Early the next morning, I tracked down David on the roof of the Little Palace, where construction had begun on his gigantic mirrored dishes. He’d set up a makeshift workspace in the shade of one of the domes, and it was already covered in bits of shiny detritus and discarded drawings. The barest breeze ruffled their edges. I recognized Nikolai’s scrawl in one of the margins.
“How’s it going?” I asked.
“Better,” he said, studying the slick surface of the nearest dish. “I think I’ve gotten the curvature right. We should be ready to try them out soon.”
“How soon?” We were still receiving conflicting reports of the Darkling’s location, but if he hadn’t finished creating his army, it wouldn’t be long.
“A couple of weeks,” David said. “That long?”
“You can have it soon, or you can have it right,” he grumbled. “David, I need to know—”
“I told you everything I know about Morozova.”
“Not about him,” I said. “Not exactly. If … if I wanted to remove the collar. How would I do that?”
“You can’t.”
“Not now. But after we’ve—”
“No,” David said, without looking at me. “It’s not like other amplifiers. It can’t just be taken off. You’d have to break it, violate its structure. The results would be catastrophic.”
“How catastrophic?”
“I can’t be certain,” he said. “But I’m pretty sure it would make the Fold look like a paper cut.”
“Oh,” I said softly. Then it would be the same with the fetter. Whatever I was becoming, there was no turning back. I’d hoped the visions were the result of the bite from the nichevo’ya, that the effects might somehow diminish as the wound slowly healed. But that didn’t seem to be happening. And even if it did, I would always be tied to the Darkling through the collar. Again, I wondered why he hadn’t chosen to try to kill the sea whip himself and bind us closer still.
David picked up a bottle of ink and began twirling it between his fingers. He looked miserable. Not just miserable, I thought. Guilty. He had forged this connection, placed this chain around my neck for eternity.
Gently, I took the ink bottle from his hands. “If you hadn’t done it, the Darkling would have found someone else.”
He twitched, something between a nod and a shrug. I set the ink down at the far edge of the table where his jittery fingers couldn’t reach it and turned to go.
“Alina…?”
I stopped and looked back at him. His cheeks had gone bright red. The warm breeze lifted the edges of his shaggy hair. At least that awful haircut was growing out.
“I heard … I heard Genya was on the ship. With the Darkling.”
I felt a pang of sorrow for Genya. So David hadn’t been completely oblivious.
“Yes,” I said.
“She’s all right?” he asked hopefully.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “She was when we escaped.” But if the Darkling knew that she’d as good as let us go, I didn’t know how he might have dealt with her. I hesitated. “I begged her to come with us.”
His face fell. “But she stayed?”
“I don’t think she felt like she had a choice,” I said. I couldn’t believe I was making excuses for Genya, but I didn’t like the idea of David thinking less of her.
“I should have…” He didn’t seem to know how to finish.
I wanted to say something comforting, something reassuring. But there were so many mistakes in my own past that I couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t ring false.
“We do the best we can,” I offered lamely.
David looked at me then, the regret plain on his face. No matter what I said, we both knew the hard truth. We do our best. We try. And usually, it makes no difference at all.
* * *
I CARRIED MY BLACK MOOD with me to the next meeting at the Grand Palace. Nikolai’s plan seemed to be working. Though Vasily still dragged himself to the council chamber for our meetings with the ministers, he arrived later and later, and occasionally I caught him dozing off. The one time he failed to appear, Nikolai hauled him from his bed, cheerfully insisting that he get dressed and that we simply couldn’t proceed without him. A clearly hungover Vasily had made it through half of the meeting, swaying at the head of the table, before he bolted into the hallway to vomit noisily into a lacquered vase.
Today, even I was having trouble staying awake. Any bit of breeze had vanished, and despite the open windows, the crowded council chamber was unbearably stuffy. The meeting plodded on until one of the generals announced the dwindling numbers from the First Army’s troop rolls. The ranks had been thinned by death, desertion, and years of brutal war, and given that Ravka was about to be fighting on at least one front again, the situation was dire.
