Siege and Storm gt-2

by Leigh Bardugo

  Tamar’s face broke into a beautiful grin. “Really?”

  “You’re practically doing the job now, anyway. But if you’re going to be guarding me morning and night, you need to promise me something.”

  “Anything,” she said, beaming.

  “No more talk of Saints.”

  CHAPTER 11

  AS THE CROWDS of pilgrims grew, they became harder to control, and soon I was forced to ride in the coach. Some days Mal accompanied me, but usually he chose to ride outside, guarding the vehicle with Tolya and Tamar. As eager as I was for his company, I knew it was for the best. Being stuck in the lacquered little jewel box always seemed to put him in a bad mood.

  Nikolai only joined me on our way into or out of every village, so that we would be seen arriving or departing together. He talked constantly. He was always thinking of some new thing to build—a contraption for paving roads, a new irrigation system, a boat that could row itself. He sketched on any piece of paper he could find, and each day he seemed to have a new way to improve the next version of the Hummingbird.

  As nervous as it made me, he was also eager to talk about the third amplifier and the Darkling. He didn’t recognize the stone arch in the illustration either, and no matter how long we squinted at the page, Sankt Ilya wasn’t giving up his secrets. But that didn’t stop Nikolai from speculating endlessly on possible places to start hunting the firebird, or questioning me about the Darkling’s new power.

  “We’re about to go to war together,” he said. “In case you’ve forgotten, the Darkling’s not particularly fond of me. I’d like us to have every advantage we can get.”

  There was so little for me to tell. I barely understood what the Darkling was doing myself.

  “Grisha can only use and alter what already exists. True creation is a different kind of power. Baghra called it ‘the making at the heart of the world.’”

  “And you think that’s what the Darkling is after?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. We all have limits, and when we push them, we tire. But in the long term, using our power makes us stronger. It’s different when the Darkling calls the nichevo’ya. I think it costs him.” I described the strain that had shown on the Darkling’s face, his fatigue. “The power isn’t feeding him. It’s feeding on him.”

  “Well, that explains it,” Nikolai said, his fingers beating a tattoo against his thigh, his mind already churning with possibilities.

  “Explains what?”

  “That we’re still alive, that my father is still sitting the throne. If the Darkling could just raise a shadow army, he’d have marched on us already. This is good,” he said decisively. “It buys us time.”

  The question was how much. I thought back to the desire I’d felt looking up at the stars aboard the Volkvolny. Hunger for power had corrupted the Darkling. For all I knew, it might well have corrupted Morozova, too. Bringing the amplifiers together might unleash misery of a kind the world had never seen.

  I rubbed my arms, trying to shake the chill that had dropped over me. I couldn’t speak these doubts to Nikolai, and Mal was already reluctant enough about the course we’d chosen.

  “You know what we’re up against,” I said. “Time may not be enough.”

  “Os Alta is heavily fortified. It’s close to the base at Poliznaya, and most important, it’s far from both the northern and southern borders.”

  “Does that help us?”

  “The Darkling’s range is limited. When we disabled his ship, he wasn’t able to send the nichevo’ya to pursue us. That means he’ll have to enter Ravka with his monsters. The mountains to the east are impassable, and he can’t cross the Fold without you, so he’ll have to come at us from Fjerda or Shu Han. Either way, we’ll have plenty of warning.”

  “And the King and Queen will stay?”

  “If my father left the capital, it would be as good as handing the country over to the Darkling now. Besides, I don’t know that he’s strong enough to travel.”

  I thought of Genya’s red kefta. “He hasn’t recovered?”

  “They’ve kept the worst of it from the gossips, but no, he hasn’t, and I doubt he will.” He crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. “Your friend is stunning. For a poisoner.”

  “She isn’t my friend,” I said, though the words sounded childish to my ears and felt like a betrayal. I blamed Genya for a lot of things, but not for what she’d done to the King. Nikolai seemed to have spies everywhere. I wondered if he knew what kind of a man his father really was. “And I doubt she used poison.”

