Girls at the Edge of the World

by Laura Brooke Robson

  My heart presses at my ribs. The sound of her name wakes it in my chest, like a tree held in shade that’s just remembered the taste of sun.

  “Right,” I say softly. “Princess Cassia. Everyone knows that.” My throat hurts.

  “Anyway,” Sofie says, “four or five years back, their parents died, and Nikolai didn’t know how to rule a country. Gospodin had helped the old king plenty, so he stepped in, and he’s been helping ever since. Apparently, Cassia was a total nightmare to Gospodin. Screaming, throwing things, you know. Obviously, I never saw any of that, but Natasha told me about it. I don’t know if she saw, or if Nikolai told her.”

  For a moment, the idea stuns me. But then I consider that this information came straight from Nikolai.

  There’s a reason I can’t picture Cassia, my Cassia, throwing a temper tantrum: Because she never would’ve done it.

  “Okay,” I say, “so what happened?”

  “She tried to convince Nikolai to help her oust Gospodin, but Nikolai wouldn’t budge. He knew how much Gospodin meant to Kostrov. So he exiled his own sister. She’s living in Cordova or something now.”

  My breath catches.

  Living in Cordova?

  They don’t know. Even within the palace, people don’t know that Cassia’s dead. Maret warned me this might happen—that Nikolai might’ve kept Cassia’s assassination a secret. But there’s something uniquely tragic about hearing Sofie say it out loud. My world shattered the day Cassia died; shouldn’t the palace have at least trembled?

  “Did . . .” I’m scared to ask it; I’m scared not to. “Did Natasha know Cassia, then?”

  “I guess she must’ve.” Sofie smiles. “I was actually made a flyer about a week before she got exiled. I never met her, but I ran into her and this brigade of advisors in the hallway. The guards got mad at me for being so lost.”

  I think if I open my mouth, my heart will leap out of it.

  “She didn’t notice me or anything,” Sofie says, “but seas, she’s gorgeous.”

  All I can do is nod.

  Across the pool, Nikolai looks up at us. He tilts his head, curious. Then he smiles at me.

  This is why I’m here.

  I smile back.

  19

  NATASHA

  The king of Kostrov is sitting next to me. Our legs are touching.

  He sat beside me and put his feet in the water, opening his knees wide so that one brushed my thigh. I had a choice: Stay and be brushed or shift out of the way and risk offending him.

  I stayed. Of course I stayed. He’s the king of Kostrov.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d join us,” Gregor says.

  “Nor was I,” Nikolai responds. He reaches to touch the water with his hand, then pulls back. He slides three gold rings off his long fingers. Sets them on the towel beside him.

  “To what do we owe the pleasure?” I say. “Surely you have someone better to spend time with than Gregor.”

  “Oh, I’d never willingly spend time with Gregor,” Nikolai says. “But I heard you were going to be here, so I thought I’d make an exception.”

  “If you weren’t my king,” Gregor says, “I would be very offended.”

  Nikolai laughs. His eyes land on mine again. They’re more gray than blue, like a rocky seafloor through ten feet of ocean. He wears a golden crown and a golden necklace—the Sacred Breath sails, about the size and position of his heart. His lids are heavy, sleepy, almost, like he’s been afforded such security throughout his life that he’s lost the ability to keep watch of his surroundings.

  I’m surprised by how casual he is beside me. When I was young and new to the palace, I often dreamed we would be friends: me and the royal siblings, clever Cassia and quiet Nikolai. But Cassia was exiled years ago and Nikolai has always been an elusive king.

  To Gregor, Nikolai says, “Actually, I’m only here tonight because Gospodin is in Grunholt. Some meeting of Righteous Mariners. And so the ox is freed from his yoke.”

  I laugh. Nikolai looks at me strangely, and I shut my mouth, realizing too late that it wasn’t a joke. I didn’t realize a royal could work hard enough to consider himself an ox.

  I scramble for something to say, and the first thing I land on is: “Your speech at the festival was lovely.”

