She saw Magdalena’s eyes widen in alarm. Too far, they seemed to say. But Linné didn’t care. Tannov was being an ass, and if he was here for the reasons she thought, he should be honest. As a friend.
Tannov stopped smiling. The room was so still that Linné could hear her own heartbeat. “Come with me, Miss Zolonova.”
“You can’t—” Magdalena said.
“It’s fine.” Linné pushed the blankets off. Vertigo spun through her. “I need a minute.” Tannov ducked out as she swung her legs to the floor.
She had to lean against the wall to get dressed. Magdalena handed her items of clothing, one by one. By the time she got to her boots, she was too out of breath to even lace them, and Magdalena bent down to help. “Leave it,” she said. She took one last look at Revna’s bed. We’ll stand through the charges together. She pressed a hand to her temple and pushed away from the wall, hoping she wouldn’t collapse.
Tannov held the door open for her as she walked out. He still didn’t smile.
The cold air outside hit Linné with a blast that left her gasping. Snow drifted down in thick clumps. No flying tonight.
The snow had been dug out around the boards, leaving them to walk through little tunnels that came up to Linné’s thigh. The killer storm had grounded everyone, by the looks of things. Linné wondered if the snow had stopped the forest fire, and what that meant for a salvage team.
Tannov led the way, striding over the iced boards, slowing only when he realized she lagged behind. The air cleared her head, but she moved ponderously, heavy on her feet. As the fog lifted from her brain, she became aware of the way the silence stretched.
She supposed she should make the peace offering. “I guess I shouldn’t have called you an ass.”
“You probably shouldn’t have.” He didn’t sound angry. Just neutral.
Linné knew she wouldn’t make things better by fighting with him. But she’d never really been able to hold her tongue. “Their deaths aren’t a joke. And neither is Revna’s life. She did incredible things to keep us alive. And she’s my friend.”
“That’s all quite interesting to hear,” he said. Collecting information on her.
Linné stopped. After a few more steps, Tannov turned to face her. “If you want to ask me something, ask it,” she said.
He considered her for a moment. Then he dug his cigarette case out of his pocket. “Have one,” he said, holding it out.
She stopped herself from shoving his arm away. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I,” he replied. “Last chance. Their black market value is high.”
A snowflake settled on her nose. “Are you out here with me as a friend or as a Skarov?”
His smile twisted bitterly. “You know it doesn’t work that way.” He flipped open the case and took out a cigarette for himself. She could almost smell the sour tang as he slipped it between his pale lips. He lit the cigarette with a flash of his fingers and exhaled a puff of blue smoke. “Let’s go.” They headed away from the infirmary, toward the officers’ block. Linné forced her shoulders back, her chest forward, out of habit. A light flickered in Hesovec’s office. Next to it, Tamara’s was dark.
She followed Tannov all the way to a little door on the corner of the block. The building looked like any other on the outside. But the inner room was cold, dark, and barren. A table stood in the middle, flanked by two chairs. “We can do this in the hospital,” she said. “We can do it in the mess. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
He held the door open, leaning forward in a little bow. As if they were going to the theater, not the interrogation room. “Please make yourself comfortable.” She hadn’t heard him sound so stilted since they’d assisted in a field surgery outside the Goreva farmland. They’d tried to stuff a man’s intestines back inside him. They’d both cried afterward. Then they’d pretended it never happened.
“Tannov,” she said. If she went into that room, something would break. It might be their friendship, or it might be her.
“Please go inside,” he said. “Don’t make me write that I had to force you. Please, Linné. Please.”
She’d never heard him say please so many times in one go. She hadn’t expected him to sound so much… like himself. But every word twisted the invisible knife deeper into her gut. Revna had warned her. And she’d known all along—Skarov didn’t have friends. As Tannov said, it didn’t work that way. But it still hurt. She pushed past him and went inside.
The wooden chair was cold and hard. She couldn’t get comfortable, no matter how she shifted.
“I’ll get you something warm to drink,” Tannov said. “I won’t be a moment.”
The room darkened as he closed the door.
He came back hours later.
Linné’s ass had gone numb long before. She’d given up on summoning her spark after the first half hour, and she spent the rest of the waiting period trying to convince herself that it didn’t matter if her spark never returned. When she heard footsteps on the gravel outside, she tried to shake off her shivering, and folded her hands in front of her. She knew the tactics the Skarov imposed. She’d heard of them from her father when he talked to his ministers and thought she was too young to really listen. The empty room, the hard chair, the cold oven. The waiting and waiting. She was almost offended that Tannov thought she’d break so easily.
“Sorry about the wait,” he said as the door scraped open. He carried a steaming cup of tea in one hand and a bag in the other. She set her face to a look of composure. He put the cup down next to her hands, then opened the bag. He took out a lantern and sparked it to life before he closed the door. He fixed the lantern to a swinging hook over their heads. Then he reached into the bag again, retrieving a soft black cloth case. Something metal clinked inside. He sat, folding his hands. Mirroring her.
Linné nodded to the case. “What is that?”
“It’s only standard procedure,” Tannov replied. “Don’t worry about it.”