  “She did something to him. None of his doctors can find a cure, and my mother won’t let a Corporalki Healer anywhere near him.” After a moment, Nikolai said, “It was a clever move, really.”

  My brows shot up. “Trying to kill your father?”

  “The Darkling could have murdered my father easily enough, but he would have risked outright rebellion from the peasants and the First Army. With the King alive and kept in isolation, no one knew quite what was happening. The Apparat was there, playing the trusted adviser, issuing commands. Vasily was off someplace buying up horses and whores.” He paused, looked out the window, ran his finger along its gilded edge. “I was at sea. I didn’t hear the news until weeks after it was all over.”

  I waited, unsure if I should speak. His eyes were trained on the passing scenery, but his expression was distant.

  “When word of the massacre in Novokribirsk and the Darkling’s disappearance got out, all hell broke loose. A group of royal ministers and the palace guard forced their way into the Grand Palace and demanded to see the King. Do you know what they found? My mother cowering in her parlor, clutching that snuffly little dog. And the King of Ravka, Alexander the Third, alone in his bedchamber, barely breathing, lying in his own filth. I let that happen.”

  “You couldn’t have known what the Darkling was planning, Nikolai. No one did.”

  He didn’t seem to hear me. “The Grisha and oprichniki who held the palace on the Darkling’s orders were caught in the lower town, trying to escape. They were executed.”

  I tried to restrain a shudder. “What about the Apparat?” The priest had colluded with the Darkling and might be working with him still. But he’d tried to approach me before the coup, and I’d always thought he might be playing a deeper game.

  “Escaped. No one knows how.” His voice was hard. “But he’ll answer for it when the time comes.”

  Again I glimpsed the ruthless edge that lurked beneath the polished demeanor. Was that the real Nikolai Lantsov? Or just another disguise?

  “You let Genya go,” I said.

  “She was a pawn. You were the prize. I had to stay focused.” Then he grinned, his dark mood vanishing as if it had never been. “Besides,” he said with a wink, “she was too pretty for the sharks.”

  * * *

  RIDING IN THE COACH left me restless, frustrated with the pace Nikolai was setting, and eager to get to the Little Palace. Still, it gave him a chance to help prepare me for our arrival in Os Alta. Nikolai had a considerable stake in my success as the leader of the Second Army, and he always seemed to have some new bit of wisdom he wanted to impart. It was overwhelming, but I didn’t feel I could afford to disregard his advice, and I started to feel like I was back at the Little Palace library, cramming my head full of Grisha theory.

  The less you say, the more weight your words will carry.

  Don’t argue. Never deign to deny. Meet insults with laughter.

  “You didn’t laugh at the Fjerdan captain,” I observed.

  “That wasn’t an insult. It was a challenge,” he said. “Know the difference.”

  Weakness is a guise. Wear it when they need to know you’re human, but never when you feel it.

  Don’t wish for bricks when you can build from stone. Use whatever or whoever is in front of you.

  Being a leader means someone is always watching you.

  Get them to follow the little orders, and they’ll follow the big ones.


  It’s okay to flout expectations, but never disappoint them.

  “How am I supposed to remember all of this?” I asked in exasperation.

  “You don’t think too much about it, you just do it.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’ve been groomed for this since the day you were born.”

  “I was groomed for lawn tennis and champagne parties,” Nikolai said. “The rest came with practice.”

  “I don’t have time for practice!”

  “You’ll do fine,” he said. “Just calm down.”

  I let out a squawk of frustration. I wanted to throttle him so badly my fingers itched.

  “Oh, and the easiest way to make someone furious is to tell her to calm down.”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or throw my shoe at him.

  Outside the coach, Nikolai’s behavior was getting more and more unnerving. He knew better than to renew his marriage proposal, but it was clear that he wanted people to think there was something between us. With every stop, he grew more bold, standing too close, kissing my hand, pushing my hair back over my ear when it was caught by a breeze.

  In Tashta, Nikolai waved to the massive crowd of villagers and pilgrims that had formed by a statue of the town’s founder. As he was helping me back into the coach, he slipped his arm around my waist.

