Alina shook her head. “We’re going back to Keramzin.”
“He’ll find you. Don’t underestimate him.” Zoya knew she sounded angry, even cold. But she didn’t know how else to hold back the flood of fear and helplessness threatening to overtake her. She’d let him get away and now she didn’t know what he might do, who he might hurt. She’d let this happen.
“I know what the Darkling is,” said Alina. “I know how he treats his enemies.”
“We both do,” said Mal, taking a handkerchief from his pocket to bind Alina’s hand. “We’re not letting him chase us from our home.”
“You don’t understand.” He was going to kill them. He was going to kill all of them and Zoya would be powerless to stop it. “We can find someplace to hide the orphans for a while. We can—”
Alina rested her hands on Zoya’s shoulders. “Zoya. Stop.”
“We’re not going to uproot the children,” Mal said. “They’ve already been through enough.”
“Then I’ll send a contingent of First Army soldiers and Summoners to you.”
Mal blew out a breath. “You can’t afford to waste soldiers, and they’d be no good against him anyway. All they’ll do is terrify the children.”
“Better that they’re scared and safe.”
“There is no safe,” Alina said, her voice steady. “There never has been. Not in my lifetime. But I meant what I said. You and Nikolai are the ones who can change that.”
“How did he do it? What happened in there?”
“He drove this through our hands.” Mal uncurled his fingers. In his palm lay a long, bloody thorn.
A piece of the thorn wood. The Darkling must have hidden it somewhere in Yuri’s clothing. He’d kept it with him since the failed obisbaya and their battle on the Fold, waiting for his moment.
“He needed our blood,” said Alina.
The Sun Saint and the tracker—Morozova’s other descendant. The two people who had almost ended his life. Only our own power can destroy us, and even then it’s not a sure thing. He’d been taunting them the whole time, begging them to guess at his plan. I understand we’re blood related.
Panic reared up in Zoya, a clawing, panting thing. “I let him go. I failed all of us.”
“Not yet,” said Mal. “Unless, of course, you’re giving up.”
Alina smiled and gave her a little shake. “I didn’t put you in charge because you run from a fight.”
Zoya broke away and pressed her palms against her eyes. “How can you be so damn calm?”
Alina laughed. “I don’t feel calm at all.”
“Definitely still terrified,” said Mal.
“Did he seem different to you?” Alina asked.
Mal shrugged. “He seemed about the same. Gloomy and insufferable.”
“What was the boy’s name? The monk?”
“Yuri Vedenen,” Zoya said. “I never would have guessed that skinny little runt could cause so much trouble.”
“I bet you said the same thing about me once.”
Zoya scowled. “You’d win that bet.”
“Genya’s letter said you thought Yuri was still inside him. I think you’re right. The Darkling seemed different, off-kilter.”
Mal’s brows rose. “Has he ever been on-kilter?”
“Not exactly,” conceded Alina. “Eternity will do that to a person.”
She rested her bandaged hand on Zoya’s cheek and Zoya stilled, feeling suddenly like she was with her aunt again, in that kitchen in Novokribirsk. I could stay here, Zoya had said. I could stay with you and never go back. Her aunt had only smoothed Zoya’s hair and said, Not my brave girl. There are some hearts that beat stronger than others.
“Zoya,” Alina said, drawing her back to the present, to her fear, to this wretched place. “You are not alone in this. And he can be beaten.”
“He is immortal.”
“Then why did he flinch when you brought down the storm?”
“It did nothing!”
“He sees something in you that frightens him. He always has. Why do you think he worked so hard to make us doubt ourselves? He was afraid of what we might become.”
We are the dragon. We do not lie down to die. Some tiny fraction of the fear in her receded.
“Zoya, you know we’re here if you need us.”
“But your power—”
“I can still pick up a rifle. I was a soldier before I was a Saint.”
I like this one. She’s unafraid. Juris’ whisper, an echo of Zoya’s own grudging thoughts about the orphan girl she’d once resented and despised. The dragon’s laugh rumbled through her. Loss has made her bold. If only I could say the same of you.
