Or was something else at play here altogether? Nina had seen Hanne’s body crumpled on the ground. But what had she really seen? She remembered Hanne’s hands moving swiftly over her face, drawing hair from her own head. I’ve been practicing, she’d said.

Do not hope, Nina. Do not dare to hope for this.

All was silence on the boat ride back to Leviathan’s Mouth, the unease of the Fjerdan soldiers and officers palpable. She could feel Brum’s anger radiating from him, the fear of the drüskelle who had failed him in the audience chamber.

Joran looked nearly happy, his face serene, as if he’d finally found some kind of peace for the first time. He had been the first to speak, to declare for Zoya and for an end to war. Would any of the others have dared to be first? Or only the boy full of regret, desperate to do right, to sacrifice everything as penance to the Saints? If Nina had sought her vengeance and taken Joran’s life, if Hanne hadn’t stopped her, what might have happened in Os Kervo?

Nina was less sure of what she sensed from Prince Rasmus. He kept glancing at her, and his expression was one she could almost believe was true concern. She couldn’t stop herself from studying his profile, the color of his eyes—were the differences she thought she saw there real or imagined? She felt like she was coming undone.

They docked at one of the piers, and the prince strode toward the command center with Joran beside him. “Come along,” he said to Nina.

“I would have a word, Your Highness,” said Brum, his anger barely leashed.

“Then you may come along too.”

The command center was much like the rest of the structures on Leviathan—all military utility, stocked with maps and equipment. Crates of gear had been stacked in neat aisles, maps and tide charts were hung on the tent’s canvas siding, though the rest of the walls had been left open.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to have a rest, Your Highness?” Brum asked, seeking to draw attention to the prince’s frailty.

“I think not. I feel quite well.”

“Of course, you were not on the field today.”

“No, I wasn’t. I have not had my share of riding or fresh air or battle in this life. I know you think me the lesser because of it.”

“I never said—”

“You’ve said enough. You’ve called me weakling and whelp.”

Brum sputtered. “I never did. I—”