“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It never came up!”
“Just jump,” said Genya. “And don’t you dare flail. Sink as fast as you can and we’ll do the rest.”
Isaak couldn’t believe she was serious, but one look at her expression made it clear this was no joke. Well, he thought as he leapt onto the railing and launched himself into the water with what he hoped was a modicum of grace, at least if I drown, I won’t have to sit through dinner.
The water was bitterly cold, and as he sank, everything in Isaak’s body demanded that he move, fight, do something to get back to warmth and air. Do not flail. He remained still, the ache building in his lungs as panic began to set in. He looked up, up, to the dim glow of light at the surface. It seemed impossibly far away, the lake dark and silent around him, an endless, starless sky. A rotten place to die. Is this it? he wondered. Am I really going to drown to preserve the king’s reputation as a hero?
Then Nadia had hold of his arm. She was surrounded by a bubble of air that she had created and that two Tidemakers beside her were propelling forward. She yanked him into the circle of air and he took a long, gasping breath.
“Come on,” she said. He felt the current around him moving, dragging them along like a fast-running river.
A bundle of yellow silk billowed in the water ahead of them. The girl—Birgitta Schenck—wasn’t moving. Her eyes were closed and her hair was splayed around her face like a corona. Oh Saints, was she dead?
“Grab her,” said Nadia, and as soon as his hand closed over her wrist, they were shooting through the water again.
They emerged on the opposite side of the tiny island at the lake’s center, away from the pleasure crafts. Tolya and Tamar were waiting. They pulled Birgitta onto the steps of one of the practice pavilions and began the work of trying to revive her.
“Please tell me she’s alive,” said Isaak.
“There’s a pulse,” replied Tolya. “But there’s water in her lungs.”
A moment later, Birgitta coughed, lake water spewing from her lips.
“Scatter,” commanded Tolya.
“Be charming,” Tamar said as she disappeared with the others into the mist. “You’re a hero.”
Isaak bent over the girl, trying to remember that it would be the king’s face she would see. “Miss Schenck?” he said. “Birgitta? Are you quite well?”
Her long lashes fluttered. She looked up at him with dazed green eyes and burst out crying.
Well. Perhaps being handsome wasn’t a cure for everything.
“You almost drowned,” he said. “You’ve cause to be emotional. Come, we must get you warm.”
Isaak felt frozen and exhausted too, but he forced himself to do what he thought would look best. He slipped his arm beneath the girl’s legs and lifted her into his arms. All Saints, she was heavy. Was so much silk really necessary?
She leaned her head against his chest, and Isaak strode across the island, his teeth chattering, his boots squelching wetly, until they emerged from the trees onto the island’s opposite bank.
Everyone was peering at the water as would-be rescuers paddled around the Kerch boat and Grisha Tidemakers pulled back the lake in sheaves of water that hovered above the surface.
Someone caught sight of Isaak and Birgitta and shouted, “There they are!”
“She’s right as rain!” Isaak called. “But twice as damp. We could both use some dry clothes and some hot tea.”
The crowd burst into applause. Isaak set down Birgitta before his arms gave out, depositing her on the sand like a pile of wet laundry. He bowed and managed to stop his teeth chattering long enough to kiss her hand.
He’d graduated from minor breaches of etiquette to nearly getting himself and someone else drowned. Perhaps tomorrow he’d manage to burn down the palace.
* * *
Birgitta Schenck and Isaak were hustled onto the royal barge, wrapped in blankets, and dosed with hot brandy as servants chafed their hands. But it wasn’t until he was back in Nikolai’s quarters and submerged in a steaming bath in the king’s vast tub that Isaak finally started to feel warm again.
Genya and the others had remained in intense conversation in the sitting room while Isaak had been left to soak in peace. He was going to miss this tub when the king returned. The rest he could do without.
He stayed in the bath until the water turned cold and he’d started to prune. He didn’t particularly want to face the people waiting next door, but he forced himself out of the tub and dried himself off with one of the long linen bath sheets.