Vasily waved a lazy hand and said, “Why all the gnashing of teeth?
Just lower the draft age.”
I sat up straighter. “To what?” I asked.
“Fourteen? Fifteen?” Vasily offered. “What is it now?”
I thought of all the villages Nikolai and I had passed through, the cemeteries that stretched for miles. “Why not just drop it to twelve?” I snapped.
“One is never too young to serve one’s country,” Vasily declared.
I don’t know if it was exhaustion or anger, but the words were out of my mouth before I thought better of them. “In that case, why stop at twelve? I hear babies make excellent cannon fodder.”
A disapproving murmur rose from the King’s advisers. Beneath the table, Nikolai reached over and gave my hand a warning squeeze.
“Brother, bringing them in younger won’t stop them from deserting,” he said to Vasily.
“Then we find some deserters and make an example of them.”
Nikolai raised a brow. “Are you sure that death by firing squad is more terrifying than the prospect of being torn apart by nichevo’ya?”
“If they even exist,” Vasily scoffed.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
But Nikolai just smiled pleasantly. “I saw them myself aboard the
Volkvolny. Surely you’re not calling me a liar.”
“Surely you’re not suggesting that treason is preferable to honest service in the King’s Army.”
“I’m suggesting that maybe these people are just as fond of life as you are. They’re ill-equipped, undersupplied, and short on hope. If you’d read the reports, you’d know that officers are having trouble keeping order in the ranks.”
“Then they should institute harsher punishments,” said Vasily. “It’s what peasants understand.”
I’d already punched one prince. What was one more? I was halfway out of my seat before Nikolai yanked me back down.
“They understand full bellies and clear directives,” he said. “If you would let me implement the changes I’ve suggested and open the coffers for—”
“You cannot always have your way, little brother.” Tension crackled through the room.
“The world is changing,” said Nikolai, the steel edge emerging in his voice. “We change with it, or there will be nothing left to remember us but the dust.”
Vasily laughed. “I can’t decide if you’re a fearmonger or a coward.” “And I can’t decide if you’re an idiot or an idiot.”
Vasily’s face turned purple. He shot to his feet and smacked his hands down on the table. “The Darkling is one man. If you’re afraid to face him
—”
“I have faced him. If you’re not afraid—if any of you aren’t afraid— it’s because you lack the sense to understand what we’re up against.”
Some of the generals nodded. But the King’s advisers, Os Alta’s noblemen and bureaucrats, looked skeptical and sullen. To them, war was parades, military theory, little figures moved around on a map. If it came to it, these were the men who would ally themselves with Vasily.
Nikolai squared his shoulders, the actor’s mask descending over his features once more. “Peace, brother,” he said. “We both want what’s best for Ravka.”
But Vasily wasn’t interested in being soothed. “What’s best for Ravka is a Lantsov on the throne.”
I drew in a sharp breath. A deadly stillness descended over the room.
Vasily had as good as called Nikolai a bastard.
But Nikolai had regained his composure, and now nothing would shake it. “Then let us all say a prayer for Ravka’s rightful King,” he said. “Now, shall we finish our business?”
The meeting limped along for a few more minutes and then came to a welcome close. On our walk back to the Little Palace, Nikolai was uncharacteristically silent.
When we reached the gardens by the pillared folly, he paused to pluck a leaf from a hedge and said, “I shouldn’t have lost my temper that way. It just pricks his pride, makes him dig in his heels.”
“So why did you?” I asked, genuinely curious. It was rare for Nikolai’s emotions to get the best of him.
“I don’t know,” he said, shredding the leaf. “You got angry. I got angry. The room was too damn hot.”
“I don’t think that’s it.” “Indigestion?” he offered.