Zoya sighed. “That’s all well and good,” she said. “But how am I going to tell the king?”
18
NIKOLAI
THE DINNER WAS LONG but merry, and Nikolai’s chef outdid himself by serving at least seven different foods in jelly. Makhi and her retainers left when the dancing began—and once the treaty was signed. Whether she would keep to the agreement they’d made was in Tamar’s, Ehri’s, and Mayu’s hands now.
“You’re welcome to stay,” Nikolai said as the queen’s horses and carriage were brought around to take them out to the airfield.
“I’ve performed as much as I’m able this night,” Makhi replied. “I even managed to hold down that hideous meal. Now I need to see just how much damage my sister has done.”
Before Makhi climbed into her carriage, she gestured to Nikolai, clearly wishing to speak away from her ministers.
“Something happened in Ahmrat Jen. Some kind of blight. There were similar incidents near Bhez Ju and Paar.”
“They call it Kilyklava, the vampire. The same thing has happened in Ravka.”
“I know. But I have to wonder if those occurrences were simply cover for the deployment of some new Ravkan weapon.”
“This isn’t a weapon,” said Nikolai. “Not one any of us know how to wield. The blight has struck in the Wandering Isle, Fjerda, and Novyi Zem.”
She paused, taking that in. “The shadows, the dead soil that follows in the wake of this blight. All of it is reminiscent of the Fold.”
“It is.”
“There is talk of the return of the Darkling, the Starless One.”
“I’ve heard the same talk.”
“And what will you do if he has found a way to return?”
If only Nikolai knew. But he doubted strap him to a big thornbush and try to send him to hell once and for all would incite much confidence.
“First I need to best the wolf at my door. Then we’ll see what nightmares lurk in the dark.”
“You will share any intelligence you gather.”
“I will.”
“And if you find out who’s responsible…” Her words broke apart, and Nikolai understood that it had not just been land lost in this blight. For the queen, this was very personal. “I will be the one to punish him.”
But who was the villain? The Darkling had created the Fold, but Nikolai and Zoya and Yuri had all played a part in bringing him back. What had Zoya said? We’re all monsters now.
Nikolai could only offer a half-truth. “If that becomes clear, vengeance will be yours to take.”
“I look forward to it.” Makhi stepped into the coach. “You may be surprised at how long I can hold a grudge.”
“A pity you didn’t meet General Nazyalensky. I think you two would have found plenty to talk about.”
The carriage door closed, and in a cloud of dust and hoofbeats, the Shu retinue was gone.
Nikolai returned to the ballroom, where the musicians had struck up a lively tune. Queen Makhi had stayed at the wedding only as a show of strength, so she wouldn’t be seen running off after the treaty was signed.
It felt strange to drink and dine and toast without Tamar there, knowing she was in danger, that if this all went wrong, she might never return to Ravka. Nadia had wished David and Genya well, then retired early, too worri
ed about the woman she loved to enjoy the party. Tolya said he had made his peace with being separated from his twin, but Nikolai could see the melancholy on his face. Despite his intimidating size, Tolya was the shyer of the twins, the killer who should have been a scholar, if fate had ordered their lives differently.
“Where did David go?” he asked as Genya, smiling and rosy-cheeked from dancing, threw herself down in a chair and drank deeply from her wineglass. She seemed to glow in her golden gown, her eyepatch embroidered with rubies.
“We were in the middle of a dance when he muttered something about nose cones and vanished. It was very romantic.”
“David danced?”
“I know! He whispered the count beneath his breath and stepped on my toes more than the floor.” Her grin could have lit the entire ballroom. “I’ve never had more fun. And to think I had a queen at my wedding.”
“And a king,” Nikolai said with false indignation.
She waved him off. “You’re old news. Her gown was just divine.”
“I’m fairly sure she wanted to murder us all.”
“That’s just what weddings are like. When can we hope to hear from Tamar?”
