“You remember Yuri?” she asked. “The Darkling wants to use the ritual to drive whatever remains of the little monk out of his body and absorb the king’s demon. He thinks it will allow him to reclaim his power.” A kind of shadow shell game. Zoya hated even thinking about it.
Genya’s fists bunched, crushing the fabric of her kefta. “And we’re going to let him?”
Zoya hesitated. She wanted to reach out to Genya, rest a comforting arm around her. Instead she said, “You know I would never let that happen. Nikolai believes he can prevent it.”
“It’s too great a risk to take. And will any of this really stop the Fold from spreading?”
David had been staring into space, tapping his fingers against his lips. His mouth was smudged with blue ink. “It would be a kind of return to the order of things, but…”
“But?” pressed Genya.
“It’s hard to know. I’ve been reading through the research that Tolya and Yuri did. It’s mostly religion, fanciful Saints’ tales and very little science. But there’s a pattern there, something I can’t quite make out.”
“What kind of pattern?” Zoya asked.
“The Small Science has always been about keeping power in check and maintaining the Grisha bond to the making at the heart of the world. The Fold was a violation of that, a tear in the fabric of the universe. That rupture has never actually been healed, and I don’t know if the obisbaya will be enough. But those old stories of the Saints and the origins of Grisha power are all bound up together.”
Zoya folded her arms. “So what I’m hearing from the greatest mind in the Second Army is, ‘I guess it’s worth a try’？”
David considered. “Yes.”
Zoya didn’t know why she bothered searching for certainty anymore. “If the Darkling’s information is good, we’ll need a powerful Fabrikator to help us raise the thorn wood once we have the seeds.”
“I can attempt it,” he said. “But it’s not my particular talent. We should consider Leoni Hilli.”
Zoya knew David didn’t traffic in false humility. If he said Leoni was the better choice, he meant it. It was strange to realize that, excluding the king, she trusted no one in the world as much as the people in this room. It was Alina who had thrust them together, chosen each of them to represent their Grisha Orders—Materialki, Etherealki, and Corporalki. She had charged them to rebuild the Second Army, to gather the wreckage the Darkling had left in his wake and forge something strong and enduring from the scraps. And somehow, together, they had done it.
At the time, she had cursed Alina’s name. She hadn’t wanted to work with Genya or David. But her ambition—and her certainty that she was the best person for the job—hadn’t allowed her to reject the opportunity. She’d believed she deserved the position and that over time she would bend Genya and David to her will or force them to relinquish their influence. Instead she’d come to value their opinions and rely on their judgment. Again and again, she’d found herself grateful that she wasn’t alone in this.
“What are you scowling at, Zoya?” Genya asked, a smile quirking her mouth.
“Was I?” She supposed she was scowling at herself. It was embarrassing to realize how wrong she’d been.
Genya drew a handkerchief from her pocket, leaned over the back of the settee, and dabbed at David’s lips. “My love, there’s ink all over your face.”
“Does it matter?”
“The correct response is, ‘Beautiful wife, won’t you kiss it away?’”
“Spontaneity.” David nodded thoughtfully and drew out a journal to make note of this latest instruction. “I’ll be ready next time.”
“It’s technically later. Let’s try again.”
How comfortable they were together. How easy. Zoya ignored the pang of jealousy she felt. Some people were built for love and some were built for war. One did not lend itself to the other.
“I’ll write to Alina,” Genya said. “The news should come from me. But … does that mean you won’t be here for the wedding?”
“I’m sorry,” Zoya said, though that was not entirely true. She wanted to be there for Genya, but she had spent her life standing on the outside of moments, unsure of where she belonged. She was at her best with a mission to accomplish, not in a chapel festooned with roses and echoing with declarations of love.
“I forgive you,” said Genya. “Mostly. And people should be staring at the bride, not the gorgeous General Nazyalensky. Just take care of our girl. I hate the thought of the Darkling being near Alina again.”
“I don’t like it either.”
“I hoped we wouldn’t have to tell her he’s returned.”
“That we could put him in the ground and she’d never have to find out?”
Genya scoffed. “I would never bury that man. Who knows what might spring up from the soil?”
“He doesn’t have to survive this trip,” Zoya mused. “Accidents happen.”
“Would you be killing him for you or for me?”
“I don’t honestly know anymore.”
Genya gave a little shiver. “I’m glad he’ll be gone from this place. Even for a short while. I hate having him in our home.”
Our home. Was that what this place was? Was that what they had made it?
“He should have a trial,” said David.
Genya wrinkled her nose. “Or maybe he should be burned on the pyre as the Fjerdans do and scattered at sea. Am I a monster for saying so?”
“No,” said Zoya. “As the king likes to remind me, we’re human. Do you … I look back and I hate knowing how easy I was to manipulate.”
“Hungry for love and full of pride?”
Zoya squirmed. “Was I that obvious?”
Genya looped her arm through Zoya’s and leaned her head against her shoulder. Zoya tried not to stiffen. She wasn’t good at this kind of closeness, but some childish part of her craved it, remembered how easy it had felt to laugh with her aunt, how glad she’d been when Lada had climbed into her lap to demand a story. She’d pretended to resent it, but she’d felt like she belonged with them.
“We were all that way. He took us from our families when we were so young.”
“I don’t regret that,” Zoya said. “I hate him for many things, but not for teaching me to fight.”
Genya looked up at her. “Just remember, Zoya, he wasn’t teaching you to fight for yourself but in his service. He had only punishment for those who dared to speak against him.”
He was the reason for Genya’s scars, for all the pain she’d endured.
No, that wasn’t true. Zoya had known what Genya was forced to suffer when they were just girls. Everyone had. But the other Grisha hadn’t comforted her or cared for her. They’d mocked her, sneered at her, excluded her from their meals and the circle of their friendship. They’d left her unforgivably alone. Zoya had been the worst of them. The Darkling wasn’t the only one who owed penance.
But I can change that now, Zoya vowed. I can make sure he never returns here.