“You’re lucky you didn’t get shot,” Mal said angrily.
He was pacing back and forth in a simply furnished tent, one of the few that remained in the Grisha camp next to Kribirsk. The Darkling’s glorious black silk pavilion had been pulled down. All that survived was a broad swath of dead grass littered with bent nails and the broken remnants of what had once been a polished wood floor.
I took a seat at the rough-hewn table and glanced outside to where Tolya and Tamar flanked the entrance to the tent. Whether they were guarding us or keeping us from escaping, I couldn’t be sure.
“It was worth it,” I replied. “Besides, no one’s going to shoot the Sun Summoner.”
“You just punched a prince, Alina. I guess we can add one more act of treason to our list.”
I shook out my sore hand. My knuckles smarted. “First of all, are we so sure he really is a prince? And second, you’re just jealous.”
“Of course I’m jealous. I thought I was going to get to punch him.
That isn’t the point.”
Chaos had erupted after my outburst, and only some fast talking by Sturmhond and some very aggressive crowd control by Tolya had kept me from being taken away in chains or worse.
Sturmhond had escorted us through Kribirsk to the military encampment. When he left us at the tent, he’d said quietly, “All I ask is that you stay long enough to let me explain. If you don’t like what you hear, you’re free to go.”
“Just like that?” I scoffed. “Trust me.”
“Every time you say ‘trust me,’ I trust you a little less,” I hissed.
But Mal and I did stay, unsure of what our next move might be. Sturmhond hadn’t bound us or put us under heavy guard. He’d provided
us with clean, dry clothes. If we wanted to, we could try to slip past Tolya and Tamar and escape back across the Fold. It wasn’t as if anyone could follow us. We could emerge anywhere we liked along its western shore. But where would we go after that? Sturmhond had changed; our situation hadn’t. We had no money, no allies, and we were still being hunted by the Darkling. And I wasn’t eager to return to the Fold, not after what had happened aboard the Hummingbird.
I pushed down a bleak bubble of laughter. If I was actually thinking of taking refuge on the Unsea, things were very bad indeed.
A servant entered with a large tray. He set down a pitcher of water, a bottle of kvas and glasses, and several small plates of zakuski. Each of the dishes was bordered in gold and emblazoned with a double eagle.
I considered the food: smoked sprats on black bread, marinated beets, stuffed eggs. We hadn’t had a meal since the previous night, aboard the Volkvolny, and using my power had left me famished, but I was too nervous to eat.
“What happened back there?” Mal asked as soon as the servant departed.
I shook out my knuckles again. “I lost my temper.” “That’s not what I meant. What happened on the Fold?”
I studied a little pot of herbed butter, turning the dish in my hands. I saw him.
“I was just tired,” I said lightly.
“You used a lot more of your power when we escaped from the
nichevo’ya, and you never faltered. Is it the fetter?”
“The fetter makes me stronger,” I said, tugging the edge of my sleeve over the sea whip’s scales. Besides, I’d been wearing it for weeks. There was nothing wrong with my power, but there might be something wrong with me. I traced an invisible pattern on the tabletop. “When we were fighting the volcra, did they sound different to you?” I asked.
“Different how?” “More … human?”
Mal frowned. “No, they sounded pretty much like they always do. Like monsters who want to eat us.” He laid his hand over mine. “What happened, Alina?”
I saw him. “I told you: I was tired. I lost focus.”
He drew back. “If you want to lie to me, go ahead. But I’m not going to pretend to believe you.”
“Why not?” asked Sturmhond, stepping into the tent. “It’s only common courtesy.”
Instantly, we were on our feet, ready to fight.
Sturmhond stopped short and lifted his hands in a gesture of peace. He’d changed into a dry uniform. A bruise was beginning to form on his cheek. Cautiously, he removed his sword and hung it on a post by the tent flap.
“I’m just here to talk,” he said.
“So talk,” Mal retorted. “Who are you, and what are you playing at?” “Nikolai Lantsov, but please don’t make me recite my titles again. It’s
no fun for anybody, and the only important one is ‘prince.’” “And what about Sturmhond?” I asked.
“I’m also Sturmhond, commander of the Volkvolny, scourge of the True Sea.”
“Scourge?”
“Well, I’m vexing at the very least.” I shook my head. “Impossible.” “Improbable.”
“This is not the time to try to be entertaining.”
“Please,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “Sit. I don’t know about you, but I find everything much more understandable when seated. Something about circulation, I suspect. Reclining is, of course, preferable, but I don’t think we’re on those kinds of terms yet.”
I didn’t budge. Mal crossed his arms.
