Siege and Storm

CHAPTER 22

MAL AVOIDED ME all afternoon, so I was surprised when he showed up with Tamar to escort me to Nikolai’s birthday dinner. I’d assumed he’d get Tolya to take his place. Maybe he was making amends for missing his previous shift.

I’d given serious thought to not attending the dinner myself, but there didn’t seem to be much point. I couldn’t think of a likely excuse, and my absence would just offend the King and Queen.

I’d dressed in a light kefta made of shimmering panels of sheer gold silk. The bodice was set with sapphires of deep Summoner’s blue that matched the jewels in my hair.

Mal’s eyes flickered over me as I entered the common room, and it occurred to me that the colors would have suited Zoya better. Then I had to wonder at myself. Gorgeous as she might be, Zoya wasn’t the problem. Mal was leaving. I was letting him go. There was no one else to blame for the rift between us.

Dinner was held in one of the sumptuous dining rooms of the Grand Palace, a chamber known as the Eagle’s Nest for the massive frieze on its ceiling depicting the crowned double eagle, a scepter in one talon and a cluster of black arrows bound by red, blue, and purple ribbons in the other. Its feathers had been wrought in real gold, and I couldn’t help but think of the firebird.

The table was crowded with the highest-ranking generals of the First Army and their wives, as well as all the most prominent Lantsov uncles, aunts, and cousins. The Queen sat at one end of the table looking like a crumpled flower in pale rose silk. At the opposite end, Vasily sat next to the King, pretending not to notice as his father ogled an officer’s young wife. Nikolai held court at center table, with me beside him, his charm sparkling as always.

He’d asked that no ball be thrown in his honor. It didn’t seem fitting with so many refugees going hungry outside the city walls. But it was Belyanoch, and the King and Queen didn’t seem able to restrain themselves. The meal consisted of thirteen courses, including a whole suckling pig and a life-size gelatin mold cast in the shape of a fawn.

When the time came for gifts, Nikolai’s father presented him with an enormous egg glazed in pale blue. It opened to reveal an exquisite miniature ship set on a lapis sea. Sturmhond’s red dog banner flew from the ship’s mast, and its little cannon fired with a pop that released the tiniest puff of white smoke.

Throughout the meal, I listened to the conversation with one ear while I studied Mal. The King’s guards were placed at intervals along each wall. I knew Tamar stood somewhere behind me, but Mal was directly across from me, standing at rigid attention, hands behind his back, eyes straight ahead in the blank focus of all anonymous servants. It was like some kind of torture, watching him this way. We were just a few feet apart, but it felt like miles. And hadn’t that been the way of it since we’d come to Os Alta? There was a knot in my chest that seemed to grow tighter every time I glanced at him. He’d shaved and had his hair trimmed. His uniform was neatly pressed. He looked weary and distant, but he looked like Mal again.

The nobles raised toasts to Nikolai’s health. The generals praised his military leadership and courage. I expected to see Vasily sneer at all the praise being heaped onto his brother, but he looked positively cheery. His face was rosy with wine, and there was what could only be described as a smug smile on his lips. His trip to Caryeva seemed to have left him in a good mood.

My eyes flitted back to Mal. I didn’t know whether I wanted to cry or stand up and start hurling dishes against the wall. The room felt too warm, and the wound at my shoulder had started to itch and pull again. I had to resist the urge to reach up and scratch it.

Great, I thought dismally. Maybe I’ll have another hallucination in the middle of the dining room, and the Darkling will climb out of the soup tureen.

Nikolai bent his head and whispered, “I know my company doesn’t count for much, but could you at least try? You look like you’re about to burst into tears.”

“Sorry,” I murmured. “I’m just…”

“I know,” he said, and gave my hand a squeeze beneath the table. “But that gelatin deer gave its life for your entertainment.”

I tried to smile, and I did make an effort. I laughed and chatted with the round, red-faced general on my right and pretended to care as the freckled Lantsov boy across from me rambled on about repairs to the dacha he’d inherited.