But I wasn’t going to be put off by a joke. Despite Vasily’s objections and the council’s reluctance to do much of anything, through some magical combination of patience and pressure, Nikolai had still managed to push through a few of his plans. He’d gotten them to approve relief for the refugees fleeing the shores of the Fold, and requisitioned Materialki corecloth to outfit key regiments of the First Army. He’d even gotten them to divert funds for a plan to modernize farm equipment so that peasants could manage something other than subsistence. Small things, but improvements that might make all the difference in time.
“It’s because you actually care about what happens to this country,” I said. “The throne is just a prize to Vasily, something he wants to squabble over like a favorite toy. You’re not like that. You’ll make a good king.”
Nikolai froze. “I…” For once, words seemed to have deserted him. Then a crooked, embarrassed smile crept across his face. It was a far cry from his usual self-assured grin. “Thank you,” he said.
I sighed as we resumed our pace. “You’re going to be insufferable now, aren’t you?”
Nikolai laughed. “I’m already insufferable.”
* * *
THE DAYS GREM LONGER. The sun stayed close beneath the horizon, and the festival of Belyanoch began in Os Alta. Even at midnight, the skies were never truly dark, and despite the fear of war and the looming threat of the Fold, the city celebrated the endless hours of twilight. In the upper town, the evenings were crowded with operas, masques, and lavish ballets. Over the bridge, raucous horse races and outdoor dances shook the streets of the lower town. An endless stream of
pleasure boats bobbed through the canal, and beneath the glimmering dusk, the slow-moving water circled the capital like a jeweled bangle, alight with lanterns hung from a thousand prows.
The heat had relented slightly. Behind the palace walls, everyone seemed in better spirits. I’d continued to insist that the Grisha mix their Orders, and at some point, I still wasn’t sure how, uncomfortable silence had given way to laughter and noisy conversation. There were still cliques and conflicts, but there was also something comfortable and boisterous in the hall that hadn’t been there before.
I was glad—maybe even a little proud—to see Fabrikators and Etherealki drinking tea around one of the samovars, or Fedyor arguing a point with Pavel over breakfast, or Nadia’s little brother trying to chat up an older and decidedly disinterested Paja. But I felt as if I were watching them from a great distance.
I’d tried to talk to Mal several times since the night of our argument. He always found an excuse to walk away from me. If he wasn’t hunting, he was playing cards at the Grand Palace or haunting some tavern in the lower town with his new friends. I could tell he’d been drinking more. Some mornings his eyes looked bleary and he sported bruises and cuts as if he’d been in a brawl, but he was unfailingly punctual, relentlessly polite. He kept to his guard duties, stood silently in doorways, and maintained a respectful distance as he trailed me around the grounds.
The Little Palace had become a very lonely place. I was surrounded by people, but I almost felt like they couldn’t see me, only what they needed from me. I was afraid to show doubt or indecision, and there were days when I felt like I was being worn down to nothing by the constant weight of responsibility and expectation.
I went to my meetings. I trained with Botkin. I spent long hours at the lake trying to hone my use of the Cut. I even swallowed my pride and made another attempt to visit Baghra, hoping that, if nothing else, she might help me to develop my power further. But she refused to see me.
None of it was enough. The ship that Nikolai was building in the lake was a reminder that everything we were doing was most likely futile. Somewhere out there, the Darkling was gathering his forces, building his army, and when they came, no gun, no bomb, no soldier or Grisha would be able to stop them. Not even me. If the battle went badly, we would retreat to the domed hall to await relief from Poliznaya. The doors were reinforced with Grisha steel, and the Fabrikators had already started sealing up cracks and gaps to prevent entry by the nichevo’ya.
I didn’t think it would come to that. I’d reached a dead end in my attempts to locate the firebird. If David couldn’t get those dishes working, then when the Darkling finally marched on Ravka, we would have no choice but to evacuate. Run and keep running.
Using my power brought me none of the comfort it once had. Every time I summoned light in the Materialki workshops or on the shore of the lake, I felt the bareness of my right wrist like a brand. Even with everything I knew about the amplifiers, the destruction they might bring, the permanence of the way they might change me, I couldn’t escape my hunger for the firebird.
