“Fight you, Alina? There is no fight to be had.” He gestured to the nichevo’ya. “Seize them.”
They swarmed down from every direction, a seething black mass. Beside me, Mal opened fire. I could smell gunpowder and hear the clink of empty cartridges as bullets hit the ground. I was focusing every bit of power I had, nearly pinwheeling my arms, cutting through five, ten, fifteen shadow soldiers at a time, but it was no good. There were simply too many of them.
Then suddenly they stopped. The nichevo’ya hung in the air, bodies limp, wings moving in silent rhythm.
“Did you do that?” Mal asked.
“I—I don’t think so…”
Silence descended on the terrace. I could hear the wail of the wind, the sounds of the battle raging behind us.
“Abomination.”
We turned. Baghra stood inside the doorway, her hand on Misha’s shoulder. The boy was shaking, his eyes so wide I could see more white than iris. Behind them, our soldiers were fighting not just nichevo’ya but oprichniki and the Darkling’s own Grisha in their blue and red kefta. He’d had his creatures bring them all to the mountaintop.
“Guide me,” Baghra told Misha. What courage it must have taken for him to lead her out onto the terrace, past the nichevo’ya, who shifted and bumped up against each other, following her passage like a field of glistening black reeds. Only those closest to the Darkling remained moving, clinging to their master, their wings beating in unison.
The Darkling’s face was livid. “I should have known I’d find you cloistered with the enemy. Go back inside,” he ordered. “My soldiers will not harm you.”
Baghra ignored him. When they reached the end of the terrace, Misha placed her hand on the lip of the remaining wall. She leaned against it, releasing an almost contented sigh, and gave Misha a nudge with her stick. “Go on, boy, run to the scrawny little Saint.” He hesitated. Baghra reached out and found his cheek, then patted it none too gently. “Go on,” she repeated. “I want to talk to my son.”
“Misha,” Mal said, and the boy bolted over to us, ducking behind Mal’s coat. The nichevo’ya showed no interest in him. Their attention focused wholly on Baghra.
“What is it you want?” asked the Darkling. “And do not hope to plead for mercy for these fools.”
“Only to meet your monsters,” she said. Baghra leaned her stick against the wall and held out her arms. The nichevo’ya moved forward, rustling and nudging against each other. One nuzzled its head against her palm, as if it were sniffing her. Was it curiosity I sensed in them? Or hunger? “They know me, these children. Like calls to like.”
“Stop this,” demanded the Darkling.
Baghra’s palms began to fill with darkness. The sight was jarring. I’d only ever seen her summon once before. She had hidden her power away as I had once stifled mine, but she had done it for the sake of her son’s secrets. I remembered what she’d said about a Grisha turning his power on himself. She shared the Darkling’s blood, his power. Would she act against him now?
“I will not fight you,” the Darkling said.
“Then strike me down.”
“You know I won’t.”
She smiled then and gave a little chuckle, as if she were pleased with a precocious student. “It’s true. That’s why I still have hope.” Her head snapped to me. “Girl,” she said sharply. Her blind eyes were blank, but in that moment, I could have sworn she saw me clearly. “Do not fail me again.”
“She isn’t strong enough to fight me either, old woman. Take up your stick, and I will return you to the Little Palace.”
A terrible suspicion crept into me. Baghra had given me the strength to fight, but she’d never told me to do it. The only thing she’d ever asked of me was to run.
“Baghra—” I began.
“My hut. My fire. That sounds a pleasant thing,” she said. “But I find the dark is the same wherever I am.”
“You earned those eyes,” he said coldly, but I heard the hurt there too.
“I did,” she said with a sigh. “And more.” Then, without warning, she slammed her hands together. Thunder boomed over the mountain and darkness billowed from her palms like banners unfurling, twisting and curling around the nichevo’ya. They shrieked and jittered, whirling in confusion.
“Know that I loved you,” she said to the Darkling. “Know that it was not enough.”
In a single movement, she shoved herself up on the wall, and before I could draw breath to scream, she tipped forward and vanished over the ledge, trailing the nichevo’ya behind her in tangled skeins of darkness. They tumbled past us in a rush, a shrieking black wave that rolled over the terrace and plummeted down, drawn by the power she exuded.
