How the Fjerdans loved their propriety, but she had started to wonder if they loved to make their rules simply for the thrill of breaking them.
“Forgive me,” she said, dropping into an unnecessarily deep curtsy. “I meant no offense. I’m afraid my country manners have displeased you.”
Brum placed his finger beneath her chin, but he was gentle this time as he bid her stand and tilted her face upward. “Not at all. I find them refreshing. You’ll learn to navigate the company of your betters in time.”
Nina lowered her eyes. “If I am lucky enough to have cause to.”
Brum studied her. “I leave tomorrow morning, but I often pass back through Gäfvalle to make sure the munitions factory is running smoothly.” And to oversee your experiments, Nina thought with a flash of rage. “I look forward to seeing how Hanne’s lessons progress.”
“I do not have a permanent position here,” Nina said, wringing her hands. “I’m not sure how long the Wellmother will tolerate my presence.”
Brum placed his hand over hers, and she stilled. “Such a nervous little thing. The Wellmother will always have a place for you if I say so.”
Nina looked up at him with every bit of awe she could muster. She clasped his hand tightly. “Thank you, sir,” she said fervently. “Thank you.”
They rejoined Hanne in the dining room to say their goodbyes.
As soon as her father was gone, Hanne sagged against the wall in relief. “Thank Djel that’s over. Did you get what you needed?”
Nina held up the blob of warm candle wax she’d pressed against Brum’s signet ring to form a perfect impression of his seal. “I did. The rest is up to you.”
Adrik had been right about the problem of entering the factory. Even with Brum’s seal on a military order, there was no way the guards at the eastern entrance would ever release the women and girls without a convincing Fjerdan soldier in charge.
Hanne did not get out of bed the next morning, claiming that the rich food of the previous night’s dinner hadn’t agreed with her.
The Wellmother had little patience for it. “Our duties do not include seeing to a pampered girl with a fragile stomach.”
“Of course, Wellmother,” Hanne agreed. “Enke Jandersdat can look after me.” Then she’d bent over the side of the bed and vomited.
The Wellmother pressed her sleeve to her nose to ward against the smell. “Fine. Let her empty your sick bucket and clean up your mess.”
“Perhaps Leoni’s emetic worked a little too well,” Nina said as soon as they were alone together, the door firmly closed.
Hanne moaned and flopped back on her pillows, looking distinctly green. Nina sat down on the bed and held a fizzing glass vial to Hanne’s lips. “Here, this will help. Leoni is just as good at tonics as emetics.”
“I hope so,” said Hanne.
Nina cleaned up the sickroom while Hanne rested, then made her eat some plain bread and an egg. “You’ll need your strength.”
Hanne propped herself up in bed, shoving a pillow behind her back. She’d left her hair unbraided in a rosy brown tumble around her shoulders, and Nina had the urge to twine one of the thick curls around her finger.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” said Hanne. “I’ve never tried to tailor anything before.”
Nina parted the curtains to let in as much sunlight as possible. Hanne’s room was on the second story, so they didn’t have to worry about prying eyes. “It’s just another way to manipulate the body.”
“You’ve seen it done?”
“Just once,” lied Nina. Her entire face and body had been tailored to be totally unrecognizable. She’d even tried her hand at it a few times.
“What if I can’t put it back once I’ve done it?”
“Then we’ll find someone who can,” she promised. Even if I have to drag you to Ravka to manage it. “But I really don’t think it will be a problem. You’re only going to make very small changes.” Nina sat down in front of Hanne and held up a mirror she’d polished to perfection.
Hanne gazed at herself in the glass. “Where do I start?”
“Let’s try the jaw. We’ll mess with the nose once you get the hang of it. I don’t want you accidentally sealing off a breathing passage.” Hanne’s eyes widened. “I’m kidding!” said Nina. Mostly.
Hanne steadied her breathing and pressed her fingers gently to the left side of her own jaw.
“Focus on the cells of the skin,” said Nina. “Think of the direction you want them to move.”
“This is terrifying,” whispered Hanne as the line of her jaw slowly began to shift.
“More terrifying than the Wellmother when she catches someone having a good time?”
A scrap of a smile curled Hanne’s lips, and she seemed to relax a bit. “Not even close.”
