For the first time, Zoya saw panic enter Nina’s eyes. I won’t let it happen, she vowed. I will not fail you.
“If Nina Zenik dies here today,” the Apparat continued, “who will remember her name? She is no Saint, has worked no miracles.”
“I’ll remember,” Zoya said, her fury growing. “I remember all their names.”
“You and I will leave this tower. You will announce you’ve defected to our side and offer your service to the true Lantsov heir. You will join us and see the false king deposed.”
“Where does this plan end, priest? You’ve told me what you intend, but what is your goal?”
“Demidov on the throne. Ravka purified and sanctified by the Saints.”
“And you?”
“I will attend to the matter of Ravka’s soul. And I will give you a gift that no one else can.”
“Which is?”
“I know the locations of Brum’s secret bases, all the hidden places where he’s keeping Grisha prisoners. Men, women, children, maybe even friends you once thought dead. Not even Fjerda’s king and queen know where to find them, only Jarl Brum and my spies. The witchhunter is far less stealthy than he thinks, and my followers have done their work well. I see I have your full attention.”
Grisha in cells. Grisha being tortured and experimented on. Grisha she could save. “You mean to make me choose between my king and my people.”
“Haven’t the Grisha suffered enough? Think of all the prison doors that would fly open if you joined my cause. Imagine all the suffering your people will endure until then.”
“Do you know what I think?” Zoya said, edging closer. If she could manage a lightning strike before the monks released the gas, she and Nina could make quick work of the rest of the Apparat’s men. “This has never been about the Saints or restoring Ravka to the faith—only your own desire to rule. Do you resent men born of royal blood? Women with power in their veins? Or do you truly think you know what’s best for Ravka?”
The priest’s eyes were dark as pits. “I have been waiting for the Saints to speak to me since I was a child. Maybe you recited the same prayers, had the same hopes? Most children do. But somewhere along the way, I realized no one would answer my prayers. I would have to build my own cathedral and fill it with my own Saints.” He held up the packet of parem. “And now they speak when I want them to. Speak, Sankta Zoya.”
The Heartrender, eyes focused on the drug he so desired, twisted his fingers in the air. Nina screamed, blood leaking from her eyes, her nose.
“Stop!” shouted Zoya.
The Apparat signaled the Heartrender, who whimpered softly but went still. The priest dabbed a bit of orange powder onto the Grisha’s tongue as reward.
Zoya watched the Heartrender’s eyes roll back into his head, watched the blood trickle from Nina’s nose.
“She’s like a sister to you, no? Maybe like a daughter?” The Apparat smiled gently, serenely. “Will you be the mother she deserves? The mother they all deserve?”
Zoya remembered her own mother marching her down the aisle of the cathedral to hand her to the rich old man who would be her groom. She remembered the priest standing behind him, ready to consecrate a sham marriage for the sake of a little coin. She remembered the Suli circling her on the cliff top. Daughter, they’d whispered. Daughter.
Zoya looked at the Heartrender, looked at the cells. How many of them were full? How many cells were there in military bases and secret laboratories? Whether she chose her king or her people, she would never be able to save them all. She could hear Genya’s voice, ringing in her ears: You push us away, keep us at arm’s distance so that you won’t mourn us. But you’ll mourn us anyway. That’s the way love works.
Understanding burned through her like fire from a dragon’s mouth, leaving her weightless as ash. She would never be able to save them all. But that didn’t mean she was Sabina leading her child to the slaughter.
Daughter. Why had that word frightened her so? She remembered Genya looping her arm through hers, Alina embracing her on the steps of the sanatorium. Nikolai drawing her close in the garden, the peace he’d granted her in that moment.
This is what love does. In the stories, love healed your wounds, fixed what was broken, allowed you to go on. But love wasn’t a spell, some kind of benediction to be whispered, a balm or a cure-all. It was a single, fragile thread, which grew stronger through connection, through shared hardship and honored trust. Zoya’s mother had been wrong. It wasn’t love that had ruined her, it was the death of it. She’d believed that love would do the work of living. She’d let the thread fray and snap.
