Rule of Wolves

by Leigh Bardugo

  “I have only respect for Commander Brum.”

  It was hard to believe the guard was just sixteen, especially beside the prince.

  “Joran is always appropriate. Minding me is a great honor. Or so they say. But I know better. It was some kind of punishment. Joran ran afoul of the good Commander Brum, and now he must play nanny to a weakling prince.”

  “You are not so weak as all that,” said Hanne.

  The prince took another long breath. He’d lost some of the rigid set of his shoulders, and the sheen of sweat was gone from his forehead.

  “Some days I feel all right,” he said. “Some days I don’t feel weak at all.” He gave a little laugh. “And today I actually find I have some appetite. Joran, have food brought to us.”

  But the servants had already heard and were scurrying to obey.

  “We saw that Vadik Demidov is here,” Nina ventured.

  “Oh yes,” said Rasmus. “The Little Lantsov never misses a party.”

  “And is he really of royal blood?”

  “That’s the topic of conversation at every dinner party from here to the Elbjen. Why are you so interested?”

  Hanne laughed easily. “Mila is obsessed with Vadik Demidov.”

  “Sweet Djel, why? He’s a boring lump of country bumpkin.”

  “But it’s such a marvelous story,” said Nina. “A boy of royal blood plucked from obscurity.”

  “I suppose it does have the ring of a fairy tale to it. But it’s not as if he was found herding goats somewhere.”

  “Where was he found?”

  “I don’t really know. Shivering in some obscure dacha he couldn’t afford to heat. Or at least I think that’s the story.”

  “You aren’t curious?” Nina pushed.

  The servants returned and set a spread of smoked eel and herring before them.

  “Why should I be?”

  Nina felt her temper rising. “He will be a king, will he not?”

  “So will I, assuming I live.”

  An awkward silence fell.

  “I … I’m in a mood today,” said Rasmus. It wasn’t an apology, but it was as close as a future king might come. “My parents felt it was essential that I appear in public quickly after what happened at the start of Heartwood.”

  “They should have let you rest,” said Hanne.

  “No, I was feeling quite well after that. But events like these … It’s hard for me to be in a room full of people I know wish me dead.”

  “Your Highness!” Hanne exclaimed in horror.

  Nina glanced at Joran, but the guard’s face remained impassive. “That can’t be true,” she said.

  “I know the way people talk about me. I know they wish I hadn’t been born at all and that my little brother could be the one to inherit.”

  Hanne’s face was fierce. “Well then, you must stay alive to spite them.”

  The prince looked surprised but pleased. “You have a lively spirit, Hanne Brum.”

  “One must to survive.”

  “That’s true,” he said thoughtfully. “That’s very true.”

  “Have you traveled to Ravka?” Nina asked, hoping to steer the conversation back to Demidov.

  “Never,” he said. “I’ll admit I’m intrigued. I’ve heard the Ravkan women are very beautiful.”

  “Oh, they are,” said Hanne.

  “You’ve been there?”

  “Once, near the border.”

  The prince shifted slightly, as if trying out the new comfort he felt. “If you’re so interested in Demidov, I’ll introduce you.”

  “Oh, would you?” Nina said breathlessly. “What a thrill.”

  The prince’s eyebrows twitched, and Nina could tell he thought Mila Jandersdat was a trifling ninny. All for the best. No one takes care to guard against a dull blade.

  He gave a brief command to a servant and a moment later, Demidov was sauntering through the room toward them, the Apparat drifting in his wake. Just her luck. Nina wanted to stay as far from the priest as possible.

  “Taking his time,” grumbled Prince Rasmus. “I vouch if your father snapped his fingers, the Little Lantsov would come running.”

  Nina wondered. How much of Fjerda’s policy was Brum dictating and how much did the prince resent it? She and Hanne rose to greet Demidov, who gave the prince a brief nod.

  “Prince Rasmus, how can I be of service?”

  The prince’s brow arched. “You can begin with a bow, Demidov. You’re not a king yet.”

