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 Varanas, 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.”