Have you ever tortured someone? she’d asked him, not so long ago.
Give me a break, he’d said. He hadn’t said no.
She was tempted to throw the tea all over his smooth silver coat. And she was tempted to wrap her hands around the cup and let the warmth burn all her shivering away. But she didn’t touch it. She stared at the black case, and Tannov stared at her.
The minutes stretched out. For the Skarov, it was all about the wait. And at first Linné was willing to play the game. But she’d always been the impatient one. The honest one. She tore her eyes away from the case. “You got grayer since the last time I saw you.” Silver streaked through Tannov’s honey-colored hair, a thin line at each temple.
“Long week,” he replied. “Why don’t we get started? On behalf of the Union, it is my pleasure to officially welcome you back to the land of the living.”
“Never left it,” she replied.
“You were gone for two nights and two days. We were convinced that you and Miss Roshena had perished in the raid.”
She shrugged and spread her arms. Tannov leaned away. She smothered an angry laugh. Did he really think she’d attack? Instead she reached for the tea. She couldn’t help herself anymore. “Who would you rather believe?” she said, and took a sip.
He shifted, and Linné tensed—but he only drew a small notebook from his pocket. “I’d like to hear the story in your own words. Why don’t you tell me what happened? Go slowly, if you need to. I want to hear everything. Any detail you can remember, tell me.”
“I’ll tell it more thoroughly if I’m warm and full,” she pointed out.
He paused with his pen a centimeter above the page. “Are you saying you’d like another four and a half hours of isolation?” His eyes flicked to the case at the edge of the table. Things could definitely get worse from here.
Linné’s hands tightened around her cup. “Honestly, I didn’t think you’d be so uncivil right from the start.” Here was where she found out exactly how far their friendship would take
her. Better to know now. If only she could convince her pounding heart.
Tannov pushed his chair back and went over to the door. He opened it a fraction and leaned out.
A minute later he stepped back and pulled the door open wide. A man came in with an armful of split logs. He loaded them into the iron stove before scurrying away. Tannov lit the fire with a blast of spark.
“So,” he said, sitting again. “The room is getting warm and a meal is on its way. Every excuse you make is something I have to write down. Something that makes you appear less willing.”
She hated the way he looked at her. So earnest, so distressed. As if he truly wanted to help.
“Start from the beginning,” he said. “What happened to your plane?”
She related the story as well as she could remember, beginning with Katya and Elena. She tried to describe the layout of the camp, the movements of the Skyhorses. Tannov never interrupted her, never shook his head, never did anything but write. His pen scratched and scratched at the cheap brown paper in his notebook, and the only sounds he made were the marks of his pen and an occasional rustling as he turned a page.
She spoke for a quarter of an hour before her voice began to crack. The tea was long gone. Tannov unclasped his hip flask and handed it to her. She took a swig without checking what was inside. Brandy. The cheap stuff. She coughed and sputtered. Tannov was part of the Information Unit. Couldn’t he get his hands on some nice black market booze?
When the food finally arrived, she kept going around mouthfuls of cabbage, beef, and onion cooked to oblivion. She paused to lick the bowl clean. Tannov watched her with a mix of pity and horror. “You try two days of Elda rations,” she said as she set the bowl down.
She finished her story, then she sat back and waited as Tannov flipped through the pages of his notebook.
“It’s quite a tale,” he said at last, knitting his brow.
“Put it in the papers. People will love it.”
“Perhaps.” He scanned a page, lips moving as he read. Then he lowered the notebook. “Are you sure there’s nothing else?”
“Like what?” This was what the Skarov relied on. The thought that maybe, maybe she’d done something wrong. The overanalysis of little lies to cover up imaginary infractions that would turn into bigger lies that would be cracked open like chestnuts, with the help of a black case.
“No Strekoza pilot has ever survived a crash. Our attempts to unlock the secrets of Elda aircraft have been universally thwarted. And the way you claim Miss Roshena manipulated the Weave… it’s an advanced tactic that’s practically unthinkable for a girl of her age and background.”
Cold crawled up her spine. Don’t show fear. “Why stop there?” she said. “Tell me what you think about our time in the taiga.”
Tannov tapped a page in his notebook. “You said that one of Miss Roshena’s prosthetics broke in the crash.”
“I did say that.”
“Yet the two of you climbed a mountain.”
“It was a small mountain,” she said. “And we sort of rolled down the other side.” As far as she could recall.
For long minutes they were silent. Linné prepared bombast after bombast, snide replies to every question he didn’t ask. The room grew too warm as the wood burned merrily.
She knew the game. She knew its rules. But she’d never liked it. “If you’re going to accuse me of treason, do it,” she finally said.
The mask slipped. Tannov’s eyes glistened. Then he swallowed and his composure snapped back into place. He leaned in over the table, letting her see the gold detail around his blue star. His hands seemed bigger than she remembered. Suited to breaking limbs. “Did you commit treason?”
She forced herself not to lean away. “If I had, wouldn’t I have come up with a more plausible story?”
“That’s not a no.”
Linné gripped the edge of the table. “No.”
“Did Miss Roshena commit treason?”
