King of Scars

by Leigh Bardugo

  Genya had told him that if he got caught unawares in any situation, his best approach was to say, “I beg your pardon?” with as much haughty grandeur as possible.

  Isaak deployed that strategy now, looking down his nose with ferocious disdain. “I beg your pardon? Didn’t I recently drag your sodden daughter from a pond?”

  Schenck was not deterred. “Did you really think we would be fooled by that bit of theater last night? You were close to completing the submersibles and the missile system when we received our information months ago, and we all know that you do not rest until your inventions are perfected. You cannot continue to flirt like a debutante at a ball. We will have our prototype or you will be treated like the pauper state you are.”

  Nikolai Lantsov would never have stood for such an insult. He would have replied with the perfect words to make Schenck quake with fear and wish he’d never opened his mouth.

  “I beg your pardon,” Isaak said firmly, and stepped past Schenck to the safety of the open door.

  He hurried out of the room, gut churning, and found the twins waiting in the hall to escort him over the next dismaying hurdle.

  “The Kerch didn’t buy last night’s performance,” he said as they strode down the corridor.

  “We know,” said Tamar. “We were listening.”

  “Maybe the wayward missiles were too much,” Tolya said.

  Isaak straightened his plum-colored coat. “What do we do now?”

  “I don’t know,” admitted Tamar. “Let’s just get through the afternoon.”

  A few more days, Isaak told himself. A few more parties. I can do this.

  But where was the king?

  The previous night, after he’d gone to change into dry clothes, he’d overheard the others talking in the sitting room.

  “We just have to get past the closing ball,” Tamar had said as she put her arm around Genya. “Then we’ll make a decision.”

  “How can there be no sign of them at all?” Genya asked with a soft sniffle. “It’s been nearly three weeks. People don’t just disappear. I never thought I would say this, but I miss Zoya.”

  “Me too,” said Tolya. “Even though I know she’d kick me for wasting time worrying about her.”

  “I think the Apparat knows something,” Tamar said. “He sent a request for an audience with the king to hear about his pilgrimage and demanding information on Yuri. The priest won’t be put off forever and he’s been gone from the city too much for my liking. He has his own warren of tunnels leading in and out of the capital. There are too many places for him to hide.”

  “We could get him more involved with the guests,” said Tolya. “Ask him to perform a service—”

  But Tamar had cut him off. “We can’t afford to let the priest near Isaak. He’s too canny for that.”

  “Perhaps we should have him killed,” said David.

  Genya had burst into fresh tears. “When you say that, it just makes me miss Zoya more.”

  What comes next? Isaak wondered. He might make it through the afternoon, he might well make it through this whole series of parties and pomp without inciting any more disasters. But that didn’t mean he was capable of governing a country or even serving as some kind of figurehead while Genya and the others did the real ruling.

  He rounded a corner into the portrait gallery and came upon Princess Ehri and several of her guards—just as the twins’ lookout had said he would. Isaak did his best to feign surprise as he greeted the princess and made small talk about the morning’s entertainments.

  “We found the weather too brisk for the garden party,” said Ehri. “So we thought we might stroll through the portrait gallery.”

  “How are you finding the paintings?”

  “They’re all very stern.”

  Just don’t look too closely, thought Isaak. “Perhaps I can offer you a tour of this wing of the palace?” He could have sworn he felt the approval of her guards. They really must report Ehri’s successes and failures back to her sister.

  They passed through the blue splendor of the lapis drawing room and the concert hall and then through some of the humbler parts of the palace: the musty trophy room, its walls crowded with stags’ antlers and the heads of various big game; the armory with its old-fashioned saddles and swords; and, at last, the training rooms.

  “Come, let’s step inside,” he suggested. The words sounded awkward and staged to his ears, but at least he knew she had a fondness for axes.

  “Is this where your guards train?”

  “Yes,” said Isaak. He himself had trained here and practiced with the king. “Tamar, perhaps you could give us a demonstration?”

