CHAPTER
14
I WOKE THE NEXT DAY to the sound of angry voices. For a moment, I had no idea where I was. The darkness was near perfect, broken only by a thin crack of light from beneath the door.
Then reality returned. I sat up and fumbled for the lamp on the bedside wall. I turned up the flame and surveyed the dark silk bed hangings, the slate floor, the carved ebony walls. I really was going to have to make some changes. This room was just too depressing to wake up in. It was strange to think that I was actually in the Darkling’s chambers, that I’d spent the night in his bed. That I’d seen him standing in this very room.
Enough of that. I threw off the covers and swung my legs over the side of the bed. I didn’t know whether the visions were a product of my imagination or some real attempt by the Darkling to manipulate me, but there had to be a rational explanation for them. Maybe the nichevo’ya bite had infected me with something. If that was the case, then I’d just have to find a way to cure it. Or maybe the effects would wear off with time.
The argument outside my door grew louder. I thought I recognized Sergei’s voice and Tolya’s angry rumble. I threw on the embroidered dressing gown that had been left for me at the foot of the bed, checked to make sure the fetter on my wrist was hidden, and hurried out to the common room.
I almost ran right into the twins. Tolya and Tamar were standing shoulder to shoulder, blocking a group of angry Grisha from entering my chamber. Tolya’s arms were crossed, and Tamar was shaking her head as Sergei and Fedyor loudly made their case. I was distressed to see Zoya beside them, accompanied by the dark-skinned Inferni who had challenged me the previous day. Everyone seemed to be talking at once.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
As soon as Sergei saw me, he strode forward, clutching a piece of paper in his hand. Tamar moved to block him, but I waved her off.
“It’s all right,” I said. “What’s the problem?” But I thought I already knew. I recognized my own writing and the remnants of the gold sunburst seal that Nikolai had provided for me on the paper Sergei was now shaking in my face.
“This is unacceptable,” Sergei huffed.
I’d sent out word the previous night that I would be convening a war council. Each Grisha Order was to elect two representatives to attend. I was pleased to see they’d chosen Fedyor as well as Sergei, though some of my good will wore off when the older Grisha chimed in.
“He’s right,” said Fedyor. “The Corporalki are the Grisha’s first line of defense. We’re the most experienced in military affairs and should be more fairly represented.”
“We’re just as valuable to the war effort,” declared Zoya, her color high. Even in a snit, she looked gorgeous. I’d suspected she would be chosen to represent the Etherealki, but I certainly wasn’t happy about it. “If there are going to be three Corporalki on the council,” she said, “then there should be three Summoners, too.”
Everyone started shouting again. I noted that the Materialki hadn’t shown up to complain. As the lowest Grisha Order, they were probably just glad to be included, or possibly they were too caught up in their work to be bothered.
I still wasn’t quite awake. I wanted my breakfast, not an argument. But I knew this had to be addressed. I intended to do things differently—and they might as well know just how differently or this effort would fall apart before it even began.
I held up my hand and they quieted instantly. Clearly, I had that trick down. Maybe they were afraid I was going to ruin another ceiling. “There will be two Grisha from each Order,” I said. “No more, no less.”
“But—” began Sergei.
“The Darkling has changed. If we have any hope of beating him, we need to change, too. Two Grisha from each Order,” I repeated. “And the Orders will no longer sit separately. You’ll sit together, eat together, and fight together.”
At least I’d gotten them to shut up. They just stood there, gaping.
“And the Fabrikators start combat training this week,” I finished.
I took in their horrified expressions. They looked like I’d told them we’d all be marching into battle naked. The Materialki weren’t considered warriors, so no one had ever bothered to teach them to fight. It felt like a missed opportunity to me. Use whatever or whoever is in front of you.
“I can see you’re all thrilled,” I said with a small sigh.
Desperate for a glass of tea, I walked to the table where a breakfast tray had been laid with covered dishes. I lifted one of the lids: rye and herring. This morning was not getting off to a good start.
“But … but it’s always been this way,” sputtered Sergei.
“You can’t just overturn hundreds of years of tradition,” protested the Inferni.
“Are we really going to argue about this, too?” I asked irritably. “We’re at war with an ancient power beyond reckoning, and you want to squabble over who sits next to you at lunch?”
“That’s not the point,” said Zoya. “There’s an order to things, a way of doing them that—”
They all started gabbling again—about tradition, about the way things were done, about the need for structure and people knowing their places.
I set the cover back down on the dish with a loud clang.
“This is the way we’re doing it,” I said, rapidly losing patience. “No more Corporalki snobbery. No more Etherealki cliques. And no more herring.”
