Leyti gave a nod of confirmation. “I thank you for the use of your airship, Tamar Kir-Bataar.”

“It is Ravka’s honor,” Tamar said with a bow.

Makhi tried to straighten her gown. “There’s been a misunderstanding.”

“I understand quite well,” said Queen Leyti. “I assert my right as Taban queen and rescind my blessing. The crown is yours no longer.”

30

NINA

GELIDBEL WAS THE CROWNING EVENT of Heartwood, the last formal ball before proposals were issued.

Brum had been as good as his word and had secured new fabrics for Mila Jandersdat’s gowns. Most had been modest and understated. But the ball gown Nina wore tonight was all sparkling silver; dagger-shaped beads like icicles shifted with her every move. Her figure wasn’t suited to the long, high-waisted styles popular in Fjerda, but the dress was beautiful.

I’d rather be in a kefta, Nina thought as she looked in the mirror. Her country was on the brink of war and she was stuffed into a ball gown and velvet slippers.

“You look like a winter morning,” said Hanne, who came to stand beside her.

“And you look like dragon’s gold.”

Hanne’s gown bordered on the scandalous, sheer panels of amber silk alternating with tiny beads that glistened like droplets of molten gold. It was impossible to tell what was fabric and what was skin. Ylva’s dressmakers had outdone themselves.

But Hanne kept her eyes on Nina, avoiding her own reflection. “I’ll take your word for it.” She smoothed the folds of her gown, then curled her fingertips, as if the feeling of the silk over her skin displeased her.

“Hanne, what’s wrong? You look like magic.”

“It isn’t … that isn’t me.” Hanne closed her eyes and shook her head. “Do you know the one thing I miss about the convent?”

“The Wellmother’s warm and loving disposition?”

A smile quirked Hanne’s lips, and Nina felt a rush of relief. She could feel the pain radiating from her and she didn’t understand why.

“No mirrors,” Hanne said. “We weren’t meant to be vain or care about our appearance. But this house? I feel like there’s a mirror on every wall.”

“Hanne—”

“Don’t say I look beautiful. Please.”

“Okay, but don’t cry,” Nina said helplessly. She brushed a tear from Hanne’s cheek with her thumb. “You’ll be blotchy for the party.”

“Cry?” said Ylva, bustling through the doorway. “Is something wrong?”

Nina and Hanne jumped at the sound of her voice, and Nina felt a flush heat her face, as if she’d been caught at something.

Hanne mustered a smile and said, “I don’t think Papa is going to approve of this gown.”

“Heartwood is not about your father’s approval,” Ylva said, beaming. “You will be the talk of the ball, and that can only be good for securing a husband.”