Rule of Wolves

by Leigh Bardugo

  Mayu knew it would be her brother before she even looked.

  Reyem lay sleeping inside the chamber. He had the same troubled expression as the others, as if in his dreams he was not the hunter but the prey. She hadn’t seen him in almost a year, but he was the same Reyem, tall and lean, his long hair pulled back from his face in a high knot, the way he’d always worn it. He had a tiny, half-moon scar on his cheek from when he’d been hit by a rock—a rock Mayu had thrown in anger, never really meaning to hurt him. He’d cried, but he’d told their parents that he’d just taken a fall.

  Wings had been attached to his back, and bent at his hips were metal pincers, jointed like insect legs. Mayu felt her stomach turn.

  The doctor had moved on to the next sleeping chamber.

  Bergin was staring at her from his perch by the table, but Mayu didn’t care. She reached down and took Reyem’s hand in hers.

  “Brother,” she whispered. Reyem’s brow smoothed. In his sleep, he clasped her hand. Mayu felt tears sting the back of her throat. “I’m here, Reyem. It’s going to be okay.”

  “Kebben,” Tamar murmured. Her expression had softened. Maybe more than anyone, she understood what it was to be separated from your twin.

  “We have to get him out of here.”

  Tamar nodded. “I’ve already sent our scouts back to wake the ministers. I don’t want Makhi to have a chance to empty this place out before they see it.”

  “But we intercepted your scouts,” said a high, clear voice from the doorway.

  Queen Makhi stood by the metal door, bracketed by Tavgharad guards.

  “Your Majesty!” exclaimed the doctor, bowing to his toes.

  Tamar moved to block Princess Ehri.

  “How interesting to see you in that uniform, Tamar Kir-Bataar,” said Makhi, sweeping into the room.

  The doctor squinted as if trying to remember where he’d heard the name.

  “Sweet Ehri,” Makhi said. “Did you really think I was that easily outwitted? You are so new to this game, and I have been playing since we were children.”

  “Reyem,” Mayu whispered urgently. She squeezed his hand. “Reyem, please wake up.” They needed to get free of this place right now.

  “Allow me,” said the queen, pressing a series of buttons on the wall. A loud hiss sounded and a faint orange mist shot from spigots at the head of the container.

  “No!” Bergin cried.

  Her brother’s eyes snapped open as he inhaled the stimulant.

  “Reyem?”

  He looked at Mayu, his expression blank.

  “This sentimental bond of kebben has never made sense to me,” said Makhi. “I was supposed to be born a twin. But I murdered him in the womb. Or so my nursemaid told me. She said it was why I was born with only half a soul. I’m going to enjoy watching your brother kill you all.”

  “Reyem, it’s me. It’s Mayu.” He gripped her hand harder. “Yes, it’s me. You know me. Reyem, you have to come with us.”

  “Go on,” the queen said. “Do what you were made to do.”

  Reyem’s fist clenched. Mayu screamed and collapsed to her knees as her brother broke every bone in her hand.

  25

  NINA

  A WANING MOON HUNG OVER the Ice Court, its edges blurred by the cloudy promise of snow. Nina could hear sounds of celebration from the royal palace, noblemen drinking and dancing to rejoice in the bombing of Os Alta. Somewhere, out in the wild forests, Brum and the drüskelle were giving thanks to Djel and preparing for the war to come.

  But Nina had been at war a very long time. And tonight, she intended to do some damage. She had destroyed Queen Tatiana’s letters. Now Nina was going to take away the one man who could verify that they’d ever existed.

  The plan was simple but tremendously risky. First Nina needed a way into the drüskelle sector. She couldn’t simply waltz out of the Ice Court and back in again, so she would have to approach the sector via the secret path across the ice moat. It was not an appealing option. She’d spent the last few months doing little more than sitting and scheming. She was excellent at both, but tonight she would need the strength and agility of the soldier she’d been, not the wiles of the spy she’d become. And she’d need Hanne. Nina didn’t like putting her at risk, but she could admit that they’d seem less suspicious if they were caught sneaking around together than if Nina, an outsider at the Ice Court, was caught alone.

