“I’ve had enough,” Inej said loudly. “Take us to the checkpoint or let us go.”
“The guards manning the checkpoint—”
Inej thrust herself to the front of the group and said, “We’re all sick of that speech. Take us through the gate and get on with it.”
“Be silent,” commanded the guard. “You are guests here.”
Inej jabbed a finger into his chest. “So treat us like guests,” she said, mustering her best Nina imitation. “I demand to be taken to the gate immediately, you big blond lump.”
The guard grabbed her arm. “You’re so desperate to go to the gate? Let’s go. You won’t be coming back through.”
“I only—”
Then another voice echoed across the rotunda. “Stop! You there, I said stop!”
Inej smelled her perfume—lilies, rich and creamy, a dense golden smell. She wanted to gag. Heleen Van Houden, owner and proprietor of the Menagerie, the House of Exotics, where the world was yours for a price, was pushing her way through the crowd.
Hadn’t she said Tante Heleen loved to make an entrance?
The guard came to a startled halt as Heleen shoved in front of him. “Madam, your girl will be returned to you at night’s end. Her papers—”
“She is not my girl,” Heleen said, her eyes slitting viciously. Inej stood perfectly still, but not even she could vanish with nowhere to go. “That is the Wraith, right hand of Kaz Brekker and one of the most notorious criminals in Ketterdam.”
The people around them turned to stare.
“How dare you come here under the auspices of my House?” Heleen hissed. “The house that clothed you and fed you? And where is Adjala?”
Inej opened her mouth, but panic rose up, tightening her throat, choking the words before they could come out. Her tongue felt useless and numb. Once more, she was looking into the eyes of the woman who had beaten her, threatened her, bought her once, and then sold her again and again.
Heleen grabbed Inej by the shoulders and shook her. “Where is my girl?”
Inej looked down at the fingers digging into her flesh. For a brief second, every horror came back to her, and she truly was a wraith, a ghost taking flight from a body that had given her only pain. No. A body that had given her strength. A body that had carried her over the rooftops of Ketterdam, that had served her in battle, that had brought her up six stories in the dark of a soot-stained chimney.
Inej seized Heleen’s wrist and twisted it hard to the right. Heleen yelped, her knees buckling as the guards surged forward.
“I threw your girl in the ice moat,” Inej snarled, barely recognizing her own voice. Her other hand seized Heleen’s throat, squeezing. “And she’s better off there than with you.”
Then strong arms were tugging at her, pulling her off the older woman, hauling her back.
Inej panted, heart racing. I could have killed her, she thought. I felt her pulse beneath my palm. I should have killed her.
Heleen got to her feet, whimpering and coughing as onlookers moved to help her. “If she’s here, then Brekker is as well!” she shrieked.
At that moment, as if in agreement, the bells of the Black Protocol began to sound, loud and insistent. There was a stunned second of inertia. Then the entire rotunda seemed to explode into action as guards rushed to their posts and commanders began calling orders.
One of the guards, clearly the captain, said something in Fjerdan. The only word Inej recognized was prison. He grabbed the silk of her cape and shouted in Kerch, “Who is on your team? What is your target?”
“I will not speak,” said Inej.
“You’ll sing if we want you to,” spat the guard.
Heleen’s laugh was low and rich with pleasure. “I’ll see you hanged. And Brekker, too.”
“The bridge is closed,” someone declared. “No one else is getting on or off the island tonight!” Angry guests turned to anyone who would listen, demanding explanations.
The guards dragged Inej through the courtyard, past gaping onlookers, and out the ringwall gate as the bells continued to toll. They did not bother with gentleness or diplomacy now.
“I told you you’d wear my silks again, little lynx,” Heleen called from the courtyard. The gate was already lowering, as the guards sealed it in accordance with Black Protocol. “You’ll hang in them now.”
The gate slammed closed, but Inej could swear that she still heard Heleen’s laughter.