  Demidov’s cheeks flushed. His resemblance to Ravka’s exiled king was uncanny. “My most sincere apologies, Your Highness.” He bowed deeply, almost comically. “I have no wish to offend, only to offer gratitude for all your family has done for me and for my country.”

  Nina had a profound urge to kick him in the teeth, but she beamed happily, as if she could imagine no greater joy than meeting this pretender.

  Rasmus propped his head on his hand, weary as a student about to endure an hours-long lecture. “May I introduce you to Hanne Brum, daughter of Jarl Brum?”

  Hanne curtsied. “It is an honor.”

  “Ah,” said Demidov, bowing over Hanne’s hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “The honor is mine. Your father is a great man.”

  “I’ll tell him you said so.”

  “I hope it isn’t rude, but … I must inquire about your extraordinary haircut. Is it the new fashion?”

  Hanne touched her hand to the short stubble of her hair. “No. I shaved my head to show fealty to Djel.”

  “Hanne and her companion are very devout,” said Prince Rasmus.

  “I should have known it had something to do with their barbarian religion,” the Apparat murmured in Ravkan.

  “She looks like more of a soldier than her father’s silken-haired troops,” Demidov replied, his smile still in place.

  Nina narrowed her eyes. His Ravkan was impeccable, but that wasn’t necessarily meaningful.

  “If you will allow me,” Hanne ventured, “may I introduce my companion, Mila Jandersdat.”

  Demidov smiled, but no warmth reached his eyes. “Charmed.”

  He clearly found conversation with a mere servant beneath him but was attempting to hide it. Nina took her chance, ignoring the Apparat’s piercing stare.

  “What a great delight to meet you, Your Majesty!” she gushed, giving him the honorific that Prince Rasmus would not. A little flattery never hurt. “Prince Rasmus told us you grew up in the country. How lovely that must have been.”

  “I have always preferred the country to the city,” Demidov said unconvincingly. “The fresh air and … such. But I will be glad to be in Os Alta again.”

  “Was it a very beautiful house?” Hanne inquired.

  “One of those lovely dachas in the lake district I’ve seen illustrated?” said Nina. “They have the most extraordinary views.”

  “Just as you say. It had a rustic elegance one cannot find in the halls of grand palaces.”

  Demidov’s eyes darted left, then right. He licked his lips. He was lying, but not about growing up in a dacha. He had that very particular embarrassment of genteel poverty. Exactly as a poor Lantsov relation might. Nina’s heart sank.

  “But you will grow used to the luxuries of Os Alta,” said the Apparat in heavily accented Fjerdan. “Just as you will grow to be a fair and pious king.”

  “And a biddable one,” Prince Rasmus said beneath his breath. Nina saw a muscle in Demidov’s jaw twitch. “Is there any wine to be had, Joran? Or maybe you’d like some of that filthy kvas Ravkans love so much?”

  Demidov opened his mouth, but the Apparat spoke first. “Our king follows in the path of the Saints. He does not partake of spirits.”

  Prince Rasmus gestured to the servant who had scurried forward to pour. “Isn’t Sankt Emerens the patron saint of brewers?”

  “You are familiar with the Saints?” the Apparat asked with some surprise.

  “I’ve had plenty of opportunity for reading. I always like
d that wonderfully bloody book, the one with all the illustrations of martyrdoms. Better than stories of witches and merfolk.”

  “They are meant for education, not entertainment,” the Apparat said stiffly.

  “Besides, there’s a new Saint every week now,” Rasmus continued, clearly enjoying baiting the priest. “Sankta Zoya, Sankta Alina, the Starless One.”

  “Heresy,” the Apparat snarled. “The followers of the so-called Starless Saint are nothing but a cult of fools dedicated to destabilizing Ravka.”

  “I hear their membership grows daily.”

  Demidov laid a comforting hand on the priest’s sleeve. “My first act when we return to Ravka will be to root out the members of this Starless cult and stop their heresy from infecting our country.”

  “Then let us all pray to Djel that you’re back in your homeland soon,” Prince Rasmus said.

  A frown pinched Demidov’s brow. He knew he’d been insulted, he just wasn’t sure how.