“All right, well, I’m going to sit. I find playing the returning hero a most wearying task, and I’m positively worn out.” He crossed to the table, poured himself a glass of kvas, and settled into a chair with a contented sigh. He took a sip and grimaced. “Awful stuff,” he said. “Never could stomach it.”
“Then order some brandy, your highness,” I said irritably. “I’m sure they’ll bring you all you want.”
His face brightened. “True enough. I suppose I could bathe in a tub of it. I may just.”
Mal threw up his hands in exasperation and walked to the flap of the tent to look out at the camp.
“You can’t honestly expect us to believe any of this,” I said.
Sturmhond wiggled his fingers to better display his ring. “I do have the royal seal.”
I snorted. “You probably stole it from the real Prince Nikolai.” “I served with Raevsky. He knows me.”
“Maybe you stole the prince’s face, too.”
He sighed. “You have to understand, the only place I could safely reveal my identity was here in Ravka. Only the most trusted members of my crew knew who I really was—Tolya, Tamar, Privyet, a few of the Etherealki. The rest … well, they’re good men, but they’re also mercenaries and pirates.”
“So you deceived your own crew?” I asked.
“On the seas, Nikolai Lantsov is more valuable as a hostage than as a captain. Hard to command a ship when you’re constantly worrying about being bashed on the head late at night and then ransomed to your royal papa.”
I shook my head. “None of this makes any sense. Prince Nikolai is supposed to be off somewhere studying boats or—”
“I did apprentice with a Fjerdan shipbuilder. And a Zemeni gunsmith. And a civil engineer from the Han Province of Bolh. Tried my hand at poetry for a while. The results were … unfortunate. These days, being Sturmhond requires most of my attention.”
Mal leaned against the tent post, arms crossed. “So one day you decided to cast off your life of luxury and try your hand at playing pirate?”
“Privateer,” he said. “And I wasn’t playing at anything. I knew I could do more for Ravka as Sturmhond than lazing about at court.”
“And just where do the King and Queen think you are?” I asked. “The university at Ketterdam,” he replied. “Lovely place. Very lofty.
There’s an extremely well-compensated shipping clerk sitting through my philosophy classes as we speak. Gets passable grades, answers to Nikolai, drinks copiously and often so no one gets suspicious.”
Was there no end to this? “Why?”
“I tried, I really did. But I’ve never been good at sitting still. Drove my nanny to distraction. Well, nannies. There was quite an army of them, as I recall.”
I should have hit him harder. “I mean, why go through this whole charade?”
“I’m second in line for the Ravkan throne. I nearly had to run away to do my military service. I don’t think my parents would approve of my picking off Zemeni pirates and breaking Fjerdan blockades. They’re rather fond of Sturmhond, though.”
“Fine,” said Mal from the doorway. “You’re a prince. You’re a privateer. You’re a prat. What do you want with us?”
Sturmhond took another tentative sip of kvas and shuddered. “Your help,” he said. “The game has changed. The Fold is expanding. The First
Army is close to outright revolt. The Darkling’s coup may have failed, but it shattered the Second Army, and Ravka is on the brink of collapse.”
I felt a sinking sensation. “And let me guess: You’re just the one to put things right?”
Sturmhond leaned forward. “Did you meet my brother, Vasily, when you were at court? He cares more about horses and his next drink of whiskey than his people. My father never had more than a passing interest in governing Ravka, and reports are he’s lost even that. This country is coming apart. Someone needs to put it back together before it’s too late.”
“Vasily is the heir,” I observed.
“I think he can be convinced to step aside.”
“That’s why you dragged us back here?” I said in disgust. “Because you want to be King?”
“I dragged you back here because the Apparat has practically turned you into a living Saint, and the people love you. I dragged you back here because your power is the key to Ravka’s survival.”
I banged my hands down on the table. “You dragged me back here so you could make a grand entrance with the Sun Summoner and steal your brother’s throne!”
Sturmhond leaned back. “I’m not going to apologize for being ambitious. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m the best man for the job.”
“Of course you are.”
“Come back to Os Alta with me.”
“Why? So you can show me off like some kind of prize goat?”
“I know you don’t trust me. You have no reason to. But I’ll abide by what I promised you aboard the Volkvolny. Listen to what I have to offer. If you’re still not interested, Sturmhond’s ships will take you anywhere in the world. I think you’ll stay. I think I can give you something no one else can.”
“This ought to be good,” muttered Mal.
“I can give you the chance to change Ravka,” said Sturmhond. “I can give you the chance to bring your people hope.”
“Oh, is that all?” I said sourly. “And just how am I supposed to do that?”