34
NINA
TEN BELLS AND HALF CHIME
Nina prayed her panic didn’t show. Did Brum recognize her? He looked exactly the same: long gold hair touched by gray at the temples, the lean jaw marked by a tidy beard, the drüskelle uniform—black and silver, the right sleeve emblazoned with the silver wolf’s head. It had been more than a year since she’d seen him, but she would never forget that face or the resolute blue of his eyes.
The last time she’d found herself in Jarl Brum’s company, he’d been strutting for Matthias and his drüskelle brethren in the hold of a ship. Matthias. Had he seen Brum, his old mentor, alive and talking to Nina? Was he watching them right now? She resisted the urge to scour the crowd for some sign of him and Kaz.
Still, the ship’s hold had been dark, and she’d been one of a group of prisoners—filthy and frightened. Now she was clean, perfumed. Her hair was a different color; her skin was powdered. She was suddenly grateful for her absurd costume. Brum was a man, after all. Hopefully, Inej was right, and he would just see a redheaded Kaelish with a very low neckline.
She curtsied deeply and looked up at him through her lashes. “A pleasure.”
His gaze roved over her figure. “It just might be. You’re from the House of Exotics, are you not? Kep ye nom?”
“Nomme Fianna,” she replied in Kaelish. Was he testing her? “But you can call me anything you like.”
“I thought Kaelish girls with the Menagerie wore the red mare cloak.”
She plumped her lips into a sulk. “Our Zemeni stepped on it and tore the hem. I think she did it on purpose.”
“Cursed girl. Shall we find her and punish her?”
Nina forced a giggle. “How would you set about it?”
“They say the punishment should fit the crime, but I feel it should suit the criminal. Were you my prisoner, I’d make it my business to learn your likes and dislikes—and your fears, of course.”
“I am fearless,” she said with a wink.
“Truly? How intriguing. Fjerdans value courage greatly. How are you finding our country?”
“It’s a magical place,” Nina gushed. If you like ice and more ice. She steeled herself. If he knew who she was, then she might as well find out now. And if he didn’t, well, then she still needed to locate Bo Yul-Bayur—and what a pleasure it would be to trick the legendary Jarl Brum out of the information. She drew closer. “Do you know where I’d truly like to visit?”
He matched her conspiratorial tone. “I’d love to know all your secrets.”
“Ravka.”
The drüskelle’s lip curled. “Ravka? A land of blasphemers and barbarism.”
“True, but to see a Grisha? Can you imagine the thrill?”
“I assure you. It’s hardly a thrill.”
“You only say that because you wear the sign of the wolf. This means you are a … drüskelle, yes?” she asked, pretending to struggle with the Fjerdan word.
“I am their commander.”
Nina widened her eyes. “Then you must have bested many Grisha in battle.”
“There is little honor in a fight with such a creature. I’d rather face a thousand honest men with swords than one of those deceitful witches with unnatural powers.”
And when you arrive with your repeating rifles and your tanks, when you set upon children and helpless villages, should we not use the weapons we possess? Nina bit down hard on her inner cheek.
“There are Grisha in Kerch, are there not?” Brum asked.
“So I’ve heard, but I’ve never see
n one at the Menagerie or in the Barrel. At least not that I know of.” Could she risk a mention of jurda parem? How would the girl she was pretending to be have such knowledge? She leaned into him, curling her lips into a wicked, slightly guilty smile, and hoping she looked eager for excitement rather than information. “I know they’re dreadful, but … they do make me shiver. I’ve heard their powers have no limits.”
“Well…” the drüskelle hemmed.
Nina could see he was debating something with himself. Best to stage a strategic retreat. She shrugged. “But perhaps that’s not your area of expertise.” She glanced over his shoulder and caught the eye of a young nobleman in pale gray silk.
“Would you like to see a Grisha tonight?”
Her gaze snapped back to Brum. All I need is a mirror. Did Brum have Grisha prisoners stashed somewhere? What she wanted was to hear all about Bo Yul-Bayur and jurda parem, but this might be a start. And if she could get Brum alone …
She swatted his chest. “You’re teasing.”
