Page 196 of Rule of Wolves

“Before the making, there was nothing, and that is what seeps into our world now.”

Nikolai rubbed his hands together. “So how do we fix it?” The question he would always ask. What was broken could be repaired. What was torn could be mended. “How do we close the tear?”

“You can’t,” said the monk. “Someone must hold it closed.”

Genya frowned. “What?”

“Someone must stand at the doorway between worlds, between the void and creation.”

“For how long exactly?” asked Nikolai.

“Forever.”

“I see.”

“What do you see?” Zoya said sharply.

“It has to be someone.”

“Don’t be absurd,” she snapped.

The monk drew closer. He couldn’t tell how old she was. “Is it the shadow inside you that makes you brave?”

“I should hope not. I was making bad decisions long before that thing showed up.”

Zoya grabbed his sleeve. “Nikolai, you can’t be serious. I won’t let you do this.”

“You haven’t been crowned. I’m not sure you can forbid anything just yet.”

“You told me you’d stay by my side.”

There was nothing he wanted more. They’d stopped a war together, and he’d begun to believe they could build a life together, but this was something he would have to do alone. He turned to the monk. “What do I have to do?”

“Nikolai—”

“The thorn will pierce your heart, just as in the obisbaya, but there you will remain, in agony, courting madness. If the thorn is removed, the blight will return and the universe will crumble.”

Nikolai swallowed. That sounded far less palatable than a quick and heroic death. “I understand.”

“But Nikolai,” Genya said. “What happens when … well, when you die?”

“The blight will return,” said the monk.

“Just as I thought.” The Darkling leaned against one of the tree’s gargantuan roots. He looked bored, as if he encountered an ancient order of monks every other day. “Your grand gesture has been noted, boy king—”

“Not a king,” corrected Nikolai.

“Consort or king, you’re not up to the task.”

Zoya looked at the thorn wood. “Is this my martyrdom then?”

“Absolutely not,” said Genya.

The Darkling just laughed. “Look at the way you march to the gallows. One with heroic zeal, one with grim determination. No, Sankta Zoya, you’re not powerful enough to play martyr either. It has to be me, of course.”

Zoya’s eyes narrowed. “Of course. A man known for selfless acts. You do nothing without first calculating your own gain. Why would you start now?”

“Because I’m the only one who can.”