Joran opened his mouth. She saw his throat bob, the words seeming to fight their way out. “Alina’s,” he rasped. “I … I bought them down in Djerholm. I know they’re probably fake, but—”
“But they brought you comfort.” People all over Ravka, and maybe now Fjerda too kept relics that had supposedly belonged to the Saints. Finger bones, a fragment of spine, scraps of an ancient garment. Nina’s power told her that the bones Joran had purchased weren’t even human.
“She was a soldier,” he said, almost pleading. “She saved people. Fjerdans and Ravkans alike.”
“Is that what you want?” Nina drew a little closer. She could hear voices in the hall. She needed to get out of here, get back out the window and down to the ice moat with Hanne. But she also needed Joran to trust her. If he mentioned her presence here to Brum, she was done for.
“I want to be … good.” He shook his head, fighting his own logic. “Soldiers aren’t good. They’re loyal. They’re brave.”
He had never seemed so young. She forgot sometimes that he was only a boy really, not even seventeen.
“They can be good too.”
“Not us.” He looked at her then, his blue eyes haunted. “Not me.”
“Alina Starkov wasn’t just a soldier,” she said very quietly. “She was Grisha.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, head bowed as if ready to take the beating he knew he deserved. “I know.” His voice was harsh. “I know it is sacrilege.”
“Not necessarily.”
Joran’s eyes snapped open.
“Maybe Grisha power isn’t quite what we’ve been led to believe,” she said. They were Matthias’ words from so long ago. They’d been a balm to her, a gift that had helped her heal and accept who she was. “Maybe their power is a gift from Djel, one more way he shows his strength in this world.”
“No … no, that’s blasphemy, that’s—”
“Who are we to say we know the mind of god?”
Joran peered at her as if he could find the truth somewhere in her features. “Does the commander … does he know you think this way?”
“No,” Nina said. “It is not seemly. But I cannot help the pattern of my thoughts.”
Joran placed his hands to his head. “I know.”
“Are there others among you who feel this way?”
“Yes,” said Joran. His jaw jutted forward. “But I will not give you their names.”
“I didn’t ask for them. I never would.” She wasn’t going to inform on Joran—why would she? But after failing so thoroughly tonight, knowing that the religion of the Saints had spread to the ranks of men trained to hate Grisha was a tiny thread of hope to hang on to with both hands.
“Can you help me get back to the White Island?” she asked.
“Why do you not wait for Brum if he is your … if you are his…”
A dark bubble of mirth rose in Nina. How easily these men played with bloodshed and suffering, but at the mere thought of pleasure, their minds went slack.
Nina grasped Joran’s arm. “I will tell him I was never here tonight, that I could not raise the courage to come. If he knows that I wandered away from his rooms, that I dared to speak to you, I would … I would have to tell him what I found.”
Joran stiffened. “I would be put to death.”
“I am a woman alone in a powerful man’s house. I have no true allies. I will do what I must to survive.”
Joran looked almost startled. “You did not want to be his whore?”
The word made Nina bristle. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“Commander Brum … he would never. He would not force—”
“He has no need to resort to force. He prefers a different kind of submission.” At that, Joran’s expression changed. He knows it’s true. He’s seen Brum’s love of power. “A woman in my position has no language for refusal. Without Commander Brum’s generosity, I would be lost. And if a man like Jarl Brum chose to impugn my reputation…”
Joran’s eyes darted left and right. She could see a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He was at the crossroads. He didn’t know what was true or right anymore; the altar behind him made that perfectly clear. He nodded once as if in debate with himself, then again.
“Yes,” he said. “I’ll help you.”
Nina felt an ache in her throat. There was honor in Joran, the honor she’d hoped to see in Prince Rasmus. He didn’t want to be a killer. He didn’t want to be cruel. Brum’s hatred hadn’t twisted him completely yet. Save some mercy for my people. For this boy, still striving for some kind of goodness, she could.