Rule of Wolves

by Leigh Bardugo

  Brum arrived in their dimly lit cabin after midnight. He looked happier than Nina had seen him in months.

  “It’s time,” he said.

  Ylva gave a tremulous smile. “You must promise me you’ll be safe.”

  “Ask me to be brave, not safe,” Brum said. “I will be with my men on the northern front. But you will be secure here with Redvin, and you’ll have a bird’s-eye view of the sea invasion. Our ships finally broke Sturmhond’s blockade. Ravka’s coast is ours for the taking.”

  Nina felt sick. Had the Kerch helped to smash through Sturmhond’s ships? But if Fjerda intended to invade the coast … “You weren’t really negotiating with West Ravka.”

  “Clever girl,” said Brum. “No, we had no reason to negotiate with them in good faith. Their navy is no match for ours. With the blockade in ruins, we can invade by sea in the south and on land in the north. Our forces will crush Os Kervo like a pair of pincers.”

  The troops attacking from the north must already be on the move. The second front would be launched from the sea. Fjerda would use this nightmare of a base to storm the beaches south of Os Kervo. West Ravka didn’t stand a chance, and once the coast belonged to Fjerda, they’d push east and take Ravka’s capital.

  The information was useless to her now. She had no way to reach her contacts in the Hringsa, and even if she did, the intelligence would come too late.

  A bird’s-eye view of the invasion. She would watch Fjerda shatter the west, and then what hope would there be? Ravka would never recover from such a blow. Peace would be impossible.

  Once Brum was gone, Nina tried to rest but couldn’t find sleep. She had the sense that she was rushing toward something in the dark, with no way to stop her momentum.

  Ylva roused them before dawn to lead them to one of the observation towers. “Rebraid your hair, Mila,” she suggested. “And pinch your cheeks to put a little color in them. Many important men will be watching the invasion. You never know whose attention you might catch.”

  Nina resisted the urge to roll her eyes and obliged Ylva. If this pretense would keep her in the Brums’ household a while longer, she would gladly primp and flirt as required.

  When they emerged on the vast expanse of the deck, Nina could see lights glinting off the Ravkan coast. Leviathan had crept closer to land in the night.

  As they were about to enter the tower, a voice called out, “Hanne Brum!”

  Prince Rasmus was strolling across the deck in a military uniform, flanked by royal guards, a grim-faced Joran at his side. At the sight of the young drüskelle, Nina felt her rage return. She’d pushed it aside for Hanne’s sake, to keep them both safe, but there would be a reckoning. Hanne might wish for Nina to look to the future, but Nina couldn’t do that until she’d made peace with the ghosts of her past.

  “What is the whelp doing here?” Redvin muttered. He managed a forced smile. “Your Highness, I had no idea you’d be joining us aboard Leviathan.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “It’s only that it’s so much safer in Djerholm with the rest of the royal family.”

  “Leviathan’s Mouth is safe enough for Commander Brum’s daughter. I think a fragile princeling like myself might dare it too. Especially when my country is at war. Besides, the Ravkans will need someone to surrender to. Come, Hanne, we will watch the invasion together.” He held out his arm.

  Redvin stepped in front of Hanne. It was the move of a soldier, not a diplomat. One did not thwart a crown prince’s desires.

  “What are you doing, Redvin?” whispered Ylva, panicked. “It is the prince’s right. Go on, Hanne. Mila—”

  “Mila can remain with you,” said the prince. “I wouldn’t want to leave you alone, Ylva.”

  At that Ylva froze, unsure of what to do. Hanne could not go with the prince unchaperoned.

  Joran gave the faintest shake of his head, but Nina didn’t know how to stop this. She clung to Hanne’s hand.

  “I’d prefer to have my friend with me,” said Hanne.

  “But your friend is not invited,” said the prince.

  “Your Highness…” Ylva began, taking hold of Hanne’s arm. But the prince’s stare brooked no opposition.

