HE’D MADE IT THROUGH three days of parties, dinners, and meetings, and no one had attempted to murder him again. It was a bit like being on the front. You survived for an hour, then another hour. You hoped to make it through the day. At night, Isaak fell into bed and lay staring at the ceiling, heart pounding, thinking of the many things he’d done wrong and the many more things he was bound to do wrong tomorrow.
Today, they were to enjoy the morning boating on the lake beside the Little Palace, and then they would picnic on its shores.
“We’ve arranged for you to spend time with the Shu princess before lunch,” Tamar had told him.
“And I … do what with her?”
“Be charming. Ask her about her guards and how long she’s known them. Get us any information you can.”
“Can’t you and Tolya just bond with the Tavgharad over your Shu childhoods or something?”
The twins had exchanged a glance. “We’re worse than Ravkans to them,” said Tamar. “We had a Shu father, but we wear the tattoos of the Sun Saint and serve a foreign king.”
“Why did you choose service to Ravka?” “We didn’t,” said Tamar.
Tolya put his hand to his heart. “We chose Alina. We chose Nikolai.
All of this”—he gestured to the palace grounds—“means nothing.”
Isaak didn’t know what to say to that. He considered himself a patriot, but he could admit that, unlike the king, Ravka had never been particularly kind to him.
“Chat with Princess Ehri,” said Tamar. “Get her talking.”
“Hypothetically, if I weren’t possessed of natural charisma and a gift for witty conversation, just how would I do that?”
Tamar rolled her eyes, but Tolya said, “Compliment her. Express your admiration for Shu culture. You might consider reciting—”
“Oh, for Saints’ sake, Tolya, that’s the last thing he should do.” Tamar knelt in front of Isaak. “Just listen to her. Ask her questions. Women don’t want to be seduced. They want to be seen and listened to. You can’t do either of those things if you’re thinking up strategies on how to win her over—or reciting the Fourth Epic of Kregi.”
“There is no Fourth Epic of Kregi,” growled Tolya. “The third was unfinished by the poet Elaan.”
“Then that’s definitely the one he should recite.”
Why did the thought of a simple conversation make Isaak’s heart rattle? Possibly because he’d never been good at talking to girls—other than his sisters. But arguing with Belka and Petya over the price of ribbon was a far cry from making small talk with royals. And he was supposed to somehow wheedle information from a princess? He tried to remind himself that he was handsome now—a fact that took him by surprise every time he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror. He hadn’t been ugly before, just unremarkable—tidy brown hair that curled if he left it too long, regular enough features, slightly crooked bottom teeth. His mother had told him he was nice looking, but she’d also told his sister she had a lovely singing voice, and that was definitely not the case. Now Isaak tried to look at ease as he reclined on a cushioned divan on the royal barge, attempting his best approximation of Nikolai’s relaxed slouch. He’d spent too many years standing at attention. Before him, elegantly decorated sloops and barges dotted the lake like water lilies,
banners snapping, awnings striped in Ravkan blue and gold.
The lake was too cold for swimming, but the Tidemakers had heated its surface so that mist rose from the water in dense clouds, which Squallers manipulated into symbols of various countries and families of standing. Isaak had permitted himself a few sips from a tiny bell-shaped glass of apricot wine to try to soothe his nerves but still remained alert, listening to the conversation as one of the Fjerdan ambassadors asked if they might have a tour of the Grisha school.
“Of course you may,” said Genya. “It would be our great pleasure.”
Isaak did not think he imagined the current of excitement that passed between the ambassador and another member of his delegation.
Genya smoothed her skirts and added, “But I fear you may find it boring. The students are currently traveling with their teachers as part of their instruction.”
“All of them?”
“Yes,” said Genya. “We find work in the field is so beneficial for a child’s education. And I must say I’m not sorry for the peace and quiet. Young Grisha can be quite high-spirited, as I’m sure you can imagine. We didn’t want them getting underfoot with such important new friends visiting.”
Isaak had never known the Grisha students to be underfoot. They were kept busy, and the school was isolated enough from the rest of the palace that they would have had trouble getting anywhere without notice. No, they’d been moved for their safety. And the Fjerdans knew it.