When the flavored ices had been served, Vasily rose to his feet and lifted a glass of champagne.

“Brother,” he said, “it is good to be able to toast your birth this day and to celebrate with you when you have spent so long on other shores. I salute you and drink to your honor. To your health, little brother!”

“Ne zalost!” chorused the guests, drinking deeply from their glasses and resuming their conversations.

But Vasily wasn’t finished. He tapped the side of his glass with his fork, producing a loud clink clink clink that regained the party’s attention.

“Today,” he said, “we have more to celebrate than my brother’s noble birth.”

If the emphasis weren’t enough, Vasily’s smirk would have been. Nikolai continued to smile pleasantly.

“As you all know,” Vasily continued, “I have been traveling these last weeks.”

“And no doubt spending,” chortled the red-faced general. “Have to build yourself a new stable soon, I suspect.”

Vasily’s glare was icy. “I did not go to Caryeva. Instead, I journeyed north on a mission sanctioned by our dear father.”

Beside me, Nikolai went very still.

“After long and arduous negotiations, I am pleased to announce that Fjerda has agreed to join us in our fight against the Darkling. They have pledged both troops and resources to our cause.”

“Can this be?” asked one of the noblemen.

Vasily’s chest swelled with pride. “It can. At long last and through no small effort, our fiercest enemy has become our most powerful ally.”

The guests broke out into excited conversation. The King beamed and embraced his eldest son. “Ne Ravka!” he shouted, lifting his champagne.

“Ne Ravka!” sang the guests.

I was surprised to see Nikolai frowning. He’d said his brother liked shortcuts, and it seemed Vasily had found one. But it wasn’t like Nikolai to let his disappointment or frustration show.

“An extraordinary achievement, brother. I salute you,” Nikolai said, lifting his glass. “Dare I ask what they wanted in return for this support?”

“They do drive a hard bargain,” Vasily said with an indulgent laugh. “But nothing too onerous. They sought access to our ports in West Ravka and requested our help policing the southern trade routes against Zemeni pirates. I imagine you’ll be of some assistance with that, brother,” he said with another warm chuckle. “They wanted a few of the northern logging roads reopened, and once the Darkling is defeated, they expect the cooperation of the Sun Summoner in our joint efforts to push back the Fold.”

He grinned broadly at me. I bridled a little at his presumption, but it was an obvious and reasonable request, and even the leader of the Second Army was a subject of the King. I gave what I hoped was a dignified nod.

“Which roads?” asked Nikolai.

Vasily waved his hand dismissively. “They’re somewhere south of Halmhend, west of the permafrost. They’re sufficiently defended by the fort at Ulensk if the Fjerdans get any ideas.”

Nikolai stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the parquet floor. “When did you lift the blockades? How long have the roads been open?”

Vasily shrugged. “What difference—”

“How long?”

The wound at my shoulder throbbed.

“A little over a week,” Vasily said. “Surely you’re not concerned that the Fjerdans intend to march on us from Ulensk? The rivers won’t freeze for months, and until then—”

“Did you ever stop to consider why they might concern themselves with a logging route?”

Vasily gave a disinterested wave. “I assume because they’re in need of timber,” he said. “Or maybe it’s sacred to one of their ridiculous woodsprites.”

There was nervous laughter around the table.

“It’s defended by a single fort,” Nikolai growled.

“Because the passage is too narrow to accommodate any real force.”

“You are waging an old war, brother. The Darkling doesn’t need a battalion of foot soldiers or heavy guns. All he needs are his Grisha and the nichevo’ya. We have to evacuate the palace immediately.”

“Don’t be absurd!”

“Our one advantage was early warning, and the scouts at those blockades were our first defense. They were our eyes, and you blinded us. The Darkling could be mere miles from us by now.”

Vasily shook his head sadly. “You make yourself ridiculous.”

Nikolai slammed his hands down on the table. The dishes jumped with a loud rattle. “Why isn’t the Fjerdan delegation here to share in your glory? To toast this unprecedented alliance?”

