Hanne kept her gaze on the white horizon. “It’s a game to them. A childish bit of dress-up, a chance to be daring. For me …” She shrugged.
It was survival. There was something solitary in Hanne. Nina couldn’t pretend to really understand it. She loved company, noise, the bustle of a crowded room. But for a girl like this? To be forever trapped in the convent, watched by the sisters, and constantly forced to perform pious Fjerdan womanhood? It was a dismal thought. Even so, Hanne’s presence at the convent meant she might be a source of information about the factory. Though she was only a novitiate, she had to hear about the Springmaidens’ visits up the mountain.
“Ride with us a little longer,” Nina said to Hanne as she mounted her own horse.
Hanne looked like she wanted to bolt, but Nina knew the other girl didn’t want to risk offense when she was still desperate to ensure Nina’s silence.
“Come on,” Nina urged gently. “I won’t keep you long.”
They set a moderate pace, Adrik trailing them with the sledge.
“How old are you anyway?” Nina asked.
Hanne’s jaw set, her profile sharp against the silvery sky. “Nineteen. And yes, that’s old for a novitiate.”
So Nina was right; they were almost the same age. “You aren’t ready to take vows.” Hanne gave a curt shake of her head. “But you can’t go home.” Another shake of the head. “So what, then?”
Hanne said nothing, her gaze fixed on the snow. She didn’t want to talk, or perhaps she felt she’d already said too much.
Nina cut her a sidelong look. “I can tell you’re eager for a last chance to ride before you go back.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“I can see it in the way your eyes stray to the horizon, the way you hold the reins.” Nina hesitated, then added, “The trick of acting is to believe the lie yourself, at least a little. Acting begins in the body. If you want to convince anyone of anything, you start with the way the body moves. It tells a thousand stories before you ever open your mouth.”
“And what stories am I telling?”
“Are you sure you want to know?” It was one thing to see the truth of someone. It was another to speak it back to them.
“Go on,” said Hanne, but her hands were tight on the reins.
“You’re strong, but you’re afraid of anyone seeing it, so you hunch and try to make yourself smaller. You’re only at ease when you think no one is watching. But then …” She reached out and tapped Hanne’s thigh. “Then you’re glorious.”
Hanne shot her a wary glance. “I know what I look like.”
Do you? Nina would have liked to tell Hanne that she could stroll into Os Alta, all six feet of her, with her chestnut-dipped-in-strawberry-syrup hair and her copper-coin eyes, and a thousand Ravkan courtiers would write songs to her beauty. Nina might be the first. But that would lead to a few questions.
At least she could offer Hanne something. “I won’t tell anyone what you are.”
Hanne’s eyes turned hard. “Why? They’d reward you. Informing on Grisha carries a weight of silver. Why would you be that kind?”
I’m not being kind. I’m earning your trust. But I won’t sentence you to death if I can help it.
“Because you dove in to save my life when you might have ridden by,” Nina said, then took the leap. “And because I don’t believe that Grisha power makes you evil.”
“It’s a sin,” Hanne hissed. “It’s poison. If I could rid myself of it, I would.”
“I understand,” said Nina, though every part of her wanted to protest. “But you can’t. So the question is whether you want to hate what you are and put yourself at greater risk of discovery, or accept this thing inside you and learn to control it.” Or abandon this Saintsforsaken country altogether.
“What if … what if I only make it stronger?”
“I don’t think it works that way,” said Nina. “But I know that if Grisha don’t use their power, eventually they begin to sicken.”
Hanne swallowed. “I like using it. I hate myself every time, but I just want to do it again.”
“There are some,” Nina said cautiously, “who believe that such power is a gift from Djel and not some kind of calamity.”
“Those are the whisperings of heretics and heathens.” When Nina didn’t reply, Hanne said, “You never told me what happened to your sister.”
“She learned to contain her power and found happiness. She’s married now and lives on the Ravkan border with her handsome husband.”
“Really?”
No, not really. Any sister of mine would be a Heartrender waging war on your ignorant, shortsighted government. “Yes,” Nina lied. “I remember a great deal from the lessons she received. There was some concern that I might have a latent … corruption, and so I was taught alongside her. I may be able to help you learn to control your power too.”
“Why would you ever take such a risk?”
Because I intend to pump you for information while I do it and knock some sense into you at the same time. After all, Nina had managed to get through to one thickheaded Fjerdan. Maybe she’d prove to have a talent for it.
“Because someone once did the same for my sister,” she said. “It’s the least I can do. But we’ll need a pretext for spending time together at the convent. How do you feel about learning Zemeni?”
“My parents would prefer I continue to work on my Kerch.”
“I don’t know Kerch,” Nina lied.
“I don’t wish to owe you a debt,” Hanne protested.
She’s afraid of her power, Nina thought. But I can take away that fear.
“We’ll find a way for you to make it up to me,” she said. “Promise. Now go, get a last ride in before the next snow comes.”
Hanne looked startled, almost disbelieving. Then she dug her heels into her horse’s flanks and took off at a hard gallop, body low, face turned to the wind, as if she and the animal were one, a hybrid creature born of the wild. How few people had been kind to Hanne that she would be so surprised by a small gesture of generosity?
Except you’re not being generous, Nina reminded herself as she nudged her own mount forward. You’re not being kind. She was going to use Hanne. If she could help her in the process, so be it. But Nina’s duty was to the lost girls on the mountain, the women in their graves. Justice.
All Nina could do was throw this girl a rope. Hanne would have to be the one to seize it.
An hour later, Nina and Adrik entered the stables at the convent. They’d been gone one night, but to Nina it seemed as if a long season had passed. Her mind felt overburdened with emotion and new information. Matthias. Trassel. Hanne. The women buried at the factory. The puncture marks throbbing on her forearm. She’d been attacked by wolves, for Saints’ sake. She needed a hot bath, a plate of waffles, and about twelve hours of sleep.
Leoni waved when she saw them. She was perched on a low stool in a shadowy corner of the stables, hidden from the curious eyes of passersby by a few of the crates Nina and Adrik had left behind. She’d set up a small camp stove, and the space around her was littered with the pots and glass vials she must have been using to test the water samples.