King of Scars

by Leigh Bardugo

“He didn’t bite me, you ass. It was the other wolf!”

  “The other … are you out of your mind? And how do you know drüskelle commands anyway?”

  Nina found hot tears running down her cheeks. She might never see Trassel again. What if Matthias had sent him to her? Called him here to help her? “You had no right!”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “It doesn’t matter what you meant!” Nina stalked toward her. “Careless, foolish, thoughtless.” She didn’t know if she was talking to this girl or herself anymore, and she didn’t care. It was all too much.

  She shoved the other girl hard, swept her leg behind her ankle.

  “Stop it!” snarled the girl as she toppled.

  But Nina could not stop. She wanted to get hit. She wanted to hit back. She grabbed the girl by her collar.

  Nina grunted as sudden pain seized her chest. It felt like a fist around her heart. The girl had her hands up, something between terror and exultation in her copper eyes. Nina felt her body grow heavy; her vision blurred. She knew this feeling from her training as a Corporalnik. The other girl was slowing Nina’s heartbeat.

  “Grisha,” Nina gasped.

  “I didn’t … I don’t.”

  Nina pushed her own power against the other girl’s, felt her living, vibrant force waver. With the last bit of her strength, Nina flicked her fingers and a bone shard flew from its sheath at her thigh. It struck the girl in the side, not hard—it bounced into the snow. But it was enough to break her concentration.

  Nina stumbled backward, trying to regain her breath, fingers pressed to her sternum. She hadn’t had Heartrender power used against her for years. She’d forgotten just how frightening it could be.

  “You’re Grisha,” she said.

  The girl leapt to her feet, knife drawn. “I’m not.”

  Interesting, thought Nina. She has power but she can’t control it. She trusts the blade more.

  Nina held up her palms to make peace. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Now the girl showed no sign of hesitation. Her body was loose, relaxed, as if she felt more herself with steel in her hand. “You sure seemed like you wanted to hurt me a second ago.”

  “Well, I did, but I’ve come to my senses.”

  “I was trying to save your life! Why do you care about a wolf anyway? You’re worse than the drüskelle.”

  Now, that was something Nina had never expected to hear. “That wolf saved me from an attack. I don’t know why. But I didn’t want you to hurt him.” This girl was Grisha, and Nina had almost killed her. “I … overreacted.”

  The tall girl shoved her knife back in its sheath. “Overreacting is throwing a tantrum when someone eats the last sweet roll.” She pointed an accusatory finger at Nina. “You were out for blood.”

  “To be fair, I’ve considered killing over the last sweet roll.”

  “Where’s your coat?”

  “I think I took it off,” Nina said, searching for an explanation for why she would tear off her coat that didn’t involve disclosing her bone armor. “I guess I was going snow-mad.”

  “Is that a thing?”

  Nina found the coat, already almost buried in wet white flakes. “Absolutely. At least in my village.”

  The other girl rubbed her muscled thigh. “And what did you hit me with?”

  “A dart.”

  “You threw a dart at me?” she said incredulously. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “It worked, didn’t it?” A dart made of human bone, but some details were best avoided, and it was time to go on the offensive. Nina shrugged into her damp coat. “You put the guards to sleep at the convent. That’s how you sneak out.”

  All the girl’s confidence dissolved, fear dousing her fire like a rogue wave. “I didn’t hurt anyone.”

  “But you could have. That’s actually very delicate work. You could land someone in a coma.”

  The girl stilled as the wind howled around them. “How would you know?”

  But Nina hadn’t spoken without thinking. Grisha power was as good as a death sentence or worse in this country.

  “My sister was Grisha,” Nina lied.

  “What … what happened to her?”

  “That’s not a story for the middle of a storm.”

  The girl clenched her fists. Saints, she was tall—but built like a dancer, a long coil of wiry muscle.

  “You can’t tell anyone what I am,” she said. “They’ll kill me.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m not going to help anyone hurt you.” The girl’s face was wary. The wind rose, keening. “But none of that will matter if we both die out here.”