“No!” the Darkling roared. He dove after her, the wings of his soldiers beating with his fury.
“Alina, now!” Through the haze of my horror, I heard Mal’s words, felt him pushing me through the door, and suddenly, Mal had Misha in his arms and we were running through the observatory. Nichevo’ya streamed past us, yanked toward the terrace by Baghra’s trailing skeins. Others simply hovered in confusion as their master drew farther away.
Run, Baghra had told me again and again. And now I did.
The heated floor was slippery with melted snow. The massive windows of the Spinning Wheel had been shattered and flurries gusted through the room. I saw fallen bodies, pockets of fighting.
I couldn’t seem to think straight. Sergei. Nikolai. Baghra. Baghra. Falling through the mists, the rocks rising up to meet her. Would she cry out? Would she close her blind eyes? Little Saint. Little martyr.
Tolya was running toward us. I saw two oprichniki come at him, swords drawn. Without breaking stride, he threw out his fists and the soldiers collapsed, clutching their chests, their mouths dripping blood.
“Where are the others?” Mal shouted as we came level with Tolya and pelted for the staircase.
“In the hangar, but they’re outnumbered. We need to get down there.”
Some of the Darkling’s blue-robed Squallers had tried to blockade the stairs. They hurled crates and furniture at us in mighty gusts of wind. I slashed out with the Cut, smashing the crates to kindling before they could reach us, sending the Squallers scattering.
The worst was waiting in the hangar below. All semblance of order had broken down in the panic to get away from the Darkling’s soldiers.
People were swarming over the Pelican and the Ibis. The Pelican already hovered above the hangar floor, borne aloft by Squaller current. Soldiers were pulling on its cables, trying to drag it back down and climb aboard, unwilling to wait for the other barge.
Someone gave the order, and the Pelican surged free, plowing through the crowd as it took flight. It rose into the air, trailing screaming men like strange anchors, and disappeared from view.
Zoya, Nadia, and Harshaw were backed up against one of the hulls of the Bittern, using fire and wind to try to keep back a crowd of Grisha and oprichniki.
Tamar was on the deck, and I was relieved to see Nevsky at her side, along with a few other soldiers from the Twenty-Second. But behind them, Adrik lay in a pool of blood. His arm hung from his body at a bizarre angle. His face was white with shock. Genya knelt over him, tears streaming down her face as David stood above her with a rifle, firing down at the attacking crowd with precarious aim. Stigg was nowhere to be seen. Had he fled on the Pelican or simply been left behind in the Spinning Wheel?
“Stigg—” I said.
“There’s no time,” replied Mal.
We shoved through the mob, and at a shouted order from her brother, Tamar slid into place and seized the Bittern’s wheel. We lay down cover as Zoya and the other Squallers scrambled on deck. Mal stumbled as a bullet struck his thigh, but Harshaw had hold of him, dragging him aboard.
“Get us moving!” shouted Nevsky. He signaled to the other soldiers, and they arrayed themselves along the hull’s railing, opening fire on the Darkling’s men. I took a place beside them, sending bright light up agai
nst the crowd, blinding them so they couldn’t take aim.
Mal and Tolya took their positions at the lines as Zoya filled the sails. But her power wasn’t enough.
“Nadia, we need you!” bellowed Tamar.
Nadia looked up from where she’d knelt beside her brother. Her face was streaked with tears, but she rose to her feet, swaying, and forced a draft up into the sails. The Bittern started to slide forward on its runners.
“We’re too heavy!” Zoya cried.
Nevsky grabbed my shoulder. “Survive,” he said roughly. “Help him.” Did he know what had happened to Nikolai?
“I will,” I vowed. “The other barge—”
He didn’t stop to listen. Nevsky shouted, “For the Twenty-Second!” He vaulted over the side, and the other soldiers followed without hesitation. They threw themselves into the mob.
Tamar called the order, and we shot from the hangar. The Bittern plunged sickeningly from the ledge, then the sails snapped into place and we were rising.
