GUNFIRE SHATTERED the air around us, and Mal knocked me from my feet. I landed with my face in the mulch of the forest floor and felt his body shielding mine.
“Stay down!” he yelled.
I twisted my head to the side and saw the Grisha forming a ring around us. Harshaw was on the ground, but Stigg had his flint in hand, and flames shot through the air. Tamar and Tolya had charged into the fray. Zoya, Nadia, and Adrik had their hands up, and leaves lifted in gusts from the forest floor, but it was hard to tell friend from foe in the tangle of armed men.
There was a sudden thump beside us as someone swung down from the treetops. “What are you two doing barefoot and half naked in the mud?” asked a familiar voice. “Looking for truffles, I hope?”
Nikolai slashed through the bonds on our wrists and yanked me to my feet. “Next time I’ll try getting captured. Just to keep things interesting.” He tossed Mal a rifle. “Shall we?”
“I can’t tell who’s who!” I protested.
“We’re the side that’s hopelessly outnumbered.”
Unfortunately, I didn’t think he was kidding. As the ranks shifted and I got my wits about me, it was easier to distinguish Nikolai’s men by their pale blue armbands. They’d cut a swath through Luchenko’s militia, but even without their leader, the enemy was rallying.
I heard a shout. Nikolai’s men moved forward, driving the Grisha ahead of them. We were being herded.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“This is the part where we run,” Nikolai said pleasantly, but I could see the
strain on his dirt-smudged face.
We took off through the trees, trying to keep pace as Nikolai darted through the woods. I couldn’t tell where we were headed. Toward the creek? The road? I’d lost all sense of direction.
I looked behind me, counting the others, making sure we were together. The Squallers were summoning in tandem, knocking trees into the militia’s path. Stigg trailed them, sending up spurts of flame. David had somehow managed to retrieve his pack and staggered beneath its bulk as he ran beside Genya.
“Leave it!” I yelled, but if he heard, he ignored me.
Tolya had Harshaw thrown over his shoulder, and the weight of the big Inferni was slowing his stride. A soldier was gaining on him, saber drawn. Tamar vaulted onto a fallen trunk, took aim with her pistol, and fired. A second later, the militiaman clutched his chest and crumpled midstride. Oncat darted past the body, fast on Tolya’s heels.
“Where’s Sergei?” I shouted, just as I glimpsed him lagging behind, his expression dazed. Tamar backtracked, dodging falling trees and fire, and forcibly pulled him along. I couldn’t hear what she was yelling, but I didn’t think it was gentle encouragement.
I stumbled. Mal caught my elbow and shoved me forward, turning to squeeze off two shots from his rifle. Then we were pouring into a barley field. Despite the heat of the late afternoon sun, the field was shrouded in mist.
We pelted over the marshy soil until Nikolai shouted, “Here!”
We skidded to a halt, sending up sprays of dirt. Here? We were in the middle of an empty field with nothing but fog for cover and a throng of militiamen hungry for revenge and fortune on our heels.
I heard two shrill whistle blasts. The ground rocked beneath me. “Hold on tight!” Nikolai said.
“To what?” I yelped.
And then we were rising. Cables snapped into place beside us as the field itself seemed to lift. I looked up—the mist was parting, and a massive craft hovered directly over our heads, its cargo hold open. It was some kind of shallow barge, equipped with sails at one end and suspended beneath a huge, oblong bladder.
“What the hell is that?” Mal said.
“The Pelican,” said Nikolai. “Well, a prototype of the Pelican. Trick seems to be getting the balloon not to collapse.”
“And did you solve that little problem?” “For the most part.”
The soil beneath us fell away, and I saw we were standing on a swaying platform made of some kind of metal mesh. We rose higher—ten, then fifteen feet above the ground. A bullet pinged against the metal.
We took up spots at the edge of the platform, clutching the cables while trying to take aim at the mob firing up at us.
“Let’s go!” I shouted. “Why aren’t we getting out of range?” Nikolai and Mal exchanged a glance.
“They know we have the Sun Saint,” Nikolai said. Mal nodded, snatched up a pistol, and gave Tolya and Tamar a swift nudge.
“What are you doing?” I asked, suddenly panicked.