  The Apparat turned to Demidov. “Let us walk, Your Majesty,” he said indignantly.

  But Demidov knew they couldn’t simply turn their backs on a prince. “With your permission?”

  Prince Rasmus waved them off, and Demidov departed with the priest.

  “I don’t think they like you,” said Hanne.

  “Should I be worried?” Prince Rasmus asked cheerily.

  Nina thought so. Demidov had none of Nikolai’s charm, but he’d been both pleasant and diplomatic. And unless he was an extraordinary actor, she didn’t think he was lying about his Lantsov blood. He was certainly Ravkan. She’d seen his reaction when Rasmus had suggested Demidov would rule as a Fjerdan puppet. He didn’t like that at all. He had a nobleman’s pride. But was it Lantsov pride?

  Nina turned to Prince Rasmus and bit her lip. “Do you really believe Ravka has a bastard sitting the throne?” she asked in scandalized tones.

  “You saw Demidov. He’s said to be the spitting image of the deposed king. If that’s true, I’m not surprised his wife strayed.”

  Nina decided to try a different approach. “Perhaps she was wise to. I’ve heard Nikolai Lantsov is quite the leader, beloved by rich and poor alike.”

  “Oh yes,” said Hanne, catching on. “He fought in the wars himself. As infantry, not an officer! And word has it he’s also an engineer—”

  “He’s a coarse fool without a drop of Lantsov blood in him,” Rasmus snapped.

  “Hard to prove, though,” said Nina.

  “But we have his whore mother’s letters.”

  “Are they locked up in some magical vault?” said Hanne.

  “Or maybe in the prison sector,” added Nina. Now, that would be glorious. Nina knew the plan of the prison inside and out.

  The prince shook his head. “The prison had a security breach a while back, though no one likes to talk about it. No, your dear papa has taken on the duty of guarding Queen Tatiana’s letters. Of course no one else would be trusted with the task.”

  Could they possibly be under the very roof Nina slept beneath? “Then—”

  “They’ve been neatly tucked away in the drüskelle sector. I haven’t gotten so much as a peek at them. I hear they’re very racy. Maybe Joran will sneak a look and memorize some juicy passages for us.”

  The drüskelle sector. The most secure, unbreachable part of the Ice Court, crowded with witchhunters and wolves trained to hunt Grisha.

  Nina sighed and reached for a piece of rye toast. Since she seemed to be headed for utter calamity, she might as well enjoy the food.

  * * *

  Hanne didn’t even wait for them to be behind closed doors before she whispered furiously, “I know what you’re going to do. You cannot break into the drüskelle sector.”

  Nina kept a smile on her face as they headed into the little conservatory in the Brum family quarters. “I can. And you have to help me.”

  “Then let me go with you.”

  “Absolutely not. I only need you to draw me a plan, talk me through the security protocols. Your father must have brought you there.”

  “Women aren’t permitted in that sector of the Ice Court, not inside the buildings.”

  “Hanne,” Nina said disbelievingly. “Not even when you were a child?”

  “If you’re caught there—”

  “I won’t be. This is my chance to help stop a war. If Fjerda doesn’t have those letters, the case for deposing King Nikolai will crumble.”

  “You think that’s enough to stop my father?”

  “No,” Nina admitted. “But it will mean greater support for Nikolai from Ravka’s nobility. It will be one less thing for him to overcome.”

  “Even if I drew you a plan, how would you get inside? The only entrance to the drüskelle sector is through the gate in the ringwall, and they added additional security after the prison break two years ago.”

  Hanne had a point. Nina would have to leave the Ice Court entirely and then reenter through the heavily armed gate that led to the kennels and the witchhunters’ training rooms and quarters.

  “You’re telling me your father leaves the Ice Court every time he needs to see his troops? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “There’s another way, but it means crossing the moat. It’s only ever used at Hringkälla initiation and during emergencies. Someone on the inside would have to let you in. Not even I know how it’s done.”

  The secret path. Matthias and Kaz had used it during the Ice Court heist, but it left anyone trying to cross the ice moat badly exposed. Nina looked out at the buildings of the White Island, the glowing face of the Elderclock.

