“And do what?”
“Teach, help me rebuild the Second Army, rusticate by the lake?”
This was what Tolya had been alluding to. He’d hoped I might return to Os Alta. It hurt to even think about.
I shook my head. “I’m not Grisha, and I’m certainly not a noble. I don’t belong at court.”
“You could stay with me,” he said quietly. He gave the bottle another turn. “I still need a Queen.”
I rose from my chair and nudged his booted feet aside, settling on the little stool to look up at him.
“I’m not the Sun Summoner anymore, Nikolai. I’m not even Alina Starkov. I don’t want to return to court.”
“But you understand this … thing.” He tapped his chest.
I did. Merzost. Darkness. You could hate it and hunger for it at the same time.
“I’d only be a liability. Power is alliance,” I reminded him.
“I do love it when you quote me.” He sighed. “If only I weren’t so damnably wise.”
I reached into my pocket and set the Lantsov emerald on Nikolai’s knee. Genya had given it back to me when we’d left Tomikyana.
He picked it up, turned it over. Its stone flashed green in the firelight. “A Shu princess then? A buxom Fjerdan? A Kerch magnate’s daughter?” He held out the ring. “Keep it.”
I stared at him. “How much of that kvas have you drunk?”
“None. Keep it. Please.”
“Nikolai, I can’t.”
“I owe you, Alina. Ravka owes you. This and more. Do good works or commission an opera house or just take it out and gaze at it longingly when you think of the handsome prince you might have made your own. For the record, I favor the latter option, preferably paired with copious tears and the recitation of bad poetry.”
I laughed.
He took my hand and pressed the ring into it. “Take it and build something new.”
I turned the ring over in my hand. “I’ll think about it.”
He rolled his eyes. “What is your aversion to the word yes?”
I felt tears rising and had to blink them away. “Thank you.”
He leaned back. “We were friends, weren’t we? Not just allies?”
“Don’t be an ass, Nikolai. We are friends.” I gave him a hard tap on the knee. “Now, you and I are going to settle some things about the Second Army. And then we’re going to watch me burn.”
* * *
ON OUR WAY to the drydocks, I slipped away and found Genya. She and David were cloistered in a Fabrikator tent on the east side of the camp. When I handed her the sealed letter marked with the Ravkan double eagle, she paused, holding it gingerly, as if the heavy paper were dangerous to the touch.
She ran her thumb over the wax seal, fingers quaking slightly. “Is it…?”
“It’s a pardon.”
She tore it open and then clutched it to her.
David didn’t look up from his worktable when he said, “Are we going to jail?”
“Not just yet,” she said. She brushed away a tear. “Thank you.” Then she frowned as I handed her the second letter. “What is this?”
“A job offer.” It had taken some convincing, but in the end Nikolai had seen the sense in my suggestions. I cleared my throat. “Ravka still needs its Grisha, and Grisha still need a safe haven in the world. I want you to lead the Second Army, along with David. And Zoya.”
“Zoya? Are you punishing me?”
“She’s powerful, and I think she has it in her to be a good leader. Or she’ll make your life a nightmare. Possibly both.”
“Why us? The Darkling—”
“The Darkling is gone, and so is the Sun Summoner. Now the Grisha can lead themselves, and I want all the orders represented: Etherealki, Materialki, and you—Corporalki.”
“I’m not really a Corporalnik, Alina.”
“When you had the chance, you chose red. And I hope that those divisions won’t matter so much if the Grisha are led by their own. All of you are strong. All of you know what it is to be seduced by power or status or knowledge. Besides, you’re all heroes.”
“They’ll follow Zoya, maybe even David—”
“Hmm?” he asked distractedly.
“Nothing. You’re going to have to go to more meetings.”
“I hate meetings,” he grumbled.
“Alina,” she said, “I’m not so sure they’ll follow me.”
“You make them follow you.” I touched her shoulder. “Brave and unbreakable.”
A slow smile spread over her face. Then she winked. “And marvelous.”
I grinned. “So you accept?”
“I accept.”
I hugged her tight. She laughed, then tugged at a lock of hair that had slipped free from my kerchief.
“Already fading,” she said. “Should we freshen you up?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” she agreed.
I embraced her once more, then slipped outside into the last scraps of daylight.
* * *
I WENDED MY WAY back through camp, following the crowd past the drydocks and into the sands of what had been the Unsea. The sun had almost set and dusk was falling, but it was impossible to miss the pyre, a massive mound of birches, their branches tangled like white limbs.
A shiver passed through me as I saw the girl laid to rest atop it. Her hair spread around her head in a white halo. She wore a kefta of blue and gold, and Morozova’s collar curled around her throat, the stag’s antlers a silvery gray against her skin. Whatever wire or Fabrikator craft held the pieces together had been hidden from view.
My eyes roved over her face—my face. Genya had done an extraordinary job. The shape was just right, the tilt of the nose, the angle of the jaw. The tattoo on her cheek was gone. There was almost nothing left of Ruby, the Soldat Sol who would have lived to be a Summoner if she hadn’t perished on the Fold. She’d died an ordinary girl.
I’d balked at the idea of using her body this way, troubled that her family would have nothing to bury. It had been Tolya who convinced me. “She believed, Alina. Even if you don’t, let this be her final act of faith.”
Beside Ruby, the Darkling lay in his black kefta.
Who had tended him? I wondered, feeling an ache rise in my throat. Who had combed his dark hair back so neatly from his forehead? Who had folded his graceful hands on his chest?
Some in the crowd were complaining that the Darkling had no business sharing a pyre with a Saint. But this felt right to me, and the people needed to see an end to it.
The remaining Soldat Sol had gathered around the pyre, their bare backs and chests emblazoned with tattoos. Vladim was there too, head bowed, the raised flesh of his brand outlined by firelight. Around them, people wept. Nikolai stood at the periphery, immaculate in his First Army uniform, the Apparat at his side. I pulled my shawl up.
Nikolai’s gaze touched mine briefly from across the circle. He gave the signal. The Apparat raised his hands. The Inferni struck their flints. Flame leapt in bright arcs, circling and diving between the birches like darting birds, licking at the tinder until it smoldered and caught.
The fire grew, flames shimmering, the shaking leaves of a great golden tree. Around me, the moans and weeping of the crowd grew louder.
Sankta, they cried. Sankta Alina.
My eyes burned with the smoke. The smell was sickly sweet.
Sankta Alina.
No one knew his name to curse or extol, so I spoke it softly, beneath my breath.
“Aleksander,” I whispered. A boy’s name, given up. Almost forgotten.