“No.”
Tannov shut his notebook with a snap. “Why was the Serpent unguarded?”
Even breaths. “They were getting it ready for flight. They didn’t know we were alive.”
He raised his eyebrows. “No one saw you?”
“The world was on fire. Our plane had crashed. No one was looking for us.”
He let out a dry husk of a laugh. “How convenient. And two girls under twenty did what no Union engineer has done so far.”
Linné felt sweat gathering under her arms and collar. If she took off her coat, she’d only look as if she was getting flustered. “It had already been prepped for flight.”
“For three people.”
She nodded.
“And you powered it all by yourself, and conveniently crashed it.”
“Get me a map. I showed Tamara—I’ll show you. Didn’t you send a salvage team?” Please, didn’t they find anything? She began to tremble. She wanted to hit him. Back in the day, before she became a woman in his eyes and he became… whatever he was, she would have hit him. It probably would have resolved the argument nicely. She let go of the table and put her hands in her lap, but she couldn’t keep the hurt from her voice when she said, “We did everything to get home. And now—” And now Revna’s predictions were about to come true.
His pen snapped. Tannov tossed the pieces onto the table and propped his face in his hands, pressing his palms against his eyes. This time, the silence wasn’t a waiting game. It was a game of control and who could regain theirs first.
Tannov could, of course. He straightened and pulled out his cigarette case. He took one and pushed the open case toward her. A cigarette would be so good. She could taste it. But it was still Tannov on the other side of the cigarette. And she wasn’t sure what that meant anymore. “No, thanks.”
Tannov lit his. “I want to help,” he said.
“Then believe me.”
“I do,” he said, and he sounded so pleading that she almost fell for it.
Sour rascidine tickled her nose. She flared her nostrils, trying to breathe it in without showing how desperate she was. “Then why am I here?”
“Because no one else will believe you,” he said. “You disappeared in enemy territory, and you disappeared with a traitor’s daughter. Between her father and her illegal magic, it’s a lot easier to believe that you concocted this story. But if you told me a truth…”
“I’m telling you the truth,” she said. “Don’t you want to go back to Mistelgard dragging the corpse of a Serpent behind you?”
“We’ve sent the salvage team,” he said. “We’ll take care of the Serpent, or what’s left of it.”
She made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “But we won’t get credit for it.”
“Trust me—you don’t want credit for it.”
Her hands closed around the cup. Her first instinct was to throw it at Tannov’s face, but she had enough control to know what that would get her. She squeezed the cup instead, so hard she thought it would shatter. “Lies are the enemy of the Union.”
“Your truths will get you thrown in prison.” He tossed the notebook on the table, making her jerk back. “Don’t you see? How could Revna possibly have known what would get the Serpent in the air? How is it that she survived a crash that no one else could? How do you know she didn’t plan to lead the Elda here?”
“I know her.” Linné held to the thought of Revna, asleep in her sickbed, relying on Linné. We’ll get through the charges together. “We spent days fighting for our lives. You should remember what that’s like. Or do they pull that out of you with a little black tool kit?”
He paled but pressed on. “When I go to Mistelgard, all they’ll hear is that two girls disappeared in enemy territory and came out again with an impossible story. When you add the fact that it’s Roshena—”
“Leave her alone.” Linné slammed her hand on the table. The teacup fell to the floor, splitting neatly down the middle. Tannov’s eyes bored into her. Swallowing, Linné be
nt down and retrieved the pieces, pressing them together. If she pushed hard enough, the crack was almost invisible. Almost.
Tannov closed his eyes. The space between his brows furrowed. “Help me, Linné.”
She thought of Revna pulling them through the air. Really flying. “She saved me. She fought for me. And for her I’ll fight anyone. Whoever I have to.” Even you.
“I don’t want to fight you.” He reached halfway across the table before he stopped himself. His expression was earnest, begging. He sounded like the friend he had been, once.
It’s a lie. The Skarov were trained to lie. Tannov was using their shared past. That was all.
He reached again and caught her hand. She pulled away. “Please, Linné,” he said, voice cracking. “You know this is standard procedure. You know we do this every time someone goes missing in enemy territory. And you know that if I’d followed protocol, I’d have taken you straight to Eponar and left you with some skull breaker who didn’t know you, who’d have opened that case and gotten to work. I want more than anything to go back to Mistelgard and tell everyone what a hero you are. But I can’t go back with this.”
She looked down at her hands. “It’s the truth,” she whispered.
They sat like that for a while.
“Well,” he finally said in a raw voice. “You won’t lie for me, and you won’t lie for yourself. Maybe you’ll lie for her.” The firelight turned his eyes to liquid gold. “You’re a general’s daughter. Your father will pull strings for you. But Revna has no one. And with her background, she’ll never see the outside of a prison cell again.”
Heat flooded her. For a moment she thought the spark would push through her skin, returning in a glorious blaze. “Are you threatening her?”
“I’m telling her future,” Tannov said. He turned his palms up, a gesture of peace. “Unless you choose to save her. What’s a small lie in exchange for the life of your friend?”
We Rule the Night Page 30