“By helping me unite the First and Second Armies. By becoming my Queen.”
Before I could blink, Mal had shoved the table aside and closed in on Sturmhond, lifting him off his feet and slamming him into the tent post. Sturmhond winced but made no move to fight back.
“Easy, now. Mustn’t get blood on the uniform. Let me explain—” “Try explaining with my fist in your mouth.”
Sturmhond twisted, and in a flash, he’d slipped from Mal’s grip. A knife was in his hand, pulled from somewhere up his sleeve.
“Step back, Oretsev. I’m keeping my temper for her sake, but I’d just as soon gut you like a carp.”
“Try it,” Mal snarled.
“Enough!” I threw out a bright shard of light that blinded them both. They put up their hands against the glare, momentarily distracted. “Sturmhond, sheathe that weapon, or you’ll be the one who gets gutted. Mal, stand down.”
I waited until Sturmhond tucked away his knife, then slowly let the light fade.
Mal dropped his hands, his fists still clenched. They eyed each other warily. Just a few hours ago, they’d been friends. Of course, Sturmhond had been a completely different person then.
Sturmhond straightened the sleeves of his uniform. “I’m not proposing a love match, you heartsick oaf, just a political alliance. If you’d stop and think for a minute, you’d see it makes good sense for the country.”
Mal let out a harsh bark of laughter. “You mean it makes good sense for you.”
“Can’t both things be true? I’ve served in the military. I understand warfare, and I understand weaponry. I know the First Army will follow me. I may be second in line, but I have a blood right to the throne.”
Mal jabbed his finger in Sturmhond’s face. “You don’t have a right to her.”
Some of Sturmhond’s composure seemed to leave him. “What did you think was going to happen? Did you think you could just carry off one of the most powerful Grisha in the world like some peasant girl you tumbled in a barn? Is that how you think this story ends? I’m trying to keep a country from falling apart, not steal your best girl.”
“That’s enough,” I said quietly.
“You can stay at the palace,” Nikolai continued. “Perhaps as the captain of her personal guard? It wouldn’t be the first such arrangement.”
A muscle jumped in Mal’s jaw. “You make me sick.”
Sturmhond gave a dismissive wave. “I’m a depraved monster, I know. Just think about what I’m saying for a moment.”
“I don’t need to think about it,” Mal shouted. “And neither does she.
It isn’t going to happen.”
“It would be a marriage in name only,” Sturmhond insisted. Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he flashed Mal a taunting grin. “Except for the matter of producing heirs.”
Mal surged forward, and Sturmhond reached for his knife, but I saw what was coming and stepped between them.
“Stop!” I shouted. “Just stop it. And stop talking about me as if I’m not here!”
Mal released a frustrated growl and began pacing back and forth again. Sturmhond picked up a chair that had toppled and reseated himself, making a great show of stretching out his legs and pouring himself another glass of kvas.
I took a breath. “Your highness—”
“Nikolai,” he corrected. “But I’ve also been known to answer to ‘sweetheart’ or ‘handsome.’”
Mal whirled, but I silenced him with a pleading look.
“You need to stop that right now, Nikolai,” I said. “Or I’ll knock those princely teeth out myself.”
Nikolai rubbed his darkening bruise. “I know you’re good for it.” “I am,” I said firmly. “And I’m not going to marry you.”
Mal released a breath, and some of the stiffness went out of his shoulders. It bothered me that he had thought there was any possibility I might accept Nikolai’s offer, and I knew he wasn’t going to like what I had to say next.
I steeled myself and said, “But I will return to Os Alta with you.” Mal’s head jerked up. “Alina—”
“Mal, we always said we’d find a way to come back to Ravka, that we’d find a way to help. If we don’t do something, there may not be a Ravka to come back to.” He shook his head, but I turned to Nikolai and plunged on. “I’ll return to Os Alta with you, and I’ll consider helping you make a bid for the throne.” I took a deep breath. “But I want the Second Army.”
The tent got very quiet. They were looking at me like I was mad. And, truth be told, I didn’t feel entirely sane. But I was done being shuffled across the True Sea and half of Ravka by people trying to use me and my power.
Nikolai gave a nervous laugh. “The people love you, Alina, but I was thinking of a more symbolic title—”
“I’m not a symbol,” I snapped. “And I’m tired of being a pawn.” “No,” Mal said. “It’s too dangerous. It would be like painting a target
on your back.”
“I already have a target on my back,” I said. “And neither of us will ever be safe until the Darkling is defeated.”
“Have you even held a command?” Nikolai asked.