  They dressed in riding clothes—two girls out for one of Hanne’s larks. Nina was just grateful to be free of her heavy skirts. They would cross the ice moat together, dressed in white, hair covered to better camouflage themselves. Assuming they weren’t immediately spotted and dragged back to their chambers to await punishment, Hanne would get them up the wall.

  “There’s no door at the bottom?” Nina had asked. She should have been doing push-ups every morning.

  “Only drüskelle know where it is. It won’t be a problem. We just need an open window.”

  “And a way up to an open window.”

  Hanne was unfazed. “I can get climbing gear from the shed at the base of the Elderclock. They use it when they clean the spire.”

  “Sweet Djel, you’ve done this before.”

  “Maybe once. Or twice.”

  “Hanne!”

  Hanne shrugged. “The first time I went over the wall, I just wanted to see if I could get to the roof of the embassy sector.”

  “And the second time?”

  Hanne winced guiltily. “I may have wanted to go see the marketplace by myself. And the third time—”

  “You said twice!”

  “There were whales in the bay. Was I supposed to not go see them?”

  Nina laughed, though imagining Hanne making madcap escapes from the Ice Court left her feeling uneasy. If Hanne accepted a proposal at the end of Heartwood, she might be trapped here forever. But for now, Nina had to focus on Magnus Opjer.

  The trek across the ice moat was harrowing, and despite her heavy boots, Nina’s feet were frozen by the time they arrived on the thin rind of shore at the drüskelle sector. It took a few tries to get the grappling hook in place, but bare moments later, Hanne was shinnying up the rope like she was part squirrel.

  “Really,” Nina grumbled beneath her breath. “She could at least try to make it look hard for my sake.”

  Once Hanne was on the roof, she braced the rope as Nina climbed, arm over arm, grateful for the knots and loops they’d tied into the rope. From there, they had to span the gap that led to the actual building that housed the dining hall and Brum’s office. Nina tried not to think about how far she was off the ground and went over the plan in her head. On her back, she carried clothing they’d pilfered from Brum’s own closet. It wasn’t ideal, but the man spent most of his time in uniform, and they needed something to replace Opjer’s rags. Once she freed Opjer, she would take him back across the ice moat and into the gardens. Then she’d send him over the bridge with the rest of the departing partygoers and deliver him into the waiting arms of the Hringsa. Before he left, Hanne would tailor Opjer’s face. His resemblance to Nikolai was too damning, and Nina didn’t want a weapon like that to fall into the wrong person’s hands.

  At last, Nina reached the other side of the gap and flopped onto the roof of the drüskelle sector. Hanne made sure the rope was secured around one of the chimneys, then looped it around Nina’s waist.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  Nina clutched the rope. “To be lowered like a sack of flour into the heart of witchhunter power?”

  “This was your idea. We can still turn around.”

  “Do not second-guess the sack of flour. The sack of flour is wise beyond her years.”

  Hanne rolled her eyes and braced her feet against the edge of the roof, and Nina stepped out into nothing. Hanne released a grunt, but the rope stayed steady. Slowly, she lowered Nina down.

  The first two windows she tried were locked tight, but the third gave way and she wiggled inside, landing on the carpeted f
loor with a thud. She was in a stairway. For a moment, she couldn’t orient herself, but she descended another story, and soon she was at the door to Brum’s office. This time, she didn’t have a key. It had been too risky to steal it again, so she would have to pick the lock. It took an embarrassingly long time. She could almost hear Kaz laughing at her. Shut up, Brekker. Talk to me when you’ve done something about that terrible haircut. Maybe he had by now. She hoped so for Inej’s sake.

  Nina wasn’t sure if all the drüskelle had gone to the woods or if some had been left behind, and she didn’t intend to find out. She went directly to the door leading to Opjer’s cell, already placing a finger to her lips to make sure he stayed silent.

  The cell was empty. And spotlessly clean. For a moment, Nina had the eerie fear that she’d made it all up, that Opjer had never been here at all.

