“I overheard their plans where I was being held captive. I got here in time to sound the alarm, but it was all for nothing.”
“You were the one who got them to ring the bells in the lower town.” Nikolai had wondered how they’d somehow spotted the Fjerdan flyers before his palace lookouts.
“Yes. But still the bombs fell.”
Then this man had a conscience. Or he knew how to pretend to have one.
“How did you find this place? How did you know I would be here?”
“I didn’t. But I knew I had no hope of getting in to see you at the palace, and when I heard the tales of Lazlayon…” He lifted his shoulders. “I knew you were a frequent guest of the count’s. I hoped there was more to it than it seemed.”
“And did you share this knowledge with anyone?”
“No.”
Nikolai didn’t know what to believe. It seemed impossible that this person who had loomed in his imagination so long should be standing right before him. He had never wanted to be an ordinary man more. An ordinary man might greet this stranger properly, invite him in for a glass of whiskey or a cup of tea, take the time to understand him. But not a king.
“You haven’t answered my question,” said Nikolai. “Why come here tonight? Why seek me out after all these years? Is it blackmail you have in mind? Or have you come to kill Ravka’s king?”
Opjer’s back straightened. “Do you think so little of me?”
“I know so little of you. You’re a stranger to me.”
“I wanted to know you,” Opjer said. “I kept my distance for your mother’s sake. I never wanted to risk harming either of you. I came here … I’m here because I’m selfish, because I wanted to see my son once before I disappear.”
“Disappear?”
“It is the best gift I can give you. The only gift, really. I’m going to erase myself. As long as I live, I am a threat to you.”
“All Saints, you can’t mean you’re going to fall on your sword for the sake of my throne.”
Opjer laughed, and Nikolai felt a chill race up his spine. That was his laugh.
“I’m not nearly so self-sacrificing. No, I will go to Novyi Zem. I have money. I have time. I’ll live a new life there. Maybe I’ll have myself tailored and really start fresh.”
“A shame,” said Nikolai. “We’re extremely handsome.”
Opjer grinned. “Think of all the poor souls who will never look on this face.”
“That’s … that’s really all you came here for? To meet me?”
“Not all. Not entirely. You have a half sister.”
“Linnea.”
Opjer looked pleased. “You know of her? She’s studying engineering at the University of Ketterdam. Fjerdan law prohibits passing my holdings directly to her, but I’ve made arrangements. I only ask … if the war goes your way, I would ask that you look out for her, offer her your protection as I was never able to offer you mine.”
“I might like having a little sister. Though I’m not much for sharing.” Even if Ravka lost the war, Nikolai would find a way to reach out to Linnea Opjer. He could do that much. Assuming he lived. “I give you my word.”
“I hope you keep your crown,” said Opjer. “And if you ever wish to have a longer chat, if you’re ever free to travel, you can send word to me at the Golden Hour in Cofton.”
“A tavern?”
“A highly disreputable one. I intend to buy it, so the staff should know where to reach me. I suppose I’ll have to choose a new name too.”
“I don’t recommend Lantsov.”
“I’ll strike it from the list.”
Nikolai wanted him to stay. He wanted to speak to him, to know what his mother had been like before a life of indolence and envy had hardened her heart. He wanted to talk about ships and how Opjer had built his empire and where he’d been on his travels. But every minute he spent in his father’s presence put them both at risk.
“Forgive me for a certain mercenary bent, but is there anything more you can tell me of Fjerda’s plans?”
Opjer smiled. He looked almost proud. “I can tell you Jarl Brum hopes to marry his daughter to Prince Rasmus.”
“Our intelligence suggests Rasmus might favor diplomacy over open war.”
“He might. But once he’s a member of Brum’s household, I would count on nothing. If Brum can’t control the prince, he’ll find a way to destroy him. There is a quality among Fjerdans … we call it gerkenig. The need for action. We leap in when we shouldn’t because we can’t help ourselves. If Brum sees an opportunity, he’ll take it. I’ve been guilty of it many times myself.”
“Recklessness.”
“Not exactly. It’s a need to seize the moment.”
“That sounds uncomfortably familiar.”
“I thought it might.”
In the distance, from the direction of the laboratories beneath the Gilded Bog, they heard a series of booms.
“Fireworks,” said Nikolai.
“Of course,” said Opjer, and Nikolai knew he didn’t believe a word of it. “I suppose this is where we say goodbye.”
“I’m not sure we’ve even properly said hello. I am…” Nikolai struggled to find a word for what he felt. Sorry to see this stranger go? Longing for a father he’d never had? Grateful that Opjer was willing to give up the life he knew for the sake of preserving Nikolai’s false bloodline?
The man Nikolai had believed to be his father for most of his life had been a source of embarrassment and shame. Nikolai had never understood him, never wanted to be like him. He’d read enough books and seen enough plays to understand what a father was meant to be—someone kind and steady who dispensed wisdom and taught you how to wield a sword and throw a punch. Actually, in most plays, the fathers got killed off and had to be avenged, but they certainly seemed wise and loving in the first act. Nikolai remembered what Zoya had said about her mother on the airship: Maybe I miss something I never had. Nikolai had never missed having a father because he’d never really had one. That was what he’d believed until this moment, standing at the gates, looking at Magnus Opjer.
“Here,” said Nikolai. “Your miniature.” He held out the portrait of his mother.
“Keep it. I don’t want to look backward. There’s too much regret there.” Opjer bowed. “Good luck, Your Highness.”
Nikolai watched his father go. He had to wonder at the mad ambition that had brought him here, that had driven him to pursue the crown when he might have had a hundred other lives. He might have left the future of Ravka to his brother. He might have gotten to be someone’s son. He could have loved whom he wanted to, married whom he wished to—assuming the vexing creature said yes. But all those lives were gone, vanished at each crossroads, with each choice he’d made. He’d given them up for Ravka. Would it be worth it in the end?
He didn’t know. But he wasn’t going to stand by a gate and brood over it.
“Zoya,” he called, as he jogged back to her and the guards. “Have you ever heard of something called gerkenig?”