CHAPTER
11
AS THE CROWDS of pilgrims grew, they became harder to control, and soon I was forced to ride in the coach. Some days Mal accompanied me, but usually he chose to ride outside, guarding the vehicle with Tolya and Tamar. As eager as I was for his company, I knew it was for the best. Being stuck in the lacquered little jewel box always seemed to put him in a bad mood.
Nikolai only joined me on our way into or out of every village, so that we would be seen arriving or departing together. He talked constantly. He was always thinking of some new thing to build—a contraption for paving roads, a new irrigation system, a boat that could row itself. He sketched on any piece of paper he could find, and each day he seemed to have a new way to improve the next version of the Hummingbird.
As nervous as it made me, he was also eager to talk about the third amplifier and the Darkling. He didn’t recognize the stone arch in the illustration either, and no matter how long we squinted at the page, Sankt Ilya wasn’t giving up his secrets. But that didn’t stop Nikolai from speculating endlessly on possible places to start hunting the firebird, or questioning me about the Darkling’s new power.
“We’re about to go to war together,” he said. “In case you’ve forgotten, the Darkling’s not particularly fond of me. I’d like us to have every advantage we can get.”
There was so little for me to tell. I barely understood what the Darkling was doing myself.
“Grisha can only use and alter what already exists. True creation is a different kind of power. Baghra called it ‘the making at the heart of the world.’”
“And you think that’s what the Darkling is after?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. We all have limits, and when we push them, we tire. But in the long term, using our power makes us stronger. It’s different when the Darkling calls the nichevo’ya. I think it costs him.” I described the strain that had shown on the Darkling’s face, his fatigue. “The power isn’t feeding him. It’s feeding on him.”
“Well, that explains it,” Nikolai said, his fingers beating a tattoo against his thigh, his mind already churning with possibilities.
“Explains what?”
“That we’re still alive, that my father is still sitting the throne. If the Darkling could just raise a shadow army, he’d have marched on us already. This is good,” he said decisively. “It buys us time.”
The question was how much. I thought back to the desire I’d felt looking up at the stars aboard the Volkvolny. Hunger for power had corrupted the Darkling. For all I knew, it might well have corrupted Morozova, too. Bringing the amplifiers together might unleash misery of a kind the world had never seen.
I rubbed my arms, trying to shake the chill that had dropped over me. I couldn’t speak these doubts to Nikolai, and Mal was already reluctant enough about the course we’d chosen.
“You know what we’re up against,” I said. “Time may not be enough.”
“Os Alta is heavily fortified. It’s close to the base at Poliznaya, and most important, it’s far from both the northern and southern borders.”
“Does that help us?”
“The Darkling’s range is limited. When we disabled his ship, he wasn’t able to send the nichevo’ya to pursue us. That means he’ll have to enter Ravka with his monsters. The mountains to the east are impassable, and he can’t cross the Fold without you, so he’ll have to come at us from Fjerda or Shu Han. Either way, we’ll have plenty of warning.”
“And the King and Queen will stay?”
“If my father left the capital, it would be as good as handing the country over to the Darkling now. Besides, I don’t know that he’s strong enough to travel.”
I thought of Genya’s red kefta. “He hasn’t recovered?”
“They’ve kept the worst of it from the gossips, but no, he hasn’t, and I doubt he will.” He crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. “Your friend is stunning. For a poisoner.”
“She isn’t my friend,” I said, though the words sounded childish to my ears and felt like a betrayal. I blamed Genya for a lot of things, but not for what she’d done to the King. Nikolai seemed to have spies everywhere. I wondered if he knew what kind of a man his father really was. “And I doubt she used poison.”
“She did something to him. None of his doctors can find a cure, and my mother won’t let a Corporalki Healer anywhere near him.” After a moment, Nikolai said, “It was a clever move, really.”
My brows shot up. “Trying to kill your father?”
“The Darkling could have murdered my father easily enough, but he would have risked outright rebellion from the peasants and the First Army. With the King alive and kept in isolation, no one knew quite what was happening. The Apparat was there, playing the trusted adviser, issuing commands. Vasily was off someplace buying up horses and whores.” He paused, looked out the window, ran his finger along its gilded edge. “I was at sea. I didn’t hear the news until weeks after it was all over.”
I waited, unsure if I should speak. His eyes were trained on the passing scenery, but his expression was distant.
