Rule of Wolves (King of Scars #2) - Leigh Bardugo Page 0,121

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.

“We have to go now,” said Joran. He hesitated, noticing her attire for the first time. “Why are you wearing riding clothes?”

“He told me to. He wished to chastise me.”

Joran’s face went crimson at the possibilities. Nina almost blushed at that one herself. She could hear Hanne whisper in her ear, Shameless.

“Where did you enter the sector?” he asked.

“The secret door,” she lied.

Joran shook his head, disgusted that Brum would give up the mysteries of the drüskelle for a tawdry affair. “I can get you back there.”

He tidied up his altar, locking everything away inside the trunk, and disappeared into the hallway. A moment later, she heard voices, Joran saying something to whoever was there. For a moment Nina was certain he would sound the alarm and give her up to his brothers, that his sympathy had all been a ruse. Then he pushed the door open and waved her along.

At the end of the hall, he lifted a tapestry of a white wolf with an eagle in its bloody jaws and pressed one of the stones. The wall slid back, revealing a narrow, winding staircase carved into the rock. Nina hid her surprise. She was supposed to have come this way.

At the base of the dark stairs, she heard scraping sounds. The door opened, bringing with it a gust of cold air. From here, it looked as if the ice moat was nothing but a sheer skin of frost and freezing water lurking below it. But Nina knew there was a transparent glass bridge beneath it. She glanced up in time to see Hanne’s startled face disappear high above, and the rope rapidly vanishing up onto the roof.

“I will go on my own from here,” Nina said.

“You’ll be all right?”

“I would not ask you to risk capture for my sake.”

Joran’s face was pained. “He’ll punish you for not waiting. For not doing as he bid.”

“I know,” she said, lowering her eyes.

“You must find a way out of his household.”

She would. When her work was done and not before. “I will, but I cannot leave Hanne.” As she said the words, she knew they were true.

Joran hesitated. “It would be better if you kept her away from the prince. He’s not … he’s weak.”

“He grows stronger every day.”

Joran gave a sharp shake of his head. “I’ve known plenty of wounded men, people who have lost limbs, who live with