Rule of Wolves (King of Scars #2) - Leigh Bardugo Page 0,139
peace over war if given the chance.
“I’m glad you felt well enough to attend,” said Hanne.
“I admit I enjoyed it. We spent most of the time discussing plans for a fascinating addition to our armory.”
“A new weapon?” Nina asked. Were those the plans labeled Songbird she’d seen on Brum’s desk?
“Something like that. But let’s not talk of war and stuffy commanders.”
“It’s good for them to remember who will rule our country,” said Hanne.
Rasmus sat a bit straighter, looking satisfied. “Yes. They should remember, much as some would like to forget. I’ll have you know I’ve danced three times already this night. You and I will have a dance later, Hanne. I cannot wait to shock the court with your dress.”
“I’d be honored, Your Highness.”
“Everyone says that. But it’s not always so. The court ladies used to suffer through their dances with me. I couldn’t keep up. I ended each dance wheezing. I was something to be endured, like a child’s piano recital.”
Hanne’s expression was thoughtful. “I know that feeling well. Every time a soldier asked me to dance, I knew it was just an attempt to curry favor with my father. Each minute I spent with them, I could tell how anxious they were to be away from me.”
“Because you were too tall, too strong. We are opposite sides of the mirror. Perhaps we should take to the floor now and truly make them talk.”
Hanne laughed. “But they’re not playing music to dance to.”
“If His Royal Highness wishes to dance, then they will.”
He offered her his hand and Hanne took it, smiling. Nina felt something in her heart twist. Oh, that’s small of you, Zenik. It’s not as if you and Hanne could have had a future here. Hanne could talk of riding off somewhere, but that was just nerves speaking, the prospect of facing down another party, another night of idle small talk. She wouldn’t abandon Fjerda and Nina wouldn’t abandon Ravka. And when Nina’s mission was complete? She certainly wasn’t going to remain in this simpering disguise at the Fjerdan court.
Nina watched Hanne and Prince Rasmus drift into the sea of bodies as the musicians struck up a swaying rhythm. She loved to dance and she was good at it. Or she had been. She hadn’t been free to dance for a long time—or sing, or behave as she wished. Be glad for Hanne. Be glad for both of them. She bit her lip. She was trying, damn it. Around Hanne, Rasmus’ bitterness lost its edge; Nina could see the glimmer of the man he might become if they could drain him of Fjerda’s poison, of the demands it placed on its rulers and its men. And Hanne? It was easy to see what she’d sacrificed to become a girl who might garner the interest of a prince, but what had she gained? She’d spent her whole life being excluded. She didn’t look like the delicate beauties of the court. She and Rasmus stood eye to eye, evenly matched in height and stature. But Hanne didn’t have to look like everyone else. Now she walked among the Fjerdans, shining, unique, triumphant, an object of envy instead of scorn. Wolf-blooded.
“I need to thank you,” Joran said, drawing Nina from her thoughts. “You could have revealed me to Brum. I’m grateful you didn’t.”
Nina knew she had to tread carefully. “Your faith isn’t something to be ashamed of.”
“How can you say that?”
With Joran, Nina could let the Mila mask slip a bit more. He didn’t require the performance of servile bumbling that Brum or Rasmus did. “There’s altogether too much shame in Fjerda. I don’t see why you shouldn’t take comfort from your Saints.”
“Commander Brum says the Saints are false gods sent to turn us from Djel.”
“Surely not all the Saints,” Nina said, though she knew that was exactly what Brum meant. “Not Sënj Egmond, who built the Ice Court, or Sënje Ulla of the Waves.”
“Brum doesn’t believe they were Saints, only men and women blessed by Djel. He says if we open our doors to heathen religion, Djel will forsake us and Fjerda will be doomed.”
Nina nodded slowly, as if considering. “I have heard there are cults of false Saints, like the Starless One. I’ve heard stories of the blight that some say is a sign of his return. Do you think his followers could gain a foothold here?”
“It’s hard to believe, but … Brum says people are desperate for hope and will be taken in by any cheap spectacle.”