Hanne looked back at the mirror, blinking her tears away. “The lips are still too full.”
“Leave the lips,” said Nina sharply, then rose to hide her blush. “They’re just right.”
AFTER THE CHAOS OF THE demonstration at the Gilded Bog, Isaak shouldn’t have felt nervous walking into a trade meeting the following day. But there was no reason for the Triumvirate to be in attendance, so he was left to face the Kerch, Kaelish, and Zemeni with no one but Nikolai’s finance ministers. He was afraid he’d be found out. He was afraid he’d make the king look like a fool. He was afraid he’d send the Ravkan economy into a tail-spin just by scratching his nose wrong.
Before the meeting began, he did as Genya and the others had suggested and met privately with his ministers. “I’d prefer you took the lead on this, Ulyashin,” he said. “I trust you to get this right.”
The trade minister had beamed and happily spent the meeting debating tariffs and import taxes, all while gracefully dodging the looming specter of Ravka’s loans. Isaak felt an overwhelming rush of gratitude toward Ulyashin. Perhaps he could gift him with a boat or a title or whatever kings did to say thank you.
The meeting closed on what seemed to be a positive note, and Isaak was already heaving a sigh of relief as he rose and shook hands with the attendees. But just when he thought he was going to make his escape, Hiram Schenck cornered him and whispered furiously, “Do you think you can continue to play games with us?”
Genya had told him that if he got caught unawares in any situation, his best approach was to say, “I beg your pardon?” with as much haughty grandeur as possible.
Isaak deployed that strategy now, looking down his nose with ferocious disdain. “I beg your pardon? Didn’t I recently drag your sodden daughter from a pond?”
Schenck was not deterred. “Did you really think we would be fooled by that bit of theater last night? You were close to completing the submersibles and the missile system when we received our information months ago, and we all know that you do not rest until your inventions are perfected. You cannot continue to flirt like a debutante at a ball. We will have our prototype or you will be treated like the pauper state you are.”
Nikolai Lantsov would never have stood for such an insult. He would have replied with the perfect words to make Schenck quake with fear and wish he’d never opened his mouth.
“I beg your pardon,” Isaak said firmly, and stepped past Schenck to the safety of the open door.
He hurried out of the room, gut churning, and found the twins waiting in the hall to escort him over the next dismaying hurdle.
“The Kerch didn’t buy last night’s performance,” he said as they strode down the corridor.
“We know,” said Tamar. “We were listening.”
“Maybe the wayward missiles were too much,” Tolya said.
Isaak straightened his plum-colored coat. “What do we do now?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Tamar. “Let’s just get through the afternoon.”
A few more days, Isaak told himself. A few more parties. I can do this.
But where was the king?
The previous night, after he’d gone to change into dry clothes, he’d overheard the others talking in the sitting room.
“We just have to get past the closing ball,” Tamar had said as she put her arm around Genya. “Then we’ll make a decision.”
“How can there be no sign of them at all?” Genya asked with a soft sniffle. “It’s been nearly three weeks. People don’t just disappear. I never thought I would say this, but I miss Zoya.”
“Me too,” said Tolya. “Even though I know she’d kick me for wasting time worrying about her.”
“I think the Apparat knows something,” Tamar said. “He sent a request for an audience with the king to hear about his pilgrimage and demanding information on Yuri. The priest won’t be put off forever and he’s been gone from the city too much for my liking. He has his own warren of tunnels leading in and out of the capital. There are too many places for him to hide.”
“We could get him more involved with the guests,” said Tolya. “Ask him to perform a service—”
But Tamar had cut him off. “We can’t afford to let the priest near Isaak. He’s too canny for that.”
“Perhaps we should have him killed,” said David.
Genya had burst into fresh tears. “When you say that, it just makes me miss Zoya more.”
What comes next? Isaak wondered. He might make it through the afternoon, he might well make it through this whole series of parties and pomp without inciting any more disasters. But that didn’t mean he was capable of governing a country or even serving as some kind of figurehead while Genya and the others did the real ruling.
He rounded a corner into the portrait gallery and came upon Princess Ehri and several of her guards—just as the twins’ lookout had said he would. Isaak did his best to feign surprise as he greeted the princess and made small talk about the morning’s entertainments.
“We found the weather too brisk for the garden party,” said Ehri. “So we thought we might stroll through the portrait gallery.”
“How are you finding the paintings?”
“They’re all very stern.”
Just don’t look too closely, thought Isaak. “Perhaps I can offer you a tour of this wing of the palace?” He could have sworn he felt the approval of her guards. They really must report Ehri’s successes and failures back to her sister.
They passed through the blue splendor of the lapis drawing room and the concert hall and then through some of the humbler parts of the palace: the musty trophy room, its walls crowded with stags’ antlers and the heads of various big game; the armory with its old-fashioned saddles and swords; and, at last, the training rooms.
“Come, let’s step inside,” he suggested. The words sounded awkward and staged to his ears, but at least he knew she had a fondness for axes.
“Is this where your guards train?”
“Yes,” said Isaak. He himself had trained here and practiced with the king. “Tamar, perhaps you could give us a demonstration?”
Tamar took two dulled axes from the wall. “You,” she said, pointing at one of the Tavgharad. She was young, her face serious, the chin sharply pointed. This had to be Mayu Kir-Kaat, whose twin brother had gone missing and who, perhaps, had tired of service to the Shu crown.
One of the older women stepped forward. “I will gladly spar with you.” She had a long scar across her elegant nose.
Tamar cocked her head. “Is there only one lioness in this pride?”
“I will fight her,” said the pointy-chinned girl.
“Mayu,” said another of the guards softly.
But Mayu stepped forward, undeterred—or perhaps anticipating the invitation.
An uncomfortable current passed through the room.
“Perhaps we should spar too,” said Isaak. The twins wanted the Tavgharad watching Ehri, not Tamar and Mayu. He plucked a wooden sword from the wall.
“I have little talent for combat,” said Ehri nervously.
“I thought all of the Taban family were trained to defend themselves.”