Siege and Storm (29 page)

“Dangerous boy. Dangerous girl,” Botkin commented, watching the twins spar with a group of Corporalki one morning while a clutch of nervous Summoners waited their turn. Marie and Sergei were there, Nadia trailing behind them as always.

“She’f worf than he if,” complained Sergei. Tamar had split his lip open, and he was having trouble talking. “I feel forry for her hufband.”

“Will not marry,” said Botkin as Tamar threw a hapless Inferni to the ground.

“Why not?” I asked, surprised.

“Not her. Not brother either,” said the mercenary. “They are like Botkin. Born for battle. Made for war.”

Three Corporalki hurled themselves at Tolya. In moments, they were all moaning on the floor. I thought of what Tolya had said in the library, that he wasn’t born to serve the Darkling. Like so many Shu, he’d taken the path of the soldier for hire, traveling the world as a mercenary and a privateer. But he’d ended up at the Little Palace anyway. How long would he and his sister stay?

“I like her,” said Nadia, looking wistfully at Tamar. “She’s fearless.”

Botkin laughed. “
Fearless
is other word for
stupid
.”

“I wouldn’t fay that to her fafe,” grumbled Sergei as Marie dabbed his lip with a damp cloth.

I found myself starting to smile and turned aside. I hadn’t forgotten the way the three of them had welcomed me to the Little Palace. They hadn’t been the ones to call me a whore or try to throw me out, but they certainly hadn’t spoken up to defend me, and the idea of pretending friendship was just a little too much. Besides, I didn’t quite know how to behave around them. We’d never been truly close, and now our difference in status felt like an unbridgeable gap.

Genya wouldn’t care
, I thought suddenly. Genya had known me. She’d laughed with me and confided in me, and no shiny
kefta
or title would have kept her from telling me exactly what she thought or slipping her arm through mine to share a bit of gossip. Despite the lies she’d told, I missed her.

As if in answer to my thoughts, I felt a tug on my sleeve, and a tremulous voice said, “
Moi soverenyi?
”

Nadia stood shifting from foot to foot. “I hoped…”

“What is it?”

She turned to a murky corner of the stables and gestured to a young boy in Etherealki blue whom I’d never seen before. A few Grisha had begun to trickle in after we’d sent out the pardon, but this boy looked too young to have served in the field. He approached nervously, fingers twisting in his
kefta
.

“This is Adrik,” Nadia said, placing her arm around him. “My brother.” The resemblance was there, though you had to look for it. “We heard that you plan to evacuate the school.”

“That’s right.” I was sending the students to the one place I knew with dormitories and space enough to house them, a place far from the fighting: Keramzin. Botkin would go with them, too. I hated to lose such a capable soldier, but this way the younger Grisha would still be able to learn from him—and he’d be able to keep an eye on them. Since Baghra wouldn’t see me, I’d sent a servant to her with the same offer. She’d made no reply. Despite my best attempts to ignore her slights, the repeated rejections still stung.

“You’re a student?” I asked Adrik, pushing thoughts of Baghra from my mind. He nodded once, and I noted the determined thrust to his chin.

“Adrik was wondering …
we
were wondering if—”

“I want to stay,” he said fiercely.

My brows shot up. “How old are you?”

“Old enough to fight.”

“He would have graduated this year,” put in Nadia.

I frowned. He was only a couple of years younger than I was, but he was all bony elbows and rumpled hair.

“Go with the others to Keramzin,” I said. “If you still want to, you can join us in a year.”
If we’re still here.

“I’m good,” he said. “I’m a Squaller, and I’m as strong as Nadia, even without an amplifier.”

“It’s too dangerous—”

“This is my home. I’m not leaving.”

“Adrik!” Nadia chastised.

“It’s okay,” I said. Adrik seemed almost feverish. His hands were balled into fists. I looked at Nadia. “You’re sure you want him to stay?”

“I—” began Adrik.

“I’m talking to your sister. If you fall to the Darkling’s army, she’s the one who will have to mourn you.” Nadia paled slightly at that, but Adrik didn’t flinch. I had to admit he had mettle.

Nadia worried the inside of her lip, glancing from me to Adrik.