“We received word of their arrival and their meeting with Makhi’s ministers. Beyond that…”
Who knew what lay ahead of them? A hope for alliance. A chance at peace.
By midnight, the party had begun to wind down, noblemen stumbling blearily to their carriages, Grisha meandering back to the Little Palace, singing and laughing. The candles were extinguished and Nikolai retired to his quarters to look over the correspondence that had arrived with that afternoon’s messenger. He would have liked nothing better than to go to bed and call the day a success, but his plans had only just begun to come together, and there was still so much to do.
The sitting room felt empty and too silent. He was used to spending this time with Zoya, talking through the day’s events. When there were two of them to face their battles, it didn’t feel so overwhelming, and tonight that feeling was worse than usual. It wasn’t just that they’d thrust themselves into the unknown with this false wedding and their play to win the Shu to their side. The demon had almost broken free today. Nikolai had nearly lost control, and he still wasn’t sure what had caused it or if it might happen again. He’d managed to leash the cursed thing, but he’d felt like he’d had one hand on the reins all night. He was almost afraid to fall asleep. Maybe it was safer not to.
He rang for tea. He’d spend the night working.
It was Tolya who brought the tray. He’d abandoned his red kefta and changed back into his olive drab uniform. “I can’t sleep.”
“We could play cards,” suggested Nikolai.
“I’ve been working on a new poem—”
“Or we could shoot ourselves out of a cannon.”
Tolya’s glower was ferocious. “A bit of culture wouldn’t hurt you.”
“I have no objection to culture. I’ll have you know I’ve fallen asleep at some of the very best ballets. Pour a cup for yourself.” As Tolya poured, Nikolai asked, “Tolya, Tamar found the girl of her dreams. How is it you’re still alone?”
Tolya shrugged his huge shoulders. “I have my faith, my books. I’ve never wanted more.”
“Were you in love with Alina?”
Tolya finished pouring before he said, “Were you?”
“I cared about her. I still do. I think I could have loved her, in time.”
Tolya took a sip of his tea. “I know she was only a girl to you, but to me she is a Saint. That’s a different kind of love.”
A loud bell began to ring from somewhere in the distance.
“What is that?” asked Tolya, his brow creasing.
Nikolai was already on his feet. “The alarm bells in the lower town.” He hadn’t heard them since his doomed birthday party, when most of the Lantsov line had been slaughtered. “Get—”
He heard a distant drone—engines in the sky. All the Saints, it can’t be …
Then a whoosh, like the loud, excited roar of a crowd.
Boom. The first bomb struck. The room shook, and Nikolai and Tolya were nearly thrown from their feet. Then another boom and another.
Nikolai threw the door open. Half the hallway had caved in, leaving it blocked by a slump of rubble. The air was full of plaster dust. Nikolai could only pray that no guards or servants had been trapped already.
He sprinted down the hall, Tolya beside him, and grabbed the first guard he could find, a young captain named Yarik. He was covered in dust and bleeding from where he’d been struck by something, but he had his rifle in hand and his eyes were clear.
“Your Highness,” he shouted. “We have to get you to the tunnels.”
“Gather everyone you can. Clear the palace and get them underground.”
“But—”
Boom.
“The roof may come down,” said Nikolai. “Move!”
The very earth was shaking. It felt as if the world was coming apart.
“Mobilize the Grisha to the town,” Nikolai said as he and Tolya ran toward the Little Palace. “They’ll need Healers and Squallers to help move the debris. Signal Lazlayon and get our flyers in the air.”
“Where are you going?” said Tolya.
Nikolai was already racing toward the lake. “Up.”
His boots pounded the dock. He leapt into the cockpit of the Peregrine. It wasn’t quite as agile as the Sparrowhawk but carried heavier guns. It was fast and lethal and it felt like an animal coming to life around him.
The flyer surged forward on the water, and then Nikolai was rising into the moonlight, searching the sky. The demon inside him shrieked in anticipation.
