“Is it possible?” he asked instead. “Could the Darkling’s consciousness have somehow survived with his power?”
“I hope not.” She unclenched her fists. “I hope there’s a thorn wood waiting beneath the sands of the Fold. I hope all of this talk of magical rituals and warrior priests turns out to be more than just a fanciful tale. But if there is no cure and if this thing in you is more than just a curse the Darkling left behind, if he’s trying to use you to find a way back to this world …” She looked at him, her blue eyes fierce in the lamplight. He sensed the deep well of loss inside her, the pain she worked so hard to hide. “I will put a bullet in your brain before I let that happen, Nikolai.”
The men who had ruled Ravka had loved power more than they’d ever loved their people. It was a disease. Nikolai knew that, and he’d sworn he would not be that kind of leader, that he would not succumb. And yet, he’d never been sure that when the time came, he could step aside and give up the throne, the thing he’d fought so long and hard for. And if he let himself become more monster than man, it would mean he had failed. So he would put aside his doubt and his desires. He would try to be better. And the woman before him would make sure he protected Ravka. Even from himself.
He took her hand, pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “My ruthless Zoya, I’ll load the gun myself.”
NINA AND HANNE TOOK TURNS DOZING, shoulders pressed together, making a show of sleeping as their “guards” stood by. When both of them were in danger of giving in to exhaustion, they asked each other questions: favorite sweet, favorite book, favorite pastime. Nina learned that Hanne loved cream buns filled with vanilla custard; had a secret taste for the gruesome novels popular in Ketterdam, the gorier the better, though translations were hard to find; and that she was fond of … sewing.
“Sewing?” Nina had whispered incredulously, remembering the way Hanne had ridden into the clearing the previous night, rifle at the ready. “I thought you liked hunting and brawling and …” She wrinkled her nose. “Nature.”
“It’s a useful skill,” Hanne said defensively. “Who darned your husband’s socks?”
“I did, of course,” Nina lied. Though soldiers were supposed to learn their way around a needle and thread, she’d never managed it. She’d always just gone with holes in her socks. “But I didn’t enjoy it. The Wellmother must approve.”
Hanne rested her head against the wall. Her hair had dried in thick, rosy brown waves. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you? But apparently needlework is for ladies and sewing should be left to the servants. So should knitting and baking.”
“You can bake?” said Nina. “You have my attention.”
In the morning, Nina beamed at the men crowded into the room and insisted that they make sure to visit Lennart Bjord’s house on their way through Overüt.
“Why can’t we escort you now?” asked the bearded man.
“We’d be delighted, of course,” Nina said through gritted teeth.
To Nina’s surprise, Hanne chimed in, “We didn’t think you’d want to stop over with us to do our penance with the Women of the Well. But how wonderful! I understand the sisters there are happy to perform the skad on any male visitors for only a small fee.” Nina had read about the skad. Enduring it was a stamp of Fjerdan manhood but also occasionally a death sentence. It required a three-month vow of celibacy and ritual purging with lye to cleanse the spirit.
The bearded man blanched. “We’ll take you to the outskirts of Gäfvalle, but then we have duties … uh … elsewhere.”
“Yes,” added the man with the tufty brows. “Many duties.”
“Where exactly will we find Lennart Bjord’s house?” another asked as he followed them outside. A thick layer of snow had covered the ground, though Nina could already see some of it melting away with the rising sun. The hard wind had dwindled to a soft breeze. The Brute must have tired himself out.
“Just head to the main square in Overüt,” Nina said. “It’s the grandest house on the boulevard.”
“Look for the one with the biggest gables,” added Hanne. “The pointiest in town.”
“Is that your horse?” he said. “Where is your sidesaddle?”
“It must have been lost in the snow,” said Nina, glad Hanne rode bareback and they didn’t have a man’s saddle to explain. “We’ll just walk him to Gäfvalle.”
When they were well out of view of the lodge, they mounted Hanne’s horse.
“The skad?” Nina asked, resting her hands lightly at Hanne’s lean waist as their thighs braced together.
Hanne glanced over her shoulder and cast Nina a surprisingly wicked smile. “My religious education should be good for something.”
They circled back toward camp, and now that the snow had stopped they had no trouble spotting the yellow flag and Adrik’s tent.