Mal was right. It had become an obsession. At night I lay in bed, imagining that the Darkling had already found the final piece of Morozova’s puzzle. Maybe he held the firebird captive in a spun gold cage. Would it sing to him? I didn’t even know if a firebird could sing at all. Some of the tales said so. One claimed the firebird’s song could lull entire armies to sleep. When they heard it, soldiers would cease fighting, lay down their weapons, and nod off peacefully in their enemies’ arms.
I knew all the stories by now. The firebird wept diamond tears, its feathers could heal mortal wounds, the future might be seen in the flap of its wings. I’d scoured book after book of folklore, epic poetry, and collections of peasant tales, searching for some pattern or clue. The sea whip’s legends centered around the icy waters of the Bone Road, but stories of the firebird came from every part of Ravka and beyond, and none of them connected the creature to a Saint.
Worse, the visions were getting clearer and more frequent. The Darkling appeared to me almost every day, usually in his chambers or the aisles of the library, sometimes in the war room during council meetings or as I walked back from the Grand Palace at dusk.
“Why won’t you leave me alone?” I whispered one night as he hovered behind me while I tried to work at my desk.
Long minutes passed. I didn’t think he would answer. I even had time to hope he might have gone, until I felt his hand on my shoulder.
“Then I’d be alone, too,” he said, and he stayed the whole night through, till the lamps burned down to nothing.
I got used to seeing him waiting for me at the end of corridors, or sitting at the edge of my bed when I fell asleep at night. When he didn’t appear, I sometimes found myself looking for him or wondering why he hadn’t come, and that frightened me most of all.
The one bright spot was Vasily’s decision to abandon Os Alta for the yearling auctions in Caryeva. I nearly crowed with delight when Nikolai
gave me the news on one of our walks.
“Packed up in the middle of the night,” Nikolai said. “He says he’ll be back in time for my birthday, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he finds some excuse to stay away.”
“You should try not to look so smug,” I said. “It’s not very regal.” “Surely I’m allowed some small dispensation for gloating,” he said
with a laugh. He whistled that same off-key tune I remembered from the Volkvolny as we walked along. Then he cleared his throat. “Alina, not that you aren’t always the picture of loveliness, but … are you sleeping?”
“Not much,” I admitted. “Nightmares?”
I did still dream of the broken skiff, of people running from the darkness of the Fold, but that wasn’t what kept me up at night. “Not exactly.”
“Ah,” said Nikolai. He clasped his hands behind his back. “I notice your friend has been throwing himself into his work lately. He’s much in demand.”
“Well,” I said, keeping my voice light, “that’s Mal.”
“Where did he learn to track? No one seems to be able to decide if it’s luck or skill.”
“He didn’t learn. He’s just always been able to do it.”
“How nice for him,” said Nikolai. “I’ve never been a natural at anything.”
“You’re a spectacular actor,” I said drily.
“Do you think so?” he asked. Then he leaned in and whispered, “I’m doing ‘humble’ right now.”
I shook my head in exasperation, but I was grateful for Nikolai’s cheery babble, and even more thankful when he let the subject drop.
* * *
IT TOOK DAVID almost two more weeks to get his dishes operational, but when he was finally ready, I had the Grisha gather on the Little Palace roof to watch the demonstration. Tolya and Tamar were there, alert as always, scanning the crowd. Mal was nowhere to be seen. I’d stayed up the previous night in the common room, hoping to catch him and ask him personally to attend. It was long past midnight when I gave up and went to bed.
The two huge dishes were positioned on opposite sides of the roof, on the flat lip that extended between the domes of the eastern and western wings. They could be rotated through a system of pulleys, and each was
manned by a Materialnik and a Squaller, outfitted in goggles to protect against the glare. I saw that Zoya and Paja had been teamed together, and Nadia had been paired with a Durast on the second dish.
