“We’ve arranged for you to spend time with the Shu princess before lunch,” Tamar had told him.
“And I … do what with her?”
“Be charming. Ask her about her guards and how long she’s known them. Get us any information you can.”
“Can’t you and Tolya just bond with the Tavgharad over your Shu childhoods or something?”
The twins had exchanged a glance. “We’re worse than Ravkans to them,” said Tamar. “We had a Shu father, but we wear the tattoos of the Sun Saint and serve a foreign king.”
“Why did you choose service to Ravka?”
“We didn’t,” said Tamar.
Tolya put his hand to his heart. “We chose Alina. We chose Nikolai. All of this”—he gestured to the palace grounds—“means nothing.”
Isaak didn’t know what to say to that. He considered himself a patriot, but he could admit that, unlike the king, Ravka had never been particularly kind to him.
“Chat with Princess Ehri,” said Tamar. “Get her talking.”
“Hypothetically, if I weren’t possessed of natural charisma and a gift for witty conversation, just how would I do that?”
Tamar rolled her eyes, but Tolya said, “Compliment her. Express your admiration for Shu culture. You might consider reciting—”
“Oh, for Saints’ sake, Tolya, that’s the last thing he should do.” Tamar knelt in front of Isaak. “Just listen to her. Ask her questions. Women don’t want to be seduced. They want to be seen and listened to. You can’t do either of those things if you’re thinking up strategies on how to win her over—or reciting the Fourth Epic of Kregi.”
“There is no Fourth Epic of Kregi,” growled Tolya. “The third was unfinished by the poet Elaan.”
“Then that’s definitely the one he should recite.”
Why did the thought of a simple conversation make Isaak’s heart rattle? Possibly because he’d never been good at talking to girls—other than his sisters. But arguing with Belka and Petya over the price of ribbon was a far cry from making small talk with royals. And he was supposed to somehow wheedle information from a princess? He tried to remind himself that he was handsome now—a fact that took him by surprise every time he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror. He hadn’t been ugly before, just unremarkable—tidy brown hair that curled if he left it too long, regular enough features, slightly crooked bottom teeth. His mother had told him he was nice looking, but she’d also told his sister she had a lovely singing voice, and that was definitely not the case.
Now Isaak tried to look at ease as he reclined on a cushioned divan on the royal barge, attempting his best approximation of Nikolai’s relaxed slouch. He’d spent too many years standing at attention. Before him, elegantly decorated sloops and barges dotted the lake like water lilies, banners snapping, awnings striped in Ravkan blue and gold.
The lake was too cold for swimming, but the Tidemakers had heated its surface so that mist rose from the water in dense clouds, which Squallers manipulated into symbols of various countries and families of standing. Isaak had permitted himself a few sips from a tiny bell-shaped glass of apricot wine to try to soothe his nerves but still remained alert, listening to the conversation as one of the Fjerdan ambassadors asked if they might have a tour of the Grisha school.
“Of course you may,” said Genya. “It would be our great pleasure.”
Isaak did not think he imagined the current of excitement that passed between the ambassador and another member of his delegation.
Genya smoothed her skirts and added, “But I fear you may find it boring. The students are currently traveling with their teachers as part of their instruction.”
“All of them?”
“Yes,” said Genya. “We find work in the field is so beneficial for a child’s education. And I must say I’m not sorry for the peace and quiet. Young Grisha can be quite high-spirited, as I’m sure you can imagine. We didn’t want them getting underfoot with such important new friends visiting.”
Isaak had never known the Grisha students to be underfoot. They were kept busy, and the school was isolated enough from the rest of the palace that they would have had trouble getting anywhere without notice. No, they’d been moved for their safety. And the Fjerdans knew it.
“You evacuated all of them?” the ambassador asked coldly.
“Evacuated?” said Genya with an amused laugh. “That would imply there was some kind of threat.” She tapped the ambassador on the knee playfully. “A threat! To a group of children who could set fire to this barge and stop the hearts of everyone on it with the sweep of a hand.” She dabbed at her eyes. “It is too droll.”
Isaak turned to Genya as the Fjerdans walked to the sloop’s railing to enjoy the view and possibly to seethe. “You sent the students away to protect them?”
“Of course,” said Genya, all mirth gone. “You think we would keep one of Ravka’s greatest assets here when a bomb or poison gas could eliminate an entire new generation of Grisha in moments? But a fearful Fjerdan is one less likely to act, and I just relish the idea of them having bad dreams about a bunch of schoolchildren.”
Isaak gave a slight shake of his head. “Listening to you talk is like watching a sailor who knows the secret shape of a bay, all of the places where storms strike, and the rocky spots where ships run aground. You navigate these waters with such surety.”
Genya was quiet for a long time. “I was thrown into the water early,” she said. “The Darkling gave me to the queen of Ravka as a gift when I was just a little girl, a pretty thing who could be of service to her.”
“Then you knew the king as a boy?”
“I saw him and his brother in passing. I was a cherished servant, but a servant all the same. They were very loud.” She toyed with one of her topaz earrings. “The household staff used to call them the Two Headaches. How I envied them, the way they were free to run and play and make trouble.”
“But to be a favorite of the queen,” said Isaak. “That must have been a great honor?”
Genya popped a slice of plum into her mouth. “For a time, I was the queen’s doll. She would dress me in lovely clothes and brush my hair and let me sleep at the foot of her bed and sit beside her at meals. I watched the sharks and learned. When I grew older, and I had the misfortune of catching the old king’s eye …” Genya wiped her fingers slowly on a linen napkin, the leavings of the plum staining the cloth. “I convinced myself that the suffering I endured was an honor because I was the Darkling’s soldier and his spy. He trusted me above all others, and one day all would know the good I’d done him. He could not have managed his coup so easily without the information I fed him.”
Isaak stared at her. “You are confessing to treason,” he whispered.
“Sweet Isaak,” she said with a smile. “Nikolai Lantsov pardoned me long ago, and in that moment he earned my loyalty forever. The Darkling threw me into the water, then watched me drown to serve his own purposes.”
“So he was as cruel as the stories say?”
“Cruel? Oh yes. But he didn’t leave me to the king’s predations to punish me. He just never even considered my misery. What was the anguish of one girl if it might help to earn him an empire? He was playing a long and complicated game. It was only when I dared to think for myself, when I interfered with his grand plan, that he set his monsters on me and—”