“We can’t leave survivors,” Mal said. Then he dove from the edge. I screamed, but he tucked into a roll and came up firing.
Tolya and Tamar followed, cutting through the remaining ranks of militia while Nikolai and his crew tried to lend cover from above. I saw one of the militiamen break free and run for the woods. Tolya put a bullet through his victim’s back, and before the body had even hit the ground, the giant was turning, his hand forming a fist as he crushed the heart of another knife- wielding soldier looming up behind him.
Tamar charged directly into Ekaterina. Her axes flashed twice, and the militiawoman fell, her topknot drifting down beside her lifeless form, attached to a piece of scalp. Another man lifted his pistol, taking aim at Tamar, but Mal was on him, knife slicing mercilessly across his throat. I am become a blade. And then there was no one left, only bodies in a field.
“Come on!” Nikolai called as the platform drifted higher. He tossed down a cable. Mal braced his feet against the ground, holding the rope taut so Tamar and Tolya could shinny up. As soon as the twins were on the platform, Mal hooked his ankle and wrist in the cable and they bent to haul him in.
That was when I saw movement behind him. A man had risen from the dirt, covered in mud and blood, saber held out before him.
“Mal!” I cried. But it was too late, his limbs were tangled in the rope.
The soldier released a roar and slashed out. Mal put up a useless hand to
defend himself.
Light flashed off the soldier’s blade. His arm stopped midswing, and the saber dropped from his fingertips. Then his body came apart, splitting down the middle as if someone had drawn a near perfect line from the top of his head all the way to his groin, a line that gleamed bright as he fell in pieces.
Mal looked up. I stood at the edge of the platform, my hands still glowing with the power of the Cut. I swayed. Nikolai yanked me back before I could tip over the edge. I broke free of him, scooting to the far end of the platform and vomiting off the other side.
I clung to the cool metal, feeling like a coward. Mal and the twins had leapt into that battle to make sure the Darkling wouldn’t learn our location. They hadn’t hesitated. They’d killed with ruthless efficiency. I’d taken one life, and I was curled up like a child, wiping sick from my lip.
Stigg sent fire licking over the bodies in the field. I hadn’t stopped to think that a body sliced in half would give away my presence just as surely as an informant.
Moments later, the platform was hauled up into the Pelican’s cargo hold, and we were under way. When we emerged above deck, the sun was shining off the port side as we climbed into the clouds. Nikolai shouted commands. One team of Squallers manned the giant lozenge of a balloon, while another filled the sails with wind. Tidemakers shrouded the base of the craft in mist to keep us from being spotted by anyone on the ground. I recognized some of the rogue Grisha from the days when Nikolai had masqueraded as Sturmhond and Mal and I had been prisoners aboard his ship.
This craft was larger and less graceful than the Hummingbird or the Kingfisher. I soon learned that it had been built to transport cargo—shipments of Zemeni weapons that Nikolai was smuggling over the northern and southern borders and occasionally through the Fold. It wasn’t constructed of wood but some lightweight Fabrikator-made substance that sent David into a tizzy. He actually lay down on the deck to get a better view, tapping here and there. “It’s some kind of cured resin, but it’s been reinforced with … carbon fibers?”
“Glass,” said Nikolai, looking thoroughly pleased by David’s enthusiasm. “More flexible!” David said in near ecstasy.
“What can I say?” asked Genya drily. “He’s a passionate man.”
Genya’s presence worried me a little, but Nikolai had never seen her scarred, and he didn’t seem to recognize her. I circulated with Nadia, whispering a few reminders to our Grisha about not using her real name.
A crewman offered me a cup of fresh water so that I could rinse out my mouth and wash my face and hands. I accepted it with cheeks burning, embarrassed over my display back on the platform.
When I was done, I leaned my elbows on the railing and peered through the mist at the landscape below—fields painted in the red and gold of autumn, the blue-gray glitter of the river cities and their bustling ports. Such was the mad power of Nikolai that I barely thought twice about the fact that we were flying. I’d been aboard his smaller crafts, and I definitely preferred the feel of the Pelican. There was something stately about it. It might not get you anywhere quickly, but it wouldn’t capsize on a whim either.
