“No, he didn’t,” said Tolya. “He’s talking about the obisbaya. Aren’t you, monk?”
“I … I …”
“I hate to admit my ignorance,” said Nikolai. “It’s so much more fun for people to discover it on their own. But what exactly is the obis … bumpy?”
“No idea,” said Zoya. Genya shrugged, and even David shook his head.
To Nikolai’s surprise, it was Tamar who spoke.
“The obisbaya,” she said. “The Ritual of the Burning Thorn. Do you know how the Priestguard were first created?”
“Those are children’s stories,” said Zoya scornfully.
“Possibly,” Tolya conceded.
“Tell me a story, then,” said Nikolai.
Tamar folded her arms. “Why don’t you do the honors, monk?”
Yuri hesitated, then said, “It begins with the first Lantsov king, Yaromir the Determined.” He shut his eyes, his voice taking on a more confident, even cadence. “Before him, the territory that would become Ravka was little more than a collection of warring provinces led by squabbling kings. He subdued them and brought them together beneath his double-eagle banner. But the invasions from Fjerda to the north and Shu Han to the south were relentless and put the young kingdom in a constant state of war.”
“Sounds familiar.” Nikolai knew this story from his own childhood classrooms. He’d always found it disheartening that Ravka had been at war since its birth.
“There was no Second Army then,” Yuri continued. “Ravka’s soldiers fought and died just as other men did. But as the legend goes, Yaromir built an altar atop a hill in Os Alta—”
“The site of the first royal chapel,” said Tolya.
Yuri nodded. “The young king prayed to all of the Saints who would hear him, and the next day, a group of monks arrived at his door and offered to fight by his side. They were not ordinary monks. When they went into battle they could take on the shapes of beasts. They fought not as men but as all manner of creature—wolf, dragon, hawk, bear. The king had heard stories of these monks but hardly believed they were true until he saw these miracles for himself.”
“Always with the miracles,” grumbled Zoya.
“Yes,” said Yuri, opening his eyes, fervor burning in them like a brand. “Always. The monks agreed to fight for the king. They asked for neither gold nor land but only that one of them would always remain at the king’s side so that Ravka would forever be devoted to the worship of the Saints. The monks plunged into battle and sent the enemies of Ravka scattering, pushing them back and forming the borders that would hold, more or less, for thousands of years.” Yuri’s voice rose, caught in the telling of his tale, all hesitation gone. “But the battle lasted so long that when it was over and it was time for them to return to their human forms, they could not. Their leader brought them to the site of an ancient thorn wood, and there they endured a dangerous ritual: the obisbaya. Those who survived became men once more and their leader took his place beside Yaromir. Eventually, the priest who held the office closest to the king was given the title of Apparat, and the holy soldiers that surrounded him became the Priestguard.”
“Some people claim the first Priestguard were Grisha,” said Tolya.
Tamar touched her fingers to the shark’s tooth at her neck. “In that version, the animals they became were the first amplifiers. Their spirits made the monks’ powers stronger.”
Nikolai studied Yuri. The story was strange, no doubt, and likely more fiction than fact. Even so … “A ritual to purge beast from man. What exactly did it entail?”
Yuri pushed his spectacles up his nose, the confident scholar vanishing with a single gesture. “I’m not sure. There were … are conflicting texts.”
“You’re not really a firebrand, are you, Yuri?”
A smile touched the monk’s lips. “I suppose not.”
“And yet you ended up at my gates, calling me a traitor and a thief.” Yuri at least had the manners to squirm. “What brought you there?”
“The Saints. I believe that.”
Nikolai had his doubts. “Tell me about this ritual.”
“Why?” Yuri asked, brow furrowing.
“I am a king. I long for entertainment.”
The monk tugged on his scraggly beard. “I don’t know the details. There are conflicting accounts in the texts, and I don’t … I’m no longer permitted …”
“They’re religious texts, aren’t they?” Nikolai said. “From the Priestguards’ library. You don’t have access anymore.”
“No.” The ache in his voice was palpable. Nikolai thought he understood. There had been a time when words had been the only place he could find solace. No book ever lost patience with him or told him to sit still. When his tutors had thrown up their hands in frustration, it was the library that had taught Nikolai military history, strategy, chemistry, astronomy. Each spine had been an open doorway whispering, Come in, come in. Here is a land you’ve never seen before. Here is a place to hide when you’re frightened, to play when you’re bored, to rest when the world seems unkind. Yuri knew that solace. He had once been a scholar. Perhaps he’d like to be one again.
Nikolai stood. “Thank you, Yuri. You’ve been most helpful.”
The monk rose slowly. “I have? Then will you lend your name to our plea, Your Highness? The Apparat cannot ignore the voice of the king. If you would petition him to—”
“I will think on it, Yuri. You’ve made an interesting argument. For now, I will have you escorted back to your rooms.”
“Then I am a prisoner still?”
“You are a welcome guest whom I don’t want to stray too far. And perhaps I can get you access to some reading materials.”
Yuri paused as if uncertain he’d heard correctly. “My … books?”
“Perhaps.”
“That would be … No, I must return to my fellow worshippers outside of the city. You cannot keep—”
“And you will. But we must ask that you enjoy our hospitality a short while longer. While we consider the merits of your case.”
Yuri’s chin lifted. “For the Starless One, I can wait an eternity. But do not play games with me, Your Highness. I did not come to the capital to be laughed at or to dillydally about.”
“Dally, yes; dilly, no,” said Nikolai. “Gave it up in my youth.”
Zoya rolled her eyes, and Tolya shuffled Yuri out the door and into the care of two palace guards.
When Yuri was gone, Nikolai rose to look more closely at the pins on the map. In the wake of the monk’s departure, the silence in the room felt heavy, as if another presence had entered the chamber, something old and nameless.
“The boy is mad,” said Zoya.
“He’s a believer,” said Tolya. “Those aren’t the same thing.”
“And I’d rather a true believer than a man like the Apparat,” Genya added.
“How can you say that?” said Zoya. “He worships a tyrant, a murderer, the man who tortured you.”
Genya sighed. “Can we blame him for being drawn to the Darkling’s strength? We all were.”