As Zoya strode through the Grand Palace halls to Nikolai’s chambers, she cast a look at two servants lingering outside his door that sent them shrinking up against the wall like frightened anemones.
She knew the way they sighed over their poor king. He’s never been the same since the war, they whispered, swooning and dabbing their eyes whenever he was near. She couldn’t blame them. Nikolai was rich, handsome, and beset by a tragic past. Perfect daydream fodder. But with her luck the king would ignore the suitable prospective brides she’d found, fall for a common housemaid, and insist on marrying for love. It was just the kind of contrary, romantic nonsense he was prone to.
She greeted Tolya, rang for a breakfast tray, then entered the king’s bedroom and threw open the curtains. The morning light had turned pale and rosy.
Nikolai cast her a baleful glare from his place among the pillows. “You’re late.”
“And you’re chained to a bed. Perhaps not the best time to be critical.”
“It’s too early in the morning to threaten a king,” he said grumpily.
She sank down beside him and began the work of unshackling him. “I’m at my most murderous on an empty stomach.”
Zoya was grateful for the chatter. It was meaningless, but it filled the silence of the room. They’d slipped back into an easy routine after the near disaster in Ivets, but she could never quite accustom herself to this intimacy—the dawn quiet, the rumpled sheets, the tousled hair that made Nikolai look less a king than a boy in need of kissing.
Entertain me with lively tales of your childhood, he’d said to her. Zoya doubted the king would be amused by her stories. Should I tell you about the old man my mother wanted to marry me off to when I was nine years old? Should I tell you what happened on my wedding day? What they tried to do to me? The damage I left in my wake?
Zoya finished the business of freeing him from his bonds, taking care to touch his sleep-warmed skin as little as possible, then left the king to wash and dress.
A moment later a knock sounded on the sitting room door and a servant entered with hot tea and a tray of covered dishes. Zoya didn’t miss the furtive glance in her direction as he scurried away. Perhaps she should simply give in to the rumor that she was Nikolai’s mistress and let people talk. At least then she could skip the predawn trek from the Little Palace and sleep in.
Nikolai sauntered into the sitting room, golden hair combed neatly, boots shined, impeccably attired as always.
“You look well rested,” she said sourly.
“I barely slept, and I woke with a crick in my back that feels like Tolya played lawn tennis with my spine. But a king does not hunch, Zoya dear. Are you eating my herring?”
She popped the last bite into her mouth. “No, I have eaten your herring. Now—”
Before Zoya could begin to address the business of the day, the door flew open and Tamar entered, followed by her brother, golden eyes glinting, both of them fully armed.
“Tell me,” Nikolai said, all hint of his easy manner gone.
“There’s trouble with the pilgrims camped outside the city walls. The Apparat doesn’t like anything this new cult has to say. He’s called the Priestguard to the lower town.”
Zoya was on her feet in an instant. The Apparat was meant to serve as spiritual counselor to the king, but he was a traitor and a troublemaker through and through.
Nikolai took a quick swig of his tea and rose. “Are our people in position?”
Tolya nodded. “We have Heartrenders in plain dress interspersed throughout the crowd and snipers in position along the walls and the nearest hillside. There’s not much cover, though.”
“You knew this would happen?” Zoya asked Nikolai as she followed him and the twins back through the palace corridors.
“I had a feeling.”
“And you made no move to stop him?”
“How?” said Nikolai. “By barricading him in the chapel?”
“I’ve heard worse ideas. He has no standing.”
“But he has the means, and he knows I won’t challenge him outright with armed troops.”
Zoya scowled. “The Priestguard should have been disbanded long ago.” They were warrior monks, both scholar and soldier, and there was no question their loyalty lay with the Apparat, not their king.
“Unfortunately, that would have caused riots among the common people, and I’m not keen on riots. Unless they involve dancing, but I believe those are usually referred to as parties. What kind of party is this, Tamar?”
“We’ve had our people circulating with the pilgrims every day and reporting back. They’ve been mostly peaceful. But this morning one of their preachers got them riled up, and the Apparat must not have liked what he heard.”
The king’s soldiers were waiting by the double-eagle fountain with additional horses in tow.
“No uniformed soldiers will move past the lower wall without my say-so,” Nikolai commanded. “The Grisha are only there for crowd control unless I give the signal. Keep the snipers in position, but absolutely no one is to act without direct orders from me, understood?”
The king had the right to command his forces as he saw fit, and Zoya trusted the twins to make the best possible use of their Heartrenders to protect the crown, but Zoya’s temper still bristled at the fact that they’d been put in this position. Nikolai was too fond of compromise. The Apparat had betrayed everyone who’d ever been foolish enough to trust him. He was a snake, and if she’d had her way, he and his Priestguard lackeys would have been offered two choices after the civil war—execution or exile.
They mounted and were headed through the gates when Nikolai said, “I need you calm, Zoya. The Apparat isn’t fond of the Grisha Triumvirate to begin with—”
“I weep.”
“And outright hostility from you won’t help. I know you don’t approve of allowing the priest to remain in the capital.”
“Of course you should keep him here. Preferably stuffed above my mantel.”
“A stirring conversation piece, no doubt, but we can’t afford to make him a martyr. He has too much sway among the people.”
Zoya ground her teeth. “He is a liar and a traitor. He was instrumental in deposing your father. He tried to keep Alina and me captive beneath the earth. He never lent you support during the war.”
“All true. If I ever need to study for a history exam, I know who to come to.”
Why wouldn’t he listen? “The priest is dangerous, Nikolai.”
“He’s more dangerous if we can’t see what he’s doing. His network is far-reaching, and his sway with the people is something I can do nothing to combat directly.”
They passed through the gates and on to the streets of the upper town. “We should have held a trial after the war,” Zoya said. “Made his crimes known.”
“Do you really believe it would have mattered? Even if Alina Starkov herself rose from the Fold ensconced in sunlight to denounce him, the Apparat would still find a way to survive. That’s his gift. Now put on your most devout face, Zoya. You make a darling heretic, but I need you looking pious.”
Zoya ordered her features into a facsimile of calm, but the prospect of dealing with the Apparat always left her caught between rage and frustration.