“You evacuated all of them?” the ambassador asked coldly. “Evacuated?” said Genya with an amused laugh. “That would imply
there was some kind of threat.” She tapped the ambassador on the knee playfully. “A threat! To a group of children who could set fire to this barge and stop the hearts of everyone on it with the sweep of a hand.” She dabbed at her eyes. “It is too droll.”
Isaak turned to Genya as the Fjerdans walked to the sloop’s railing to enjoy the view and possibly to seethe. “You sent the students away to protect them?”
“Of course,” said Genya, all mirth gone. “You think we would keep one of Ravka’s greatest assets here when a bomb or poison gas could eliminate an entire new generation of Grisha in moments? But a fearful Fjerdan is one less likely to act, and I just relish the idea of them having bad dreams about a bunch of schoolchildren.”
Isaak gave a slight shake of his head. “Listening to you talk is like watching a sailor who knows the secret shape of a bay, all of the places where storms strike, and the rocky spots where ships run aground. You navigate these waters with such surety.”
Genya was quiet for a long time. “I was thrown into the water early,” she said. “The Darkling gave me to the queen of Ravka as a gift when I was just a little girl, a pretty thing who could be of service to her.”
“Then you knew the king as a boy?”
“I saw him and his brother in passing. I was a cherished servant, but a servant all the same. They were very loud.” She toyed with one of her topaz earrings. “The household staff used to call them the Two
Headaches. How I envied them, the way they were free to run and play and make trouble.”
“But to be a favorite of the queen,” said Isaak. “That must have been a great honor?”
Genya popped a slice of plum into her mouth. “For a time, I was the queen’s doll. She would dress me in lovely clothes and brush my hair and let me sleep at the foot of her bed and sit beside her at meals. I watched the sharks and learned. When I grew older, and I had the misfortune of catching the old king’s eye …” Genya wiped her fingers slowly on a linen napkin, the leavings of the plum staining the cloth. “I convinced myself that the suffering I endured was an honor because I was the Darkling’s soldier and his spy. He trusted me above all others, and one day all would know the good I’d done him. He could not have managed his coup so easily without the information I fed him.”
Isaak stared at her. “You are confessing to treason,” he whispered. “Sweet Isaak,” she said with a smile. “Nikolai Lantsov pardoned me
long ago, and in that moment he earned my loyalty forever. The Darkling threw me into the water, then watched me drown to serve his own purposes.”
“So he was as cruel as the stories say?”
“Cruel? Oh yes. But he didn’t leave me to the king’s predations to punish me. He just never even considered my misery. What was the anguish of one girl if it might help to earn him an empire? He was playing a long and complicated game. It was only when I dared to think for myself, when I interfered with his grand plan, that he set his monsters on me and—”
A loud splash sounded from somewhere on the lake. They stood in time to see a billow of yellow silk sinking beneath the surface near a barge crowded with members of the Kerch delegation. One of the merchant’s daughters had fallen into the water and was sinking fast.
“Jump in,” whispered Genya furiously. “Go save her.” “There are Grisha—”
“Nikolai wouldn’t wait for the Grisha.” She was right, but … “I can’t swim.”
“Please tell me you mean that metaphorically.” “Afraid not,” he said, panic rising.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” “It never came up!”
“Just jump,” said Genya. “And don’t you dare flail. Sink as fast as you can and we’ll do the rest.”
Isaak couldn’t believe she was serious, but one look at her expression made it clear this was no joke. Well, he thought as he leapt onto the railing and launched himself into the water with what he hoped was a modicum of grace, at least if I drown, I won’t have to sit through dinner.
The water was bitterly cold, and as he sank, everything in Isaak’s body demanded that he move, fight, do something to get back to warmth and air. Do not flail. He remained still, the ache building in his lungs as panic began to set in. He looked up, up, to the dim glow of light at the surface. It seemed impossibly far away, the lake dark and silent around him, an endless, starless sky. A rotten place to die. Is this it? he wondered. Am I really going to drown to preserve the king’s reputation as a hero?
Then Nadia had hold of his arm. She was surrounded by a bubble of air that she had created and that two Tidemakers beside her were propelling forward. She yanked him into the circle of air and he took a long, gasping breath.
