Some part of Nina had missed frivolity. There had been too much sadness in the last two years—her struggle to free herself from addiction, losing Matthias, the long, lonely months in Ravka trying to cope with her grief, and then the constant fear of living among her enemies. Sometimes she wondered if she’d made a mistake leaving her friends in Ketterdam. She missed Inej’s stillness, the knowledge that she could say anything to her without fear of recrimination. She missed Jesper’s laughing ways and Wylan’s sweetness. She even missed Kaz’s ruthlessness. Saints, it would have been a relief to hand over this whole mess to the bastard of the Barrel. He’d have sussed out Vadik Demidov’s origins, raided the Fjerdan treasury, and placed himself on the throne in the time it took Nina to braid her hair. On second thought, probably best Kaz wasn’t here.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Hanne asked, as she sat at their shared dressing table while Nina applied sweet almond oil to curl the short strands of her hair, red and gold and brown. A color she could never quite name.

“If I am?”

“I guess I’m jealous. I wish I could.”

Nina tried to meet her eyes in the mirror, but Hanne kept her gaze trained on the array of powders and potions on the table. “This was your idea, remember?”

“Yes, but I forgot how much I hate all of it.”

“What’s to hate?” Nina asked. “Silk, velvet, jewels.”

“Easy for you to say. I feel even more wrong than usual.”

Nina couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She wiped her hands clean of oil and sat down on the bench. “You’re not an awkward little girl anymore, Hanne. Why can’t you see how gorgeous you are?”

Hanne picked up one of the little jars of shimmer. “You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t.” Nina plucked the jar from her fingers and turned Hanne toward her. “Close your eyes.” Hanne obeyed and Nina dotted the cream onto her lids, then her cheekbones. It had a subtle, pearlescent sheen that made it look like Hanne had been dusted in sunlight.

“Do you know the only time I felt beautiful?” Hanne asked, her eyes still closed.

“When?”

“When I tailored myself to look like a soldier. When we cut off all my hair.”

Nina exchanged the shimmer for a pot of rose balm. “But you didn’t look like you.”

Hanne’s eyes opened. “But I did. For the first time. The only time.”

Nina dipped her thumb into the pot of balm and dabbed it onto Hanne’s lower lip, spreading it in a slow sweep across the soft cushion of her mouth.

“I can grow my hair, you know,” Hanne said, and moved her hand over one side of her scalp. Sure enough, a reddish-brown curl twined over Hanne’s ear.