But like everything, that took money. They also had a shortage of trained pilots.
Zoya scowled. “None of it will matter if we have to fight a war on two fronts. We need a treaty with the Shu.”
“The wheels are already in motion,” said Tamar. “But if Princess Ehri isn’t willing—”
“She’ll be willing,” Nikolai promised with more surety than he felt.
“The Fjerdans could rally more quickly than we think,” said Tamar. “And West Ravka could still move to secede.”
She wasn’t wrong. But maybe their successes on the border would help West Ravka remember that there was no east or west, only one country—a country with friends and resources.
Tolya looped his reins over the horn of his saddle so that he could tie back his black hair. “If the Fjerdans do make a rash move, will the Kerch back them?”
They all looked to Zoya.
“I think the Merchant Council will be divided,” she said at last. “Hiram Schenck was feeling very smug about Kerch’s neutrality, and they’ve always preferred covert operations to outright war. But when the full breadth of our betrayal regarding the Zemeni becomes clear—”
“‘Betrayal’ seems an unfair word,” said Nikolai.
“Double cross?” suggested Tolya. “Deception?”
“I didn’t lie to the Kerch. They wanted technology that would give them dominion over the seas. They said nothing about the air. And honestly, taking two elements for yourself seems a bit greedy.”
Zoya’s brows rose. “You forget that in Kerch greed is a virtue.”
They emerged over a crest and the famous double walls of Os Alta came into view. It was called the Dream City, and when its white spires were seen from this distance, away from the clamor of the lower town and the pretense of the upper town, one could almost believe it.
Tamar stood up in her stirrups, stretching her back. “The Kerch may offer to support Vadik Demidov behind the scenes.”
“The Little Lantsov,” murmured Zoya.
“Is he short?” asked Nikolai.
Tamar laughed. “No one has thought to ask. But he is young. Just turned twenty.”
There was only one real question for Nikolai to ask. “And is he actually a Lantsov?”
“My sources can’t confirm or deny,” Tamar said. She had built up Ravka’s intelligence network, recruiting spies who wished to defect, training soldiers and Grisha who could be tailored to take on covert missions, but there were still plenty of holes in their information gathering. “I’m hoping the Termite will have better luck.”
Nikolai saw the way Zoya’s lips flattened at that. She had never quite forgiven him for letting Nina remain at the Ice Court, but she couldn’t argue with the value of the intelligence their spy had delivered.
They passed through the gates and began the slow climb up the hill through the market and on to the bridge that would take them to the fine houses and parks of the upper town. People waved at Nikolai and his guards, shouted “Victory for Ravka!” News of their wins at Nezkii and Ulensk had begun to trickle in. This is only the start, he wanted to warn the hopeful people crowding the streets and leaning out of their windows. But all he did was smile and return their greetings.
“Most of the Lantsov line was wiped out the night of my illfated birthday party,” Nikolai said as he waved. He didn’t like to think of the night when the Darkling had attacked the capital. He’d disliked his brother Vasily, but he hadn’t been prepared to watch him die. “Still, there must be obscure cousins.”
“And is Demidov one of them?” asked Tolya.
Tamar shrugged. “He claims he’s from the household of Duke Limlov.”
“I remember visiting there as a child,” said Nikolai.
“Was there a boy named Vadik?” Zoya asked.
“Yes. He was a little shit who liked to taunt the cat.”
Tamar snorted. “It seems he’s taken to hunting bigger game.”
Maybe this boy was a Lantsov. Maybe he was the valet’s son. He might have a claim to the throne or he might just be a pawn. Why should a name give him some right to rule Ravka? And yet, it did. The same was true of Nikolai. He wasn’t a king because he could build ships or win battles. He was a king because of his supposed Lantsov blood. His mother had been a Fjerdan princess, a younger daughter sent far from home to forge an alliance with Ravka that no one intended to adhere to. And Nikolai’s true father? Well, if his mother was to be believed, he was a Fjerdan shipping magnate of common blood named Magnus Opjer—the same man who had recently provided Nikolai’s enemies with his mother’s love letters. It was bad enough Opjer cared nothing for the bastard son he’d sired, but to add insult to injury by trying to deny him a perfectly good throne? It spoke of a fundamental lack of manners.