“I see,” said Zoya. “How drunk am I expected to get before this all starts looking better?”
“I fear there isn’t enough wine in all of Kirigin’s cellars,” conceded Nikolai. “And I regret to say we’ll need to be sober for this. The Kerch, the Zemeni, the Fjerdans, and the Shu—we’re going to bring them all here. We’re going to stage a little performance so that they know Ravka and its king are in perfect health.”
“Is that all?” said Zoya. “Will you be taking up juggling as well?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nikolai replied. “I already know how to juggle. Literally and figuratively. We’ll renew our alliance with the Zemeni—”
“But the Kerch—” Genya began.
“And we’ll give the Kerch a secret look at our prototype of the izmars’ya.”
“We will?” asked David.
“It will be an utter catastrophe, of course. Perhaps a nice explosion, some flying metal. Maybe we can pretend to drown a few sailors. Whatever will convince the Kerch our sharks aren’t seaworthy and buy us the most time.” Nikolai could almost feel the demon recede, feel its claws retract, driven back by the prospect of a course of action. “We’re going to get all of those diplomats and merchants and politicians under our roof. We get everyone talking, and then we listen. Zoya, we’ll need your Squallers to create an acoustic map so we have ears everywhere.”
“I don’t like that,” said Tolya.
“I knew you wouldn’t,” said Nikolai.
“It isn’t ethical to spy on one’s own guests.”
“And that is why your sister is the head of my intelligence network. Kings need spies, and spies can’t afford to fiddle about with ethics. Do you have a problem with overseeing an eavesdropping campaign, Tamar?”
“Not in the least.”
“There you have it.”
Tamar considered. “I like the idea of tackling them all at once, but what possible reason could we have for bringing our enemies and allies beneath this roof that won’t draw even more suspicion?”
“We could celebrate your Saint’s day,” said Genya enthusiastically. “Sledding, bonfires—”
“No,” said Nikolai. “I don’t want to wait for the Feast of Sankt Nikolai.” He certainly couldn’t count on the demon to delay. “The party will take place six weeks from now. We’ll call it … the Festival of Autumn Nonsense or something like that. Celebrate the equinox, gifts of the harvest, very symbolic.”
“Six weeks?” exclaimed Genya. “We can’t possibly organize an event of that size in such a short time. The security concerns alone—”
Nikolai winked at her. “If I had anyone but Genya Safin in charge, I might be worried.”
Zoya rolled her eyes. “She doesn’t need your flattery. She already thinks enough of herself.”
“Let him go on,” said Genya. “David never gives me pretty compliments.”
“Don’t I?” asked David. He patted his pocket absently. “I have the list of your good qualities you gave me somewhere.”
“You see what I endure.”
“I need to keep Genya happy,” said Nikolai, “or she may turn on me.”
“I may turn on you,” said Zoya.
“Oh, that’s unavoidable. But you’re immune to compliments.”
Zoya lifted a shoulder. “Then I suggest gifts of jewels and cash.” She rose, and he could see her mind at work, the general contemplating her attack. She paced slowly before the map, the Fold appearing and disappearing behind her. “If we’re going to bring these powers here, we need to have a better reason than a festival of gourds and wheat sheaves.”
“Zoya,” Nikolai warned. He knew exactly what she was thinking.
“This is the perfect opportunity for you to find a bride.”
“Absolutely not.”
But Zoya had the smug look of a woman who had won an argument before it had begun. “As you said, you can no longer travel, so it’s essential that prospective brides come to you.”
He shook his head. “I cannot take a bride. The risks are too great.”
“That’s exactly why you must,” said Zoya. “We can bring these powers together. I even believe you have the charm and guile to outmaneuver our enemies. But how much time can you buy us? Six months? A year? Then what, Your Highness?”
“It is an ideal reason to bring them all here,” said Genya.
Nikolai grimaced. “I knew you would turn on me. I just didn’t think it would be so soon.”
“Nikolai,” Zoya said quietly, “you said the monster is getting stronger. If that’s true, this may be your best chance.”
Your only chance. The words hung unsaid.
Ravka needed a queen. Nikolai needed an heir.
And yet every part of him rebelled at the thought of marriage. He did not have time to properly court someone with so much work to be done. He did not want to wed someone he barely knew. He did not dare reveal his secrets to a stranger. The danger to the woman he chose would be too great. All good reasons. All convincing excuses. But the monster had set the clock ticking.
Nikolai looked around the room. These people knew him as no one else did. They trusted him. But the demon lurking inside him might change all that. What if it grew stronger and continued to erode his control, to eat at the will that had guided him for so long? Abomination. He remembered the way Genya had shuddered. What if he was the drowning man and it was Ravka he would drag down with him?
Nikolai drew in a long breath. Why put off the inevitable? Surely there was something to be said for the firing squad instead of slow torture. “We’ll need to come up with a list of candidates,” he said.
Zoya grinned. “Done.” She really was ready to be rid of him.
“You’re going to manage this like a military campaign, aren’t you?”
“It is a military campaign.”
“My ministers and ambassadors will have their suggestions too.”
“We’ll invite them all,” said Genya, drawing pen and ink toward her, unable to disguise her excitement. “We can house everyone at the palace. Just think of all the dinners and teas and dancing.”
“Just think of all the dinners and teas and dancing,” said David glumly.
Genya set her pen aside and seized his hands. “I promise to let you hide in your workshop. Just give me five events and one banquet.”
“Three events and one banquet.”
“Four.”
“Very well.”
“You’re a dreadful negotiator,” said Nikolai. “She would have settled for two.”
David frowned. “Is that true?”
“Absolutely not,” said Genya. “And do shut up, Your Highness.”
“We’ll need to run additional checks on all palace security,” Nikolai said to Tolya. “Anticipate that every servant, every guard, every lady-in-waiting will be a potential spy or assassin.”
“Speaking of which,” said Tamar. “Dunyasha Lazareva is dead.”
The Lantsov pretender. “Who got her?”
“Not one of ours. All I know is they found her splattered on the cobblestones outside the Church of Barter after the auction.”