From miles beneath the earth to miles above. I could scarcely believe any of it, that Nikolai had found us, that he was safe, that we were all here. A tide of relief washed over me, making my eyes fill.
“First vomit, then tears,” Nikolai said, coming up beside me. “Don’t tell me I’ve lost my touch.”
“I’m just happy you’re alive,” I said, hastily blinking my eyes clear. “Though I’m sure you can talk me out of it.”
“Glad to see you too. Word was you’d gone underground, but it was more like you’d vanished completely.”
“It did feel like being buried alive.” “Is the rest of your party there?” “This is it.”
“You can’t mean—”
“This is all that remains of the Second Army. The Darkling has his Grisha, and you have yours, but…” I trailed off.
Nikolai surveyed the deck. Mal and Tolya were deep in conversation with a member of Nikolai’s crew, helping to tie down ropes and maneuver a sail. Someone had found Mal a jacket, but he was still short a pair of boots. David was running his hands over the deck as if he were trying to disappear into it. The others were clustered into little groups: Genya was huddled with Nadia and the other Etherealki. Stigg had gotten stuck with Sergei, who slumped on the deck, his head buried in his hands. Tamar was seeing to Harshaw’s
wounds as Oncat dug her claws into his leg, her fur standing on end. The tabby obviously didn’t enjoy flying.
“All that remains,” Nikolai repeated.
“One Healer chose to stay underground.” After a long minute, I asked, “How did you find us?”
“I didn’t, really. Militias have been preying on our smuggling routes. We couldn’t afford to lose another shipment, so I came after Luchenko. Then Tamar was spotted in the square, and when we realized the camp they were moving on was yours, I thought why not get the girl—”
“And the guns?”
He grinned. “Exactly.”
“Thank goodness we had the foresight to be captured.” “Very quick thinking on your part. I commend you.” “How are the King and Queen?”
He snorted and said, “Fine. Bored. There’s little for them to do.” He adjusted the cuff of his coat. “They took Vasily’s loss hard.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. In truth, I’d spared little thought for Nikolai’s older brother.
“He brought it on himself, but I’m surprised to say I’m sorry too.” “I need to know—did you get Baghra out?”
“At great trouble and with little thanks. You might have warned me about her.”
“She’s a treat, isn’t she?”
“Like a fine plague.” He reached out and tugged on a lock of my white hair. “Bold choice.”
I pushed the loose strands behind my ear self-consciously. “It’s all the fashion underground.”
“Is it?”
“It happened during the battle. I hoped it might turn back, but it seems to be permanent.”
“My cousin Ludovic woke up with a white streak in his hair after he almost died in a house fire. Claimed the ladies found it very dashing. Of course, he also claimed the house fire was set by ghosts, so who can say.”
“Poor cousin Ludovic.”
Nikolai leaned back on the railing and studied the balloon tethered above
us. At first, I’d assumed it was canvas, but now I thought it might be silk coated with rubber. “Alina…,” he began. I was so unused to seeing Nikolai ill at ease that it took me a moment to realize he was struggling for words. “Alina, the night the palace was attacked, I did come back.”
Was that what was worrying him? That I thought he’d abandoned me? “I never doubted it. What did you see?”
“The grounds were dark when I flew over. Fires had broken out in a few places. I saw David’s dishes shattered on the roof and the lawn of the Little Palace. The chapel had collapsed. There were nichevo’ya crawling all over it. I thought we might be in trouble, but they didn’t spare the Kingfisher a second look.”
They wouldn’t, not with their master trapped and dying beneath a heap of rubble.
“I’d hoped there might be some way to retrieve Vasily’s body,” he said. “But it was no good. The whole place was overrun. What happened?”
“The nichevo’ya attacked the Little Palace. By the time I arrived, one of the dishes was already down.” I dug my nail into the rail of the ship, scratching a little half-moon. “We never had a chance.” I didn’t want to think about the main hall streaked with blood, the bodies strewn over the roof, the floor, the stairs—broken heaps of blue, red, and purple.
“And the Darkling?” “I tried to kill him.” “As one does.”
“By killing myself.” “I see.”
“I brought the chapel down,” I said. “You—”
“Well, the nichevo’ya did, at my command.” “You can command them?”
Already, I could see him calculating a possible advantage. Always the strategist.