  “Lovely?” he says.

  My mouth feels dry. “Very articulate.”

  He laughs lightly but his shoulders relax, and only then do I relax too. “Gospodin’s ridiculous plan.”

  I’m thinking of Adelaida’s voice. I want you to marry Nikolai.

  I press my hands against my thighs. “Was Princess Colette mad?”

  Nikolai shrugs. “I only met her twice,” he says. “She seemed to be under the impression Illasetish wine was better than Kostrovian gin.”

  Gregor puts a hand to his chest. “Profanity!”

  Dryly, Nikolai says, “I do imagine it would’ve made for a difficult marriage.”

  “Well,” I say, “I’m sure the announcement thrilled plenty of other Kostrovian girls.”

  He raises his dark eyebrows.

  My cheeks warm. I feel suddenly embarrassed, childish, as though I’ve thrown myself at Nikolai without meaning to. As though I’ve implied I am one of the many Kostrovian girls.

  “I saw one girl faint dead away,” Gregor says. “Your admirers are many, Your Royal Highness.”

  Nikolai laughs again in that light, single-syllable way. “Yes, well. I’m sure Gospodin will have a long line of beautiful, sea-fearing idiots for me.”

  My body jolts. I hope Nikolai didn’t feel it. It’s just—his anger. He’s never even met these girls. Maybe he’s just struggling under the pressure. I can understand that. I wouldn’t like to have my whole life orchestrated by councilors either.

  “You think Gospodin will choose someone for you, then?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light, trying to ask like I have no personal stake in the answer.

  “Let’s talk about something else,” Nikolai says, turning his gaze away from me.

  And just like that, Gregor is asking about the new shipment of Roenese liqueurs the Keeper of the Purse—one of the wealthiest officials in Kostrov, in charge of government finances—had imported, and if Nikolai had the chance to try any of them.

  Nikolai only stays another few minutes. Another guard arrives to tell him he’s needed in a meeting. What kind of meeting might happen so far past sundown, I don’t know. Maybe one of the stodgier councilors heard Nikolai was fraternizing and decided to put a stop to it.

  Either way, Nikolai stands, scooping up his rings, and Gregor stands with him.

  “Have a good evening, Miss Koskinen,” Nikolai says.

  “Oh.” I blink. His crown catches the candlelight. “Natasha. Please.”

  “Then you should call me Nikolai.”

  Heat spreads through my stomach. “Okay. Many breaths, Nikolai.”

  They’re halfway to the door when I realize one of Nikolai’s rings is still sitting on the towel next to me. It’s small—a golden band with tiny black stones. “Wait,” I say. “You forgot this.”

  He glances back over his shoulder. Half of his mouth slides up in a lazy smile.

  I feel everyone’s eyes on me. Us.

  “Keep it,” Nikolai says.

  Then they’re gone.

  I close my fist around the ring.

  The pool has gone silent.

  One of the guards, Zakarias, whistles. “Tasha wants to be queen,” he singsongs.

  “You’d want to be queen too, if you stood a chance,” Ness, arm hooked around Twain’s waist, shoots back.

  “Oh, come off it,” one of the other guards, Sebastian, says. “We all know he’ll end up married to some Heather Hill girl Gospodin picks out.”

  Even though I said almost as much to Adelaida, it hurts to hear it from so
meone else. Even if that someone else is a nineteen-year-old guard with wine staining the front of his shirt. “Are you kidding?” I say. “Gospodin and I are famous friends.”

  Titters. When you’ve been in the palace as long as I have, your whole history becomes common knowledge. Like the fact that your mother, in her last year as a flyer, called Captain’s Log an illustrious paperweight. Like the fact that you haven’t exactly gone to enough Sacred Breath services to make amends.

  “Oh, go back to drinking your pilfered liquor,” Sofie says. Across the water, she shoots me a sympathetic smile.

  Next to her, Ella’s face is frozen. Her lips are a line.

  I frown. She doesn’t even seem to see me.

  Slowly, people do as Sofie says and start talking again.