  I know what I saw. So where was he? Had he been moved after the disappearance of the letters? No, if Brum had known about the missing letters, he would have put more security in place. And there was no way he would kill Opjer; the Fjerdans wouldn’t squander an advantage that way.

  She needed to find out where they’d taken him. And she didn’t have much time.

  Nina thumbed through the documents on Brum’s desk, trying to make sure to keep everything in its place. There had to be some kind of transfer order, some discussion of where they would place such a valuable prisoner. She saw the usual plans and maps, and what looked like a sketch of intersecting parabolas beside a long series of equations. A weapon? A note above it read: Hajefetla. Songbird. There were designs for some kind of helmet, what might be modifications to a repeating rifle, a sea transport.

  Nina hesitated. The maps, the plans—more tragedies in the making? If she’d only been able to understand the targets she’d seen on Brum’s desk before, she might have warned Zoya and King Nikolai of the bombing to come. She might have saved hundreds of lives. But if she stole these plans, Brum would know someone had been in his office. There was a good chance she and the Hringsa agents at the Ice Court would be compromised before they ever got the plans where they needed to go, and Hanne could be put in jeopardy too. Nina would communicate all she could remember to the Hringsa, but she had to stay focused. She didn’t have much time, and she’d come here to find Magnus Opjer.

  Then she spotted a strange word: Rëvfeder. Foxfather.

  Nina’s eyes scanned the page, but she wasn’t reading a transfer order. It was the report of an escape. Magnus Opjer had somehow gotten out of his cell, out of the drüskelle sector, and out of the Ice Court—and taken Queen Tatiana’s letters with him. Well, thank you for bearing the blame for that, Magnus. The next line on the report made Nina’s stomach lurch: A piece of what looked like sharpened bone had been found in the lock of Magnus Opjer’s cell door.

  Nina remembered Opjer’s hands gripping her sleeves as he’d begged her to free him. She’d thought it was desperation, but maybe it had just been a performance. Could Magnus Opjer, the most valued and recognizable prisoner in Fjerda, really have escaped the Ice Court?

  Wily old bastard. Foxfather indeed. He’d pilfered one of her bone darts and used it to pick the lock of his cage. If she’d needed any further proof that Opjer was King Nikolai’s father, this was it.

  So where was he now? Nina didn’t know, and she had no way of finding out. She would call on her contacts in the Hringsa, relay the information to Ravka. For now, she was stuck. There was speculation in the report that he might head back to his home north of Djerholm to reunite with his daughter or even to Elling, where some of his shipping vessels were docked. He is a man without means, said the report. He cannot book passage on a ship. He cannot hope to cross the border into Ravka. It is only a matter of time before the target is reacquired.

  Nina wondered. Magnus Opjer wasn’t a noble. He was a self-made man, a shipping magnate with a lifetime’s worth of connections and an established network of sailing craft. And he was Nikolai Lantsov’s father. He might be lacking cash, but if he’d managed to get clear of the Ice Court, he definitely wasn’t short on ingenuity.

  A sound from the courtyard below drew Nina from her thoughts. The gate was opening. Could the drüskelle have returned so soon?

  She slipped the escape report back among the papers on the desk and hurried out of the office, making sure the lock slid into place. Brum would find his office just as he’d left it.

  Nina started down the stairs but heard the sound of voices below. Damn it.

  She raced back the way she’d come, dodging down the hall on silent feet, gently trying each door, praying one would be unlocked.

  At last a handle turned. She slid inside and shut the door behind her with a click that seemed to echo in her ears.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She whirled. Joran stood before her in his black uniform, his face furious, his eyes slitted in suspicion. Someone else must be guarding the prince tonight.

  Nina’s thoughts skittered wildly through her head, a panicked rush, birds startled from the quiet.

  Are you really doing this? She had time to wonder before her mouth blurted, “Commander Brum told me to meet him here.”

  She was Mila now, lip trembling, hands wringing.

  Joran’s fingers hovered over his whip. “The commander would never violate these rooms with the presence of a woman.”