He waved to them, and Nina knew his relief that she had survived the storm was real, even as he made a great show of seeming incensed about Hanne’s trousers.
“I thought the Zemeni didn’t care about such things,” Hanne grumbled.
“His wife is Zemeni. He’s Kaelish, and he’s concerned about why you were out on your own. Actually … what were you doing out here yesterday?”
Hanne tilted her face up to the sky, closing her eyes. “I needed to ride. When the weather is about to turn is the best time. The fields are empty then.”
“Won’t you be in trouble for spending a night away from the convent?”
“I volunteered to fetch fresh water. The Wellmother will just be glad she doesn’t have to tell my father his daughter died of exposure in the middle of a storm.”
“And your friends? They didn’t come with you?”
Hanne kept her gaze on the white horizon. “It’s a game to them. A childish bit of dress-up, a chance to be daring. For me …” She shrugged.
It was survival. There was something solitary in Hanne. Nina couldn’t pretend to really understand it. She loved company, noise, the bustle of a crowded room. But for a girl like this? To be forever trapped in the convent, watched by the sisters, and constantly forced to perform pious Fjerdan womanhood? It was a dismal thought. Even so, Hanne’s presence at the convent meant she might be a source of information about the factory. Though she was only a novitiate, she had to hear about the Springmaidens’ visits up the mountain.
“Ride with us a little longer,” Nina said to Hanne as she mounted her own horse.
Hanne looked like she wanted to bolt, but Nina knew the other girl didn’t want to risk offense when she was still desperate to ensure Nina’s silence.
“Come on,” Nina urged gently. “I won’t keep you long.”
They set a moderate pace, Adrik trailing them with the sledge.
“How old are you anyway?” Nina asked.
Hanne’s jaw set, her profile sharp against the silvery sky. “Nineteen. And yes, that’s old for a novitiate.”
So Nina was right; they were almost the same age. “You aren’t ready to take vows.” Hanne gave a curt shake of her head. “But you can’t go home.” Another shake of the head. “So what, then?”
Hanne said nothing, her gaze fixed on the snow. She didn’t want to talk, or perhaps she felt she’d already said too much.
Nina cut her a sidelong look. “I can tell you’re eager for a last chance to ride before you go back.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“I can see it in the way your eyes stray to the horizon, the way you hold the reins.” Nina hesitated, then added, “The trick of acting is to believe the lie yourself, at least a little. Acting begins in the body. If you want to convince anyone of anything, you start with the way the body moves. It tells a thousand stories before you ever open your mouth.”
“And what stories am I telling?”
“Are you sure you want to know?” It was one thing to see the truth of someone. It was another to speak it back to them.
“Go on,” said Hanne, but her hands were tight on the reins.
“You’re strong, but you’re afraid of anyone seeing it, so you hunch and try to make yourself smaller. You’re only at ease when you think no one is watching. But then …” She reached out and tapped Hanne’s thigh. “Then you’re glorious.”
Hanne shot her a wary glance. “I know what I look like.”
Do you? Nina would have liked to tell Hanne that she could stroll into Os Alta, all six feet of her, with her chestnut-dipped-in-strawberry-syrup hair and her copper-coin eyes, and a thousand Ravkan courtiers would write songs to her beauty. Nina might be the first. But that would lead to a few questions.
At least she could offer Hanne something. “I won’t tell anyone what you are.”
Hanne’s eyes turned hard. “Why? They’d reward you. Informing on Grisha carries a weight of silver. Why would you be that kind?”
I’m not being kind. I’m earning your trust. But I won’t sentence you to death if I can help it.
“Because you dove in to save my life when you might have ridden by,” Nina said, then took the leap. “And because I don’t believe that Grisha power makes you evil.”
“It’s a sin,” Hanne hissed. “It’s poison. If I could rid myself of it, I would.”
“I understand,” said Nina, though every part of her wanted to protest. “But you can’t. So the question is whether you want to hate what you are and put yourself at greater risk of discovery, or accept this thing inside you and learn to control it.” Or abandon this Saintsforsaken country altogether.
“What if … what if I only make it stronger?”
“I don’t think it works that way,” said Nina. “But I know that if Grisha don’t use their power, eventually they begin to sicken.”