The woman nudged her chin at Bitterblue. “This one has a Royal Continent look.”

“Rumor has it she’s the lost Queen of Monsea,” said their guide, “which we’re keeping to ourselves.”

“You mean she’s one of the impersonators,” said the woman.

“Nope,” said their guide, with a small flash of a smile. “The real thing.”

The elderly woman raised her eyebrows, studying Bitterblue over her own extended legs. “I thought you drowned,” she said, like an accusation.

“I didn’t,” said Bitterblue.

“Well, isn’t that interesting,” said the woman. “The bathhouse is that way. Put your fancy clothing and shoes in one of the cabinets and wear a tunic. Then follow the stone path that starts at the green door.”

And that was it. No questions or demands, not even much in the way of surprise that the drowned Queen of Monsea should land on their doorstep. Who were these people?

Lovisa and the queen did as they were told, undressing in a strange, bare stone room with wooden cabinets lining the walls, pulling on brown, shapeless tunics that hung on hooks. Under Ferla’s coat, the queen was still wearing Lovisa’s pajamas. Lovisa tried not to stare at her pale, too-thin body as Bitterblue took the pajamas off, or cringe at how she smelled. My parents did that to her, for almost three weeks, she thought, trying to feel sorrow, or anger, or shame. But all she felt was numbness.

“What is it?” said Bitterblue.

“Nothing,” said Lovisa. “Those are my pajamas.”

Passing through a green door, they emerged into the shock of a freezing morning. A stone path, cold on their feet, led them away from the bathhouse. One of the queen’s feet was bleeding. She left red spots on the stones and winced as she walked, but she was cradling a pear like it was her precious child, and she was glowing with happiness.

At the pool, pale blue and steaming, Lovisa found the stone steps and descended straight into the water, crouching low until her body was submerged to the neck. Then she closed her eyes, not caring what the queen did, because a perfect warmth hugged her, embracing her with comfort that she didn’t deserve. She dipped her face below the surface so the queen wouldn’t see her sudden, inexplicable tears. But she couldn’t hide the noises she was making, gasping, blubbering, sobbing. Weak. Stop it. Stop it!

Quietly, with annoyingly perfect tact, the queen moved away into a different part of the pool, where she ate her pear and pretended not to mind Lovisa’s hysterics. She set the pear core on the pool’s edge. Submerging her head, she seemed to be pushing her hands roughly through her hair, loosening her braids, scrubbing her scalp with her fingers. Then she noticed one of the yellow clumps of soap that sat at the edge of the pool.