“They sent their regrets. They were not able to travel immediately, due—”

“They’re not here because there’s about to be a massacre. Their pact is with the Darkling.”

“All of our intelligence puts him in the south with the Shu.”

“You think he doesn’t have spies? That he doesn’t have his own operatives within our network? He laid a trap that any child could recognize, and you walked right into it.”

Vasily’s face turned purple.

“Nikolai, surely—” his mother objected.

“The fort at Ulensk is manned by a full regiment,” put in one of the generals.

“You see?” said Vasily. “This is fearmongering of the worst kind, and I will not stand for it.”

“A regiment against an army of nichevo’ya? Everyone at that fort is already dead,” said Nikolai, “sacrificed to your pride and stupidity.”

Vasily’s hand went to his sword hilt. “You overreach, you little bastard.”

The Queen gasped.

Nikolai released a harsh laugh. “Yes, call me out, brother. A lot of good it will do. Look around this table,” he said. “Every general, every nobleman of high rank, most of the Lantsov line, and the Sun Summoner. All in one place, on one night.”

A number of faces at the table went suddenly pale.

“Perhaps,” said the freckle-faced boy across from me, “we should consider—”

“No!” said Vasily, his lip trembling. “This is his own petty jealousy! He cannot stand to see me succeed. He—”

The warning bells began to ring, distant at first, down near the city walls, one and then another, joining each other in a rising chorus of alarm that echoed up the streets of Os Alta, through the upper town, and over the walls of the Grand Palace.

“You’ve handed him Ravka,” said Nikolai.

The guests rose, pushing back from the table in a gabble of panic.

Mal was at my side immediately, his saber already drawn.

“We have to get to the Little Palace,” I said, thinking of the mirrored dishes mounted on the roof. “Where’s Tamar?”

The windows exploded.

Glass rained down on us. I threw up my arms to shield my face and the guests screamed, huddling against each other.

The nichevo’ya swarmed into the room on wings of molten shadow, filling the air with the whirring buzz of insects.

“Get the King to safety!” Nikolai cried, unsheathing his sword and running to his mother’s side.

The palace guards stood paralyzed, frozen in terror.

A shadow lifted the freckled boy from his feet and threw him against the wall. He slid to the ground, his neck broken.

I raised my hands, but the room was too crowded for me to risk using the Cut.

Vasily still stood at the table, the King cowering beside him.

“You did this!” he screamed at Nikolai. “You and the witch!”

He lifted his saber high and charged, bellowing with rage. Mal stepped in front of me, raising his sword to block the blow. But before Vasily could bring down his weapon, a nichevo’ya grabbed hold of him and tore his arm from its socket, sword and all. He stood for a moment, swaying, blood pumping from his wound, then dropped to the floor in a lifeless heap.

The Queen began to shriek hysterically. She shoved forward, trying to reach her son’s body, feet slipping in his blood as Nikolai held her back.

“Don’t,” he pleaded, wrapping his arms around her. “He’s gone, Madraya. He’s gone.”

Another pack of nichevo’ya descended from the windows, clawing their way toward Nikolai and his mother.

I had to take a chance. I brought the light down in two blazing arcs, cutting through one monster after another, barely missing one of the generals who crouched cowering on the floor. People were screaming and weeping as the nichevo’ya fell upon them.

“To me!” Nikolai shouted, herding his mother and father toward the door. We followed with the guards, backing our way into the hall, and ran.

The Grand Palace had erupted into chaos. Panicked servants and footmen crowded the corridors, some scrambling for the entrance, others barricading themselves into rooms. I heard wailing, the sound of breaking glass. A boom sounded from somewhere outside.

Let it be the Fabrikators, I thought desperately.

Mal and I burst from the palace and careened down the marble steps. A screech of twisting metal rent the air. I looked down the white gravel path in time to see the golden gates of the Grand Palace blown off their hinges by a wall of Etherealki wind. The Darkling’s Grisha streamed onto the grounds in their brightly colored kefta.