“Don’t get excited,” I said. “I had to create my own nichevo’ya to do it.
And I had to be in direct contact with the Darkling.”
“Oh,” he said glumly. “But once you’ve found the firebird?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted, “but…” I hesitated. I’d never spoken this
thought aloud. Among Grisha it would be considered heresy. Still, I wanted to say the words, wanted Nikolai to hear them. I hoped he might understand the edge it would give us, even if he couldn’t grasp the hunger that drove me. “I think I may be able to build my own army.”
“Soldiers of light?” “That’s the idea.”
Nikolai was watching me. I could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “You once told me that merzost isn’t like the Small Science, that it carries a high price.” I nodded. “How high, Alina?”
I thought of a girl’s body crushed beneath a mirrored dish, her goggles askew, of Marie torn open in Sergei’s arms, of Genya huddling in her shawl. I thought of church walls, like pieces of bloody parchment, crowded with the names of the dead. It wasn’t just righteous fury that guided me, though. It was my need for the firebird—banked, but always burning.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said firmly. “I’ll pay it.” Nikolai considered this, then said, “Very well.” “That’s it? No sage words? No dire warnings?”
“Saints, Alina. I hope you weren’t looking to me to be the voice of reason. I keep to a strict diet of ill-advised enthusiasm and heartfelt regret.” He paused, his grin fading. “But I’m truly sorry for the soldiers you lost and that I didn’t do more that night.”
Below us, I could see the beginnings of the white reaches of the permafrost and, far beyond, the shape of mountains in the distance. “What could you have done, Nikolai? You would have just gotten yourself killed. You still might.” It was harsh, but it was also the truth. Against the Darkling’s shadow soldiers, everyone—no matter how brilliant or resourceful—was close to helpless.
“You never know,” said Nikolai. “I’ve been busy. I might have some surprises in store for the Darkling yet.”
“Please tell me you plan to dress up as a volcra and jump out of a cake.” “Well, now you’ve ruined the surprise.” He pushed off the railing. “I need
to pilot us over the border.” “The border?”
“We’re heading into Fjerda.”
“Oh, good. Enemy territory. And here I was starting to relax.”
“These are my skies,” Nikolai said with a wink. Then he strolled across the deck, whistling a familiar, off-key tune.
I’d missed him. The way he talked. The way he attacked a problem. The way he brought hope with him wherever he went. For the first time in months, I felt the knot in my chest ease.
Once we crossed the border, I’d thought we might head for the coast or even West Ravka, but soon we were tacking toward the mountain range I’d glimpsed. From my days as a mapmaker, I knew they were the northernmost peaks of the Sikurzoi, the range that stretched across most of Ravka’s eastern and southern border. The Fjerdans called them the Elbjen, the Elbows, though as we drew closer, it was hard to tell why. They were massive, snowcapped things, all white ice and gray rock. They would have dwarfed the Petrazoi. If those were elbows, I didn’t want to know what they were attached to.
We climbed higher. The air grew frigid as we drifted into the thick cloud cover that hid the steepest peaks. When we emerged above it, I released an awed gasp. Here, the few mountaintops tall enough to pierce the clouds seemed to float like islands in a white sea. The tallest looked like it was clutched by huge fingers of frost, and as we arced around it, I thought I saw shapes in the ice. A narrow stone staircase zigzagged up the cliff face. What lunatic would make that climb? And for what possible purpose?
We rounded the mountain, drawing closer and closer to the rock. Just as I was about to call out in panic, we rolled hard to the right. Suddenly, we were between two frozen walls. The Pelican swerved and we entered an echoing stone hangar.
Nikolai really had been busy. We crowded at the railing, gaping at the hectic bustle around us. Three other crafts were docked in the hangar: a second cargo barge like the Pelican, the sleek Kingfisher, and a similar vessel that bore the name Bittern.
“It’s a kind of heron,” said Mal, pulling on a pair of borrowed boots. “They’re smaller. Sneaky.” Like the Kingfisher, the Bittern had double hulls, though they were flatter and wider at the base, and equipped with what looked like sled runners.
Nikolai’s crew threw lines over the Pelican’s rail, and workers ran forward to catch them, stretching them taut and tying them to steel hooks secured in the hangar’s walls and floor. We touched down with a thud and a deafening
screech as hull scraped against stone.
