“The stockpile of antidote?” Nikolai asked.
Kerko gestured to a wall of what looked like grain sacks. “You can say that you hoped there would be more. I won’t be offended. Your soldier’s face shows the truth of it.”
“Tolya always looks that way. Except when he’s reciting verse, and no one wants that.” Nikolai tallied the sacks of antidote and sighed. “But yes, we hoped there would be more.”
“Parem is fairly easy to manufacture if someone manages the formula. But the antidote?” Kerko shrugged. “It requires too much raw jurda. Perhaps your Fabrikators can find a new way to process the plant.”
The formula had been the work of David Kostyk, Ravka’s most talented Materialnik, working with Kuwei Yul-Bo, the son of the very man who had invented parem. But the idea had come from the source of jurda, Novyi Zem, and a young boy who had grown up on a farm there. He’d told Kuwei that during the harvest, mothers would put balm from the stalks of the jurda plant on babies’ lips and eyelids to prevent the pollen from affecting them.
“It takes a tremendous amount of the crop to create the antidote,” said Kerko. “Worse, the harvesting of the stalks ruins the fields. If we keep pushing, our farmers will revolt. And there’s something else. One of our suppliers reported a bizarre occurrence in his fields, a blight that seemed to come from nowhere. It turned two of his pastures to barren wasteland, and the livestock grazing there vanished like—”
“Smoke,” finished Nikolai. So the vampire had sunk its teeth into Novyi Zem.
“Then you know of this plague? It’s the second event of this kind our country has seen in two months. Are you witnessing its like in Ravka?”
“Yes,” Nikolai admitted. “There was an occurrence near Sikursk and another south of Os Kervo. We’re running experiments on the soil. We’ll let you know what we discover.”
But Nikolai knew what they would find: death. Nothing would grow in that soil again. And if this blight kept spreading, who knew where it might strike next or if it could be stopped? Even the thought of it was enough to rile the demon inside him, as if it recognized the power that had created it in the source of this destruction.
“Is it connected to the Fold?” asked Kerko.
Tolya looked surprised. “You’ve been there?”
“After the unification. I wanted to see it for myself. A cursed place.”
That word again: cursed.
“There’s a connection,” said Nikolai. “We just don’t know what it is yet.” That much was true. And Nikolai wasn’t prepared to tell Kerko that the Darkling had returned. “I’ll escort you to Poliznaya. We can store the antidote on base.”
“There will be retribution from the Kerch,” warned Kerko as they walked back to the flyer. “For all of us. They’ll find a way.”
“We know,” said Tolya solemnly. “And we know the risk you’ve taken by coming to our aid.”
Kerko grinned. “They were willing to attack our ships and our sailors without ever raising the flag of war. The Kerch have never been friends to the Zemeni, and it’s best they know we’re not without friends either.”
They shook hands, and Nikolai and Tolya climbed back into the flyer.
“Nikolai,” said Kerko. “End this war and end it quickly. Show that Magnus Opjer is a liar and banish the Lantsov pretender. You must prove you’re not a bastard and that you’re fit to sit that throne.”
Well, thought Nikolai as the engine of his flyer rumbled to life and they shot into the brilliant blue sky. One out of two isn’t bad.
7
NINA
HELLO, NINA.
Nina was a trained covert operative. She’d made her way in the brothels of Ketterdam and run with the most dangerous thugs and thieves of the Barrel. She’d faced killers of every variety, and occasionally she chatted with the dead. But when the Wellmother spoke those words, Nina felt her heart plunge right out of her chest and slide all the way to her fur-lined slippers.
She only smiled.
“Mila,” she corrected gently. A misheard name, an innocent mistake.
The Wellmother lifted her hand and a gust of wind made the lamplight flicker, glinting off the twinkle in her eyes.
“You’re Grisha,” whispered Nina in shock. A Squaller.
“Foxes go to ground in the winter,” said the Wellmother in Ravkan.
“But they don’t fear the cold,” Nina replied.
She sat down on the sofa with a heavy thump. Her knees felt weak, and she was embarrassed to find tears in her eyes. She hadn’t spoken her language in so long.