Zoya opened her mouth but then thought better of it and shut it again.
“Now go,” I barked. “I want to eat my breakfast in peace.”
For a moment, they just stood there. Then Tamar and Tolya stepped forward, and to my continuing amazement, the Grisha did as they were told. Zoya looked peeved, and Sergei’s face was stormy, but they all shuffled meekly out of the room.
Seconds after they left, Nikolai appeared in the doorway, and I realized he’d been eavesdropping in the hall.
“Nicely done,” he said. “Today shall be forever remembered as the date of the Great Herring Decree.” He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Not the smoothest delivery, though.”
“I don’t have your gift for ‘amused and aloof,’” I said, sitting down at the table and tearing eagerly into a roll. “But ‘grouchy’ seems to be working for me.”
A servant rushed forward to bring me a cup of tea from the samovar. It was blissfully hot, and I loaded it with sugar. Nikolai took a chair and sat without being asked.
“You’re really not going to eat these?” he said, already piling herring onto his plate.
“Revolting,” I said succinctly.
Nikolai took a big bite. “You don’t survive at sea if you can’t stomach fish.”
“Don’t play the poor sailor with me. I ate on your ship, remember? Sturmhond’s chef was hardly serving up salt cod and hardtack.”
He gave a mournful sigh. “I wish I could have brought Burgos with me. The court kitchens seem to feel that a meal isn’t complete if it isn’t swimming in butter.”
“Only a prince would complain about too much butter.”
“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully, patting his flat stomach. “Maybe a royal gut would lend me more authority.”
I laughed and then nearly jumped as the door opened and Mal entered. He stopped when he saw Nikolai.
“I didn’t realize you’d be dining at the Little Palace, moi tsarevich.” He bowed stiffly to Nikolai and then to me.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said.
“Yes he does.”
“You heard Prince Perfect,” Mal said, and joined us at the table.
Nikolai grinned. “I’ve had a lot of nicknames, but that one is easily the most accurate.”
“I didn’t know you were awake,” I said to Mal.
“I’ve been up for hours, roaming around, looking for something to do.”
“Excellent,” said Nikolai. “I’ve come to issue an invitation.”
“Is it to a ball?” asked Mal, snagging the remaining bit of roll from my plate. “I do so hope it’s to a ball.”
“While I’m sure you dance a magnificent waltz, no. Boar have been spotted in the woods near Balakirev. There’s a hunt leaving tomorrow, and I’d like you to go.”
“Short on friends, your highness?”
“And long on enemies,” replied Nikolai. “But I won’t be there. My parents aren’t quite ready to let me out of their sight. I’ve spoken to one of the generals, and he’s agreed to have you as his guest.”
Mal leaned back and crossed his arms. “I see. So I go gallivanting off to the woods for a few days, and you stay here,” he said with a meaningful glance at me.
I shifted in my chair. I didn’t like the implication, but I did have to admit it seemed like an obvious ploy. Too obvious for Nikolai, really.
“You know, for two people with a love eternal, you’re awfully insecure,” Nikolai said. “Some of the highest-ranking members of the First Army will be in the hunting party, and so will my brother. He’s an avid hunter, and I’ve seen for myself that you’re the best tracker in Ravka.”
“I thought I was supposed to be guarding Alina,” Mal said. “Not running around with a bunch of pampered royals.”
“Tolya and Tamar can manage while you’re away. And this is a chance for you to make yourself useful.”
Great, I thought as I watched Mal’s eyes narrow. Just perfect.
“And what are you doing to be useful, your highness?”
“I’m a prince,” said Nikolai. “Being useful isn’t part of the job description. But,” he added, “when I’m not lazing about being handsome, I’ll be trying to better equip the First Army and gather intelligence on the Darkling’s location. Word has it he’s entered the Sikurzoi.”
Mal and I both perked up at that. The Sikurzoi were the mountains that ran along much of the border between Ravka and the Shu Han.
“You think he’s in the south?” I asked.
Nikolai popped another piece of herring into his mouth. “It’s possible,” he said. “I would have thought he’d be more likely to ally with the Fjerdans. The northern border is far more vulnerable. But the Sikurzoi are a good place to hide. If the reports are true, we need to move to forge an alliance with the Shu as fast as possible so that we can march on him from two fronts.”
“You want to take the war to him?” I said, surprised.
“Better than waiting for him to be strong enough to bring it to us.”
“I like it,” Mal said with grudging admiration. “It’s not something the Darkling would expect.”