David frowned disapprovingly. “Too much weight.” “Don’t look at me,” said Tolya.
As soon as we came to a halt, Tolya and Tamar leapt from the railings, already calling out greetings to crewmen and workers they must have recognized from their time aboard the Volkvolny. The rest of us waited for the gangway to be lowered, then shuffled off the barge.
“Impressive,” Mal said.
I shook my head in wonder. “How does he do it?”
“Want to know my secret?” Nikolai asked from behind us. We both jumped. He leaned in, looked from left to right, and whispered loudly, “I have a lot of money.”
I rolled my eyes.
“No, really,” he protested. “A lot of money.”
Nikolai gave orders to the waiting dockworkers for repairs and then led our ragged, wide-eyed band to a doorway in the rock.
“Everybody in,” he said. Confused, we crowded into the little rectangular room. The walls looked like they were made of iron. Nikolai pulled a gate closed across the entry.
“You’re on my foot,” Zoya complained grumpily, but we were all wedged in so tightly it was hard to tell who she was angry at.
“What is this?” I asked.
Nikolai dropped a lever, and we let loose a collective scream as the room shot upward, taking my stomach with it.
We jolted to a halt. My gut slammed back down to my shoes, and the gate slid open. Nikolai stepped out, doubled over with laughter. “I never tire of that.”
We piled out of the box as fast as we could—all except for David, who lingered to fiddle with the lever mechanism.
“Careful there,” Nikolai called. “The trip down is bumpier than the trip up.”
Genya took David’s arm and yanked him clear.
“Saints,” I swore. “I forgot how often I want to stab you.”
“So I haven’t lost my touch.” He glanced at Genya and said quietly, “What happened to that girl?”
“Long story,” I hedged. “Please tell me there are stairs. I’d rather set up permanent house here than ever get back in that thing.”
“Of course there are stairs, but they’re less entertaining. And once you’ve dragged yourself up and down four flights of them enough, you’ll find you’re far more open-minded.”
I was about to argue, but as I took a good look around, the words died on my tongue. If the hangar had been impressive, then this was simply miraculous.
It was the biggest room I’d ever been in—twice, maybe three times as wide and as tall as the domed hall in the Little Palace. It wasn’t even a room, I realized. We were standing at the top of a hollowed-out mountain.
Now I understood what I had seen as we approached aboard the Pelican. The frost fingers were actually enormous bronze columns cast in the shapes of people and creatures. They towered above us, bracketing huge panels of glass that looked out on the ocean of cloud below. The glass was so clear that it gave the space an eerie sense of openness, as if a wind might blow through and send me tumbling into the nothingness beyond. My heart started to hammer.
“Deep breaths,” Nikolai said. “It can be overwhelming at first.”
The room was teeming with people. Some bunched in groups where drafting tables and bits of machinery had been set up. Others were marking crates of supplies in a kind of makeshift warehouse. Another area had been set aside for training; soldiers sparred with dulled swords while others summoned Squaller winds or cast Inferni flame. Through the glass, I saw terraces protruding in four directions, giant spikes like compass points— north, south, east, west. Two had been set aside for target practice. It was hard not to compare it to the damp, cloistered caverns of the White Cathedral. Everything here was bursting with life and hope. It all bore Nikolai’s stamp.
“What is this place?” I asked as we slowly made our way through.
“It was originally a pilgrimage site, back when Ravka’s borders extended farther north,” Nikolai replied. “The Monastery of Sankt Demyan.”
Sankt Demyan of the Rime. At least that explained the winding staircase we’d glimpsed. Only faith or fear could get anyone to make that climb. I remembered Demyan’s page from the Istorii Sankt’ya. He’d performed some kind of miracle near the northern border. I was pretty sure he’d been stoned to
death.
“A few hundred years ago, it was turned into an observatory,” Nikolai continued. He pointed to a hulking brass telescope tucked into one of the glass niches. “It’s been abandoned for over a century. I heard about it during the Halmhend campaign, but it took some finding. Now we just call it the Spinning Wheel.”
