“I made them when I was supposed to be making salve,” said David. “Just like the Apparat said.”
“Right under the noses of the Priestguards?”
“It’s not as if they know anything about the Small Science.”
“Well, somebody must. You got caught.”
“Not exactly,” said Mal. He’d stationed himself by the doorway with Tamar, each of them keeping an eye on the passage beyond.
“David knew we were meeting in the Kettle,” said Genya, “and he guessed about the master flue.”
David frowned. “I don’t guess.”
“But there was no way to get the powders out of the archives, not with the guards searching everything.”
Tamar grinned. “So we had the Apparat deliver it.”
I stared at them in disbelief. “You meant to get caught?”
“Turns out the easiest way to schedule a meeting is to get arrested,” said Zoya.
“Do you know how risky that was?”
“Blame Oretsev,” Zoya replied with a sniff. “It was his idea of a brilliant plan.”
“It did work,” Genya observed.
Mal lifted a shoulder. “Like Sergei said, the Apparat was waiting for an opportunity to take us out of action. I figured we’d give him one.”
“We were just never sure when you’d be in the Kettle,” Nadia said. “When you left the archives today, David claimed he’d forgotten something in his quarters and came by the training rooms to give us the signal. We knew the Apparat would be more likely to trust Tolya and Tamar, so they roughed us up a little—”
“A lot,” put in Mal.
“Then they claimed to have discovered a devious plot involving a few wicked Grisha and one very gullible tracker.”
Mal gave a mock salute.
“I was afraid he’d insist on putting everyone in the cells,” said Tamar. “So we claimed you were in immediate danger and that we had to get to the Kettle right away.”
Nadia smiled. “And then we just hoped the whole kitchen wouldn’t fall in on us.”
David’s frown deepened. “It was a controlled blast. The odds that the cave’s structure would hold were well above average.”
“Ah. Above average,” said Genya. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“I just did.”
“What about those shadows on the wall?” asked Zoya. “Who pulled that off?”
I tensed, unsure of what to say.
“I did it,” said Mal. “We rigged it as a distraction.”
Sergei paced back and forth, cracking his knuckles. “You should have told us about the plan. We deserved a warning.”
“You could have at least let me blow something up,” added Harshaw.
Zoya gave an elaborate shrug. “I’m so sorry you felt excluded. Never mind how closely we’ve been watched and that it was a miracle we weren’t found out. We definitely should have jeopardized the whole operation to spare your feelings.”
I cleared my throat. “In less than an hour, I’ll be leading services with the Apparat. We’ll leave directly after that, and I need to know who’s going with me.”
“Any chance you’re going to tell us where the third amplifier is?” asked Zoya. Thus far, only the twins, Mal, and I knew where we hoped to find the firebird. And Nikolai, I reminded myself. Nikolai knew too—if he was still alive.
Mal shook his head. “The less you know, the safer we’ll be.”
“So you’re not even telling us where we’re going?” Sergei said sulkily.
“Not quite. We’re going to attempt to make contact with Nikolai Lantsov.”
“I think we should try Ryevost,” said Tamar.
“Go to the river cities?” I asked. “Why?”
“Sturmhond had smuggling lines throughout Ravka. It’s possible Nikolai is using them to get arms into the country.” Tamar would know. She and Tolya had been trusted members of Sturmhond’s crew. “If the rumors are true and he’s based somewhere in the north, then there’s a good chance the drop point near Ryevost is active.”
“That’s a lot of maybe and not much more,” Harshaw observed.
Mal nodded. “True. But it’s our best lead.”
“And if it’s a dead end?” asked Sergei.
“We split up,” said Mal. “We find a safe house where you can lie low, and I take a team to find the firebird.”
“You’re welcome to remain here,” I said to the others. “I know the pilgrims aren’t friendly to Grisha, and after tonight, I’m not sure how sentiment will change. But if we’re captured aboveground—”
“The Darkling doesn’t deal kindly with traitors,” finished Genya quietly.