Nikolai employed no valet, which had been a relief to Isaak; he hadn’t had anyone help him dress since he was a child. He put on the king’s soft breeches and boots, the shirt and suspenders, the fitted coat embroidered with the Lantsov eagle. He could admit the clothes weren’t a bad part of the deal either. They had been constructed meticulously and were as comfortable as they were elegant. As Isaak adjusted his coat, his fingers touched on something in the right pocket. He was always finding things tucked away in the pockets of the king’s clothes—a note the king had scrawled to himself or a sketch of what might be a new invention, a small silver bead. This time he pulled a tiny knot of wire from his coat. It had been fashioned into the shape of a sailing ship. He set it on the king’s vanity.
“We think this may actually be a good thing,” said Tamar as Isaak entered the sitting room.
He joined them by the fire, glad for the warmth. “So I should try to drown more often?”
“It wasn’t ideal,” Genya said, pouring him a cup of tea. “You missed your chance to chat with Princess Ehri. But we made the best of it, and the king looked like a hero.”
“The carry was a nice touch,” said Tamar.
“Very heroic,” said Tolya, “like a prince out of the epic poems. And so Ivan the Gilded Hair bore her across the—”
“Keep reciting poetry and I will personally drown you in the lake,” said Tamar.
Tolya scowled and muttered “It’s a classic” into his tea.
Isaak didn’t agree, but he doubted this was the time to debate poetry.
Genya nudged David, and he looked up from the treatise he was reading. “We traced the trigger device used to rig the king’s door with arsine gas. It’s most likely Fjerdan.”
“Will they be arrested?” asked Isaak.
Tamar looked almost bemused. “Of course not. It’s not something we can actually prove, and, in a way, this is good news.”
“Of course,” said Isaak. He scratched his ear. “Exactly how is it good news?”
“We already suspected the Fjerdans didn’t come to play. If it had been the Kerch or the Shu, we would have had real cause to worry. This means the Shu are still open to an alliance. We were curious to see who might attempt the king’s life.”
“Without risking the king?” Isaak asked, surprised at the bitter edge in his voice.
Tolya rested a giant hand on his shoulder. “We would never let harm come to you, Isaak.”
“I know,” said Isaak. But did he? And could he really complain? It was a soldier’s lot to be expendable. A guard’s job to put himself between his ruler and harm. Wasn’t that exactly what he was doing now?
Tamar leaned back in her chair and crossed her long legs. “I’ve searched the chambers of the Shu guards.”
“They’re our guests,” protested Tolya.
“They’re our enemies,” said Tamar.
“And potential allies,” said Genya. “It wouldn’t do to make them mad.”
“We were cautious. But there was little to learn. The few journals I found were kept in code, and I doubt any member of the Tavgharad would be foolish enough to put damning details to paper.”
“And the Kerch made an attempt on our labs,” said Tolya.
David looked up from his reading, startled. “Did they get in?”
“We let them make it all the way to the Fabrikator workshops.”
“Oh,” said David, losing interest.
“We’re not concerned about that?” asked Isaak.
“The real work happens elsewhere,” said Tamar. “We even planted some fake blueprints for them to find. All of it should help set the stage for our performance at the Gilded Bog.”
“We’re going to the Gilded Bog?” asked Isaak, unable to hide his excitement.
“Unfortunately,” said Tolya.
Genya tucked her slippered feet beneath her. “We’ll be using Count Kirigin’s lake to show the Kerch our prototype of the izmars’ya.” A look passed between the others that Isaak didn’t understand, but that was nothing new. He assumed someone would tell him what exactly an izmars’ya was so he could nod sagely about the subject when the time came.
“You will be working,” added Tamar. “Not sampling Kirigin’s entertainments.”
“Of course,” said Isaak. But he could at least get a glimpse of what all the fuss was about.
