But Nikolai knew what they would find: death. Nothing would grow in that soil again. And if this blight kept spreading, who knew where it might strike next or if it could be stopped? Even the thought of it was enough to rile the demon inside him, as if it recognized the power that had created it in the source of this destruction.

“Is it connected to the Fold?” asked Kerko.

Tolya looked surprised. “You’ve been there?”

“After the unification. I wanted to see it for myself. A cursed place.”

That word again: cursed.

“There’s a connection,” said Nikolai. “We just don’t know what it is yet.” That much was true. And Nikolai wasn’t prepared to tell Kerko that the Darkling had returned. “I’ll escort you to Poliznaya. We can store the antidote on base.”

“There will be retribution from the Kerch,” warned Kerko as they walked back to the flyer. “For all of us. They’ll find a way.”

“We know,” said Tolya solemnly. “And we know the risk you’ve taken by coming to our aid.”

Kerko grinned. “They were willing to attack our ships and our sailors without ever raising the flag of war. The Kerch have never been friends to the Zemeni, and it’s best they know we’re not without friends either.”

They shook hands, and Nikolai and Tolya climbed back into the flyer.

“Nikolai,” said Kerko. “End this war and end it quickly. Show that Magnus Opjer is a liar and banish the Lantsov pretender. You must prove you’re not a bastard and that you’re fit to sit that throne.”

Well, thought Nikolai as the engine of his flyer rumbled to life and they shot into the brilliant blue sky. One out of two isn’t bad.

7

NINA

HELLO, NINA.

Nina was a trained covert operative. She’d made her way in the brothels of Ketterdam and run with the most dangerous thugs and thieves of the Barrel. She’d faced killers of every variety, and occasionally she chatted with the dead. But when the Wellmother spoke those words, Nina felt her heart plunge right out of her chest and slide all the way to her fur-lined slippers.

She only smiled.

“Mila,” she corrected gently. A misheard name, an innocent mistake.

The Wellmother lifted her hand and a gust of wind made the lamplight flicker, glinting off the twinkle in her eyes.

“You’re Grisha,” whispered Nina in shock. A Squaller.

“Foxes go to ground in the winter,” said the Wellmother in Ravkan.

“But they don’t fear the cold,” Nina replied.

She sat down on the sofa with a heavy thump. Her knees felt weak, and she was embarrassed to find tears in her eyes. She hadn’t spoken her language in so long.

“Our good king sends his thanks and his regards. He’s grateful for the intelligence you sent. It saved many Ravkan lives. And many Fjerdan lives too.”

Nina wanted to weep with gratitude. She’d had contact with messengers and members of the Hringsa, but to talk to one of her people? She hadn’t realized the weight she’d been carrying with her.

“Are you really from the convent?”

“Yes,” the woman said. “When the previous Wellmother disappeared, Tamar Kir-Bataar took the opportunity to install one of her spies there. I was undercover at a convent in the Elbjen before that.”

“How long have you been living this way? As a Fjerdan?”

“Thirteen years. Through wars and kings and coups.”

Thirteen years. Nina couldn’t fathom it. “Do you never … do you miss home?” She felt like a child asking.

“Every day. But I have a cause, just as you do. Your campaign of propaganda has been a bold one. I’ve seen the results myself. The girls under my care share stories of the Saints by moonlight.”

“And they’re punished for it?”

“Oh yes,” she said with a laugh. “The more we forbid talk of the Saints, the more fervent and determined they become.”

“Then I’m not in trouble?” She’d been following no order when she’d come to the Ice Court with Hanne and started staging miracles. After the stunt she’d pulled in Gäfvalle, she could have been dragged back to Ravka and court-martialed.

“General Nazyalensky said you would ask that and she said you absolutely are.”

Nina had to restrain a laugh. “How is she?”

“Terrifyingly competent.”

“And Adrik? Leoni?”

“Now that they’re Saints, they’re not fit for espionage work, but Adrik is commanding a team of Squallers and Leoni is working with David Kostyk’s Fabrikators. She did essential work on the antidote to jurda parem.”

“So,” said Nina, “they’re both stationed at the Little Palace.”

A slight smile touched the Wellmother’s lips. “I hear they’re often in each other’s company. But I didn’t come to share gossip or offer comfort. The king has a mission for you.”

Nina felt a spike of exhilaration. She’d defied direct orders from Adrik to come to the Ice Court, to put herself in the position to help Grisha and help Ravka. She’d done what she could with her phony miracles; she’d eavesdropped and used every wile in her possession to gather information, passing along coded letters full of whatever she’d managed to glean about troop movements and weapons development. But Brum’s disclosure of the places Fjerda had intended to launch their invasion had been mere luck, not true spy work.

“Listen closely,” the Wellmother said. “We don’t have much time.”

* * *

“She wants you to do what?” Hanne whispered, her copper eyes wide, when she returned to the rooms they shared and Nina described her mission. “And who did I just give my confession to?”

“A Grisha spy. What did you tell her?”

“I made up something about too many sweets and swearing on Djel’s holy days.”

Nina laughed. “Perfect.”

“Not perfect,” Hanne said with a wince. “What if I’d told her something personal about … something.”

“Like what?”

“Nothing,” said Hanne, her cheeks flushing. “What does she want you to do?”

The Wellmother’s orders had been simple, but Nina had no idea how she was going to pull them off.