Rule of Wolves

by Leigh Bardugo

Nikolai glanced up and saw Zoya bring her hand down in a swift arc. “Hold tight!”

  A bolt of lightning sizzled through the air beside them, its heat searing the sky.

  It struck the shell at the edge of the hole the demon had made, scorching the metal, making it look as if the storm had savaged the metal rooftop.

  Rain spattered Nikolai and Kaz in a gust as Zoya let it pour through to the yard below. Adrik swathed the airship in clouds to hide the sight of it from any guards peering up through the damaged shell.

  Moments later, they were inside the airship bay, soaked to the bone.

  For a moment the demon hung on the wind, feeling the swell of the storm, fearless in the lush black night and still hungry for blood and damage. Nikolai didn’t want to draw it back—and not because he dreaded its presence inside him. Some part of him hated to cage it once more.

  But the demon didn’t fight. Maybe the divisions between them were eroding. And maybe that was a problem. He couldn’t deny the remorse he felt as he tugged the darkness back.

  You’ll fly again, he promised.

  The airship doors banged shut. The crew stared at him. Nikolai had known what unleashing the monster’s power meant, what he was revealing. But for a moment he’d lost himself in the demon’s exultation. Zoya was shaking her head, though Kaz seemed only intrigued now that his initial fear had passed.

  What happens now? he wondered, as these Ravkan soldiers faced him. He could see the terror in their faces, their bewilderment. Adrik stood several steps back, arm raised as if ready to summon a storm to fight with. For once he looked shocked instead of morose.

  Show them weakness when they need to see it, never when you feel it. Words of advice he’d given to Alina years ago. This seemed like an excellent time to take it. For once in his life, he was going to embrace understatement.

  He clapped his hands together, rubbing his palms like a lord of the manor returned from the hunt, in need of a good meal and a warm fire. “That went about as well as could be expected,” he said in the most ordinary, jovial tone he could manage. “Who needs a drink?”

  * * *

  It didn’t work. Not entirely. Some of the crew sat and drank with him, downing his brandy a little more quickly than they might have otherwise, eager to fall back into the trust he’d built with them before this dark revelation.

  When one of them dared to hazard, “What was … what was that thing?” Nikolai simply said, “Another weapon in our arsenal.”

  “Looked like a gargoyle.”

  Nikolai refilled his glass. “Hush now. It’ll hear you.”

  The crewman blanched. “I didn’t mean nothing by it.”

  But Nikolai only laughed and the others followed suit, nervous but obliging. These were friends, compatriots who knew him well and who wanted to find a way to accept or at least ignore what they’d seen.

  That wasn’t enough for some of them. Nikolai knew exactly how many soldiers and Grisha were aboard, and he knew that more than half the crew hadn’t chosen to drink with a monster. Zoya would speak to the Grisha. She would do her best to answer their questions and soothe their nerves. But there was a very good chance that they would desert. And that they would talk.

  Maybe this was the end then. It had been foolhardy to believe he could keep a secret like this forever.

  But I could have kept it, he realized as he filled the glasses for another round. He could have let them detach the cable and leave the anchor behind for the Kerch guards to find. Yes, they would have guessed that Ravka was involved. They might have realized the titanium was missing. They might have taken action to exact revenge. None of it good. But his secret would still have been his.

  Another weapon in our arsenal. It might be truer than he’d realized. David had known that once technology existed, it was impossible to control. Tanks got bigger. Guns fired more rounds. Bombs did more damage. On the night of the sneak attack against Os Alta, the demon had become a weapon in Nikolai’s hand. Maybe it was no surprise that he’d chosen to use that weapon again. But it was one thing to have sent an enemy pilot home with a tale to frighten the Fjerdans, another to try to command soldiers who’d lost trust in their king. Nikolai could only hope that the soldiers who did try to spread the story of this night wouldn’t be believed and that those who stayed in his service would find a way to have faith in him again.

  Jesper and Wylan were waiting for the Cormorant on the cliffs, looking dirty but otherwise unscathed. The Suli were nowhere to be seen, but Nikolai suspected they were nearby, watching.

