Rule of Wolves

by Leigh Bardugo

  Zoya’s brows shot up. “Alone?”

  “A stranger in rags who dares command a king,” said Nikolai. “I’m intrigued.”

  “He could be an assassin,” Zoya said.

  “A terrible one.”

  “Or a very good one, since you seem willing to meet him.”

  “Lend me your guards, Kirigin. Let’s see what this stranger has to say.”

  The walk to the gates was a long one, but Nikolai didn’t mind it. He needed time to think. Trying to pinpoint where Fjerda would launch their attack was a deadly guessing game. Ravka couldn’t afford to spread its forces too thin, but if he chose the wrong place to make a stand, Fjerda would blast through the northern border unopposed. So would the enemy choose Arkesk or the permafrost or somewhere else entirely?

  Count Kirigin’s description of the stranger had been apt. He was tall—and that was about all Nikolai could say regarding his appearance. He was bundled in a heavy wool coat, a hat slung low over his ears, so that little more than his bright blue eyes were visible, and he was covered in soot.

  “Damn it,” said Nikolai, suddenly realizing what this had to be. “He must have been in Os Alta and lost family or friends in the bombing.” He’d come here looking for someone to hold accountable, and Nikolai couldn’t blame him for choosing the king. Well. This wouldn’t be the worst thing he’d face in the coming days.

  Nikolai greeted the stranger. “I’m told I have been ordered to make an appearance.”

  “Not ordered. Invited.” He spoke Ravkan with a faint accent.

  “The hour is late. What can I do for you?”

  The stranger reached into his pocket. Instantly, Zoya and Kirigin’s guards lunged in front of Nikolai, hands and rifles raised.

  “Best to move slowly in such situations,” said Nikolai.

  The stranger held up his palms, showing he had no weapon, just a small package wrapped in brown paper.

  “For the king,” he said, holding it out. “And only for the king.”

  Cautiously, Zoya reached for the package.

  “Give it over,” said Nikolai. “If he’s going to kill me with the world’s tiniest bomb, I’ll at least have an interesting death.”

  He pulled the paper away. It was a miniature of Tatiana Lantsov, Ravka’s former queen. His mother. Nikolai’s gaze snapped to the stranger before him. He’d only ever seen his true father in a portrait, a miniature just like this one that had belonged to his mother. Magnus Opjer had looked the spitting image of Nikolai. Except for his bright blue eyes.

  “Leave us,” he said to Zoya and the guards.

  “It isn’t safe—” Zoya began, but she stopped when she saw the expression on his face. “All right,” she said. “But we’ll be just up the path. I’m not letting either of you out of my sight.”

  He listened to their footsteps fade but kept his eyes on the man before him.

  Opjer unwound his scarf and Nikolai drew in a breath.

  “Tatiana told me you took after me,” Opjer said. “But I cannot quite believe the likeness.”

  “It’s all true then.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Had a part of Nikolai believed it was some great joke? That his mother had been mistaken? That Fjerda’s rumormongering would prove to be nothing more than gossip? But here was the proof; all the whispers were true. He was the pretender. He had no Lantsov blood. Not a drop of it. In fact, he was more Fjerdan than Ravkan.

  Nikolai took in Opjer’s ragged clothes. Why had he fled Fjerda? Why would he come all this way to see a son he’d never met before? Maybe he did have assassination in mind.

  “Why come to me now, looking like a beggar, bearing a miniature of my mother? Mere sentiment?”

  “I tried to get here sooner. To warn you of the bombing.”

  So, Nikolai was right about that much. Opjer had been in Os Alta during the attack. “You knew what they intended?”

  “I overheard their plans where I was being held captive. I got here in time to sound the alarm, but it was all for nothing.”

  “You were the one who got them to ring the bells in the lower town.” Nikolai had wondered how they’d somehow spotted the Fjerdan flyers before his palace lookouts.

  “Yes. But still the bombs fell.”

  Then this man had a conscience. Or he knew how to pretend to have one.

  “How did you find this place? How did you know I would be here?”

