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.”

The Wellmother set down her tea. “In the wake of the destruction of the fort and the rise of irreligious elements in Gäfvalle, the convent has had to take a sterner hand with our students and extend them less privacy.”

Irreligious elements. Nina savored the words. Gäfvalle had been the first step, the first miracle she’d staged, when Leoni and Adrik had saved the village from poison unleashed from the factory. It had been irresponsible, utterly imprudent—and it had worked like a charm. She had learned the practice of deception from Kaz Brekker himself, and there was no greater teacher. Two Grisha—a Fabrikator and an Etherealnik—had saved those villagers. A miracle? No, just good people trained to use their gifts, willing to expose themselves to persecution and worse for the sake of saving a town. Two people who were now worshipped as Saints in the dark corners and candlelit kitchens of Gäfvalle. Sankt Adrik the Uneven and Sankta Leoni of the Waters.

“What does this have to do with our daughter?” demanded Brum.

“In the course of searching the convent we came across all manner of contraband, including painted icons and heathen prayer books.”

“Surely they are just young,” said Ylva. “I rebelled too when I was that age. It was how I ended up married to a drüskelle.”

Nina felt an unexpected pang at the warm look Brum and his wife shared. Ylva was Hedjut, considered one of the divine people of the north, from the lost coastline near Kenst Hjerte, the Broken Heart. Had she been like Hanne in her youth—driven by stubborn spirit? Full of love for the land and the open sky? Had Jarl Brum, the military boy from the capital, seemed mysterious and alien? Nina had assumed that Brum had always been a monster, but maybe he’d grown into one.

“We cannot think that way,” said Brum. “These influences must be rooted out before they take hold or all of Fjerda will lose its way.”

The Wellmother nodded. “I couldn’t agree more, Commander Brum. That is why I’m here.”

Ylva sat forward, her face stricken. “Are you saying these items were found in Hanne’s quarters?”

“We found men’s riding clothes stashed beneath the slate tiles in the chapel. Also, prayer beads and an icon of Sankta Vasilka.”

Sankta Vasilka. Patron saint of unwed women. She was a Ravkan Saint, said to have become the first firebird.

“That cannot be,” said Brum, stepping in front of Hanne as if to protect her. “Hanne has had her wilder moments. But she would never give herself over to the worship of abomination.”

“Never,” whispered Hanne fervently, and no one could doubt the look of sincerity on her face.

Nina tried not to smile. Hanne would never worship a Grisha because she damn well was one, a Healer forced to hide her powers but who still found ways to use them to help people.

The Wellmother’s lips pursed. “Then perhaps you think I traveled all this way to tell fanciful tales.”

The room was silent except for the crackle of the fire. Nina could feel the fear radiating off Ylva, the anger that came from Brum—and the uncertainty in both of them too. They knew Hanne had been disobedient in the past. But how far had she gone? Nina wasn’t sure herself.