“A chef and two pounds of toffees?”
“A plant. It’s from my garden.”
“Your … garden? Zoya Nazyalensky likes to root around with worms?”
“Wretched girl,” said Zoya. “I hope it will bloom for you. And I hope you bloom too.”
She knew Nina wouldn’t return to them. At least not for a long time. Zoya would miss the sight of the dahlias in the summer, but maybe they were meant for different soil.
Among the other honored guests in the chapel were a group of Suli, dressed in silks. Some wore the jackal mask. Others wore their hair braided and decorated with flowers. They were seated beside Nikolai at the front of the room, along with a couple in simple peasant clothes, the woman’s gleaming white hair hidden beneath a beaded shawl.
There were ghosts in this room, phantoms who would never be laid to rest. They would walk this new path with her—Liliyana, David, Isaak, Harshaw, Marie, Paja, Fedyor, Sergei. The list was long and would only grow longer.
You cannot save them all.
No, but she could try to be a good queen. The little girl would always be there, frightened and angry, and Zoya would never forget her, or how it felt to be powerless and alone, even if she was not alone now. She had her soldiers, her Grisha, her friends, her prince, and, she supposed, she had her subjects now too.
Zoya of the lost city. Zoya of the garden. Zoya bleeding in the snow.
“Rise, Zoya, queen of Ravka,” the priest said, “wearer of the dragon crown.”
Zoya stood. She raised the scepter in her hand. She listened to the people cheer, watched her dragon banner, wrought in Ravka’s pale blue and gold, unfurl. The task before her felt overwhelming.
None of this had been fated; none of it foretold. There had been no prophecies of a demon king or a dragon queen, a one-eyed Tailor, Heartrender twins. They were just the people who had shown up and managed to survive.
But maybe that was the trick of it: to survive, to dare to stay alive, to forge your own hope when all hope had run out.
For the survivors then, Zoya whispered to herself as the people before her knelt and chanted her name. And for the lost.
* * *
The rest of the morning was a whirlwind of greetings and congratulations, wishes for the future, and even a few veiled threats from the Kerch. The throne room was packed with guests and miserably hot, a fact not helped by the weight of her velvet gown, but Zoya endured it all with Nikolai and Genya to help her.
Still, there was something on her mind. “Genya, will you find Alina before she vanishes with her tracker? I need to talk to you both. Meet me in the king’s chambers.”
Genya planted a kiss on her cheek. “Your chambers.”
Nikolai appeared at Zoya’s side as Genya disappeared into the crowd. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
He was accompanied by a Suli girl, tiny in stature, her hair worn in a thick braid.
She curtsied with a dancer’s grace. “Queen Zoya, it’s an honor.”
Zoya studied her a moment, noted the glint of knives discreetly hidden in her pockets and beneath her embroidered vest. “Captain Ghafa,” she said quietly, making sure her voice didn’t carry in the busy room.
Inej grinned. “You know my name.”
Zoya glanced at where the Kerch dignitaries had gathered in a corner. “A great many people are looking for you.”
The gleam in the tiny girl’s eye was wicked. “They’d best pray they don’t find me.”
“If there’s anything you need—”
“She will have it,” said Nikolai, with a smart bow.
“It’s been my dream to visit this place,” Inej said, “to walk the same paths as the Sun Saint.”
“Then we’ll have to show you the Little Palace, where she trained to use her power.”
Inej’s grin widened. “Bhashe.”
“Merema,” Zoya replied in Suli. “You’re welcome.”
A crease appeared between Inej’s brows. Her dark eyes focused on someone moving through the crowd. “That woman,” she said, “in the shawl. Her hair—”
“Friends from the country,” said Nikolai briskly. “Now let me introduce you to my sister Linnea. She’ll want to hear of these new cannons you’re using.”
Zoya would have liked to follow along and listen to them talk ships and sailing and whatever else privateers and pirates liked to discuss, but Tolya was already whisking her off to meet with a group of Kaelish aristocrats. The Zemeni followed, then powerful merchants from West Ravka, Fjerdan nobility, and Count Kirigin, who had dressed in vibrant tangerine, his tiepin a gold dragon with a lump of turquoise in its claws.