“If you’re afraid to disappoint him, think what it will be like to bury him,” I said. I knew I was being harsh, but I wanted them both to understand what they were asking.

She hesitated, then straightened her shoulders. “Let him fight,” she said. “I say he stays. If you send him away, he’ll just be back at the gates a week from now.”

I sighed, then turned my attention back to Adrik, who was already grinning. “Not a word to the other students,” I said. “I don’t want them getting ideas.” I jabbed a finger at Nadia. “And he’s your responsibility.”

“Thank you,
moi soverenyi
,” said Adrik, bowing so low I thought he might tip over.

I was already regretting my decision. “Get him back to classes.”

I watched them walk up the hill toward the lake, then dusted myself off and made my way to one of the smaller training rooms, where I found Mal sparring with Pavel. Mal had been at the Little Palace less and less lately. The invitations had started arriving the afternoon he returned from Balakirev—hunts, house parties, trout fishing, card games. Every nobleman and officer seemed to want Mal at his next event.

Sometimes he was just gone for an afternoon, sometimes for a few days. It reminded me of being back at Keramzin, when I would watch him ride away and then wait each day at the kitchen window for him to return. But if I was honest with myself, the days when he was gone were almost easier. When he was at the Little Palace, I felt guilty for not being able to spend more time with him, and I hated the way the Grisha ignored him or talked down to him like a servant. As much as I missed him, I encouraged him to go.

It’s better this way
, I told myself. Before he’d deserted to help me, Mal had been a tracker with a bright future, surrounded by friends and admirers. He didn’t belong standing guard in doorways or lurking at the edges of rooms, playing the role of my dutiful shadow as I went from one meeting to the next.

“I could watch him all day,” said a voice behind me. I stiffened. Zoya was standing there. Even in the heat, she never seemed to sweat.

“You don’t think he stinks of Keramzin?” I asked, remembering the vicious words she had once spoken to me.

“I find the lower classes have a certain rough appeal. You will let me know when you’re through with him, won’t you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, did I misunderstand? You two seem so … close. But I’m sure you’re setting your sights higher these days.”

I turned on her. “What are you doing here, Zoya?”

“I came for a training session.”

“You know what I mean. What are you doing at the Little Palace?”

“I’m a soldier of the Second Army. This is where I belong.”

I folded my arms. It was time Zoya and I had this out. “You don’t like me, and you’ve never missed an opportunity to let me know it. Why follow me now?”

“What choice do I have?”

“I’m sure the Darkling would gladly welcome you back at his side.”

“Are you ordering me to leave?” She was striving for her usual haughty tone, but I could tell she was scared. It gave me a guilty little thrill.

“I want to know why you’re so determined to stay.”

“Because I don’t want to live in darkness,” she said. “Because you’re our best chance.”

I shook my head. “Too easy.”

She flushed. “Am I supposed to beg?”

Would she? I found I didn’t mind the idea. “You’re vain. You’re ambitious. You would have done anything for the Darkling’s attention. What changed?”

“What changed?” she choked out. Her lips thinned, and her fists clenched at her sides. “I had an aunt who lived in Novokribirsk. A niece. The Darkling could have told me what he meant to do. If I could have warned them—” Her voice broke, and I was instantly ashamed of the pleasure I’d felt at watching her squirm.

Baghra’s voice echoed in my ears:
You’re taking to power well.… As it grows, it will hunger for more.
And yet, did I believe Zoya? Was the sheen in her eyes real or pretense? She blinked her tears back and glared at me. “I still don’t like you, Starkov. I never will. You’re common and clumsy, and I don’t know why you were born with such power. But you’re the Sun Summoner, and if you can keep Ravka free, then I’ll fight for you.”

I watched her, considering, noting the two bright spots of color that flamed high on her cheeks, the trembling of her lip.

“Well?” she said, and I could see how much it cost her to ask. “Are you sending me away?”

I waited a moment longer. “You can stay,” I said. “For now.”

“Is everything all right?” Mal asked. We hadn’t even noticed that he’d left off sparring.

In an instant, Zoya’s uncertainty was gone. She gave him a dazzling smile. “I hear you’re quite the marvel with a bow and arrow. I thought you might offer me a lesson.”

Mal glanced from Zoya back to me. “Maybe later.”

