“If Inej were here—” said Jesper.
Kaz’s gaze was hard as flint. “You can keep saying that, but she isn’t. The best we can do is wait. I can get two more Dregs here by tomorrow. Anika. Rotty, maybe.”
A high wail sounded from somewhere in the distance, a shrill cry that might be human or animal or something else entirely. Zoya felt a chill pass through her that had nothing to do with the cold. This place isn’t meant for us. She felt it in her bones.
“Saints,” said Jesper, “what was that?”
Another wail followed, long and piercing. The fog seemed to seethe around them, forming shapes that melted into nothing before Zoya could truly make them out.
Jesper set his hands on his revolvers. “These cliffs are supposed to be haunted.”
“You don’t actually believe that,” said Wylan.
“I believe in all kinds of things. Ghosts. Gnomes. True love.”
Now another sound—a low hiss—seemed to crawl up from the sea, rising and falling in undulating waves. Zoya felt it like fingers brushing up her spine, making the hair on her arms rise.
“Enough,” she snapped. She’d had all she could stand of this Saintsforsaken country. She lifted her hands and the fog rolled back in a gust—revealing a circle of people around them, some of them in jackal masks, others with dark scarves pulled up to hide their faces. Moonlight glinted off the barrels of their guns.
“Suli,” whispered Jesper.
“You’re not welcome in this place,” said a gruff voice. It was impossible to tell which side of the circle it had come from. That same low, crawling hiss followed.
“We don’t mean any harm,” Jesper began.
“That’s why you snuck up on our camp in the dead of night?”
“We should let the sea have them,” said another voice. “Send them screaming over the cliff tops.”
“My apologies,” Nikolai said, stepping forward. “We had no intention of—”
Click click click. Like fingers snapping. The sound of triggers being cocked.
“No,” said Zoya, putting a hand out to stop him. “Don’t apologize. That will only make it worse.”
“I see,” said Nikolai. “Then what is protocol for an ambush?”
Zoya turned to the circle. “Our goal is to stop a war. But this place was not ours to trespass on.”
“Perhaps you came looking for death,” said another voice.
Zoya reached for the words her father had taught her, that she hadn’t spoken since she was a child. Even then, they had only been whispered. Her mother hadn’t wanted Suli spoken in their house. “Mati en sheva yelu.”
This action will have no echo. The phrase felt sticky and unfamiliar on her tongue. She sensed Nikolai’s surprise, felt the stares of the others.
“You speak Suli like a tax collector,” said a man’s voice.
“Hush,” said a woman in a jackal mask, stepping forward. “We see you, zheji.”
Zheji. Daughter. The word knocked the breath from her, an unexpected blow. The mask was the type worn all over the Barrel, but those were cheap knockoffs, souvenirs for tourists who didn’t know what they meant. Among the Suli, the jackal mask was sacred and worn only by true seers. Daughter. It wasn’t a word she’d wanted from the mother who had betrayed her, so why should it mean so much from the lips of a stranger?
“We see the walls raised round your heart,” the woman continued. “That’s what comes of living far from home.” The jackal turned, surveying them. “Shadows all around.”
“What did you say?” Nikolai asked Zoya beneath his breath. “How do you know those words?”
A hundred lies came to her lips, a hundred easy ways to walk away from this, to keep being the person she’d always been.
“Because I’m Suli.” Simple words, but she’d never said them aloud. She could feel her mother’s hands combing out her hair, placing a hat on her head to keep her out of the sun. You’re pale like me. You have my eyes. You can pass. The family had kept her mother’s name so that they wouldn’t draw attention. Nabri, her father’s name, was rubbed away like a stain.
It was as if the woman in the jackal mask had heard her thoughts. “Your father faded as we all do when we don’t live among our own.”
“I haven’t,” Zoya said. A protest? A plea? She hated the tremble in her voice. These people didn’t know her. They had no right to speak about her family.
“But think how brightly you might have burned if you hadn’t always walked in shadow.” She waved them forward. “Come with us.”
“Are they going to march us to our death now?” asked Jesper.