Genya pushed a sheaf of papers over to him. “Here are notes for the dinner tonight. You won’t be expected to make a speech, but this will be a more formal affair, so you’ll need to do your best to seem at ease. Tomorrow is the hunt.”
“I can hunt at least,” said Isaak with relief.
“Not like a gentleman hunts. But Nikolai was never much for the sport anyway. He has a fondness for foxes. The hunt is just an excuse to ride and get to know the hopefuls. Remember to spread your conversation evenly amongst them. We’ll go over the particulars tonight after dinner.”
They filed out and Isaak let his head flop back, staring at the gilded ceiling. He felt both tired and restless. He glanced at the notes on place settings and how to eat oysters and tossed them aside. He needed to clear his head.
As soon as he opened the door, Tolya was there. “Is something wrong?”
“I just want to take a walk.”
Tolya fell back a few steps as Isaak made his way down the hall, but it was still unsettling to know he was being watched. There were rumors Nikolai had run away from university to pursue a life of adventure on the high seas as the privateer Sturmhond. A ridiculous story, but Isaak could understand the impulse. Who wouldn’t choose that kind of freedom over this constant performance? He passed through the portrait gallery, ignoring the paintings of countless Lantsov kings and queens, and entered the conservatory.
It was Isaak’s favorite place in the Grand Palace. The high-ceilinged room ran half the length of the southern wing. Sunlight streamed through walls made entirely of glass panels, and steam pipes heated the red tile floor. The conservatory’s winding paths were lined with potted fruit trees and tall palms, flowering shrubs that overflowed the walkways, and hedges trimmed into tiered arches and lattices. An artificial stream flowed through the room’s center, narrowing and widening to form lily ponds and reflecting pools.
A girl was seated by one of the ponds—no, not a girl, a princess. Ehri Kir-Taban. Daughter of Heaven. The Shu usually carried the names of one or both of their parents, but the royal family all took the name of the first Shu queen and founder of the Taban dynasty. There were Ravkan guards and Shu Tavgharad stationed at the room’s perimeter. He should have noticed them sooner, but he’d been too preoccupied. Distraction was something neither a guard nor a king could afford.
So this was his chance. He could make up for his missed meeting with the princess and try to gather the information Genya and the others required. Be charming. Right. Charming.
But before he could decide on a good opening line, the princess lifted her head.
She rose hurriedly and curtsied. “Your Highness.”
“I didn’t mean to intrude on your peace,” he said in Shu.
“I am a guest here. There can be no intrusion.” She glanced at the guards. “Would you … would you care to sit and talk awhile?”
There. I didn’t even have to ask. And yet he still wanted to turn and scurry right back through the door. But to say no now would be seen as a snub. Besides, Tolya might well block the door and refuse to let him through.
Isaak took a seat beside her on the wide rock next to the pond. The air smelled of sweet orange blossom, and the low splash of fish at play in the water was soothing. It might have been a pleasant place to rest if not for the guards glowering in the doorways. Isaak vowed that when he had his face back and returned to duty, he’d try to look a little friendlier.
“Thank you for joining me,” Ehri said.
“It’s my pleasure.”
“Hardly that,” she murmured with a small smile. “No doubt you came here to be alone—as alone as we ever can be—just as I did.”
“But if you wish to be alone, why invite me to join you?”
“I must be seen to be making an effort or the guards will report back to my sister, and then I will never hear the end of it.”
“Your sister?”
“Makhi Kir-Taban, Born of Heaven, our most celestial princess who will inherit the crown and rule wisely and justly for many years.”
“And what will you do?” asked Isaak. A woman wants to be listened to.
“Marry you, of course.”
“Of course,” Isaak said, willing himself not to squirm. “But if you were not to marry me?”
At this, she looked almost panicked, as if the question was not one that had been scripted for her, and she wasn’t at all sure how honest she should be. Isaak could sympathize. “Please,” he said gently, both to put her at ease and because he found he was genuinely curious. “I’d like to know.”
