Page 69 of Six of Crows (Dregs 1)
“That’s why we’re here, no? To slip away?”
He offered his arm. “Then shall we?”
She smiled and looped her hand over his forearm. He patted it gently. “Good girl.”
She wanted to gag. Maybe I’ll make you impotent, Nina thought grimly, as he led her out of the ballroom and through a terraced forest of ice sculptures—a wolf with a screaming double eagle in its jaws, a serpent wrapped around a bear.
“How … primal,” she murmured.
Brum chuckled and patted her hand again. “We are a culture of warriors.”
Would it be so dreadful to just kill him now? she considered as they strolled. Make it look like a heart attack? Leave him here in the cold? But she could endure Jarl Brum leering down the front of her dress for a little while longer if it meant keeping jurda parem from the world.
Besides, if Bo Yul-Bayur was on this Saintsforsaken island, Brum was the one to get her to him. The guards at the ballroom doors had let them past with little more than a raised brow and a smirk.
Directly ahead of them, Nina saw a vast, silvery tree at the center of a circular courtyard, its boughs spreading over the stones in a sparkling canopy. The sacred ash, Nina realized. Then they must be in the middle of the island. The courtyard was surrounded on both sides by arched colonnades. If Matthias’ and Wylan’s drawings had been correct, the building directly beyond it was the treasury.
Instead of leading her across the courtyard, Brum turned left onto a path that hugged the side of the colonnade. As he did, Nina glimpsed a group of people in hooded black coats moving toward the tree.
“Who are they?” asked Nina, though she suspected she knew.
“Drüskelle.”
“Shouldn’t you be with them?”
“This is a ceremony for the young brothers to be welcomed by the old, not for captains and officers.”
“Did you go through it?”
“Every drüskelle in history has been inducted into the order through the same ceremony since Djel anointed the first of us.”
Nina forced herself not to roll her eyes. Sure, a giant, gushing spring chose some guy to hunt innocent people down and murder them. That seems likely.
“That’s what Hringkälla celebrates,” continued Brum. “And every year if there are worthy initiates, the drüskelle gather at the sacred ash, where they may once more hear the Voice of God.”
Djel says you’re a fanatic, drunk on your own power. Come back next year.
“People forget this is a holy night,” Brum muttered. “They come to the palace to drink and dance and fornicate.”
Nina had to bite her tongue. Given Brum’s interest in the dip of her neckline, she doubted his thoughts were particularly holy.
“Are those things so very bad?” she asked teasingly.
Brum smiled and squeezed her arm. “Not in moderation.”
“Moderation isn’t one of my specialties.”
“I can see that,” he said. “I like the look of a woman who enjoys herself.”
I’d enjoy choking you slowly, she thought as she ran her fingers over his arm. Looking at Brum, she knew she didn’t just blame him for the things he’d done to her people; it was what he’d done to Matthias as well. He’d taken a brave, miserable boy and fed him on hate. He’d silenced Matthias’ conscience with prejudice and the promise of a divine calling that was probably nothing more than the wind moving through the branches of an ancient tree.
They reached the far side of the colonnade. With a start, she realized Brum had deliberately led her around the courtyard. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to bring a whore through a sacred space. Hypocrite.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“The treasury.”
“Are you going to woo me with jewels?”
“I didn’t think girls like you needed wooing. Isn’t that the point?”
Nina laughed. “Well, every girl likes a little attention.”
“Then that’s what you shall have. And the thrill you were seeking, too.”
Was it possible Yul-Bayur was in the treasury? Kaz had said he’d be in the most secure place in the Ice Court. That might mean the palace, but it might just as easily mean the treasury. Why not here? It was another circular structure wrought in glowing white stone, but the treasury had no windows, no whimsical decoration or dragon’s scales. It looked like a tomb. Instead of ordinary guards, two drüskelle stood watch by the heavy door.
