“Abomination. I know. It’s a good thing I have such a fondness for myself.”
“All Grisha feel the pull toward merzost, the hunger to see just what we might do if we had no limits.”
“Even you?”
A small smile touched Zoya’s lips. “Especially me. Power is protection.” Before Nikolai could ask what she meant, she added, “But the price for that particular kind of power is too high. When the Darkling tried to create his own amplifiers, the result was the Fold.” She held up her arm, the cuff glinting in the lamplight. “This is enough for me.”
“The shark teeth worn by the twins,” mused Nikolai. “Genya’s kestrel bones. I’ve heard the stories behind all of them. But you’ve never told me the tale of the amplifier you wear.”
Zoya raised a brow. In the space of a breath, the contemplative girl was gone and the distant general had returned. “Steel is earned, Your Highness. So are stories.” She rose. “And I believe you’re stalling.”
“You’ve found me out.” He was sorry to see her leave, whatever guise she wore. “Good night, Commander.”
“Good night, King Wretch.”
He would not beg Zoya to stay. It was not in his nature to plead with anyone, and that was not the pact they shared. They did not look to each other for comfort. They kept each other marching. They kept each other strong. So he would not find another excuse to get her talking again. He would not tell her he was afraid to be left alone with the thing he might become, and he would not ask her to leave the lamp burning, a child’s bit of magic to ward off the dark.
But he was relieved when she did it anyway.
ZOYA ROSE WHEN THE SKY WAS STILL DARK. She would see to the morning’s business before she made the walk to the Grand Palace to unlock Nikolai. A week had passed since they’d arrived back at the capital, and to her relief, the king’s monster had made no more appearances.
Tamar and Nadia were already waiting in the common room outside her chambers, seated at the round table that had once belonged to the Darkling’s personal guard. Nadia was still in her blue dressing gown, but Tamar was in uniform, arms bare, axes glinting at her hips.
“Reports of two more khergud attacks,” said Tamar, holding up a sheaf of papers covered in tight scrawl.
“I need tea,” said Zoya. How could the world be falling apart before sunrise? It wasn’t civilized. She poured herself a glass from the samovar and took the documents from Tamar’s hand. There were more spread across the table. “Where did they strike this time?”
“Three Grisha taken from Sikursk and eight more south of Caryeva.”
Zoya sat down hard. “So many?” The Shu had used their stores of jurda parem to develop a new kind of warrior: soldiers tailored by Grisha Fabrikators, honed to greater strength, given wings, weighted fists, unbreakable bones, and heightened senses. They called them khergud.
“Tell her the rest,” said Nadia.
Zoya’s gaze locked on Tamar. “There’s more?”
“This is Ravka,” said Tamar. “The Grisha near Sikursk were traveling undercover. Either the Shu knew about the mission—”
“Or Nina was correct and these new soldiers really can somehow sniff out Grisha,” finished Nadia.
“Nina warned us,” said Tamar.
“She did, didn’t she?” said Zoya bitterly. “How fortunate, then, that our good king sent our chief source of information on these Shu soldiers thousands of miles away.”
“It was time,” said Tamar. “Nina was lost in her grief. It will do her good to be of use.”
“What a consolation that will be when she’s captured and executed,” Zoya retorted. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “The Shu are testing us, pushing farther into our territory. We have to push back.”
“With what?” Nadia asked. “A stern warning?”
“It would be one thing if we could target them at home,” said Tamar. “But my sources have had no luck discovering the locations where they’re creating and training the khergud soldiers.”
Zoya’s stomach knotted when she thought of those bases, of the Grisha “volunteers” the Shu had addicted to parem to create these monstrosities. She reached for another file. “Are these the dissections?” Tamar nodded. The bodies of two khergud soldiers had been retrieved from Ketterdam and brought back to the Little Palace for study. Tolya had objected, claiming it was wrong to “desecrate” a fallen soldier’s body. But Zoya had no patience for fine feeling when their people were being stolen from within their very borders.
“This metal,” Zoya said, pointing to the notes David had made in the margin of one of the detailed anatomical sketches created by the Corporalki. “The one they’re using to plate the bones. It’s not just Grisha steel.”
“It’s an alloy,” said Nadia. “They’re combining Grisha steel with ruthenium. It’s less malleable but more durable.”
“I’ve never heard of it before.”
“It’s extremely rare. There are only a few known deposits around the world.”
Tamar leaned forward. “But the Shu are getting it from somewhere.”
Zoya tapped her finger to the file. “Find the source. Track the shipments. That’s how we’ll figure out where the khergud are being made.”
Tamar ran her thumbs over her axes. “When we do, I’m leading the attack.”
Zoya nodded. “I’ll be right beside you.”
Nadia grinned. “And I’ll be watching your back.”
Zoya hoped it would be soon. She was itching for a fight. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was time to wake the king.
A cold mist had crept over the grounds in the night, covering the trees and stone paths in a veil of cloud. She passed through the woods, beneath a canopy of twisting branches. They would bloom white, then pink, then red as blood when spring came, but for now they were only gray wood and thorns. She emerged to the manicured hedges and sprawling lawns that surrounded the Grand Palace, lanterns casting light over the still-dark grounds in muzzy halos. The palace looked like a bride before her wedding, its white stone terraces and golden statues cloaked in mist. It should have been peaceful, this soft gray hour before dawn. But all she could think of was the khergud, the Zemeni, the Fjerdans, the Kerch.
Each day she worked with new recruits at the Little Palace and managed the affairs of the Second Army. It had grown under her command, slowly recovering from the wounds the Darkling had dealt them—wounds that had almost been death blows. How could he do it? She still wondered. The Darkling had built up the strength of the Second Army over generations, adding to its numbers, improving its training, solidifying his own influence. He had cultivated the talents of young Grisha, helped them to develop their skill. He had raised them like children. And when his children had misbehaved? When his coup attempt had failed and some of the Grisha had dared to stand with Alina Starkov against him? He’d murdered them. Without hesitation or remorse. Zoya had watched them fall. She’d almost been among them.
Almost, she reminded herself as she climbed the palace steps. But I survived to lead the army he built and nearly destroyed. Zoya had vowed to make the Second Army a power to be reckoned with again. She’d gone deeper within the borders of Fjerda and the Shu Han, pierced the shores of the Wandering Isle and the frontiers of Novyi Zem in search of Grisha who might wish to learn to fight and who might give their allegiance to Ravka. She was determined to capitalize on that growth, to assemble a force greater than what even the Darkling had raised. But that wouldn’t be enough. She intended to find a way to protect Grisha throughout the world so no one would ever have to live in fear or hide their gifts again—a governing body with representatives from every nation to hold their countries accountable, a guarantee of rights and of punishment for anyone who tried to imprison or harm her kind. For that dream to be anything more than a pleasant fantasy, Ravka would have to be strong—and so would its king.