Leigh Bardugo - Siege and Storm

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mal muttered.

I’d hunted a magical stag. I wore the scales of a slain ice dragon around my wrist. I’d seen an entire city swallowed by darkness. But this was the strangest thing I’d ever witnessed. It had to be another one of Sturmhond’s deceptions, one that was sure to get us all killed.

I stared at the privateer. Was it even possible? I couldn’t seem to get my mind to work. I was too exhausted, too drained from fear and panic. I scoured my memory for the little bit I knew about the Ravkan king’s two sons. I’d met the eldest briefly at the Little Palace, but the younger son hadn’t been seen at court in years. He was supposed to be off somewhere apprenticing with a gunsmith or studying shipbuilding.

Or maybe he had done both.

I felt dizzy. Sobachka , Genya had called the prince. Puppy. He insisted on doing his military service in the infantry.

Sturmhond. Storm hound. Wolf of the Waves.

Sobachka. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.

“Rise,” commanded Sturmhond—or whoever he was. His whole bearing seemed to have changed.

The soldiers got to their feet and stood at attention.

“It’s been too long since I was home,” boomed the privateer. “But I did not return empty-handed.”

He stepped to the side, then threw his arm out, gesturing to me. Every face turned, waiting, expectant.

“Brothers,” he said, “I have brought the Sun Summoner back to Ravka.”

I couldn’t help myself. I hauled off and punched him in the face.

“YOU’RE LUCKY YOUdidn’t get shot,” Mal said angrily.

He was pacing back and forth in a simply furnished tent, one of the few that remained in the Grisha camp next to Kribirsk. The Darkling’s glorious black silk pavilion had been pulled down. All that survived was a broad swath of dead grass littered with bent nails and the broken remnants of what had once been a polished wood floor.

I took a seat at the rough-hewn table and glanced outside to where Tolya and Tamar flanked the entrance to the tent. Whether they were guarding us or keeping us from escaping, I couldn’t be sure.

“It was worth it,” I replied. “Besides, no one’s going to shoot the Sun Summoner.”

“You just punched a prince, Alina. I guess we can add one more act of treason to our list.”

I shook out my sore hand. My knuckles smarted. “First of all, are we so sure he really is a prince? And second, you’re just jealous.”

“Of course I’m jealous. I thought I was going to get to punch him. That isn’t the point.”

Chaos had erupted after my outburst, and only some fast talking by Sturmhond and some very aggressive crowd control by Tolya had kept me from being taken away in chains or worse.

Sturmhond had escorted us through Kribirsk to the military encampment. When he left us at the tent, he’d said quietly, “All I ask is that you stay long enough to let me explain. If you don’t like what you hear, you’re free to go.”

“Just like that?” I scoffed.

“Trust me.”

“Every time you say ‘trust me,’ I trust you a little less,” I hissed.

But Mal and I did stay, unsure of what our next move might be. Sturmhond hadn’t bound us or put us under heavy guard. He’d provided us with clean, dry clothes. If we wanted to, we could try to slip past Tolya and Tamar and escape back across the Fold. It wasn’t as if anyone could follow us. We could emerge anywhere we liked along its western shore. But where would we go after that? Sturmhond had changed; our situation hadn’t. We had no money, no allies, and we were still being hunted by the Darkling. And I wasn’t eager to return to the Fold, not after what had happened aboard the Hummingbird .

I pushed down a bleak bubble of laughter. If I was actually thinking of taking refuge on the Unsea, things were very bad indeed.

A servant entered with a large tray. He set down a pitcher of water, a bottle of kvas and glasses, and several small plates of zakuski. Each of the dishes was bordered in gold and emblazoned with a double eagle.

I considered the food: smoked sprats on black bread, marinated beets, stuffed eggs. We hadn’t had a meal since the previous night, aboard the Volkvolny, and using my power had left me famished, but I was too nervous to eat.

“What happened back there?” Mal asked as soon as the servant departed.

I shook out my knuckles again. “I lost my temper.”

“That’s not what I meant. What happened on the Fold?”

I studied a little pot of herbed butter, turning the dish in my hands. I saw him.

“I was just tired,” I said lightly.

“You used a lot more of your power when we escaped from the nichevo’ya , and you never faltered. Is it the fetter?”

“The fetter makes me stronger,” I said, tugging the edge of my sleeve over the sea whip’s scales. Besides, I’d been wearing it for weeks. There was nothing wrong with my power, but there might be something wrong with me. I traced an invisible pattern on the tabletop. “When we were fighting the volcra, did they sound different to you?” I asked.

“Different how?”

“More… human?”

Mal frowned. “No, they sounded pretty much like they always do. Like monsters who want to eat us.” He laid his hand over mine. “What happened, Alina?”

I saw him. “I told you: I was tired. I lost focus.”

He drew back. “If you want to lie to me, go ahead. But I’m not going to pretend to believe you.”

“Why not?” asked Sturmhond, stepping into the tent. “It’s only common courtesy.”

Instantly, we were on our feet, ready to fight.

Sturmhond stopped short and lifted his hands in a gesture of peace. He’d changed into a dry uniform. A bruise was beginning to form on his cheek. Cautiously, he removed his sword and hung it on a post by the tent flap.

“I’m just here to talk,” he said.

“So talk,” Mal retorted. “Who are you, and what are you playing at?”

“Nikolai Lantsov, but please don’t make me recite my titles again. It’s no fun for anybody, and the only important one is ‘prince.’”

“And what about Sturmhond?” I asked.

“I’m also Sturmhond, commander of the Volkvolny , scourge of the True Sea.”

“Scourge?”

“Well, I’m vexing at the very least.”

I shook my head. “Impossible.”

“Improbable.”

“This is not the time to try to be entertaining.”

“Please,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “Sit. I don’t know about you, but I find everything much more understandable when seated. Something about circulation, I suspect. Reclining is, of course, preferable, but I don’t think we’re on those kinds of terms yet.”

I didn’t budge. Mal crossed his arms.

“All right, well, I’m going to sit. I find playing the returning hero a most wearying task, and I’m positively worn out.” He crossed to the table, poured himself a glass of kvas , and settled into a chair with a contented sigh. He took a sip and grimaced. “Awful stuff,” he said. “Never could stomach it.”

“Then order some brandy, your highness ,” I said irritably. “I’m sure they’ll bring you all you want.”

His face brightened. “True enough. I suppose I could bathe in a tub of it. I may just.”

Mal threw up his hands in exasperation and walked to the flap of the tent to look out at the camp.

“You can’t honestly expect us to believe any of this,” I said.

Sturmhond wiggled his fingers to better display his ring. “I do have the royal seal.”

I snorted. “You probably stole it from the real Prince Nikolai.”