21.

HENRAEK

 

After being in the countryside for a bit – if that’s what you can call Rën – the city is nearly overwhelming. Everything seems to loom over me, menacing and oppressive. The sun glints off windows like gnashing teeth. The metal bars stretch like tendons of a great monster. Even the smiles of passersby feel like a veiled threat. Don’t think we don’t know what you’re doing, they say. Don’t think they won’t find out. I sneer at a woman passing me. Her face curls up like she’s just smelled sour milk and she turns away. I keep my head down to avoid causing any scenes and hurry along.

 

Life in Ragjarøn headquarters shushes along with the same quiet efficiency as the last time I was here. Ødven’s secretary sits behind her desk, earpiece illuminated while she jots something down on a pad of paper. I keep throwing glances her way, as if it would somehow hurry Ødven through whatever he’s doing and get him in here so I can get back home. She continues to go about her job, conspicuously ignoring me. At least Federijke hasn’t come in to seduce me in hopes of getting me to agree to help assassinate her husband or facilitate a coup.

For as independent as the boys like to tell me they are, they sure as hell took forever to get out of the house this morning. I know they can fend for themselves in Rën for a few hours while I’m here but, given the new pin on Donael’s jacket, I’d prefer to get this done quickly and not to be away from them for longer than I have to. I told Donael I had to do some work and deferred any of his questions, which led him to believe it’s regarding Nyväg. That’s not a lie, even if it’s not specifically true. Still, he went away happy.

For now.

With nothing else to do, I lean my head back and stare at the ceiling.

The door whooshes open and I snap upright, fists clenched and ready to counterattack. The room goes hazy a moment as blood rushes away from my head. Ødven laughs to himself.

“The life of a revolutionary, always on guard,” he says. “I’ll bet you sleep with a knife under your pillow.”

“No,” I lie.

“It’s OK,” he says. “I have since I was sixteen. Only now it’s for the woman who shares my bed, not my enemies; though sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between the two.”

“I can imagine.”

“But enough about me.” He lowers himself into his chair. “You have been meeting with Dyvik Sandströmm and Magnus Flagge.”

With his accent, I can’t tell if he’s asking me or telling me.

“Yes, I have. But there’s been a complication in the matter.”

He leans back in his seat, his face broadcasting that he is not glad to hear that. “Do explain.”

“I need something from you. Something important,” I say. “No questions asked, I just need you to help me.”

“This already sounds like a tall order.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m talking to the most powerful man in Brusandhåv.”

“Power is tricky, Henraek. I thought I made that clear when you were last here.” He looks out the window for a moment. “If applied properly, it’s as if it never existed. But if one takes it for granted, it can undo the fabric of the very society it seeks to protect and–”

“Ødven, look,” I say, not having time for this. “Not to be rude, but I don’t need your lofty pontifications right now. Are you going to help me or not?”

He runs his tongue over his teeth and the resemblance to a wolf before prey is uncanny. “That all depends.”

“On?”

“What I have to do and what I get in return.”

I lean forward in my chair, knitting my fingers together so he can’t see me squeeze them repeatedly, working myself up to speak. You’re doing it, Henraek. This is the moment when everything changes. This is the moment you become everything you railed against. You are now your own enemy.

And somewhere in my head I hear Belousz’s voice echoing. I shove it all down into the recesses, take a deep breath, and look Ødven square in the eyes.

“I need you to get me and my boys to Eitan, as soon as possible. We need protection while we’re there. And I need you to end your support for Brighid.”

Ødven stares at me in silence for what feels like an eternity, or maybe it only feels like silence because my blood is crashing so hard against the inside of my skull that I can’t hear anything else.

“That is in fact a tall order,” he finally says. “It would take some arranging, finding a suitable replacement for you in Rën, someone who knows the groups, someone who can integrate themselves with–”

“Cut the shit, Ødven.” I don’t mean to yell but I can’t help it. I swear I can hear the woman outside his office gasp. This is probably the only time in memory someone has yelled at him. The expression that plays over his face says I better have something fantastic to follow that up with if I don’t want to become a sacrifice to his wolf god. “We both know all you have to do is send a message and a boat will be waiting for us. It’s that simple but you’re drawing it out because you want to display your power in front of me. I get it. I’ve dealt with it for the last seven years, I’m sure I’ll see it for many more. But you need to talk straight to me.”

He barely parts his lips when he speaks. “And why would that be?”

“Because you want Nyväg, and I want my people safe.”

He doesn’t respond, just gives a slight nod of assent.

“They have members spread around the country, and they are planning to attack.”

“They have attacked before and they can attack all they please. None will ever make a difference.”

“This one will.”

He scoffs at me, the prick. He actually scoffs. “You’re asking me to give up a significant overseas territory just to defend myself against a handful of dissidents. Why should I care if they launch another attack?”

“Because I planned it for them. I showed them how to bring Ragjarøn to its knees.”

I feel sick as soon as I say it, but his expression tells me I have him. I know I have him. He needs to know about Nyväg and I need to get home. What will happen to the people here, I have no idea, and my soul hurts for them, but I have lost too many that I love and cannot bear the thought of any more. I cannot wait for Andrei and his boat, and I cannot leave the boys behind.

His laugh dies halfway up his throat. “Continue,” he says.

“You do all that for us,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady, “and I’ll tell you everything you need to know about Nyväg.”