𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹 | 𝑘.𝑏.

43

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C A N  I  H A V E  T H I S  D A N C E ?
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NINA STEPPED OFF THE TANK. The air around her crackled, her skin glowing seemingly from within. As horrific as Feta knew jurda parem to be, she couldn't help her awe, knowing this power to be from the vein of Djel. The power of gods.

Nina went for the Heartrender first. She flicked her wrist, and his eyes exploded in his head. He crumpled without a sound. "Be free," she said, and chills shot down Feta's spine.

Nina glided toward the soldiers. Matthias moved to protect her as he saw rifles raised. She lifted her hands. "Stop," she said.

They froze.

"Lay down your arms." As one they obeyed her.

"Sleep," she commanded. Nina swept her hands in an arc, and the soldiers toppled without protest, row after row, stalks of wheat felled by an invisible scythe.

The air was eerily still. Slowly, Wylan and Inej climbed down from the tank. Jesper and the rest of them followed, and they stood in stunned silence, all language dissolved by what they'd witnessed, gazing out at the field of fallen bodies. It had happened so quickly.

There was no way to reach the harbor unless they walked over the soldiers. Without a word, they began to pick their way through, the hush broken only by the faraway bells of the Elderclock, the murmur of the waves. Matthias laid his hand on Nina's arm, and she released a little sigh, letting him lead her. Inej and Feta exchanged weighted looks and linked arms, marching on together.

Beyond the quay, the docks were deserted. As the others headed toward the Ferolind, Matthias and Nina trailed behind. Feta waved meekly at Rotty, clinging to the mast, and Specht, waiting to unmoor the ship. Both men looked equally petrified.

"Matthias!"

Matthias turned. A group of druskelle stood on the quay, their uniforms soaked, their black hoods raised. Feta thought of her own borrowed cloak that had been blissfully mangled by the current, probably floating in the gorge somewhere. These druskelle took it a step further however, donning masks of dully gleaming gray chain mail over their faces, their features obscured by the mesh. But one spoke up, and given Matthias' flinch, it could only be Jarl Brum.

"Traitor," he hissed from behind his mask. "Betrayer of your country and your god. You will not leave this harbor alive. None of you will."

Nina raised her hands. "For Matthias, I will give you one chance to leave us be."

"You cannot control us, witch," said Brum. "Our hoods, our masks, every stitch of clothing we wear is reinforced with Grisha steel. Corecloth created to our specifications by Grisha Fabrikators under our control and designed just for this purpose." Feta wished to step closer to Jesper, grab his hand. "You cannot force us to your will. You cannot harm us. This game is at an end."

Feta hated men who loved to hear themselves talk.

Nina lifted a hand. Nothing happened.

"Go!" Matthias shouted at the druskelle, trying to salvage them, even now. "Please! You—"

Brum lifted his gun and fired. The bullet struck Matthias directly in the chest.

There was no blood, no wound. The bullet emerged from his chest and hit the ground with a plink.

Nina was walking past him. He cried out, more concerned for her than he was over his mentor shooting him.

The druskelle opened fire on her. Nina did little more than flinch as the bullets struck her body, red blooms appearing on her chest, her breasts, her bare thighs. But she did not fall, and she did not stop. As fast as the bullets tore through her body, she healed herself, and the shells fell harmlessly to the dock.