“No idea,” said Kaz.
Jesper cursed. “I wish I’d worn a nicer suit.”
“Might be worth playing the king card now,” Kaz said to Nikolai. “Don’t you think?”
“What king card?” asked Wylan.
The jackal’s voice carried through the mist. “There are no kings we recognize here.”
“I might find that humbling,” said Nikolai. “If I’d any practice with humility.”
They descended a long path down the cliffside as the wind shrieked up from the water. Zoya’s heart thumped wildly, a small creature caught in a snare. This was panic—skittering, mindless panic. Why? She knew Nikolai didn’t disdain the Suli. He never would. And she didn’t care what these Barrel rats thought. So why did she feel as if the rock was about to crumble beneath her feet? Just because she’d told them what she was? Was that all it took? Was this the terror of being seen?
Halfway down, they passed behind a boulder, and Zoya saw the entrance to a cave, its yawning black mouth carved into the side of the cliff.
Again the jackal spoke. “If you wish to enter the base, this tunnel runs under the watchtowers and opens in a basement beneath Rentveer.”
“Where did it come from?” asked Nikolai.
But Kaz didn’t seem surprised. “The Kerch used Suli labor to build the base.”
“We always leave a back door,” said the woman in the jackal mask. “There are two guards who patrol past the entrance to the basement. The rest is up to you. Daughter, you may use the cliffs to board your ship.”
“Why are you helping us?” Zoya asked.
“Can’t we just say thank you and be on our way?” said Jesper.
The jackal-masked woman drew Zoya aside. “Your heart does not belong to you alone. When this is over, when it is all over, remember where you came from.”
“The king—”
“I speak of queens, not kings, tonight. Remember, daughter.” Then she vanished into the shadows.
Suddenly, they were alone at the tunnel mouth. The Suli were gone.
Zoya whirled on Kaz. “You knew, didn’t you? You never planned to go through the fence at the base. You knew the Suli were camped here. You knew they had a way in.”
Kaz was already limping into the tunnel. “I don’t walk through a door unless I know there’s a window to climb out of. Jesper, Wylan, get back to the cliffs and take out the spotlights. Nikolai and I will tackle the metal shell from inside.”
“How could you be sure I spoke Suli?” she called after him.
“That was a spin of Makker’s Wheel. Lucky for me, my number came up.”
“One day your luck will run out, Mister Brekker.”
“Then I’ll just have to make some more.” He paused and turned to look back over his shoulder at her. “The Suli never forget their own, General Nazyalensky. Just like crows.”
29
MAYU
MAYU CRUMPLED TO THE FLOOR as Reyem rose out of his sleeping chamber. He still had her hand crushed in his fist. The pain was beyond anything she’d ever known, wildfire searing her veins.
Silver flashed across her vision and she saw an axe lodge itself in Reyem’s forearm.
He released her and launched himself across the room at Tamar.
Tamar hurled another axe, mere distraction as her hands curled into fists. Reyem clutched his chest, then seemed to shak
e off the Heartrender’s power and charged forward.
He slammed into Tamar and her body struck the wall with a terrible clang.
She hit the floor but was back on her feet in an instant.
“Get Ehri out!” she snarled at Mayu.
But how? She had one good hand and Makhi stood between her and the door, surrounded by her Tavgharad. Mayu drew her talon sword awkwardly with her left hand. She scanned the walls, looking for another exit.
“The floor,” Bergin said, his voice hoarse, as if even the effort of speaking fatigued him. “There’s a sluiceway.”
Of course. The drains had to go somewhere.
“Get behind me!” she said to the princess, and brought her boot down hard on the nearest grate—once, twice. It gave way. “Go! I’ll hold them off.”
Mayu shoved Ehri into the drain, hoping the princess had the sense to run as far and as fast as she could.
“Stop her,” Makhi commanded. “And dose the Ravkan traitor with parem.”
Mayu planted her body, trying to block the Tavgharad, but they barreled through her and leapt into the sewer after Ehri. The doctor lunged for a control panel. He pulled one of the levers, and a cloud of orange mist gusted from the vent nearest Tamar.
