Of course, Adrik had been wary of her plan.
“We’re better off using our time to gather intelligence here and in the neighboring towns,” he complained. “Fjerda is gearing up for something. With the right information, our forces may be able to waylay a wagon or shipment or shut this place down entirely, but not if the Fjerdans catch wind of our activities and move their operations. You don’t know how easy it is to ruin your cover, Nina. This is a dangerous game.”
Nina wanted to scream. She’d been a spy for Zoya Nazyalensky on the Wandering Isle. She’d spent a year on her own in Ketterdam doing jobs for Kaz Brekker. She’d infiltrated the Ice Court as a girl from the Menagerie. She might be new to this particular game, but she’d played for high stakes plenty of times.
“I can manage this, Adrik,” she said as calmly as she could. “You know she’s our best possible asset. We can find out what’s happening in that factory. We don’t need someone else to do it.”
“What do we really know about this girl?”
“She’s Grisha and she’s miserable. Aren’t we here to save people exactly like her?”
“From what you’ve told me, she doesn’t want rescue.”
“Maybe I’ll change her mind. And in the meantime, I can get access to the rest of the convent.” Nina and Leoni were quartered in a room abutting the kitchens and locked off from the bulk of the building and the dormitories. “The Springmaidens are the only locals allowed into the factory. I may actually be able to figure out a way to get us inside.”
“You’ll take no action without my say-so,” said Adrik. “And first you have to get past the Wellmother.”
Nina left Adrik and Leoni in the stables and crossed the courtyard to the chapel, passing through the heavy door covered in its elaborate knots of ash bough. The sweet, loamy scent of the timber walls enveloped her, and she took a moment to let her eyes adjust to the gloom. The air was cold and still, the pews lit by the glow of lanterns and weak sunlight from a few slender windows set high above the transept. There was no altar, no painted scene of Saints—instead a massive tree sprawled across the apse of the chapel, its roots extending to the first row of pews. Djel’s ash, fed by the Wellspring.
Whose prayers do you hear? Nina wondered. Do you hear the words of soldiers? Of Fjerdan Grisha locked in Jarl Brum’s cells? The whispers in her head seemed to sigh—in regret? In longing? She didn’t know. She smoothed her skirts and hurried down the side aisle to the Wellmother’s office.
“Enke Jandersdat,” the older woman said when Nina entered, addressing her by the title widow. “Hanne tells me you’re willing to offer lessons in Zemeni. I hope you realize the convent cannot provide a tutor’s fees.”
Hanne remained silent, dressed in her pale blue pinafore and tidy white blouse, eyes on her impractical felt slippers. Her ruddy brown hair had been neatly braided and twisted into a tight corona on her head. The uniform didn’t suit her. Nina had the urge to seize the pins from Hanne’s braids and see all that glorious hair come down again.
“Of course,” said Nina. “I would require no payment. All I ask is that you let us partake of your hospitality a bit longer and, if you have a copper cookpot, that my employers might have the loan of it.” Leoni felt sure she could continue her experiments safely now that she knew what she was dealing with, but copper instruments would be a help.
“It seems a too-generous offer,” said the Wellmother, her lips pressed into a suspicious line.
“You’ve caught me,” said Nina, and saw Hanne’s eyes widen. Saints, if Hanne intended to continue living in this wretched country, she was going to need an education in deception. Maybe an internship in Ketterdam. Nina hadn’t been caught at anything, but she could tell the Wellmother thought she had some kind of angle, so she intended to give her one. “The truth is that I cannot continue my work as a guide much longer. The travel is a hardship, and at some point I need to seek a more permanent position to provide for myself.”
“We do not hire outside of the order—”
“Oh no, of course, I understand. But a reference from the Wellmother of Gäfvalle would mean so much to other Fjerdans seeking a teacher for their children.”
The Wellmother preened, her chin lifting. Piety was little defense against flattery. “Well. I can see how that might be a boon. We shall see what good you can do with our Hanne. It’s a bit late for her to be taking up a new language. But to be frank, it’s a relief to see her interested in anything that doesn’t involve a muddy romp in the woods.”
The Wellmother escorted them to an empty classroom and told them they were free to work until lunchtime. “I expect you to keep up with your other work, Hanne. Your father will not like it if you become a burden to this institution.”
“Yes, Wellmother,” she replied dutifully. But as the older woman departed, Hanne cast a black look at the door and slumped into one of the desks.
“She agreed to the lessons,” said Nina. “It could be worse.”
“She considers me one of her failures. Unmarried at nineteen, with no prospects and no signs of a true calling to Djel.”
“Are all of the Springmaidens supposed to be called?” Nina asked as she picked up a piece of chalk and began to conjugate a Zemeni verb on the slate board that covered most of one wall.
“I don’t know. Some say they are, claim to have visions. But I’m not sure Djel is interested in girls like me. Do you really mean to give up your life as a guide?”
“No,” said Nina, trying to keep her chalk letters straight. “I’m not ready to live in one place just yet.” Only when she said the words did she realize that might be true. She’d been restless in Ravka, and now she wondered if she might be restless anywhere she tried to settle.
Nina took a sheaf of papers from her pocket. “These are rudimentary Zemeni lessons. You’ll need to copy them into your notebook so it looks like we’re actually doing some work.”
“You mean I’m really going to have to learn Zemeni?”
“A little. You don’t have to be good at it.” She gestured to the board. “We’ll start with this verb: bes adawa.” She raised her hands and planted her legs in the first stance each Grisha was taught. “To fight.”
The lesson lasted two hours. Nina started just as her own education had begun at the Little Palace: by teaching Hanne to use her Heartrender power on herself.
“Have you ever tried it?” Nina asked.
“No … I’m not sure. Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I’ll think of my heart slowing—”
Nina winced. “You’re lucky you didn’t put yourself into a coma.”
Nina talked her through rudimentary breathing techniques and basic fighting stances. She had Hanne slow her own heart, then make it race. She touched only briefly on Grisha theory and how amplifiers worked, and she steered well clear of any talk of jurda parem.
“How do you know all of this?” Hanne said. Her cheeks were flushed from using her power, and her hair had escaped her braids to curl at her temples. “You really learned everything from your sister’s teacher?”