This is what love does. An old echo, but it wasn’t Sabina she heard now. It was Liliyana’s voice as she stood fearless in the church, as she risked everything to fight for a child who wasn’t her own. This is what love does.
How long had Zoya feared being bound to others? How little had she trusted that thread of connection? That was why she’d shied away from the gifts the dragon offered. They demanded she open her heart to the world, and she’d turned away, afraid of what she might lose.
Daughter. We see you.
She had failed to keep David safe, but Genya hadn’t turned away from her. She’d failed to keep the Darkling from returning, but Alina hadn’t damned her for it. And Nikolai had offered her a kingdom, he’d offered her the love she’d been seeking the whole of her life, even if she’d been afraid to take it, even if she’d been too much of a coward to look him in the eye and admit that it wasn’t Ravka’s future she sought to preserve, but her own fragile, frightened heart.
Juris had known. Juris had seen it all. Open the door.
Love was on the other side and it was terrifying.
Open the door. The dragon had seen this very moment, this very room.
She turned her gaze on the Apparat. “How is it, through wars and kings and revolutions, you always manage to survive?”
The priest smiled. “That is a gift I can share with you. I understand men better than they understand themselves. I give the people what they need. Comfort, protection, wonder. You may live a thousand years, Zoya Nazyalensky, but my faith means I will live for eternity.”
Zoya’s eyes met Nina’s. “Eternity may be shorter than you think.”
She didn’t have to lift her hands to summon the current that suddenly crackled through the air. It ignited around the Apparat’s guards in sparks of blue fire. They shuddered and shook, burning from the inside, and collapsed.
“Nina!” Zoya shouted. In a flash the corpses of the guards were on their feet, commanded by Nina’s power. They seized the Apparat.
I’m sorry, she said to the nameless, faceless prisoners in their cells. I’m sorry I can’t save you. But I can avenge you. I can love you and let you go.
“Gas!” shouted the Apparat, his eyes wild.
Zoya heard the vents open, the whoosh of parem shooting toward them. She leapt, seizing Nina, feeling the strength of Juris and the dragon. The power of the lives they’d lived and the battles they’d fought flooded her muscles. She slammed through the wall with Nina in her arms, through stone and metal, and into the waiting sky.
Nina screamed.
You are strong enough to survive the fall.
They were plummeting toward the sea. Zoya felt Genya’s arms around her, Liliyana holding her tight. She felt Nikolai’s presence beside her and Juris’ sword in her hands.
With a wild, gasping breath, she felt her wings unfurl.
40
MAYU
THEY WERE TOO LATE.
The battlefield was strewn with bodies and Fjerdan soldiers surrounded the king, a noose drawing ever tighter.
“Put me down!” shouted Tamar. She was carried by Harbinger, his double metal wings like those of a dragonfly.
“There are too many of them!” said Reyem. He had one arm around Bergin, the other tight around Mayu, but her heart was still pounding, certain they were about to fall.
“My wife is somewhere down
there,” Tamar snarled. “You put my feet on that battlefield and then you can run back south.”
They dove for the ground. Mayu saw surprised faces turn toward them, Grisha raising their hands to defend themselves from the creatures of their nightmares—the khergud.
“Stand down!” yelled Tamar in Ravkan. “Tolya, tell them to stand down!”
The people on the ground began to shout at one another.
King Nikolai looked up at them in wonder. “Stand down!” he commanded. “They’re allies.” He didn’t sound like he believed it. “Keep your eyes on the Fjerdans.”
Some kind of shadow shape circled the Ravkan troops, trying to keep the Fjerdan soldiers at bay, making it impossible for them to aim their rifles. But they were drawing closer.
As the Fjerdans caught sight of the winged Shu, they opened fire. Reyem whirled in the air, turning his back to the gunfire, sheltering Mayu and Bergin. Bullets pelted his back and his wings, the sound like hard rain on a metal roof.
“Reyem!” she cried.
“I’m all right,” he said, the calm sound of his voice so strange amid the chaos of battle.