  When Kaz was preparing to descend to the cliffs, Nikolai and Zoya joined him at the wind-buffeted bay doors.

  Nikolai handed him a metal box. “For the Wraith,” he said.

  Kaz took it, tucking it under one arm. “An infernal gadget to contend with your other infernal gadgets.”

  “I have a gift for order and a taste for chaos.”

  Kaz raised a brow. “The man with the monster inside.”

  “I see the wheels turning in your head, Mister Brekker, wondering what you might do with this information. I would ask, one liar to another, that you keep it to yourself.”

  “I find secrets are the most reliable stocks. The longer they’re kept, the more their value rises.”

  “We could shove him out of the airship now,” suggested Zoya.

  “We could, but we’re not going to.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because Mister Brekker has the best insurance of all. He’s proven himself useful.”

  “Speaking of secrets,” said Kaz, taking hold of the cable. “I’ve had word from the Kerch colonies. A certain monarch and his wife are no longer in exile.”

  “By whose order?” Nikolai said, tension snapping through him.

  “Jarl Brum and the Fjerdan government. This is the problem with letting your enemies live.”

  “They’re my parents.”

  “Your point?” Kaz settled his cane more firmly in his grip and nodded to the cable operator, ready to descend. “A word of advice, from one bastard to another: Sometimes it’s best to let the demon have its day.”

  The cable dropped and Kaz Brekker was gone.

  * * *

  Nikolai had meant to try to rest, but instead he found himself in the darkened cargo hold. He lay down on the cold floor beside one of the stacks of stolen titanium, now secured with cables and tarps. It was quiet here, empty, the only sound the heavy thrum of the airship’s engines. It was almost enough to lull him to sleep.

  At some point, he heard a flyer being guided into the neighboring landing bay. He knew it was the messenger they’d been set to rendezvous with over the True Sea. He heard raised voices, running footsteps. The news couldn’t be good. Another city bombed? The Fjerdans already marching?

  He wanted to be back at the Kerch base, racing against discovery, listening to the crackle of the storm. Better that than grappling with the actuality of a war he’d failed to prevent. The Cormorant would proceed directly to Lazlayon, where hopefully, Nadia and the rest of the Fabrikators would be able to use their meager supply of stolen titanium to give Ravka an edge in the battles to come. As for the Volkvolny, his beautiful Wolf of the Waves would sit in the Ketterdam harbor for another two days to be inspected by any nosy members of the Merchant Council. Privyet would greet them as Sturmhond, wearing the splendid frock coat that Nikolai had already sent back to the ship. He’d been sorry to let it go. The coat was the open sea, the dream of another life he might have lived. Could you do it? Zoya had asked. Give up the throne? He’d fought so hard for so long, but some wayward voice inside him said, Yes. Like the demon, he hungered for freedom. And yet he knew he could never forsake Ravka the way his father had, ceding his duty to his own desires. His messy, exasperating country might demand everything, might punish those who loved it for their devotion, but he wouldn’t turn his back on his people.

  Nikolai heard the door open, scented wildflowers somewhere in the cargo hold.

  “Are you hiding?”
Zoya asked as she shut the door behind her.

  “I’m skulking. It’s much more purposeful.” He patted the floor next to him. “Join me?”

  He expected her to roll her eyes and tell him to get off his ass. Instead she lay down beside him, her shoulder almost touching his own. All Saints, Nikolai thought. I’m lying next to Zoya Nazyalensky. Somewhere Count Kirigin was crying into his soup. They stared up at the shadowy roof of the hold, at nothing at all.

  “Did you sleep?” she asked.

  “Of course not. Someday we’ll see an end to war, and then you and I will take a nap together.”

  “Is that your idea of seduction?”

  “These days? Yes.”

  “I’ll be honest—it’s incredibly compelling.”

  “I heard our messenger arrive,” he said. “War?”

  “War. Our scouts have reported Fjerdan troops mobilizing again.”

  “Do we know where they’re headed?”

  “We’re waiting on intelligence.” She inhaled deeply. “I like the way it smells down here. Sawdust. Oil.”

