They took the long way to the glass bridge so that Nina could pass through the gardens, skirting the colonnade where Djel’s sacred ash had once stood, now replaced by a stone copy, its white branches spread over the courtyard in a wide canopy. They would never bloom.

“Enke Jandersdat,” the gardener said when he caught sight of her. “I have that distillation of roses you asked for.”

“How kind you are!” Nina exclaimed, taking the tiny bottle from him, along with a second, smaller vial tucked behind it. She slid both into her pocket.

The gardener smiled and returned to trimming the hedges, a tattoo of a thorn-wood tree barely visible on his left wrist, a secret emblem of Sankt Feliks.

A groom was waiting outside the ringwall with two horses. Nina and Hanne were both uncomfortable riding sidesaddle, but Hanne was too good an athlete to be thwarted. Besides, they weren’t really meant to ride, just journey out to the royal camp to join Prince Rasmus and Joran in the tents erected for the hunt.

The main tent was as big as a cathedral, draped with silks and heated by coals placed in silver braziers hung from tripods. Food and drink had been laid out on long tables at one side, and on the other, noblemen chatted in comfortable chairs heaped with skins and blankets.

The prince was dressed to ride in breeches and boots, his blue velvet coat lined with fur.

“You’ll join the hunt today, Your Majesty?” Hanne asked as they sat on low benches near the smoldering coals.

“I will,” said Rasmus eagerly. “I’m not much of a shot, but I’ll manage. This is the only event of Heartwood that everyone enjoys.”

“I doubt the stag is fond of it,” said Hanne.

“You don’t like seeing your men go off to slay wild beasts?”

“Not for sport.”

“We must take our enjoyment while we can. Soon we’ll be at war, and we’ll have nothing for entertainment but the killing of Ravkans.”

Hanne met Nina’s glance and asked, “Aren’t we still in talks with Ravka?”

“Your father isn’t much for talking. If he had his way, I think we’d be at war forever.”

“Surely not forever,” said Nina.

“What good is a military commander without a war to fight?”

Rasmus was no fool.

“But it’s not up to Jarl Brum to choose for Fjerda,” Nina said. “That is the role of the king. That choice is for you.”

Rasmus was quiet as he looked at the horses gathering beyond the entry of the tent.

“What would you choose?” Hanne asked softly.

The prince’s smile was more like a grimace. “Men like me aren’t suited to war.”