“I look forward to it,” she said, and swept away in a soft rustle of silk.

“What was that about?” he asked as we began the walk up the hill to the Little Palace.

“I don’t trust her.”

For a long minute he said nothing. “Alina,” Mal began uneasily, “what happened in Kribirsk—”

I cut him off quickly. I didn’t want to know what he might have done with Zoya back at the Grisha camp. And that was hardly the point. “She was one of the Darkling’s favorites, and she’s always hated me.”

“She was probably jealous of you.”

“She broke two of my ribs.”

“She
what
?”

“It was an accident. Sort of.” I’d never told Mal exactly how bad it had been for me before I’d learned to use my power, the endless, lonely days of failure. “I just can’t be sure where her real allegiance lies.” I rubbed the back of my neck where the muscles had started to bunch. “I can’t be sure of anyone. Not the Grisha. Not the servants. Any of them could be working for the Darkling.”

Mal looked around. For once, nobody seemed to be watching. Impulsively, he seized hold of my hand. “Gritzki’s throwing a fortune-telling party in the upper town two days from now. Come with me.”

“Gritzki?”

“His father is Stepan Gritzki, the pickle king. New money,” Mal said in a very good imitation of a smug noble. “But his family has a palace down by the canal.”

“I can’t,” I said, thinking of the meetings, David’s mirrored dishes, the evacuation of the school. It just felt wrong to go to a party when we could be at war in a matter of days or weeks.

“You can,” said Mal. “Just for an hour or two.”

It was so tempting—to steal a few moments with Mal away from the pressures of the Little Palace.

He must have sensed that I was wavering. “We’ll dress you up as one of the performers,” he said. “No one will even know the Sun Summoner is there.”

A party, late in the evening, after the day’s work was done. I’d miss one night of futile searching through the library. What was the harm in that?

“All right,” I said. “Let’s go.”

His face broke into a grin that left me breathless. I didn’t know if I’d ever get used to the idea that a smile like that might actually be for me.

“Tolya and Tamar won’t like it,” he warned.

“They’re my guards. They follow my orders.”

Mal snapped to attention and swept me an elaborate bow. “
Da, moi soverenyi,
” he pronounced in somber tones. “We live to serve.”

I rolled my eyes, but as I hurried to the Materialki workrooms, I felt lighter than I had in weeks.

CHAPTER

18

T
HE GRITSKI MANSION
was in the canal district, considered the least fashionable part of the upper town because of its proximity to the bridge and the rabble across it. It was a lavish little building, bordered by a war memorial on one side and the gardens of the Convent of Sankta Lizabeta on the other.

Mal had managed to secure a borrowed coach for the evening, and we were tucked inside its narrow confines with a very cranky Tamar. She and Tolya had grumbled long and loudly about the party, but I’d made it clear that I wasn’t going to budge. I also swore them to secrecy; I didn’t want word of my little excursion beyond the palace gates to reach Nikolai.

We were all dressed in the style of Suli fortune-tellers, in vibrant orange silk cloaks and red lacquered masks carved to resemble jackals. Tolya had remained behind. Even covered head to toe, his size would draw too much attention.

Mal squeezed my hand, and I felt a surge of giddy excitement. My cloak was uncomfortably warm, and my face was already starting to itch beneath the mask, but I didn’t care. I felt like we were back at Keramzin, casting off our chores and braving the threat of the switch just to sneak away to our meadow. We would lie in the cool grass and listen to the hum of the insects, watch the clouds break apart overhead. That kind of peace seemed so far away now.

The street leading to the pickle king’s mansion was clogged with carriages. We turned onto an alley near the convent so that we’d be better able to mix in with the performers at the servants’ entrance.

Tamar carefully shifted her cloak as we descended from the coach. She and Mal were both carrying hidden pistols, and I knew that beneath all the orange silk, she had her twin axes strapped to each thigh.

“What if someone actually wants his fortune told?” I asked, tightening the laces of my mask and pulling my hood up.

“Just feed him the usual drivel,” said Mal. “Beautiful women, unexpected wealth. Beware of the number eight.”

The servants’ entrance led past a steam-filled kitchen and into the house’s back rooms. But as soon as we stepped inside, a man dressed in what must have been the Gritzki livery seized my arm.