Everyone shifted uncomfortably, but I made myself meet her gaze. “No. He doesn’t.”
“He’s had his shot at me,” she said. “I’m going.”
Zoya smoothed the cuff of her coat. “We’d move faster without you.”
“I’ll keep up,” Genya countered.
“See that you do,” said Mal. “We’ll be entering an area crawling with militias, not to mention the Darkling’s oprichniki. You’re recognizable,” he said to Genya. “So is Tolya, for that matter.”
Tamar’s lips twitched. “Would you like to be the one to tell him he can’t come?”
Mal considered this. “Maybe we can disguise him as a really big tree.”
Adrik shot to his feet so fast he nearly bounced me from the bed. “See you in an hour,” he declared, as if daring anyone to argue. Nadia gave me a shrug as he marched out of the room. Adrik wasn’t much younger than the rest of us, but maybe because he was Nadia’s little brother, he always seemed to be looking to prove himself.
“Well, I’m going,” said Zoya. “The humidity down here is murder on my hair.”
Harshaw rose and pushed off from the wall. “I’d prefer to stay,” he said with a yawn. “But Oncat says we go.” He hefted the tabby onto his shoulder with one hand.
“Are you ever going to name that thing?” Zoya asked.
“She has a name.”
“Oncat is not a name. It’s just Kaelish for cat.”
“Suits her, doesn’t it?”
Zoya rolled her eyes and flounced out the door, followed by Harshaw and then Stigg, who gave a polite bow and said, “I’ll be ready.”
The others trickled out after them. I suspected David would have preferred to remain at the White Cathedral, cloistered with Morozova’s journals. But he was our only Fabrikator, and assuming we found the firebird, we would need him to forge the second fetter. Nadia seemed happy to go with her brother, though it was Tamar she grinned at on the way out. I’d guessed that Maxim would choose to remain here at the infirmary, and I’d been right. Maybe I could get Vladim and the other Priestguards to set an example for the pilgrims and take advantage of Maxim’s skills as a Healer.
The only surprise was Sergei. Though the White Cathedral was miserable, damp, and dull, it was also relatively secure. As eager as Sergei had seemed to escape the Apparat’s grasp, I hadn’t been sure he’d want to take his chances with us aboveground. But he’d nodded tersely and simply stated, “I’ll be there.” Maybe we were all desperate for blue sky and a chance to feel free again, no matter the risk.
When they were gone, Mal sighed and said, “Well, it was worth a try.”
“All that talk of militias,” I said, realization dawning. “You were trying to scare them off.”
“Twelve is too many. A group that big will slow us through the tunnels, and once we’re aboveground, they’ll put us at greater risk. As soon as we have a chance, we’ll need to split up. There’s no way I’m taking a dozen Grisha into the southern mountains.”
“All right,” I said. “Assuming we can find a safe place for them.”
“No easy task, but we’ll manage it.” He moved toward the door. “I’ll be back in a half hour to take you to the main cavern.”
“Mal,” I said, “why did you step between me and the Priestguards?”
He shrugged. “Those
aren’t the first men I’ve killed. They won’t be the last.”
“You kept me from using the Cut on them.”
He didn’t look at me when he said, “You’re going to be a queen someday, Alina. The less blood on your hands, the better.”
The word queen came so easily to his lips. “You seem certain we’ll find Nikolai.”
“I’m certain we’ll find the firebird.”
“I need an army. The firebird may not be enough.” I rubbed a hand over my eyes. “Nikolai may not even be in Ravka.”
“The reports coming out of the north—”
“Could be lies spread by the Darkling. ‘The Prince of the Air’ might be a myth created to draw us out of hiding. Nikolai might never have made it out of the Grand Palace.” It hurt me to say it, but I forced myself to speak the words. “He could be dead.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I don’t know.”
“If anyone could make that escape, it’s Nikolai.”
The too-clever fox. Even once he’d abandoned his disguise as Sturmhond, that’s who Nikolai had been to me, always thinking, always scheming. But he hadn’t predicted his brother’s betrayal. He hadn’t seen the Darkling coming.
