Page 15 of Rule of Wolves

“Why must you be so stubborn?”

Because Nina could be reckless and foolish and sometimes that meant the wrong people got hurt. Hanne had been hurt enough in her life.

“Let’s not be so bleak,” Nina said, avoiding the question. “Maybe the Springmaiden came to give us a nice present.”

“Of course,” said Hanne. “Why didn’t I think of that? I hope it’s a pony.”

The walk down the narrow hall felt like a march to the gallows. Nina carefully adjusted a pin in her hair. In Fjerda, unmarried women didn’t appear in public without their hair bound in braids. All the propriety had given Nina a permanent headache. But her role as Mila Jandersdat had put her at the heart of the Ice Court, the perfect base from which to stage her miracles.

Hanne had seemed less sure after their stunt in the marketplace.

“Is it worth it?” Hanne had asked her that night in the privacy of their rooms. “There will be consequences for those townspeople. My father won’t stand for this kind of heresy. He’ll take more drastic measures and innocent people will pay the price.”

“Innocent people are already paying the price,” Nina had re-minded her. “They’re just not Fjerdans.”

“Be careful, Nina,” Hanne had said as she’d climbed beneath the covers. “Don’t become what my father claims you are.”

Nina knew she was right. Zoya had scolded her for recklessness too. The problem was that she knew what they were doing was working. Yes, there were plenty of fanatics like Brum who would always hate Grisha—and plenty of people happy to go along with them. But the cult of the Sun Saint had found followers years ago when Alina Starkov had risen to destroy the Shadow Fold and been martyred in the process. That was a miracle Brum couldn’t deny. Then there were the miracles reported from all over Ravka just in the past year—weeping statues, bridges made of bones. On both sides of the border, there were whispers that an age of Saints was beginning. The movement had been building for a long while, and Nina just needed to keep nudging it along.

Besides, if she hadn’t been here at the Ice Court, Ravka would have no knowledge of the invasion the Fjerdans were planning.

But at what cost?

She suspected she was about to find out.

The central room of their dwelling on the White Island was a grand affair—soaring walls of white marble, a vaulted ceiling, and a great stone hearth built to look as if it were framed by the twisting branches of Djel’s sacred ash. All of it a testimony to Commander Jarl Brum’s standing—something he’d had to fight to regain after the Ice Court had been breached and he’d been humiliated by a certain Grisha on the docks.

Now Brum was dressed in his uniform and had his traveling coat slung over his arm. He’d been preparing to journey to the front. His face was unreadable. Hanne’s mother looked vaguely worried, but that was almost always the case. A fire crackled in the hearth.

A woman of middle age with dark brown hair in elaborate braids sat erect in one of the cream velvet chairs by the fire, a cup of tea perched on her knee. But this was no Springmaiden. She wore the dark blue pinafore and capelet reserved for the Wellmother, the highest-ranking sister at the convent. Her face was unfamiliar to Nina, and a brief glance confirmed that Hanne didn’t know her either. Hanne had lived at the convent for years, but this woman clearly hadn’t trained as a novice there. So who was she and what was she doing at the Ice Court?

Nina and Hanne curtsied deeply.

Brum gestured toward the woman. “Enke Bergstrin has assumed the management of the convent at Gäfvalle since the unfortunate disappearance of the previous Wellmother.”

“Was she never found?” Nina asked, her tone as blameless as a babe’s first coo. It was good strategy to put Brum on the defensive if he was questioning what had taken place at the convent. Besides, she enjoyed watching him squirm.

Brum shifted his weight, eyes darting briefly to his wife. “It’s believed she may have been in the fort when the explosions occurred. The convent was taking in laundry for the soldiers.”

In fact, that task had been mere cover for their real business: tending to the pregnant Grisha addicted to jurda parem on Brum’s orders.

“But why would the Wellmother go there herself?” Nina pressed. “Why not send a novice or one of the Springmaidens?”

Brum brushed a speck of lint from his coat. “A reasonable question. It may be she had other business there or had simply gone to supervise the sisters.”

Or maybe she got dragged into the next world by my undead minions. Who can say?

“What an inquisitive girl you are,” said the new Wellmother. Her eyes were gray-blue, her brow stern, her mouth hard. Did all Wellmothers emerge from the womb scowling? Or did they just start looking vexed as soon as they took the job?

“Forgive me,” Nina said, with another demure curtsy. “I was not educated at the convent, and I’m afraid my manners show the truth of it.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Mila,” said Ylva. “We’re all curious.”

“Regardless of what became of the previous Wellmother,” Brum pushed on, “Enke Bergstrin has taken on her position and is attempting to set the convent to rights after the tragedies at Gäfvalle.”

“But what is this about, Papa?” asked Hanne.

“I don’t know,” Brum said, his voice sharp. “The Wellmother has declined to share that without your presence.”