That morning, Nina had seen a flash of white fur appearing and disappearing through the trees as they trekked out of town. She’d strayed away from Adrik and Leoni and wended her way into the woods as silently as she could. There, she’d seen Trassel, prowling the far banks of the river. Her heart had caught in her throat when she’d glimpsed the other shapes in the woods. Gray wolves. But these animals did not seem to have the orange eyes and rangy bodies of those she’d encountered on the ice. Every time one of them moved toward the water, Trassel would snap his jaws and the gray wolves would edge farther back into the trees.

He’s herding them, she realized. He’s keeping them away from the poisoned river.

She wanted to stay and watch, to see if he might let her approach—even if he continued to turn his nose up at her kitchen scraps. But Adrik and Leoni were waiting. And so were the girls on the mountaintop. Reluctantly, she left Trassel behind and returned to the sledge.

The plan seemed simple enough: Get the women and their babies out and make it through the checkpoint at the base of the hill before anyone knew the prisoners were missing.

Leoni hadn’t been thrilled to learn they’d need explosives. “I have barely any training in blasting powders,” she said as they repacked their wares, “and long fuses are almost always trouble.”

“We need a distraction,” said Nina. “Once we get clear, the bombs will start a fire in the active portion of the factory that will spread to the maternity ward. By the time it’s extinguished and they realize there are no bodies to find, the girls will be well on their way to Hjar.” There, a whaler commissioned by members of the Hringsa would be waiting to take them to Ravka. Actually, the crew would be expecting Grisha fugitives, not a tide of young women and infants addicted to what Leoni suspected was synthetic parem or something very much like it. But Nina would find some way to explain. “We can’t tell the girls who we are. Not if we want them docile.”

Leoni looked uneasy. “Shouldn’t they have a choice in this?”

“Parem takes away choice. All they’ll be thinking of is when the next fix will come. If we want them to go with us quietly, they can’t know we’re taking them away from their supply. We should try to acquire some ordinary jurda for them too. It may help with the withdrawal.”

Adrik squinted down the road. “What happens when they realize that next fix isn’t coming?”

“Leoni, could you create a sedative mild enough to keep them manageable but safe enough for the mothers who are still carrying?”

“Are we really talking about sedating pregnant women?” Adrik asked. “What if we get the dose wrong?”

“I don’t like it either, but I know what it’s like to be in the grips of that longing.”

“I can do it,” said Leoni. “I think. But …” She looked down at the knot she was tying. “What if they don’t come back from this? We could be dooming them to a horrific journey, maybe even death.”

Nina remembered the agony of her battle with parem too well. She’d begged for death, prayed for it. Without Matthias, she wasn’t sure she could have held on. And that had just been the first struggle. What would she have done without Inej to give her purpose? Or Jesper to make her laugh? Even that little bastard Kaz had done his part, ruthless to the last. She’d needed all of them to keep her going in those long, merciless days as she fought her way back to herself. These women would be without family or friends in a foreign land. They would have to learn to lean on one another. If they survived.

Nina looked at Leoni, at Adrik. “I won’t pretend I’m thinking straight. Seeing those women, those girls that way … I understand what parem does. I’ve been through that war. I know what I would choose.”

“And you’re willing to make that choice for them?” said Adrik.

“We all have to be willing.”

Leoni took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t want to live under another’s control. I wouldn’t want to doom my child to a life of that.”

“Adrik?” Nina asked.

“I told you what I think, Nina. We’re risking our lives and the lives of other Grisha to deliver what I suspect will be a ship full of corpses to Ravka. But I won’t turn my back on them. If nothing else, I’ll have something new to complain about for the rest of my days.”

“You’re welcome,” said Nina.

Adrik gave her a dour little bow. “But how are we supposed to convince the mothers or the guards that a one-armed man and two women have any business being there?”

“We can get you a uniform and stuff your sleeve. Leoni and I can wear Springmaiden pinafores.”

“You think they won’t notice that I can barely speak Fjerdan and that I’m trying to drive a team of horses with one hand?”

“Hanne will help.”

“Are you sure?” Leoni asked. “I saw her face the other night. She’s been under the Wellmother’s thumb a long time.”

Not just the Wellmother. Her parents. All of Fjerda. But Hanne had still lied for Nina. She’d defied the dictates of the convent to help people who needed her. She’d still managed to keep the fierce part of her heart alive in this wretched place.

