“You never told me how you know those commands.”
More lies then. “A boy from our town served in the ranks.”
“What’s his name?”
Nina thought back to the fight at the Ice Court. “Lars. I believe he passed recently.” And no one wants him back. He’d closed a whip over her and put her on her knees before Kaz Brekker had come calling.
The white world stretched on, frozen and featureless. Now that she wasn’t walking, Nina felt the cold more deeply, the weight of it settling over her. Just as she began to wonder if the girl knew where she was going, Nina saw a dark shape through the snow, and the horse halted. The girl slid down.
Nina followed, her legs gone numb and aching, and they led Helmut to a sheltered space beside the lodge.
“Looks like we aren’t the only ones who had this idea,” she said. There were lights in the windows of the little lodge, and she could hear loud voices from within.
The other girl twisted the reins in her hands, removing her glove to stroke the horse’s nose. “I didn’t realize so many people knew about this place. There are probably men inside who came to wait out the storm. We won’t be safe here.”
Nina considered. “Do you have your skirts in your saddlebag?”
The girl pulled at a knotted belt around her waist, and the folds of her coat dropped into a skirt that fell into place over her trousers. Nina had to admit she was impressed. “What other tricks do you have up your sleeve? Or skirts, as the case may be?”
A smile flickered over her lips. “A few.”
The door to the shelter flew open, a man with a gun silhouetted against the light. “Who’s out there?”
“Follow my lead,” Nina murmured, then cried, “Oh thank goodness. We were afraid no one would be here. Hurry, Inger!”
“Inger?” muttered the girl.
Nina stomped up to the door, ignoring the gun pointed at her, hoping the man holding it wasn’t drunk or riled enough to shoot at an unarmed girl—or a girl who looked unarmed.
Nina climbed the steps and smiled sweetly at the big man as the other girl trailed her. “Thank Djel we’ve found shelter for the night.” She glanced over his shoulder into the lodge. The room was crowded with men, ten at least, all gathered around a fire. Nina felt tension spike through her. This was a moment when she would have been glad to see drüskelle, who didn’t drink and who were kept to a strict code regarding women. There was nothing to do but brazen it out. “And among gentlemen to protect us!”
“Who are you?” the man said suspiciously.
Nina pushed past him as if she owned the place. “Aren’t we lucky, Inger? Let’s get in front of that fire. And close the door …” She laid a hand on the man’s chest. “I’m sorry, what was your name?”
He blinked. “Anders.”
“Be a darling and shut the door, Anders.”
They shuffled inside, and she met the stares of the men with a smile. “I knew Djel would guide our way, Inger. Surely your father will have a healthy reward in store for all of these fine fellows.”
For a moment, the girl looked confused, and Nina thought they might be lost. But then her face cleared. “Yes! Yes, indeed! My father is most generous when it comes to my safety.”
“And with you betrothed to the wealthiest man in Overüt.” Nina winked at the men gathered by the fire. “Well, I suppose Djel has granted you gentlemen a bit of luck this night too. Now, which of you will stand guard for us?”
“Stand guard?” said a man with tufty orange brows by the fire.
“Through the night.”
“Dumpling, I think you’re in a muddle—”
“Lady Inger’s father is most generous, but he cannot be expected to bestow ten thousand krydda on every one of you, so you must choose who is to be the beneficiary.”
“Ten thousand krydda?”
“That was the price last time, was it not? When we were stranded in that amusing spot down south. Although, I suppose now that you are betrothed to the wealthiest man in Overüt, it may be twice the price.”
“Who is this bridegroom you speak of?” the bearded man asked.
“You’ve heard of Bernhard Bolle, who made his fortune in smoked trout? And Ingvar Hals, who owns timberland from the Elbjen to the Isenvee? Well, Lennart Bjord towers above them all.”
“Lennart Bjord?” the bearded man repeated.
“That does sound familiar,” said someone by the hearth. Nina highly doubted that, since she’d made him up mere moments ago.
“I was the first to greet them,” said the big man with the rifle. “It’s only right I should get the reward.”
“How is that fair? You happened to be by the door!”
“Now, don’t get too riled,” Nina said with a schoolmarm tsk in her voice as the men began debating who would take the watch. “Lennart Bjord will have a bit of something for everyone.”
Nina and “Inger” settled in the corner, their backs to the wall as the men argued.
“That was pathetic,” the girl seethed, resting her elbows on her knees and tugging her skirt over the toes of her boots.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You made us seem weak. Every time we behave that way, it just makes it easier for men to look at us and see nothing but softness.”
“There is nothing wrong with softness,” Nina said, her temper fraying. She was exhausted and cold, and she’d dug her lover’s grave tonight. “Right now they’re looking at us as two big bags of money instead of two vulnerable girls alone.”
“We weren’t vulnerable. I have my gun, my knife. You have those ridiculous darts.”
“Do you also have twelve arms hidden in that coat? We’re outnumbered.” Nina actually suspected that she could have managed all of them, but only if she intended to reveal her true power, and that would mean putting this girl in the ground tonight too.
“They’re drunk. We would have managed.”
“You don’t enter a fight you can’t win,” Nina replied, irritated. “I’m guessing you’ve had to train in secret, and that you’ve probably never had a real combat instructor. Being strong doesn’t mean being sloppy.”
The wiry girl drew her coat closer. “I hate it. I hate how they see us. My father is the same way. He thinks a woman wanting to fight or hunt or fend for herself is unnatural, that it denies men the chance to be protectors.”
Nina snorted. “It really is a tragedy for them. What does your mother think?”
“My mother is the perfect wife, except she provided my father no sons. She does as he dictates.” The girl sighed. She looked weary suddenly, the thrill of the fight and the storm gone. Her hair—that extraordinary color, like the woods in autumn, chestnut and red and gold—lay storm-damp and tangled against her brown cheeks. “I can’t blame her. It’s the way the world works. She’s worried I’ll become an outcast.”
“So they sent you to a convent in the middle of nowhere?”