* * *
MAL HAD WORKED with Nevsky to see to our sleeping arrangements, so he was left to show me to my quarters, a set of rooms on the eastern side of the mountain. The door frame was formed by the clasped hands of two bronze maidens I thought might be meant to embody the Morning and Evening Stars. Inside, the far wall was entirely taken up by a round window, ringed in riveted brass like a sidescuttle on a ship. The lanterns were lit, and though the view would most likely be spectacular in the daytime, right now, there was nothing to see but darkness and my own tired face looking back at me.
“The twins and I will be right next door,” Mal said. “And one of us will be posted while you sleep.”
A pitcher of hot water was waiting for me by the basin, and I rinsed my face as Mal reported on the accommodations he’d secured for the rest of the Grisha, how long it would take to outfit our expedition into the Sikurzoi, and how he wanted to divide the group. I tried to listen, but at some point, my mind shut down.
I sat on the stone bench of the window seat. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I just can’t.”
He stood there, and I could almost see him wrestling with whether or not to sit down beside me. In the end, he stayed where he was.
“You saved my life today,” he said.
I shrugged. “And you saved mine. It’s kind of what we do.”
“I know it isn’t easy, making your first kill.”
“I’ve been responsible for a lot of deaths. This shouldn’t be any different.”
“But it is.”
“He was a soldier like us. He probably has a family somewhere, a girl he loves, maybe even a child. He was there and then he was just … gone.” I knew I should leave it at that, but I needed to let the words out. “And you know the really scary part? It was easy.”
Mal was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “I’m not sure who my first kill was. We were hunting the stag when we ran into a Fjerdan patrol on the northern border. I don’t think the fight lasted more than a few minutes, but I killed three men. They were doing a job, same as I was, trying to get through one day to the next, then they were bleeding in the snow. No way to tell who was the first to fall, and I’m not sure it matters. You keep them at a distance. The faces start to blur.”
“Really?”
“No.”
I hesitated. I couldn’t look at him when I whispered, “It felt good.” He didn’t say anything, so I plunged on. “It doesn’t matter why I’m using the Cut, what I’m doing with the power. It always feels good.”
I was afraid to look at him, afraid of the disgust I’d see on his face or, worse, the fear. But when I forced myself to glance up, Mal’s expression was thoughtful.
“You could have struck down the Apparat and all his Priestguards, but you didn’t.”
“I wanted to.”
“But you didn’t. You’ve had plenty of opportunities to be brutal, to be cruel. You’ve never taken them.”
“Not yet. The firebird—”
He shook his head. “The firebird won’t change who you are. You’ll still be the girl who took a beating for me when I was the one who broke Ana Kuya’s ormolu clock.”
I groaned, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “And you let me.”
He laughed. “Of course I did. That woman is terrifying.” Then his expression sobered. “You’ll still be the girl who was willing to sacrifice her life to save us at the Little Palace, the same girl I just saw back a servant over a king.”
“She’s not a servant. She’s—”
“A friend. I know.” He hesitated. “The thing is, Alina, Luchenko was right.”
It took me a moment to place the militia leader’s name. “About what?”
“There’s something wrong with this country. No land. No life. Just a uniform and a gun. That’s how I used to think too.”
He had. He’d been willing to walk away from Ravka without a second glance. “What changed?”
“You. I saw it that night in the chapel. If I hadn’t been so scared, I could have seen it before.”
I thought of the militiaman’s body falling in pieces. “Maybe you were right to be scared of me.”
“I wasn’t afraid of you, Alina. I was afraid of losing you. The girl you were becoming didn’t need me anymore, but she’s who you were always meant to be.”
“Power hungry? Ruthless?”
“Strong.” He looked away. “Luminous. And maybe a little ruthless too. That’s what it takes to rule. Ravka is broken, Alina. I think it always has been. The girl I saw in the chapel could change that.”
“Nikolai—”
“Nikolai’s a born leader. He knows how to fight. Knows how to politic. But he doesn’t know what it is to live without hope. He’s never been nothing. Not like you or Genya. Not like me.”
“He’s a good man,” I protested.
“And he’ll be a good king. But he needs you to be a great one.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I pressed a finger to the window glass, then wiped the smudge away with my sleeve. “I’m going to ask him if I can bring the students here from Keramzin. The orphans too.”
“Take him with you when you go,” Mal said. “He should see where you come from.” He laughed. “You can introduce him to Ana Kuya.”
“I already unleashed Baghra on Nikolai. He’s going to think I stockpile vicious old women.” I made another fingerprint on the glass. Without looking at him, I said, “Mal, tell me about the tattoo.”
He was silent for a time. Finally, he scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck and said, “It’s an oath in old Ravkan.”
“But why take on that mark?”
This time he didn’t blush or turn away. “It’s a promise to be better than I was,” he said. “It’s a vow that if I can’t be anything else to you, at least I can be a weapon in your hand.” He shrugged. “And I guess it’s a reminder that wanting and deserving aren’t the same thing.”
“What do you want, Mal?” The room seemed very quiet.
“Don’t ask me that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it can’t be.”
“I want to hear it anyway.”
He blew out a long breath. “Say goodnight. Tell me to leave, Alina.”
“No.”
“You need an army. You need a crown.”
“I do.”
He laughed then. “I know I’m supposed to say something noble—I want a united Ravka free from the Fold. I want the Darkling in the ground, where he can never hurt you or anyone else again.” He gave a rueful shake of his head. “But I guess I’m the same selfish ass I’ve always been. For all my talk of vows and honor, what I really want is to put you up against that wall and kiss you until you forget you ever knew another man’s name. So tell me to go, Alina. Because I can’t give you a title or an army or any of the things you need.”
He was right. I knew that. Whatever fragile, lovely thing had existed between us belonged to two other people—people who weren’t bound by duty and responsibility—and I wasn’t sure what remained. And still I wanted him to put his arms around me, I wanted to hear him whisper my name in the dark, I wanted to ask him to stay.
“Goodnight, Mal.”
He touched the space over his heart where he wore the golden sunburst I’d given him long ago in a darkened garden.
“Moi soverenyi,” he said softly. He bowed and was gone.
The door closed behind him. I doused the lanterns and lay down on the bed, pulling the blankets around me. The window wall was like a great round eye, and now that the room was dark, I could see the stars.
I brushed my thumb over the scar on my palm, made years ago by the edge of a broken blue cup, a reminder of the moment when my whole world had shifted, when I’d given up a part of my heart that I would never get back.
We’d made the wise choice, done the right thing. I had to believe that logic would bring comfort in time. Tonight, there was just this too-quiet room, the ache of loss, knowledge deep and final as the tolling of a bell: Something good has gone.