“Come on,” she said. He felt the current around him moving, dragging them along like a fast-running river.
A bundle of yellow silk billowed in the water ahead of them. The girl
—Birgitta Schenck—wasn’t moving. Her eyes were closed and her hair was splayed around her face like a corona. Oh Saints, was she dead?
“Grab her,” said Nadia, and as soon as his hand closed over her wrist, they were shooting through the water again.
They emerged on the opposite side of the tiny island at the lake’s center, away from the pleasure crafts. Tolya and Tamar were waiting. They pulled Birgitta onto the steps of one of the practice pavilions and began the work of trying to revive her.
“Please tell me she’s alive,” said Isaak.
“There’s a pulse,” replied Tolya. “But there’s water in her lungs.”
A moment later, Birgitta coughed, lake water spewing from her lips. “Scatter,” commanded Tolya.
“Be charming,” Tamar said as she disappeared with the others into the mist. “You’re a hero.”
Isaak bent over the girl, trying to remember that it would be the king’s face she would see. “Miss Schenck?” he said. “Birgitta? Are you quite well?”
Her long lashes fluttered. She looked up at him with dazed green eyes
and burst out crying.
Well. Perhaps being handsome wasn’t a cure for everything.
“You almost drowned,” he said. “You’ve cause to be emotional.
Come, we must get you warm.”
Isaak felt frozen and exhausted too, but he forced himself to do what he thought would look best. He slipped his arm beneath the girl’s legs and lifted her into his arms. All Saints, she was heavy. Was so much silk really necessary?
She leaned her head against his chest, and Isaak strode across the island, his teeth chattering, his boots squelching wetly, until they emerged from the trees onto the island’s opposite bank.
Everyone was peering at the water as would-be rescuers paddled around the Kerch boat and Grisha Tidemakers pulled back the lake in sheaves of water that hovered above the surface.
Someone caught sight of Isaak and Birgitta and shouted, “There they are!”
“She’s right as rain!” Isaak called. “But twice as damp. We could both use some dry clothes and some hot tea.”
The crowd burst into applause. Isaak set down Birgitta before his arms gave out, depositing her on the sand like a pile of wet laundry. He bowed and managed to stop his teeth chattering long enough to kiss her hand.
He’d graduated from minor breaches of etiquette to nearly getting himself and someone else drowned. Perhaps tomorrow he’d manage to burn down the palace.
Birgitta Schenck and Isaak were hustled onto the royal barge, wrapped in blankets, and dosed with hot brandy as servants chafed their hands. But it wasn’t until he was back in Nikolai’s quarters and submerged in a steaming bath in the king’s vast tub that Isaak finally started to feel warm again.
Genya and the others had remained in intense conversation in the sitting room while Isaak had been left to soak in peace. He was going to miss this tub when the king returned. The rest he could do without.
He stayed in the bath until the water turned cold and he’d started to prune. He didn’t particularly want to face the people waiting next door, but he forced himself out of the tub and dried himself off with one of the long linen bath sheets.
Nikolai employed no valet, which had been a relief to Isaak; he hadn’t
had anyone help him dress since he was a child. He put on the king’s soft breeches and boots, the shirt and suspenders, the fitted coat embroidered with the Lantsov eagle. He could admit the clothes weren’t a bad part of the deal either. They had been constructed meticulously and were as comfortable as they were elegant. As Isaak adjusted his coat, his fingers touched on something in the right pocket. He was always finding things tucked away in the pockets of the king’s clothes—a note the king had scrawled to himself or a sketch of what might be a new invention, a small silver bead. This time he pulled a tiny knot of wire from his coat. It had been fashioned into the shape of a sailing ship. He set it on the king’s vanity.
“We think this may actually be a good thing,” said Tamar as Isaak entered the sitting room.
He joined them by the fire, glad for the warmth. “So I should try to drown more often?”
“It wasn’t ideal,” Genya said, pouring him a cup of tea. “You missed your chance to chat with Princess Ehri. But we made the best of it, and the king looked like a hero.”
“The carry was a nice touch,” said Tamar.