  “I never knew you had a fondness for shipyards.”

  “Maybe anything smells good after Ketterdam.” He could see her profile in the dim light. “There isn’t enough titanium, is there?”

  “No,” he admitted. “Maybe David could have found a way to make it work, but … Nadia and Leoni and the others should be able to get some use out of these materials. Wylan offered up some new sketches on the diagnostics that will help. He has a way with destruction.”

  “Perhaps if the Fjerdans see the smaller missiles, the threat of something larger will be enough.”

  “Not if Jarl Brum is left unchecked.” Nikolai and his engineers had tried to piece together the details on the weapons and plans Nina had sent to them through the Hringsa, along with the intel from Tamar’s spies, but he still couldn’t be sure what they were up against.

  “Nina thinks Prince Rasmus may be a counter to his warmongering,” Zoya said. “I wanted to bring her home, but … maybe she’s safer among the Fjerdans.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I know, I know. I can’t believe I’m saying it either.”

  “The whim of a prince isn’t much for insurance.”

  “You were a prince once.”

  “Yes, but I’m me. Tell me something, Nazyalensky. When Fjerda gets their puppet king, assuming the Fjerdans let either of us live, do you think you can control Vadik Demidov?”

  “We do have to lose first, Nikolai.”

  He peered at her. “That sounds suspiciously hopeful. What have you done with my doomsaying general?”

  “We’re not helpless. Novels are full of ragtag bands facing impossible odds.”

  “Do you read novels?”

  “When I have the time.”

  “So, no.”

  “I read when I can’t sleep.”

  “So, regularly then. If the Fjerdans have testimony from my mother, that will be the end of it all.”

  Zoya hesitated, and he knew she was weighing her words. “Would she betray you that way?”

  He didn’t want to think so, but he couldn’t afford to pretend. “I sent her from her country and stripped her of a crown. The argument might be made that I betrayed her first.”

  “I haven’t spoken to my mother since I was nine.”

  When she’d tried to marry Zoya off to some rotten old noble with bags full of money. “Always wise to get a head start on estrangement.”

  “The terrible thing is … I didn’t miss her. I still don’t. Maybe I miss something I never had.”

  Nikolai knew that feeling, the longing for a father he could trust, an older brother who might have been his companion instead of his rival. A real family. “I wish my parents had been different people, but they owe me nothing. If my mother chooses to speak against my parentage, I can’t blame her.” But it would still hurt like hell.

  Zoya pushed herself up on her elbows. “None of it will matter if we win, truly win. Ravka loves victory more than it loves royal blood.”

  And it had been a very long time since Ravka had been given much cause to celebrate.

  “That’s why the Darkling expanded the Fold, isn’t it?” Nikolai mused. “He was looking for a weapon that would leave no one in doubt of Ravka’s power. He knew if he gave the people victory, they would finally love him. What did your Grisha say about what happened at the base?”

  “About your demon?” She sighed and lay back down. “They’re shaken. Adrik lost his arm to one of the Darkling’s nichevo’ya. It’s hard for him to see that creature and not go back to those terrible days. I remember Tolya trying to heal him, the blood … He left a lake of it on the deck of the ship we escaped on.”

  “Will Adrik leave?”

  “I don’t think he’ll desert. But I can’t vouch for the others. Some secrets need to be kept.”

  “Do they?” He turned his head, trying to decipher the dark slash of her brows, the black of her hair. She looked just as she always had—beautiful, impossible Zoya. “Why didn’t you tell me you were Suli?”

  “I think you know, Nikolai.”

  “You really believe it would have changed the way I see you?”

  “No. Not you. But ask yourself, would your First Army generals treat me so respectfully if they knew I was Suli?”

  “If they didn’t, they would stop being my generals.”

