protest.
They made their way out of the government sector, steering clear of the market stalls and keeping well away from the tavern, where the stadwatch had gathered.
Matthias told himself to be alert, to focus on getting them back to Black Veil safely, but he could not stop thinking about that pale yellow pill. The sight of it had brought the dream back as vivid as ever, the ice of the north, Nina lost and Matthias powerless to save her. It had burned the unchecked joy of her kiss right out of him.
The dream had started on the ship, when Nina was in the worst throes of her struggle with parem . She’d been in a rage that night, body quaking, clothes soaked through with sweat.
You’re not a good man , she’d shouted. You’re a good soldier, and the sad thing is you don’t even know the difference. She’d been miserable later, weeping, sick with hunger, sick with regret. I’m sorry , she’d said. I didn’t mean it. You know I didn’t mean it. And a moment later, If you would just help me. Her beautiful eyes were full of tears, and in the faint light from the lanterns, her pale skin had seemed gilded in frost. Please, Matthias, I’m in so much pain. Help me. He would have done anything, traded anything to ease her suffering, but he’d sworn he would not give her more parem . He’d made a vow that he would not let her become a slave to the drug, and he had to honor it, no matter what it cost him.
I can’t, my love , he’d whispered, pressing a cold towel to her brow. I can’t get you more parem. I had them lock the door from the outside.
In a flash her face changed, her eyes slitted. Then break the fucking door down, you useless skiv.
No.
She spat in his face.
Hours later, she’d been quiet, her energy spent, sad but coherent. She’d lain on her side, her eyelids a bruised shade of violet, breath coming in shallow pants, and said, “Talk to me.”
“About what?”
“About anything. Tell me about the isenulf .”
He shouldn’t have been surprised she knew of the isenulf , the white wolves bred to go into battle with the drüskelle . They were bigger than ordinary wolves, and though they were trained to obey their masters, they never lost the wild, indomitable streak that separated them from their distant domesticated cousins.
It had been hard to think about Fjerda, the life he’d left behind for good, but he made himself speak, eager for any way to distract her. “Sometimes there are more wolves than drüskelle , sometimes more drüskelle than wolves. The wolves decide when to mate, with little influence from the breeder. They’re too stubborn for that.”
Nina had smiled, then winced in pain. “Keep going,” she whispered.
“The same family has been breeding the isenulf for generations. They live far north near Stenrink, the Ring of Stones. When a new litter arrives, we travel there by foot and by sledge, and each drüskelle chooses a pup. From then on, you are each other’s responsibility. You fight beside each other, sleep on the same furs, your rations are your wolf’s rations. He is not your pet. He is a warrior like you, a brother.”
Nina shivered, and Matthias felt a sick rush of shame. In a battle with Grisha, the isenulf could help even the odds for a drüskelle , trained to come to his aid and tear out his attacker’s throat. Heartrender power seemed to have no effect on animals. A Grisha like Nina would be virtually helpless under isenulf attack.
“What if something happens to the wolf?” Nina asked.
“A drüskelle can train a new wolf, but it is a terrible loss.”
“What happens to the wolf if his drüskelle is killed?”
Matthias was silent for a time. He did not want to think about this. Trass had been the creature of his heart.
“They are returned to the wild, but they will never be accepted by any pack.” And what was a wolf without a pack? The isenulf were not meant to live alone.
When had the other drüskelle decided Matthias was dead? Had it been Brum who had taken Trass north to the ice? The idea of his wolf left alone, howling for Matthias to come and take him home, carved a hollow ache in his chest. It felt like something had broken there and left an echo, the lonely snap of a branch too heavy with snow.
As if she