𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹 | 𝑘.𝑏.

40

| | |
T H E V O I C E O F G O D
| | |

EVERYTHING WAS SMOKE AND CHAOS. Nina struggled to her knees, ears ringing. One side of the treasury had been reduced to rubble, smoke and dust billowing into the night sky.

Matthias was already striding towards her with Kuwei, Bo Yul-Bayur's son. Perhaps Nina and Matthias were on to something; it simply wasn't ideal to let the boy live. But if he was willing to leave all this jurda parem business behind, freeing him would have to do. Nina pushed to her feet.

"Sten!" cried two guards breaking off from another group running in the direction of the treasury. "What's your business here?"

"We were just enjoying the party!" Nina exclaimed, letting all of her very real exhaustion and terror fill her voice. "And then...then..." It was embarrassingly easy to let the tears flow.

He held up his gun. "Show me your papers."

"No papers, Lars."

The witchhunter's head snapped up as Matthias stepped forward. "Do I know you?"

"You did once, though I looked a bit different. Hje marden, Lars?"

"Helvar?" he asked. "They...they said you were dead."

"I was."

Lars looked from Matthias to Nina. "This is the Heartrender Brum brought to the treasury." Then he took in Kuwei's presence, and understanding struck. "Traitor," he snarled at Matthias.

Nina raised her hand to drop Lars' pulse, but as she did, she caught movement in the shadows to her right. She cried out as something struck her. When she looked down, she saw loops of cable closing over her, binding her upper arms tight to her body. She couldn't raise her hands. She couldn't use her power. Matthias grunted and Kuwei screamed as cables lashed from the darkness, snapping around their torsos, binding their arms, too.

"This is what we do, bloodletter," sneered Lars. "We hunt filth like you. We know all of your tricks." He kicked Matthias' legs from beneath him. Matthias went to his knees and sucked in a breath. "They told us you were dead. We mourned you, burned boughs of ash for you. But now I see they were protecting us from something worse. Matthias Helvar, a traitor, aiding our enemies, consorting with unnaturals." He spat in Matthias' face. "How could you betray your country and your god?"

•    •    •

"Djel is the god of life, not death," Matthias answered.

Pride welled up within Feta. This is what she'd been waiting to hear, this is something she could get behind. This was something real.

"Are there others here for Yul-Bayur besides you and this creature?" said Lars, as Matthias had called the pitiful boy.

"No," lied Nina.

"I didn't ask you, witch," spat Lars. "It doesn't matter. We'll get the information from you our own way." He turned to Yul-Bayur, although Feta feared the Shu boy looked too young to be the man they were after. Son, maybe? Whatever. Nina and Matthias hadn't followed through with their secret murder plot so they were already on a better track than expected. "And you. Don't think there won't be repercussions."

He made a signal in the air. That's my cue.

From the shadows of the colonnade, Feta stepped forward with a row of men and boys: authentic druskelle, for the most part, hoods drawn up over their long golden hair that glinted at their collars, dressed in black and silver, like creatures born from the dark crevasses that split the northern ice. I have officially been everything I've ever hated.

Feta radiated menace, misery, and arrogance as she fanned out with the rest of them, surrounding Nina, Matthias, and Yul-Bayur.

One of the druskelle came forward with what looked like a long-handled whip attached to the cables that bound them, and handed it to Lars.

"Do you recognize this, Helvar?" Lars asked. "You should. You helped with its design. Retractable cables for controlling multiple captives. And the barbs, of course."

Lars flicked his fingers over one of the cables, and Nina let out a gasp. Feta could only assume Matthias' cruelty had resulted in hidden barbs lying in wait within the cables. The druskelle around her laughed.

"Leave her be," Matthias growled in Fjerdan, the words bristling with rage. Feta nearly cracked a smile: this is the terrifying, empowering love she'd been waiting for.

For the briefest second, panic flashed in the faces of Matthias' former compatriots. He was bigger than all of them, and he'd been one of their leaders, one of the best of these murderous boys. Then Lars gave another hard flick, and it was Matthias' turn to let out a pained huff of breath and double at the waist, human once more. Feta was painfully reminded of the tears that washed that damaged boy's face in the Hellshow arena.

The laughter turned to snickering, furtive and cruel.

Lars gave the whip a sharp snap, and the cables contracted, forcing Nina, Matthias, and Yul-Bayur to totter after him in an awkward parade.

Feta fell seamlessly into her ideal position beside Lars. Under the cover of her heavy druskelle cloak, Feta slipped the dagger she'd made into her right hand. Fashioned out of ice she'd thawed out from one of the regal sculptures on display, it had been a thrilling game of re-freezing the sharp point every couple of minutes. There was no better revenge in Feta's mind.

"Do you still pray to our god, Helvar?" Lars asked as they passed the sacred ash tree, its sprawling branches looming. Feta could hear the Voice of Djel calling to her, just as heavenly as when she'd first stepped foot on the White Island. "Do you think Djel hears the mewling of men who give themselves over to the defilement of Grisha? Do you think—"

A sharp, animal yelp sounded as Feta drove the icy blade into Lars' chest.

In rueful Fjerdan, Feta lowly spoke an old prayer she had heard her parents mutter when they thought she was asleep. One of equal parts vengeance and forgiveness, one asking for the tides to wash it all away.

Lars found her eyes under her hood, found the Siren's cruel smile.

He opened his mouth — Feta twisted the blade sharply and melted what was left of it. The retired, watery blade ran with the blood that gushed over his chin onto the bright silver buttons of his uniform. His hand released the whip, and the hooded druskelle to the other side of him lunged forward to snatch it up.

A sharp pop pop pop came from the base of the sacred tree, the same pop pop pop as when they'd waylaid the prison wagon on the northern road. The ash creaked and moaned. Its ancient roots began to curl.

"Nej!" cried one of the druskelle. They stood open-mouthed, gaping at the stricken tree. "Nej!" another voice wailed.

The Siren laughed, her hood falling off as she threw her head back. The tree was too large to be felled by salt concentrate alone, but as it tipped, a dull roar chorused from the gaping black hole beneath it.

This was where the druskelle came to hear the voice of their god.

And none of them can hear Djel singing, Feta thought. Glorious.

"This is going to sting a bit," said the druskelle holding the whip, his voice rasping, familiar. If the others hadn't been busy being publicly tortured for the druskelles' amusement, they probably would have noticed this druskelle's gloved hands. "But if we live, you'll thank me later." His hood slid off, and there was Kaz Brekker.

Kaz found Feta's eyes and their shared grin was borderline triumphant.

The stunned druskelle lifted their rifles at Dirtyhands and the Siren.

"Don't pop the baleen before you hit the bottom," Kaz called. He grabbed Yul-Bayur and launched them both into the black mouth beneath the roots of the tree.

Nina screamed as her body was yanked forward by the cables. She scrabbled over the stones trying to find purchase, Matthias toppling into the hole beside her and looking more shocked than furious over the state of the ash tree. Feta let out a loud whoop before she leapt in after them, the sounds of gunfire drowned out by the crescendo of Djel's song.