I was reminded that, while Mal and Nikolai had their differences, Mal and Sturmhond had been on the way to becoming friends.
Nikolai took a sip of tea and said, “There’s also disturbing news coming out of the First Army. It seems a number of soldiers have found religion and deserted.”
I frowned. “You don’t mean—”
Nikolai nodded. “They’re taking refuge in the monasteries, joining the Apparat’s cult of the Sun Saint. The priest is claiming you’ve been taken prisoner by the corrupt monarchy.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said.
“Actually, it’s completely plausible, and it makes for a very satisfying story. Needless to say, my father is not pleased. He flew into quite a rage last night, and he’s doubled the price on the Apparat’s head.”
I groaned. “This is bad.”
“It is,” Nikolai admitted. “You can see why it might be wise for the captain of your personal guard to start forging alliances within the Grand Palace.” He turned his keen gaze on Mal. “And that, Oretsev, is how you can be of use. As I recall, you rather charmed my crew, so perhaps you could pick up your bow and play the diplomat instead of the jealous lover.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Good boy,” said Nikolai.
Oh, for Saints’ sake. He just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could he?
“Watch yourself, Nikolai,” Mal said softly. “Princes bleed just like other men.”
Nikolai plucked an invisible piece of dust from his sleeve. “Yes,” he said. “They just do it in better clothes.”
“Mal—”
Mal stood, his chair scraping the floor. “I need some air.”
He strode out the door, all pretense of bowing and titles forgotten.
I threw down my napkin. “Why do you do that?” I asked Nikolai angrily. “Why do you provoke him that way?”
“Did I?” Nikolai said, reaching for another roll. I thought about sticking a fork through his hand.
“Don’t keep pushing him, Nikolai. Lose Mal, and you’ll lose me, too.”
“He needs to learn what the rules are here. If he can’t, then he becomes a liability. The stakes are too high for half measures.”
I shivered and rubbed my hands over my arms. “I hate it when you talk like that. You sound just like the Darkling.”
“If you ever have trouble telling us apart, look for the person who isn’t torturing you or trying to kill Mal. That will be me.”
“Are you so sure you wouldn’t?” I shot back. “If it got you closer to what you want, to the throne and your big chance to save Ravka, are you sure you wouldn’t walk me up the gallows steps yourself?”
I expected another of Nikolai’s flip replies, but he looked like I’d punched him in the gut. He started to speak, stopped, then shook his head.
“Saints,” he said, his tone somewhere between bewilderment and disgust. “I really don’t know.”
I slumped back in my chair. His admission should have made me furious, but instead I felt the anger drain out of me. Maybe it was his honesty. Or maybe it was because I’d begun to worry what I might be capable of myself.
We sat there in silence for a long minute. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and slowly got to his feet. At the doorway, he paused.
“I’m ambitious, Alina. I’m driven. But I hope … I hope I still know the difference between right and wrong.” He hesitated. “I offered you freedom, and I meant it. If tomorrow you decided to run back to Novyi Zem with Mal, I’d put you on a ship and let the sea take you.” He held my gaze, his hazel eyes steady. “But I’d be sorry to see you go.”
He vanished into the hall, his footsteps echoing over the stone floors.
I sat there for a while, picking at my breakfast, mulling over Nikolai’s parting words. Then I gave myself a little shake. I didn’t have time to dissect his motives. In just a few hours, the war council would meet to talk strategy and how best to raise a defense against the Darkling. I had plenty to do to prepare, but first I had a visit to pay.
* * *
AS I FASTENED the sun-shaped buttons of my gold and blue kefta, I gave a rueful shake of my head. Baghra would waste no time mocking my new pretensions. I combed my hair, then slipped out of the Little Palace through the Darkling’s entrance and crossed the grounds to the lake.
The servant I’d spoken to said that Baghra had taken ill shortly after the winter fete and that, since then, she’d stopped accepting students. Of course, I knew the truth. The night of the party, Baghra had revealed the Darkling’s plans and helped me flee the Little Palace. Then she’d sought to buy me time by concealing my absence. The thought of his rage when he’d discovered her deception sat like a stone in my stomach.
When I’d tried to press the jittery maid for details, she’d bobbed a clumsy curtsy and gone scurrying from the room. Still, Baghra was alive, and she was here. The Darkling could destroy an entire town, but it seemed even he drew the line at murdering his own mother.
The path to Baghra’s hut was overgrown with brambles, the summer wood tangled and pungent with the smell of leaves and damp earth. I hastened my steps, surprised at how eager I was to see her. She’d been a hard teacher and an unpleasant woman on her best days, but she’d tried to help me when no one else had, and I knew she was my best chance of solving the riddle of Morozova’s third amplifier.