  Nina grasped the bone darts in her sleeve. She didn’t want to kill Joran, but she would if she had to. The trick would be making it look like an accident. His body was healthy, untouched by any death or decay for her power to exploit.

  “I’m not proud,” she said, letting tears fill her eyes. “I know what I have agreed to.”

  Joran scowled. He never showed emotion around Prince Rasmus, and the anger transformed his face, making him look like the brutal witchhunter he was.

  “He said he would be back early,” she continued. “But the others came instead.”

  “I don’t know what game you’re playing at, but the commander will hear of it.”

  “He showed me the secret path across the ice moat,” Nina said, feeling the darts slide between her fingers.

  Joran stopped short at that. No one knew the secrets of the ice moat except the drüskelle. “That cannot be.”

  She would have to be precise. Two darts through the inner corners of his eyes, driven directly into the brain. She could extract them before she left and hopefully keep any blood or mess to a minimum. It would look like he’d been taken by some kind of fit.

  Nina stepped to the left, maneuvering so that the light shone directly on Joran’s face to aid her aim—then paused.

  “Those are relics.” Bones spread out on an altar cloth, laid atop a trunk for clothes. A woodblock carved with the rough shape of a sun propped against the wall.

  Joran tried to move his body to block her view, but it was too late.

  “That’s an altar,” Nina said. “To the Saints. That’s why you’re not with the prince tonight. You came here to pray.”

  Joran didn’t deny it. He stood as if rooted to the spot, motionless in the way of an animal sensing danger. He didn’t know the half of it. She could kill him now. Quickly. Easily.

  “Whose bones are those?” She kept her voice gentle, easy, as if she were asking about what he’d had for dinner last night and not heresy committed within the walls of the Ice Court.

  Joran opened his mouth. She saw his throat bob, the words seeming to fight their way out. “Alina’s,” he rasped. “I … I bought them down in Djerholm. I know they’re probably fake, but—”

  “But they brought you comfort.” People all over Ravka, and maybe now Fjerda too kept relics that had supposedly belonged to the Saints. Finger bones, a fragment of spine, scraps of an ancient garment. Nina’s power told her that the bones Joran had purchased weren’t even human.

  “She was a soldier,” he said, almost pleading. “She saved people. Fjerdans and Ravkans alike.”

  “Is that what you want?” Nina drew a littl
e closer. She could hear voices in the hall. She needed to get out of here, get back out the window and down to the ice moat with Hanne. But she also needed Joran to trust her. If he mentioned her presence here to Brum, she was done for.

  “I want to be … good.” He shook his head, fighting his own logic. “Soldiers aren’t good. They’re loyal. They’re brave.”

  He had never seemed so young. She forgot sometimes that he was only a boy really, not even seventeen.

  “They can be good too.”

  “Not us.” He looked at her then, his blue eyes haunted. “Not me.”

  “Alina Starkov wasn’t just a soldier,” she said very quietly. “She was Grisha.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, head bowed as if ready to take the beating he knew he deserved. “I know.” His voice was harsh. “I know it is sacrilege.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  Joran’s eyes snapped open.

  “Maybe Grisha power isn’t quite what we’ve been led to believe,” she said. They were Matthias’ words from so long ago. They’d been a balm to her, a gift that had helped her heal and accept who she was. “Maybe their power is a gift from Djel, one more way he shows his strength in this world.”

  “No … no, that’s blasphemy, that’s—”

  “Who are we to say we know the mind of god?”

  Joran peered at her as if he could find the truth somewhere in her features. “Does the commander … does he know you think this way?”

  “No,” Nina said. “It is not seemly. But I cannot help the pattern of my thoughts.”

  Joran placed his hands to his head. “I know.”

  “Are there others among you who feel this way?”

  “Yes,” said Joran. His jaw jutted forward. “But I will not give you their names.”

  “I didn’t ask for them. I never would.” She wasn’t going to inform on Joran—why would she? But after failing so thoroughly tonight, knowing that the religion of the Saints had spread to the ranks of men trained to hate Grisha was a tiny thread of hope to hang on to with both hands.