Tamar rubbed her hands over her face. “We’re going to have to make a deal with the Kerch.”
“We need the Zemeni at sea,” said Tolya. “Our navy is no match for the Fjerdans.”
“Not without Kerch money,” argued Tamar.
“Even then we’ll need time to build.”
Isaak couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He opened his mouth to talk and was horrified when a slightly hysterical laugh escaped his lips. “Have you all gone mad?” They stared at him. “I’m not Nikolai Lantsov. I can’t lead a nation at war. This charade has to end.”
For a long moment there was quiet.
At last, Genya asked, “Is the Fjerdan delegation still here?”
“Yes,” said Tamar. “I have spies at the Ice Court, but none of this is common knowledge, even among most of their government officials.”
“Very well. We will see this out to the end of the week and the final ball. When the guests are gone, we’ll make a plan.” She looked up at Isaak. “One we can all live with.”
The initial anticipation Isaak had felt for his dinner with Ehri had been thoroughly clubbed to death by the news from Fjerda. If the king never returned, could they really ask him to live as Nikolai forever? Perhaps he should be happy at the prospect of being rich and well cared for. Wasn’t this what the storybooks promised humble boys with good hearts? But Isaak knew he was no hero from a story. He was a shy boy and an average soldier who had been lucky enough to garner the king’s attention—a stroke of good fortune he might pay for with his very identity.
A table had been set in the woods on the island at the center of the lake, far from the Grand Palace and curious eyes. The surrounding trees were hung with lanterns, and somewhere in the shadows he could hear the gentle music of a balalaika. A very romantic setting—and it would provide plenty of opportunity for Tamar to approach the Tavgharad guards who would be stationed in the woods.
Isaak had been rowed out to the island under cover of darkness. He was dressed in a teal velvet coat, one he thought suited the king’s coloring particularly well. He’d found another cluster of silver beads in the pocket.
He grew increasingly nervous as he waited. He was tired of luxury and fine clothes. He’d continued writing letters home, pretending that everything was as it should be at the palace, but all Isaak wanted was to sit in his mother’s tiny kitchen and look out at the garden and play cards with his little sisters. He wanted to be with people who truly knew him.
Would they know him? They certainly wouldn’t recognize him. Every day he passed by his fellow palace guards, men he’d known for years, and there were moments when he wanted to shout, It’s me! Isaak Andreyev! His captain had been told that he was needed in Os Kervo for translation work, and that was the end of it. It had been that easy to simply make him disappear.
At last, Tolya said, “She’s coming.”
Ehri moved slowly into the clearing. She had been robed in embroidered grass-green silk and an elaborate gold headdress studded with emeralds as large as his thumbnail.
“How much does it weigh?” he whispered when they were seated and the first course was served.
“I’m not sure,” said Ehri. “But it feels like a team of pack animals is sitting on my head, so somewhere between two and twelve oxen?”
“Do they make you train your neck muscles?”
“Of course not. The women of the Taban line are born with strong necks, a gift of divine purpose.”
“Silly me.” He felt himself relax. Ehri was simply easier to talk to than … everyone. The twins, Genya, David, certainly the other hopefuls. The other prospective brides seemed to carefully pick and choose their words, saying the things that Isaak—or rather Nikolai—would want to hear. But Ehri didn’t seem to care very much about being chosen as his bride. It was a thought that both comforted and distressed him. He had no doubt she would have been smitten with the real Nikolai, and that made him jealous of a man she’d never met.
Ehri glanced down at her plate. “What has your cook served us tonight?”
“Something in jelly. He seems to believe that if you can put it in aspic, you absolutely should.”
“What’s your favorite thing to eat?”
“My mother’s cabbage rolls.”
“The queen cooked?”
Damn it. “Well, the servants made it, but my mother would serve it to me when I was sick.” He had no idea if such a thing was likely, but it sounded all right. “What about you?” he asked hurriedly.
She thought for a long moment. “There is a dish we only eat once a year during the spring festivals. Milk pudding molded to look like the moon and flavored with rosewater. I know it doesn’t sound very good, but it’s the tradition of the way it’s eaten. You sit with all of your family and you tell stories and watch fireworks, and you try to make the pudding last the whole night.”
“Even the royal family does this?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes, though it’s been a long time since we were all together. I sometimes wonder if we ever will be again.”
“You mean if you wed and come to live in Ravka?”
She blinked away the shine of tears. “Yes.”
Isaak found himself panicking at the sight of her unhappiness. “I would … I would gladly let you visit whenever you liked.” He had no idea if that was a promise a king could keep.
“Let’s not think on it,” Ehri said, dabbing the tears from her eyes with her napkin. “We are here now, and we should try to enjoy ourselves.” She took a bite, and he watched her face contort as she swallowed.
With a glance at the guards at the edge of the trees, Isaak discreetly tilted his plate and let the jellied lump slide onto the forest floor, nudging it beneath the table with his boot.
Ehri grinned and followed suit.
Together, they endured several courses and many jellies, celebrated the solid and highly recognizable venison steak, and agreed that whatever the gray stuff was, it was delicious.
“It’s difficult, isn’t it?” she asked at last. “To sit here and pretend our countries are not enemies.”
“Do they have to be?” said Isaak. The words sounded clumsy and unsophisticated. Or dangerously like a proposal.
“It isn’t up to me,” she said. “I am not a queen. I am not anyone.”
“You’re a princess!” Isaak exclaimed.
Ehri touched her fingertips to her headdress. “But do you ever feel like … well, like a fraud?”
Every day. But what would Nikolai say? Isaak suddenly didn’t care.
“Yes, I do. All the time.”
Ehri leaned forward. “If people didn’t bow to me, if they didn’t dress me in silks and kiss my hem, would I still be a princess? Or would I just be a girl with a fancy colander on her head?”
Isaak laughed. “It’s a good question. All I know is, I don’t feel like a king.”
“What do you feel?”
“Tired,” he said honestly. “Ready for a cabbage roll.”
“We’ve just eaten seven courses.”
“Are you full?”