Tamar shouted and tried to dodge it, but Reyem grabbed her and threw her to the ground, his pincers pinning her arms as she fought to keep from inhaling the poison.
“No!” Mayu cried. She knew Tamar had antidote in her pocket, but Tamar was trapped by Reyem. There was no way for her to reach it.
“Another volunteer for the cause,” said the queen.
Mayu scrambled for Tamar.
Reyem struck her; his fists felt like rocks. They must have been buttressed with metal. He grabbed her by her collar. Mayu knew he was going to throw her. She would break her ribs, maybe her skull.
“Reyem!” she cried. “Please.”
“Dje janin ess! Scön der top!”
Reyem froze.
“Scön der top!” Bergin repeated, his fragile body shaking.
Mayu had no idea what it meant. She didn’t speak Fjerdan, and as far as she knew, Reyem didn’t either.
“What are you waiting for?” Queen Makhi shouted. “I’ll wake all my monsters if I have to. There will be no mercy. There will be no escape.” She pressed a sequence of buttons and the lids of the sarcophagi opened. “Who will save you now?”
Reyem’s head snapped up, as if he had at last woken from a long, terrible dream.
“I will,” he growled. He dropped Mayu with a thud and retracted his pincers, freeing Tamar. She grabbed a pellet of powder from her pocket and shoved it in her mouth, her body convulsing.
Reyem leapt up and seized the doctor, slamming him against the wall, smashing the controls as if the metal were driftwood. He whirled on Makhi’s two remaining Tavgharad. They strode forward to meet him, their blades flashing, but they were no match for the weapon Reyem had become.
He didn’t bother deflecting the attacks. It was as if he didn’t even feel the slash of their blades. He seized each guard by the throat and hurled them against the wall beside their queen. They slumped to the ground, and Mayu knew they would not rise again. Reyem grabbed the queen around the neck.
“Who will save you now?” he bit out.
“Locust!” shouted the doctor.
But he wasn’t Locust anymore.
“Set her down,” Tamar said, coughing, her face damp with sweat. “We can’t kill her, much as I might like to in this moment.”
“Reyem?” Mayu asked, not certain if he would hear or obey her.
He dropped the queen in an unceremonious heap, then smashed the controls that would have allowed her to close the other sleeping chambers.
Makhi lay on the floor, gasping for breath.
Reyem turned. “Mayu.” His face was haunted. He was her brother and yet he wasn’t. There was a stillness in him, a coldness that hadn’t existed before. “I knew you would come.”
A sob shook Mayu and she ran to him. Her broken hand throbbed as she threw her arms around her brother. His body felt strange, the hard lines of his wings folded against his back. Her mind couldn’t quite make sense of it. Her twin. Kebben.
“Bergin,” Reyem said to the Fjerdan Grisha. “Are you all right?”
“No.” Bergin was shaking badly. “I need … please.”
“He needs another dose of parem,” said Reyem.
Tamar rose, limping slightly. “Try this instead.” She handed him a pellet of antidote.
“What is it?”
“Freedom.”
Bergin placed the pellet in his mouth and chewed slowly. His body started to spasm.
Reyem went to him, bracing Bergin’s emaciated body against his massive frame. “What’s happening to him? What did you give him?” His voice was hard as iron.
“Antidote,” said Tamar. “Whatever is in the parem he was dosed with is strong. I felt it too, but I didn’t get a full dose, and his body is weakened. He’ll be okay.”
Shouts sounded from below, the sound of the Tavgharad returning, no doubt with Ehri in tow.
Tamar grabbed Makhi by the front of her gown and propped her against the wall. “Call back your falcons. Tell them to bring Ehri.” Despite everything it troubled Mayu to see a Taban queen treated so roughly.
“I’ll tell them to choke her where she stands.”
“No doubt you would have already if you thought you could get away with it. But Ehri dying would be tough to explain to your ministers, wouldn’t it?”
Mayu could see the queen weighing her options, calculating her next move.
“Bring her up!” Makhi shouted at last.
