Three weeks she’d traveled with Matthias after the shipwreck. They hadn’t had a compass, hadn’t known where they were going. They hadn’t even known where on the northern shore they’d washed up. They’d spent long days slogging through the snow, freezing nights in whatever rudimentary shelter they could assemble or in the deserted huts of whaling camps when they were lucky enough to come across them. They’d eaten roasted seaweed and whatever grasses or tubers they could find. When they’d found a stash of dried reindeer meat at the bottom of a travel pack in one of the camps, it had been like some kind of miracle. They’d gnawed on it in mute bliss, feeling nearly drunk on its flavor.
After the first night, they’d slept in all the dry clothes and blankets they could find but on opposite sides of the fire. If they didn’t have wood or kindling, they curled against one another, barely touching, but by morning, they’d be pressed together, breathing in tandem, cocooned in muzzy sleep, a single crescent moon.
Every morning he complained that she was impossible to wake.
“It’s like trying to raise a corpse.”
“The dead request five more minutes,” she would say, and bury her head in the furs.
He’d stomp around, packing their few things as loudly as possible, grumbling to himself. “Lazy, ridiculous, selfish…” until she finally roused herself and set about preparing for the day.
“What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get home?” she asked him on one of their endless days trekking through the snow, hoping to find some sign of civilization.
“Sleep,” he said. “Bathe. Pray for my lost friends.”
“Oh yes, the other thugs and killers. How did you become a drüskelle, anyway?”
“Your friends slaughtered my family in a Grisha raid,” he’d said coldly. “Brum took me in and gave me something to fight for.”
Nina hadn’t wanted to believe that, but she knew it was possible. Battles happened, innocent lives were lost in the cross fire. It was equally disturbing to think of that monster Brum as some kind of father figure.
It didn’t seem right to argue or to apologize, so she said the first thing that popped into her head.
“Jer molle pe oonet. Enel mörd je nej afva trohem verret.” I have been made to protect you. Only in death will I be kept from this oath.
Matthias had stared at her in shock. “That’s the drüskelle oath to Fjerda. How do you know those words?”
“I tried to learn as much about Fjerda as I could.”
“Why?”
She’d wavered, then said, “So I wouldn’t fear you.”
“You don’t seem afraid.”
“Are you afraid of me?” she’d asked.
“No,” he’d said, and he’d sounded almost surprised. He’d claimed before that he didn’t fear her. This time she believed him. She tried to remind herself that wasn’t a good thing.
They’d walked on for a while, and then he’d asked, “What’s the first thing you’re going to do?”
“Eat.”
“Eat what?”
“Everything. Stuffed cabbage, potato dumplings, black currant cakes, blini with lemon zest. I can’t wait to see Zoya’s face when I come walking into the Little Palace.”
“Zoya Nazyalensky?”
Nina had stopped short. “You know her?”
“We all know of her. She’s a powerful witch.”
It had hit her then: For the drüskelle, Zoya was a little like Jarl Brum—cruel, inhuman, the thing that waited in the dark with death in her hands. Zoya was this boy’s monster. The thought left her uneasy.
“How did you get out of the cages?”
Nina blinked. “What?”
“On the ship. You were bound and in cages.”
“The water cup. The handle broke and the lip was jagged beneath. We used it to cut through our bonds. Once our hands were free…” Nina trailed off awkwardly.
Matthias’ brow lowered. “You were planning to attack us.”
“We were going to make our move that night.”
“But then the storm hit.”
“Yes.”
A Squaller and a Fabrikator had smashed a hole right through the deck, and they’d swum free. But had any of them survived the icy waters? Had they managed to make their way to land? She shivered. If they hadn’t discovered the cup’s secret, she would have drowned in a cage.
“What do drüskelle eat?” she asked, picking up her pace. “Other than Grisha babies?”
“We don’t eat babies!”
“Dolphin blubber? Reindeer hooves?”
She saw his mouth twist and wondered if he was nauseous or if maybe, possibly, he was trying not to laugh.
“We eat a lot of fish. Herring. Salt cod. And yes, reindeer, but not the hooves.”
“How about cake?”
“What about it?”
“I’m very keen on cake. I’m wondering if we can find some common ground.”
He shrugged.
“Oh, come on, drüskelle,” she said. They still hadn’t exchanged names, and she wasn’t sure they should. Eventually, if they survived, they would reach a town or village. She didn’t know what would happen then, but the less he knew about her the better, in any case. “You’re not giving up Fjerdan government secrets. I just want to know why you don’t like cake.”
“I do like cake, but we’re not permitted sweets.”
“Anyone? Or just drüskelle?”
“Drüskelle. It’s considered an indulgence. Like alcohol or—”
“Girls?”
His cheeks reddened, and he trudged forward. It was just so easy to make him uncomfortable.
“If you’re not allowed sugar or alcohol, you’d probably really love pomdrakon.”
He hadn’t taken the bait at first, just walked on, but finally the quiet proved too much for him. “What’s pomdrakon?”
“Dragonbowl,” Nina said eagerly. “First you soak raisins in brandy, and then you turn off the lights and set them on fire.”
