Hanne lay on her stomach in a pool of blood, her body bent at an impossible angle, her face turned to the side. Her profile looked wrong, her rosy freckles, her full lips. Nina fell to her knees, reaching for her. Hanne’s blood had soaked Ylva’s skirt. Her body was cold.

“The prince,” Ylva cried between sobs. “The prince … said she fell.”

Nina looked up, up to the western observation tower where Hanne had gone to watch the battle with Prince Rasmus.

Not Hanne. Not her Hanne. It was happening all over again. She was kneeling in the streets of a foreign city. She had Matthias’ blood on her hands. Was this what her love did? Did it murder everything it touched? Nina wanted to scream and so she did, unable to stop the anguish that tore through her.

Hanne wouldn’t jump, would she? They’d had hope for the future, hope for escape. But Nina thought of Hanne sitting on the edge of her bed, how lost she’d looked, how scared. If he asks for my hand, I cannot deny him. But Nina … Nina, I can’t say yes. Two nights ago. An eternity away. A moment when Nina had still believed in possibility.

Maybe I can’t be happy at all, Hanne had said.

Nina saw Joran watching, his face ashen, stricken by what looked like grief.

She lurched to her feet and seized him by the fabric of his vile drüskelle jacket. “What happened?” Her voice was shrill, sharp as broken glass. “What happened to her? What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t see,” he protested, then yanked her close, wrapping his arms around her. “You must be still. You must calm yourself.” But in her ear he whispered, “I don’t know what happened. There was an argument. The prince struck her, only a slap, but then he was taken with some kind of fit. Hanne told me to get help, and when I returned—”

Nina shoved away from him. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Hanne. Hanne. Hanne. Her name a blessing, an incantation, a curse. The prince had hurt her. Maybe it had just been a game to him, like the one he’d played with Joran, testing his control, a chance to see how far he could push his rivalry with Brum. He was taken with some kind of fit. Hanne had lashed out. She probably hadn’t meant to. She’d been frightened and she’d used her power on the prince.

And then what? What had happened between them when Joran had left them alone?

“He did this!” she spat. “Prince Rasmus. Where is he? Hanne didn’t just fall and there’s no way she would jump. Where is he?”

Jarl Brum was suddenly beside her.

“Be silent,” he growled. He clapped his big hand over her mouth. His eyes were chips of ice.