  The tall girl looked at Nina as if she really had gone snow-mad. “Don’t be silly.”

  “You’re saying you can find your way through this?”

  “No,” she said, patting her horse’s flank. “But Helmut can. There’s a hunting lodge not far from here.” Again, she hesitated, and Nina could guess at the thoughts in her head.

  “You’re thinking of leaving me to the mercy of the snow,” said Nina. The girl’s eyes slid away guiltily. So she had a merciless streak. Somehow it made Nina like her more. “I might not survive. But I might. And then you can be sure I’ll tell the first person I meet about the Grisha Heartrender living in secret among the Women of the Well.”

  “I’m not Grisha.”

  “You do a remarkable imitation.”

  The girl ran a gloved hand through her horse’s mane. “Can you ride?”

  “If I have to.”

  “It’s that or go to sleep in the snow.”

  “I can ride.”

  The girl vaulted into the saddle in a single smooth movement. She offered Nina a hand, and Nina let herself be pulled onto the horse’s back.

  “You don’t like to skip meals, do you?” said the girl with a grunt.

  “Not if I can help it.”

  Nina settled her hands around the girl’s waist, and soon they were moving through the growing drifts.

  “You can be whipped for using those commands, you know,” said the girl. “Djel commenden. That’s considered blasphemy if a drüskelle isn’t speaking.”

  “I’ll say extra prayers tonight.”

  “You never told me how you know those commands.”

  More lies then. “A boy from our town served in the ranks.”

  “What’s his name?”

  Nina thought back to the fight at the Ice Court. “Lars. I believe he passed recently.” And no one wants him back. He’d closed a whip over her and put her on her knees before Kaz Brekker had come calling.

  The white world stretched on, frozen and featureless. Now that she wasn’t walking, Nina felt the cold more deeply, the weight of it settling over her. Just as she began to wonder if the girl knew where she was going, Nina saw a dark shape through the snow, and the horse halted. The girl slid down.

  Nina followed, her legs gone numb and aching, and they led Helmut to a sheltered space beside the lodge.

  “Looks like we aren’t the only ones who had this idea,” she said. There were lights in the windows of the little lodge, and she could hear loud voices from within.

  The other girl twisted the reins in her hands, removing her glove to stroke the horse’s nose. “I didn’t realize so many people knew about this place. There are probably men inside who came to wait out the storm. We won’t be safe here.”

  Nina considered. “Do you have your skirts in your saddlebag?”

  The girl pulled at a knotted belt around her waist, and the folds of her coat dropped into a skirt that fell into place over her trousers. Nina had to admit she was impressed. “What other tricks do you have up your sleeve? Or skirts, as the case may be?”

  A smile flickered over her lips. “A few.”

  The door to the shelter flew open, a man with a gun silhouetted against the light. “Who’s out there?”

  “Follow my lead,” Nina murmured, then cried, “Oh thank goodness. We were afraid no one would be
here. Hurry, Inger!”

  “Inger?” muttered the girl.

  Nina stomped up to the door, ignoring the gun pointed at her, hoping the man holding it wasn’t drunk or riled enough to shoot at an unarmed girl—or a girl who looked unarmed.

  Nina climbed the steps and smiled sweetly at the big man as the other girl trailed her. “Thank Djel we’ve found shelter for the night.” She glanced over his shoulder into the lodge. The room was crowded with men, ten at least, all gathered around a fire. Nina felt tension spike through her. This was a moment when she would have been glad to see drüskelle, who didn’t drink and who were kept to a strict code regarding women. There was nothing to do but brazen it out. “And among gentlemen to protect us!”

  “Who are you?” the man said suspiciously.

  Nina pushed past him as if she owned the place. “Aren’t we lucky, Inger? Let’s get in front of that fire. And close the door…” She laid a hand on the man’s chest. “I’m sorry, what was your name?”

  He blinked. “Anders.”

  “Be a darling and shut the door, Anders.”

  They shuffled inside, and she met the stares of the men with a smile. “I knew Djel would guide our way, Inger. Surely your father will have a healthy reward in store for all of these fine fellows.”