  “I didn’t. But I knew I had no hope of getting in to see you at the palace, and when I heard the tales of Lazlayon…” He lifted his shoulders. “I knew you were a frequent guest of the count’s. I hoped there was more to it than it seemed.”

  “And did you share this knowledge with anyone?”

  “No.”

  Nikolai didn’t know what to believe. It seemed impossible that this person who had loomed in his imagination so long should be standing right before him. He had never wanted to be an ordinary man more. An ordinary man might greet this stranger properly, invite him in for a glass of whiskey or a cup of tea, take the time to understand him. But not a king.

  “You haven’t answered my question,” said Nikolai. “Why come here tonight? Why seek me out after all these years? Is it blackmail you have in mind? Or have you come to kill Ravka’s king?”

  Opjer’s back straightened. “Do you think so little of me?”

  “I know so little of you. You’re a stranger to me.”

  “I wanted to know you,” Opjer said. “I kept my distance for your mother’s sake. I never wanted to risk harming either of you. I came here … I’m here because I’m selfish, because I wanted to see my son once before I disappear.”

  “Disappear?”

  “It is the best gift I can give you. The only gift, really. I’m going to erase myself. As long as I live, I am a threat to you.”

  “All Saints, you can’t mean you’re going to fall on your sword for the sake of my throne.”

  Opjer laughed, and Nikolai felt a chill race up his spine. That was his laugh.

  “I’m not nearly so self-sacrificing. No, I will go to Novyi Zem. I have money. I have time. I’ll live a new life there. Maybe I’ll have myself tailored and really start fresh.”

  “A shame,” said Nikolai. “We’re extremely handsome.”

  Opjer grinned. “Think of all the poor souls who will never look on this face.”

  “That’s … that’s really all you came here for? To meet me?”

  “Not all. Not entirely. You have a half sister.”

  “Linnea.”

  Opjer looked pleased. “You know of her? She’s studying engineering at the University of Ketterdam. Fjerdan law prohibits passing my holdings directly to her, but I’ve made arrangements. I only ask … if the war goes your way, I would ask that you look out for her, offer her your protection as I was never able to offer you mine.”

  “I might like having a little sister. Though I’m not much for sharing.” Even if Ravka lost the war, Nikolai would find a way to reach out to Linnea Opjer. He could do that much. Assuming he lived. “I give you my word.”

  “I hope you keep your crown,” said Opjer. “And if you ever wish to have a longer chat, if you’re ever free to travel, you can send word to me at the Golden Hour in Cofton.”

  “A tavern?”

  “A highly disreputable one. I intend to buy it, so the staff should know where to reach me. I suppose I’ll have to choose a new name too.”

  “I don’t recommend Lantsov.”

  “I’ll strike it from the list.”

  Nikolai wanted him to stay. He wanted to speak to him, to know what his mother had been like before a life of indolence and envy had hardened her heart. He wanted to talk about ships and how Opjer had built his empire and where he’d been on his travels. But every minute he spent in his father’s presence put them both at risk.

  “Forgive me for a certain mercenary bent, but is there anything more you can tell me of Fjerda’s plans?”

  Opjer smiled. He looked alm
ost proud. “I can tell you Jarl Brum hopes to marry his daughter to Prince Rasmus.”

  “Our intelligence suggests Rasmus might favor diplomacy over open war.”

  “He might. But once he’s a member of Brum’s household, I would count on nothing. If Brum can’t control the prince, he’ll find a way to destroy him. There is a quality among Fjerdans … we call it gerkenig. The need for action. We leap in when we shouldn’t because we can’t help ourselves. If Brum sees an opportunity, he’ll take it. I’ve been guilty of it many times myself.”

  “Recklessness.”

  “Not exactly. It’s a need to seize the moment.”

  “That sounds uncomfortably familiar.”

  “I thought it might.”

  In the distance, from the direction of the laboratories beneath the Gilded Bog, they heard a series of booms.

  “Fireworks,” said Nikolai.

