Winterkeep Page 6

Alone, Bitterblue sat with a blanket pulled around her shoulders, working through his words. She was certain that he’d been unfair. He’d wanted more than she’d offered. When she hadn’t given it to him, he’d lashed out, as if it was something he was entitled to. This was part of the reason Bitterblue liked Katu Cavenda so much. He took responsibility for his own feelings. When it had been time for Katu to go home and they’d parted with no promises, he’d pulled her close. “I can’t wait to see you again someday,” he’d whispered, breath soft against her ear, “and see what happens.” Pella could have parted that way. Instead, he’d been unfair.

  A few minutes later, Helda padded up the hall from her own rooms in a robe and slippers. Of course she did; Helda always knew what was going on. She touched Bitterblue’s hair and sighed gently, her own white hair pulled back messily and her pale face lined with sleep.

  “Can I get you anything, dear?” she said, and Bitterblue started to cry.

  “I never intended to hurt him,” she said, then glanced up at Helda. “Or wake you, dear Helda.”

  “I’ll make you something warm to drink,” Helda said, giving her shoulder a squeeze and shuffling away. The warm drink, placed gently into her hands, comforted her. Nonetheless, Bitterblue sat for a long time, thinking. She’d begun to wonder if Pella’s accusation—not the earlier ones, but the final one—might be true.

  On the ship, after the pregnancy scare, when it all came back to her, she did what she always did: She asked Giddon his opinion.

  “Do you think,” she said, “that I’m incapable of giving anyone my heart?”

  First, a series of indescribable expressions crossed Giddon’s face. Then he said something so on the nose that she went silent, keeping his words close, pulling them out frequently afterward, thinking about them as she lay, nauseated, in her cabin bed.

  “Maybe you have too much experience of the bad things that happen when you love someone, and too little experience of the good things,” he said. “Maybe you’re protecting yourself.”

  Bitterblue thought it was a polite way of saying “Your father murdered your mother.” She suddenly wondered if her mother, Ashen, had been horrified to find herself pregnant with Bitterblue. Or had her father, with his Grace of telling lies that were believed, told Ashen she was happy? Maybe Ashen hadn’t had the option of being horrified. Or maybe Ashen had been happy, truly happy, because of how much she’d loved the child inside her, regardless of the father?

  In which case, maybe Bitterblue was a monster for not wanting Pella’s, or anyone’s, child. And maybe she was a coward for not opening her heart.

  “When you love someone, you lose them,” she said quietly to Giddon. And then she was almost relieved at the waves of nausea that hit her, because she was able to focus on the physicality of retching into the basin Giddon handed her, instead of the terrifying memories of the day she’d lost her mother.

  It was all too much to process at once. It had always been too much to process.

  * * *

  —

  On the final day of the voyage to Winterkeep, Bitterblue woke early, feeling no better than she ever did.

  In the other bed, so close that Bitterblue could touch her, Hava was asleep. Bitterblue hadn’t heard her come in last night. Hava loved to be on deck, watching everything that was happening. At home, Hava left the castle for days, sometimes even left the city, without telling anyone. It was her job as a spy. She always came back with helpful information but it was still nerve-racking, to have no earthly idea where she was, or if she was safe. Hava was too good at leaving. On the ship, she seemed to have plenty to interest her, and Bitterblue always knew she was near.

  Bitterblue wanted some fresh air. Just a little fresh air, so that when they pulled into the port of Ledra later today, she’d be less likely to vomit on someone’s shoes.

  She touched Hava’s sleeping shoulder, once. Hava made a small, contented noise in response, but didn’t wake. Bitterblue found her boots, then the knife holsters she always wore under her sleeves.

  Leaning on walls and doors, she made her way down the long corridor, then upstairs to the deck. Immediately, cold sliced through her clothing and the wind whipped her hair out of one of its braids. Wind this cold was shocking, especially given that it was only the first of October.

