmus’ eyes roved over Nina now. “Your mistress wears silk but dresses her maid in wool. That speaks of a petty and jealous disposition.”
He really was in a foul temper. Nina saw Hanne’s fingers flex slightly and gave her a warning glance—not too much, not too soon.
“Wool suits me very well,” said Nina. “I wouldn’t know what to do in silks or satin.” A profound lie. She could think of nothing better than sliding about naked on satin sheets. Matthias would have been scandalized. And what would Hanne think? The thought popped into her head unbidden, followed by a wave of guilt.
“I find most women learn to love luxury quickly enough,” the prince said. “I see no jewels at Mila’s neck nor on her ears. Your father should remedy that, Hanne. He doesn’t want to look like a miser.”
Hanne inclined her head, then looked up at the prince from beneath her lashes. “I should tell you that I’ll pass along your advice, but I have no intention of doing so.”
Rasmus huffed a breath. “You are brash to admit you would deny a prince.” Hanne’s fingers shifted again, and the prince gave a deep sigh of what might have been relief. “All the same, I can’t blame you. Your father can be quite terrifying.” He glanced at Joran, who stood at attention beside him. “Of course, Joran isn’t afraid, is he? Answer, Joran.”
Rule of Wolves Page 16
