Rule of Wolves (King of Scars #2) - Leigh Bardugo Page 0,44

Hanne’s hand reach out, even as she sank to her knees beside them. It rested on his chest—as if she couldn’t help herself—and almost instantly the prince’s coughing eased.

“Take my hand,” Nina whispered furiously. “Pray. Loudly.”

She seized the prince’s bony fingers so that they formed a circle of three and chanted with Hanne in staccato Fjerdan, a prayer to Djel, the Wellspring. “As the waters scour the riverbed, let them cleanse me too. As the waters scour the riverbed, let them cleanse me too.”

Prince Rasmus stared at them. His coughing ceased and his breaths came in great gasps, as Hanne’s healing gift soothed his inflamed lungs and opened the airways.

Bare seconds later the royal guards surrounded them, pulling Hanne and Nina away as the king and queen rushed toward them.

“No!” Rasmus gasped. His voice was weak, thready. He was starting to cough again. “Bring her back. Bring them back.”

But the crowd was already surging around them and Rasmus was rushed through a pair of doors behind the royal dais, leaving the ballroom awash in shocked and baffled whispers.

Brum was suddenly next to Hanne and Nina, herding them away, as Ylva and Redvin helped to keep the curious crowd at bay. Flanked by drüskelle, they were ushered down a corridor, and then through the twisting passages that led back to their chambers.

“Prince Rasmus—” Hanne began, but Brum silenced her with a look.

“The servants,” he said quietly as they made their way to the room Brum used as his office. It was all dark wood and white stone, and through the frost-lined windows, Nina could see it had begun to snow.

Ylva vanished, then returned with a bowl of warm water and two soft cloths that she handed to Nina and Hanne. Nina hadn’t realized the prince’s blood was on her too. She wiped her face and hands clean.

She made her eyes wide, forced her lip to tremble, but every part of her was watchful, alert, ready to move into fight mode if Hanne had to be protected. There was a graveyard on the White Island, bodies she could call to her service as soldiers. What had Brum seen? What did he know?

Hanne looked terrified. She’d used her power in front of the entire Fjerdan court, healing the prince without thinking of it. Nina’s mind reeled at the risk of it, the carelessness. And yet, even in her fear and anger, Nina knew Hanne couldn’t help it. She couldn’t watch someone suffer and not act. It was her nature to try to fix things, when all Nina did was destroy. Had any of the onlookers realized what she’d done? Had Brum? He was a trained witchhunter. Here, away from the pomp and drama of the court, Nina’s ruse of prayer felt impossibly flimsy.

“What happened?” Ylva asked, a desperate, frightened edge to her voice.

Brum’s face was grim. “The prince is very ill.”

“But not like that!” cried Ylva. “He collapsed!”

“Why do you think they keep him away from the public?”

“He … he has never been one for social occasions, but…”

“Because the king and queen have coddled him. They let him appear in public only for short times and in highly controlled situations like the start of Heartwood today.”

“What do you suppose brought this fit on?” asked Redvin, taking a swig of something from a flask.

Brum shrugged. “Too much noise. Too much heat. Who knows?”

“His weakness is appalling,” said Redvin.

“He’s a child,” protested Ylva.

Brum sneered. “He’s eighteen years old. You forget because he is so far from what a man should be.”

At that, Hanne’s gaze hardened. “He cannot help what he is, how he was born.”

“Maybe not,” said Brum. “But has he pushed himself? Challenged himself? I’ve done my best to help him, to be a mentor and a guide. He is the heir to the throne, but if the extent of his infirmity became common knowledge, do you really think Fjerda would accept him as their king?”

Again, Nina wondered what game Brum was playing. She had no doubt he believed all this nonsense he was spewing about manhood and Fjerdan strength. It was also clear he had no respect for the prince. But was there more?

In the week since Fjerda’s defeat at Nezkii and Ulensk, Brum had done his best to hide his frustration. The failed invasion meant that Fjerda had to at least entertain the possibility of diplomacy over war. But if the prince died or was incapacitated, Fjerda would have only the old king and the younger prince to rule. It might be