Uncontrollable shivers wracked Klara’s body as the wind gnawed at her through her thick shirt. She’d quickly swept past the other wardens—Zin included—and reached the edge of the sunken training ground of Borovsk III, where she now waited for their arrival. The entire time, a single question plagued her: why?

  Why hadn’t she told Yefimova who Mikhail was?

  She still couldn’t find a reason. Add to that, what had her silence bought her? A slog across an icy, muddy tundra.

  The wardens caught up with Klara, and she led the way down a set of concrete stairs into Borovsk III. It looked like a giant obstacle course; a cold, wet, muddy obstacle course. The thick layer of frost that crusted the ground every night served to ensure the entire place was a perpetual mud hole.

  “What do you think Avilov is playing at?” Zin asked, falling into step beside Klara as they jogged across the training ground to the tunnel leading down into the Central Circle.

  Klara scowled. Or tried to, her eyebrows were numb, and she wasn’t sure they could move. “All I know is he better watch his back tonight. Half these wardens will be after blood.” Including me.

  Zin nodded. “I guess they don’t teach you to keep your mouth shut in Novagrad.”

  Klara snorted and shook her head.

  A minute later they reached the tunnel. Warm air drifted out, and Klara breathed it in, enjoying the way it heated her lungs. She was just about to step inside when Yefimova appeared from the tunnel and barred the way, her arms folded behind her back and feet wide.

  Yefimova’s eyes were two narrow slits pitted with black in the dark shadow beneath her hood. She now wore her predatory half-mask, which hid what Klara knew was a scowl.

  Klara came to a halt and raised a fist to her collarbone in a crisp salute. Her father had warned her never to underestimate what Yefimova would do to a warden she felt didn’t respect her.

  Yefimova returned the salute but remained silent as she studied the shivering wardens.

  Klara bit back a sigh. They had little choice but to wait here until Yefimova gave them instructions. Presumably, that would be once Mikhail arrived. The boy better get a move on. While Borovsk III was sheltered from the worst of the wind, it had no defence from the frost.

  After a torturous wait, Klara heard boots crunching through the frozen mud behind them.

  “Avilov Warden,” Yefimova said. “Nice of you to decide to join us. I trust your walk wasn’t too tiring?”

  Mikhail had just enough intelligence to not respond—for which Klara was grateful.

  “Come here and take a seat. We must catch our breath, mustn’t we?” Yefimova said.

  Mikhail stumbled to the front of the wardens, and Klara curled up her nose. From his knees down he was covered in mud.

  “Just leave those on the ground,” Yefimova instructed.

  Mikhail looked at Yefimova, then the pile of coats, then the wardens.

  Klara could almost see him trying to decide between listening to Yefimova and doing something really stupid. Just do as she says…

  Mikhail walked up to Klara and indicated to her coat resting atop the pile.

  No, no, no! Klara glanced at Yefimova, trying to read the woman’s eyes. Yefimova stared back, refusing to give a clue as to her thoughts. Finally, Yefimova shrugged, and Klara tentatively took her coat, donning it quickly as Mikhail walked down the line, handing the remaining coats back.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Maybe the boy wasn’t so stupid. Sure, he’d disobeyed Yefimova—and that would cost him—but he’d also won back some of the wardens’ good will. Which would keep him alive far longer than a happy defender would.

  With her coat on and hood up, some life returned to Klara’s frozen limbs. She wished she could flex her fingers and move around, but dared not so long as Yefimova stood before them.

  Once everyone had put on their coats, Yefimova strolled down the line of wardens. “So,” she said, “you like being clean and warm, yes? I see, exactly like those city dwelling Warriors. Are you Warriors?”

  “No, Defender!”

  “Are you Sentinels?”

  “No, Defender!”

  Yefimova nodded once. “Correct. You are nothing, and nothing doesn’t need warmth… or to be clean. Follow me.”

  Klara’s hearts sank as she and the wardens followed Yefimova across Borovsk III to a deep trench laced with a nasty, spiked vine. She started to utter a silent curse at Mikhail, then paused as she stared at the trench.

  No. She had chosen this life, and she had always known that training would make the depths look good. Yefimova would break them no matter what they did. That was her job. This was not Mikhail’s fault. If he hadn’t spoken up, she would have found issue with a smudge on someone’s coat. Klara set her jaw. Well, Yefimova, you won’t break me.

  “On your knees and crawl!” Yefimova pointed to the trench.

  Klara threw herself forwards and entered the trench a step ahead of Zin, then dropped to her knees and crawled. Regardless of what Yefimova threw at them, she’d prove herself to be the fastest, toughest, and fiercest warden here.

  She would be the best.

  Mud squelched between the fingers of her gloves, and Klara tried not to gag at the stench of the rancid sludge. The vines clawed at her coat, trying to drag it from her back. They didn’t have a hope of penetrating the thick leather though.

  Thirty yards of shuffling later, she emerged from the far end and stood. Before her lay a black pond topped with ice. She hesitated, staring at the still surface. How deep was it?

  “Keep moving, Warden,” Yefimova yelled from behind her.

  Cursing her hesitation, Klara plunged in, cracking through the ice and landing waist deep. She gasped as the frigid water soaked through her trousers in a flash and flooded her boots. Klara’s muscles numbed as she struggled to continue on.

  Suddenly, the ground disappeared beneath her feet. She drew a quick breath before the water sloshed over her head. Beneath the surface, the world was black. Black and cold. Unbelievably cold.

  Down here, her coat was useless. Worse than useless, it dragged her down faster. Desperately she lashed out, trying to reach the surface. Her lungs burned as the tiny gulp of air she’d taken exhausted itself.

  Behind her, a muted whump signalled Zin’s entrance to the pool.

  She wouldn’t let Zin overtake her! With renewed effort, she struck out for the surface.

  A moment later, Klara broke through the thin layer of ice and gasped for breath. Her teeth rattled and she couldn’t feel her hands. Or arms. Or anything, really.

  Treading water, she looked over her shoulder in time to see Zin’s head bob to the surface. Her red hair had escaped her ponytail and now clung to her face.

  “A little brisk, hey?” Zin said through chattering teeth.

  Klara barked out a laugh, and the two swam for the shore as the other wardens entered the water one by one.

  By the time Klara reached the far side of the twenty-yard long pool, it took everything she had to keep swimming. The chill water invited her to just relax and let it take care of her.

  No, you’ll have to kill me before I rest.

  Her hand hit the muddy bank, and she crawled out of the water.

  “Keep moving,” Yefimova said from above her. Always looming!

  Klara struggled to her feet and forced herself to run to the next obstacle.

  “Good! Push it out!” Yefimova yelled after her.

  A smile twitched Klara’s frozen lips. She’d earned the closest thing to a compliment Yefimova had uttered since they’d arrived. Not Zin, not Yeger, her.

  The moon rose as Yefimova dragged them from obstacle to obstacle. It hung high in the sky by the time Yefimova ordered them to march to the Central Circle.

  Exhausted, frozen and in severe risk of hypothermia, Klara followed the defender. With every step, her coat stiffened as the water from their last swim froze. By the time they reached the warm tunnel, it bore more resemblance to a slab of steel than leather.

  Klara’s face stung as the toasty air of the tunnel hit her frozen skin. She took a long breath, pushed her shoulders back, and lifted her chin. She was a Koskova, she would not be beaten by the cold.

  ? Dream Of Alice ?

  by Alice Ludenburg