Finally, after what must have been the better part of an hour, the royal family returned. The King was beaming. The Queen’s face had gone pale. Vasily looked livid. But the most notable change was in Nikolai. He seemed more at ease and he’d regained the swagger I recognized from my time aboard the Volkvolny.
They know, I realized. He’s told them that he’s Sturmhond.
The King and Queen reseated themselves on their thrones. Vasily went to stand behind the King, while Nikolai took his place behind the Queen. She reached up, seeking his hand, and he laid it on her shoulder. That’s what a mother looks like with her child. I was too old to be pining for parents I’d never known, but I was still touched by the gesture.
My sentimental thoughts were driven from my head when the King said, “You’re very young to lead the Second Army.”
He hadn’t even addressed me. I bowed my head in acknowledgment. “Yes, moi tsar.”
“I am tempted to put you to death immediately, but my son says that will only make you a martyr.”
I stiffened. The Apparat would love that, I thought as fear coursed through me. One more cheerful illustration for the red book: Sankta Alina on the Gallows.
“He thinks you can be trusted,” the King quavered. “I’m not so sure. Your escape from the Darkling seems a very unlikely story, but I cannot deny that Ravka does have need of your services.”
He made it sound like I was a groundskeeper or a county clerk. Penitent, I reminded myself, and bit back a sarcastic reply.
“It would be my greatest honor to serve the Ravkan King,” I said.
Either the King loved flattery or Nikolai had done a remarkable job of pleading my case, because the King grunted and said, “Very well. At least temporarily, you will serve as the commander of the Grisha.”
Could it possibly be that easy? “I … thank you, moi tsar,” I stammered in baffled gratitude.
“But know this,” he said, wagging a finger at me. “If I find any evidence that you are fomenting action against me or that you have had any contact with the apostate, I will have you hanged without plea or trial.” His voice rose to a querulous wail. “The people say you are a Saint, but I think you are just another ragged refugee. Do you understand?”
Another ragged refugee and your best chance of keeping that shiny throne, I thought with a surprising surge of anger, but I swallowed my pride and bowed as deeply as I could manage. Was this how the Darkling had felt? Being forced to bend and scrape before a dissolute fool?
The King gave a vague wave of his blue-veined hand. We were being dismissed. I glanced at Mal.
Nikolai cleared his throat. “Father,” he said, “there’s the matter of the tracker.”
“Hmm?” said the King, glancing up as if he’d been nodding off. “The…? Ah, yes.” He trained his rheumy stare on Mal and said in a bored tone, “You have deserted your post and directly disobeyed the orders of a commanding officer. That is a hanging offense.”
I drew in a sharp breath. Beside me, Mal went very still. An ugly thought leapt into my head: If Nikolai wanted to get rid of Mal, this was certainly an easy way to do it.
An excited murmur rose from the crowd around the dais. What had I walked us into? I opened my mouth, but before I could say a word, Nikolai spoke.
“Moi tsar,” he said humbly, “forgive me, but the tracker did aid the Sun Summoner in evading what would have been certain capture by an enemy of the Crown.”
“If she was ever really in any danger.”
“I saw him take up arms against the Darkling myself. He is a trusted friend, and I believe he acted in Ravka’s best interest.” The King’s lower lip jutted out, but Nikolai pressed on. “I would feel better knowing that he is at the Little Palace.”
The King frowned. Probably already thinking of lunch and a nap, I thought.
“What do you have to say for yourself, boy?” he asked.
“Only that I did what I thought was right,” Mal replied evenly.
“My son seems to feel you had good reason.”
“I imagine every man thinks his reasons are good,” Mal said. “It was still desertion.”
Nikolai raised his eyes heavenward, and I had the urge to give Mal a good shake. Couldn’t he be a bit less flinty and forthright for once?
The King’s frown deepened. We waited.
“Very well,” he said at last. “What’s one more viper in the nest? You will be dishonorably discharged.”
“Dishonorably?” I blurted.
Mal just bowed and said, “Thank you, moi tsar.”
The King lifted his hand in a lazy wave. “Go,” he said petulantly.
I was tempted to stay and make an argument of it, but Nikolai was glaring a warning at me, and Mal had already turned to leave. I had to scurry to catch up with him as he marched down the blue-carpeted aisle.
As soon as we left the throne room and the doors closed behind us, I said, “We’ll talk to Nikolai. We’ll get him to petition the King.”