  Giddon’s laugh rang out somewhere nearby. She looked for his tall, solid form, wanting to tuck herself into his body for warmth, for protection from the wind. Giddon would be with her for the entire trip, making her laugh, helping her care for Hava, giving her his honest opinions when she asked. She hadn’t believed that the Council would let Giddon go. She’d written beautiful thank-yous to Raffin, Bann, Po, and Katsa. Bitterblue felt greedy, like she’d stolen him.

  He was in the bow, talking to the captain and one of Bitterblue’s guards, the ship’s cat winding around his feet. A rose glow from the eastern horizon touched his face. She heard snatches of his voice, thrown back to her by the wind.

  She wouldn’t interrupt. Clinging to whatever she could grab as the floor bucked, she edged onto the afterdeck and looked out over the water behind them. This very same water was touching the water that touched the water that lapped up against the docks and cliffs and hills of her very own nation, her home. Somewhere in the world, back the way they’d come, was a place where the ground was solid beneath her feet, where she knew what she was doing. More than that: Monsea needed her. She was the keeper of its people, no matter where they roamed. She would find out what had happened to Mikka and Brek, her two men.

  She saw a wave rolling toward the ship, bigger than the others. Much bigger, she realized with a blip of surprise, just before the ship ducked to meet it. The deck surged up, then fell, the sailors in the bow shouting their amusement, everyone unhurt, everything in its proper place, as always; except that Bitterblue was gone.

  * * *

  —

  In the water behind the ship, Bitterblue shouted and screamed. But the wind bore the ship and her words away, and nobody heard her.

  It seemed impossible. “Giddon,” she shouted, thrashing and flailing, absolutely incredulous that they didn’t realize they were leaving her behind. “Giddon!”

  She swam after them. They’ll see I’m missing, she thought. They’ll turn around. But the waves lifted her regularly as she swam, giving her a view of the vanishing ship, and nothing changed, except that she got colder, and more flabbergasted.

  “What do I do?” she cried. “Giddon!”

  Still in a state of disbelief, she kept swimming.

  * * *

  —

  Bitterblue shook with cold. She was still swimming, more or less. Trying to stay above water, trying to continue on a straight path, feeling like she’d swallowed half the ocean, icy pain throbbing in her ears. Had they noticed yet that she was missing? Didn’t anyone ever check on the queen? How could they be so careless?

  I’ll swim all the way to Ledra, she thought, allowing no other thought into her head, no other possible ending to this story. I’ll fire every one of them when I get there, for leaving me behind. It was harder and harder to move her shoulders, slap the water with arms and legs she could no longer feel.

  They’re all fired, she thought. As soon as I get there.

  * * *

  —

  She was having a sort of dream, about the time her friend Katsa had saved her from her father, after her father had killed her mother. Katsa was a Graceling and had carried her to sanctuary across an impassable, frozen mountain, running on snowshoes, yelling, keeping her warm and alive.

  Don’t you give up, she heard Katsa yelling. Keep swimming. Keep swimming! Which was a strange thing for Katsa to yell, if they were crossing a mountain, but Bitterblue was used to Katsa’s teacher voice during training sessions, so she did what she was told. She kept swimming. And swimming, and crying. Her arms wouldn’t move. She couldn’t do it anymore
. She breathed water. She sank.

  Something bumped against her, hard. Bitterblue came awake, choking, thrashing. Katsa?

  Something bumped against her again, from below. Keep swimming, it said. Then a purplish mountain formed beneath her, lifting her up to the surface, soft, slippery, and warm. It had a head and flippers and was swimming strongly forward. Bitterblue didn’t understand what was happening.

  Too cold, someone said. We must hurry.

  In the water around Bitterblue, she saw the faces of what looked like seals, but bigger, and deep purple, pearlescent, almost blue. They were staring at her with dark, placid eyes as they swam beside her. Don’t give up, one of them said.

  Something about the way they talked made Bitterblue feel like the top of her head was coming off. “I never give up,” she said. “Everyone’s fired.”

  Keep moving, another of them said. You must keep warm. But Bitterblue couldn’t move, she could only lie prostrate on the purple creature below her, letting her arms and legs trail into the water and closing her eyes.