We pelted down the path toward the Little Palace. Nikolai and the royal guards trailed behind us, slowed by his frail father.

At the entrance to the wooded tunnel, the King bent double, wheezing badly as the Queen wept and held tight to his arm.

“I have to get them to the Kingfisher,” said Nikolai.

“Take the long way around,” I said. “The Darkling will be headed to the Little Palace first. He’ll be coming for me.”

“Alina, if he captures you—”

“Go,” I said. “Save them, save Baghra. I won’t leave the Grisha.”

“I’ll get them out and come back. I promise.”

“On your word as a cutthroat and a pirate?”

He touched my cheek once, briefly. “Privateer.”

Another explosion rocked the grounds.

“Let’s go!” shouted Mal.

As we sprinted into the tunnel, I glanced back and saw Nikolai silhouetted against the purple twilight. I wondered if I’d ever see him again.

THE WOUND AT my shoulder burned and throbbed, driving me faster as we raced along the path. My mind was reeling—if they had a chance to seal themselves in the main hall, if they had time to man the guns on the roof, if I can just reach the dishes. All of our plans, undone by Vasily’s arrogance.

I burst into the open, and my slippered feet sent gravel flying as I skidded to a halt. I don’t know if it was momentum or the sight before me that drove me to my knees.

The Little Palace was wreathed in seething shadows. They clicked and whirred as they skittered over the walls and swooped down on the roof. There were bodies lying on the steps, bodies crumpled on the ground. The front doors were wide open.

The path in front of the steps was littered with shards of broken mirror. Lying on its side was the shattered hulk of one of David’s dishes, a girl’s body crushed beneath it, her goggles askew. Paja. Two nichevo’ya crouched before the dish, gazing at their broken reflections.

I released a howl of pure rage and sent a fiery swath of light burning through both of them. It fractured along the edges of the dish as the nichevo’ya disappeared.

I heard the rattle of gunfire from up on the roof. Someone was still alive. Someone was still fighting. And there was one dish left. It wasn’t much, but it was all we had.

“This way,” said Mal.

We tore across the lawn and in through the door that led to the Darkling’s chambers. At the base of the stairs, a nichevo’ya came shrieking at us from a doorway, knocking me off my feet. Mal slashed at it with his saber. It wavered, then re-formed.

“Get back!” I yelled. He ducked, and I sent the Cut slicing through the shadow soldier. I took the stairs two at a time, my heart pounding, Mal close on my heels. The air was thick with the smell of blood and the bone-shaking clatter of gunfire.

As we emerged onto the roof, I heard someone shout. “Away!”

We just had time to duck before the grenatki exploded high above us, searing our eyelids with light and leaving our ears ringing. Corporalki manned Nikolai’s guns, sending torrents of bullets into the mass of shadows as Fabrikators fed them ammunition. The remaining dish was surrounded by armed Grisha, struggling to keep the nichevo’ya at bay. David was there, clinging awkwardly to a rifle and trying to hold his ground. I threw the light high in a blazing whipcrack that split the sky overhead and bought us a few precious seconds.

“David!”

David gave two hard blasts on the whistle around his neck. Nadia dropped her goggles, and the Durast manning the dish moved into position. I didn’t wait—I lifted my hands and sent light streaming at the dish. The whistle blew. The dish tilted. A single pure beam of light blasted from the mirrored surface. Even without the second dish, it skewered the sky, slashing through the nichevo’ya as they burned away to nothing.

The beam swept the air in a gleaming arc, dissolving black bodies before it, thinning the horde until we could see the deep Belyanoch twilight. A cheer went up from the Grisha at the first sight of stars, and a thin sliver of hope pierced my terror.

Then a nichevo’ya broke through. It dodged the beam and hurled itself at the dish, rocking it on its moorings.

