Six of Crows (Six of Crows #1)(76)

She hadn’t forgotten what he’d said aboard the Ferolind, when he’d asked what she intended to do about Bo Yul-Bayur, if she truly meant to hand the scientist over to the Kerch. If she sabotaged Kaz’s mission, would it cost Matthias his pardon? She couldn’t do that. No matter what he was, she owed him his freedom.

Three weeks she’d travelled with Matthias after the shipwreck. They hadn’t had a compass, hadn’t known where they were going. They hadn’t even known where on the northern shore they’d washed

up. They’d spent long days slogging through the snow, freezing nights in whatever rudimentary shelter they could assemble or in the deserted huts of whaling camps when they were lucky enough to come across them. They’d eaten roasted seaweed and whatever grasses or tubers they could find.

When they’d found a stash of dried reindeer meat at the bottom of a travel pack in one of the camps, it had been like some kind of miracle. They’d gnawed on it in mute bliss, feeling nearly drunk on its flavour.

After the first night, they’d slept in all the dry clothes and blankets they could find but on opposite sides of the fire. If they didn’t have wood or kindling, they curled against one another, barely touching, but by morning, they’d be pressed together, breathing in tandem, cocooned in muzzy sleep, a single crescent moon.

Every morning he complained that she was impossible to wake.

“It’s like trying to raise a corpse.”

“The dead request five more minutes,” she would say, and bury her head in the furs.

He’d stomp around, packing their few things as loudly as possible, grumbling to himself. “Lazy, ridiculous, selfish …” until she finally roused herself and set about preparing for the day.

“What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get home?” she asked him on one of their endless days trekking through the snow, hoping to find some sign of civilization.

“Sleep,” he said. “Bathe. Pray for my lost friends.”

“Oh yes, the other thugs and killers. How did you become a drüskelle, anyway?”

“Your friends slaughtered my family in a Grisha raid,” he’d said coldly. “Brum took me in and gave me something to fight for.”

Nina hadn’t wanted to believe that, but she knew it was possible. Battles happened, innocent lives were lost in the cross fire. It was equally disturbing to think of that monster Brum as some kind of father figure.

It didn’t seem right to argue or to apologise, so she said the first thing that popped into her head.

“Jer molle pe oonet. Enel m?rd je nej afva trohem verretn. ” I have been made to protect you. Only in death will I be kept from this oath.

Matthias had stared at her in shock. “That’s the drüskelle oath to Fjerda. How do you know those words?”

“I tried to learn as much about Fjerda as I could.”

“Why?”

She’d wavered, then said, “So I wouldn’t fear you.”

“You don’t seem afraid.”

“Are you afraid of me?” she’d asked.

“No,” he’d said, and he’d sounded almost surprised. He’d claimed before that he didn’t fear her.

This time she believed him. She tried to remind herself that wasn’t a good thing.

They’d walked on for a while, and then he’d asked, “What’s the first thing you’re going to do?”

“Eat.”

“Eat what?”

“Everything. Stuffed cabbage, potato dumplings, blackcurrant cakes, blini with lemon zest. I can’t wait to see Zoya’s face when I come walking into the Little Palace.”

“Zoya Nazyalensky?”

Nina had stopped short. “You know her?”

“We all know of her. She’s a powerful witch.”

It had hit her then: For the drüskelle, Zoya was a little like Jarl Brum – cruel, inhuman, the thing that waited in the dark with death in her hands. Zoya was this boy’s monster. The thought left her uneasy.

“How did you get out of the cages?”

Nina blinked. “What?”

“On the ship. You were bound and in cages.”

“The water cup. The handle broke and the lip was jagged beneath. We used it to cut through our bonds. Once our hands were free …” Nina trailed off awkwardly.

Matthias’ brow lowered. “You were planning to attack us.”

“We were going to make our move that night.”

“But then the storm hit.”

“Yes.”

A Squaller and a Fabrikator had smashed a hole right through the deck, and they’d swum free. But had any of them survived the icy waters? Had they managed to make their way to land? She shivered.

If they hadn’t discovered the cup’s secret, she would have drowned in a cage.

“What do drüskelle eat?” she asked, picking up her pace. “Other than Grisha babies?”

“We don’t eat babies!”

“Dolphin blubber? Reindeer hooves?”

She saw his mouth twist and wondered if he was nauseous or if maybe, possibly, he was trying not to laugh.

“We eat a lot of fish. Herring. Salt cod. And yes, reindeer, but not the hooves.”

“How about cake?”