A stray missile grazed one of the sailboat’s masts, snapping it in two. Isaak shoved Hiram Schenck aside before it could collapse on the merchant.
“Get us out of here!” shouted the captain, and the Squaller filled the remaining sails with wind, driving them swiftly to shore.
The rest of the disaster was a blur: soaked soldiers, Hiram Schenck’s hysterics, Count Kirigin calling, “Then you won’t be staying for dinner?” from the steps of his house as their party beat a hasty retreat to the palace.
When they finally entered the king’s sitting room and Isaak stripped off his wet coat, he was prepared for a long night of strategizing and recriminations. Instead Tamar threw herself down on the couch and burst out laughing. Tolya picked up David in one arm and Genya in the other and spun them both around.
“Brilliant,” gasped Genya, thumping on Tolya’s shoulder so he would set her down. “A performance worthy of the too-clever fox himself.”
“The way Schenck squealed,” crowed Tamar. “I think he may have wet himself.”
“I almost did the same,” said Tolya. “Was the missile supposed to hit the mast?”
“Of course it was,” David said sternly. “You said you wanted a spectacle.”
Genya planted a kiss on his cheek and repeated, “Brilliant.”
Isaak stared at them. “Then … that wasn’t a disaster?”
“It was a triumph,” said Tamar.
“I see,” said Isaak.
“Oh, Isaak,” said Genya. “I’m so sorry. We just weren’t sure you could feign real surprise.”
“We needed your reaction to be natural,” Tamar said.
Tolya’s face was contrite. “We only had one chance to get this right.”
Isaak sat down on the couch. “Damn it.”
“We’re sorry,” Genya said, crouching at his knee and looking up at him imploringly. “Truly.”
“Can you forgive us?” asked Tolya.
“I was just so excited,” Isaak said. He pulled off his left boot and watched it spill what looked like half a lake onto the carpet. “Finally something went wrong and I had nothing to do with it.”
THE NIGHT BEFORE THE RITUAL, Nikolai sat with Zoya in front of the fire in his chambers. Yuri had retired early to pray.
The fire in the grate was wholly unnecessary. The Fold was neither hot nor cold—weather would have required some kind of change in the punishing monotony of this place. But the flames were all they had for entertainment, and Nikolai was in desperate need of distraction.
He had insisted he was ready for the ritual. Elizaveta had wanted to delay for a few more days so he could solidify his control, but Nikolai was unwilling to risk it. He needed to get back to the capital. But it was more than that. He could sense the monster getting stronger with every day, and he suspected that it had become easier to make his demon rise because it wanted to stretch its wings. It could taste the possibility of freedom.
“Just a little longer,” Elizaveta had said.
But Nikolai had held firm. “Tomorrow,” he’d told her. Or whatever passed for tomorrow in this cursed place.
He had never wished for sleep more, for some relief from thoughts of the challenge to come. He could sense the monster waiting. Somehow it knew that tomorrow they would face each other, and it was ready. Its anticipation was more frightening than the fact that he would have to drive a thorn through his chest in a matter of hours. Nikolai craved a glass of wine desperately. No, skip the glass. He’d go straight to the bottle.
But there was no wine to be had. No food to fill a plate. He was hungry and yet his stomach never growled. He was thirsty and yet his mouth was never dry.
Nikolai watched Zoya watching the flames. She flexed her fingers, and the sparks leapt. He still could not quite fathom what Juris had taught her in this short time. She wore the same clothes she’d worn the morning they’d disappeared, though the roughspun cloak had long since been discarded. He was grateful for the familiarity of the deep blue silk of her kefta.
She sat with a knee tucked up, one cheek resting against it. Nikolai realized he’d never seen her look so at ease. At court, Zoya always moved with grace, her steps smooth, her gaze sharp and unforgiving as the blade of a knife. But he realized now it was the grace of an actress on the stage. She was always performing, always on guard. Even with him.
Nikolai released a startled laugh, and she glanced over at him. “What is it?”
He shook his head. “I think I’m jealous.”
“Of what?”
“A dragon.”
“Don’t let Juris hear that. He thinks enough of himself as it is.”
“He should. He can fly and breathe fire, and he’s probably got piles of gold stashed somewhere.”
“That’s an unfair cliché. It could very well be jewels.”
“And he made you look like that.”
Zoya raised a brow. “Like what precisely?”
“Comfortable.”
Zoya’s back straightened, and he felt tremendous regret at seeing her armor lock back into place.
After a minute she asked, “What do you think will happen when we leave this place?”
“Hopefully not too many things will be on fire.”
Zoya sighed. “David and Kuwei have been left unattended too long. For all we know they’ve blown up half the capital.”
“That is worryingly plausible,” admitted Nikolai. He scrubbed a hand over his head. Red wine. White wine. That drink made with fermented cherries he’d tried at the Crow Club. Anything for a little respite, a night of real rest. Not even Genya’s sleeping concoction worked here. It just made his mind sluggish. “I don’t know what we’ll find. I don’t even know who I’ll be tomorrow.”
“You will be who you were always meant to be. Ravka’s king.”
Maybe, he thought. Or maybe it will be left to you to set Ravka to rights.
He removed a folded document from his pocket and placed it beside her hand.
She picked it up and turned it over, frowning at the wax seal he’d impressed with his signet ring. “What is this?”
“Don’t worry, I haven’t written you a love letter.” She turned her face to the fire. Was even the mention of love too much for Zoya’s ruthless sensibilities? “This is a royal order declaring you Ravka’s protector and making you commander of both the First and Second Armies.”
She stared at him. “Have you lost your wits entirely?”
“I’m trying to do the responsible thing. I think it’s giving me indigestion.”
Zoya tossed the letter to the floor as if the paper had singed her fingers. “You don’t think you’re going to survive tomorrow.”
“Ravka’s hopes shouldn’t live and die with me.”
“So you’re pinning them on me instead?”
“You are one of the most powerful Grisha the world has ever known, Zoya. If anyone can protect Ravka, it’s you.”
“And if I tell you I don’t want the job?”
“We both know better. And did I mention the position comes with some truly spectacular sapphires?” Nikolai rested his hands on his knees. “If the twins and the Triumvirate weren’t able to hide our disappearance, Ravka may already be in turmoil. We both know it’s possible I won’t survive the ritual and someone will have to restore order. Every man and woman who claims to have a drop of Lantsov blood will make a bid for the throne, and our enemies will seize the chance to tear the country apart. Pick one of the pretenders to back, the smartest or the most charming or—”