“When word of the massacre in Novokribirsk and the Darkling’s disappearance got out, all hell broke loose. A group of royal ministers and the palace guard forced their way into the Grand Palace and demanded to see the King. Do you know what they found? My mother cowering in her parlor, clutching that snuffly little dog. And the King of Ravka, Alexander the Third, alone in his bedchamber, barely breathing, lying in his own filth. I let that happen.”
“You couldn’t have known what the Darkling was planning, Nikolai. No one did.”
He didn’t seem to hear me. “The Grisha and oprichniki who held the palace on the Darkling’s orders were caught in the lower town, trying to escape. They were executed.”
I tried to restrain a shudder. “What about the Apparat?” The priest had colluded with the Darkling and might be working with him still. But he’d tried to approach me before the coup, and I’d always thought he might be playing a deeper game.
“Escaped. No one knows how.” His voice was hard. “But he’ll answer for it when the time comes.”
Again I glimpsed the ruthless edge that lurked beneath the polished demeanor. Was that the real Nikolai Lantsov? Or just another disguise?
“You let Genya go,” I said.
“She was a pawn. You were the prize. I had to stay focused.” Then he grinned, his dark mood vanishing as if it had never been. “Besides,” he said with a wink, “she was too pretty for the sharks.”
* * *
RIDING IN THE COACH left me restless, frustrated with the pace Nikolai was setting, and eager to get to the Little Palace. Still, it gave him a chance to help prepare me for our arrival in Os Alta. Nikolai had a considerable stake in my success as the leader of the Second Army, and he always seemed to have some new bit of wisdom he wanted to impart. It was overwhelming, but I didn’t feel I could afford to disregard his advice, and I started to feel like I was back at the Little Palace library, cramming my head full of Grisha theory.
The less you say, the more weight your words will carry.
Don’t argue. Never deign to deny. Meet insults with laughter.
“You didn’t laugh at the Fjerdan captain,” I observed.
“That wasn’t an insult. It was a challenge,” he said. “Know the difference.”
Weakness is a guise. Wear it when they need to know you’re human, but never when you feel it.
Don’t wish for bricks when you can build from stone. Use whatever or whoever is in front of you.
Being a leader means someone is always watching you.
Get them to follow the little orders, and they’ll follow the big ones.
It’s okay to flout expectations, but never disappoint them.
“How am I supposed to remember all of this?” I asked in exasperation.
“You don’t think too much about it, you just do it.”
“Easy for you to say. You’ve been groomed for this since the day you were born.”
“I was groomed for lawn tennis and champagne parties,” Nikolai said. “The rest came with practice.”
“I don’t have time for practice!”
“You’ll do fine,” he said. “Just calm down.”
I let out a squawk of frustration. I wanted to throttle him so badly my fingers itched.
“Oh, and the easiest way to make someone furious is to tell her to calm down.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or throw my shoe at him.
Outside the coach, Nikolai’s behavior was getting more and more unnerving. He knew better than to renew his marriage proposal, but it was clear that he wanted people to think there was something between us. With every stop, he grew more bold, standing too close, kissing my hand, pushing my hair back over my ear when it was caught by a breeze.
In Tashta, Nikolai waved to the massive crowd of villagers and pilgrims that had formed by a statue of the town’s founder. As he was helping me back into the coach, he slipped his arm around my waist.
“Please don’t punch me,” he whispered. Then he yanked me hard against his chest and pressed his lips to mine.
The crowd exploded into wild cheers, their voices crashing over us in an exultant roar. Before I could even react, Nikolai shoved me into the shadowy interior of the coach and slipped in after. He slammed the door behind him, but I could still hear the townspeople cheering outside. Mixed in with the cries of “Nikolai!” and “Sankta Alina!” was a new chant: Sol Koroleva, they shouted. Sun Queen.
I could just see Mal through the coach’s window. He was on horseback, working the edge of the crowd, making sure they stayed out of the road. It was clear from his stormy expression that he’d seen everything.
I turned on Nikolai and kicked him hard in the shin. He yelped, but that wasn’t nearly satisfying enough. I kicked him again.
“Feel better?” he asked.
“Next time you try something like that, I won’t kick you,” I said angrily. “I’ll cut you in half.”
He brushed a speck of lint from his trousers. “Not sure that would be wise. I’m afraid the people rather frown on regicide.”
“You’re not king yet, Sobachka,” I said sharply. “So don’t tempt me.”
“I don’t see why you’re upset. The crowd loved it.”
“I didn’t love it.”
He raised a brow. “You didn’t hate it.”