Even if this is a total failure, I thought anxiously, at least they’re working together. Nothing like a fiery explosion to build camaraderie.
I took my place at the center of the roof, directly between the dishes.
With a jolt of nervousness, I saw that Nikolai had invited the captain of the palace guard to observe, along with two generals and several of the King’s advisers. I hoped they weren’t expecting anything too dramatic. My power tended to show best in full darkness, and the long Belyanoch days made that impossible. I’d asked David if we should schedule the demonstration for later in the evening, but he’d just shaken his head.
“If it works, it will be plenty dramatic. And I suppose that if it doesn’t work, it will be even more dramatic, what with the blast.”
“David, I think you just made a joke.” He frowned, utterly perplexed. “Did I?”
At Nikolai’s suggestion, David had chosen to take his cue from the Volkvolny and use a whistle to signal us. He gave a shrill blast, and the onlookers backed up against the domes, leaving us plenty of room. I raised my hands. David blew on the whistle again. I called the light.
It entered me in a golden torrent and burst from my hands in two steady beams. They struck the dishes, reflecting off them in a blinding glare. It was impressive, but nothing spectacular.
Then David whistled again, and the dishes rotated slightly. The light bounced off their mirrored surfaces, multiplying upon itself and focusing into two blazing white shafts that pierced the early twilight.
An ahhhh went up from the crowd as they shielded their eyes. I guess I didn’t have to worry about drama.
The beams sliced through the air, sending off waves of cascading brilliance and radiant heat, as if they were burning through the sky itself. David gave another short blast on the whistle, and the beams fused into a single molten blade of light. It was impossible to look directly at it. If the Cut was a knife in my hand, then this was a broadsword.
The dishes tilted, and the beam descended. The crowd gasped in astonishment as the light slashed through the edge of the woods below, leveling the treetops.
The dishes tilted further. The beam seared into the lakeshore and then into the lake itself. A wave of steam billowed into the air with an audible hiss, and for a moment, the entire surface of the lake seemed to boil.
David gave a panicked blast on the whistle. Hastily, I dropped my hands, and the light vanished.
We ran to the edge of the roof and gaped at the sight before us.
It was as if someone had taken a razor and lopped off the top of the woods in a clean diagonal cut from the tip of the tree line to the shore. Where the beam had touched down, the ground was marked by a glowing trench that ran all the way to the waterline.
“It worked,” David said in a dazed voice. “It actually worked.”
There was a pause and then Zoya burst out laughing. Sergei joined her, then Marie and Nadia. Suddenly, we were all laughing and cheering, even moody Tolya, who swept a befuddled David up on his enormous shoulders. Soldiers were hugging Grisha, the King’s advisers were hugging the generals, Nikolai was dancing a begoggled Paja around the roof, and the captain of the guard caught me up in a giddy embrace.
We whooped and screamed and bounced up and down, so that the whole palace seemed to shake. When the Darkling decided to march, the nichevo’ya would have quite a surprise waiting for them.
“Let’s go see it!” someone shouted, and we raced down the stairs like children at the sound of the school bell, giggling and careening off the walls.
We charged through the Hall of the Golden Dome and flung open the doors, tumbling down the steps and outside. As everyone sprinted down to the lake, I skidded to a halt.
Mal was coming up the path from the wooded tunnel. “Go on,” I said to Nikolai. “I’ll catch up.”
Mal watched the path as he approached, not meeting my gaze. As he drew closer, I saw that his eyes were bloodshot and there was an ugly bruise on his cheekbone.
“What happened?” I asked, lifting a hand toward his face. He ducked away, darting a glance at the servants who stood by the Little Palace doors.
“Ran into a bottle of kvas,” he said. “Is there something you need?” “You missed the demonstration.”
“I wasn’t on duty.”
I ignored the painful jab in my chest and pushed on. “We’re going down to the lake. Would you like to come?”
For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, then he shook his head. “I just came back to get some coin. There’s a card game going at the Grand Palace.”
