Tolya lifted his huge shoulders. “Like any chapel.”
“Tolya,” I asked, suddenly curious, “did you ever even consider joining the Second Army?”
He looked offended. “I wasn’t born to serve the Darkling.” I wanted to ask what he had been born for, but he tapped the page and said, “I can translate this for you, if you like.” He grinned. “Or maybe I’ll just make Tamar do it.”
“All right,” I said. “Thanks.”
He bent his head. It was just a bow, but he was still kneeling beside me, and there was something about his pose that sent a shiver up my spine.
I felt as if he were waiting for something. Tentatively, I reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. As soon as my fingers came to rest, he let out a breath. It was almost a sigh.
We stayed there for a moment, silent in the halo of lamplight. Then he rose and bowed again.
“I’ll be just outside the door,” he said, and slipped away into the dark.
* * *
MAL RETURNED FROM the hunt the next morning, and I was eager to tell him everything—what I’d learned from David, the plans for the new Hummingbird, my strange encounter with Tolya.
“He’s an odd one,” Mal agreed. “But it still couldn’t hurt to check out the chapel.”
We decided to walk over together, and on the way, I pressed him to tell me about the hunt.
“We spent more time every day playing cards and drinking kvas than doing anything else. And some duke got so drunk he passed out in the river. He almost drowned. His servants hauled him out by his boots, but he kept wading back in, slurring something about the best way to catch trout.”
“Was it terrible?” I asked, laughing.
“It was fine.” He kicked a pebble down the path with his boot. “There’s a lot of curiosity about you.”
“Why do I doubt I’m going to like any of this?”
“One of the royal trackers is sure your powers are fake.”
“And just how would I manage that?”
“I believe there’s an elaborate system of mirrors, pulleys, and possibly hypnotism involved. I got a little lost.”
I started to giggle.
“It wasn’t all funny, Alina. When they were in their cups, some of the nobles made it clear they think all of the Grisha should be rounded up and executed.”
“Saints,” I breathed.
“They’re scared.”
“That’s no excuse,” I said, feeling my anger rise. “We’re Ravkans, too. It’s like they forget everything the Second Army has done for them.”
Mal raised his hands. “I didn’t say I agreed with them.”
I sighed and swatted at an innocent tree branch. “I know.”
“Anyway, I think I made a bit of progress.”
“How did you manage that?”
“Well, they liked that you served in the First Army, and that you saved their prince’s life.”
“After he risked his own life rescuing us?”
“I may have taken some liberties with the details.”
“Oh, Nikolai will love that. Is there more?”
“I told them you hate herring.”
“Why?”
“And that you love plum cake. And that Ana Kuya took a switch to you when you ruined your spring slippers jumping in puddles.”
I winced. “Why would you tell them all that?”
“I wanted to make you human,” he said. “All they see when they look at you is the Sun Summoner. They see a threat, another powerful Grisha like the Darkling. I want them to see a daughter or a sister or a friend. I want them to see Alina.”
I felt a lump rise in my throat. “Do you practice being wonderful?”
“Daily,” he said with a grin. Then he winked. “But I prefer ‘useful.’”
The chapel was the only remaining building of a monastery that had once stood atop Os Alta, and it was said to be where the first Kings of Ravka had been crowned. Compared to the other structures on the palace grounds, it was a humble building, with whitewashed walls and a single bright blue dome.
It was empty and looked like it could use a good cleaning. The pews were covered in dust, and there were pigeons roosting in the eaves. As we walked up the aisle, Mal took my hand, and my heart gave a funny little leap.
We didn’t waste much time in the vestry. The few books on its shelves were a disappointment, just a bunch of old hymnals with crumbling, yellowed pages. The only thing of real interest in the chapel was the massive triptych behind the altar. A riot of color, its three huge panels showed thirteen saints with benevolent faces. I recognized some of them from the Istorii Sankt’ya: Lizabeta with her bloody roses, Petyr with his still-burning arrows. And there was Sankt Ilya with his collar and fetters and broken chains.
“No animals,” Mal observed.
“From what I’ve seen, he’s never pictured with the amplifiers, just with the chains. Except in the Istorii Sankt’ya.” I just didn’t know why.