Harbinger had his stout arms wrapped around Tamar to protect her, but Nightmoth and Scarab threw themselves at the Fjerdan soldiers, oblivious to the bullets peppering their bodies. Some Fjerdans ran screaming from the monsters descending from on high; others tried to stand their ground. But they were no match for the strength and speed of the khergud. They were fearless, relentless. Nightmoth lowered his head, using his horns like a battering ram. Mayu saw Scarab rip the rifle from a Fjerdan’s hand, then tear the arms from his body, her metal claws flashing.
“Take us down!” Tamar demanded.
Locust and Harbinger obliged. Mayu’s feet struck ground, and she went to one knee before she righted herself. Scarab and Nightmoth had pushed the Fjerdan line back, but the enemy had far greater numbers and they wouldn’t stay in retreat for long.
“Dare I hope you haven’t come to kill us all?” Nikolai shouted over the din of the battle.
Tamar threw an arm around her twin. “I’ve come to save your ass, little brother.”
“Two minutes!” said Tolya. “You’re two minutes older than me.”
They drew their weapons, standing back to back. Mayu snatched a rifle from the hands of a fallen soldier.
“I thought you couldn’t send reinforcements,” said King Nikolai. His lip was bloodied, his uniform covered in dirt and gore. He’d been shot in the left shoulder and had a rifle in his hands.
“The queen forbade it,” said Tamar.
Now Mayu met the king’s eyes. “But as far as the government is concerned, the khergud don’t exist.”
“Schemes within schemes,” said Nikolai. “Welcome back.”
At the summer palace, Tamar and Mayu had left their audience with Queen Leyti and the princesses and found their way back to Bergin and Reyem.
“You were right,” Mayu had said. “Makhi will rule side by side with Ehri as regent. No trial. No punishment. The Taban line remains unblemished.”
Bergin had shrugged his gaunt shoulders. “There’s a war on. They want peace and stability. Justice is a luxury people like us can’t afford.”
“They’re going to bring the other khergud here,” said Mayu. “To recover.”
“Exile,” Reyem had said. “Maybe it’s for the best. We aren’t fit to be around human beings.”
“Don’t say that,” said Bergin. “We’re alive. We’re free.”
“Are we? How long will the khergud be allowed to live when our very existence threatens the Taban? We’re a secret they can’t risk being exposed.” He looked out the window, toward the shores of the lake. “And we aren’t meant to live in isolation, without purpose. We were built for battle.”
“Ravka won’t let any harm come to you,” Tamar vowed. “I won’t. We have a treaty now.”
“To protect the rights of Grisha,” Mayu objected. “What do you care for the khergud?”
Tamar’s golden eyes flashed. “They’re victims of parem, just as much as the Grisha.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mayu said. “What good will the treaty be when Ravka falls to the Fjerdans?”
“Don’t underestimate King Nikolai,” Tamar replied. “He’ll fight until there’s no fight left in him. And so will I.”
Bergin rose. “If you’re going to the front, I want to go with you.”
Reyem turned. “You … you’re leaving?”
He’d said it with little emotion, but Mayu had sensed the turmoil inside him.
“Ravka may not be my homeland, but I’m Grisha. I’ll fight for the king who gave me freedom.”
“Then we should fight too,” Mayu had said. She hadn’t been sure where the words came from. But Nikolai and Tamar had brought her back to Reyem—and she knew in her bones that without Bergin there wouldn’t have been a brother to come back to. Scarab, Nightmoth, Harbinger … they’d had friends, families, lives, and all of it had been wiped away by their rebirth as khergud. She had a Grisha to thank for the humanity that Reyem had retained.
“We will,” Reyem said firmly. “Your cause is mine, Bergin. We’ll fight for the Grisha. A khergud warrior is worth ten ordinary soldiers, maybe more. The others will fight too. We need a mission.”
“I’m grateful,” said Tamar. “Truly. But Queen Leyti—”
“Queen Leyti told us we could send no Shu troops,” Princess Ehri said. She’d appeared at the doorway, her small frame seeming to hover there, a smile playing about her lips. “But she said nothing of ghosts. According to our government, my sister, and my grandmother, the khergud don’t exist. And phantoms may go where they please.”
She’d floated away, as if she was a spirit herself, and in that moment, Mayu realized that if she survived whatever came next, she would come back to her post as Tavgharad and serve Princess Ehri gladly.
