“I was to have a new name, a quiet life in the countryside,” she said softly. “I have never cared for politics or life at court. I would be free to pursue my music, fall in love where I wished.”
“What a lovely picture you paint,” said Nikolai. “Were it not a danger to my country’s future, your lack of guile would be charming. Did you really believe your sister was going to leave you to rusticate in some mountain village? Did you actually think you would survive this plot?”
“I have never wanted the crown! I am no threat to my sister.”
“Think,” Zoya snapped, losing patience. “You are popular, adored, the daughter everyone wants on the throne. Your death is the thing meant to rally an entire nation to war. How could your sister let you live and risk discovery? You would be nothing but a liability.”
The princess lifted her pointed chin. “I do not believe it.”
“Your guards have been secured,” Zoya said. “I suspect one of them had orders to make you disappear before you ever made it to your pastoral retreat. You can question them yourself.”
Ehri somehow lifted her chin higher. “Will I face trial or simply be executed?”
“You should be so lucky,” said Nikolai. “No, I have a far worse fate for you in mind.”
“Am I to be your hostage?”
“I’m not much for pet names, but as you like.”
“You truly mean to keep me here?”
“Oh, indeed. Not as my prisoner but as my queen.”
Zoya was surprised at the way those words pricked at—what? Her heart? Her pride? She had known this end was inevitable. It was the course she had fought and harangued for. So why did she feel like she’d left her flank open yet again?
“Our engagement will earn me a glorious dowry,” said Nikolai, “and your popularity among your people will keep your sister from harassing our borders.”
“I will not do it,” said Ehri, her face ferocious—the countenance of a queen.
“It’s that or execution, my dove. Think of it this way: You won’t be hanged, but the price is a life of luxury and my sparkling company.”
“You might consider the gallows,” said Zoya. “Quicker and less painful.” It felt good to say the words, to tease him while she still could.
Nikolai nodded to Tolya and Tamar. “Get her back to her chambers and keep a close eye on her. Until we announce the royal engagement, there’s a good chance she’ll try to bolt or kill herself.”
“What do we do with the injured girl?” said Genya once the princess had been escorted out of the conservatory and the twins had returned.
“Keep her under heavy guard at the Little Palace. Even wounded, she’s a member of the Tavgharad. Let’s not forget that.”
“Did the real Mayu ever really mean to defect?”
“I think so,” said Tamar. “She has a brother, a twin. I think he was taken to be trained for the khergud. She may have hoped to get both of them out of Shu Han.”
“Kebben,” said Tolya, resting a hand on his sister’s shoulder. It was a word Zoya didn’t know. “If she was found out, maybe she used her own life to barter for her brother’s freedom.”
“Should make for an interesting chat once she’s conscious,” said Nikolai. He knelt once again by Isaak. “I’ll write a letter to his mother tomorrow. We can at least give him a hero’s pension and make sure his family wants for nothing.”
“And the body?” asked Tolya quietly.
“Take him out through the tunnels to Lazlayon.”
Genya brushed her fingers over Isaak’s lapel. “I’ll begin work on him right away. He … he didn’t hesitate. When we told him what was at stake he …”
Tolya lifted Isaak’s body carefully in his huge arms. “He had the heart of a king.”
“What did you tell Hiram Schenck?” asked Genya, wiping fresh tears from her scarred cheek. “His grin was as big as a melon rind.”
“I gave him the plans for our submersibles.”
“The izmars’ya?” said Tamar.
“Armed?” asked Tolya, his face distressed.
“Afraid so. As I understand it,” said Nikolai, “the Apparat has gone missing and Fjerda is marching in support of a Lantsov pretender. Is he good looking?”
Tamar frowned. “The Apparat?”
“The Lantsov pretender. I suppose it’s of no matter. But yes, I gave Schenck the real plans. We’re going to war. We’ll be in sore need of Kerch funds as well as our new Shu friends.”
“The Zemeni—” protested Tolya.
“Don’t worry,” said Nikolai. “I gave Schenck what he wanted, but he’s going to discover it’s not what he needs. Sometimes you have to feed the demon.”
“What does that mean?” asked Genya. “And are you going to tell us where you went?”
“Or if you found a cure?” said Tamar.
“We did,” said Nikolai. “But it didn’t quite take.”
“So the monk was no help at all?” asked Tolya.
Nikolai’s gaze met Zoya’s. She drew in a long breath, then nodded. It was time the others knew. “We have some bad news.”
“There’s more?” asked Genya.
“It’s Ravka,” Nikolai and Zoya said together.
“There’s always more,” she heard him finish as she vanished into the antechamber to retrieve their prisoner, hands tightly bound. She’d woken him with Genya’s red bottle, enjoying the way he startled, the brief confusion in his eyes.
“Yuri?” said Genya. “What did he do? Bore someone to death?”
Zoya tugged at the rope, and the monk stepped fully into the light. His hood fell back.
Genya gasped, edging away, her hand flying to the patch that covered her lost eye. “No. It can’t be. No.” Nikolai placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.
The monk was still too tall and too lean, but he moved with a new grace. His face was clean-shaven and his glasses were gone. His hair looked darker, smoothed back from his brow, and the very shape of his features seemed to have altered, the bones winnowing to sharper, more elegant lines. His eyes flashed gray, the color of quartz.
Tamar stepped in front of Genya as if to shield her. “Impossible.”
“Improbable,” said Nikolai gently.
When Zoya had destroyed the vessel that Elizaveta had so lovingly preserved, she had seen a shadow leave the fire, but she hadn’t understood what it meant at the time. The Darkling’s power had fractured—part of it had remained in the wounded shadow soldier that the ritual had almost destroyed and that still lived on in Nikolai. But the rest, the spirit that had begun to bleed from that soldier into the body Elizaveta had prepared … Zoya should have known the Darkling would not miss his chance at freedom.
Yuri had gotten his wish. He’d helped his Saint return. Had the young monk given himself up willingly? Joyously? Or in those final moments of fire and terror, had he begged to keep his life? Zoya knew there would be no mercy from the Starless Saint. The Darkling was not in the business of answering prayers.
Nikolai had made the discovery in the shed where they’d taken shelter, in the hours when Zoya had been trekking to Kribirsk.
“Let me kill him,” she’d told Nikolai when he’d shown her. “We can bury his body here. No one ever has to know he …” She had stumbled over the words. He has returned. She could not say it. She refused to.