A visit from a queen of the Royal Continent would be a real adventure. Wouldn’t it? This was the sort of thing that happened in a life like Katu’s. In fact, Katu knew the Queen of Monsea personally. He’d visited the Royal Continent not long ago; he’d told Lovisa about Gracelings. About the little queen who lived in a castle, spending her days in a soaring tower that rose above the city bridges. About Royal Continent magic.
From her parents’ overheard conversation, Lovisa hadn’t gotten the puzzle piece that made everything clear. She still didn’t understand about Benni’s plan, the banker’s box, or Quona Varana’s friendship with the Estillan envoy. But she would file those tidbits away, in case they became useful later. You never knew what detail might fit perfectly into a future puzzle.
It did occur to her to notice that her father, like her mother, had invited Lovisa home for dinner as well, even though he’d never intended to be there. That stung a little.
But Lovisa would forgive him anything to have the Queen of Monsea living in her house.
Chapter Five
Bitterblue had forgotten how seasick she got. Had it always been this bad? She was certain that as a child, her head had stopped spinning after just a few days. Now her sickness kept going away, then coming back; going away again, then always coming back.
When the first ten days of the journey to Winterkeep had passed like this, she’d suddenly become terrified that she might be pregnant, a fear that had not reduced her nausea. It would’ve been the baby of a young lord named Pella from central Monsea who was intelligent and funny and attractive and whose child she absolutely, positively did not want.
Once the scare had passed, she understood that she needn’t have worried. Bitterblue was always careful to take the medicines. Still, it had frightened her, and made her remember how angry Pella had been when she’d broken things off with him.
“You’re cold,” he’d said to her in a sudden, harsh voice, surprising her, because Bitterblue was quite sure nothing but warmth had passed between them. Pella had a warm, grinning mouth and the most beautiful shoulders and arms, the warmest hands. She knew that he’d known, for she’d made sure that he’d known, that their affair was temporary. He’d told her it was what he wanted too.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “You know I’m not cold.”
He pushed to his feet, curled his lips with contempt. She’d never seen him do that before and it was stunning. They were alone in Bitterblue’s sitting room. It was late; the lamps threw their reflections against her windows. Bitterblue, confused, stood up too, and saw her mirror-self rising across the room.
“You pretend you’re giving your heart,” he said.
“I never pretend,” she said, really hurt now, because she was always honest with lovers; it was a lesson she’d taken to heart long ago. “I think you’re the one who’s been pretending something!”
“Well, you see the truth of me now,” he said, and she did. “You use people,” he said. “You never give.”
“That’s unfair!” cried Bitterblue, who’d loved exploring his body, learning what made it sing. “I am a generous lover!”
“You never give your heart,” he said, then swept away through the big doors, visibly upset, probably giving the guards outside her rooms plenty to gossip about.
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.