“Really,” Nina grumbled beneath her breath. “She could at least try to make it look hard for my sake.”
Once Hanne was on the roof, she braced the rope as Nina climbed, arm over arm, grateful for the knots and loops they’d tied into the rope. From there, they had to span the gap that led to the actual building that housed the dining hall and Brum’s office. Nina tried not to think about how far she was off the ground and went over the plan in her head. On her back, she carried clothing they’d pilfered from Brum’s own closet. It wasn’t ideal, but the man spent most of his time in uniform, and they needed something to replace Opjer’s rags. Once she freed Opjer, she would take him back across the ice moat and into the gardens. Then she’d send him over the bridge with the rest of the departing partygoers and deliver him into the waiting arms of the Hringsa. Before he left, Hanne would tailor Opjer’s face. His resemblance to Nikolai was too damning, and Nina didn’t want a weapon like that to fall into the wrong person’s hands.
At last, Nina reached the other side of the gap and flopped onto the roof of the drüskelle sector. Hanne made sure the rope was secured around one of the chimneys, then looped it around Nina’s waist.
“Ready?” she asked.
Nina clutched the rope. “To be lowered like a sack of flour into the heart of witchhunter power?”
“This was your idea. We can still turn around.”
“Do not second-guess the sack of flour. The sack of flour is wise beyond her years.”
Hanne rolled her eyes and braced her feet against the edge of the roof, and Nina stepped out into nothing. Hanne released a grunt, but the rope stayed steady. Slowly, she lowered Nina down.
The first two windows she tried were locked tight, but the third gave way and she wiggled inside, landing on the carpeted floor with a thud. She was in a stairway. For a moment, she couldn’t orient herself, but she descended another story, and soon she was at the door to Brum’s office. This time, she didn’t have a key. It had been too risky to steal it again, so she would have to pick the lock. It took an embarrassingly long time. She could almost hear Kaz laughing at her. Shut up, Brekker. Talk to me when you’ve done something about that terrible haircut. Maybe he had by now. She hoped so for Inej’s sake.
Nina wasn’t sure if all the drüskelle had gone to the woods or if some had been left behind, and she didn’t intend to find out. She went directly to the door leading to Opjer’s cell, already placing a finger to her lips to make sure he stayed silent.
The cell was empty. And spotlessly clean. For a moment, Nina had the eerie fear that she’d made it all up, that Opjer had never been here at all.
I know what I saw. So where was he? Had he been moved after the disappearance of the letters? No, if Brum had known about the missing letters, he would have put more security in place. And there was no way he would kill Opjer; the Fjerdans wouldn’t squander an advantage that way.
She needed to find out where they’d taken him. And she didn’t have much time.
Nina thumbed through the documents on Brum’s desk, trying to make sure to keep everything in its place. There had to be some kind of transfer order, some discussion of where they would place such a valuable prisoner. She saw the usual plans and maps, and what looked like a sketch of intersecting parabolas beside a long series of equations. A weapon? A note above it read: Hajefetla. Songbird. There were designs for some kind of helmet, what might be modifications to a repeating rifle, a sea transport.
Nina hesitated. The maps, the plans—more tragedies in the making? If she’d only been able to understand the targets she’d seen on Brum’s desk before, she might have warned Zoya and King Nikolai of the bombing to come. She might have saved hundreds of lives. But if she stole these plans, Brum would know someone had been in his office. There was a good chance she and the Hringsa agents at the Ice Court would be compromised before they ever got the plans where they needed to go, and Hanne could be put in jeopardy too. Nina would communicate all she could remember to the Hringsa, but she had to stay focused. She didn’t have much time, and she’d come here to find Magnus Opjer.
Then she spotted a strange word: R?vfeder. Foxfather.
Nina’s eyes scanned the page, but she wasn’t reading a transfer order. It was the report of an escape. Magnus Opjer had somehow gotten out of his cell, out of the drüskelle sector, and out of the Ice Court—and taken Queen Tatiana’s letters with him. Well, thank you for bearing the blame for that, Magnus. The next line on the report made Nina’s stomach lurch: A piece of what looked like sharpened bone had been found in the lock of Magnus Opjer’s cell door.