“Parem?”
“If the drug had been eradicated—”
“We tried.”
The teeth in Grigori’s many mouths grew longer. “You did not. You tried to alter it, bend it to your will. That is the lure of power.”
Nikolai could not deny it. He had known that if they did not find a way to harness the power of parem, in time some other country would, even without Kuwei’s knowledge to guide them. But then Ravka’s experiments … “I helped to wake the demon.”
Grigori’s heads nodded. “We are all connected, King Nikolai. The Grisha, the Fold, the power inside you. The Fold is a wound that may never heal. But perhaps it was not meant to. Remember that when you face your trial.”
Nikolai felt he was supposed to say something profound, place his hand over his heart, make a solemn vow. He was saved from such displays by Yuri, who entered the chamber from the hallway. So the monk had not been quietly muttering psalms in his room.
“Sankt Grigori,” he said with a deep bow, his glasses glinting like coins. “Forgive me. I did not mean to interrupt.”
“Not at all,” said the Bodymaker, but Nikolai could already see him shrinking, hands emerging from his own torso to pull him down the corridor, as if herding himself away from the interest of curious eyes. “Best of luck to you, King Nikolai,” he said, and was gone.
“I … I meant no offense,” stammered Yuri.
“I fear he thinks he’s the one giving offense.”
“His form is disconcerting, yes, but he is a Saint, a divine being.”
“We’re trained to understand the ordinary, to fear difference, even if that difference is divine.” Nikolai clapped his hands together. “Now, are we ready to figure out how to kill me?”
“Oh, Your Highness, no, no. Certainly not. But I do have some thoughts on the ritual, and Elizaveta—” He hesitated over her name as if even the speaking of it was a holy rite. “Elizaveta wishes to begin your training.”
“She sent word to you?”
“I am to accompany you,” Yuri said proudly.
“Very well,” said Nikolai, straightening his cuffs. “Let’s go get Zoya.”
Yuri cleared his throat. “Commander Nazyalensky was not asked for.”
“She rarely is, but I’d like her there just the same.” Yuri frowned, but Nikolai knew he was not going to contradict his king in this. “Now we just have to find her.”
He felt a tug at his trouser leg and looked down. The bear cub on its bone wheels was there. Yuri released a little yelp.
“He’s friendly,” said Nikolai. “I hope.”
Nikolai and Yuri followed the bear down the hall, and as they moved, the walls seemed to ripple, as if in response to their passing. Again Nikolai had the sense of something that was lifelike but lifeless. There was nothing to do but continue on. His world had slid into the strange, and he could adapt or go mad.
They traveled through winding passages and out onto a long, narrow bridge that led them to another of the huge spires—Juris’ domain. The spire was hewn from jagged black rock and gave the impression of old castle ruins he’d seen on the Wandering Isle. Its bulk was pocked with caves and caverns, and its peak looked like a talon, clawing its way toward the sky.
He could see Yuri was ill at ease as they crossed the bridge. “Is it that you don’t like heights or that you don’t approve of Commander Nazyalensky?”
“Your Highness, I would never say I don’t approve.”
“Answer enough. Why don’t you like her?” Zoya didn’t aspire to likability. It was one of her most endearing qualities. Still, he wanted to know.
“Those things she said to the pilgrims …” Yuri shook his head. “I don’t understand her anger. The Darkling’s crimes are many, but she was one of his favorites.”
It wasn’t something Zoya liked to discuss. She liked to burn her past like the fuse on a stick of dynamite.
“What do you suppose fuels her anger?” said Nikolai.
“Hate?”
“Of a kind. All fuels burn differently. Some faster, some hotter. Hate is one kind of fuel. But hate that began as devotion? That makes for another kind of flame.”
Yuri ran a bony hand over the roughspun of his robes. “I’ve read the histories. I know he did wicked things, but—”
“The books do not tell the whole story.”
“I know, of course, yes. Yes. But I find … I find I don’t entirely disagree with his motives.”
“And his methods?”
“They were extreme,” Yuri conceded. “But perhaps … perhaps in some cases necessary?”
“Yuri, if you wish to keep your head attached to your body, I recommend never saying that within Commander Nazyalensky’s hearing. But you’re not entirely wrong.”
Yuri blinked. “I’m not?”
“The Darkling wanted peace. A stronger Ravka. A haven for the Grisha. Those are all things that I’d like to see in my rule.”
“Yes,” said Yuri. “Exactly! He was not a good man, but he was a man of vision—”
Nikolai held up a hand. He doubted Yuri’s mind could be changed, but if he worshipped the Darkling, he should at least do so with open eyes—and there were limits to how equitable Nikolai could be. “There is a difference between vision and delusion. The Darkling claimed to serve Ravka, but that ceased to be true when Ravka failed to serve him. He claimed to love the Grisha, but that love dissolved when they did not choose him as their master. He broke his own rules, and he nearly broke a nation in the process.”
Yuri worried his lip.
“Go on,” said Nikolai. “I can see you have more to say.”
Yuri pushed at his spectacles. “If your father … If the former king had not been so …”
“Weak? Venal? Incompetent?”
“Well—”
“I take no pleasure in admitting my father’s mistakes. Or his father’s. Or his father before him. There have been good Lantsov kings and bad. King Anastas gave Ravka its roads but put nearly two thousand men to death for heresy. Ivan the Golden built schools and museums but failed to hold the Sikurzoi against the Shu. My father … I wish I could be proud of my father. The Lantsov line is said to be descended from the firebird, but we are just men and often very weak men. I can’t change what my ancestors did. I can only hope to repair some of the damage and set us on a different course.”
“And what of your son?”
Nikolai grinned. “I may have had a wild youth, but I also had a cautious one.”
Yuri flushed. “I meant your future sons and daughters. Are you so sure they will be suited to rule?”
Nikolai laughed as they passed beneath an arch and into Juris’ spire. “So you’re not only a heretic but a radical?”
“Of course not, Your Highness!”