They passed through the gates and began the slow climb up the hill through the market and on to the bridge that would take them to the fine houses and parks of the upper town. People waved at Nikolai and his guards, shouted “Victory for Ravka!” News of their wins at Nezkii and Ulensk had begun to trickle in. This is only the start, he wanted to warn the hopeful people crowding the streets and leaning out of their windows. But all he did was smile and return their greetings.
“Most of the Lantsov line was wiped out the night of my ill-fated birthday party,” Nikolai said as he waved. He didn’t like to think of the night when the Darkling had attacked the capital. He’d disliked his brother Vasily, but he hadn’t been prepared to watch him die. “Still, there must be obscure cousins.”
“And is Demidov one of them?” asked Tolya.
Tamar shrugged. “He claims he’s from the household of Duke Limlov.”
“I remember visiting there as a child,” said Nikolai.
“Was there a boy named Vadik?” Zoya asked.
“Yes. He was a little shit who liked to taunt the cat.”
Tamar snorted. “It seems he’s taken to hunting bigger game.”
Maybe this boy was a Lantsov. Maybe he was the valet’s son. He might have a claim to the throne or he might just be a pawn. Why should a name give him some right to rule Ravka? And yet, it did. The same was true of Nikolai. He wasn’t a king because he could build ships or win battles. He was a king because of his supposed Lantsov blood. His mother had been a Fjerdan princess, a younger daughter sent far from home to forge an alliance with Ravka that no one intended to adhere to. And Nikolai’s true father? Well, if his mother was to be believed, he was a Fjerdan shipping magnate of common blood named Magnus Opjer—the same man who had recently provided Nikolai’s enemies with his mother’s love letters. It was bad enough Opjer cared nothing for the bastard son he’d sired, but to add insult to injury by trying to deny him a perfectly good throne? It spoke of a fundamental lack of manners.
Nikolai had sent his parents into exile in Kerch’s Southern Colonies during the civil war. It hadn’t been an easy decision. But his father hadn’t been a popular king and the army had begun to desert rather than follow him. When the extent of his crimes against Genya Safin had been revealed, Nikolai had given his father a choice: face trial for rape or relinquish his crown and go into permanent exile. It was not how Nikolai had wanted to become king, and he supposed he would never know if it was the right choice.
They passed over the bridge and onto the Gersky Prospect, where couples strolled in the park and nannies pushed children in prams. This place couldn’t have seemed farther from the muddy battlefield they’d left behind. And yet, if they’d failed at Nezkii or Ulensk, Fjerdan tanks would be rolling toward these grand thoroughfares and green parks right now.
The palace gates emblazoned with the gold double eagle opened to them, and only when they clanged shut did Nikolai let himself breathe a sigh of relief. There were times when he’d resented these manicured grounds, the many-tiered wedding cake of terraces and gilding that was the Grand Palace. He’d been embarrassed by its excesses and exhausted by its demands. But the last time he’d ridden out, it had been no sure thing he would return. He was grateful to be alive, grateful his most trusted friends were safe, grateful for the cold winter air and the crunch of gravel beneath his horse’s hooves.
When they reached the palace steps, a group of servants approached to take their horses. “Rostik,” he said, greeting the groom. “How are my favorite members of the royal household?”
The groom smiled. “Avetoy was favoring one of his back legs last week, but we got him healed up right. Did Punchline do his best for you?”
Nikolai gave the horse a fond pat. “I think he’s rather majestic in this light.”
He heard a loud pop, like a cork being loosed from a bottle, then another. A shout from somewhere inside the palace.
“Gunshots!” said Tamar.
Nikolai shoved the groom behind him and drew one of his revolvers.
“Stay down,” he told Rostik.
Tolya and Tamar moved to flank him, and Zoya’s arms were already raised in combat stance. The royal guards arrayed themselves at the base of the stairs.
“Nikolai,” said Tolya, “we need to get you out of here. There are flyers moored at the lake.”
But Nikolai had no intention of running. “Someone is in my house, Tolya. They’re shooting at my people.”
“Your Highness—”
“All Saints,” Zoya gasped.
The Tavgharad flooded onto the steps, fanning out in a fighting formation.
There were eleven of them, all women, wearing black uniforms marked by carnelian falcons. Two of them had taken rifles from palace guards, but even unarmed, they were some of the deadliest soldiers in the world.
“Ehri, what are you doing?” Nikolai asked carefully.
Princess Ehri Kir-Taban stood at the center of their formation in a green velvet gown and coat—traveling clothes. This was not another assassination attempt. It was something else entirely.
Ehri’s pointed chin lifted high. “Nikolai Lantsov, we will be your captives no longer.”
“So the courtship is going well?” Zoya muttered.
“I see,” said Nikolai slowly. “Where is it you plan to go?”
“Home,” she declared.
“And how did your friends get free?”
“I…” Her voice wavered. “I struck a guard. I don’t think I killed him. The rest was easy.”
That was Nikolai’s fault. He’d kept the Tavgharad behind bars in the palace dungeon, but he’d given Ehri free use of the upper floors of the palace, the gardens. He hadn’t wanted her to feel like a prisoner. Now, he suspected at least two of his guards were dead, and he didn’t want to see more violence done this day.
Nikolai holstered his weapon and stepped forward, hands raised.
“Please,” he said. “Be reasonable, Princess. You cannot hope to escape. There are too many miles between you and the Sikurzoi.”
“You will provide us transport. You cannot harm us without incurring the wrath of my sister and all of Shu Han. The wedding you desire is a sham and a travesty.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Nikolai admitted. “But have I been cruel to you? Treated you unfairly?”
“I … No.”
A look passed from one member of the Tavgharad to the next. Inside him the demon snarled. Something was wrong. He was missing something right in front of him.
The Tavgharad guard with the rifle set down her weapon, but it was hardly a gesture of peace. Her expression looked carved from stone.
“What is that smell?” said Zoya.
“I don’t smell anything,” said Tolya.
Zoya fluttered her fingers and a bare breeze wafted toward them from the steps.
“Accelerant,” said Tamar, edging closer to the stairs. “Their clothes are soaked.”
Understanding and terror struck Nikolai. They couldn’t mean to …
“Set us free!” demanded Ehri. “Queen Makhi will never stand for—”
“Ehri, move away from them,” he said, watching one of the Tavgharad reach into her pocket. “This is not an escape. This is—”