  I look down at the ring in my palm. The fine metalwork. The shine of the stones. I don’t care what the guards think. I don’t care that Katla thinks it’s impossible.

  I’m going to do this.

  I’m going to be queen.

  20

  ELLA

  “Gregor, Zakarias, Mattias, Twain,” Sofie tells me over breakfast, pointing around the kitchen at the guards. “Those are the good ones. If you ever need anything, ask one of them.”

  Gretta sits down across from us with a bowl of porridge. “What are we talking about?”

  “I’m teaching Ella who to look out for.”

  Gretta rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to look out for anyone. Kostrovian guards are the best in the world.”

  “The best at what?” I say. “Cornhole? I play a mean game of cornhole.”

  Ness sits next. “Ooh, are we playing lawn games? I love lawn games.”

  “Of course you do,” Gretta says, not unkindly.

  I glance back at the stove. Katla’s and Natasha’s heads are bent by the porridge pot. I can’t see Natasha’s face; Katla looks serious.

  “What’s up with them?” I ask.

  Sofie hesitates. “Natasha mentioned she wanted to talk to all of us about something this morning.”

  We don’t have to wait much longer to find out what. When Natasha and Katla sit, neither of them have bowls. I guess whatever they want to tell us was too important to remember porridge.

  Natasha puts her palms on the table and leans in. Lets out a breath. Quietly, she says, “I have news. Adelaida doesn’t want me to tell you, but”—she glances at Sofie—“I found out we’re not going on the royal fleet.”

  Silence.

  Then Ness says, “I don’t understand.”

  If I’d had any plans of surviving to the Flood, I imagine this news would be quite distressing. I try to look troubled.

  “I guess they’re being really careful about the rosters for the ships,” Natasha says. “They’re only letting important, powerful people on.”

  “But we’re the flyers!” Ness says. “We are important!”

  Natasha lifts her hands. “Look, Adelaida didn’t want me to tell you because she didn’t want you all to worry. We’re working on a plan.”

  “What plan?” Sofie says, her eyebrows wrinkling.

  A pause.

  That’s when I notice the thin chain around Natasha’s neck. At the end of it, half-hidden behind her hair—a golden ring, hanging like a pendant.

  Oh. So that’s how it is.

  I fold my arms over my chest and lean back.

  “Adelaida thinks I have a shot at being queen,” Natasha says.

  Ness lets out a happy breath and clasps her hands together.

  Gretta looks skeptical. “Even if he did pick you, you think you’d be able to bring a bunch of guests?”

  “Yes,” Natasha says curtly. “Besides, why do you care? You’re on the fleet either way.”

  “Well, I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Ness says. “Just like a fairy tale.”

  “Yeah,” I say, not disguising my bitterness well enough. “Doesn’t every little girl dream of falling in love with royalty?”

  Natasha looks up. She frowns, like she can’t quite make sense of me.

  I wish Cassia were here with me. If she were, she’d roll her eyes at the way Ness is giggling, the way Natasha says, “When I’m queen, we’ll all be safe. Nikolai will keep all of us safe.”

  It’s sad. That Natasha thinks Nikolai can do anything for her. That she thinks he is capable of care. That she thinks he is her best chance of surviving the Flood.

  I almost feel bad. But when I see the way she tugs on her necklace—slides the ring back and forth across it—my heart hardens. She wants to trust Nikolai? Fine. She’ll see how far that gets her.

  Cassia trusted Nikolai, once. By now, everyone should know better.

  21

  NATASHA

  Adelaida’s furious at me for telling the other flyers that we won’t be on the fleet. She pulls me into the hallway while the girls are working on their elements.

  “You’re not usually this much of a fool,” she says.

  “I’m not a fool,” I say. “Look, they didn’t run for the hills, did they? I wasn’t about to lie to them until the Flood hit.”

  She pauses. Narrows her eyes. “Why didn’t they?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Run,” she says. “I know Katla. I was sure she’d be livid.”

