NINA HAD NEVER SAT THROUGH such a long, strange dinner. One of the prettier rooms off the chapel had been set with a private meal for Brum, his daughter, and her new language teacher. The food was a marked improvement on the simple fare of the convent: seared perch served with mussels, cabbage shoots and cream, smoked eel, pickled mushrooms, and braised leeks. Nina tucked two tiny quail eggs into her skirts in case Trassel had a taste for the finer things, and found herself wondering if they might finish with sugared almond cookies. One could plot violent espionage and still hope for dessert.
Brum had questioned Adrik and Leoni that afternoon, and apparently their answers had satisfied him. Nina had expected Adrik to refuse to continue on with their plan now that they were facing the drüskelle commander’s scrutiny, but he’d surprised her.
“I always figured I’d die young,” Adrik said, gloomy as ever. “Why not do it shoving my boot up that murderer’s ass?”
Tonight, she was Nina Zenik, seated across from her greatest enemy— Matthias’ former mentor and the architect of some of the worst crimes against her people. But she was also Mila Jandersdat, a poor girl dining with those high above her station, all while watching her friend suffer.
And Hanne was her friend. She thought of Hanne sneaking away from the convent to deliver an unwanted child. She thought of her crouched over the neck of her horse, racing through the fields, of her standing in the classroom, hands raised in fighting stance, cheeks flushed. A warrior born. She had a wild, generous streak that could bloom into something magical if it was only allowed to flourish. That might happen in Ravka. It was definitely not going to happen at this table.
Brum subjected Hanne to endless questions about her comportment classes and her plans for the next year.
“Your mother and I miss you, Hanne. You’ve been gone too long from Djerholm.”
“I miss you too, Papa.”
“If you would only set aside these unseemly pursuits and apply yourself, I know you would be welcome back at court. Just think of how good it would be to all be together again.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“I don’t like the idea of you remaining out here, especially with the foreign influences encroaching in these small towns. The Wellmother tells me a novitiate was caught with an icon of some heathen Saint tucked beneath her pillow. You belong at the Ice Court.”
“Yes, Papa.”
Hanne’s attempts to discuss her studies were dismissed with the wave of a hand. “You’ve always been smart, Hanne. But that will not garner you a powerful husband.”
“Would he not wish for a wife with whom he can discuss politics and matters of state?”
Brum sighed. “A man who spends all day handling the country’s business does not want to converse about such things with his wife. He wishes to be soothed, entertained, reminded of the gentler things in this world, the things we fight so hard to protect.”
Nina stifled a gag. She wasn’t sure she was going to be able to keep her excellent dinner down.
As the argument between Hanne and her father became heated, she discreetly excused herself. Brum was staying at the factory, and they would hold their attack until he left in the morning.
Nina used the washroom, then checked the pockets of the coat Brum had left neatly folded on the chair in the sitting room. She found a letter full of talk of “the little Lantsov” and someone named Vadik Demidov. She did her best to commit the rest of the information to memory, but she couldn’t afford to be gone from the table long.
Nina snuffed the candle and slipped out of the sitting room. Jarl Brum was standing in the dimly lit hall.
“Oh!” she cried, letting her hand flutter to the neckline of her dress. “You startled me.”
“Did you get lost on your way back from the washroom?”
“No, sir,” she said, adding a hint of breathlessness to her voice. “I saw the candles were burning low and stopped to extinguish them.”
“Is that not servants’ work, Enke Jandersdat?” “Please, call me Mila.”
Brum peered down at her in the gloom. “That would not be entirely proper.”
How the Fjerdans loved their propriety, but she had started to wonder if they loved to make their rules simply for the thrill of breaking them.
“Forgive me,” she said, dropping into an unnecessarily deep curtsy. “I meant no offense. I’m afraid my country manners have displeased you.”
Brum placed his finger beneath her chin, but he was gentle this time as he bid her stand and tilted her face upward. “Not at all. I find them refreshing. You’ll learn to navigate the company of your betters in time.”
Nina lowered her eyes. “If I am lucky enough to have cause to.”
Brum studied her. “I leave tomorrow morning, but I often pass back through Gäfvalle to make sure the munitions factory is running smoothly.” And to oversee your experiments, Nina thought with a flash of rage. “I look forward to seeing how Hanne’s lessons progress.”
“I do not have a permanent position here,” Nina said, wringing her hands. “I’m not sure how long the Wellmother will tolerate my presence.”
Brum placed his hand over hers, and she stilled. “Such a nervous little thing. The Wellmother will always have a place for you if I say so.”
Nina looked up at him with every bit of awe she could muster. She clasped his hand tightly. “Thank you, sir,” she said fervently. “Thank you.”
They rejoined Hanne in the dining room to say their goodbyes.
As soon as her father was gone, Hanne sagged against the wall in relief. “Thank Djel that’s over. Did you get what you needed?”