I climbed the three steps at the front of the hut and knocked. No one answered. I knocked again and then pushed the door open, wincing at the familiar blast of heat. Baghra always seemed to be cold, and entering her hut was like being stuffed into a cookstove.
The dark little room was just as I remembered it: sparsely furnished with only the barest necessities, a fire roaring in the tile oven, and Baghra huddled by it in her faded kefta. I was surprised to see that she wasn’t alone. A servant sat beside her, a young boy dressed in gray. He got to his feet as I entered, peering at me through the gloom.
“No visitors,” he said.
“By whose command?”
At the sound of my voice, Baghra looked up sharply.
She smacked her stick on the ground. “Leave, boy,” she commanded.
“But—”
“Go!” she snarled.
Just as pleasant as ever, I thought warily.
The boy scurried across the room and out of the hut without another word.
The door had barely shut when Baghra said, “I wondered when you’d make your way back here, little Saint.”
Trust Baghra to call me the one name I didn’t want to hear.
I was already sweating and had no desire to step closer to the fire, but I did it anyway, and crossed the room to sit in the chair the servant had vacated.
She turned toward the flames as I approached, showing me her back. She was in rare form today. I ignored the insult.
I sat silent for a moment, unsure of where to begin. “I was told you’d taken ill after I left.”
“Hmph.”
I didn’t want to know, but I made myself ask. “What did he do to you?”
She gave a dry laugh. “Less than he might have. More than he should.”
“Baghra—”
“You were meant to go to Novyi Zem. You were meant to disappear.”
“I tried.”
“No, you went hunting,” she sneered with a smack of her stick on the ground. “And what did you find? A pretty necklace to wear for the rest of your life? Come closer,” she said. “I want to know what I bought for my trouble.”
Obligingly, I leaned in. When she turned to me, I gasped.
Baghra had aged a lifetime since I’d seen her last. Her black hair was sparse and graying. Her sharp features had blurred. The taut slash of her mouth looked sunken and soft.
But that was not why I recoiled. Baghra’s eyes were gone. Where they should have been were two black pits, shadows writhing in their fathomless depths.
“Baghra,” I choked out. I reached for her hand, but she flinched away from my touch.
“Spare me your pity, girl.”
“What … what did he do to you?” My voice was little more than a whisper.
She gave another harsh laugh. “He left me in the dark.”
Her voice was strong, but sitting by the fire, I realized it was the only part of her that had remained unchanged. She’d been lean and hard, with the knife-sharp posture of an acrobat. Now, there was a slight tremor in her ancient hands, and her formerly wiry body just looked gaunt and frail.
“Show me,” she said, reaching out. I held still and let her run her hands over my face. The gnarled fingers moved like two white spiders, passing over my tears without interest, crawling down my jaw to the base of my throat, where they came to rest on the collar.
“Ah,” she breathed, her fingertips tracing the rough pieces of antler at my neck, her voice soft, almost wistful. “I would have liked to see his stag.”
I wanted to turn my head, to look away from the teeming black pools of her eyes. Instead, I pushed up my sleeve and grasped one of her hands. She tried to pull away, but I tightened my grip and laid her fingers over the fetter at my wrist. She went still.
“No,” she said. “It cannot be.”
She felt along the ridges of the sea whip’s scales.
“Rusalye,” she whispered. “What have you done, girl?”
Her words gave me hope. “You know about the other amplifiers.”
I winced as her fingers dug into my wrist. “Is it true?” she asked abruptly. “What they say he can do, that he can give life to shadow?”
“Yes,” I admitted.
Her hunched shoulders sagged even further. Then she cast my arm away as if it were something filthy. “Get out.”
“Baghra, I need your help.”
“I said, get out.”
“Please. I need to know where to find the firebird.”
Her sunken mouth trembled slightly. “I betrayed my son once, little Saint. What makes you think I would do it again?”
“You wanted to stop him,” I said hesitantly. “You—”
Baghra pounded the floor with her stick. “I wanted to keep him from becoming a monster! But it’s too late for that, isn’t it? Thanks to you, he is farther from human than he’s ever been. He’s long past any redemption.”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “But Ravka isn’t beyond saving.”
“What do I care what happens to this wretched country? Is the world so very fine that you think it worth saving?”
“Yes,” I said. “And I know you do too.”
“You couldn’t make a meat pie from what you know, girl.”
“Fine!” I said, my desperation overwhelming my guilt. “I’m an idiot. I’m a fool. I’m hopeless. That’s why I need your help.”