The Tavgharad emerged through the grate, covered in blood and muck. They dragged Ehri up behind them, keeping her arms restrained. She couldn’t have gotten far in the tunnels.
In the distance, Mayu heard the thrum of what might have been an airship engine.
Princess Ehri looked around, taking in Tamar, the queen, the unconscious doctor. “Did we … did we win?”
Queen Makhi began to laugh. “‘Did we win?’” she singsonged. “This is the fool who seeks to decide the fate of a nation? What do you think you’ve accomplished here tonight? There are no ministers here to witness my supposed crimes. By the time you rally them, I’ll have the khergud transported and this facility burned to the ground.”
“We’re not going to give you that chance,” said Mayu.
“I am a queen. Is that so hard to grasp? Do you think you can just march me back to the palace with your Ravkan bodyguard? They’ll hang you for a traitor. I have troops surrounding this building, and any messenger you send will be intercepted. So to answer your question, little sister: No, you haven’t won.”
“Look around you, Makhi,” Ehri said. “Is this what you want your legacy to be? Torture?”
“What you call torture, I call science. If I were building tanks like the Fjerdans or missiles like the Ravkans, would you find that more palatable? People die. That is what war is.”
Reyem slammed his fist into the wall, leaving a deep dent. “To be khergud is to die a thousand times.”
“You had no right,” said Mayu, rage coursing through her. “You are a queen, not a god.”
Makhi drew in a breath, looking down her nose at all of them. There could be no doubt she had been born to rule. “It was not my right. It was my duty. To make my country strong.”
“You need bear the burden of that duty no longer.”
They all turned. Leyti Kir-Taban, Daughter of Heaven and Taban queen, entered the laboratory, dressed in a gown of green velvet embroidered with roses the color of flame. She was surrounded by her Tavgharad, some of them with hair as gray as hers, and by Grisha in their gem-colored kefta.
“Grandmother?” Makhi said, blinking as if she might clear the image from her eyes. “But you were at your palace.”
“I am not quite the fool you think I am,” Princess Ehri said gently. “I never would have left our grandmother
at the Palace of the Thousand Stars. I know you too well for that. As soon as Tamar’s scouts saw you had called for the khergud, we sent word to our grandmother’s hiding place.”
Mayu remembered the two riders dressed as peasants. To the queen, Tamar had said. Mayu had assumed she meant Makhi.
Leyti gave a nod of confirmation. “I thank you for the use of your airship, Tamar Kir-Bataar.”
“It is Ravka’s honor,” Tamar said with a bow.
Makhi tried to straighten her gown. “There’s been a misunderstanding.”
“I understand quite well,” said Queen Leyti. “I assert my right as Taban queen and rescind my blessing. The crown is yours no longer.”
30
NINA
GELIDBEL WAS THE CROWNING EVENT of Heartwood, the last formal ball before proposals were issued.
Brum had been as good as his word and had secured new fabrics for Mila Jandersdat’s gowns. Most had been modest and understated. But the ball gown Nina wore tonight was all sparkling silver; dagger-shaped beads like icicles shifted with her every move. Her figure wasn’t suited to the long, high-waisted styles popular in Fjerda, but the dress was beautiful.
I’d rather be in a kefta, Nina thought as she looked in the mirror. Her country was on the brink of war and she was stuffed into a ball gown and velvet slippers.
“You look like a winter morning,” said Hanne, who came to stand beside her.
“And you look like dragon’s gold.”
Hanne’s gown bordered on the scandalous, sheer panels of amber silk alternating with tiny beads that glistened like droplets of molten gold. It was impossible to tell what was fabric and what was skin. Ylva’s dressmakers had outdone themselves.
But Hanne kept her eyes on Nina, avoiding her own reflection. “I’ll take your word for it.” She smoothed the folds of her gown, then curled her fingertips, as if the feeling of the silk over her skin displeased her.
“Hanne, what’s wrong? You look like magic.”
“It isn’t … that isn’t me.” Hanne closed her eyes and shook her head. “Do you know the one thing I miss about the convent?”
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