I looked back and caught one last glimpse of Nevsky, rifle at his shoulder, before he was swallowed by the crowd.
CHAPTER
12
WE BOBBED AND FALTERED, the little craft swinging precariously back and forth beneath the sails as Tamar and the crew tried to get control of the Bittern. Snow lashed at our faces in stinging gusts, and when the hull nicked the side of a cliff, the whole deck tilted, sending us all scrambling for purchase.
We had no Tidemakers to keep us cloaked in mist, so we could only hope that Baghra had bought us enough time to get clear of the mountains and the Darkling.
Baghra. My eyes skittered over the deck. Misha had tucked himself against the side of the hull, his arms curled over his head. No one could stop to offer comfort.
I knelt beside Adrik and Genya. A nichevo’ya had taken a massive bite from Adrik’s shoulder, and Genya was trying to stop the bleeding, but she’d never been trained as a Healer. His lips were pale, his skin ice-cold, and as I watched, his eyes began to roll back in his head.
“Tolya!” I shouted, trying not to sound panicked.
Nadia turned, her eyes wide with terror, and the Bittern dipped.
“Keep us steady, Nadia,” Tamar demanded over the rush of wind. “Tolya, help him!”
Harshaw came up behind Tolya. He had a deep gash in his forearm, but he gripped the ropes and said, “Ready.” I could see Oncat’s shape squirming around in his coat.
Tolya’s brow was furrowed. Stigg was meant to be with us. Harshaw hadn’t been trained to work the lines.
“Just hold her steady,” he cautioned Harshaw. He looked to where Mal stood braced on the opposite side of the hull, hands tight to the ropes, muscles straining as we were buffeted by snow and wind.
“Do it!” Mal shouted. He was bleeding from the bullet wound in his thigh.
They made the switch. The Bittern tilted, then righted itself as Harshaw let out a grunt.
“Got it,” he grated through clenched teeth. It wasn’t reassuring.
Tolya leapt down to Adrik’s side and began working. Nadia was sobbing, but she held the draft steady.
“Can you save the arm?” I asked quietly.
Tolya shook his head once. He was a Heartrender, a warrior, and a killer—not a Healer. “I can’t just seal the skin,” he said, “or he’ll bleed internally. I need to close the arteries. Can you warm him?”
I cast light over Adrik, and his trembling calmed slightly.
We drove onward, sails taut with the force of Grisha wind. Tamar bent to the wheel, coat billowing behind her. I knew when we’d cleared the mountains because the Bittern ceased its shaking. The air cut cold against my cheeks as we picked up speed, but I kept Adrik cocooned in sunlight.
Time seemed to slow. Neither of them wanted to say it, but I could see Nadia and Zoya beginning to tire. Mal and Harshaw couldn’t be faring well either.
“We need to set down,” I said.
“Where are we?” Harshaw asked. His crest of red hair lay flat on his head, soaked through with snow. I’d thought of him as unpredictable, maybe a little dangerous, but here he was—bloody, tired, and working the lines for hours without complaint.
Tamar consulted her charts. “Just past the permafrost. If we keep heading south, we’ll be above more populated areas soon.”
“We could try to find woods for cover,” panted Nadia.
“We’re too near Chernast,” Mal replied.
Harshaw adjusted his grip. “Does it matter? If we fly through the day, we’re going to be spotted.”
“We could go higher,” suggested Genya.
Nadia shook her head. “We can try, but the air’s thinner up there and we’ll use a lot of power on a vertical move.”
“Where are we headed, anyway?” asked Zoya.
Without thinking twice, I said, “To the copper mine at Murin. To the firebird.”
There was a brief silence. Then Harshaw said what I knew a lot of them had to be thinking. “We could run. Every time we face those monsters, more of us die. We could take this ship anywhere. Kerch. Novyi Zem.”
“Like hell,” muttered Mal.
“This is my home,” said Zoya. “I won’t be chased out of it.”
“What about Adrik?” Nadia asked, her voice hoarse.
“He lost a lot of blood,” said Tolya. “All I can do is keep his heart steady, try to give him time to recover.”