“Would your mistress notice if you slipped away?”
“That’s why we’re here, no? To slip away?”
He offered his arm. “Then shall we?”
She smiled and looped her hand over his forearm. He patted it gently. “Good girl.”
She wanted to gag. Maybe I’ll make you impotent, Nina thought grimly, as he led her out of the ballroom and through a terraced forest of ice sculptures—a wolf with a screaming double eagle in its jaws, a serpent wrapped around a bear.
“How … primal,” she murmured.
Brum chuckled and patted her hand again. “We are a culture of warriors.”
Would it be so dreadful to just kill him now? she considered as they strolled. Make it look like a heart attack? Leave him here in the cold? But she could endure Jarl Brum leering down the front of her dress for a little while longer if it meant keeping jurda parem from the world.
Besides, if Bo Yul-Bayur was on this Saintsforsaken island, Brum was the one to get her to him. The guards at the ballroom doors had let them past with little more than a raised brow and a smirk.
Directly ahead of them, Nina saw a vast, silvery tree at the center of a circular courtyard, its boughs spreading over the stones in a sparkling canopy. The sacred ash, Nina realized. Then they must be in the middle of the island. The courtyard was surrounded on both sides by arched colonnades. If Matthias’ and Wylan’s drawings had been correct, the building directly beyond it was the treasury.
Instead of leading her across the courtyard, Brum turned left onto a path that hugged the side of the colonnade. As he did, Nina glimpsed a group of people in hooded black coats moving toward the tree.
“Who are they?” asked Nina, though she suspected she knew.
“Drüskelle.”
“Shouldn’t you be with them?”
“This is a ceremony for the young brothers to be welcomed by the old, not for captains and officers.”
“Did you go through it?”
“Every drüskelle in history has been inducted into the order through the same ceremony since Djel anointed the first of us.”
Nina forced herself not to roll her eyes. Sure, a giant, gushing spring chose some guy to hunt innocent people down and murder them. That seems likely.
“That’s what Hringkälla celebrates,” continued Brum. “And every year if there are worthy initiates, the drüskelle gather at the sacred ash, where they may once more hear the Voice of God.”
Djel says you’re a fanatic, drunk on your own power. Come back next year.
“People forget this is a holy night,” Brum muttered. “They come to the palace to drink and dance and fornicate.”
Nina had to bite her tongue. Given Brum’s interest in the dip of her neckline, she doubted his thoughts were particularly holy.
“Are those things so very bad?” she asked teasingly.
Brum smiled and squeezed her arm. “Not in moderation.”
“Moderation isn’t one of my specialties.”
“I can see that,” he said. “I like the look of a woman who enjoys herself.”
I’d enjoy choking you slowly, she thought as she ran her fingers over his arm. Looking at Brum, she knew she didn’t just blame him for the things he’d done to her people; it was what he’d done to Matthias as well. He’d taken a brave, miserable boy and fed him on hate. He’d silenced Matthias’ conscience with prejudice and the promise of a divine calling that was probably nothing more than the wind moving through the branches of an ancient tree.
They reached the far side of the colonnade. With a start, she realized Brum had deliberately led her around the courtyard. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to bring a whore through a sacred space. Hypocrite.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“The treasury.”
“Are you going to woo me with jewels?”
“I didn’t think girls like you needed wooing. Isn’t that the point?”
Nina laughed. “Well, every girl likes a little attention.”
“Then that’s what you shall have. And the thrill you were seeking, too.”
Was it possible Yul-Bayur was in the treasury? Kaz had said he’d be in the most secure place in the Ice Court. That might mean the palace, but it might just as easily mean the treasury. Why not here? It was another circular structure wrought in glowing white stone, but the treasury had no windows, no whimsical decoration or dragon’s scales. It looked like a tomb. Instead of ordinary guards, two drüskelle stood watch by the heavy door.
