Genya Safin and David Kostyk were there, along with Tamar’s twin, Tolya, who was so tall his head nearly brushed the ceiling and whom Isaak occasionally traded volumes of verse with. He was surprised to see both of the twins—at least one could usually be counted upon to be in the company of the king.
“Captain Andreyev, won’t you sit?” Genya Safin had asked. To his astonishment, she’d served him tea and asked after his health, and only then had she said the words that would change the course of his life: “The king is missing.”
The story that followed had been strange indeed, and Isaak knew he was being told only the barest details: King Nikolai and Commander Nazyalensky had been traveling with the Bataars when they’d vanished from the sands of the Unsea. Though the twins had searched as extensively as discretion would allow, they’d found no sign of them.
“We do not yet know if the king is in need of rescue or beyond it,” Genya said. “But we do know that if our enemies learn of the king’s disappearance, they’re sure to take advantage of our vulnerability. There is no clear line of succession for the Ravkan throne, and it is essential that no one discover we are without a ruler until the king can be found or a strategy put into play.”
“Of course,” Isaak murmured, thinking of the panic it would create among the people.
Genya took a deep breath. “But in two weeks’ time, seventeen princesses, noblewomen, and ladies of worth will arrive in Os Alta, surrounded by their servants and retainers, all of them hoping to meet Nikolai Lantsov and become Ravka’s queen. Unfortunately, we are short one monarch. That is why we need you.”
“Me?”
“To play the role of the king.”
Isaak smiled because he could think of no other way to respond. Though he didn’t understand the joke, he was willing to play along. But Genya Safin did not return his smile.
“It was a contingency plan the king himself conceived in case he was injured or … incapacitated,” she said gently, “though we had no reason to think we would need to act on it so soon or with so little preparation. You were on his list of candidates. You are of approximately the right height. You can speak multiple languages. I believe I can tailor you to look enough like the king that you will be able to fool even the guards who have watched over him for years.”
“Sitting still at least,” said Tolya.
“Correct,” said Genya. “Looking like Nikolai will only be the first challenge. Talking like him, walking like him, and all the rest … well, that would be up to you.”
“I … you can’t mean for me to pretend to be him,” said Isaak. It was unthinkable. Absurd.
“We can,” said Tolya, his massive arms crossed. “We do.”
“Surely the proceedings could be delayed. If the king is meant to choose a queen—”
“The brides could be put off,” said Tamar. “But there are matters of national security that cannot. We have intelligence suggesting that a member of the Tavgharad may be ready to defect. This may be our only chance to make contact with her and learn the locations of valued Shu military assets.”
Tavgharad. The strict translation was “stone fisted,” but Isaak knew the word referred to the elite soldiers who guarded and served the Shu royal family. If one of them was willing to turn traitor, there was no telling what information might be gleaned.
Tamar Kir-Bataar had looked at him with hard golden eyes and said, “Your country needs you.”
But it had been Genya with her scarred mouth who had swayed him when she’d added, “And so does your king.”
Isaak said yes. Of course he had said yes. It was his duty as a soldier and the least he could do for the king who had done so much for him and his family.
So it had begun—the lessons in deportment, in elocution, in how to sit and stand correctly. It was not just that Isaak had to pretend to be a man of wealth and means; he had to pretend to be a king. And not just a king, but a boy king who had become a legend. Nikolai was everything that Isaak was not. Confident, assured, cosmopolitan. Isaak’s only gift was a facility with language—and even that had become something of a liability, since he spoke Shu better than the king and had a cleaner Zemeni accent.
But the strangest of all these processes was the time he’d spent here, beneath this glass dome, sweating through his clothes in the presence of Genya Safin with her single amber-colored eye and her sunset hair. Though Isaak knew she was only performing a task, it was hard not to feel that she was studying him, lavishing her attention upon him, and he’d found himself falling a bit in love with her. It was a silly infatuation. She was clearly in love with David Kostyk, the brilliant Fabrikator who sat silently through many of their sessions, reading from stacks of documents and scribbling on a giant tablet of drafting paper. But her apparent taste for unassuming men made him like her all the more. One of her scars tugged the left corner of her mouth down slightly, and he would catch himself daydreaming about kissing her there. He was rapidly brought back to reality by the sharp poke of her finger to his shoulder. “Sit up straight, Isaak,” she would say, or, “You’re blocking my light, Isaak.”
Sometimes the others came to read to him from a book on Kerch history or quiz him on trade routes while Genya worked. Other times they talked strategy, and he was expected to do nothing but sit there like a lump of clay.
“We can sneak him out of the palace through the tunnels after dark,” Tamar said, twirling one of her axes in a way that made Isaak sweat even more, “then stage the king’s return from his pilgrimage the next morning. It will look like he just made a stop at Count Kirigin’s estate.”
“How do we account for Zoya’s absence?” Tolya asked.
Genya leaned back to examine the work she was doing on Isaak’s chin. “We’ll say she stayed behind to journey to Os Kervo.” She rubbed her eyes and reached for her teacup. “I don’t understand it. No one just vanishes.”
“Leave it to Nikolai to do the impossible,” said Tolya.
“Maybe he just wanted a vacation,” said Tamar.
Tolya grunted. “Maybe Zoya finally got sick of him and buried him beneath a pile of sand.” But Genya did not laugh. “Or maybe this was the Apparat’s doing and he’s back in the business of staging coups.”
“If that’s the case,” said David, “he’ll come for us next.”
“Thank you, my love. That’s very encouraging.”
Tamar slowed the twirling of her axe. “If the Apparat orchestrated this, I’d have expected him to make a move to expose the king’s disappearance by now.”
“Either way,” said Tolya, “we’ll have to keep him away from Isaak. The priest is too canny not to realize the king … isn’t himself.”
Genya slumped down in a chair and rested her head in her hands. Isaak had never seen her look so defeated, and it hurt his heart. “Who are we kidding? This isn’t going to work.”
“It will,” said Tamar. “It has to.”
“He’s already almost identical to the king,” said David, peering at Isaak’s face. “I’d say it’s your best work.”
Genya cast away the compliment with a wave of her hand. “It’s not just the features. It’s the way Nikolai inhabits them, the tilt of his mouth, the cant of his head. We might fool the guests, maybe even a few of the courtiers, but the servants? The royal ministers? People who see him every day, who have dined with him and danced with him? Forget it. This is hopeless.”