  “I calmed her down.”

  Adelaida runs a hand down her round chin, thinking. “They all seemed a little too chipper this morning, given the circumstances, didn’t they?”

  “Why shouldn’t they be chipper?” I cross my arms. “I told them I’d be queen and get them spots on the fleet. I’ve never let them down before.”

  Adelaida’s eyebrows meet above her nose. “You told them that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  I’m suddenly uneasy. Why does Adelaida sound conspiratorial?

  “If I’m queen,” I say slowly, “I will be allowed to bring them all, won’t I?”

  Adelaida gives me a hard look. “The rosters are finalized. It’s not exactly an empty sign-up sheet. And there’s a waiting list, assuming the ships from Grunholt ever get here, and that’s finalized too.”

  I shake my head. “You know what? I don’t want to hear it. If I’m queen, I’ll make them make space for the flyers. I don’t care what it takes.”

  “It’s not about making space for a few more people,” Adelaida says. “It’s about making space for all the food they need.”

  “Do you believe in me or not?” I say.

  Adelaida lifts her hands in mock defeat. “No. You’re right. Get the crown, and the rest will follow.”

  I can’t tell if she means it. I have to believe she does.

  I turn to go back into the studio, but she grabs my wrist.

  “No jewelry during practice,” she says. “You know that.” Her eyes are fixed on the ring around my neck. “Where did you get that?”

  I lift the necklace. It catches a flash of light. And I smile at her.

  “Well,” she says. “That’s a step.”

  * * *

  ~~~

  The week goes by fast. Getting Ella up to speed eats up most of my own practice time, which I’m fine with, given how much my wrist still hurts when I put weight on it. I don’t see Nikolai again.

  On Friday night, I tell Adelaida I’ll be joining the other flyers—except for Katla, who never goes—at the Sacred Breath service the next morning. I’m terrible about attending, but I know I’ll need to get better at it if I want Gospodin and the other councilors to take me seriously. On Saturday morning, though, I’m so exhausted that I don’t hear the other girls heading out the door. When I finally wake up, hair sticking to my saliva-crusty face, I’m beyond late.

  I pull on a dress and boots in a hurry. Charge out the door without brushing my hair. It’s freezing. There’s an old expression in Kos
trov—a liar sun—and that’s what the weather is today. Clear and achingly cold.

  I forgot a jacket.

  When I get to Our Lady of Tidal Sorrows, people are already streaming out. So I’m cold and disheveled for no reason.

  I sigh.

  I’m about to give up and head straight back to bed when I notice that the crowd is transfixed by the notice board in the window.

  A large sign has been posted there. I can’t make out what it says from here, but I don’t have to. All those who can’t read have shuffled out of the way to make room for those who can, and those who can are reciting it loudly.

  “Three weeks’ time,” a nasal woman says. “The royal ball will be three weeks from today, and any girl in Kostrov can go.”

  Two boys with patches on their coats scuffle for a better view. “No fair,” one of the boys says. “I want to go.”

  “It’s just like the Whale King fable,” the other one says.

  “‘Behind seven mountains, beyond seven seas—’”

  The nasal woman shoos them. “Don’t go speaking Tamm’s nonsense in front of Our Lady.” She catches me staring and her face transforms into a crooked smile. “Is that my favorite flyer? Will you be performing at the ball?”

  I say that I don’t yet know and give her a polite smile, setting off again before anyone can ask me more questions. I pull my arms around my torso and wish for a new cloak. The wind is crinkly cold. On the way back to the palace, I pass a single thin-armed maple tree, a valiant burst of nature amid the city, its leaves just beginning to blush.

  In my head, as I walk, I see how much of the story I know by heart; as it turns out, I know all of it.

  Behind seven mountains and beyond seven seas, there was a whale king who needed a queen . . .

  22

  ELLA

  “But Ella isn’t ready for a performance,” Natasha says.

  “She’ll be fine,” Sofie says.

  “She’ll be a mess,” Madam Adelaida says, “but we have no choice.”