“All right,” I said, embarrassed by the quaver in my voice. “You haven’t asked about the shadows.”
“Should I?”
I couldn’t resist. Maybe I wanted to see how he would react. I curled my fingers, and shadows unspooled from the corners.
Mal’s eyes followed their progress. What did I expect to see in him? Fear? Anger?
“Can you do more with it?” he asked.
“No. It’s just some kind of remnant of what I did in the chapel.”
“You mean saving all our lives?”
I let the shadows fall and pinched the bridge of my nose with my fingers, trying to stave off a rush of dizziness. “I mean using merzost. This isn’t real power. It’s just a carnival trick.”
“It’s something you took from him,” he said. I didn’t think I imagined the satisfaction in his voice. “I won’t say a word, but you shouldn’t hide it from the others.”
I could worry about that later. “What if Nikolai’s men aren’t in Ryevost?”
“You think I can track a giant mythic bird, but I can’t locate one loudmouthed prince?”
“A prince who’s managed to evade the Darkling for months.”
Mal studied me.
“Alina, do you know how I made that shot? Back in the Kettle?”
“If you say it’s because you’re just that good, I’m going to take off my boot and beat you with it.”
“Well, I am that good,” he said with a faint grin. “But I had David put a beetle in the pouch.”
“Why?”
“To make aiming easier. All I had to do was track it.”
My brows rose. “Now, that’s an impressive trick.”
He shrugged. “It’s the only one I know. If Nikolai’s alive, we’ll find him.” He paused, then added, “I won’t fail you again.” He turned to go, but before he shut the door, he said, “Try to rest. I’ll be outside if you need me.”
I stood there for a long moment. I wanted to tell him that he hadn’t failed me, but that wasn’t quite true. I’d lied to him about the visions that plagued me. He’d pushed me away when I’d needed him most. Maybe we’d both asked each other to give up too much. Fair or not, I felt like Mal had turned his back on me, and some part of me resented him for it.
I glanced around the empty room. It had been disconcerting to see so many people crammed in here. How well did I know any of them? Harshaw and Stigg were a few years older than the others, Grisha who had made their way to the Little Palace after they’d heard the Sun Summoner had returned. They were practically strangers to me. The twins believed I was blessed by divine power. Zoya followed me only grudgingly. Sergei was falling apart, and I knew he probably blamed me for Marie’s death. Nadia might too. She’d grieved more quietly, but they’d been best friends.
And Mal. I supposed we’d made a kind of peace, but it wasn’t an easy one. Or maybe we had just accepted what I would become, that our paths would inevitably diverge. You’re going to be a queen someday, Alina.
I knew I should at least try to sleep for a few minutes, but my mind wouldn’t slow down. My body was thrumming with the power I’d used and eager for more.
I glanced at the door, wishing it had a lock. There was something I wanted to try. I’d attempted it a few times and never managed anything more than a headache. It was dangerous, probably stupid, but now that my power had returned, I wanted to try again.
I kicked off my boots and lay back on the narrow bed. I closed my eyes, felt the collar at my throat, the scales at my wrist, the presence of my power inside me like the beat of my heart. I felt the wound at my shoulder, the dark knot of scars made by the Darkling’s nichevo’ya. It had strengthened the bond between us, giving him access to my mind as the collar had given him access to my power. In the chapel, I had used that connection against him and almost destroyed both of us in the process. I was foolish to test it now. Still, I was tempted. If the Darkling had access to that power, why shouldn’t I? It was a chance to glean information, to understand the way the bond between us functioned.
It won’t work, I reassured myself. You’ll try, you’ll fail, you’ll have a little nap.
I slowed my breathing, letting power course through me. I thought of the Darkling, of the shadows I could bend to my fingers, of the collar around my neck that he had placed there, the fetter at my wrist that had separated me irrevocably from any other Grisha and truly set me on this path.
