Page 49 of Winterveil

When she was finished, she put on her pajamas and perched on the edge of her bed. A new set of nodes had been placed on the bedside table. She reached for them, then paused with her arm midair. Briefly she glanced at her tablet again. No new messages.

It felt both easy and terrifying to place the nodes on her temples again. As she did, she caught sight of her father’s cross, glinting from inside the table’s half-opened drawer. Usually, she kept it there, whenever she didn’t have it on her person.

But this time, she placed it directly on her bedside table. For some reason, she wanted Dr. Iver to see it.

Then Nadiya lay down, and dove into the dark waters of her dreams.

Eighteen

Spring 2037

Rural Virginia

Klaudia couldn’t sleep. Her heart kept rattling in her chest. Once, twice, three times, she rose in the dark to check the lock on her door. The shadows in her room seemed to wrap into odd shapes, almost like apparitions, distorted further by her exhaustion.

Her pulse blared like an alarm. She lay in bed, perfectly still, and then suddenly a stinging heat would sear through her body, from her clenched fingers through her thighs, over the breasts that she hated, finally concentrating at one particular point in the center of her forehead.

She swore she felt Carter’s hand graze her throat. She sat up with a start and had to remind herself that she was alone.

Klaudia checked the latch again, but she didn’t even know if that would stop Carter. There were enough reformed thieves at Valeran that Carter could convince one of them to pick the lock. He could burst into her room at any moment, and then she wouldn’t even have Julian to—

To what? Protect her?

Carter was more cunning and crueler than she had given him credit for. He had crafted the perfect attack against her. He hadn’t slapped her, hadn’t kicked her, hadn’t set fire to her bedclothes. How do you bring down a powerful woman? You remind her she’s a woman, of course.

The obviousness of the answer crackled through her like lightning.

She didn’t know how she had missed it, in all her compulsive accounting and artful maneuvering. Klaudia had believed she had successfully accounted for this one fundamental, irrevocable weakness. For as long as she could remember she had been vigilant about it. Her father had made sure of that.

They’ll never forgive your name, so you must be three times the Smith or Jones beside you. They’ll never forgive your blood, so you must not let them see you bleed. They’ll never forgive what’s between your legs—pity you don’t even have a pretty face as indemnity. They’ll never forget anything, so you must not forget, either.

As vicious as her father could be, it made his rare moments of praise all the more gratifying. Pride, hidden in a thin-lipped smile or a subtle nod. Klaudia chased those moments; she lived for them. And she believed every word from his mouth—why wouldn’t she? Ivan Shimonov had risen from the horde of huddled Soviet masses and made partner at one of the largest investment firms in America. He was the perfect capitalist success story, the much-hoped-for profit of NATO treaties and visa programs.

But he was also the wolf with the bloodied muzzle, and no one wanted to shine a light on the things he had done to make it to the top.

Her father was careful with how he hit her. A light slap on the cheek that wouldn’t risk a bruise. A hand jammed against her throat, just hard enough to shock her, not long enough to hurt.

Carter had been careful, too. He hadn’t left any marks.

She couldn’t miss any classes without jeopardizing her ranking, and she couldn’t miss any meals without Jane taking notice. And Julian. So she dressed, buttoning her blazer tightly over her blouse, and went to the dining hall beneath the soft hues of the rising sun.

The noise and fluorescent light of the dining hall felt like the prick of needles. She tried not to flinch visibly and closed her ears to the voices of the other students. What if Carter had spread the word? What if he had told a version of the story without Julian’s intervention, the what-if story that Klaudia herself had been playing over and over again in her mind?

Her hands shook as she carried her coffee over to the table. Jane was there, and so was Julian, but Mikhail was notably absent.

“Hi,” Jane chirped as Klaudia settled into her seat. “Good morning.”

There was only the characteristically cheerful expression on her face. Klaudia relaxed slightly. “Good morning.”

Julian said nothing, but his gaze on her was intense. He wasn’t in his usual seat; he had moved to the other side of the table. It took Klaudia a moment to realize that he was subtly positioning his body in between her and Carter, who was sitting a few tables away. Julian glanced over his shoulder every so often to check Carter’s movements.

Klaudia wanted to cry. She almost wanted to laugh. What had she become, in his eyes? Some fragile thing in need of protection? Coddled. Pitied. She could hardly think of anything worse. Klaudia stared down at the table and let her coffee grow cold in front of her.

Jane tapped away on her tablet, a coding assignment open in front of her. Julian had not ceased staring at her. His eyes flickered with obvious concern.

Desperate to divert his attention, Klaudia asked, “Where’s Mikhail?”

“I’m not sure,” Julian said. “He got a message on his tablet this morning and rushed out of the room without explaining himself.” He turned to Jane. “Did he say anything to you?”