Witching Hour, Nikolai Lantsov

III

III / Wolves and Girls

At the head of their group of Grisha and soldiers, the darkling rode with such an unforgiving pace at Vera would've most likely fallen clean off her horse and just curled up on the ground, if she hadn't been used to riding so much. Still, she can feel the effects mercilessly on her body after spending so much time in the Summoner coach on the way to Kribirsk.

Even long before the black coach comes into her line of sight, she knows something is wrong.

It's in the say the Darkling's figure ahead of her tenses and that his speed picks up even more, even though she hadn't thought it physically possible of the horse until this moment. Then, she starts hearing the clamor of battle just a moment before she can see the coach.

It has come to a stillstand and all around it, oprichniki and Grisha are fighting. The men are dressed in the unassuming clothes of Ravkan peasants and not in their black and silver uniforms, but Vera recognizes them for who they are.

Sending a quick look around, Vera scans the fighting crowd for the girl. For Alina. When she can't see her, a small sliver of relief floods through her. If she isn't here, then she's still safe in the coach their people are defending.

The relief doesn't last long when she sees the open doors of the battered coach.

Ahead of her, the Darkling leaps off his horse and brings his hands together in a familiar boom, shadows shooting out from them.

Only just giving the horse time to slow down, Vera slides off the animal's back and hits the floor. Telling herself to remember thanking Botkin for practicing this very thing over and over throughout the past years and successfully preventing her from twisting her ankle, or letting the impact slow her down, Vera flings out a plume of fire to the first Fjerdan she sees.

The Drüskelle, who had stared at the Darkling only moments before, now screamed, blindly whirling around. Vera knows that they will not see a single thing when death comes to take them today.

As the fire envelops the man, Vera pulls out one of her long knives strapped to her back, throwing it at another Fjerdan. It hits him square in the chest and Vera sends a quick glance around, trying to assess who to hit next. She can see Fedyor taking down two more Drüskelle, one of his arms trembling slightly. Her gut twists at the sight and the realization that an injury must've caused it.

It's then that a strangled cry sounds from somewhere to Vera's left, away from the fighting. "I'm here!"

Vera's head snaps into the direction the Alina's call had come from. Within a heartbeat, she sees the girl on the ground, pinned down by the Fjerdan above her. The man stares at the Darkling just behind her, and, Vera realizes with a start, at her too.

Their eyes meet. Blue meet blue and for a moment, shock registers in his gaze. Vera doesn't know what he'll see. His eyes are a clear sky-blue, so unlike the piercing pale ice of hers; so bright they are like the ice in the North of Fjerda. Like the glaciers, not the water.

The ice does not forgive.

Her eyes are the eyes of her mother's line. Her mother has them, her siblings have them, her cousin has them.

His lips form a word Vera can't hear but understands just the same. Vera rears back as if he'd struck her, surprise shooting through her like lightning.

Wolfkiller.

In Fjerda, wolves were sacred. The Drüskelle were the warriors of Djel. To kill a wolf was to commit one of the most atrocious crimes imagineable.