  “Of course,” said Opjer, and Nikolai knew he didn’t believe a word of it. “I suppose this is where we say goodbye.”

  “I’m not sure we’ve even properly said hello. I am…” Nikolai struggled to find a word for what he felt. Sorry to see this stranger go? Longing for a father he’d never had? Grateful that Opjer was willing to give up the life he knew for the sake of preserving Nikolai’s false bloodline?

  The man Nikolai had believed to be his father for most of his life had been a source of embarrassment and shame. Nikolai had never understood him, never wanted to be like him. He’d read enough books and seen enough plays to understand what a father was meant to be—someone kind and steady who dispensed wisdom and taught you how to wield a sword and throw a punch. Actually, in most plays, the fathers got killed off and had to be avenged, but they certainly seemed wise and loving in the first act. Nikolai remembered what Zoya had said about her mother on the airship: Maybe I miss something I never had. Nikolai had never missed having a father because he’d never really had one. That was what he’d believed until this moment, standing at the gates, looking at Magnus Opjer.

  “Here,” said Nikolai. “Your miniature.” He held out the portrait of his mother.

  “Keep it. I don’t want to look backward. There’s too much regret there.” Opjer bowed. “Good luck, Your Highness.”

  Nikolai watched his father go. He had to wonder at the mad ambition that had brought him here, that had driven him to pursue the crown when he might have had a hundred other lives. He might have left the future of Ravka to his brother. He might have gotten to be someone’s son. He could have loved whom he wanted to, married whom he wished to—assuming the vexing creature said yes. But all those lives were gone, vanished at each crossroads, with each choice he’d made. He’d given them up for Ravka. Would it be worth it in the end?

  He didn’t know. But he wasn’t going to stand by a gate and brood over it.

  “Zoya,” he called, as he jogged back to her and the guards. “Have you ever heard of something called gerkenig?”

  “I believe it’s a stew,” said Count Kirigin. “Made with halibut?”

  “It’s not a stew,” said Nikolai. “At least, not that I know of. But it’s given me an idea.”

  Zoya tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear. “Is it a formula for quadrupling the amount of titanium we have?”

  “Afraid not. This is a formula for blood.”

  “Our blood or the Fjerdans’?”

  “Saving ours, spilling theirs.”

  It would mean sending Zoya away again. It would mean taking a tremendous gamble. Arkesk or the permafrost? If the Fjerdans couldn’t decide where to strike, maybe he could make the decision for them.

  Nikolai began the long walk back to the laboratory. Dawn was coming and he had a mission to prepare for. He would write a letter for Zoya too, ask her to take care of Linnea Opjer if he didn’t survive, tell her all the things he hadn’t said on that damned airship and that he wasn’t fool enough to turn around and say now. He didn’t pause and his steps didn’t falter.

  He would not look backward either.

  35

  NINA

  YLVA FOUND THEM IN NINA’S BED, gowns half on, a rumple of silk and mouths bruised from kissing.

  She stood frozen in the doorway and then said, “Your father is already on base and we’re expected at the airfield in an hour. Pack a small bag and wear warm clothing. And Hanne, for Djel’s sake, cover that mark on your neck.”

  As soon as the door shut, Nina and Hanne burst into nervous laughter, but it didn’t last.

  “They’re going to send me back to the convent,” Hanne said.

  Nina snorted. “To live in isolation with a big group of women? That’s the last place they’ll send you.”

  Hanne groaned and began to shuck off her gown as she strode to the dressing room and poured water into the basin. She was all lean muscle and tawny skin, and Nina wanted to drag her back to the warmth of their bed and stay there forever. But there was no forever. Not in Fjerda.

  “You’re right,” Hanne said as she splashed water on her face. “They’re going to marry me off.”

  “To a prince.”

  “You’re so sure he’ll ask?”

  “Yes.” And last night Hanne had been sure too. This morning they both wanted to believe there would be some kind of escape. But even if the prince didn’t propose to Hanne, someone else would. She’d been the darling of Heartwood.

  Nina yanked her gown over her head and exchanged it for a simpler wool dress. “Hanne … Let’s leave.”