Suddenly, the full weight of what she was doing hit her. She was alone with one of the deadliest men in Fjerda, a man who would gladly torture and murder her if he knew what she truly was. The plan had been to find someone to give her information on Bo Yul-Bayur’s location, not to get cozy with the highest-ranking drüskelle on the White Island. Her eyes scanned the surrounding trees and paths, the hedge maze pushed up against the treasury’s east side, hoping to see some shadow move, to know that someone was there with her and that she wasn’t completely on her own. Kaz had sworn he could get her off this island, but Kaz’s first plan had gone to pieces—maybe this one would, too.
The soldiers didn’t blink as Nina and Brum passed, merely offered a tight salute. Brum pulled a chain from his neck; a strange circular disk hung from it. He slid the disk into a nearly invisible indentation in the door and gave it a turn. Nina eyed the lock warily. This might be beyond even Kaz Brekker’s skill.
The barrel-vaulted entry was cold and bare, lit by the same harsh light as the Grisha cells in the prison wing. No gaslight, no candles. Nothing for Squallers or Inferni to manipulate.
She squinted. “Where are we?”
“The old treasury. The vault was moved years ago. This was converted into a laboratory.”
Laboratory. The word formed a cold knot beneath Nina’s ribs. “Why?”
“Such an inquisitive little thing.”
I’m nearly as tall as you, she thought.
“The treasury was already secure and well-positioned on the White Island, so it was a logical choice for such a facility.”
The words were innocuous, but that knot of fear tightened, a cold fist now, pressing against her chest. She matched Brum’s steps down the vaulted hall, past smooth white doors, each with a small glass window set into it.
“Here we are,” Brum said, stopping in front of a door that seemed identical to the others.
Nina peered through the glass. The cell was just like the ones on the top level of the prison, but the observation panel was on the other side—a large mirror that took up half of the opposite wall. Inside, she saw a young boy in a bedraggled blue kefta pacing restlessly, gabbling to himself, scratching at his arms. His eyes were hollows, his hair lank. He looked just like Nestor before he’d died. Grisha don’t get sick, she thought. But this was a different kind of sickness.
“He doesn’t look very menacing.”
Brum moved up behind her. His breath brushed against her ear when he said, �
�Oh, believe me, he is.”
Nina’s skin crawled, but she made herself lean into him slightly. “What is he here for?”
“The future.”
Nina turned and laid her hands on his chest.
“Are there more?”
He blew out an impatient breath and led her to the next door. A girl lay on her side, her tangled hair covering her face. She was dressed in a dirty shift, and she had bruises all over her arms. Brum gave a sharp rap on the little window, startling Nina.
“Look alive,” Brum taunted, but the girl didn’t move. Brum’s finger hovered over a brass button embedded next to the window. “If you really want a show, I could press this button.”
“What does it do?”
“Beautiful things. Miraculous, really.”
Nina thought she knew; the button would dose the girl with jurda parem somehow. For Nina’s entertainment. She tugged Brum away. “It’s all right.”
“I thought you wanted to see a Grisha use her powers.”
“Oh, I do, but she doesn’t look like much fun. Are there more?”
“Close to thirty.”
Nina flinched. The Second Army had been nearly obliterated in Ravka’s civil war. She couldn’t bear to think that there were thirty Grisha here. “And are they all in that state?”
He shrugged and steered her down a corridor. “Some are better. Some are worse. If I find you a lively one, what will be my reward?”
“It would be easier to show you,” she purred.
Nina had had enough of seeing starving, frightened Grisha. She needed Yul-Bayur. Brum must know where he was. The treasury was nearly deserted. They hadn’t seen a single guard inside. If she could get Brum into an empty corridor far enough from the entrance that the guards couldn’t hear them … Could she torture a hardened drüskelle? Could she make him talk? She thought she just might be able to. She’d seal his nose, put pressure on his larynx. A few minutes gasping for breath might soften him up.
Six of Crows Page 35
