Queen of Mourning

One - Joran

"The queen... Where is she?" Joran asked, placing a hand on his gun. There was a woman in the queen's chambers, and she was not Fjerdan. On second glance, she looked quite familiar, but Joran couldn't place it. 

The woman's eyes flashed, and she eyed the drüskelle, as if she was wondering if she could take him down. Then her shoulders slumped. "Relax," she said. 

She said it in the queen's voice. Joran froze. He backed up. 

"You praise Saints, but you don't have faith with this," the woman said. She looked similar to Mila, the queen. Yet, she was so different. Her hair was no longer blonde, instead curly and brown. Something moved within her long sleeves. It was white. Joran's back hit the door. The woman smiled. "No need to worry about this. I'm still your queen."

"Grisha," he rasped. How had he not noticed this while he had guarded her and Rasmus with his life for years?

She nodded and stepped closer. "And you will not tell a single person about this."

Joram twisted away. "You're a grisha a part of the royal family of Fjerda..."

"Yes. Isn't it marvelous?"

"Did Djel bless you?"

She shrugged. "If it pleases your mind to think that way, go ahead."

"What if I tell someone that you're... Who are you?"

Her eyebrows raised. "You don't know who I am?"

He flushed. "Should I?"

"I'm only the most legendary grisha to walk the earth."

Joran's eyes widened. "Sankta Alina?"

She sighed. "I'm not blonde, am I?"

"Sankta Zoya?"

"I have brown hair." She was frowning now, twisting her hair between her fingers, looking at him again in disbelief. "Do you honestly think I could rule Ravka and Fjerda at the same time? Besides, I am much prettier than them both." Joran opened his mouth. "Combined," she added.

"Who are you?" he repeated, not wanting to argue about grisha beauty standards. 

Her teeth flashed with a grin. "Nina Zenik."

He paled. "Pardon me, but will you repeat that?"

"I," she said, taking a step forward, "am the fabulous Miss Zenik. Now, if you would please go on your way and not report seeing me, you can go to Rasmus for answers."

Joran flinched. As much as he wanted answers, he owed it to himself to find them out from this woman. "No. Tell me what you did to Mila Jandersdat."

"I am Mila, but if you must know the lie you will be telling for the next month or so, she has fallen ill. So ill she will not be taking any visitors."

"I will not tolerate lies any longer." He pulled out his gun and lay his finger on the trigger. He had only killed once before, and that killing had haunted him for ages afterwards. 

But this one would not get a chance to haunt him. Darts slammed him into the wall. He dropped the gun with the clatter to the floor. Nina was standing across the room, hands twisting to let the weapons closer to his skin. "As must as I hate every inch of you, I don't want to see you dead," she said.

In front of him was the woman who had once known and cared for Joran's victim. Matthias Helvar. He could still hear the man's voice in his head every night he went to sleep. Why shouldn't Nina kill him? He decided to change the subject, for safety reasons. "Where are you going?"

"The world needs some help," she said. She was at the window now, pulling it open and peering out. "You can go to Rasmus once I'm gone. Tell no one but him. I will find you and kill you if you do, and I'm sure your king will be keen to help."

Images flashed in Joran's head. Rasmus striking him. Rasmus 'accidentally' throwing his soon-to-be bride out of a window for her to die. Rasmus murdering a child. He had not seen Rasmus' dark side for a long time, but he did not want to see it again. "Okay," he agreed. But by the time he spoke, she was gone. The cold wind from the window blew in, and Joran struggled against the darts, slowly able to unpin himself. 

As he took them out one by one, he wondered what Mila, or Nina, he didn't know, could possibly be. Yes, she was grisha, but what were her powers? Were the weapons she used... bone? 

He set them on top of fluttering papers, about to turn to go to the window to see if he could find Nina, but something caught his eye. 

A note. 

It was signed with Kaz Brekker's name. 

His knuckles nearly turned white from gripping the desk. He knew who Brekker was, and he was not good news. He scanned the letter, praying to Djel this was not who Nina was going to help. 

But it seemed it was. 

Underneath that, he noticed another letter, that one with Ravka's royal stamp. He didn't know Fjerda and Ravka had been communicating. Joran knew he shouldn't have picked up either letter to read, but he couldn't resist. No one would ever know. The seal was already broken. 

Miss Nina Zenik,

I have gotten news that Brum has escaped from the Ice Court. 

Joran bit his lip. This was old news. It had happened maybe three months ago, yet the drüskelle still hadn't managed to recapture Brum.

It has come to my attention that many of the khergud have gone missing as well. This cannot be a conincidence. I have been trying my best to help, but it is not enough. As you suggested, I have contacted Brekker for aid.  He plans to gather the remainder of the Crows for this job. I'll have him contact you if we need aid. We may need your unique skills on the field to beat this. 

Nikolai Lantsov, King of Ravka

PS: Zoya wants to know how her plant is doing.