Adrik leaned back against the cart. “If she finds out we’re Grisha—”

“She’s Grisha.”

“And she hates herself. Don’t think she won’t turn that hatred on us. Even if we get through this without revealing who we really are, she’ll be the one left to face the consequences when we’re gone.” Nina shifted uneasily and Adrik’s brows rose. “You think she’ll go with us. Oh, Zenik. I thought Leoni was the hopeless optimist.”

“Hanne doesn’t belong here.” Even if she managed to keep her powers a secret, Fjerda would break Hanne’s spirit eventually. Nina didn’t think she could bear that particular casualty in this war.

Adrik studied her. “Don’t make us the only option, Nina. It’s not something Hanne will forgive.”

She might not forgive me, Nina thought, but at least she’ll survive.

When Nina arrived in the classroom the next day, she was startled to find not just Hanne waiting but one of the Springmaidens.

“Kori of the Well would like to learn too,” Hanne said dully.

Nina tried to look delighted. “Another student! Excellent. Do you have any knowledge of Zemeni?”

“No,” Kori said sulkily. Clearly she wasn’t thrilled to be stuck with this duty. And clearly the Wellmother thought Nina and Hanne shouldn’t be left alone.

“Then we’ll begin at the beginning. Let’s start with the verb to pray.”

Hanne rolled her eyes, and Nina found it hard not to laugh. If this was the worst challenge they faced over the next few days, Nina would count them very lucky indeed.

But as she was walking Hanne and Kori through some basic vocabulary—chair, desk, window, sky, girl, cloud—a knock came and a novitiate poked her head through the door. It was the peach-cheeked girl who’d approached Nina in the woods, one of the same novitiates who had ridden with Hanne as a Fjerdan soldier.

The girl curtsied to Kori, who asked, “What is it?”

“The Wellmother sent me to fetch you, Hanne,” said the novitiate. “Your father is here.”

Hanne’s whole body seemed to crumple like a flower wilting in a sudden frost. Nina had seen her scared, angry, but this was something new and unwelcome, as if all the fire that animated her had suddenly and abruptly banked.

Even Kori looked worried as she said, “Go on, then,” to Hanne.

Hanne closed her workbook and rose. Nina knew she shouldn’t, but as Hanne walked past, she grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly. Hanne glanced at the Springmaiden, who was watching them with narrowed eyes, then squeezed back.

“It will be all right,” whispered Nina. “Adawe.” The first verb she’d taught Hanne. Fight.

Hanne’s spine straightened slightly. She released Nina’s hand, but the novitiate added, “He wishes to meet you too, Enke Jandersdat.”

Good. If Hanne’s father wanted to meet his daughter’s teacher, she would do her best to handle and pacify him. Maybe she could help Hanne weather this storm. She rose.

“Adawesi,” Hanne said, full lips quirking in a smile. We fight.

When they reached the chapel, the novitiate led them down a long hall, and Nina realized they were headed to the same office where she and Hanne had met with the Wellmother to discuss language classes.

The Wellmother waited at her desk, just as she had before, and a tall man of military bearing stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back. A thick red scar ran along the base of his pale skull. Nina felt something cold unfurl in her belly.

“Wellmother,” said Hanne, curtsying deeply. “Min fadder.”

Nina knew who it would be before he turned. But there was nothing she could do to stop the terror that seized her as she looked once more into Jarl Brum’s cold blue eyes.

The last time Nina had encountered Jarl Brum, he’d tried to imprison and enslave her. She’d been deep in the grips of her first and only dose of jurda parem when she’d faced him and his drüskelle in the Djerholm harbor. She’d wanted to murder him, and she could have with barely a thought. But Matthias had begged her to show mercy, and she had. She’d left Brum and his men alive, though in a last petty act, she’d torn the scalp from his head. Someone had apparently sewn it back on.

Nina sank into a low curtsy, training her eyes on the floor, trying to steal a moment to gather her wits and hide her fear. Get yourself together, Zenik, she ordered herself. Brum had seen through her clumsy disguise when she’d met him in the Ice Court, but now she’d been tailored by the master, Genya Safin. Her very bones and body had been altered, and she knew her command of the Fjerdan language was pristine. She remembered what she’d said to Hanne, that performance began in the body, and right now Nina needed to give the performance of her life. Instead of hiding her fear, she would use it. It was her loathing she needed to bury.