Then it struck me: the bronze columns were constellations—the Hunter with his drawn bow, the Scholar bent in study, the Three Foolish Sons, huddled together, trying to share a single coat. The Bursar, the Bear, the Beggar. The Shorn Maiden wielding her bone needle. Twelve in all: the spokes of the Spinning Wheel.
I had to crane my neck all the way back to get a view of the glass dome high above us. The sun was setting and through it, I could see the sky turning a lush, deep blue. If I squinted, I could just make out a twelve-pointed star at the dome’s center.
“So much glass,” I whispered, my head reeling. “But no frost,” Mal noted.
“Heated pipes,” David said. “They’re in the floor. Probably embedded in the columns too.”
It was hotter in this room. Still cold enough that I wouldn’t want to part with my coat or my hat, but my feet were warm through my boots.
“There are boilers beneath us,” Nikolai said. “The whole place runs on melted snow and steam heat. The problem is fuel, but I’ve been stockpiling coal.”
“For how long?”
“Two years. We started repairs when I had the lower caverns turned into hangars. It’s not an ideal vacation spot, but sometimes you just want to get away.”
I was impressed, but also unnerved. Being around Nikolai was always like this, watching him shift and change, revealing secrets as he went. He reminded me of the wooden nesting dolls I’d played with as a child. Except instead of getting smaller, he just kept getting grander and more mysterious. Tomorrow, he’d probably tell me he’d built a pleasure palace on the moon. Tough to get to, but quite a view.
“Have a look around,” Nikolai said to us. “Get a feel for the place.
Nevsky’s unloading cargo in the hangar, and I need to take care of repairs to the hull.” I remembered Nevsky. He’d been a soldier in Nikolai’s old regiment, the Twenty-Second, and not particularly fond of Grisha.
“I’d like to see Baghra,” I said. “You’re sure about that?”
“Not remotely.”
“I’ll take you to her. Good practice should I ever need to walk someone to the gallows. And after you’ve had your fill of punishment, you and Oretsev can join me for dinner.”
“Thank you,” Mal said, “but I should look into outfitting our expedition to retrieve the firebird.”
There’d been a time, not so long ago, that Mal would have bristled at the thought of leaving me alone with Prince Perfect, but Nikolai had the grace not to register surprise. “Of course. I’ll send Nevsky to you when he’s done. He can help arrange your accommodations as well.” He clapped a hand on Mal’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Oretsev.”
The smile Mal returned was genuine. “You too. Thanks for the rescue.” “Everyone needs a hobby.”
“I thought yours was preening.” “Two hobbies.”
They clasped hands briefly, then Mal bowed and moved off with the group. “Should I be offended that he doesn’t want to dine with us?” Nikolai
asked. “I set an excellent table, and I rarely drool.” I didn’t want to discuss it. “Baghra,” I prodded.
“He was impressive in that barley field,” Nikolai continued, taking my elbow to steer me back the way we’d come. “Better with a sword and gun than I’ve ever seen him.”
I remembered what the Apparat had said: Men fight for Ravka because the King commands it. Mal had always been a gifted tracker, but he’d been a soldier because we were all soldiers, because we had no choice. What was he fighting for now? I thought of him diving from the mesh platform, his knife moving across the militiaman’s throat. I am become a blade.
I shrugged, eager to change the subject. “There’s not much to do underground besides train.”
“I can think of a few more interesting ways to spend one’s time.”
“Is that supposed to be innuendo?”
“What a filthy mind you have. I was referring to puzzles and the perusal of edifying texts.”
“I’m not getting back in that iron box,” I said as we approached the door in the rock. “So you better be taking me to the stairs.”
“Why does everyone always say that?”
I heaved a sigh of relief as we descended a broad, delightfully stationary set of stone steps. Nikolai led me through a curving passage, and I shrugged off my coat, beginning to sweat. The floor directly below the observatory was considerably warmer, and as we passed a wide doorway, I spotted a maze of steaming boilers that glowed and hissed in the dark. Even the ever-polished Nikolai had a fine mist of perspiration on his elegant features.
We were most definitely headed to Baghra’s lair. The woman never seemed to be able to keep warm. I wondered if it was because she so rarely used her power. I’d certainly never been able to shake the chill of the White Cathedral.