  Hanne had never been alone with the prince before. It was not acceptable or appropriate. Unless he intended to offer her the promise of marriage. Was that what this was? Did the prince mean to make Hanne his bride or simply use her as a pawn in his ongoing struggle with Brum? Both could be true. If he took her to the observation tower without Mila there to act as chaperone, he would have to offer marriage or Hanne’s reputation would be ruined. No one would offer for her. And if he did propose, Hanne would have to say yes. Nina wanted to scream. They should have run last night, away from the palace, away from all of it. But this was the disaster she’d built. She’d placed herself and Hanne between the prince and Brum, a bulwark against war, and now they would break like Sturmhond’s blockade.

  “It will be fine,” Hanne said. In Nina’s ear, she murmured, “We’ll find a way out. There’s something worth salvaging in him. I know it.”

  “Come along, Hanne,” said the prince. He was still holding out his arm. It was not an invitation. It was a demand.

  “You must let go,” Hanne whispered.

  Never.

  Nina forced her fingers to release. Hanne smiled and drifted over to Rasmus, looping her arm into his.

  “See you in victory,” said the prince.

  Nina met Joran’s eyes and willed him to understand. You and I have accounts to settle. Watch over her.

  “Will he … will he offer for her?” Ylva asked. She’d been delighted at the notice Hanne had garnered from the prince, but this was not attention any girl wanted.

  “That uncooked cutlet wouldn’t dare do otherwise,” Redvin growled. “Commander Brum would have his head.”

  Redvin could bluster all he wanted. Nina and Ylva knew better. Brum didn’t have the status to gainsay a prince. Though if Brum found victory today, who knew what power he might attain in the wake of it?

  “She will be a princess,” Ylva declared as they followed Redvin into the observation tower, as if she could cast a spell and make it so. “All will be well.” Nina said nothing and Ylva took her hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “The prince must ask and she must accept. You see that, don’t you? It is the only thing that can keep both of you safe.” She hesitated. “You can join their household. It’s not unheard of. If you’re careful.”

  Nina made herself nod and say, “Yes. Of course. Whatever Hanne wants.”

  Ylva’s gaze was distant. “What we want … what we want for ourselves and for our daughters has never been the question. Only what we can bear.”

  Survive this place. Survive this life. Find someone to protect you since you’re not free to protect yourself. Sire children. Pray for boys. Pray the strange and willful daughter you raised will somehow find her way. Fear for her, watch over her, realize your fear and your watchfulness mean nothing when the storm comes on. Ylva couldn’t see any other path for Hanne. And Nina wasn’t sure she could either.

  Redvin led them inside a steel elevator that carried them skyward. Even the elevator runs better, Nina thought miserably, recalling the clanking brass contraption she’d once ridden in at Lazlayon. Only hours ago, she’d felt sure that she and Hanne would find a way out of all this. Now her fear had swallowed that hope.

  The elevator lurched to a stop at the top of the tower, and they emerged into a room lined with windows that had been fitted with different types of lenses. A large crowd of officers had gathered to watch the invasion, and the mood was tense but jubilant. In the distance, Nina could see the curve of the bay, the seagrass-covered knolls teeming with Ravkan soldiers and tanks, and churning through the water, Fjerdan ships, tank carriers, and troop carriers driving toward Ravka.

  The Ravkan forces looked battered and flimsy compared to the metal beasts the Fjerdans commanded. Nina saw First Army soldiers climbing the rocks that bordered the
low cliffs of the bay. Why not send Tidemakers? Had they been told to hold back? They had an antidote to parem now. Why wouldn’t they use Grisha to raise the waves and try to sink the Fjerdan boats before they landed? Maybe the Fjerdan invasion had arrived too suddenly for them to mount a proper defense.

  Nina watched the invading Fjerdan fleet draw closer, like monsters from the deep, gray-backed and hungry.

  “The first strike,” said Redvin. “We’ll drive inland, then close on Os Kervo from the south as Brum’s men close from the north. The soil will run red with Ravkan blood.”

  But Nina wasn’t so sure. A thought had entered her head, equal parts dread and hope.

  “Why do they meet no opposition?” Ylva asked.

  “The Ravkans expected Sturmhond’s blockade to hold. The fools concentrated their forces to the north. All that remains in the south is a skeleton crew to meet our assault.”

  Sturmhond’s blockade. Just how had the Fjerdans broken through?