“Very heroic,” said Tolya, “like a prince out of the epic poems. And so Ivan the Gilded Hair bore her across the—”
“Keep reciting poetry and I will personally drown you in the lake,” said Tamar.
Tolya scowled and muttered “It’s a classic” into his tea.
Isaak didn’t agree, but he doubted this was the time to debate poetry.
Genya nudged David, and he looked up from the treatise he was reading. “We traced the trigger device used to rig the king’s door with arsine gas. It’s most likely Fjerdan.”
“Will they be arrested?” asked Isaak.
Tamar looked almost bemused. “Of course not. It’s not something we can actually prove, and, in a way, this is good news.”
“Of course,” said Isaak. He scratched his ear. “Exactly how is it good news?”
“We already suspected the Fjerdans didn’t come to play. If it had been the Kerch or the Shu, we would have had real cause to worry. This means the Shu are still open to an alliance. We were curious to see who might attempt the king’s life.”
“Without risking the king?” Isaak asked, surprised at the bitter edge in
his voice.
Tolya rested a giant hand on his shoulder. “We would never let harm come to you, Isaak.”
“I know,” said Isaak. But did he? And could he really complain? It was a soldier’s lot to be expendable. A guard’s job to put himself between his ruler and harm. Wasn’t that exactly what he was doing now?
Tamar leaned back in her chair and crossed her long legs. “I’ve searched the chambers of the Shu guards.”
“They’re our guests,” protested Tolya. “They’re our enemies,” said Tamar.
“And potential allies,” said Genya. “It wouldn’t do to make them mad.”
“We were cautious. But there was little to learn. The few journals I found were kept in code, and I doubt any member of the Tavgharad would be foolish enough to put damning details to paper.”
“And the Kerch made an attempt on our labs,” said Tolya. David looked up from his reading, startled. “Did they get in?” “We let them make it all the way to the Fabrikator workshops.” “Oh,” said David, losing interest.
“We’re not concerned about that?” asked Isaak.
“The real work happens elsewhere,” said Tamar. “We even planted some fake blueprints for them to find. All of it should help set the stage for our performance at the Gilded Bog.”
“We’re going to the Gilded Bog?” asked Isaak, unable to hide his excitement.
“Unfortunately,” said Tolya.
Genya tucked her slippered feet beneath her. “We’ll be using Count Kirigin’s lake to show the Kerch our prototype of the izmars’ya.” A look passed between the others that Isaak didn’t understand, but that was nothing new. He assumed someone would tell him what exactly an izmars’ya was so he could nod sagely about the subject when the time came.
“You will be working,” added Tamar. “Not sampling Kirigin’s entertainments.”
“Of course,” said Isaak. But he could at least get a glimpse of what all the fuss was about.
Genya pushed a sheaf of papers over to him. “Here are notes for the dinner tonight. You won’t be expected to make a speech, but this will be
a more formal affair, so you’ll need to do your best to seem at ease. Tomorrow is the hunt.”
“I can hunt at least,” said Isaak with relief.
“Not like a gentleman hunts. But Nikolai was never much for the sport anyway. He has a fondness for foxes. The hunt is just an excuse to ride and get to know the hopefuls. Remember to spread your conversation evenly amongst them. We’ll go over the particulars tonight after dinner.”
They filed out and Isaak let his head flop back, staring at the gilded ceiling. He felt both tired and restless. He glanced at the notes on place settings and how to eat oysters and tossed them aside. He needed to clear his head.
As soon as he opened the door, Tolya was there. “Is something wrong?”
“I just want to take a walk.”
Tolya fell back a few steps as Isaak made his way down the hall, but it was still unsettling to know he was being watched. There were rumors Nikolai had run away from university to pursue a life of adventure on the high seas as the privateer Sturmhond. A ridiculous story, but Isaak could understand the impulse. Who wouldn’t choose that kind of freedom over this constant performance? He passed through the portrait gallery, ignoring the paintings of countless Lantsov kings and queens, and entered the conservatory.
It was Isaak’s favorite place in the Grand Palace. The high-ceilinged room ran half the length of the southern wing. Sunlight streamed through walls made entirely of glass panels, and steam pipes heated the red tile floor. The conservatory’s winding paths were lined with potted fruit trees and tall palms, flowering shrubs that overflowed the walkways, and hedges trimmed into tiered arches and lattices. An artificial stream flowed through the room’s center, narrowing and widening to form lily ponds and reflecting pools.