She brushed her thumb over the silk of her gown. “I suppose that, if I hadn’t been born Taban, I would like to be a soldier … maybe even a member of the Tavgharad.”
“Truly?” He couldn’t help but laugh. It was too absurd to contemplate a guard pretending to be a prince talking to a princess who wanted to be a royal guard.
She frowned slightly. “It isn’t kind to laugh.”
Instantly Isaak sobered. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I was just surprised. Serving in the royal guard is a very noble calling. And it would allow some measure of freedom, though even guards have duties.”
“Yes, but they’re not forced to pose and preen just to be sold off like chattel.” She paled, realizing what she’d said. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean … It would be my greatest honor—”
“Don’t apologize. Please. I asked for your honesty. I don’t expect every woman I meet to be eager to wed me.”
A crease appeared between her brows. “You don’t?”
Damn it. Another misstep. Isaak winked. “Not at first.” That was a far more Nikolai answer—though the princess looked slightly disappointed.
“You can make it up to me,” said Ehri. “I have been honest with you; now perhaps you will share a secret with me. It’s only fair.”
I’m not the king of Ravka, just a lowly grunt trying not to perspire in his fancy clothes. No, that was definitely not the right reply. Isaak supposed he should say something flirtatious, but he wasn’t sure which secrets belonged to him and which belonged to the king.
“Very well. My secret is that I did wish to be alone, but that I’m still enjoying your company. It’s been a hard morning.”
“Has it?”
“A girl almost drowned.”
Ehri released an unprincess-like snort. “It’s her own fault for throwing herself in the lake.”
“Pardon?”
“I would wager my best axe there was nothing accidental about her plunge into the water.”
“Your best axe?”
Ehri tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “I am an avid collector.”
A princess who wanted to be a palace guard and who liked weapons. She was at least interesting.
“How can you be so sure the Schenck girl jumped?” he asked.
“Because my own advisers suggested I do the same thing last night.”
Isaak stared. “You’re saying she risked her own life just to—”
“Gain the notice of a king and give him the chance to play hero?” Ehri sniffed,
and smoothed the silk of her gown. “A reasonable gambit, but not one I was prepared to make.”
He studied her. “Not when you could simply wait for a pensive king to amble by and find you looking like a painting in green silk with flowers in your hair?” Her golden eyes shifted away guiltily. “How long were you waiting, hoping I might stroll by?”
She bit her lip. “Two hours and twelve minutes. Give or take.”
He was both annoyed and pleased that she’d actually been frank. “That stone ledge can’t be very comfortable.”
“I regret to say, I can no longer feel my buttocks.”
At that Isaak burst out laughing, then caught himself. That was not Nikolai’s laugh. He saw one of the palace guards cock his head to the side. Trukhin. Isaak had worked countless shifts with him around the palace. He had every reason to recognize Isaak’s laugh.
All Saints, Isaak was tired of this charade already. But the princess had provided him an opening.
“If you can’t manage a short stint sitting on a rock, I don’t see how you could hope to fill the role of guard standing at attention for hours.”
“Then thank goodness I was born royal.”
“I confess I know little of the Tavgharad,” said Isaak, hoping his voice sounded natural. “Are they drawn from noble families?”
“They aren’t drawn from anywhere,” Ehri said, a surprising bite to her voice. “They come from every town and every village where they test and train and hope to be chosen. There is no greater honor.”
“Than defending you?” He couldn’t keep the smile from his voice.
Ehri bit her lip. “The Taban line. I’m one of the lesser jewels in the crown.”
Isaak found that hard to believe. She was awfully pretty. He couldn’t imagine what her sisters looked like if she was the plain one.
He pressed on. “It must be a hard life, even if it is rewarding. Do they leave their families behind as the Grisha do?”
She stiffened slightly. “They’re happy to do so.” She trailed a hand over the water. “I think it’s hardest for the twins.”
“Twins?”
“They’re very common among our people.” She bobbed her head toward Tolya. “Like the Keb-Bataar.”
King of Scars Page 33