  Nina bent to a long glass and trained it on the Ravkan forces. It was hard to make out much from this distance, but they seemed unnaturally still. As if they were simply waiting. She focused the lens on the figures she saw standing on the rocks—and recognized a familiar head of raven hair, lifted by the wind.

  Not an ordinary soldier. Not a Tidemaker. Zoya Nazyalensky. Ravka’s most powerful Squaller and Grisha general. If Ravka was making its stand on the northern front, what was Zoya doing here?

  “Does it trouble you, Mila?” said Ylva. “I have long been a soldier’s wife. I’m used to the realities of battle. But we don’t have to watch.”

  “No,” said Nina. “I want to see.”

  “At last a bit of spine!” Redvin crowed. “You’ll enjoy this first taste of victory.”

  The Fjerdan soldiers leapt into the waves, rifles in hand, charging toward the beach, a tide of violence.

  One by one the soldiers on the rocks raised their hands. An army of Squallers.

  Zoya was the last. Lightning forked through the skies—not the single bolts Nina had seen Squallers summon before, but a crackling web, a thousand spears of jagged light that turned the sky a vivid violet before they struck the water.

  The crowd around Nina gasped.

  “Sweet Djel,” shouted Redvin. “No!”

  But it was too late.

  The sea was suddenly alight, seething like a boiling pot, steam hissing off its surface. Nina could not hear the men in the shallows scream, but she could see their mouths open wide, their bodies shaking as current passed through them. The Fjerdan tank carriers seemed to crumple in on themselves, roofs collapsing in heaps of melted metal, treads welded together.

  Sturmhond’s blockade hadn’t broken at all. It had deliberately given way, opening the door to the trap and letting Fjerda’s navy sail through. That was what the Ravkans had been waiting for.

  The lightning stopped, leaving the sky clear but for a few clouds. Zoya and her Squallers were done speaking.

  The observation tower had gone silent as the officers stared at what was left of their sea invasion, the bodies of their men bobbing in the gentle waves lapping the Ravkan shore, their war machines slumped like shipwreck hulls, some slowly sinking into the sea.

  Ylva had her hands clapped over her mouth. Her eyes were full of tears. Nina wondered what Hanne was feeling, watching this destruction beside the prince.

  Nina couldn’t celebrate the deaths of soldiers, most of whom had little choice in when they marched or what kind of war they waged. But she thought of the winter ball, of the joyful toasts, how readily Fjerda had celebrated the eve of what they believed would be another nation’s destruction.

  This was war. Not parades and boasts but blood and sacrifice, and Ravka would not go quietly.

  “We are lost,” Ylva whispered. “So many dead in an instant.”

  “Shut your mouth,” Redvin snarled. “This is why women don’t belong near the battlefield.”

  A woman just shoved your “taste of victory” right down your throat, Nina thought with satisfaction.

  “This is nothing,” Redvin continued, slicing his hand through the air, addressing the officers now. “This offensive was insurance. The Ravkans have a nightmare waiting for them on the northern front that they’ll never recover from.”

  “More tanks?” Nina said, putting a hopeful tremor in her voice.

  Redvin laughed, and the sound raised the hair on Nina’s arms. “Oh no, little girl. A weapon like nothing this world has ever seen. And the royal whelp helped create it.”

  “Prince Rasmus?” Her surprise was real.

  “Yes, he’s more bloodthirsty than any of us could have hoped. Got the idea at the opera, if you please.”

  Hajefetla. Songbird. Was Redvin speaking of the plans she’d seen on Brum’s desk, the weapon the prince had spoken of at the ball? Rasmus had invented this new weapon. Rasmus, who they had hoped might be steered toward peace, who Nina had encouraged King Nikolai to believe might be an ally. They had known he was cruel, but they’d hoped it was a petty cruelty, personal, childish, a habit born of frustration. They’d wanted to believe he could be purged of Fjerda’s poison. But he was a warmonger, just like Brum. She remembered what Joran had said that night on the ice moat: He was testing his new strength. Rasmus didn’t want to forge a new world that valued life and mercy more than strength or military might. He wanted to prove to the world he was Fjerdan to the core. She had to figure out how to warn Nikolai that the prince couldn’t be counted on. But first she had to get out of this tower and find a way to Hanne.