  Tamar took two dulled axes from the wall. “You,” she said, pointing at one of the Tavgharad. She was young, her face serious, the chin sharply pointed. This had to be Mayu Kir-Kaat, whose twin brother had gone missing and who, perhaps, had tired of service to the Shu crown.

  One of the older women stepped forward. “I will gladly spar with you.” She had a long scar across her elegant nose.

  Tamar cocked her head. “Is there only one lioness in this pride?”

  “I will fight her,” said the pointy-chinned girl.

  “Mayu,” said another of the guards softly.

  But Mayu stepped forward, undeterred—or perhaps anticipating the invitation.

  An uncomfortable current passed through the room.

  “Perhaps we should spar too,” said Isaak. The twins wanted the Tavgharad watching Ehri, not Tamar and Mayu. He plucked a wooden sword from the wall.

  “I have little talent for combat,” said Ehri nervously.

  “I thought all of the Taban family were trained to defend themselves.”

  “Of course. But my sisters are the better warriors.”

  “Maybe I can teach you a thing or two.” Isaak didn’t want to push her, but he also knew Tamar was relying on him to create a distraction while she attempted to speak to Mayu. A friendly chat while sparring wasn’t ideal, but there was no other way to get one of the Tavgharad alone.

  Isaak tossed Ehri a practice sword, and she snatched it from the air with ease. He heard a murmur of disapproval from the Tavgharad.

  “Princess—” the older woman began.

  But Ehri was already on the attack.

  She had radically understated her talents. She was a gifted swordswoman and moved without a hint of hesitation. Distantly he heard the grunts of the other fighters and dared a glance at them. He saw Tamar handily knock Mayu on her behind. She leaned low when she helped the girl up, and he could only hope they were exchanging the words they needed to—assuming Mayu was the guard who wished to defect.

  Then the flat of Ehri’s sword struck him in the gut and his breath left him with an audible oof.

  Ehri raised a brow. “Ravka’s king lacks focus.”

  “How could anyone not be distracted by your beauty?” A weak riposte at best.

  Ehri just laughed. She seemed more relaxed than he had ever seen her.

  “You have a different fighting style than I expected,” she said. Probably because you expected a king raised from birth to wield a sword, thought Isaak. Instead she was getting a tutor’s son who hadn’t touched a blade until he had been drafted.

  “I might say the same of you,” he replied honestly. He had the sense that she was holding back, though he couldn’t be sure. Were all the Shu princesses trained to wield a blade so well? He would be teaching her nothing.

  Isaak heard a cry from over his shoulder, and both he and Ehri turned to see Mayu doubled over and gasping for breath.

  “Enough!” said the older Shu guard harshly.

  “My apologies,” Tamar said with a deep bow.

  “And mine as well,” added Isaak. What had happened? Had Tamar gotten the information she sought? Was this all part of the plan? “I can take you to our infirmary. We—”

  “No,” gasped Mayu Kir-Kaat. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Please,” said Isaak. “I would hate to think on
e of my guests was harmed in what should have been a bit of good fun.”

  “It was an accident,” said Princess Ehri. “We all know this.”

  For a moment, the room bristled with tension as if trouble were racing from mind to mind, looking for a place to take hold.

  “If I may, Princess,” said Mayu, straightening. “Among the Shu, amends would have to be made.”

  Tamar frowned. “What did you have in mind?”

  The guard exchanged a glance with Ehri. “Perhaps a private dinner?”

  Tamar shook her head. “That would be seen as a sign of favoritism among the other hopefuls.”

  Ehri looked uneasy. “We don’t want to cause problems for the king.”

  “Surely the others wouldn’t need to know,” said Isaak before he thought better of it.

  Tamar’s frown deepened, but she said, “Of course, Your Highness.”

  When Ehri and her guards had gone, Tamar’s frown vanished. She punched him on the arm. “Well done. Another opportunity to chase information.” But his expression must have shown his disappointment, because Tamar drew back. “Oh no. Isaak, you witless podge. You like her, don’t you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, feeling his cheeks heat. “I know the game we’re playing. What did you learn from Mayu?”