I kicked him again. This time his hand snaked out like a flash and captured my ankle. If it had been winter, I would have been wearing boots, but I was in summer slippers and his fingers closed over my bare leg. My cheeks blazed red.
“Promise not to kick me again, and I’ll promise not to kiss you again,” he said.
“I only kicked you because you kissed me!”
I tried to pull my leg back, but he kept a hard grip.
“Promise,” he said.
“All right,” I bit out. “I promise.”
“Then we have a deal.”
He dropped my foot, and I drew it back beneath my kefta, hoping he couldn’t see my idiotic blush.
“Great,” I said. “Now get out.”
“It’s my coach.”
“The deal was only for kicking. It did not prohibit slapping, punching, biting, or cutting you in half.”
He grinned. “Afraid Oretsev will wonder what we’ve gotten up to?”
That was exactly what I was worried about. “I’m concerned that if I’m forced to spend another minute with you, I may vomit on my kefta.”
“It’s an act, Alina. The stronger our alliance, the better it will be for both of us. I’m sorry if it puts a burr in Mal’s sock, but it’s a necessity.”
“That kiss wasn’t a necessity.”
“I was improvising,” he said. “I got carried away.”
“You never improvise,” I said. “Everything you do is calculated. You change personalities the way other people change hats. And you know what? It’s creepy. Aren’t you ever just yourself?”
“I’m a prince, Alina. I can’t afford to be myself.”
I blew out an annoyed breath.
He was silent for a moment and then said, “I … you really think I’m creepy?”
It was the first time he’d sounded less than sure of himself. Despite what he’d done, I actually felt a little sorry for him.
“Occasionally,” I admitted.
He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Then he sighed and shrugged. “I’m a younger son, most likely a bastard, and I’ve been away from court for almost seven years. I’m going to do everything I can to strengthen my chances for the throne, and if that means courting an entire nation or making moon eyes at you, then I’ll do it.”
I goggled at him. I hadn’t really heard anything after the word “bastard.” Genya had hinted that there were rumors about Nikolai’s parentage, but I was shocked that he would acknowledge them.
He laughed. “You’re never going to survive at court if you don’t learn to hide what you’re thinking a bit better. You look like you just sat in a bowl of cold porridge. Close your mouth.”
I shut my mouth with a snap and tried to school my features into a pleasant expression. That just made Nikolai laugh harder. “Now you look like you’ve had too much wine.”
I gave up and slouched back against the seat. “How can you joke about something like that?”
“I’ve heard the whispers since I was a child. It’s not something I want repeated outside of this coach—and I’ll deny it if you do—but I couldn’t care less whether or not I have Lantsov blood. In fact, given all the royal inbreeding, being a bastard is probably a point in my favor.”
I shook my head. He was completely baffling. It was hard to know what to take seriously when it came to Nikolai.
“Why is the crown so important to you?” I asked. “Why go through all of this?”
“Is it so hard to believe I might actually care what happens to this country?”
“Honestly? Yes.”
He studied the toes of his polished boots. I could never figure out how he kept them so shiny.
“I guess I like fixing things,” he said. “I always have.”
It wasn’t much of an answer, but somehow it rang true.
“You truly think your brother will step aside?”
“I hope so. He knows the First Army will follow me, and I don’t think he has the stomach for civil war. Besides, Vasily inherited our father’s aversion to hard work. Once he realizes what it really takes to run a country, I doubt he’ll be able to run from the capital fast enough.”
“And if he doesn’t give up so easily?”
“It’s simply a question of finding the right incentive. Pauper or prince, every man can be bought.”
More wisdom from the mouth of Nikolai Lantsov. I glanced out the coach’s window. I could just see Mal sitting tall in his saddle as he kept pace with the coach.
“Not every man,” I murmured.
Nikolai followed my gaze. “Yes, Alina, even your stalwart champion has his price.” He turned back to me, his hazel eyes thoughtful. “And I suspect I’m looking at it right now.”
I shifted uneasily in my seat. “You’re so sure of everything,” I said sourly. “Maybe I’ll decide I want the throne and smother you in your sleep.”
Nikolai just grinned. “Finally,” he said, “you’re thinking like a politician.”
* * *
EVENTUALLY, NIKOLAI RELENTED and vacated the coach, but it was hours before we stopped for the night. I didn’t have to seek Mal out. When the coach door opened, he was there, offering his hand to help me down. The square was crowded with pilgrims and other travelers, all craning their necks to get a better look at the Sun Summoner, but I wasn’t sure when I’d have another chance to talk to him.