A girl was seated by one of the ponds—no, not a girl, a princess. Ehri Kir-Taban. Daughter of Heaven. The Shu usually carried the names of one or both of their parents, but the royal family all took the name of the first Shu queen and founder of the Taban dynasty. There were Ravkan guards and Shu Tavgharad stationed at the room’s perimeter. He should have noticed them sooner, but he’d been too preoccupied. Distraction was something neither a guard nor a king could afford.
So this was his chance. He could make up for his missed meeting with
the princess and try to gather the information Genya and the others required. Be charming. Right. Charming.
But before he could decide on a good opening line, the princess lifted her head.
She rose hurriedly and curtsied. “Your Highness.”
“I didn’t mean to intrude on your peace,” he said in Shu.
“I am a guest here. There can be no intrusion.” She glanced at the guards. “Would you … would you care to sit and talk awhile?”
There. I didn’t even have to ask. And yet he still wanted to turn and scurry right back through the door. But to say no now would be seen as a snub. Besides, Tolya might well block the door and refuse to let him through.
Isaak took a seat beside her on the wide rock next to the pond. The air smelled of sweet orange blossom, and the low splash of fish at play in the water was soothing. It might have been a pleasant place to rest if not for the guards glowering in the doorways. Isaak vowed that when he had his face back and returned to duty, he’d try to look a little friendlier.
“Thank you for joining me,” Ehri said. “It’s my pleasure.”
“Hardly that,” she murmured with a small smile. “No doubt you came here to be alone—as alone as we ever can be—just as I did.”
“But if you wish to be alone, why invite me to join you?”
“I must be seen to be making an effort or the guards will report back to my sister, and then I will never hear the end of it.”
“Your sister?”
“Makhi Kir-Taban, Born of Heaven, our most celestial princess who will inherit the crown and rule wisely and justly for many years.”
“And what will you do?” asked Isaak. A woman wants to be listened to.
“Marry you, of course.”
“Of course,” Isaak said, willing himself not to squirm. “But if you were not to marry me?”
At this, she looked almost panicked, as if the question was not one that had been scripted for her, and she wasn’t at all sure how honest she should be. Isaak could sympathize. “Please,” he said gently, both to put her at ease and because he found he was genuinely curious. “I’d like to know.”
She brushed her thumb over the silk of her gown. “I suppose that, if I
hadn’t been born Taban, I would like to be a soldier … maybe even a member of the Tavgharad.”
“Truly?” He couldn’t help but laugh. It was too absurd to contemplate a guard pretending to be a prince talking to a princess who wanted to be a royal guard.
She frowned slightly. “It isn’t kind to laugh.”
Instantly Isaak sobered. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I was just surprised. Serving in the royal guard is a very noble calling. And it would allow some measure of freedom, though even guards have duties.” “Yes, but they’re not forced to pose and preen just to be sold off like chattel.” She paled, realizing what she’d said. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean
… It would be my greatest honor—”
“Don’t apologize. Please. I asked for your honesty. I don’t expect every woman I meet to be eager to wed me.”
A crease appeared between her brows. “You don’t?”
Damn it. Another misstep. Isaak winked. “Not at first.” That was a far more Nikolai answer—though the princess looked slightly disappointed.
“You can make it up to me,” said Ehri. “I have been honest with you; now perhaps you will share a secret with me. It’s only fair.”
I’m not the king of Ravka, just a lowly grunt trying not to perspire in his fancy clothes. No, that was definitely not the right reply. Isaak supposed he should say something flirtatious, but he wasn’t sure which secrets belonged to him and which belonged to the king.
“Very well. My secret is that I did wish to be alone, but that I’m still enjoying your company. It’s been a hard morning.”
“Has it?”
“A girl almost drowned.”
Ehri released an unprincess-like snort. “It’s her own fault for throwing herself in the lake.”
“Pardon?”
“I would wager my best axe there was nothing accidental about her plunge into the water.”
“Your best axe?”
Ehri tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “I am an avid collector.”