  For a moment, the girl looked confused, and Nina thought they might be lost. But then her face cleared. “Yes! Yes, indeed! My father is most generous when it comes to my safety.”

  “And with you betrothed to the wealthiest man in Overüt.” Nina winked at the men gathered by the fire. “Well, I suppose Djel has granted you gentlemen a bit of luck this night too. Now, which of you will stand guard for us?”

  “Stand guard?” said a man with tufty orange brows by the fire.

  “Through the night.”

  “Dumpling, I think you’re in a muddle—”

  “Lady Inger’s father is most generous, but he cannot be expected to bestow ten thousand krydda on every one of you, so you must choose who is to be the beneficiary.”

  “Ten thousand krydda?”

  “That was the price last time, was it not? When we were stranded in that amusing spot down south. Although, I suppose now that you are betrothed to the wealthiest man in Overüt, it may be twice the price.”

  “Who is this bridegroom you speak of?” the bearded man asked.

  “You’ve heard of Bernhard Bolle, who made his fortune in smoked trout? And Ingvar Hals, who owns timberland from the Elbjen to the Isenvee? Well, Lennart Bjord towers above them all.”

  “Lennart Bjord?” the bearded man repeated.

  “That does sound familiar,” said someone by the hearth. Nina highly doubted that, since she’d made him up mere moments ago.

  “I was the first to greet them,” said the big man with the rifle. “It’s only right I should get the reward.”

  “How is that fair? You happened to be by the door!”

  “Now, don’t get too riled,” Nina said with a schoolmarm tsk in her voice as the men began debating who would take the watch. “Lennart Bjord will have a bit of something for everyone.”

  Nina and “Inger” settled in the corner, their backs to the wall as the men argued.

  “That was pathetic,” the girl seethed, resting her elbows on her knees and tugging her skirt over the toes of her boots.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You made us seem weak. Every time we behave that way, it just makes it easier for men to look at us and see nothing but softness.”

  “There is nothing wrong with softness,” Nina said, her temper fraying. She was exhausted and cold, and she’d dug her lover’s grave tonight. “Right now they’re looking at us as two big bags of money instead of two vulnerable girls alone.”

  “We weren’t vulnerable. I have my gun, my knife. You have those ridiculous darts.”

  “Do you also have twelve arms hidden in that coat? We’re outnumbered.” Nina actually suspected that she could have managed all of them, but only if she intended to reveal her true power, and that would mean putting this girl in the ground tonight too.

  “They’re drunk. We would have managed.”

  “You don’t enter a fight you can’t win,” Nina replied, irritated. “I’m guessing you’ve had to train in secret, and that you’ve probably never had a real combat instructor. Being strong doesn’t mean being sloppy.”

  The wiry girl drew her coat closer. “I hate it. I hate how they see us. My father is the same way. He thinks a woman wanting to fight or hunt or fend for herself is unnatural, that it denies men the chance to be protectors.”

  Nina snorted. “It really is a tragedy for them. What does your mother think?”

  “My mother is the perfect wife, except she provided my father no sons. She does as he dictates.” The girl sighed. She looked weary suddenly, the thrill of the fight and the storm gone. Her hair—that extraordinary color, like the woods in autumn, chestnut and red and gold—lay storm-damp and tangled against her brown cheeks. “I can’t blame her. It’s the way the world works. She’s worried I’ll become an outcast.”

  “So they sent you to a convent in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Where I couldn’t get into trouble or embarrass them in front of their friends. Don’t pretend you think differently. I saw the way you looked at me when you helped us in the clearing.”

  “You were dressed as a soldier. I was entitled to a little surprise.” And she’d been dedicated to maintaining her cover, not befriending a Grisha—one who might be able to get her closer to the factory. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I travel on my own, make my own living.”

  “That’s different. You’re a widow.”

  “You needn’t sound quite so envious.”

  The girl rubbed her hand over her brow. “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless.”