  Open your eyes! someone yelled, and her eyes popped open.

  Swimming beside Bitterblue, one of the creatures stared at her hard, its whiskers long and droopy. Its whiskers reminded her of her adviser Froggatt, who was probably still asleep in his bed on the ship, and who was fired.

  Don’t fall asleep, the long-whiskered creature said to her. You mustn’t fall asleep.

  “I’m so tired,” she said.

  If you fall asleep now, the creature said, you won’t wake up.

  “But I’m so cold,” Bitterblue said, then noticed snowflakes falling on the creature’s head, melting into its fur. She reached a hand toward its head, then cried out in a ragged, broken voice as one of her rings, her most important ring and dearest treasure, slid from her finger, bounced on the purple mountain she was riding, and slipped into the water.

  “Mama!” Bitterblue cried, because it was her dead mother’s ring, gold, with inset gray stones to match the color of Bitterblue’s eyes. It was the only piece of her mother she’d brought on this journey. “Mama!” she moaned as she tried to slide from her mountain and dive after the ring, stopped by the long-whiskered creature who surged up beside her.

  Numbly, Bitterblue rested her cheek, watching the snow form a small mound on the head of her long-whiskered friend. She supposed snow was forming soft mounds on her own body as well. She couldn’t feel her body. She heard lapping water as the creatures around her moved, felt the gentle care of the creature who balanced her on its back. Stay awake, Long Whiskers said, over and over, regularly, like the low beat at the base of a song. Idly, it occurred to her that she was hearing all of their voices inside her own head, not really in words, but in pictures, pictures of herself swimming, strong, warm, awake. She remembered then that she knew about these creatures: Keepish silbercows, who were telepaths. Their oil, after they died, made an exquisite golden light. Bitterblue had imported some for her court. Saf had swum with them too.

  Maybe none of this is happening, she thought, just as an enormous whale appeared in the sky, with two people suspended below it in a sort of boat. I’m entering the hallucination stage, Bitterblue thought, remembering the things Katsa had taught her about hypothermia.

  The two flying people were yelling at each other and doing something with ropes. One of them, tall, athletic, brown-skinned like Katu, was lowering herself on a ladder down to Bitterblue, then trying to wrap Bitterblue in some sort of rope halter.

  “I’ve reached the hallucination stage,” Bitterblue tried to say to the hallucination of the woman, in case it was helpful for her to know. “This isn’t happening.” She supposed she was too cold to live now. She wouldn’t get to fire all her people, because she was going to die. She wouldn’t get to see Winterkeep, or kiss Katu again, or confront those importers, or find out what had happened to Mikka and Brek aboard the Seashell. She thought of each drowned man now, remembering that their deaths were her burdens. She wouldn’t get to carry the burdens of her kingdom, ever again.

  Bitterblue began to cry, because she understood, now that it was happening, how her friends would grieve. Was anything more horrible than losing someone, and not even understanding why? Hava would be inconsolable. Hava would run away; would she ever come back? “Giddon,” she cried. She’d been worried, for a long time, that the Council would take him away from her soon, assign him to some other court. She didn’t want him to leave. Now she was the one leaving him. “But I don’t want to go!” she cried.

  Suddenly she was in the air, hanging above the water, leaving the watching silbercows behind. She looked into the eyes of the long-whiskered one who’d tried to keep her awake. The creature gazed back at her with perfect calm. Then everything went black.

  Chapter Six

  Something strange was afoot today. Lovisa Cavenda had a sense for these things, like a snake perched upright with its tongue touching the air.

  At dinner, in the dining room of her dormitory, one of her friends overturned a cup of tea. When no one came from the kitchens to clean it up, Lovisa stood. “I’ll get someone,” she said, crossing to the kitchen doors and entering quietly.

  Two women stood at a counter. “They didn’t even miss her until they sighted land,” one of the women said. “Someone went below to wake everyone, and she was gone. Then they were a long time searching the ship, because, of course, they assumed she was on board somewhere.”