The shard twisted. “You may want to change,” I said. “You look like you slept in your clothes.” I was instantly sorry I’d said it, but Mal didn’t seem to care.
“Maybe because I did,” he said. “Is there anything else?” “No.”
“Moi soverenyi.” He executed a sharp bow and vaulted up the steps as if he couldn’t wait to be away from me.
I took my time walking down to the lake, hoping that somehow the ache in my heart would ease. My joy at the success on the roof had drained away, leaving me hollow, like a well someone could shout down and hear nothing back but echoes.
By the shore, a group of Grisha were walking the length of the trench, calling out measurements in growing triumph and elation. It was nearly two feet wide and just as deep, a furrow of charred earth that stretched to the water’s edge. In the woods, felled treetops lay in a clutter of branches and bark. I reached out and ran my hand over one of the severed trunks. The wood was smooth, sliced cleanly across, and still warm to the touch. Two small fires had started, but the Tidemakers had quickly put them out.
Nikolai ordered food and champagne brought down to the lake, and we all spent the rest of the evening on the shore. The generals and advisers retired early, but the captain and some of his guard remained. They stripped off their jackets and shoes and waded into the lake, and it wasn’t long before everyone decided they didn’t care about wet clothes and plunged into the water, splashing and dunking each other, then organizing swim races to the little island. To no one’s surprise, a Tidemaker always won, borne aloft by lucky waves.
Nikolai and his Squallers offered to take people up in the recently completed craft he’d dubbed the Kingfisher. At first they were wary, but after the first brave group came back flapping their arms and babbling about actually flying, everyone wanted a turn. I’d sworn my feet would never leave the ground again, but finally I gave in and joined them.
Maybe it was the champagne or just that I knew what to expect, but the Kingfisher seemed lighter and more graceful than the Hummingbird. Though I still gripped the cockpit with both hands, I felt my spirits lift as we rose smoothly into the air.
I gathered my courage and looked down. The rolling grounds of the Grand Palace stretched out below us, crosscut by white gravel paths. I saw the roof of the Grisha greenhouse, the perfect circle of the double eagle fountain, the golden glint of the palace gates. Then we were
soaring over the mansions and long, straight boulevards of the upper town. The streets were full of people celebrating Belyanoch. I saw jugglers and stiltwalkers on Gersky Prospect, dancers twirling on a lit stage in one of the parks. Music floated up from the boats on the canal.
I wanted to stay up there forever, surrounded by the flood of wind, watching the tiny, perfect world beneath us. But eventually Nikolai turned the wheel and brought us back to the lake in a slow, descending arc.
The twilight deepened to a lush purple. The Inferni lit bonfires along the lakeshore, and somewhere in the dusk, someone tuned a balalaika. From the town below, I heard the whistle and clap of fireworks.
Nikolai and I sat at the end of the makeshift pier, our trousers rolled up, feet dangling over the side. The Kingfisher bobbed beside us, its white sails trimmed.
Nikolai kicked his foot through the water, sending up a little splash. “The dishes change everything,” he said. “If you can keep the nichevo’ya busy long enough, we’ll have time to find and target the Darkling.”
I flopped back on the dock, stretching my arms overhead and taking in the blooming violet of the night sky. When I turned my head, I could just make out the shape of the now-empty school building, its windows dark. I would have liked the students to see what the dishes could do, to give them that bit of hope. The prospect of a battle was still frightening, especially when I thought of all the lives that might be lost. But at least we weren’t just sitting on a hilltop waiting to die.
“We may actually have a fighting chance,” I said in amazement.
“Try not to let the excitement overwhelm you, but I have more good news.”
I groaned. I knew that tone of voice. “Don’t say it.” “Vasily is back from Caryeva.”
“You could do the kind thing and drown me now.” “And suffer alone? I think not.”
“Maybe for your birthday you can ask that he be fitted with a royal muzzle,” I suggested.