“He needs a real Healer.”
“If the Darkling finds us, a Healer won’t do him any good,” said Zoya.
I ran a hand over my eyes, trying to think. Adrik might be stable. Or he might slip more deeply into a coma and never come out of it. And if we set down somewhere and were spotted, we’d all be in for death or worse. The Darkling must know we wouldn’t land in Fjerda, deep in enemy territory. He might think we’d flee to West Ravka. He’d send scouts everywhere he could. Would he stop to grieve for his mother? Dashed on the rocks, would there be enough of her left to bury? I looked over my shoulder, sure that at any minute I’d see nichevo’ya swooping down on us. I couldn’t think about Nikolai. I wouldn’t.
“We go to Murin,” I said. “We’ll figure out the rest from there. I won’t force anyone to stay. Zoya, Nadia, can you get us there?” They’d been flagging before, but I needed to believe they had some reserve of strength to call on.
“I know I can,” Zoya replied.
Nadia’s earnest chin lifted. “Try to keep up.”
“We can still be seen,” I said. “We need a Tidemaker.”
David glanced up from bandaging the powder burns on his hand. “What if you tried bending the light?”
I frowned. “Bend it how?”
“The only reason anyone can see the ship is because light is bouncing off it. Just eliminate the reflection.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“You don’t say,” said Genya.
“Like a rock in a stream,” David explained. “Just bend the light so it never actually hits the ship. There’s nothing to see.”
“So we’d be invisible?” Genya asked.
“Theoretically.”
She yanked off her boot and plunked it down on the deck. “Try it.”
I eyed the boot skeptically. I wasn’t sure how to begin. This was a completely different way of using my power.
“Just … bend the light?”
“Well,” said David, “it might help to remember that you don’t have to concern yourself with the refractive index. You just need to redirect and synchronize both components of light simultaneously. I mean, you can’t just start with the magnetic, that would be ridic—”
I held up a hand. “Let’s stick with the rock in the stream.”
I concentrated, but I didn’t summon or hone the light the way I did with the Cut. Instead, I just tried to give it a nudge.
The toe of the boot grew blurry as the air near it seemed to waver.
I tried to think of the light as water, as wind rushing around the leather, parting t
hen slipping back together as if the boot had never been there. I cupped my fingers. The boot flickered and vanished.
Genya whooped. I shrieked and threw my hands in the air. The boot reappeared. I curled my fingers, and it was gone.
“David, have I ever told you you’re a genius?”
“Yes.”
“I’m telling you again.”
Because the ship was larger and in motion, keeping the curve of light around it was more of a challenge. But I only had to worry about the light reflecting off the bottom of the hull, and after a few tries, I felt comfortable keeping the bend steady.
If anyone happened to be standing in a field, peering straight up, they might see something off, a blur or a flash of light, but they wouldn’t see a winged ship moving through the afternoon sky. At least that was the hope. It reminded me of something I’d once seen the Darkling do when he’d pulled me through a candlelit ballroom, using his power to render us nearly invisible. Yet another trick he’d mastered long before I had.
Genya dug through the provisions and found a stash of jurda, the Zemeni stimulant that soldiers sometimes used on long watches. It made me feel jittery and a little nauseated, but there was no other way to keep us on our feet and focused.
It had to be chewed, and soon we were all spitting the rust-colored juice over the side.
“If this stains my teeth orange—” said Zoya.
“It will,” interrupted Genya, “but I promise to put your teeth back whiter than they were before. I may even fix those weird incisors of yours.”
“There is nothing wrong with my teeth.”
“Not at all,” said Genya soothingly. “You’re the prettiest walrus I know. I’m just amazed you haven’t sawed through your lower lip.”
“Keep your hands off me, Tailor,” Zoya grumbled, “or I’ll poke your other eye out.”
By the time dusk came, Zoya didn’t have the energy to bicker. She and Nadia were entirely focused on keeping us aloft.
David was able to take over the wheel for brief periods of time so Tamar could see to the wound on Mal’s leg. Harshaw, Tolya, and Mal alternated on the lines to give each other a chance to stretch.
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