  “Nothing.” Tamar’s gaze grew thoughtful. “I told her I had heard she was keb and asked after her twin brother, but she gave me very little, only that they were from the Bol province.”

  “Maybe she’s not the one.”

  “Possible. She was scared of something though, and she doesn’t fight as well as I’d expect. I didn’t mean to hurt her, but I misjudged her reaction times. She’s young and new to the ranks, so it’s natural for her to be a lesser fighter than the other Tavgharad. But if she’s failing in her training, she might be looking to get out before they throw her out.”

  “Would she just go into the regular military?”

  “After witnessing the Taban at their most vulnerable? Absolutely not. She would be exiled for her failure. She’d never see her brother or the rest of her family again.” Tamar returned her sword to the wall. “It could be someone else. Or no one else. Our intelligence networks in Shu aren’t what they should be. I’ll try to make sure I have time alone with each of the Tavgharad during your romantic interlude with the princess. Just make it a nice long meal.”

  “If I must.”

  “Yuyeh sesh, Isaak,” Tamar said as she gestured for a servant to put the practice room back in order.

  Despise your heart. A Shu saying. Do what has to be done. He knew how he was supposed to reply, the way a Shu soldier would reply, maybe the way a king would reply: Niweh sesh. I have no heart. But the words that came to mind instead were of the “Kebben’a” and the first blossom’s fall.

  He was not a Shu warrior, and he was not a Ravkan king. He was just a peasant boy who wanted to have dinner with a girl who had been kind to him.

  Isaak left the room in silence.

  * * *

  When Isaak met with Genya and David and the twins that night in his sitting room, he expected them to be excited over the prospect of his secret dinner with Ehri. Instead, it was as if he’d walked into a wake.

  “What is it?” he asked. “Is it the king?”

  Tolya looked grim, Tamar’s expression was murderous, and Genya looked like she’d aged twenty years. Even David had put aside his reading and looked, if not like the world was ending, at least mildly concerned.

  “We’ve had news from Fjerda,” said Tamar. “They’re preparing to march on Ravka. It could be a week or a month, but war is coming.”

  Isaak sat down hard. War. They’d barely had three years of peace.

  “It gets worse,” said Tolya. “They’re marching under the Lantsov banner.”

  Isaak looked up at him. “I don’t understand.”

  “Their rulers have declared for Vadik Demidov.”

  “Who?”

  “He says he is a Lantsov cousin and the rightful heir to Ravka’s throne.”

  “But that’s nonsense. Even if he is a Lantsov—”

  “His claim is supported by a man named Magnus Opjer,” said Genya, “a Fjerdan shipping magnate.”

  “He was once an emissary to Ravka,” Tamar continued. “Opjer says he had an affair with the Ravkan queen. He claims he is Nikolai’s true father.”

  “That can’t be,” protested Isaak. “It’s just Fjerdan propaganda.”

  “He has her letters,” Genya said quietly. “If they can be authenticated—”

  “Even if they can’t,” said Tamar. “It’s enough pretext for the Fjerdans.”

  “No,” Isaak said, and stood, though he wasn’t sure why. “Ravka loves their king. They will rally to his side.”

  “Maybe,” said Tolya. “I’d feel better if we could locate the Apparat. He and most of the Priestguard have gone to ground somewhere. If he backs the pretender’s cause—”

  David shifted the book in his lap. “We probably should have had him killed.”

  Tamar rubbed her hands over her face. “We’re going to have to make a deal with the Kerch.”

  “We need the Zemeni at sea,” said Tolya. “Our navy is no match for the Fjerdans.”

  “Not without Kerch money,” argued Tamar.

  “Even then we’ll need time to build.”