Mal was on the creature in an instant, slashing and cutting. A group of Grisha tried to seize its muscled legs, but the thing shifted and skittered away from them. Then the nichevo’ya were descending from all sides. I saw one slip past the beam and dive straight into the back of the dish. The mirror rocked forward. The light faltered, then winked out.

“Nadia!” I screamed. She and the Durast leapt from the dish just in time. It toppled on its side in a tremendous crash of breaking glass as the nichevo’ya renewed their attack.

I threw out arc after arc of light.

“Get to the hall!” I cried. “Seal the doors!”

The Grisha ran, but they were not fast enough. I heard a shout and saw the brief flash of Fedyor’s face as he was lifted from his feet and tossed from the roof. I lay down a bright shower of cover, but the nichevo’ya just kept coming. If only we’d had both dishes. If only we’d had a little more time.

Mal was suddenly beside me again, rifle in hand. “It’s no good,” he said. “We have to get out of here.”

I nodded, and we backed toward the stairs as the sky grew dense with writhing shapes. My foot connected with something soft behind me, and I stumbled.

Sergei was huddled against the dome. He held Marie in his arms. She’d been torn open from neck to navel.

“There’s no one left,” he sobbed, tears running down his cheeks. “There’s no one left.” He rocked back and forth, holding Marie tighter. I couldn’t bear to look at her. Silly, giggling Marie with her lovely brown curls.

The nichevo’ya were skittering over the roof, rushing toward us in a black tide.

“Mal, get him up!” I shouted. I slashed out at the throng of shadows rushing toward us.

Mal grabbed Sergei and pulled him away from Marie. He flailed and struggled, but we got him inside and banged the door shut behind us. We half carried, half shoved him down the stairs. On the second flight, we heard the roof door blow open above us. I threw a slicing cut of light high, hoping to hit something other than the staircase, and we tumbled down the final flight.

We threw ourselves into the main hall, and the doors crashed closed behind us as the Grisha rammed the lock into place. There was a loud thud and then another as the nichevo’ya tried to break through the door.

“Alina!” Mal shouted. I turned and saw that the other doors were sealed, but there were still nichevo’ya inside. Zoya and Nadia’s brother were backed against a wall, using Squaller winds to heave tables and chairs and broken bits of furniture at an oncoming pack of shadow soldiers.

I raised my hands, and the light swept forward in sizzling cords, tearing through the nichevo’ya one by one, until they were gone. Zoya dropped her hands, and a samovar fell with a loud clang.

At every door we heard thumping and scraping. The nichevo’ya were clawing at the wood, trying to get in, searching for a crack or gap to seep through. The buzzing and clicking seemed to come from all sides. But the Fabrikators had done their work well. The seals would hold, at least for a little while.

Then I looked around the room. The hall was bathed in blood. The walls were smeared with it, the stone floor was wet with it. There were bodies everywhere, little heaps of purple, red, and blue.

“Are there any others?” I asked. I couldn’t keep the tremor from my voice.

Zoya gave a single, dazed shake of her head. A spatter of blood covered one of her cheeks. “We were at dinner,” she said. “We heard the bells. We didn’t have time to seal the doors. They were just… everywhere.”

Sergei was sobbing quietly. David looked pale, but calm. Nadia had made it down to the hall. She had her arm around Adrik, and he still had that stubborn tilt to his chin, though he was shaking. There were three Inferni and two more Corporalki—one Healer and one Heartrender. They were all that remained of the Second Army.

“Did anyone see Tolya and Tamar?” I asked. But no one had. They might be dead. Or maybe they’d played some part in this disaster. Tamar had disappeared from the dining room. For all I knew, they’d been working with the Darkling all along.

“Nikolai might not have left yet,” Mal said. “We could try to make it to the Kingfisher.”

I shook my head. If Nikolai wasn’t gone, then he and the rest of his family were dead, and possibly Baghra too. I had a sudden image of Nikolai’s body floating facedown in the lake beside the splintered pieces of the Kingfisher.