“Why?”
“To make it hard to grab them.”
“What do you do once you have them?”
“You eat them.”
“Don’t they burn your tongue?”
“Sure but—”
“Then why would you—”
“Because it’s fun, dummy. You know, ‘fun’? There’s a word for it in Fjerdan so you must be familiar with the term.”
“I have plenty of fun.”
“All right, what do you do for fun?”
And that was the way they went on, sniping at each other, just like that first night in the water, keeping each other alive, refusing to acknowledge that they were growing weaker, that if they didn’t find a real town soon, they weren’t going to last much longer. There were days when their hunger and the glare off the northern ice had them moving in circles, backtracking, faltering over their own steps, but they never spoke of it, never said the word lost, as if they both knew that would somehow be admitting defeat.
“Why don’t Fjerdans let girls fight?” she asked him one night as they’d lain curled beneath a lean-to, the cold palpable through the skins they’d laid on the ground.
“They don’t want to fight.”
“How do you know? Have you ever asked one?”
“Fjerdan women are to be venerated, protected.”
“That’s probably a wise policy.”
He’d known her well enough by then to be surprised. “It is?”
“Think how embarrassing it would be for you when you got trounced by a Fjerdan girl.”
He snorted.
“I’d love to see you get beaten by a girl,” she said happily.
“Not in this lifetime.”
“Well, I guess I won’t get to see it. I’ll just get to live the moment when I knock you on your ass.”
This time he did laugh, a proper laugh that she could feel through her back.
“Saints, Fjerdan, I didn’t know you could laugh. Careful now, take it slow.”
“I enjoy your arrogance, drüsje.”
Now she laughed. “That may be the worst compliment I’ve received.”
“Do you never doubt yourself?”
“All the time,” she’d said as she slid into sleep. “I just don’t show it.”
The next morning, they picked their way across an ice field splintered by jagged crevasses, keeping to the solid expanses between the deadly rifts, and arguing about Nina’s sleeping habits.
“How can you call yourself a soldier? You’d sleep until noon if I let you.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Discipline. Routine. Does it mean nothing to you? Djel, I can’t wait to have a bed to myself again.”
“Right,” said Nina. “I can feel just how much you hate sleeping next to me. I feel it every morning.”
Matthias flushed bright scarlet. “Why do you have to say things like that?”
“Because I like it when you turn red.”
“It’s disgusting. You don’t need to make everything lewd.”
“If you would just relax—”
“I don’t want to relax.”
“Why? What are you so afraid will happen? Afraid you might start to like me?”
He said nothing.
Despite her fatigue, she trotted ahead of him. “That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t want to like a Grisha. You’re scared that if you laugh at my jokes or answer my questions, you might start thinking I’m human. Would that be so terrible?”
“I do like you.”
“What was that?”
“I do like you,” he said angrily.
She’d beamed, feeling a well of pleasure erupt through her. “Now, really, is that so bad?”
“Yes!” he roared.
“Why?”
“Because you’re horrible. You’re loud and lewd and … treacherous. Brum warned us that Grisha could be charming.”
“Oh, I see. I’m the wicked Grisha seductress. I have beguiled you with my Grisha wiles!”
She poked him in the chest.
“Stop that.”
“No. I’m beguiling you.”
“Quit it.”
She danced around him in the snow, poking his chest, his stomach, his side. “Goodness! You’re very solid. This is strenuous work.” He started to laugh. “It’s working! The beguiling has begun. The Fjerdan has fallen. You are powerless to resist me. You—”
Nina’s voice broke off in a scream as the ice gave way beneath her feet. She threw her hands out blindly, reaching for something, anything that might stop her fall, fingers scraping over ice and rock.
The drüskelle grabbed her arm, and she cried out as it was nearly wrenched from its socket.
She hung there, suspended over nothing, the grip of his fingers the only thing between her and the dark mouth of the ice. For a moment, looking into his eyes, she was certain he was going to let go.
“Please,” she said, tears sliding over her cheeks.
He dragged her up over the edge, and slowly they crawled onto more solid ground. They lay on their backs, panting.
“I was afraid … I was afraid you were going to let me go,” she managed.
There was a long pause and then he said, “I thought about it. Just for a second.”
Nina huffed out a little laugh. “It’s okay,” she said at last. “I would have thought about it, too.”
He got to his feet and offered her his hand. “I’m Matthias.”
“Nina,” she said, taking it. “Nice to make your acquaintance.”
* * *
The shipwreck had been more than a year ago, but it felt like no time had passed at all. Part of Nina wanted to go back to the moment before everything had gone wrong, to those long days on the ice when they’d managed to be Nina and Matthias instead of Grisha and witchhunter. But the more she thought about it, the more surely she knew there had never been a moment like that. Those three weeks were a lie that she and Matthias had built to survive. The truth was the pyre.
“Nina,” Matthias said, jogging up behind her now. “Nina, listen to me. You need to stay with the others.”
“Leave me alone.”