  Isaak couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He opened his mouth to talk and was horrified when a slightly hysterical laugh escaped his lips. “Have you all gone mad?” They stared at him. “I’m not Nikolai Lantsov. I can’t lead a nation at war. This charade has to end.”

  For a long moment there was quiet.

  At last, Genya asked, “Is the Fjerdan delegation still here?”

  “Yes,” said Tamar. “I have spies at the Ice Court, but none of this is common knowledge, even among most of their government officials.”

  “Very well. We will see this out to the end of the week and the final ball. When the guests are gone, we’ll make a plan.” She looked up at Isaak. “One we can all live with.”

  * * *

  The initial anticipation Isaak had felt for his dinner with Ehri had been thoroughly clubbed to death by the news from Fjerda. If the king never returned, could they really ask him to live as Nikolai forever? Perhaps he should be happy at the prospect of being rich and well cared for. Wasn’t this what the storybooks promised humble boys with good hearts? But Isaak knew he was no hero from a story. He was a shy boy and an average soldier who had been lucky enough to garner the king’s attention—a stroke of good fortune he might pay for with his very identity.

  A table had been set in the woods on the island at the center of the lake, far from the Grand Palace and curious eyes. The surrounding trees were hung with lanterns, and somewhere in the shadows he could hear the gentle music of a balalaika. A very romantic setting—and it would provide plenty of opportunity for Tamar to approach the Tavgharad guards who would be stationed in the woods.

  Isaak had been rowed out to the island under cover of darkness. He was dressed in a teal velvet coat, one he thought suited the king’s coloring particularly well. He’d found another cluster of silver beads in the pocket.

  He grew increasingly nervous as he waited. He was tired of luxury and fine clothes. He’d continued writing letters home, pretending that everything was as it should be at the palace, but all Isaak wanted was to sit in his mother’s tiny kitchen and look out at the garden and play cards with his little sisters. He wanted to be with people who truly knew him.

  Would they know him? They certainly wouldn’t recognize him. Every day he passed by his fellow palace guards, men he’d known for years, and there were moments when he wanted to shout, It’s me! Isaak Andreyev! His captain had been told that he was needed in Os Kervo for translation work, and that was the end of it. It had been that easy to simply make him disappear.

  At last, Tolya said, “She’s coming.”

  Ehri moved slowly into the clearing. She had
been robed in embroidered grass-green silk and an elaborate gold headdress studded with emeralds as large as his thumbnail.

  “How much does it weigh?” he whispered when they were seated and the first course was served.

  “I’m not sure,” said Ehri. “But it feels like a team of pack animals is sitting on my head, so somewhere between two and twelve oxen?”

  “Do they make you train your neck muscles?”

  “Of course not. The women of the Taban line are born with strong necks, a gift of divine purpose.”

  “Silly me.” He felt himself relax. Ehri was simply easier to talk to than … everyone. The twins, Genya, David, certainly the other hopefuls. The other prospective brides seemed to carefully pick and choose their words, saying the things that Isaak—or rather Nikolai—would want to hear. But Ehri didn’t seem to care very much about being chosen as his bride. It was a thought that both comforted and distressed him. He had no doubt she would have been smitten with the real Nikolai, and that made him jealous of a man she’d never met.

  Ehri glanced down at her plate. “What has your cook served us tonight?”

  “Something in jelly. He seems to believe that if you can put it in aspic, you absolutely should.”

  “What’s your favorite thing to eat?”

  “My mother’s cabbage rolls.”

  “The queen cooked?”

  Damn it. “Well, the servants made it, but my mother would serve it to me when I was sick.” He had no idea if such a thing was likely, but it sounded all right. “What about you?” he asked hurriedly.

  She thought for a long moment. “There is a dish we only eat once a year during the spring festivals. Milk pudding molded to look like the moon and flavored with rosewater. I know it doesn’t sound very good, but it’s the tradition of the way it’s eaten. You sit with all of your family and you tell stories and watch fireworks, and you try to make the pudding last the whole night.”

  “Even the royal family does this?”