Nothing happened. I was lying on my back in a bed in the White Cathedral. I hadn’t gone anywhere. I was alone in a vacant room. I blinked up at the damp ceiling. It was better that way. At the Little Palace, my isolation had nearly destroyed me, but that was because I had hungered for something else, for the sense of belonging I’d been chasing my whole life. I’d buried that need in the ruins of a chapel. Now I would think in terms of alliance instead of affection, of who and what would make me strong enough for this fight.
I’d contemplated killing the Apparat today; I’d burned my mark into Vladim’s flesh. I’d told myself I had to, but the girl I’d been never would have considered such things. I hated the Darkling for what he’d done to Baghra and Genya, but was I so different? And when the third amplifier was around my wrist, would I be different at all?
Maybe not, I conceded, and with that admission came the barest tremor—a vibration moving over the connection between us, an answering echo at the other end of an invisible tether.
It called to me through the collar at my neck and the bite at my shoulder, amplified by the fetter at my wrist, a bond forged by merzost and the dark poison in my blood. You called to me, and I answered. I felt myself drawn upward, out of myself, speeding toward him. Maybe this was what Mal felt when he tracked—the distant pull of the other, a presence that demanded attention even if it couldn’t be seen or touched.
One moment I was floating in the darkness of my closed eyes, and the next I was standing in a brightly lit room. Everything around me was blurry, but I recognized this place just the same: I was in the throne room at the Grand Palace. People were talking. It was as if they were underwater. I heard noise but not words.
I knew the moment the Darkling saw me. He came into sharp focus, though the room around him remained a murky blur.
His self-control was so great that no one near him would have noticed the fleeting look of shock that passed over his perfect features. But I saw his gray eyes widen, his chest lock as his breath caught. His fingers clenched the arms of his chair—no, his throne. Then he relaxed, nodding along to whatever the person before him was saying.
I waited, watching. He’d fought for that throne, endured hundreds of years of battle and servitude to claim it. I had to admit it suited him well. Some petty part of me had hoped I’d find him weakened, his black hair turned to white like
mine. But whatever damage I’d done to him that night in the chapel, he’d recovered better than I had.
When the murmur of the supplicant’s voice cut off, the Darkling rose. The throne faded into the background, and I realized that the things closest to him looked the clearest, as if he were the lens through which I was seeing the world.
“I will take it under advisement,” he said, voice cool as cut glass, so familiar. “Now leave me.” He gave a brusque wave. “All of you.”
Did his lackeys exchange baffled glances or simply bow and depart? I couldn’t tell. He was already moving down the stairs, his gaze fastened on me. My heart clenched, and a single clear word reverberated in my mind: run. I’d been mad to attempt this, to seek him out. But I didn’t move. I didn’t release the tether.
Someone approached him, and when he was just inches from the Darkling, he came into clearer focus—red Grisha robes, a face I didn’t recognize. I could even make out his words: “… the matter of signatures for…” Then the Darkling cut him off.
“Later,” he said sharply, and the Corporalnik skittered away.
The room emptied of sound and movement, and all the while, the Darkling kept his eyes on me. He crossed the parquet floor. With each step, the polished wood came into focus beneath his boot, then faded away again.
I had the strange sensation of lying on my bed in the White Cathedral and being here, in the throne room, standing in a warm square of sunlight.
He stopped before me, his eyes studying my face. What did he see there? He had come to me unscarred in my visions. Did he see me healthy and whole, my hair brown, my eyes bright? Or did he see the little mushroom girl, pale and gray, battered by our fight in the chapel, weakened by life underground?
“If only I’d known you’d prove such an apt pupil.” His voice was genuinely admiring, almost surprised. To my horror, I found that pathetic orphaned part of me taking pleasure in his praise. “Why come to me now?” he asked. “Has it taken you this long to recover from our skirmish?”
If that had been a mere skirmish, then we really were lost. No, I told myself. He’d chosen that word deliberately, to intimidate me.
I ignored his question and said, “I didn’t expect compliments.”