A princess who wanted to be a palace guard and who liked weapons.
She was at least interesting.
“How can you be so sure the Schenck girl jumped?” he asked.
“Because my own advisers suggested I do the same thing last night.” Isaak stared. “You’re saying she risked her own life just to—”
“Gain the notice of a king and give him the chance to play hero?” Ehri sniffed, and smoothed the silk of her gown. “A reasonable gambit, but not one I was prepared to make.”
He studied her. “Not when you could simply wait for a pensive king to amble by and find you looking like a painting in green silk with flowers in your hair?” Her golden eyes shifted away guiltily. “How long were you waiting, hoping I might stroll by?”
She bit her lip. “Two hours and twelve minutes. Give or take.”
He was both annoyed and pleased that she’d actually been frank. “That stone ledge can’t be very comfortable.”
“I regret to say, I can no longer feel my buttocks.”
At that Isaak burst out laughing, then caught himself. That was not Nikolai’s laugh. He saw one of the palace guards cock his head to the side. Trukhin. Isaak had worked countless shifts with him around the palace. He had every reason to recognize Isaak’s laugh.
All Saints, Isaak was tired of this charade already. But the princess had provided him an opening.
“If you can’t manage a short stint sitting on a rock, I don’t see how you could hope to fill the role of guard standing at attention for hours.”
“Then thank goodness I was born royal.”
“I confess I know little of the Tavgharad,” said Isaak, hoping his voice sounded natural. “Are they drawn from noble families?”
“They aren’t drawn from anywhere,” Ehri said, a surprising bite to her voice. “They come from every town and every village where they test and train and hope to be chosen. There is no greater honor.”
“Than defending you?” He couldn’t keep the smile from his voice.
Ehri bit her lip. “The Taban line. I’m one of the lesser jewels in the crown.”
Isaak found that hard to believe. She was awfully pretty. He couldn’t imagine what her sisters looked like if she was the plain one.
He pressed on. “It must be a hard life, even if it is rewarding. Do they leave their families behind as the Grisha do?”
She stiffened slightly. “They’re happy to do so.” She trailed a hand over the water. “I think it’s hardest for the twins.”
“Twins?”
“They’re very common among our people.” She bobbed her head
toward Tolya. “Like the Keb-Bataar.”
“It’s an interesting word, kebben. We don’t have one like it in Ravkan.” It could mean close kin or twin, but also someone bound to your heart.
Ehri closed her eyes and recited, “Everyone mourns the first blossom.
Who will weep for the rest that fall?”
Isaak couldn’t help but smile. It seemed Tolya’s advice would come in handy after all. “I will remain to sing for you, long after the spring has gone.”
“You know it?” Ehri said in surprise.
“I learned it when I was first studying Shu.” It was a poem simply titled “Kebben’a,” and there was considerable debate over whether the title should be translated as My Dear or My Kin or My Only.
“It’s an old poem, long out of fashion, but it describes the spirit of
kebben well.”
“I believe it was set to music,” Isaak said. “I’ve been told you play the
khatuur?”
She bunched her hands in her silks, her expression tightening again. “Yes,” she said curtly. What had he done wrong?
“I’ve found …” he fumbled, afraid he might be about to botch everything horribly. “I’ve found that this position, this life of display, can take the savor from many things I once enjoyed.”
For a moment Ehri looked startled, even frightened, then something sparked in her eyes and she leaned forward. “I know,” she whispered. “At least if we were guards, we could spend the day doing something more exciting.”
“We could go riding.” “Eat with our fingers.”
Ehri lowered her chin and whispered, “Belch.” “With fervor.”
“We could—oh dear,” said Ehri. “I think we have company.”
And sure enough down both garden paths he saw the hopefuls and their chaperones approaching like a flock of beautifully dressed birds of prey. “Someone must have reported we were in private conversation.”
“Perhaps they’ll all throw themselves into the pond to get your attention,” whispered Ehri, and Isaak had to resist the urge to laugh again.
“What amuses the king so?” asked the Fjerdan princess as she
approached, her fan fashioned to resemble an elegant spray of frost. “Many things, I must confess,” said Isaak. “The king is a simple man.” It wasn’t true, but so little was these days.