“Are you angry?” I whispered as he led me across the cobblestones. I could see Nikolai on the other end of the square, already chatting with a group of local dignitaries.
“With you? No. But Nikolai and I are going to have words when he isn’t surrounded by an armed guard.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I kicked him.”
Mal laughed. “You did?”
“Twice. Does that help?”
“Actually, yes.”
“I’ll stomp on his foot tonight at dinner.” That fell well outside the kicking prohibition.
“So, no heart flutters or swooning, even in the arms of a royal prince?”
He was teasing, but I heard the uncertainty beneath his words.
“I seem to be immune,” I replied. “And luckily, I know what a real kiss should feel like.”
I left him standing in the middle of the square. I could get used to making Mal blush.
* * *
THE NIGHT BEFORE we were to enter Os Alta, we stayed at the dacha of a minor nobleman who lived just a few miles from the city walls. It reminded me a bit of Keramzin—the grand iron gates, the long, straight path to the graceful house with its two wide wings of pale brick. Count Minkoff was apparently known for breeding dwarf fruit trees, and the hallways of the dacha were lined with clever little topiaries that filled the rooms with the sweet scent of peaches and plums.
I was provided with an elegant bedchamber on the second floor. Tamar took the adjoining room, and Tolya and Mal were boarded across the hall. A large box waited for me on my bed, and inside, I found the kefta I had finally broken down and requested the previous week. Nikolai had sent orders to the Little Palace, and I recognized the work of Grisha Fabrikators in the dark blue silk shot through with golden thread. I expected it to be heavy in my hands, but Materialki craft had rendered the fabric nearly weightless. When I slipped it over my head, it glimmered and shifted like light glimpsed through water. The clasps were small golden suns. It was beautiful and a bit showy. Nikolai would approve.
The lady of the house had sent a maid to do my hair. She sat me down at the dressing table, clucking and fussing over my tangles as she pinned my tresses into a loose knot. She had a far gentler hand than Genya, but the results weren’t nearly so spectacular. I shoved the thought from my mind. I didn’t like thinking of Genya, of what might have happened to her after we left the whaler, or of how lonely the Little Palace would feel without her.
I thanked the maid and, before I left my room, snapped up the black velvet pouch that had come in the box with my kefta. I slipped it into my pocket, checked to make sure the fetter was hidden by my sleeve, then headed downstairs.
Talk over dinner centered around the latest plays, the possible whereabouts of the Darkling, and happenings in Os Alta. The city had been swamped with refugees. Newcomers were being turned away at the gate, and there were rumors of food riots in the lower town. It seemed impossibly far away from this sparkling place.
The Count and his wife, a plump lady with graying curls and alarmingly displayed cleavage, set a lavish table. We ate cold soup from jeweled cups shaped like pumpkins, roasted lamb slathered with currant jelly, mushrooms baked in cream, and a dish I only picked at that I later learned was brandied cuckoo. Each plate and glass was edged in silver and bore the Minkoff crest. But most impressive was the centerpiece that ran the length of the table: a living miniature forest rendered in elaborate detail, complete with groves of tiny pines, a climbing trumpet vine with blossoms no bigger than a fingernail, and a little hut that hid the salt cellar.
I sat between Nikolai and Colonel Raevsky, listening as the noble guests laughed and chattered and raised toast after toast to the young prince’s return and the Sun Summoner’s health. I’d asked Mal to join us, but he’d refused, choosing instead to patrol the grounds with Tamar and Tolya. Hard as I tried to keep my mind on the conversation, I kept glancing at the terrace, hoping to catch sight of him.
Nikolai must have noticed, because he whispered, “You don’t have to pay attention, but you do have to look like you’re paying attention.”
I did my best, though I didn’t have much to say. Even dressed in a glittering kefta and seated beside a prince, I was still a peasant from a no-name town. I didn’t belong with these people, and I didn’t really want to. Still, I gave a silent prayer of thanks that Ana Kuya had taught her orphans how to sit at table and which fork to use to eat snails.
After dinner, we were herded into a parlor where the Count and Countess sang a duet accompanied by their daughter on the harp. Dessert was laid on the side table: honey mousse, a walnut and melon compote, and a tower of pastries covered in clouds of spun sugar that wasn’t meant to be eaten so much as ogled. There was more wine, more gossip. I was asked to summon light, and I cast a warm glow over the coffered ceiling to enthusiastic applause. When some of the guests sat down to play cards, I pleaded a headache and quietly made my escape.
Nikolai caught me at the doors to the terrace. “You should stay,” he said. “This is good practice for the monotony of court.”