The work took hours as Hanne strengthened her jawline, giving it a squarer shape, then added weight to her brow, and finally broadened her nose. Nina sat curled beside Hanne in the narrow bed, watching her progress in the mirror, offering suggestions and encouragement. Periodically, she would leave the room to retrieve cups of broth and pretend to empty basins, maintaining the illusion that Hanne was still ill.
At last it was time for the final touch.
“Are you sure?” Nina said, holding the thick, ruddy tresses of Hanne’s hair. They were shot through with gold and felt cool and silken in her hands, like fast-running water. “We could just tuck it under your cap.”
“I’m not going to jeopardize this whole plan for the sake of my vanity.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Do it.”
It felt like a crime to cut such magnificent hair, but Nina took up the shears and sliced through the thick strands. She finished the job with the razor, cropping Hanne’s hair close to the skull in the way of the Fjerdan military. Only drüskelle kept their hair long. When Hanne had tailored her face back to its original state, she could claim that shaving her hair had been a penance to Djel.
Nina tidied up the hair, gathering it all in a basin, and then tossed it into the garbage, making sure it was well buried. When she returned, she found Hanne sitting on her bed, staring into the mirror, tears in her eyes.
“Don’t cry,” Nina said, shutting the door behind her and rushing to Hanne’s side. “It will grow back. I promise.”
“It’s not that,” Hanne said, gazing at her face. A boy was looking back at her. The jaw, the brow, the nose, a roughening of the skin of her cheeks to make it look as if she’d shaved. They were small changes, but the effect was startling. “If I had just been a boy. If I had been the son my father wanted …”
Nina gripped Hanne’s shoulders. “You are perfect, Hanne. That your father can’t value your strength speaks only to his weakness.”
Hanne looked back at the mirror, blinking her tears away. “The lips are still too full.”
“Leave the lips,” said Nina sharply, then rose to hide her blush. “They’re just right.”
AFTER THE CHAOS OF THE demonstration at the Gilded Bog, Isaak shouldn’t have felt nervous walking into a trade meeting the following day. But there was no reason for the Triumvirate to be in attendance, so he was left to face the Kerch, Kaelish, and Zemeni with no one but Nikolai’s finance ministers. He was afraid he’d be found out. He was afraid he’d make the king look like a fool. He was afraid he’d send the Ravkan economy into a tail-spin just by scratching his nose wrong.
Before the meeting began, he did as Genya and the others had suggested and met privately with his ministers. “I’d prefer you took the lead on this, Ulyashin,” he said. “I trust you to get this right.”
The trade minister had beamed and happily spent the meeting debating tariffs and import taxes, all while gracefully dodging the looming specter of Ravka’s loans. Isaak felt an overwhelming rush of gratitude toward Ulyashin. Perhaps he could gift him with a boat or a title or whatever kings did to say thank you.
The meeting closed on what seemed to be a positive note, and Isaak was already heaving a sigh of relief as he rose and shook hands with the attendees. But just when he thought he was going to make his escape, Hiram Schenck cornered him and whispered furiously, “Do you think you can continue to play games with us?”
Genya had told him that if he got caught unawares in any situation, his best approach was to say, “I beg your pardon?” with as much haughty grandeur as possible.
Isaak deployed that strategy now, looking down his nose with ferocious disdain. “I beg your pardon? Didn’t I recently drag your sodden daughter from a pond?”
Schenck was not deterred. “Did you really think we would be fooled by that bit of theater last night? You were close to completing the submersibles and the missile system when we received our information months ago, and we all know that you do not rest until your inventions are perfected. You cannot continue to flirt like a debutante at a ball. We will have our prototype or you will be treated like the pauper state you are.”
Nikolai Lantsov would never have stood for such an insult. He would have replied with the perfect words to make Schenck quake with fear and wish he’d never opened his mouth.
“I beg your pardon,” Isaak said firmly, and stepped past Schenck to the safety of the open door.
He hurried out of the room, gut churning, and found the twins waiting in the hall to escort him over the next dismaying hurdle.
“The Kerch didn’t buy last night’s performance,” he said as they strode down the corridor.
“We know,” said Tamar. “We were listening.”
“Maybe the wayward missiles were too much,” Tolya said.
Isaak straightened his plum-colored coat. “What do we do now?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Tamar. “Let’s just get through the afternoon.”
A few more days, Isaak told himself. A few more parties. I can do this.