I’d once led a seminar of junior mapmakers, but I didn’t think that was what he meant.
“No,” I admitted.
“You have no experience, no precedent, and no claim,” he said. “The Second Army has been led by Darklings since it was founded.”
By one Darkling. But this wasn’t the time to explain that.
“Age and birthright don’t matter to the Grisha. All they care about is power. I’m the only Grisha to ever wear two amplifiers. And I’m the only Grisha alive powerful enough to take on the Darkling or his shadow soldiers. No one else can do what I can.”
I tried to put confidence in my voice, even though I wasn’t sure what had come over me. I just knew I was tired of living in fear. I was tired of running. And if Mal and I were to have any hope of locating the firebird, we needed answers. The Little Palace might be the only place to find them.
For a long moment, the three of us just stood there. “Well,” Nikolai said. “Well.”
He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, considering. Then he rose and offered me his hand.
“All right, Summoner,” he said. “Help me win the people, and the Grisha are yours.”
“Really?” I blurted.
Nikolai laughed. “If you plan to lead an army, you’d better learn to act the part. The proper response is, ‘I knew you’d see sense.’”
I took his hand. It was roughly calloused. The hand of a pirate, not a prince. We shook.
“As for my proposal,” he began.
“Don’t push your luck,” I said, snatching my hand back. “I said I’d go with you to Os Alta, and that’s it.”
“And where will I go?” Mal said quietly.
He stood with his arms crossed, watching us with steady blue eyes. There was blood on his brow from the crash of the Hummingbird. He looked tired and very, very far away.
“I … I thought you’d go with me,” I stammered.
“As what?” he asked. “The captain of your personal guard?” I flushed.
Nikolai cleared his throat. “As much as I’d love to see how this plays out, I do have some arrangements to make. Unless, of course—”
“Get out,” Mal ordered.
“Right, then. I’ll leave you to it.” He hastened away, stopping only to retrieve his sword.
The silence in the tent seemed to stretch and expand.
“Where is all this going, Alina?” Mal asked. “We fought our way out of this saintsforsaken place, and now we’re sinking right back into the swamp.”
I lowered myself to the cot and rested my head in my hands. I was exhausted, and every bone in my body ached.
“What am I supposed to do?” I pleaded. “What’s happening here, what’s happening to Ravka—part of the blame belongs to me.”
“That isn’t true.”
I gave a hollow laugh. “Oh yes it is. If it weren’t for me, the Fold wouldn’t be growing. Novokribirsk would still be standing.”
“Alina,” Mal said, crouching down in front of me and laying his hands on my knees, “even with all the Grisha and a thousand of Sturmhond’s guns, you aren’t strong enough to stop him.”
“If we had the third amplifier—” “But we don’t!”
I gripped his hands. “We will.”
He held my gaze. “Did it ever occur to you that I might say no?”
My stomach dropped. It hadn’t. It had never entered my mind that Mal might refuse, and I felt suddenly ashamed. He had given up everything to be with me, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it. Maybe he’d had enough of fighting and fear and uncertainty. Maybe he’d had enough of me.
“I thought … I thought we both wanted to help Ravka.” “Is that what we both wanted?” he asked.
He stood up and turned his back on me. I swallowed hard, forcing down the sudden ache in my throat.
“Then you won’t go to Os Alta?”
He paused at the entrance of the tent. “You wanted to wear the second amplifier. You have it. You want to go to Os Alta? Fine, we’ll go. You say you need the firebird. I’ll find a way to get it for you. But when all this is over, Alina, I wonder if you’ll still want me.”
I shot to my feet. “Of course I will! Mal—”
Whatever I might have said, he didn’t wait to hear it. He stepped out into the sunlight and was gone.
I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to push down the tears that threatened. What was I doing? I wasn’t a queen. I wasn’t a saint. And I certainly didn’t know how to lead an army.
I caught a glimpse of myself in a soldier’s shaving mirror that had been propped on the bedside table. I pulled my coat and shirt to the side, baring the wound at my shoulder. The puncture marks from the nichevo’ya stood out, puckered and black against my skin. The Darkling had said they would never heal completely.
What wound couldn’t be healed by Grisha power? One made by something that never should have existed in the first place.
I saw him. The Darkling’s face, pale and beautiful, the slash of the knife. It had been so real. What had happened on the Fold?
Going back to Os Alta, taking control of the Second Army, was as good as a declaration of war. The Darkling would know where to find me, and when he was strong enough, he’d come looking. Ready or not, we’d have no choice but to make a stand. It was a terrifying thought, but I was surprised to find that it also brought me some relief.
I would face him. And one way or another, this would end.
