Rule of Wolves (King of Scars #2) - Leigh Bardugo Page 0,184

way—courtesy of a dragon and a squadron of flying Shu warriors. No one could have imagined Fjerdan soldiers kneeling before a Grisha. If Nina’s thoughts still felt like a slippery plate of dumplings, she couldn’t begin to guess at what the people around her must feel.

Assuming no one had gotten a clear view of her during the battle, she only had to account for where she’d been over the last few hours. She would say that she’d needed time to recover from what she’d seen during the sea invasion, that she’d been more disturbed by it than she’d realized, and that once the base had joined the northern assault, she’d simply tried to stay out of the way.

And if the Apparat had managed to survive and attempted to expose her? She didn’t know what proof the priest might have of her true identity, but she doubted it would matter. The Fjerdans would throw her in a cell and ask questions later. Nina was not going to let that happen. The Apparat’s men had taken the bones from her sleeves. That might have left her vulnerable, but there was death all around, corpses on shore and on base, all of whom could become her soldiers. She just needed to find Hanne and get them both out of here.

But the Brums’ quarters were empty. There was no sign of Ylva or Hanne to be found.

Nina changed out of her soaked clothes and into the rose wool dress she’d worn the previous day. She rebraided her hair and headed out onto the deck. Could Hanne still be with the prince in the western tower?

She was only a few yards from the command center when she heard a woman sobbing. It sounded like Hanne. Nina broke into a run and saw a group of soldiers gathered around someone or something. Jarl Brum stood off to the side, arguing with a group of royal guards. He had dirt on his face, the muck and blood of battle staining his uniform. She pushed through the circle of soldiers and sailors, fighting to get closer, and then stopped dead.

It wasn’t Hanne crying. It was Ylva. Sobbing over her daughter’s broken body.

Nina’s mind tilted, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. That wasn’t right. It couldn’t be.

Hanne lay on her stomach in a pool of blood, her body bent at an impossible angle, her face turned to the side. Her profile looked wrong, her rosy freckles, her full lips. Nina fell to her knees, reaching for her. Hanne’s blood had soaked Ylva’s skirt. Her body was cold.

“The prince,” Ylva cried between sobs. “The prince … said she fell.”

Nina looked up, up to the western observation tower where Hanne had gone to watch the battle with Prince Rasmus.

Not Hanne. Not her Hanne. It was happening all over again. She was kneeling in the streets of a foreign city. She had Matthias’ blood on her hands. Was this what her love did? Did it murder everything it touched? Nina wanted to scream and so she did, unable to stop the anguish that tore through her.

Hanne wouldn’t jump, would she? They’d had hope for the future, hope for escape. But Nina thought of Hanne sitting on the edge of her bed, how lost she’d looked, how scared. If he asks for my hand, I cannot deny him. But Nina … Nina, I can’t say yes. Two nights ago. An eternity away. A moment when Nina had still believed in possibility.

Maybe I can’t be happy at all, Hanne had said.

Nina saw Joran watching, his face ashen, stricken by what looked like grief.

She lurched to her feet and seized him by the fabric of his vile drüskelle jacket. “What happened?” Her voice was shrill, sharp as broken glass. “What happened to her? What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t see,” he protested, then yanked her close, wrapping his arms around her. “You must be still. You must calm yourself.” But in her ear he whispered, “I don’t know what happened. There was an argument. The prince struck her, only a slap, but then he was taken with some kind of fit. Hanne told me to get help, and when I returned—”

Nina shoved away from him. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Hanne. Hanne. Hanne. Her name a blessing, an incantation, a curse. The prince had hurt her. Maybe it had just been a game to him, like the one he’d played with Joran, testing his control, a chance to see how far he could