Chapter Thirty-one

Lovisa woke to the sound of crashing waves, her body colder, her muscles achier than they’d ever been before.

She sat up, knocking sand out of the fur of her coat, then squinting at the glare of a bonfire that shot its flames into the sky. They’d followed the light of this bonfire last night, climbing up and down hills, keeping it in view. When they’d finally arrived, they’d found the beach already crowded with sleepers, huddled together in blankets. Beyond the fire, carts had been scattered across the sand, horses whickering softly, people moving among them. Lovisa hadn’t wanted to walk onto the beach, once she’d seen its inhabitants.

But the Queen of Monsea had made a guess that a city beach like this one was populated by the continent’s poorer travelers and other ragtag citizens at night, and that two girls at loose ends would go unnoticed and unharmed, as long as enough of the others on the beach were women too.

“We’ll make a better plan tomorrow,” she’d said, leading Lovisa to the fire. Well, now the sky was streaked with pink; it was morning. Lovisa hoped the queen would wake soon, with some ideas about that plan.

—

The Queen of Monsea kept sleeping, despite all the clamor around them of wind and water, protesting horses, the shouts of waking people. Lovisa finally gave her shoulder a heartless shove.

The queen pushed herself up sleepily, awkwardly. As she glanced around, her face to the light, Lovisa became aware of a new problem. The queen’s light brown skin and pale gray eyes were going to arouse curiosity. No one would mistake her as Keepish.

“Where are you two from?” said a voice.

Lovisa kept her expression flat as she turned to assess the speaker. It was a Keepish-looking woman who sat alone on a stump before the fire, apparently tending it, for as she waited for their response, she lifted a log from a stack at her side, leaned forward, and threw it onto the flames.

Lovisa had never dealt with a woman like this before, rough and blunt, steel-colored hair jabbing its way out of her hat. She was wearing neither coat nor gloves as she handled the coarse, splintery wood. Her fingers looked like hard stubs.

“Where are you from?” Lovisa said, surprised by the hoarseness of her throat and her own ragged voice.

“I asked you first,” said the woman, with an icy smile.

“And I need a sense of whether I can trust you before I answer.”

The woman threw her head back and laughed. “Bold words for someone so little. Are you girls in trouble?”

“Why are you asking?”

The woman chuckled again. “Because I’m inclined to help girls in trouble. Of course, I can only help you to the extent you’re willing to trust me. You’ll have to decide that for yourselves.”