  “Please don’t punch me,” he whispered. Then he yanked me hard against his chest and pressed his lips to mine.

  The crowd exploded into wild cheers, their voices crashing over us in an exultant roar. Before I could even react, Nikolai shoved me into the shadowy interior of the coach and slipped in after. He slammed the door behind him, but I could still hear the townspeople cheering outside. Mixed in with the cries of “Nikolai!” and “Sankta Alina!” was a new chant: Sol Koroleva, they shouted. Sun Queen.

  I could just see Mal through the coach’s window. He was on horseback, working the edge of the crowd, making sure they stayed out of the road. It was clear from his stormy expression that he’d seen everything.

  I turned on Nikolai and kicked him hard in the shin. He yelped, but that wasn’t nearly satisfying enough. I kicked him again.

  “Feel better?” he asked.

  “Next time you try something like that, I won’t kick you,” I said angrily. “I’ll cut you in half.”

  He brushed a speck of lint from his trousers. “Not sure that would be wise. I’m afraid the people rather frown on regicide.”

  “You’re not king yet, Sobachka,” I said sharply. “So don’t tempt me.”

  “I don’t see why you’re upset. The crowd loved it.”

  “I didn’t love it.”

  He raised a brow. “You didn’t hate it.”

  I kicked him again. This time his hand snaked out like a flash and captured my ankle. If it had been winter, I would have been wearing boots, but I was in summer slippers and his fingers closed over my bare leg. My cheeks blazed red.

  “Promise not to kick me again, and I’ll promise not to kiss you again,” he said.

  “I only kicked you because you kissed me!”

  I tried to pull my leg back, but he kept a hard grip.

  “Promise,” he said.

  “All right,” I bit out. “I promise.”

  “Then we have a deal.”

  He dropped my foot, and I drew it back beneath my kefta, hoping he couldn’t see my idiotic blush.

  “Great,” I said. “Now get out.”

  “It’s my coach.”

  “The deal was only for kicking. It did not prohibit slapping, punching, biting, or cutting you in half.”

  He grinned. “Afraid Oretsev will wonder what we’ve gotten up to?”

  That was exactly what I was worried about. “I’m concerned that if I’m forced to spend another minute with you, I may vomit on my kefta.”

  “It’s an act, Alina. The stronger our alliance, the better it will be for both of us. I’m sorry if it puts a burr in Mal’s sock, but it’s a necessity.”

  “That kiss wasn’t a necessity.”

  “I was improvising,” he said. “I got carried away.”

  “You never improvise,” I said. “Everything you do is calculated. You change personalities the way other people change hats. And you know what? It’s creepy. Aren’t you ever just yourself?”

  “I’m a prince, Alina. I can’t afford to be myself.”

  I blew out an annoyed breath.

  He was silent for a moment and then said, “I… you really think I’m creepy?”

  It was the first time he’d sounded less than sure of himself. Despite what he’d done, I actually felt a little sorry for him.

  “Occasionally,” I admitted.

  He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Then he sighed and shrugged. “I’m a younger son, most likely a bastard, and I’ve been away from court for almost seven years. I’m going to do everything I can to strengthen my chances for the throne, and if that means courting an entire nation or making moon eyes at you, then I’ll do it.”

  I goggled at him. I hadn’t really heard anything after the word “bastard.” Genya had hinted that there were rumors about Nikolai’s parentage, but I was shocked that he would acknowledge them.

  He laughed. “You’re never going to survive at court if you don’t learn to hide what you’re thinking a bit better. You look like you just sat in a bowl of cold porridge. Close your mouth.”

  I shut my mouth with a snap and tried to school my features into a pleasant expression. That just made Nikolai laugh harder. “Now you look like you’ve had too much wine.”

  I gave up and slouched back against the seat. “How can you joke about something like that?”

  “I’ve heard the whispers since I was a child. It’s not something I want repeated outside of this coach—and I’ll deny it if you do—but I couldn’t care less whether or not I have Lantsov blood. In fact, given all the royal inbreeding, being a bastard is probably a point in my favor.”

