And then with his own child. Alina had told them all the story, the truth behind the ancient legend. Ilya Morozova, the Bonesmith, had intended that the third amplifier would be the firebird. Instead it had been his daughter, a girl he had raised from the dead and imbued with power. That power had passed down through her descendants to a tracker—Alina’s tracker, Malyen Oretsev—who had himself died and been brought back to life on the sands of the Fold.
“You remember Yuri?” she asked. “The Darkling wants to use the ritual to drive whatever remains of the little monk out of his body and absorb the king’s demon. He thinks it will allow him to reclaim his power.” A kind of shadow shell game. Zoya hated even thinking about it.
Genya’s fists bunched, crushing the fabric of her kefta. “And we’re going to let him?”
Zoya hesitated. She wanted to reach out to Genya, rest a comforting arm around her. Instead she said, “You know I would never let that happen. Nikolai believes he can prevent it.”
“It’s too great a risk to take. And will any of this really stop the Fold from spreading?”
David had been staring into space, tapping his fingers against his lips. His mouth was smudged with blue ink. “It would be a kind of return to the order of things, but…”
“But?” pressed Genya.
“It’s hard to know. I’ve been reading through the research that Tolya and Yuri did. It’s mostly religion, fanciful Saints’ tales and very little science. But there’s a pattern there, something I can’t quite make out.”
“What kind of pattern?” Zoya asked.
“The Small Science has always been about keeping power in check and maintaining the Grisha bond to the making at the heart of the world. The Fold was a violation of that, a tear in the fabric of the universe. That rupture has never actually been healed, and I don’t know if the obisbaya will be enough. But those old stories of the Saints and the origins of Grisha power are all bound up together.”
Zoya folded her arms. “So what I’m hearing from the greatest mind in the Second Army is, ‘I guess it’s worth a try’？”
David considered. “Yes.”
Zoya didn’t know why she bothered searching for certainty anymore. “If the Darkling’s information is good, we’ll need a powerful Fabrikator to help us raise the thorn wood once we have the seeds.”
“I can attempt it,” he said. “But it’s not my particular talent. We should consider Leoni Hilli.”
Zoya knew David didn’t traffic in false humility. If he said Leoni was the better choice, he meant it. It was strange to realize that, excluding the king, she trusted no one in the world as much as the people in this room. It was Alina who had thrust them together, chosen each of them to represent their Grisha Orders—Materialki, Etherealki, and Corporalki. She had charged them to rebuild the Second Army, to gather the wreckage the Darkling had left in his wake and forge something strong and enduring from the scraps. And somehow, together, they had done it.
At the time, she had cursed Alina’s name. She hadn’t wanted to work with Genya or David. But her ambition—and her certainty that she was the best person for the job—hadn’t allowed her to reject the opportunity. She’d believed she deserved the position and that over time she would bend Genya and David to her will or force them to relinquish their influence. Instead she’d come to value their opinions and rely on their judgment. Again and again, she’d found herself grateful that she wasn’t alone in this.
“What are you scowling at, Zoya?” Genya asked, a smile quirking her mouth.
“Was I?” She supposed she was scowling at herself. It was embarrassing to realize how wrong she’d been.
Genya drew a handkerchief from her pocket, leaned over the back of the settee, and dabbed at David’s lips. “My love, there’s ink all over your face.”
“Does it matter?”
“The correct response is, ‘Beautiful wife, won’t you kiss it away?’”
“Spontaneity.” David nodded thoughtfully and drew out a journal to make note of this latest instruction. “I’ll be ready next time.”
“It’s technically later. Let’s try again.”
How comfortable they were together. How easy. Zoya ignored the pang of jealousy she felt. Some people were built for love and some were built for war. One did not lend itself to the other.
“I’ll write to Alina,” Genya said. “The news should come from me. But … does that mean you won’t be here for the wedding?”