  “Then I’ll have to go out before I can get back in. On the day of the royal hunt.” That would give Nina two days to make this work. A plan had already started to take shape in her mind. She’d need to signal the Hringsa and request a bottle of scent from the gardener.

  Hanne groaned. “I was hoping we could make an excuse to get out of that.”

  “I thought you’d leap at the chance to ride again.”

  “Sidesaddle? In pursuit of some poor stag no one intends to eat so some podge can put his antlers on a wall?”

  “We can talk the prince into giving the meat to the poor. And think of sidesaddle as … a challenge?”

  Hanne cut her a withering glance. The parties and balls and constant social interaction of Heartwood had exhausted her, but they just made Nina feel more alive. She liked dressing up with Hanne, she liked the whirl of people, and she finally felt like she was positioned to garner the intelligence she needed.

  The prince’s favor would ensure that they were invited to all the best parties, and she’d been able to eavesdrop on Brum’s conversation with Redvin for most of the previous night as they dined on smoked eel and braised leeks and discussed plans for some new weapon. Being Mila Jandersdat had made her nearly invisible—a young widow of no consequence, not very bright or well informed, happy to shadow her mistress—to everyone but the queen. Queen Agathe watched Nina from every corner of every ballroom. She had been pious before, visiting the Chapel of the Wellspring each morning and night to pray to Djel for her son’s health. But since Rasmus had begun to improve, she’d become even more devout. A good first step.

  “We don’t have to go on the hunt,” said Nina. “We just need to get outside and then talk your father into taking us into the drüskelle sector.”

  “He won’t do it! Women aren’t permitted there.”

  “Not even to see the kennels?”

  Hanne hesitated. “I know he’s brought my mother to see the wolves.”

  “And you’ve been inside.”

  “I told you, it was years ago.”

  “You liked going with him, didn’t you?” A little Grisha girl who didn’t even know what she was, following her father the witchhunter to work.

  “I liked any chance to be with him. He was … he was fun.”

  “Jarl Brum?”

  “When I was very little. And then … he didn’t change exactly. He’d alwa
ys been stern, but … Have you ever seen a petrified forest? The trees are still trees, but they don’t bend to the wind. They have no leaves to rustle. He was the mighty Commander Brum, unyielding, the ruthless witchhunter, Fjerda’s scythe. The more he sopped up their praise, the less like my father he became.”

  It’s Fjerda, Nina thought, not for the first time. She had no mercy for Jarl Brum, no matter who he’d been as a young father. But she understood that all of this hadn’t begun with him and it wouldn’t end with him either. Fjerda with its hard ways and its old hatreds filled men with shame and anger. It made the weak weaker and the strong cruel.

  “Can you draw me a plan of the drüskelle buildings?”

  Hanne huffed a breath. “This may be the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

  “Maybe so, but can you draw me a plan?”

  “Yes, but you’ll still have to get us past the gate.”

  “Don’t you worry, Hanne Brum. I have a gift for getting past Fjerdan defenses.”

  14

  ZOYA

  “WHERE IS SHE?”

  They’d traveled via airship to a field just a few miles from the sanatorium, the Sun Soldiers bending light around the craft to keep them camouflaged. It was a trick David had devised and Alina had pioneered to evade the Darkling’s forces during the civil war. Zoya remembered that terrifying flight from the Spinning Wheel, summoning wind to keep them aloft for hour after hour as they tried to put some distance between themselves and their pursuers. That was the same day Adrik had lost his arm to the Darkling’s shadow soldiers.

  She watched the Darkling now, seated across from her in the coach. His hands and feet were shackled and four Sun Soldiers rode alongside. The rest of their unit had gone ahead to prepare the sanatorium and set up security.

  The Darkling had been kept blindfolded in the airship, and the coach’s windows were covered by shades that blocked the view but let in the afternoon light. The less he knew about where they were going, the better. Despite the chains that bound him, it was disconcerting to share such close quarters, the shadows creeping in around them.