No. I would not think that way. I remembered what I’d thought of Nikolai the first time I’d met him. I had to believe the clever fox would escape this trap, too.

“The Darkling concentrated his forces here,” I said. “We can make a run for the upper town and try to fight our way out from there.”

“We’ll never make it,” said Sergei hopelessly. “There are too many of them.” It was true. We’d known it might come to this, but we’d assumed we’d have greater numbers, and the hope of reinforcements from Poliznaya.

From somewhere in the distance, we heard a rolling crack of thunder.

“He’s coming,” moaned one of the Inferni. “Oh, Saints, he’s coming.”

“He’ll kill us all,” whispered Sergei.

“If we’re lucky,” replied Zoya.

It wasn’t the most helpful thing to say, but she was right. I’d seen the truth of how the Darkling dealt with traitors in the shadowy depths of his own mother’s eyes, and I suspected Zoya and the others would be treated far more harshly.

Zoya tried to wipe the blood from her face, but only succeeded in leaving a smear across her cheek. “I say we try to get to the upper town. I’d rather take my chances with the monsters outside than sit here waiting for the Darkling.”

“The odds aren’t good,” I warned, hating that I had no hope to offer. “I’m not strong enough to stop them all.”

“At least with the nichevo’ya it will be relatively quick,” David said. “I say we go down fighting.” We all turned to look at him. He seemed a little surprised himself. Then he shrugged. He met my eyes and said, “We do the best we can.”

I looked around the circle. One by one they nodded.

I took a breath. “David, do you have any grenatki left?”

He pulled two iron cylinders from his kefta. “These are the last.”

“Use one, keep the other in reserve. I’ll give the signal. When I open the doors, run for the palace gates.”

“I’m staying with you,” Mal said.

I opened my mouth to argue, but one look told me there would be no point.

“Don’t wait for us,” I said to the others. “I’ll give you as much cover as I can.”

Another clap of thunder split the air.

The Grisha plucked rifles from the arms of the dead and gathered around me at the door.

“All right,” I said. I turned and laid my hands on the carved handles. Through my palms, I felt the thump of nichevo’ya bodies as they heaved themselves against the wood. My wound gave a searing throb.

I nodded to Zoya. The lock snicked back.

I threw the door open and shouted, “Now!”

David lobbed the flash bomb into the twilight as Zoya swooped her arms through the air, lofting the cylinder higher on a Squaller draft.

“Get down!” David yelled. We turned toward the shelter of the hall, eyes squeezed shut, hands thrown over our heads, bracing for the explosion.

The blast shook the stone floor beneath our feet, and the glare burned red across my closed lids.

We ran. The nichevo’ya had scattered, startled by the burst of light and sound, but only seconds later, they were whirling back toward us.

“Run!” I shouted. I raised my arms and brought the light down in fiery scythes, cutting through the violet sky, carving through one nichevo’ya after the next as Mal opened fire. The Grisha ran for the wooded tunnel.

I called on every bit of the stag’s power, the sea whip’s strength, every trick Baghra had ever taught me. I pulled the light toward me and honed it into searing arcs that cut luminous trails through the shadow army.

But there were just too many of them. What had it cost the Darkling to raise such a multitude? They surged forward, bodies shifting and whirling like a glittering cloud of beetles, arms stretched forward, sharp talons bared. They pushed the Grisha back from the tunnel, black wings beating the air, the wide, twisted holes of their mouths already yawning open.

Then the air came alive with the rattle of gunfire. There were soldiers pouring out of the woods to my left, shooting as they ran. The war cry that issued from their lips raised the hair on my arms. Sankta Alina.

They hurtled toward the nichevo’ya, drawing swords and sabers, slashing out at the monsters with terrifying ferocity. Some were dressed as farmers, some wore ragged First Army uniforms, but each of them bore identical tattoos: my sunburst, wrought in ink over the sides of their faces.

Only two were unmarked. Tolya and Tamar led the charge, eyes wild, blades flashing, roaring my name.