“Saints need their rest.”
“Are you planning to sleep under a rosebush?” he asked, glancing down toward the garden.
“I’ve been a good little dancing bear, Nikolai. I’ve done all my tricks, and now it’s time for me to say goodnight.”
Nikolai sighed. “Maybe I just wish I could go with you. The Countess kept squeezing my knee under the table at dinner, and I hate playing cards.”
“I thought you were the consummate politician.”
“I told you I have trouble keeping still.”
“Then you’ll just have to ask the Countess to dance,” I said with a grin, and slipped out into the night air.
As I descended the terrace steps, I looked back over my shoulder. Nikolai still hovered in the doorway. He wore full military dress, a pale blue sash across his chest. The light from the parlor glinted off his medals and gilded the edges of his golden hair. He was playing the role of the polished prince tonight. But standing there, he just looked like a lonely boy who didn’t want to return to a party by himself.
I turned and took the curving staircase down to the sunken garden.
It didn’t take me long to find Mal. He was leaning against the trunk of a large oak, scanning the manicured grounds.
“Anyone lurking in the dark?” I asked.
“Just me.”
I settled beside him against the trunk. “You should have joined us at dinner.”
Mal snorted. “No thank you. From what I could see, you looked positively miserable, and Nikolai didn’t look much happier. Besides,” he added with a glance at my kefta, “whatever would I have worn?”
“Do you hate it?”
“It’s lovely. A perfect addition to your trousseau.” Before I could even roll my eyes, he snagged hold of my hand. “I didn’t mean that,” he said. “You look beautiful. I’ve been wanting to say so since I first saw you tonight.”
I flushed. “Thanks. Using my power every day helps.”
“You were beautiful back in Cofton with jurda pollen in your brows.”
I tugged self-consciously at a strand of my hair. “This place reminds me of Keramzin,” I said.
“A little. It’s a lot fussier. What exactly is the point of teeny tiny fruit?”
“It’s for people with teeny tiny hands. Makes them feel better about themselves.”
He laughed, a real laugh. I reached into my pocket and fished around inside the black velvet pouch.
“I have something for you,” I said.
“What is it?”
I held out my closed fist.
“Guess,” I said. It was a game we’d played as children.
“Obviously, it’s a sweater.”
I shook my head.
“A show pony?”
“Nope.”
He reached out and took my hand, turning it over and gently unfolding my fingers.
I waited for his reaction.
His mouth tugged up at one corner as he plucked the golden sunburst from my hand. The rough brush of his fingers against my palm sent a shiver up my back.
“For the captain of your personal guard?” he asked.
I cleared my throat nervously. “I … I didn’t want uniforms. I didn’t want anything that looked like the Darkling’s oprichniki.”
For a long moment, we stood in silence as Mal looked down at the sunburst. Then he handed it back to me. My heart plummeted, but I tried to hide my disappointment.
“Put it on me?” he asked.
I let my breath out in a relieved rush. I took the pin between my fingers and pressed it through the folds on the left side of his shirt. It took me a couple of tries to get it hooked. When I finished and made to step back, he took my hand and pressed it over the golden sun, over his heart.
“Is that all?” he said.
We were standing close together now, alone in the warm dark of the garden. It was the first moment we’d had to ourselves in weeks.
“All?” I repeated. My voice came out as little more than a breath.
“I believe I was promised a cape and a fancy hat.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” I said.
“Are you flirting?”
“I’m bartering.”
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll take my first payment now.”
His tone was light, but when his lips met mine, there was nothing playful in his kiss. He tasted of heat and newly ripe pears from the Duke’s garden. I sensed hunger in the hard slant of his mouth, an unfamiliar edge to his need that sent restless sparks burning through me.
I came up on my toes, circling my arms around his neck, feeling the length of my body melt into his. He had a soldier’s strength, and I felt it in the hard bands of his arms, the pressure of his fingers as his fist bunched in the silk at the small of my back and he drew me against him. There was something fierce and almost desperate in the way he held me, as if he could not have me close enough.
My head was spinning. My thoughts had gone slow and liquid, but somewhere I heard footsteps. In the next moment, Tamar came charging up the path.
“We have company,” she said.
Mal broke away from me and unslung his rifle in a single swift movement. “Who is it?”
“There’s a group of people at the gate demanding entry. They want to see the Sun Summoner.”
“Pilgrims?” I asked, trying to get my kiss-addled brain to function properly.
Tamar shook her head. “They claim to be Grisha.”