Nikolai stopped at an iron door. “Last chance to run.” “Go on,” I said. “Save yourself.”
He sighed. “Remember me as a hero.” He knocked lightly on the door, and we entered.
I had the disconcerting sense that we’d stepped right back into Baghra’s hut at the Little Palace. There she sat, huddled by a tile oven, dressed in the same faded kefta, her hand resting on the cane she’d taken such pleasure in whacking me with. The same servant boy was reading to her, and I felt a burst of shame when I realized I hadn’t even thought to ask if he’d made it out of Os Alta. The boy left off as Nikolai cleared his throat.
“Baghra,” Nikolai said, “how are you this evening?” “Still old and blind,” she snarled.
“And charming,” Nikolai drawled. “Never forget charming.” “Whelp.”
“Hag.”
“What do you want, pest?”
“I’ve brought someone to visit,” Nikolai said, giving me a push. Why was I so nervous?
“Hello, Baghra,” I managed.
She paused, motionless. “The little Saint,” she murmured, “returned to save us all.”
“Well, she did almost die trying to rid us of your cursed spawn,” Nikolai said lightly. I blinked. So Nikolai knew Baghra was the Darkling’s mother.
“Couldn’t even manage martyrdom right, could you?” Baghra waved me in. “Come in and shut the door, girl. You’re letting the heat out.” I grinned at this familiar refrain. “And you,” she spat in Nikolai’s direction. “Go somewhere you’re wanted.”
“That’s hardly limiting,” he said. “Alina, I’ll be back to fetch you for dinner, but should you grow restless, do feel free to run screaming from the room or take a dagger to her. Whatever seems most fitting at the time.”
“Are you still here?” snapped Baghra.
“I go but hope to remain in your heart,” he said solemnly. Then he winked and disappeared.
“Wretched boy.”
“You like him,” I said in disbelief.
Baghra scowled. “Greedy. Arrogant. Takes too many risks.” “You almost sound concerned.”
“You like him too, little Saint,” she said with a leer in her voice.
“I do,” I admitted. “He’s been kind when he might have been cruel. It’s refreshing.”
“He laughs too much.” “There are worse traits.”
“Like arguing with your elders?” she growled. Then she thumped her stick on the floor. “Boy, go fetch me something sweet.”
The servant hopped to his feet and set down his book. I caught him as he raced past me for the door. “Just a moment,” I said. “What’s your name?”
“Misha,” he replied. He was in desperate need of a haircut, but otherwise looked well enough.
“How old are you?” “Eight.”
“Seven,” snapped Baghra. “Almost eight,” he conceded.
He was small for his age. “Do you remember me?”
With a tentative hand he reached out and touched the antlers at my neck,
then nodded solemnly. “Sankta Alina,” he breathed. His mother had taught him that I was a Saint, and apparently Baghra’s contempt hadn’t convinced him otherwise. “Do you know where my mother is?” he asked.
“I don’t. I’m sorry.” He didn’t even look surprised. Maybe that was the answer he’d come to expect. “How are you finding it here?”
His eyes slid to Baghra, then back to me. “It’s all right,” I said. “Be honest.” “There’s no one to play with.”
I felt a little pang, remembering the lonely days at Keramzin before Mal had arrived, the older orphans who’d had little interest in another scrawny refugee. “That may change soon. Until then, would you like to learn to fight?” “Servants aren’t allowed to fight,” he said, but I could see he liked the
idea.
“I’m the Sun Summoner, and you have my permission.” I ignored Baghra’s snort. “If you go find Malyen Oretsev, he’ll see about getting you a practice sword.”
Before I could blink, the boy was tearing out of the room, practically tripping over his own feet in his excitement.
When he was gone, I said, “His mother?”
“A servant at the Little Palace.” Baghra gathered her shawl closer around her. “It’s possible she survived. There’s no way of knowing.”
“How is he taking it?”
“How do you think? Nikolai had to drag him screaming onto that accursed craft. Though that may just have been good sense. At least he cries less now.” As I moved the book to sit beside her, I glanced at the title. Religious parables. Poor kid. Then I turned my attention to Baghra. She’d put on a bit of weight, sat straighter in her chair. Getting out of the Little Palace had done
her good, even if she’d just found another hot cave to hide in. “You look well.”
