Whatever I might have said, he didn’t wait to hear it. He stepped out into the sunlight and was gone.
I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to push down the tears that threatened. What was I doing? I wasn’t a queen. I wasn’t a saint. And I certainly didn’t know how to lead an army.
I caught a glimpse of myself in a soldier’s shaving mirror that had been propped on the bedside table. I pulled my coat and shirt to the side, baring the wound at my shoulder. The puncture marks from the nichevo’ya stood out, puckered and black against my skin. The Darkling had said they would never heal completely.
What wound couldn’t be healed by Grisha power? One made by something that never should have existed in the first place.
I saw him. The Darkling’s face, pale and beautiful, the slash of the knife. It had been so real. What had happened on the Fold?
Going back to Os Alta, taking control of the Second Army, was as good as a declaration of war. The Darkling would know where to find me, and when he was strong enough, he’d come looking. Ready or not, we’d have no choice but to make a stand. It was a terrifying thought, but I was surprised to find that it also brought me some relief.
I would face him. And one way or another, this would end.
Chapter
10
WE DIDN’T LEAVE for Os Alta right away, but spent the next three days transporting shipments of goods across the Fold. We operated out of what was left of the military encampment at Kribirsk. Most of the troops had been pulled back when the Fold started expanding. A new watchtower had been erected to monitor the black shores of the Unsea, and only a skeleton crew stayed on to operate the drydocks.
Not a single Grisha remained at the encampment. After the Darkling’s attempted coup and the destruction of Novokribirsk, a wave of anti-Grisha sentiment had swept through Ravka and the ranks of the First Army. I wasn’t surprised. An entire town was gone, its people food for monsters. Ravka wouldn’t soon forget. Neither could I.
Some Grisha had fled to Os Alta to seek the protection of the King. Others had gone into hiding. Nikolai suspected that most of them had sought out the Darkling and defected to his side. But with the help of Nikolai’s rogue Squallers, we managed two trips across the Fold on the first day, three on the second, and four on the last. Sandskiffs journeyed to West Ravka empty and returned with huge cargos of Zemeni rifles, crates full of ammunition, parts for repeating guns similar to those Nikolai had used aboard the Hummingbird, and a few tons of sugar and jurda—all courtesy of Sturmhond’s smuggling.
“Bribes,” Mal said as we watched giddy soldiers tear into a shipment being unloaded on the dock, hooting and marveling over the glittering array of weaponry.
“Gifts,” Nikolai corrected. “You’ll find the bullets work, regardless of my motives.” He turned to me. “I think we can fit in one more trip today. Game?”
I wasn’t, but I nodded.
He smiled and clapped me on the back. “I’ll give the orders.”
I could feel Mal watching me as I turned to look into the shifting darkness of the Fold. There hadn’t been a recurrence of the incident aboard the Hummingbird. Whatever I’d seen that day—vision, hallucination, I couldn’t name it—it hadn’t happened again. Still, I spent each moment on the Unsea alert and wary, trying to hide just how frightened I really was.
Nikolai wanted to use the crossings to hunt volcra, but I refused. I told him that I still felt weak and that I wasn’t sure enough about my power to guarantee our safety. My fear was real, but the rest was a lie. My power was stronger than ever. It flowed from me in pure and vibrant waves, radiant with the strength of the stag and the scales. But I couldn’t bear the thought of hearing those screams again. I kept the light in a wide, glowing dome around the skiffs, and though the volcra shrieked and beat their wings, they kept their distance.
Mal accompanied us on all the crossings, staying close by my side, rifle at the ready. I knew he sensed my anxiousness, but he didn’t press me for an explanation. In fact, he hadn’t said much at all since our argument in the tent. I was afraid that when he did start talking, I wouldn’t like what he had to say. I hadn’t changed my mind about returning to Os Alta, but I was worried that he might.
The morning we decamped for the capital, I searched the crowd for him, terrified that he might just decide not to show up. I said a little prayer of thanks when I glimpsed him, straight-backed and silent in his saddle, waiting to join the column of riders.