“But then we’d miss all his exciting stories about the summer auctions. You’re fascinated by the breeding superiority of the Ravkan racehorse, right?”
I let out a whimper. Mal was supposed to be on duty for Nikolai’s birthday dinner the following night. Maybe I could get Tolya or Tamar to take his place. Right now, I didn’t think I could handle watching him
stand stone-faced at attention all night, especially not with Vasily yammering away.
“Be of good cheer,” said Nikolai. “Maybe he’ll propose again.” I sat up. “How do you know about that?”
“If you recall, I did pretty much the same thing. I’m just surprised he hasn’t tried a second time.”
“Apparently I’m not easy to get alone.”
“I know,” said Nikolai. “Why do you think I walk you back from the Grand Palace after every meeting?”
“For my sparkling company?” I said sourly, annoyed by the twitch of disappointment I felt at his words. Nikolai was so good at making me forget that everything he did was calculated.
“That too,” he said. He lifted his foot out of the water and scrutinized his wiggling toes. “He’ll get around to it again, eventually.”
I sighed with exaggerated woe. “How does one say no to a prince?” “You’ve managed it before,” Nikolai said, still contemplating his
foot. “And are you so sure you want to?” “You can’t be serious.”
Nikolai shifted uncomfortably. “Well, he is first in line for the throne, of pure royal stock, and all that.”
“I wouldn’t marry Vasily if he had a pet firebird named Ludmilla, and I couldn’t care less about his royal stock.” I peered at him. “You said the gossip about your bloodlines didn’t bother you.”
“I may not have been completely honest about that.”
“You? Less than truthful? I’m shocked, Nikolai. Shocked and horrified.”
He laughed. “I guess it’s easy to say it doesn’t matter when I’m away from court. But no one here seems to want to let me forget, especially my brother.” He shrugged. “It’s always been this way. There were rumors about me even before I was born. It’s why my mother never calls me Sobachka. She says it makes me sound like a mongrel.”
My heart gave a little pang at that. I’d been called plenty of names growing up.
“I like mongrels,” I said. “They have cute floppy ears.” “My ears are very dignified.”
I ran my finger over one of the pier’s sleek planks. “Is that why you stayed away so long? Why you became Sturmhond?”
“I don’t know if there’s just one reason. I guess I never felt like I belonged here, so I tried to make a place where I could belong.”
“I never felt like I fit in anywhere either,” I admitted. Except with Mal. I pushed the thought away. Then I frowned. “You know what I hate about you?”
He blinked, startled. “No.”
“You always say the right thing.” “And you hate that?”
“I’ve seen the way you change personas, Nikolai. You’re always what everyone needs you to be. Maybe you never felt like you belonged, or maybe you’re just saying that to make the poor, lonely orphan girl like you more.”
“So you do like me?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, when I don’t want to stab you.” “It’s a start.”
“No it isn’t.”
He turned to me. In the half-light, his hazel eyes looked like chips of amber.
“I’m a privateer, Alina,” he said quietly. “I’ll take whatever I can get.”
I was suddenly aware of his shoulder resting against mine, the press of his thigh. The air felt warm and smelled sweet with the scent of summer and woodsmoke.
“I want to kiss you,” he said.
“You already kissed me,” I replied with a nervous laugh.
A smile tugged at his lips. “I want to kiss you again,” he amended. “Oh,” I breathed. His mouth was inches from mine. My heart leapt
into a panicked gallop. This is Nikolai, I reminded myself. Pure calculation. I didn’t even think I wanted him to kiss me. But my pride was still smarting from Mal’s rejection. Hadn’t he said he’d kissed plenty of girls?
“I want to kiss you,” Nikolai said. “But I won’t. Not until you’re thinking of me instead of trying to forget him.”
I shoved backward and lurched awkwardly to my feet, feeling flushed and embarrassed.
“Alina—”
“At least now I know you don’t always say the right thing,” I muttered.
I snatched up my shoes and escaped down the pier.
