ached, holding himself motionless. Captain Vrana stood nearby; she would have seen as well as he had. If she couldn’t help, nothing Gerrit could do would get Branislav out of this storm.
Just before the transport passed out of the fortress, Branislav lifted a hand in solemn farewell.
Gerrit’s throat closed off.
Behind him, Captain Vrana ordered Filip to escort Jolana back to barracks. Jolana should have been in that troop transport, too. But Tesarik didn’t want anyone getting in the way.
If it weren’t for Hana and Darina going out in the storm, Gerrit would have prayed for Branislav to trigger a madness cascade, pulling so much storm energy that it leapt even to the mundanes, destroying them all.
Tesarik was playing with fire. Gerrit prayed it immolated him—before it could burn Bourshkanya’s every storm-blessed mage.
Captain Vrana’s sousedni-shape solidified at his side, and Gerrit struggled to make his expression flat. ?Does it get any easier, sir??
?Does what get easier?? she asked.
?Losing your friends.?
She said nothing, but the set to her jaw gave answer enough.
?How did you keep going?? he asked.
?During the war we had a clear enemy. We fought to keep the Lesnikrayens from overrunning our homes.?
Gerrit kicked at sousednia’s snow. None of that helped him.
?During the war,? she said, ?our role as bozhki... changed. Many of us put on our uniforms voluntarily. We expected to take them back off.?
Gerrit turned from the empty switchbacks, surprised that the Hero of Zlin—someone the cadets joked didn’t even own civilian clothes—might not be wearing her uniform by choice.
?But the Stormhawk needed to consolidate his power. We became a part of that.? Her gaze stayed distant for a moment, then she turned to Gerrit. ?If you’d been born during the last storm-cycle, no one would force you to salute mundanes who have no concept of what you risk beneath a bozhskyeh storm.?
?Sir.? He made his tone warning and glanced over his shoulder. Only storm-blessed bozhki could see sousednia—or, in theory, overhear them—but the Tayemstvoy had ears where you’d swear they didn’t.
Captain Vrana waited until he met her gaze. He expected her to dissemble, to say she was tired and didn’t mean it. Freezing sleet, how could the Hero of Zlin criticize the regime?
Instead, Captain Vrana said, ?If the Tayemstvoy force you to imbue—even if you hold true-life—it will leave you forever on the knife’s edge of madness. They want this. Fragile imbuement mages, easily controlled, who build weapons for the regime.? She laid a hand on his shoulder. ?You could be so much more, Gerrit.?
Her touch was as unexpected as his given name, and emotion thrashed beneath the dark water of his mind. ?How?? His voice came out small.
?They may have trained you to salute instinctively, but you’re more like your mother than you realize.?
The air went out of Gerrit’s lungs, and he fought to keep his face emotionless.
?She and I were friends from childhood,? Captain Vrana said.
His eyes burned. Sousednia’s fresh snow darkened into an icy dirt road stained with blood.
At the end of that fight, Gerrit had held his mother as she gasped for breath, her skin gray where it wasn’t stained with blood. He’d screamed for help until his throat was raw, but it had arrived too late.
Don’t become like them, his mother had whispered, so faint he had to press his ear to her lips. Never become like them.
Captain Vrana gripped Gerrit’s shoulder, shaking him free of the memory, snapping sousednia back to alpine brightness. He flinched; he hadn’t kept the grief off his face. Instead of smearing his face in that weakness, she said, ?She would be proud of you.?
Anger tightened his jaw, and he gave it free reign to banish his fear. ?The resistance murdered her. I’ll make her proud when they’re nothing but ash.?
?The resistance didn’t kill her.? Captain Vrana’s whisper was so at odds with her usual confident command.
?I was there. I held her as she died.?
?I know.? He strained to hear, leaning closer despite his revulsion. ?But the attackers weren’t resistance. They were Tayemstvoy.?
Gerrit stumbled back. ?What in sleetstorms are you talking about? The resistance murdered her. They wanted to abduct me. They wanted to weaken my father and destroy the regime!?
Captain Vrana’s expression remained impassive, but her eyes grew sad. ?The bozhskyeh storms were returning early. The Tayemstvoy wanted to ensure you could imbue weapons.?
?That’s a lie!?
?You were thirteen and the bozhskyeh storms still four years off. You would have been a liability to the resistance. But you were still young enough to be—?
?The hail-eaters wanted to