“Come on,” Reyem said as he set down beside her. He grabbed her around the waist. “I need to get you out of here.”
“Go,” said Tamar.
“Bergin—” Reyem attempted, but Bergin shook his head. He would not abandon this fight.
Reyem was already lifting Mayu off her feet.
“No!” shouted Mayu. “We have to get Tamar and the others out too.”
“Forget it,” said Tolya. “This is our fight. For every Grisha.”
“For every Grisha,” said Bergin.
“This is suicide,” said Mayu. “There are too many of them!”
Tamar grasped the king’s shoulder. “Nikolai, let the khergud fly you out. You can still survive this.”
But the king only laughed, a laugh that was nothing like Isaak’s, ferocious and maybe a little unhinged. “None of that, Tamar. If Ravka’s independence dies this day, then I die with it.”
Mayu heard the unmistakable buzz of the Fjerdan engines. They’d locked back into formation and were making another run over the battlefield. “They’re coming back!”
The king climbed onto a tank, the shadow creature hovering above him. He turned to the khergud. “You have no reason to give me aid, but I ask for it anyway. The battle is lost, but if we can take out that line of bombers, we can give everyone on this field a chance to get to safety—Fjerdan and Ravkan alike.”
“Nikolai,” said Tolya. “Please. It’s madness. If the demon dies, you do too.”
The king grinned. “Manners, Tolya. If they want to send me to hell, I’m going to at least say a proper goodbye. His jacket was torn, his clothes stained with blood. He had never looked less like the boy who had courted her. He had never looked more like a king. “This is not your country. I have no right to command you, so I ask you. Fight for me. Fight for every Grisha, for every soldier, for every child who wishes to see his mother again, for every father who wishes to rest his head at night without fear of what may come tomorrow, for every artist, and carpenter, and stoneworker, and farmer who were meant to do more with their lives than carry a gun in their hands. Fight for all of us.”
The soldiers who remained around the king roared their response. “For all of us!”
The shadow creature that hovered above him shrieked and leapt into the sky. He’s commanding it, Mayu realized. It was the king’s demon.
Harbinger and Nightmoth launched themselves into the air. Maybe they were still human after all, or maybe they were just hungry for a fight.
“Mayu?” said Reyem.
He would run if she told him to. They could escape this place, go back home, back to their parents. Or they could try to save these people.
This is penance, she realized. Penance for Isaak, for the innocent boy who might have loved her and who would never return.
“Take their hearts,” she said to him.
“I will.”
He was gone, arcing upward on hinged wings, Harbinger and Nightmoth beside him. They joined the demon in the sky, locking into formation, an arrow aimed at the Fjerdan bombers. The king’s mortal body knelt on the tank, as if in prayer, all his attention focused on the attack.
“Form up!” shouted Tamar. “Protect the king.”
They surrounded the tank, watching as the demon and the khergud sped toward impact.
“We’re going to watch them die,” said Tolya.
“Everyone mourns the first blossom,” Mayu said softly. “Who will weep for the rest that fall?”
“I will remain to sing for you,” Tamar continued the poem.
Tolya placed a hand to his heart. “Long after the spring has gone.”
Only they knew what this moment, this loss would mean.
There were tears in Tolya’s eyes. “May the Saints watch over you, Nikolai,” he said. “You die a king.”
Mayu watched the distance to impact narrow—two hundred yards, one hundred yards. She would not let herself look away. “Goodbye, brother,” she whispered.
A roar split the air. A massive shape tore across the field, between the khergud and the Fjerdan bombers, sending them scattering. Silver lightning crackled through the sky.
“What the—” Tamar began. But the words died on her tongue.
They all stared at the sky and Mayu opened her mouth to scream.
She was looking at a dragon.
41
NINA
“PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE DON’T DROP ME!”
If Zoya had the power of speech, she wasn’t using it.
Because she was a dragon.