  The other woman, more of a girl, really, made a small, distressed noise. “But she wasn’t?”

  “No, the poor dear! A few of them actually jumped into the sea, looking for her. My sister was in the harbor when the ship docked. She said they were all in hysterics.”

  “That’s the saddest thing,” said the girl. “How old was she?”

  “Young! Twenty-three, twenty-four?”

  Throwing her braid over her shoulder, the girl noticed Lovisa standing by the door. “Oh,” she said, flustered. “I’m sorry, miss. Can we help you?”

  She was plain-faced like Lovisa, but her discomposure made her sweet, pleasing, and, Lovisa suspected, eager to please. She looked genuinely distressed about the story she’d heard.

  Lovisa was worried too, though she hadn’t decided yet what it meant. The Queen of Monsea was twenty-three. But so were a lot of people.

  “We have a spill,” she said. “Could someone clean it up?”

  With distracted murmurs, the girl bustled off in search of a cloth. Lovisa returned to her table, where none of her peers seemed aware of any sailing accidents that had befallen any queens.

  * * *

  —

  Later, Lovisa situated herself in an armchair in the dormitory’s second-floor foyer, right beside the window and the fireplace, her lap full of homework. She wore a robe with a fur collar that she tucked close against her throat, protection against the cold that radiated from the glass. She liked to work here for an hour or so most evenings. It gave her a view on everyone’s comings and goings. Tonight, she was waiting for the return of Ta Varana, who’d gone home for dinner. Ta’s mother was Minta Varana, the esteemed airship engineer. More importantly, her aunt was Sara Varana, the prime minister. If there was news to be had about the Monsean queen, Ta would probably have it.

  Around eight o’clock, the doors below opened, then crashed closed. Ta always slammed doors as if she believed they’d been constructed for the sole purpose of getting in her way. Lovisa readied her face as, with big, protesting breaths, Ta stomped up the stairs.

  “Oh, hi,” she said to Lovisa when she reached the foyer, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of someone to talk to. Ta had a flush of pink in her brown cheeks and her lips were shiny, painted the color of a raspberry. Her hair, which she wore in long, swirly waves, spilled out of the hood of a fluffy white fur coat that probably cost more than all Lovisa’s coats combined, and Lovisa had very nice coats. Ta Varana, like all the Vara
nas, was a big presence in a room, and extremely, noticeably pretty.

  “How was dinner?” said Lovisa, being careful not to sound too curious.

  “Less tedious than usual,” Ta said. “Did I miss anything?”

  “Good cake.”

  “My aunt was at dinner,” said Ta, certainly referring to the prime minister. Which meant that this conversation was going to be even more informative than Lovisa had hoped. “So our cake was excellent,” she went on, “and our house was lit up like the sun. All of Flag Hill is lit up; everyone’s showing off their airships. Did you know the Monsean delegation arrived today?”

  “No,” said Lovisa, sounding bored.

  “You didn’t? Aren’t they staying at your house?”

  “Are they? I can’t remember,” said Lovisa, a screaming lie. “Some delegation was supposed to stay at our house. Maybe it’s the Monseans?” Then she waited, suspecting that Ta would supply everything else she knew willingly, without being asked.

  “The Queen of Monsea is dead,” Ta said.

  Plunged into disappointment, Lovisa fought to rouse herself, knowing Ta would want a surprised reaction. “What? What do you mean?”

  “She died,” said Ta, with the satisfied smile of a gossip who knows she’s scored a point. “They think she went overboard, but they don’t actually know what happened. When the ship got close, they realized she was gone. They think she went out on deck and fell in. But I think the Magistry should consider other possibilities.”

  The Magistry was the Keepish police. “Like what?” said Lovisa.

  “Maybe murder. People murder queens. Maybe suicide. Her father was that psychopath King Leck, remember? A few people from the delegation came to dinner and I thought they were acting suspicious.”

  “Suspicious how?” Lovisa asked, because she couldn’t resist hearing Ta’s opinions on how people were supposed to behave.