“I wouldn’t know,” she said sourly. “Did you mean what you said to Misha? Are you thinking of bringing the students here?” The children from the Grisha school at Os Alta had been evacuated to Keramzin, along with their teachers and Botkin, my old combat instructor. Their safety had been nagging at me for months, and now I was in a position to do something about it.
“If Nikolai agrees to house them at the Spinning Wheel, would you consider teaching them?”
“Hmph,” she said with a scowl. “Someone has to. Who knows what garbage they’ve been learning with that bunch.”
I smiled. Progress, indeed. But my smile vanished when Baghra rapped me on the knee with her stick. “Ow!” I yelped. The woman’s aim was uncanny.
“Give me your wrists.”
“I don’t have the firebird.”
She lifted her stick again, but I flinched out of the way. “All right, all right.” I took her hand and laid it on my bare wrist. As she groped nearly up to my elbow, I asked, “How does Nikolai know you’re the Darkling’s mother?”
“He asked. He’s more observant than the rest of you fools.” She must have been satisfied that I wasn’t somehow hiding the third amplifier, because she dropped my wrist with a grunt.
“And you just told him?”
Baghra sighed. “These are my son’s secrets,” she said wearily. “It’s not my job to keep them any longer.” Then she leaned back. “So you failed to kill him once more.”
“Yes.”
“I cannot say I’m sorry. In the end, I’m even weaker than you, little Saint.” I hesitated, then blurted, “I used merzost.”
Her shadow eyes flew open. “You what?”
“I … I didn’t do it myself. I used the connection between us, the one created by the collar, to control the Darkling’s power. I created nichevo’ya.”
Baghra’s hands scrambled for mine. She seized my wrists in a painful grip. “You must not do this, girl. You must not trifle with this kind of power. This is what created the Fold. Only misery can come of it.”
“I may not have a choice, Baghra. We know the location of the firebird, or at least we think we do. Once we find it—”
“You’ll sacrifice another ancient life for the sake of your own power.” “Maybe not,” I protested weakly. “I showed the stag mercy. Maybe the
firebird doesn’t have to die.”
“Listen to you. This is not some children’s story. The stag had to die for you to claim its power. The firebird is no different, and this time the blood
will be on your hands.” Then she laughed her low, mirthless chuckle. “The thought doesn’t bother you as much as it should, does it, girl?”
“No,” I admitted.
“Have you no care for what there is to lose? For the damage you may cause?”
“I do,” I said miserably. “I do. But I’m out of options, and even if I weren’t
—”
She dropped my hands. “You would seek it just the same.”
“I won’t deny it. I want the firebird. I want the amplifiers’ combined power. But it doesn’t change the fact that no human army can stand against the Darkling’s shadow soldiers.”
“Abomination against abomination.”
If that was what it took. Too much had been lost for me to turn away from any weapon that might make me strong enough to win this fight. With or without Baghra’s help, I would have to find a way to wield merzost.
I hesitated. “Baghra, I’ve read Morozova’s journals.” “Have you, now? Did you find them stimulating reading?” “No, I found them infuriating.”
To my surprise, she laughed. “My son pored over those pages as if they were holy writ. He must have read through them a thousand times, questioning every word. He began to think there were codes hidden in the text. He held the pages over flame searching for invisible ink. In the end, he cursed Morozova’s name.”
As had I. Only David’s obsession persisted. It had nearly gotten him killed today when he’d insisted on dragging that pack with him.
I hated to ask it, hated to even put the possibility into words, but I forced myself to. “Is there … is there any chance Morozova left the cycle unfinished? Is there a chance he never created the third amplifier?”
For a while, she was silent, her expression distant, her blind gaze locked on something I couldn’t see. “Morozova never could have left that undone,” she said softly. “It wasn’t his way.”
Something in her words lifted the hairs on my arms. A memory came to me: Baghra putting her hands to the collar on my neck at the Little Palace. I would have liked to see his stag.
“Baghra—”
A voice came from the doorway: “Moi soverenyi.” I looked up at Mal, annoyed at being interrupted.
“What is it?” I asked, recognizing the edge that came into my voice whenever the firebird was concerned.
“There’s a problem with Genya,” he said. “And the King.”
