“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.