  Nina studied her. There was something relentless in her features—the cheekbones sharp, the nose rigorously straight. Only the full thrust of her lips gave any hint of softness. It was a challenging face, stubborn in its lines. Beautiful.

  “We’re not as different as you might think.” Nina bobbed her head toward the men, who were now arm wrestling for the right to a generous reward that none of them would ever see. “It’s fear that makes your father act as he does, that makes men write foolish rules that say you can’t travel alone or ride as you wish to.”

  The other girl bit back a laugh. “Why should they be afraid? The world belongs to them.”

  “But think of all the things we might achieve if we were allowed to do the things that they do.”

  “If they were truly afraid, you wouldn’t have to simper and preen.”

  Nina winked. “You’ve seen me simper. If I ever decide to preen, you’ll need to sit down for it.”

  The girl stifled a snort. “I’m Hanne.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Nina said. “I’m Mila.” She’d told countless lies this night, but somehow it felt wrong to give this girl a false name.

  “You don’t really mean for us to sleep, do you, Mila?” Hanne’s face was knowing.

  “Not a chance. You’re going to keep your hand on your dagger, and I’m going to keep first watch.”

  Nina touched her hand to her sleeve, felt the reassuring presence of the bones lining the fabric. She watched the flickering of the fire.

  “Rest,” she told Hanne, and realized she was smiling for the first time in months.

  11

  ZOYA

  PREPARATIONS FOR NIKOLAI’S GRAND tour of the miracle sites required days of planning by the king’s staff. Provisions had to be secured, vehicles made ready for the changing weather, appropriate clothing packed, and letters sent to noblemen and governors in the towns they intended to visit. Zoya found herself snapping at everyone even more than usual. She knew the talk was that she was in one of her moods, but the perks of ruling included permission not to slather her words in honey. She did her job. She did it well. If her students and servants and fellow Grisha couldn’t endure a few curt
replies in exchange, they were in the wrong damn country.

  She might have been able to relax if everyone didn’t move so slowly. But eventually the wagons were packed, the coach prepared, and outriders sent ahead to scout the condition of the roads for the royal procession. The specific itinerary for the trip would be kept secret, but soon Nikolai’s people would know their king was traveling and they would come out in force to see their golden war hero.

  Zoya wasn’t sure what to think of the monk’s stories of the thorn wood or the twins’ talk of the Priestguard and the obisbaya. Part of her said that it was foolish to pin their hopes on such a mission, on the ramblings of a fanatic who clearly believed in Saints and all the pomp and nonsense that went with them.

  She told herself the journey would be good for the crown and Nikolai’s standing, regardless of what they found. She told herself that if it all came to nothing, they would find some other way to get through the next few months, to appease their allies and keep their enemies at bay. She told herself that the real Nikolai was still in control, not the monster she had seen that night in the bell tower.

  But Zoya had survived by being honest with herself, and she had to acknowledge that there was another fear lurking inside her—beneath the anxieties that accompanied the preparations for this journey, beneath the ordeal of looking into the eyes of the demon and seeing its hunger. She was afraid of what they might find on the Fold. What if the genuflecting twits who worshipped the Starless One were actually right, and these bizarre occurrences heralded the Darkling’s return? What if he somehow found a way back?

  “This time I’ll be ready for him.” Zoya whispered the words in the dark, beneath the roof of the chambers the Darkling had once occupied, in the palace he had built from nothing. She wasn’t a naive girl anymore, desperately trying to prove herself at every turn. She was a general with a long body count and an even longer memory.

  Fear is a phoenix. Words Liliyana had spoken to her years ago and that Zoya had repeated to others many times. You can watch it burn a thousand times and still it will return. She would not be governed by her fear. She did not have that luxury. Maybe so, she thought, but it hasn’t kept you from avoiding Nikolai since that night in the bell tower. She hated this frailty in herself, hated that she now kept Tolya or Tamar close when she was chaining the king to his bed at night, that even in meeting rooms she found herself on guard, as if expecting to look across a negotiating table and see his hazel eyes glimmer black. Her fear was useless, unproductive—and she suspected it was something the monster might enjoy.