Page 188 of Rule of Wolves

“Are we sure we want to let him keep talking?” Zoya murmured to Nikolai.

“Not at all.”

“Everyone knows the old king was ill,” the Apparat said, but his eyes were skittering about the room wildly as if searching for some means of escape. “These charges are nothing but lies.”

“The king was a victim of poison, was he not?” the Darkling queried.

“He was indeed,” said Nikolai.

“Poison delivered slowly over time, by someone close to him, someone who had his trust. How many people could that be? I can think of only one.”

Zoya glanced at the old king. His face was red with fury, his jowls trembling like pudding that hadn’t quite set. In truth, the poison had been delivered by a certain Genya Safin in just retribution. But that was hardly common knowledge. And to admit to it now, Nikolai’s father would have to tell all these people just how a young girl had gained access to his body every day.

“Lies!” said the Apparat. “Lies from a heretic!”

But as he spoke, shadows began to bleed from his mouth. The people in the chamber gasped, backing away, trying to put distance between themselves and the priest.

Zoya’s eyes focused on the Darkling’s hands, tucked into his sleeves but moving.

“I believe this is your cue,” whispered Nikolai.

One she was happy to take. Zoya slashed her arm through the air and thunder broke in an enormous boom.

“Enough,” she said. “Seize him.”

Chaos had erupted in the chamber when the royal guards swarmed the Apparat. The Fjerdans had departed hurriedly, but not before the crown prince had agreed to prolong their truce until a proper treaty could be made.

“Can you not stay?” Zoya had said, her gaze on Nina in her guise as Mila Jandersdat. But all of Nina’s attention was focused on the prince, her face a mask of confusion as she studied him with a bizarre intensity that didn’t seem at all in keeping with the modest ways of Fjerdan women.

“We will return,” Prince Rasmus said. “I vow it.” He had a low, husky voice. “Perhaps for your coronation.”

Nikolai had set guards and Sun Soldiers to pursue the Darkling, who had somehow vanished from the chamber. No matter what he’d done for them at the summit, they still had no idea of his agenda, and Zoya refused to let him hie off somewhere to scheme. Besides, if this truce held, they had to find a way to stop the spread of the blight. She didn’t know if the Darkling actually possessed any knowledge of how to do that or if all his talk of the obisbaya had been manipulation, but she intended to find out.

Already, the nobles of Ravka were asking when she would be crowned and when she would be accepting petitions for government funds, annexations of land, the list went on. But eventually the audience chamber was cleared and only Nikolai and Zoya remained beneath the echoing dome.

With a sweep of her hand, Zoya sent a gust to slam the shutters closed, blocking out the sound of that infernal chanting.

She turned to Nikolai. “Are you quite out of your mind?”

“On occasion. I find it bracing. But I have never been more sane or sober, Zoya.”

“I can’t do this, Nikolai. You’re the diplomat, the charmer. I’m the…”

“Yes?”

She threw her hands up in exasperation. “I’m the muscle.”

“The crown was never meant for me. You’re a military commander, you’re Grisha, and thanks to Nina’s work and Juris’ gift, you are a living Saint.”

Zoya slumped down on one of the benches. “No matter what they said in this chamber, you know they’ll never accept me. All those vows and cheers will mean nothing when they don’t get what they want.”

Nikolai knelt before her and reached for her hand.

“Stop doing that,” she snapped. “Stop kneeling.” But she didn’t keep him from taking her hand. His touch was comforting, familiar, something to hold on to.

“I can’t. It’s just what my knees do now. I noticed your tricky little turn of phrase back there. You said that you would serve Ravka, but you didn’t actually say you would accept the crown.”

“Because I’m hoping you’ll come to your senses and see this is impossible.”