Would she ever have that chance? As she stood on the battlefield, a rifle at her shoulder, she took aim and fired, again and again, unsure of which bullets might have found purchase, terrified by the rush of blood in her ears, the jackrabbit thump of her heart. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Scarab moving like a whirlwind through the ranks of Fjerdan troops, as Nightmoth, Harbinger, and Locust—Reyem—attacked from the air, plucking soldiers off their feet and snapping their necks with smooth efficiency.
“I’m glad they’re on our side,” said Tolya, wiping the sweat from his brow.
“Let’s hope it stays that way,” said Tamar.
Mayu heard a series of rapid explosions, and suddenly she was looking at a wall of fire crawling toward them across the Fjerdan lines. She looked up—Fjerdan flyers, dropping bomb after bomb.
She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “They’re killing their own soldiers along with the Ravkans!”
“They don’t care,” said Tamar. “They intend to win at any cost.”
Two Ravkan flyers intercepted the Fjerdans, breaking their formation, but the enemy reassembled, taking the onslaught of the Ravkan guns head-on. A Fjerdan wing caught fire, and the flyer plummeted in a spiral of flame and smoke. It crashed onto the battlefield, plowed through soldiers, struck a tank, and exploded in a yellow ball of fire. Another flyer took its place in formation. Any sacrifice for victory.
“Call for retreat!” King Nikolai shouted. “Have the Squallers and Tidemakers create some kind of cover. We need to get our people out of here.”
“This is our last chance—” said Tolya.
“If they’re willing to bomb their own troops, we’re out of chances. They have too much firepower, and Brum doesn’t care what kind of casualties he racks up as long as Fjerda wins the day. I won’t line my people up for the slaughter. Retreat!”
The call went down the line as mist began to shroud the battlefield. But Mayu could see it wasn’t going to matter. The Fjerdans had been given their orders, and it made no difference if they couldn’t spot targets when they didn’t care about taking aim. They would bomb this
battlefield into oblivion.
Mayu saw Reyem speeding toward the ranks of flyers, his wings beating the air. A creature flew beside him—that shadow she’d glimpsed before, but now she saw it had the shape of a beast. They seized one of the Fjerdan flyers and yanked its wings free. Ravkan Squallers hurled the debris away from the battlefield, trying to protect the troops below.
“Come on,” Reyem said as he set down beside her. He grabbed her around the waist. “I need to get you out of here.”
“Go,” said Tamar.
“Bergin—” Reyem attempted, but Bergin shook his head. He would not abandon this fight.
Reyem was already lifting Mayu off her feet.
“No!” shouted Mayu. “We have to get Tamar and the others out too.”
“Forget it,” said Tolya. “This is our fight. For every Grisha.”
“For every Grisha,” said Bergin.
“This is suicide,” said Mayu. “There are too many of them!”
Tamar grasped the king’s shoulder. “Nikolai, let the khergud fly you out. You can still survive this.”
But the king only laughed, a laugh that was nothing like Isaak’s, ferocious and maybe a little unhinged. “None of that, Tamar. If Ravka’s independence dies this day, then I die with it.”
Mayu heard the unmistakable buzz of the Fjerdan engines. They’d locked back into formation and were making another run over the battlefield. “They’re coming back!”
The king climbed onto a tank, the shadow creature hovering above him. He turned to the khergud. “You have no reason to give me aid, but I ask for it anyway. The battle is lost, but if we can take out that line of bombers, we can give everyone on this field a chance to get to safety—Fjerdan and Ravkan alike.”
“Nikolai,” said Tolya. “Please. It’s madness. If the demon dies, you do too.”
The king grinned. “Manners, Tolya. If they want to send me to hell, I’m going to at least say a proper goodbye. His jacket was torn, his clothes stained with blood. He had never looked less like the boy who had courted her. He had never looked more like a king. “This is not your country. I have no right to command you, so I ask you. Fight for me. Fight for every Grisha, for every soldier, for every child who wishes to see his mother again, for every father who wishes to rest his head at night without fear of what may come tomorrow, for every artist, and carpenter, and stoneworker, and farmer who were meant to do more with their lives than carry a gun in their hands. Fight for all of us.”
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