Suddenly, the full weight of what she was doing hit her. She was alone with one of the deadliest men in Fjerda, a man who would gladly torture and murder her if he knew what she truly was. The plan had been to find someone to give her information on Bo Yul-Bayur’s location, not to get cozy with the highest-ranking drüskelle on the White Island. Her eyes scanned the surrounding trees and paths, the hedge maze pushed up against the treasury’s east side, hoping to see some shadow move, to know that someone was there with her and that she wasn’t completely on her own. Kaz had sworn he could get her off this island, but Kaz’s first plan had gone to pieces—maybe this one would, too.
The soldiers didn’t blink as Nina and Brum passed, merely offered a tight salute. Brum pulled a chain from his neck; a strange circular disk hung from it. He slid the disk into a nearly invisible indentation in the door and gave it a turn. Nina eyed the lock warily. This might be beyond even Kaz Brekker’s skill.
The barrel-vaulted entry was cold and bare, lit by the same harsh light as the Grisha cells in the prison wing. No gaslight, no candles. Nothing for Squallers or Inferni to manipulate.
She squinted. “Where are we?”
“The old treasury. The vault was moved years ago. This was converted into a laboratory.”
Laboratory. The word formed a cold knot beneath Nina’s ribs. “Why?”
“Such an inquisitive little thing.”
I’m nearly as tall as you, she thought.
“The treasury was already secure and well-positioned on the White Island, so it was a logical choice for such a facility.”
The words were innocuous, but that knot of fear tightened, a cold fist now, pressing against her chest. She matched Brum’s steps down the vaulted hall, past smooth white doors, each with a small glass window set into it.
“Here we are,” Brum said, stopping in front of a door that seemed identical to the others.
Nina peered through the glass. The cell was just like the ones on the top level of the prison, but the observation panel was on the other side—a large mirror that took up half of the opposite wall. Inside, she saw a young boy in a bedraggled blue kefta pacing restlessly, gabbling to himself, scratching at his arms. His eyes were hollows, his hair lank. He looked just like Nestor before he’d died. Grisha don’t get sick, she thought. But this was a different kind of sickness.
“He doesn’t look very menacing.”
Brum moved up behind her. His breath brushed against her ear when he said, ?
?Oh, believe me, he is.”
Nina’s skin crawled, but she made herself lean into him slightly. “What is he here for?”
“The future.”
Nina turned and laid her hands on his chest.
“Are there more?”
He blew out an impatient breath and led her to the next door. A girl lay on her side, her tangled hair covering her face. She was dressed in a dirty shift, and she had bruises all over her arms. Brum gave a sharp rap on the little window, startling Nina.
“Look alive,” Brum taunted, but the girl didn’t move. Brum’s finger hovered over a brass button embedded next to the window. “If you really want a show, I could press this button.”
“What does it do?”
“Beautiful things. Miraculous, really.”
Nina thought she knew; the button would dose the girl with jurda parem somehow. For Nina’s entertainment. She tugged Brum away. “It’s all right.”
“I thought you wanted to see a Grisha use her powers.”
“Oh, I do, but she doesn’t look like much fun. Are there more?”
“Close to thirty.”
Nina flinched. The Second Army had been nearly obliterated in Ravka’s civil war. She couldn’t bear to think that there were thirty Grisha here. “And are they all in that state?”
He shrugged and steered her down a corridor. “Some are better. Some are worse. If I find you a lively one, what will be my reward?”
“It would be easier to show you,” she purred.
Nina had had enough of seeing starving, frightened Grisha. She needed Yul-Bayur. Brum must know where he was. The treasury was nearly deserted. They hadn’t seen a single guard inside. If she could get Brum into an empty corridor far enough from the entrance that the guards couldn’t hear them … Could she torture a hardened drüskelle? Could she make him talk? She thought she just might be able to. She’d seal his nose, put pressure on his larynx. A few minutes gasping for breath might soften him up.
