“When the time comes,” Nikolai vowed, “I’ll be ready.”
The tree suddenly leapt from the table, its stalk thick and pulsing, its thorns like iron daggers. It shot over the floor and stopped a bare breath from Nikolai’s chest, the lethally pointed tip of a long thorn poised directly above his heart.
“I hope so,” said Elizaveta. “We have waited an eternity for you, Nikolai Lantsov. It would be a shame if you failed us now.”
Nikolai exchanged a glance with Zoya. Yuri was gazing at Elizaveta with naked adoration. Helpful as always.
“I’m fairly sure you’re trying to frighten me,” said Nikolai, reaching out a finger to touch the tip of the thorn. “I’m not sure why, but may I suggest a spider wearing a suit?”
“Why a suit?” asked Zoya, frowning. “Why not just a spider?”
“Where did he get the suit? How did he fasten the buttons? Why does he feel the need to dress for the occasion?”
Elizaveta was studying them. She flicked her fingers and the thorn tree receded. “I had intended to torture the monk to force your darkness to the fore,” she said contemplatively. “But best to cut to the chase.”
She lifted a hand and the floor rose around Zoya, encasing her in glistening panels of amber.
Zoya shouted, her face startled and frightened before her instincts took hold. She threw her hands out, buffeting the luminous walls with the force of her power. A golden substance began to rise from her feet, filling the chamber.
Nikolai reached for Zoya, but the thorn wood grew up between them in a wild, impenetrable tangle. There were thorns all around him, a wall of deadly gray spikes.
“Stop this, Elizaveta,” he shouted, though he could no longer see the Saint.
He heard Zoya scream.
“I know you’re not going to kill her,” he said, though he knew no such thing. “Juris needs her.”
Elizaveta appeared from the thicket surrounded by a bloom of roses. “Do you think I care what Juris needs? It’s freedom I require. And if losing her will drive you to act, that seems a small price.”
Nikolai lunged at her, but Elizaveta vanished into the thorn wood. He leapt onto the brambles, ignoring the pain as the thorns jabbed at him through his clothes. They were wickedly sharp, sinking into his flesh like teeth.
“You will have to fly, my king,” said Elizaveta’s voice. “Or you will never be free, and neither will we.”
Zoya’s screams rose.
From somewhere in the thicket, Yuri cried, “Oh no! Please, you must not. I beg you.”
Nikolai forced his eyes shut. Come on, you bastard, he implored the monster. You want to spread your wings? This is your chance. I’ll even let you gnaw on that so-called Saint as a thank-you.
But if the monster was listening, it must be laughing too. Whatever dark thing resided within him had no interest in playing this game.
The Saint will not harm her, Nikolai told himself. It’s a ploy.
And then Zoya’s screams stopped.
Yuri was sobbing.
“Zoya?” Nikolai shouted. “Zoya!”
He hurled himself against the barbed thicket. “Zoya!” he yelled, but it emerged as a snarl.
This time he felt the creature inside him drag its way to the surface as if its talons were scraping against his chest cavity.
No. He did not want this, did not want to give the monster control.
But another voice within him hissed, Yes.
Remember, he told himself, remember who you are.
He felt his claws emerge, felt his teeth grow long.
I am Nikolai Lantsov, privateer and king.
He screamed as the wings burst through his back and he rose up over the thorn wood, into the high cavern of the tower. Remember who you are.
Elizaveta gazed up at him, her face triumphant. Yuri wept. Beside them Zoya floated in a golden sarcophagus, like an angel caught in amber, her eyes closed, her body still.
He did not recognize the sound that tore from his throat as he hurled his body at Zoya’s prison. He struck it with a bone-crunching thud, but it did not budge.
He turned on Elizaveta, snarling. I am the monster and the monster is me. He could feel the demon fighting for control even as it lent him its strength. But Elizaveta only smiled, gentle, beneficent. With a wave of her hand, the amber walls containing Zoya collapsed and the thorn wood wilted into the floor.
He seized Zoya’s limp body before it could fall. She was covered in golden sap. Elizaveta closed her fist and Zoya began to cough. She opened her eyes, lashes thick with resin, blinked in confusion, then her face flooded with terror and she began to thrash in his arms.
He wanted to soothe her. He wanted to … The smell of her fear mingled with the sap. It made him feel drunk. It made him feel hungry.
All he wanted was to dig his claws into her flesh. All he wanted was to consume her.
Remember, he demanded. Remember who you are.
Nikolai Lantsov. Ruler of Ravka. Privateer. Soldier. Second son of a disgraced king.
A growl of pure appetite rumbled through him as Zoya tried to scramble away, her movements stunted by the weight of the sap.
Remember who she is. Zoya sitting beside him writing correspondence. Zoya glowering at a new crop of students. Zoya holding him in the confines of a coach as he shook and shook and waited for the monster to leave him.
He clung tightly to the recollection of that sensation, that terrible trembling. Go, he demanded. Go.
Grudgingly, haltingly, the monster sank back into whatever dark place it resided, leaving the acrid taste of something burning in Nikolai’s mouth.
He collapsed, shaking, to his knees.
He couldn’t bear to look at Zoya’s face and see the disgust there. There would be no coming back from this. He felt her hands on his shoulders and forced himself to meet her gaze.
She was beaming.
“You did it,” she said. “You called him up and then you sent him packing.”
“You were almost killed,” he said in disbelief.
She grinned wider. “But I wasn’t.”
Elizaveta tapped the table. “So I am forgiven, Squaller?”
“That depends on how hard it is to get this stuff out of my hair.”
Elizaveta raised her hands, and the sap slid from Zoya in golden rivulets, returning to the floor, where it solidified.
Yuri wiped the tears from his face. “Will … will Commander Nazyalensky have to endure this ordeal every time?”
“I’ll do it if I have to.”
Elizaveta shrugged. “Let us hope not.”
Zoya offered him her hand. “You opened the door.”
Nikolai let her help him to his feet, forced himself to celebrate with the others. But he’d felt the will of the monster, and he wondered, when the time came, if he’d be able to match its ferocity.
He’d opened the door.
He doubted it would be so easy to close the next time.
HE’D MADE IT THROUGH three days of parties, dinners, and meetings, and no one had attempted to murder him again. It was a bit like being on the front. You survived for an hour, then another hour. You hoped to make it through the day. At night, Isaak fell into bed and lay staring at the ceiling, heart pounding, thinking of the many things he’d done wrong and the many more things he was bound to do wrong tomorrow.
Today, they were to enjoy the morning boating on the lake beside the Little Palace, and then they would picnic on its shores.