When he took her arm, she whirled and clenched her fist, cutting off the air to his throat. An ordinary man would have released her, but Matthias was a trained drüskelle. He seized her other arm and clamped it to her body, bundling her tight to him so she couldn’t use her hands. “Stop,” he said softly.
She struggled against his hold, glaring up at him. “Let me go.”
“I can’t. Not while you’re a threat.”
“I will always be a threat to you, Matthias.”
The corner of his mouth pulled up in a rueful smile. His eyes were almost sorrowful. “I know.”
Slowly, he released her. She stepped back.
“What will I see when I get to the Ice Court?” she demanded.
“You’re frightened.”
“Yes,” she said, chin jutting up defiantly. There was no point denying it.
“Nina—”
“Tell me. I need to know. Torture chambers? A pyre blazing from a rooftop?”
“They don’t use pyres at the Court anymore.”
“Then what? Drawing and quartering? Firing squads? Does the Royal Palace have a view of the gallows?”
“I’ve had enough of your judgments, Nina. This has to stop.”
“He’s right. You can’t go on this way.” Jesper was standing in the snow with the others. How long had they been there? Had they seen her attack Matthias?
“Stay out of this,” Nina snapped.
“If you two keep fighting, you’re going to get us all killed, and I have a lot more card games I need to lose.”
“You must find a way to make peace,” said Inej. “At least for a while.”
“This is not your concern,” Matthias growled.
Kaz stepped forward, his expression dangerous. “It is very much our concern. And watch your tone.”
Matthias threw up his hands. “You’ve all been taken in by her. This is what she does. She makes you think she’s your friend and then—”
Inej crossed her arms. “Then what?”
“Let it go, Inej.”
“No, Nina,” Matthias said. “Tell them. You said you were my friend once. Do you remember?” He turned to the others. “We traveled together for three weeks. I saved her life. We saved each other. When we got to Elling, we … I could have revealed her to the soldiers we saw there at any time. But I didn’t.” Matthias started pacing, his voice rising, as if the memories were getting the better of him. “I borrowed money. I arranged lodging. I was willing to betray everything I believed in for the sake of her safety. When I saw her down to the docks so we could try to book passage, there was a Kerch trader there, ready to set sail.” Matthias was there again, standing on the docks with her, she could see it in his eyes. “Ask her what she did then, this honorable ally, this girl who stands in judgment of me and my kind.”
No one said a word, but they were watching, waiting.
“Tell them, Nina,” he demanded. “They should know how you treat your friends.”
Nina swallowed, then forced herself to meet their gazes. “I told the Kerch that he was a slaver and that he’d taken me prisoner. I threw myself on their mercy and begged them to help me. I had a seal I’d taken from a slaving ship we’d raided near the Wandering Isle. I used it as proof.”
She couldn’t bear to look at them. Kaz knew, of course. She’d had to tell him the charges she’d made and tried to recant when she was begging for his assistance. But Kaz had never probed, never asked why, never chastised her. In a way, telling Kaz had been a comfort. There could be no judgment from a boy known as Dirtyhands.
But now the truth was there for everyone to see. Privately, the Kerch knew slaves moved in and out of the ports of Ketterdam, and most indentures were really slaves by another name. But publicly, they reviled it and were obligated to prosecute all slavers. Nina had known
exactly what would happen when she’d branded Matthias with that charge.
“I didn’t understand what was happening,” said Matthias. “I didn’t speak Kerch, but Nina certainly did. They seized me and put me in chains. They tossed me in the brig and kept me there in the dark for weeks while we crossed the sea. The next time I saw daylight was when they led me off the ship in Ketterdam.”
“I had no choice,” Nina said, the ache of tears pressing at her throat. “You don’t know—”
“Just tell me one thing,” he said. There was anger in his voice, but she could hear something else, too, a kind of pleading. “If you could go back, if you could undo what you did to me, would you?”
Nina made herself face them. She had her reasons, but did they matter? And who were they to judge her? She straightened her spine, lifted her chin. She was a member of the Dregs, an employee of the White Rose, and occasionally a foolish girl, but before anything else she was a Grisha and a soldier. “No,” she said clearly, her voice echoing off the endless ice. “I’d do it all over again.”
A sudden rumble shook the ground. Nina nearly lost her footing, and she saw Kaz brace himself with his walking stick. They exchanged puzzled glances.
“Are there fault lines this far north?” Wylan asked.
Matthias frowned. “Not that I know of, but—”
A slab of earth shot up from beneath Matthias’ feet, knocking him to the ground. Another erupted to Nina’s right, sending her sprawling. All around them, crooked monoliths of earth and ice burst upward, as if the ground were coming to life. A harsh wind whipped at their faces, snow spinning in flurries.
“What the hell is this?” cried Jesper.
“Some of kind of earthquake!” shouted Inej.
“No,” said Nina, pointing to a dark spot that seemed to be floating in the sky, unaffected by the howling wind. “We’re under attack.”
Nina crawled on hands and knees, seeking some kind of shelter. She thought she might well have lost her mind. There was someone in the air, hovering in the sky high above her. She was watching someone fly.
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