A tear was suddenly rolling down Lovisa’s face, fueled by exhaustion, confusion, and now, resentment at the ease with which Mari always inhabited kindness. His parents were kind. His life had been kind to him. He was handsome, and smart, and big, and popular, and everyone trusted and liked him. He had no ambition beyond what was expected of him, and what was expected of him was that he do what he liked. It cost him nothing to think kindly of mean people; it was instinctive for him. And his kindness made Lovisa feel like the lowest possible type of person, the kind of person who came from parents like hers. And now it was her fault that people were dead.

“Lovisa?” said Mari. “What did I say?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re crying. You never cry.”

“I’m not crying,” she lied. “I’m just tired. Leave me alone, Mari.”

“You never told me why you’re so anxious.”

How good it would feel to tell him everything, make him share her problems. But she couldn’t. There were no solutions, and even hints would endanger him. Pari was dead.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he said.

“Shut up, Mari,” she snapped. “Just back off.” The tears were making her furious, but they were also making her sleepy. She could feel herself sagging.

“Why don’t you get into my bed?” he said. “See if you can sleep. And I’m not having sex with you, if you think that’s what I mean.”

Lovisa was far too tired to have sex with anyone now, especially someone she resented for his perfect life and his perfect behavior, his perfect heart. Clutching her favorite fox and her amethyst lady in one hand, she climbed into Mari’s bed. Her other hand felt for the new attic-room key she’d had made in the nearest amble early that morning, guessing that her parents would confiscate hers. She’d decided to keep it on a string inside her clothing always, hanging low between her breasts, where she could control who found it. Of course, it was basically useless now, and sweaty against her skin. This one had a fake purple gemstone, even sharper and scratchier than the last stupid key.

A thought touched her. If the queen was dead, why had her father wanted the key back so urgently?

“Do you need anything?” said Mari. “A drink? Do you have enough blankets?”

“Stop fussing!”

She heard him snort. Then she heard him stand and start to walk away.

“Mari?” she said, frightened.

His voice came from the other side of the room. “Hm?”

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

“I’m just getting you another blanket,” he said, returning to her, unceremoniously dumping something warm and soft onto her back. “I’ll be right here. Go to sleep.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Lovisa woke the next morning needing proof that the queen was dead.