“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 G?fvalle, 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.
“Find out where the letters from Tatiana Lantsov are being kept.”
“That part isn’t so bad.”
“And get close to the Lantsov pretender,” Nina said. “Discover who he really is and if there’s a way to discredit him.”
Hanne bit her lip. They’d settled on her bed with hot tea and a tin of biscuits. “Couldn’t we just … well, couldn’t you just eliminate him?”
Nina laughed. “Easy now. I’m the ruthless assassin and you’re the voice of reason, remember?”
“I think I’m being eminently reasonable. Is the Ravkan king really a bastard?”
“I don’t know,” Nina said slowly. “But if the Fjerdans prove he is, I’m not certain he’ll be able to keep the Ravkan throne.” In times of trouble, people tended to cling to tradition and superstition. Grisha cared less about royal blood, but even Nina had been raised to believe the Lantsovs had been divinely chosen to lead Ravka.