“You cannot be helped. Your only hope was to run.”
“Tell me what you know about Morozova,” I begged. “Help me find the third amplifier.”
“I couldn’t begin to guess where to find the firebird, and I wouldn’t tell you if I could. All I want now is a warm room and to be left alone to die.”
“I could take away this room,” I said angrily. “Your fire, your obedient servant. You might feel more like talking then.”
The second the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to take them back. A sick wave of shame washed over me. Had I really just threatened a blind old woman?
Baghra laughed that rattling, vicious chuckle. “You’re taking to power well, I see. As it grows, it will hunger for more. Like calls to like, girl.”
Her words sent a spike of fear through me.
“I didn’t mean it,” I said weakly.
“You cannot violate the rules of this world without a price. Those amplifiers were never meant to be. No Grisha should have such power. Already you are changing. Seek the third, use it, and you will lose yourself completely, piece by piece. You want my help? You want to know what to do? Forget the firebird. Forget Morozova and his madness.”
I shook my head. “I can’t do that. I won’t.”
She turned back to the fire. “Then do what you like, girl. I’m done with this life, and I’m done with you.”
What had I expected? That she would greet me as a daughter? Welcome me as a friend? She’d lost her son’s love and sacrificed her sight, and in the end, I’d failed her. I wanted to dig in my heels and demand her help. I wanted to threaten her, cajole her, fall to my knees and beg forgiveness for everything she’d lost and every mistake I’d made. Instead, I did what she’d wanted me to do all along. I turned and ran.
I nearly lost my footing on the stairs as I stumbled from the hut, but the servant boy was waiting at the bottom of the steps. He reached out to steady me before I could fall.
I took grateful gulps of fresh air, feeling the sweat cool on my skin.
“Is it true?” he asked. “Are you really the Sun Summoner?”
I glanced at his hopeful face and felt the ache of tears in my throat. I nodded and tried to smile.
“My mother says you’re a Saint.”
What other fairy tales does she believe? I thought bitterly.
Before I could embarrass myself by breaking down in tears on his scrawny shoulder, I pushed past him and hurried down the narrow path.
When I reached the lakeshore, I made my way to one of the white stone Summoners’ pavilions. They weren’t really buildings, just domed shells where young Summoners could practice using their gifts without fear of blowing the roof off the school or setting fire to the Little Palace. I sat down in the shade of the pavilion’s steps and buried my head in my hands, willing my tears away, trying to catch my breath. I’d been so sure that Baghra would know something about the firebird and so positive that she’d be willing to help. I hadn’t realized just how much hope I’d invested in her until it was gone.
I smoothed the glittering folds of my kefta over my lap and had to choke back a sob. I’d thought Baghra would laugh at me, mock the little Saint all dressed up in her finery. Why had I ever believed the Darkling might show his mother mercy?
And why had I acted that way? How could I have threatened to take away her few comforts? The ugliness of it made me feel ill. I could blame my desperation, but it didn’t ease my shame. Or change the reality that some part of me wanted to march back to her hut and make good on those threats, haul her out into the sunlight and wrest answers from her sour, sunken mouth. What was wrong with me?
I took my copy of the Istorii Sankt’ya out of my pocket and ran my hands over the worn red leather cover. I’d looked at it so many times that it fell right open to the illustration of Sankt Ilya, though now the pages were waterlogged from the crash of the Hummingbird.
A Grisha Saint? Or another greedy fool who couldn’t resist the temptation of power? A greedy fool like me. Forget Morozova and his madness. I ran my finger along the curve of the arch. It might be meaningless. It might be some reference to Ilya’s past that had nothing to do with amplifiers, or just an artist’s flourish. Even if we were right and it was some kind of signpost, it could be anywhere. Nikolai had traveled most of Ravka, and he’d never seen it. For all we knew, it had fallen into rubble hundreds of years ago.
A bell rang at the school across the lake, and a gaggle of Grisha children rushed from its doors, shouting, laughing, eager to be out in the summer sunshine. The school had continued to run, despite the disasters of the last months. But if the Darkling was coming, I’d have to evacuate it. I didn’t want children in the path of the nichevo’ya.
The ox feels the yoke, but does the bird feel the weight of its wings?
Had Baghra ever really spoken those words to me? Or had I only heard them in a dream?
I stood up and brushed the dust from my kefta. I wasn’t sure what had shaken me more, Baghra’s refusal to help or how broken she seemed. She wasn’t just an old woman. She was a woman without hope, and I’d helped to take it from her.