  “I cannot bear this,” Nina said. “It is too terrible to see our soldiers suffer.”

  Ylva placed her arm around Nina’s shoulder and shepherded her toward the elevator. “We’ll leave the men to it.” Once the doors closed, she said, “It will be all right, Mila. If Redvin says Fjerda has the advantage, we do.”

  That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

  When they reached the deck, Nina was glad of the salt sting of the sea air. It was easy to say, “Ylva, can you go on without me? I’m not ready to be back in our cabin yet. I need to clear my head.”

  Ylva removed her shawl and tucked it around Nina’s shoulders. “You cannot go to her, Mila. His guards will not allow it. I wish you could. I wish I’d sent you both to live with the Hedjut.”

  “I won’t try to find her,” Nina lied. “I just need some air.”

  “Very well. But stay out of their way, Mila. After a loss like this … soldiers look for someone to punish.”

  Nina nodded. As soon as Ylva turned her back, she started cutting a path through the flurry of soldiers and sailors on deck, trying to find her way to the base of the tower where she’d seen Prince Rasmus take Hanne. She readied her bone darts and reached out with her power, sensing the corpses in the water, some in boats retreating back to Leviathan’s Mouth. She would get to Hanne. If she had to go through Joran to do it, even better. And then? She wasn’t sure. She’d steal a boat, get them to safety, get them far from here.

  She pulled open the door to the base of the tower and wrinkled her nose. There was a strange smell—incense and the scent of turned soil. She felt a prick against her neck and then she was falling forward, into the dark.

  36

  ZOYA

  ZOYA DESCENDED FROM THE ROCKS on a gust of wind. She could see where her lightning had struck the beach, leaving the sheen of glass where sand had been. She didn’t turn her eyes to the waters and the bodies there, but marched up the gentle hills of seagrass and joined the rest of her troops. Up close, the painted flats they’d erected above the beach looked less like tanks than what they really were—a bit of theater meant to deceive the enemy. But they’d only needed them to be believable from a distance, some sleight of hand inspired by their associates at the Crow Club. If the Fjerdans had seen the bay almost entirely unprotected, they might have sensed the trap and the storm that awaited them. Ravka’s soldiers had been outfitted in rubber-soled boots instead of leather, just in
case.

  “So many dead,” Genya murmured as Zoya approached the Triumvirate command tent and called for fresh water.

  “It had to be done.” She couldn’t stop to grieve for soldiers she’d never known, not when her own people were mobilizing on the northern front. She had warned Nikolai that she’d been made to be a weapon. This was what she was good at, what she understood.

  She strode toward the flyer they’d readied. She needed to get in the air.

  “You’re all right?” Genya asked, pulling on her flying goggles. She’d posed that question a lot since they’d lost David, as if the words could somehow protect them from harm.

  “Just covered in salt. Word from the northern front?”

  “They’ve engaged.”

  “Then let’s get moving.” Zoya tried to ignore the fear that seized her. They would travel low and inland to avoid being intercepted by any Fjerdans in the air. A regiment of Grisha and First Army soldiers would remain behind in case Fjerda decided to make another attempt at the beach, but Zoya thought they’d send their naval base to the northern front to bolster the invasion there.

  “We do have some news,” said Genya, drawing Zoya from her thoughts. “The Starless have been spotted on the field.”

  Zoya smacked her fist against the flyer’s metal hull. “Fighting for Ravka or Fjerda?”

  “Hard to tell. They’ve hung back from the fray.” Genya paused. “He’s with them.”

  Of course the Darkling had found his way to the field, surrounded by his followers. But what did he intend? Nikolai had said the Darkling had a gift for spectacle.

  “The battle is just the backdrop for him,” she realized. “He’s going to stage his return with some kind of miracle.” She remembered what Alina had said to him. Why do you have to be the savior? The Darkling would wait for his moment, maybe even for Nikolai’s death, and then the Saint would appear to lead them all to—what? Freedom? He’d never had to face Fjerda’s new war machines. He couldn’t beat them on his own, no matter what he believed. And Zoya would dose herself with parem before she followed him again.