Nina held up the blob of warm candle wax she’d pressed against Brum’s signet ring to form a perfect impression of his seal. “I did. The rest is up to you.”
Adrik had been right about the problem of entering the factory. Even with Brum’s seal on a military order, there was no way the guards at the eastern entrance would ever release the women and girls without a convincing Fjerdan soldier in charge.
Hanne did not get out of bed the next morning, claiming that the rich
food of the previous night’s dinner hadn’t agreed with her.
The Wellmother had little patience for it. “Our duties do not include seeing to a pampered girl with a fragile stomach.”
“Of course, Wellmother,” Hanne agreed. “Enke Jandersdat can look after me.” Then she’d bent over the side of the bed and vomited.
The Wellmother pressed her sleeve to her nose to ward against the smell. “Fine. Let her empty your sick bucket and clean up your mess.”
“Perhaps Leoni’s emetic worked a little too well,” Nina said as soon as they were alone together, the door firmly closed.
Hanne moaned and flopped back on her pillows, looking distinctly green. Nina sat down on the bed and held a fizzing glass vial to Hanne’s lips. “Here, this will help. Leoni is just as good at tonics as emetics.”
“I hope so,” said Hanne.
Nina cleaned up the sickroom while Hanne rested, then made her eat some plain bread and an egg. “You’ll need your strength.”
Hanne propped herself up in bed, shoving a pillow behind her back. She’d left her hair unbraided in a rosy brown tumble around her shoulders, and Nina had the urge to twine one of the thick curls around her finger.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” said Hanne. “I’ve never tried to tailor anything before.”
Nina parted the curtains to let in as much sunlight as possible. Hanne’s room was on the second story, so they didn’t have to worry about prying eyes. “It’s just another way to manipulate the body.”
“You’ve seen it done?”
“Just once,” lied Nina. Her entire face and body had been tailored to be totally unrecognizable. She’d even tried her hand at it a few times.
“What if I can’t put it back once I’ve done it?”
“Then we’ll find someone who can,” she promised. Even if I have to drag you to Ravka to manage it. “But I really don’t think it will be a problem. You’re only going to make very small changes.” Nina sat down in front of Hanne and held up a mirror she’d polished to perfection.
Hanne gazed at herself in the glass. “Where do I start?”
“Let’s try the jaw. We’ll mess with the nose once you get the hang of it. I don’t want you accidentally sealing off a breathing passage.” Hanne’s eyes widened. “I’m kidding!” said Nina. Mostly.
Hanne steadied her breathing and pressed her fingers gently to the left side of her own jaw.
“Focus on the cells of the skin,” said Nina. “Think of the direction you want them to move.”
“This is terrifying,” whispered Hanne as the line of her jaw slowly began to shift.
“More terrifying than the Wellmother when she catches someone having a good time?”
A scrap of a smile curled Hanne’s lips, and she seemed to relax a bit. “Not even close.”
The work took hours as Hanne strengthened her jawline, giving it a squarer shape, then added weight to her brow, and finally broadened her nose. Nina sat curled beside Hanne in the narrow bed, watching her progress in the mirror, offering suggestions and encouragement. Periodically, she would leave the room to retrieve cups of broth and pretend to empty basins, maintaining the illusion that Hanne was still ill.
At last it was time for the final touch.
“Are you sure?” Nina said, holding the thick, ruddy tresses of Hanne’s hair. They were shot through with gold and felt cool and silken in her hands, like fast-running water. “We could just tuck it under your cap.”
“I’m not going to jeopardize this whole plan for the sake of my vanity.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Do it.”
It felt like a crime to cut such magnificent hair, but Nina took up the shears and sliced through the thick strands. She finished the job with the razor, cropping Hanne’s hair close to the skull in the way of the Fjerdan military. Only drüskelle kept their hair long. When Hanne had tailored her face back to its original state, she could claim that shaving her hair had been a penance to Djel.
Nina tidied up the hair, gathering it all in a basin, and then tossed it into the garbage, making sure it was well buried. When she returned, she found Hanne sitting on her bed, staring into the mirror, tears in her eyes.
“Don’t cry,” Nina said, shutting the door behind her and rushing to Hanne’s side. “It will grow back. I promise.”
“It’s not that,” Hanne said, gazing at her face. A boy was looking back at her. The jaw, the brow, the nose, a roughening of the skin of her cheeks to make it look as if she’d shaved. They were small changes, but the effect was startling. “If I had just been a boy. If I had been the son my father wanted …”
Nina gripped Hanne’s shoulders. “You are perfect, Hanne. That your father can’t value your strength speaks only to his weakness.”
Hanne looked back at the mirror, blinking her tears away. “The lips are still too full.”
“Leave the lips,” said Nina sharply, then rose to hide her blush. “They’re just right.”
