Page 66 of Winterveil

It seemed only fair. Julian had wormed his way into her friend group, driving a wedge between her and Jane and Mikhail; he had taken her poise and superiority and, it appeared, even her sanity. She hoped the cut on his cheek left a scar.

Julian met her gaze unflinchingly. Before either of them could speak again, the door swung open.

Klaudia turned, expecting to see Dr. Iver. Instead, it was a girl in a Valeran uniform—another student, though one Klaudia didn’t recognize. She had waist-length, tousled red hair and a face that was pretty in an innocent way, the impression augmented by her dazed expression.

Even more, Klaudia could not have predicted the Appalachian twang in her voice when she asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Dr. Iver told us to come,” said Julian—speaking for both of them, to Klaudia’s annoyance. Striding forward, he held out his hand. “Julian Joyce-Young the Third.”

The girl frowned. The name meant nothing to her.

“Giselle Buckley,” she replied. She reached out and took Julian’s hand. Then she looked expectantly in Klaudia’s direction.

Klaudia folded her arms across her chest. “Klaudia Shimonova.”

There was no recognition in the girl’s eyes, which perplexed Klaudia. If she had been at Valeran for any length of time, surely she would at least know Klaudia’s name. Had she never checked the ranking board? Klaudia couldn’t recall seeing a Giselle Buckley appear there at all.

Klaudia also couldn’t recall passing her in the dining hall or the corridors. She was certain she would have noticed her distinctive red hair. And that provincial drawl.

“I suppose Dr. Iver didn’t explain anything to you, either,” Julian said.

Giselle shook her head. “I just got a message on my tablet. I didn’t even know there was a subbasement. It took me thirty minutes to find my way here.” She laughed softly, sheepishly. “I haven’t been here very long, so I’m not sure . . . is this normal?”

“No,” Klaudia said. “Not at all.”

The three of them regarded each other in silence. Klaudia was abruptly aware that Giselle was not just pretty but beautiful, and consummately American. A perky nose, a slender figure, a guileless stare. Klaudia couldn’t help but think that if she had looked more like Giselle, her trial might not have gone so disastrously. The news coverage might have been more sympathetic. The judge more inclined to leniency.

These thoughts scattered when the door opened once more.

Another girl stepped in, and this time Klaudia recognized her. There was surely not a soul at Valeran who didn’t know Nadiya Karam, Dr. Iver’s ward, the school’s preeminent soldier, Klaudia’s equivalent among the tactical combat students. Klaudia had never exchanged more than a few words with her in passing, but her reputation was nothing short of legendary.

Only Nadiya didn’t look very regal or assured at the moment. Her gaze was oddly hollow, her posture poor. Her knuckles were mottled with rather violent-looking bruises, red and fresh, and only partially concealed beneath bandages. It occurred to Klaudia as vaguely humorous that the two people among them sporting bandages were Nadiya and Julian. Or it would have been humorous, if Nadiya’s diminished appearance weren’t so alarming.

Nadiya didn’t spare either Klaudia or Julian a glance. Instead, her gaze fixed on Giselle, and her eyes flared with something that resembled panic.

“Nadiya—” Giselle began.

Nadiya flinched, almost as if she’d been struck. “What are you doing here?”

“Dr. Iver told me to come,” Giselle said. “He told all of us . . .”

Finally, Nadiya glanced around the room. Klaudia met her stare and they both gave brisk nods of recognition. But when her gaze settled on Julian, she frowned. “Who are you?”

“Julian Joyce-Young the Third,” he said, in his most gregarious mayoral voice. He offered his hand.

Nadiya looked at him with suspicion and didn’t take it. “I’m not familiar.”

Faintly, the affable look faded from Julian’s face. “And you are?”

“Nadiya.” Her eyes narrowed. “Nadiya Karam.”

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar,” Julian said, with a slight quirk of his lips.

But his attempt at sardonic humor landed flatly, and a sudden chill descended over the room. Julian withdrew his hand. Klaudia was trying to discern the relationship between Nadiya and Giselle, who clearly knew one another, though there was something distinctly charged about their interactions.

Yet before she had an opportunity to ask, the door opened again. This time—at last—it was Dr. Iver. He was trailed by an unfamiliar man in a crisp black suit and dark sunglasses, ill-fitted to the gloom of the small underground chamber.

Dr. Iver looked at each of them in turn, though his gaze didn’t linger—not even on Nadiya. That signature enigmatic smile was on his face.