Hanne looked terrified. She’d used her power in front of the entire Fjerdan court, healing the prince without thinking of it. Nina’s mind reeled at the risk of it, the carelessness. And yet, even in her fear and anger, Nina knew Hanne couldn’t help it. She couldn’t watch someone suffer and not act. It was her nature to try to fix things, when all Nina did was destroy. Had any of the onlookers realized what she’d done? Had Brum? He was a trained witchhunter. Here, away from the pomp and drama of the court, Nina’s ruse of prayer felt impossibly flimsy.

“What happened?” Ylva asked, a desperate, frightened edge to her voice.

Brum’s face was grim. “The prince is very ill.”

“But not like that!” cried Ylva. “He collapsed!”

“Why do you think they keep him away from the public?”

“He … he has never been one for social occasions, but…”

“Because the king and queen have coddled him. They let him appear in public only for short times and in highly controlled situations like the start of Heartwood today.”

“What do you suppose brought this fit on?” asked Redvin, taking a swig of something from a flask.

Brum shrugged. “Too much noise. Too much heat. Who knows?”

“His weakness is appalling,” said Redvin.

“He’s a child,” protested Ylva.

Brum sneered. “He’s eighteen years old. You forget because he is so far from what a man should be.”

At that, Hanne’s gaze hardened. “He cannot help what he is, how he was born.”

“Maybe not,” said Brum. “But has he pushed himself? Challenged himself? I’ve done my best to help him, to be a mentor and a guide. He is the heir to the throne, but if the extent of his infirmity became common knowledge, do you really think Fjerda would accept him as their king?”

Again, Nina wondered what game Brum was playing. She had no doubt he believed all this nonsense he was spewing about manhood and Fjerdan strength. It was also clear he had no respect for the prince. But was there more?