But that wasn’t entirely true. Not anymore. Rasmus would never be tall among Fjerdans, but now that he stood straight, he could look Hanne directly in the eye. He’d lost the grim pallor that had made him resemble a corpse left out in the cold, and he was sturdy if not strong.

“There is more to life than war,” offered Nina.

“Not in the Grimjer line. The Fjerdan throne belongs to those strong enough to seize it and keep it. And there’s no denying the Grisha are a menace and always will be until their kind are eradicated.”

“And what of the people who think the Grisha are Saints?” Joran asked, his face troubled. Nina was surprised. The bodyguard rarely joined their conversations.

Prince Rasmus waved his hand. “A passing fad. A few radicals.”

We’ll see about that. There was poison at the heart of Fjerda. Nina was going to change its chemistry.

She spotted Queen Agathe holding court at the far side of the tent. There was no way Nina would be allowed close enough to speak to her, but she didn’t think she would have to be the one to make the approach.

She caught Hanne’s eye, and Hanne said, “Mila, will you fetch us some ribbons to braid and some ash? We will make you a token to wear on the hunt, Prince Rasmus. A Grimjer wolf for one who is made for war, but chooses not to wage it.”

“What an odd sentimental thing you are,” Rasmus said, but he made no protest.

Nina rose and crossed slowly to the table of ribbons and ash boughs, making sure Agathe saw her.

“I wish to make a token,” she heard the queen say, then, “No, I’ll select the materials myself.”

A moment later Queen Agathe was beside her.

“My son grows stronger every day,” she whispered.

“Such is the will of Djel,” said Nina. “For now.”

The queen’s hand stilled over a spool of red ribbon. “For now?”

“The Wellspring does not like this talk of war.”

“What do you mean? Djel is a warrior. Like the water, he conquers all in his path.”

“Have you said your prayers?”

“Every day!” the queen cried, her voice rising dangerously. She caught herself. “Every night,” she whispered. “I have worn my dresses bare, kneeling on the floor of the chapel.”

“You pray to Djel,” Nina said.

“Of course.”

Nina took a leap, a leap that might end with her body broken from the fall. Or her vision might take flight. “But what of his children?” she murmured, and, arms full of ribbons and ash, she hurried back to Hanne and the prince.

A horn sounded: the call to the hunt. Rasmus rose, pulling on his gloves. “You’ll have no time to make me a token,” he said. “The riders are ready.”

“Then we can only wish you good fortune,” said Nina as she and Hanne both curtsied.