Daughter. Why had that word frightened her so? She remembered Genya looping her arm through hers, Alina embracing her on the steps of the sanatorium. Nikolai drawing her close in the garden, the peace he’d granted her in that moment.
This is what love does. In the stories, love healed your wounds, fixed what was broken, allowed you to go on. But love wasn’t a spell, some kind of benediction to be whispered, a balm or a cure-all. It was a single, fragile thread, which grew stronger through connection, through shared hardship and honored trust. Zoya’s mother had been wrong. It wasn’t love that had ruined her, it was the death of it. She’d believed that love would do the work of living. She’d let the thread fray and snap.
This is what love does. An old echo, but it wasn’t Sabina she heard now. It was Liliyana’s voice as she stood fearless in the church, as she risked everything to fight for a child who wasn’t her own. This is what love does.
How long had Zoya feared being bound to others? How little had she trusted that thread of connection? That was why she’d shied away from the gifts the dragon offered. They demanded she open her heart to the world, and she’d turned away, afraid of what she might lose.
Daughter. We see you.
She had failed to keep David safe, but Genya hadn’t turned away from her. She’d failed to keep the Darkling from returning, but Alina hadn’t damned her for it. And Nikolai had offered her a kingdom, he’d offered her the love she’d been seeking the whole of her life, even if she’d been afraid to take it, even if she’d been too much of a coward to look him in the eye and admit that it wasn’t Ravka’s future she sought to preserve, but her own fragile, frightened heart.
Juris had known. Juris had seen it all. Open the door.
Love was on the other side and it was terrifying.
Open the door. The dragon had seen this very moment, this very room.
She turned her gaze on the Apparat. “How is it, through wars and kings and revolutions, you always manage to survive?”
The priest smiled. “That is a gift I can share with you. I understand men better than they understand themselves. I give the people what they need. Comfort, protection, wonder. You may live a thousand years, Zoya Nazyalensky, but my faith means I will live for eternity.”
Zoya’s eyes met Nina’s. “Eternity may be shorter than you think.”
She didn’t have to lift her hands to summon the current that suddenly crackled through the air. It ignited around the Apparat’s guards in sparks of blue fire. They shuddered and shook, burning from the inside, and collapsed.
“Nina!” Zoya shouted. In a flash the corpses of the guards were on their feet, commanded by Nina’s power. They seized the Apparat.
I’m sorry, she said to the nameless, faceless prisoners in their cells. I’m sorry I can’t save you. But I can avenge you. I can love you and let you go.
“Gas!” shouted the Apparat, his eyes wild.
Zoya heard the vents open, the whoosh of parem shooting toward them. She leapt, seizing Nina, feeling the strength of Juris and the dragon. The power of the lives they’d lived and the battles they’d fought flooded her muscles. She slammed through the wall with Nina in her arms, through stone and metal, and into the waiting sky.
Nina screamed.
You are strong enough to survive the fall.
They were plummeting toward the sea. Zoya felt Genya’s arms around her, Liliyana holding her tight. She felt Nikolai’s presence beside her and Juris’ sword in her hands.
With a wild, gasping breath, she felt her wings unfurl.
40
MAYU
THEY WERE TOO LATE.
The battlefield was strewn with bodies and Fjerdan soldiers surrounded the king, a noose drawing ever tighter.
“Put me down!” shouted Tamar. She was carried by Harbinger, his double metal wings like those of a dragonfly.
“There are too many of them!” said Reyem. He had one arm around Bergin, the other tight around Mayu, but her heart was still pounding, certain they were about to fall.
“My wife is somewhere down there,” Tamar snarled. “You put my feet on that battlefield and then you can run back south.”
They dove for the ground. Mayu saw surprised faces turn toward them, Grisha raising their hands to defend themselves from the creatures of their nightmares—the khergud.
“Stand down!” yelled Tamar in Ravkan. “Tolya, tell them to stand down!”
The people on the ground began to shout at one another.
King Nikolai looked up at them in wonder. “Stand down!” he commanded. “They’re allies.” He didn’t sound like he believed it. “Keep your eyes on the Fjerdans.”
Some kind of shadow shape circled the Ravkan troops, trying to keep the Fjerdan soldiers at bay, making it impossible for them to aim their rifles. But they were drawing closer.
As the Fjerdans caught sight of the winged Shu, they opened fire. Reyem whirled in the air, turning his back to the gunfire, sheltering Mayu and Bergin. Bullets pelted his back and his wings, the sound like hard rain on a metal roof.
“Reyem!” she cried.
“I’m all right,” he said, the calm sound of his voice so strange amid the chaos of battle.
Harbinger had his stout arms wrapped around Tamar to protect her, but Nightmoth and Scarab threw themselves at the Fjerdan soldiers, oblivious to the bullets peppering their bodies. Some Fjerdans ran screaming from the monsters descending from on high; others tried to stand their ground. But they were no match for the strength and speed of the khergud. They were fearless, relentless. Nightmoth lowered his head, using his horns like a battering ram. Mayu saw Scarab rip the rifle from a Fjerdan’s hand, then tear the arms from his body, her metal claws flashing.
“Take us down!” Tamar demanded.
Locust and Harbinger obliged. Mayu’s feet struck ground, and she went to one knee before she righted herself. Scarab and Nightmoth had pushed the Fjerdan line back, but the enemy had far greater numbers and they wouldn’t stay in retreat for long.
“Dare I hope you haven’t come to kill us all?” Nikolai shouted over the din of the battle.
Tamar threw an arm around her twin. “I’ve come to save your ass, little brother.”
“Two minutes!” said Tolya. “You’re two minutes older than me.”
They drew their weapons, standing back to back. Mayu snatched a rifle from the hands of a fallen soldier.
“I thought you couldn’t send reinforcements,” said King Nikolai. His lip was bloodied, his uniform covered in dirt and gore. He’d been shot in the left shoulder and had a rifle in his hands.
“The queen forbade it,” said Tamar.
Now Mayu met the king’s eyes. “But as far as the government is concerned, the khergud don’t exist.”
“Schemes within schemes,” said Nikolai. “Welcome back.”
At the summer palace, Tamar and Mayu had left their audience with Queen Leyti and the princesses and found their way back to Bergin and Reyem.
“You were right,” Mayu had said. “Makhi will rule side by side with Ehri as regent. No trial. No punishment. The Taban line remains unblemished.”
Bergin had shrugged his gaunt shoulders. “There’s a war on. They want peace and stability. Justice is a luxury people like us can’t afford.”