  “Do you really think it’s as simple as that? That they would make it that easy?” She shook her head. “They never come at you with hatred. They come at you with pity. Did you learn to read in the Suli caravans? Was it hard growing up in such squalor? They giggle about the dark hair on your arms or say that you look Ravkan like it’s some kind of compliment. They don’t make it easy to fight them.” Zoya closed her eyes. “I passed because it was safer to be Zoya Nazyalensky than Zoya Nabri. I guess I thought it would keep me safe. Now I’m not so sure. The woman on the cliffs called me daughter. That word … I didn’t know I needed that word. I don’t regret turning my back on my parents. But it’s hard not to wonder what might have happened if my father had stood up for me. If we’d gone to live with his people. If I’d had someplace other than the Little Palace to run to, someone other than the Darkling to make me feel capable and strong.”

  “It isn’t too late, Zoya. They chose to help you on the cliffs, not me, not Kaz Brekker.”

  Now Zoya’s laugh was harsh. “But they don’t really know me, do they?”

  “I would choose you.” The words were out before he thought better of them, and then there was no way to pull them back.

  Silence stretched between them. Perhaps the floor will open and I’ll plummet to my death, he thought hopefully.

  “As your general?” Her voice careful. She was offering him a chance to right the ship, to take them back to familiar waters.

  And a fine general you are.

  There could be no better leader.

  You may be prickly, but that’s what Ravka needs.

  So many easy replies.

  Instead he said, “As my queen.”

  He couldn’t read her expression. Was she pleased? Embarrassed? Angry? Every cell in his body screamed for him to crack a joke, to free both of them from the peril of this moment. But he wouldn’t. He was still a privateer, and he’d come too far.

  “Because I’m a dependable soldier,” she said, but she didn’t sound sure. It was that same cautious, tentative voice, the voice of someone waiting for a punch line, or maybe a blow. “Because I know all your secrets.”

  “I do trust you more than myself sometimes—and I think very highly of myself.”

  Hadn’t she said there was no one else she’d choose to have her back in a fight?

  But that isn’t the whole truth, is it, you great cowardly lump. To hell with it. They might all die soon enough. They were safe here in the dark, surrounded by the hum of the engines.

  “I would make you my queen because I want you. I want you all the time.
”

  She rolled onto her side, resting her head on her folded arm. A small movement, but he could feel her breath now. His heart was racing. “As your general, I should tell you that would be a terrible decision.”

  He turned onto his side. They were facing each other now. “As your king, I should tell you that no one could dissuade me. No prince and no power could make me stop wanting you.”

  Nikolai felt drunk. Maybe unleashing the demon had loosed something in his brain. She was going to laugh at him. She would knock him senseless and tell him he had no right. But he couldn’t seem to stop.

  “I would give you a crown if I could,” he said. “I would show you the world from the prow of a ship. I would choose you, Zoya. As my general, as my friend, as my bride. I would give you a sapphire the size of an acorn.” He reached into his pocket. “And all I would ask in return is that you wear this damnable ribbon in your hair on our wedding day.”

  She reached out, her fingers hovering over the coil of blue velvet ribbon resting in his palm.

  Then she pulled back her hand, cradling her fingers as if they’d been singed.

  “You will wed a Taban sister who craves a crown,” she said. “Or a wealthy Kerch girl, or maybe a Fjerdan royal. You will have heirs and a future. I’m not the queen Ravka needs.”

  “And if you’re the queen I want?”

  She shut her eyes. “There’s a story my aunt told me a very long time ago. I can’t remember all of it, but I remember the way she described the hero: ‘He had a golden spirit.’ I loved those words. I made her read them again and again. When I was a little girl, I thought I had a golden spirit too, that it would light everything it touched, that it would make me beloved like a hero in a story.” She sat up, drew her knees in, wrapped her arms around them as if she could make a shelter of her own body. He wanted to pull her back down beside him and press his mouth to hers. He wanted her to look at him again with possibility in her eyes. “But that’s not who I am. Whatever is inside me is sharp and gray as the thorn wood.” She rose and dusted off her kefta. “I wasn’t born to be a bride. I was made to be a weapon.”

  Nikolai forced himself to smile. It wasn’t as if he’d offered her a real proposal. They both knew such a thing was impossible. And yet her refusal smarted just as badly as if he’d gotten on his knee and offered her his hand like some kind of besotted fool. It stung. All Saints, it stung.