  I shook my head. He was completely baffling. It was hard to know what to take seriously when it came to Nikolai.

  “Why is the crown so important to you?” I asked. “Why go through all of this?”

  “Is it so hard to believe I might actually care what happens to this country?”

  “Honestly? Yes.”

  He studied the toes of his polished boots. I could never figure out how he kept them so shiny.

  “I guess I like fixing things,” he said. “I always have.”

  It wasn’t much of an answer, but somehow it rang true.

  “You truly think your brother will step aside?”

  “I hope so. He knows the First Army will follow me, and I don’t think he has the stomach for civil war. Besides, Vasily inherited our father’s aversion to hard work. Once he realizes what it really takes to run a country, I doubt he’ll be able to run from the capital fast enough.”

  “And if he doesn’t give up so easily?”

  “It’s simply a question of finding the right incentive. Pauper or prince, every man can be bought.”

  More wisdom from the mouth of Nikolai Lantsov. I glanced out the coach’s window. I could just see Mal sitting tall in his saddle as he kept pace with the coach.

  “Not every man,” I murmured.

  Nikolai followed my gaze. “Yes, Alina, even your stalwart champion has his price.” He turned back to me, his hazel eyes thoughtful. “And I suspect I’m looking at it right now.”

  I shifted uneasily in my seat. “You’re so sure of everything,” I said sourly. “Maybe I’ll decide I want the throne and smother you in your sleep.”

  Nikolai just grinned. “Finally,” he said, “you’re thinking like a politician.”

  * * *

  EVENTUALLY, NIKOLAI RELENTED and vacated the coach, but it was hours before we stopped for the night. I didn’t have to seek Mal out. When the coach door opened, he was there, offering his hand to help me down. The square was crowded with pilgrims and other travele
rs, all craning their necks to get a better look at the Sun Summoner, but I wasn’t sure when I’d have another chance to talk to him.

  “Are you angry?” I whispered as he led me across the cobblestones. I could see Nikolai on the other end of the square, already chatting with a group of local dignitaries.

  “With you? No. But Nikolai and I are going to have words when he isn’t surrounded by an armed guard.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I kicked him.”

  Mal laughed. “You did?”

  “Twice. Does that help?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  “I’ll stomp on his foot tonight at dinner.” That fell well outside the kicking prohibition.

  “So, no heart flutters or swooning, even in the arms of a royal prince?”

  He was teasing, but I heard the uncertainty beneath his words.

  “I seem to be immune,” I replied. “And luckily, I know what a real kiss should feel like.”

  I left him standing in the middle of the square. I could get used to making Mal blush.

  * * *

  THE NIGHT BEFORE we were to enter Os Alta, we stayed at the dacha of a minor nobleman who lived just a few miles from the city walls. It reminded me a bit of Keramzin—the grand iron gates, the long, straight path to the graceful house with its two wide wings of pale brick. Count Minkoff was apparently known for breeding dwarf fruit trees, and the hallways of the dacha were lined with clever little topiaries that filled the rooms with the sweet scent of peaches and plums.

  I was provided with an elegant bedchamber on the second floor. Tamar took the adjoining room, and Tolya and Mal were boarded across the hall. A large box waited for me on my bed, and inside, I found the kefta I had finally broken down and requested the previous week. Nikolai had sent orders to the Little Palace, and I recognized the work of Grisha Fabrikators in the dark blue silk shot through with golden thread. I expected it to be heavy in my hands, but Materialki craft had rendered the fabric nearly weightless. When I slipped it over my head, it glimmered and shifted like light glimpsed through water. The clasps were small golden suns. It was beautiful and a bit showy. Nikolai would approve.

  The lady of the house had sent a maid to do my hair. She sat me down at the dressing table, clucking and fussing over my tangles as she pinned my tresses into a loose knot. She had a far gentler hand than Genya, but the results weren’t nearly so spectacular. I shoved the thought from my mind. I didn’t like thinking of Genya, of what might have happened to her after we left the whaler, or of how lonely the Little Palace would feel without her.