[ Canonically, he's dead by this point, but there is valuable info about the universe's treatment of the Grisha and other select pieces that I feel are important. ]

( i. ) The Grisha Triumvirate hadn’t just wanted to save Grisha from Fjerdan witchhunters. They’d sent missions to the Wandering Isle and Novyi Zem because Ravka needed soldiers. They’d sought out Grisha who might be living in secret and tried to convince them to take up residence in Ravka and enter service to the crown. Nina had been too young to fight in the Ravkan civil war, and she’d been desperate to be part of the rebuilding of the Second Army.

( ii. ) In school, Nina had been obsessed with the drüskelle. They’d been the creatures of her nightmares with their white wolves and their cruel knives and the horses they bred for battle with Grisha... The drüskelle had existed for hundreds of years, but under Brum’s leadership, their force had doubled in size and become infinitely more deadly. He had changed their training, developed new techniques for rooting out Grisha in Fjerda, infiltrated Ravka’s borders, and begun pursuing rogue Grisha in other lands, even hunting down slaving ships, ‘liberating’ Grisha captives with the sole purpose of clapping them back in chains and sending them to Fjerda for trial and execution.

( iia. ) The Fjerdans didn’t believe the Grisha were human. They weren’t even on par with animals, but something low and demonic, a blight on the world, an abomination.

( iii. ) The pyre had been made on a bluff. Whoever was responsible had tried to build the fire in the shelter of a rock outcropping, but it hadn’t been enough to keep the flames from dying out in the wind. Three stakes had been driven into the icy ground, and three charred bodies were bound to them, their blackened, cracked skin still smouldering...
“Ghezen,” swore Wylan. “What is this?”
“This is what Fjerdans do to Grisha.” Nina said. Her face was slack, her green eyes staring.
“It’s what criminals do,” said Matthias, his insides churning. “The pyres have been illegal since—”
Nina whirled on him and shoved his chest hard. “Don’t you dare,” she seethed, fury burning like a halo around her. “Tell me the last time someone was prosecuted for putting a Grisha to the flames. Do you even call it murder when you put down dogs?”
“Nina—”
“Do you have a different name for killing when you wear a uniform to do it?”
“I’ve never sent a Grisha to the pyre. Grisha are given a fair trial—”
She turned on him, goggles up, tears frozen on her cheeks.
“Then why has a Grisha never been found innocent at the end of your supposedly fair trials?”
“I—”
“Because our crime is existing. Our crime is what we are.”
Matthias went quiet, and when he spoke he was caught between shame for what he was about to say and the need to speak the words, the words he’d been raised on, the words that still rang true for him. “Nina, has it ever occurred to you that maybe … you weren’t meant to exist?”

( iv. ) Looking down, Kaz saw rows of heavily armoured wagons capped by domed gun turrets. Their wheels were large and linked by a thick tread. On each wagon, a massive gun barrel – somewhere between the shape of a rifle and a cannon – jutted out into the space where a team of horses would ordinarily be hitched.
“What are those things?” he whispered.
“Torvegen,” Matthias said under his breath. “They don’t need horses to pull them. They were still perfecting the design when I left.”
“No horses?”
“Tanks,” murmured Jesper. “I saw prototypes when I was working with a gunsmith in Novyi Zem. Multiple guns in the turret, and that big barrel out in front? Serious firepower.”

( v. ) A large pyramid-shaped skylight looked down on what seemed to be a training room, its floor emblazoned with the drüskelle wolf’s head, the shelves lined with weapons. Through the next glass pyramid, he glimpsed a big dining hall. One wall was taken up by a massive hearth, a wolf’s head carved into the stone above it. The opposite wall was adorned by an enormous banner with no discernible pattern, a patchwork of slender strips of cloth – mostly red and blue, but some purple, too. It took Jesper a moment to understand what he was seeing.
“Saints,” he said, feeling a little sick. “Grisha colours.”
Wylan squinted. “The banner?”
“Red for Corporalki. Blue for Etherealki. Purple for Materialki. Those are pieces of the kefta that Grisha wear in battle. They’re trophies.”
“There are so many.”
Hundreds. Thousands.