“Here?”
Mal placed a hand on my arm. “Alina, wait inside, at least until we see what this is about.”
I hesitated. Part of me bridled at being told to run off and hide my head, but I didn’t want to be stupid either. A shout rose from somewhere near the gates.
“No,” I said, pulling from Mal’s grasp. “If they really are Grisha, you may need me.”
Neither Tamar nor Mal looked pleased, but they took up positions on either side of me and we hurried down the gravel path.
A crowd had gathered at the dacha’s iron gates. Tolya was easy to spot, towering above everyone else. Nikolai was in front, surrounded by soldiers with their weapons drawn, as well as armed footmen from the Count’s household. A small group of people were gathered on the other side of the bars, but I couldn’t see more than that. Someone gave the gate an angry rattle, and I heard a clamor of raised voices.
“Get me in there,” I said. Tamar cast Mal a worried glance. I lifted my chin. If they were going to be my guards, they would have to follow my orders. “Now. I need to see what’s happening before things get out of hand.”
Tamar signaled to Tolya, and the giant stepped in front of us, easily shouldering his way through the crowd to the gates. I’d always been small. Packed between Mal and the twins, with antsy soldiers jostling us from every side, it suddenly felt very hard to breathe. I pushed down my panic, peering past bodies and backs to where I could see Nikolai arguing with someone at the gate.
“If we wanted to talk to the King’s lackey, we’d be at the doors to the Grand Palace,” said an impatient voice. “We came for the Sun Summoner.”
“Show some respect, bloodletter,” barked a soldier I didn’t recognize. “You’re addressing a Prince of Ravka and an officer of the First Army.”
This was not going well. I edged closer to the front of the crowd but halted when I saw the Corporalnik standing beyond the iron bars. “Fedyor?”
His long face broke into a grin, and he bowed deeply. “Alina Starkov,” he said. “I could only hope the rumors were true.”
I studied Fedyor warily. He was surrounded by a group of Grisha in dust-covered kefta, mostly Corporalki red, some in Etherealki blue, and a smattering of Materialki purple.
“You know him?” Nikolai asked.
“Yes,” I said. “He saved my life.” Fedyor had once put himself between me and a swarm of Fjerdan assassins.
He bowed again. “It was my great honor.”
Nikolai didn’t look impressed. “Can he be trusted?”
“He’s a deserter,” said the soldier beside Nikolai.
There was grumbling on both sides of the gate.
Nikolai pointed to Tolya. “Move everyone back and make sure that none of those footmen get it in their heads to start shooting. I suspect they lack for excitement out here amid the fruit trees.” He turned back to the gate. “Fedyor, is it? Give us a moment.” He pulled me a short distance from the crowd and said quietly, “Well? Can he be trusted?”
“I don’t know.” The last time I’d seen Fedyor had been at a party at the Grand Palace, just hours before I’d learned the Darkling’s plans and fled in the back of a wagon. I racked my brain, trying to recall what he’d told me then. “I think he was stationed at the southern border. He was a high-ranking Heartrender, but not one of the Darkling’s favorites.”
“Nevsky is right,” he said, nodding toward the angry soldier. “Grisha or not, their first loyalty should have been to the King. They left their posts. Technically, they’re deserters.”
“That doesn’t make them traitors.”
“The real question is whether they’re spies.”
“So what do we do with them?”
“We could arrest them, have them questioned.”
I toyed with my sleeve, thinking.
“Talk to me,” Nikolai said.
“Don’t we want the Grisha to come back?” I asked. “If we arrest everyone who returns, I won’t have much of an army to lead.”
“Remember,” he said, “you’ll be eating with them, working with them, sleeping under the same roof.”
“And they could all be working for the Darkling.” I looked over my shoulder at Fedyor waiting patiently at the gate. “What do you think?”
“I don’t think these Grisha are any more or less trustworthy than the ones waiting at the Little Palace.”
“That’s not encouraging.”
“Once we’re behind the palace walls, all communication will be closely monitored. It’s hard to see how the Darkling can use his spies if he can’t reach them.”
I resisted the urge to touch the scars forming on my shoulder. I took a breath.
“All right,” I said. “Open the gates. I’ll speak to Fedyor and only him. The rest can camp outside the dacha tonight and join us on the way into Os Alta tomorrow.”
“You’re sure?”
“I doubt I’ll be sure of anything ever again, but my army needs soldiers.”
“Very good,” Nikolai said with a short nod. “Just be careful who you trust.”
I cast a pointed glance at him. “I will.”