Fjerdan bombers were built of heavy steel. They carried major firepower but were slow to maneuver. They shouldn’t have been able to haul their payloads so far from home; they were too heavy, too fuel-hungry. A game of range. And Fjerda had just made a move that would change that game forever. David’s missiles could not remain a hypothetical any longer.
Nikolai had never dreamed the Fjerdans would attack a civilian target or risk harming the Shu queen. Had they known she would depart early or simply gotten lucky? Or had Queen Makhi known when the bombs would fall all along?
He couldn’t be sure, and he couldn’t consider the implications now.
Far below, he saw fires burning in the lower and upper towns. He didn’t know how much damage the Grand Palace had sustained, but two of the Little Palace domes had crumpled and one wing was engulfed in flame. At least they hadn’t managed to strike the dormitories. No one would be in the classrooms or workshops this late at night. He could see a smoldering crater at the lakeshore, mere feet from where Grisha children trained and slept. They’d been aiming for the school.
Nikolai peered into the night. Fjerda painted its flyers dark gray for stealth. They were almost impossible to see, and hard to hear over the roar of the Peregrine.
So he cut the engine. He let his flyer’s wings catch the air and he listened. There. To his left, thirty degrees. He waited for the clouds to part and sure enough, he saw a shape moving, lighter than the night around it. He sent the engine rumbling to life and pushed the plane into a dive, firing.
The Fjerdan bomber burst into flame.
The rattle of gunfire filled his ears and he banked hard right, chased by another bomber. He needed better visibility. The clouds gave cover, but they were his enemy too. Bullets pinged off the side of the Peregrine. He couldn’t tell how much damage he’d sustained. He remembered the feeling of plummeting toward the earth when David’s rocket had hit. There would be no Squallers on hand to save him now. He should land and take stock.
No. He wasn’t setting down, not when the people below, his people, were still vulnerable.
The clouds were heavy, he couldn’t see. But the demon inside him could. It was made of night. It wanted to fly.
Nikolai hesitated. He’d never attempted something like this. He didn’t know what might happen. Wh
at would it mean to give up control? Would he ever regain it? And while you debate, your people suffer.
Go, he told the demon inside him. It’s time to hunt.
The sensation of releasing the monster was always a strange one—a breath snatched from his lungs, the feeling of rising up to pierce the surface of a lake. Then he was in two places at once. He was himself, a king taking a risk he shouldn’t, a privateer making a gamble he must, a pilot with his hands gripping the Peregrine’s controls—and he was the demon, racing through the air, a part of the dark, his wings spreading.
His monster senses caught the roar of the engine, the smell of fuel. He spotted prey and dove.
He seized the … his demon mind did not have words. It only knew the satisfaction of steel giving way beneath its talons, the screech of metal, the terror of the man it tore from the cockpit and slashed into with its claws. Blood poured over the demon’s mouth—his mouth—hot and salty with iron.
Then he was airborne again, leaping from the plummeting bomber, seeking another quarry. The demon was in control. It sensed the presence of the next bomber before Nikolai saw it. Was this the last?
Hungry for destruction, the demon hurtled toward it through the night and slammed into the Fjerdan bomber, its talons tearing into steel.
No. Nikolai willed it to pull back. I want them to know. I want them to live in fear. The demon climbed onto the front of the plane and slammed its clawed hand through the cockpit glass. The Fjerdan pilot screamed, and Nikolai was looking directly into his eyes. Let them understand what they’re fighting now. Let them know what’s waiting next time they invade Ravka’s skies.
He saw the demon reflected in his enemy’s eyes.
I am the monster and the monster is me.
The demon opened its fanged mouth, but it was Nikolai’s rage that rang out in its roar—for what had been done to his people, his home. The Fjerdan pilot babbled and wept and the demon scented urine in the air.
Go home and tell them what you’ve seen, Nikolai thought as the demon soared through the night. Make them believe you. Tell them the demon king rules Ravka now and vengeance is coming.
Rule of Wolves Page 22