  “What?” Hanne had pulled on a skirt and blouse and was tailoring away the love bite Nina seemed to have left on her neck.

  “Let’s leave. Just like you said, but with less galloping. We’ll go to Ravka. We’ll go to Novyi Zem.”

  She knew what Hanne was going to say, that she couldn’t disappoint her parents, that she had a duty to remain, that she could do more good for the Grisha and Fjerda as a princess and one day a queen.

  Hanne pulled a knitted Fjerdan vest over her blouse. “How does that look?”

  “Absolutely awful.”

  “I thought so.” Hanne sat down on the bed to wriggle into her boots. “Do you think the Hringsa could get us out?”

  Nina paused with her hands on the buttons of her dress, unsure she’d heard correctly. “I … Yes. I think so.”

  Hanne grinned at her, and it was like Nina had been punched in the chest by a ray of sunshine. She thought she might have to sit down. “Then let’s leave. Not right away. If we can still help Rasmus, we have to try. But then we go.”

  “We go,” Nina repeated, not quite believing it. They would need time to plan—and for Nina to figure out what to do about Joran.

  “We’ll have to be careful. My mother may try to separate us.”

  “I thought you were going to say no.”

  “Do you want to talk me out of it?”

  “No! Absolutely not.” Nina seized her hands and yanked her up from the bed. Saints, she was tall. “I just…” She didn’t know what to say. That she hadn’t felt real hope since she’d lost Matthias, that she’d thought she’d lost her chance at joy. Until now. Until Hanne. She stood up on her toes and planted a kiss on Hanne’s lips. “Never let me go.”

  “Never,” Hanne said. “Do you still think peace is possible?”

  “Only if Ravka can push Fjerda back decisively. If this turns into an invasion, Fjerda has no reason to sue for peace. But if Ravka makes a real showing, Fjerda will have to consider its options.”

  “I don’t think my father will retreat. Not this time. His reputation can’t afford it, and peace is not the vision he has for Fjerda’s future.”

  “Then let’s hope the prince is strong enough to choose another path.”

  “We’ll make sure he is. And then we’ll get free of this place.”

  Free. A mad word. A magical word. Nina wasn’t even sure what that might feel like anymore. But she wanted to find out.

  * * *

  The airship was not one of the luxury craft used by royals and
nobles, but a military vessel, painted gray and blue for better camouflage against the sea and sky. They were given quarters to share with another family and traveled through the day over the True Sea. At sunset, Ylva came to collect them for the landing. She’d barely been able to look either of them in the eye.

  “Where are we?” Hanne asked.

  Nina peered out of the window and was baffled by what she saw below. “Is that an island?”

  But as the airship descended, Nina realized that they were not landing on an island at all. It was a massive naval base. She could see huge warships docked alongside it, and flocks of heavily armed flyers parked on its runways, ready to leap into the air. Spires like giant prongs were arrayed in curving rows on either side of the base—viewing towers. They looked like teeth and gave the base the appearance of a gaping mouth. Uniformed soldiers and military personnel swarmed over the deck like insects, many of them congregating near a central structure of buildings that served as a command center. Its flat roof was painted with the Fjerdan flag—the Grimjer wolf rampant.

  Dread sat heavy on Nina’s shoulders, a living, muscled thing that whispered doom in her ear. She knew little about weapons of war, but she knew Ravka had nothing like this monstrosity. It was beyond imagination.

  The airship set down on one of the base’s landing strips, and she followed Hanne and Ylva along the gangway.

  Redvin was waiting at the bottom of the ramp in his drüskelle uniform. He grinned, and Nina knew she would be content to live a hundred years and never see that expression of eager anticipation on his grizzled face again. “Welcome to Leviathan’s Mouth.”

  “Where is Commander Brum?” Nina asked.

  “Where he needs to be,” said Redvin. “I’ll show you to your quarters.”

  “What is this place?” whispered Hanne. She sounded as scared as Nina felt. All their plans and schemes seemed futile in the face of power like this.

  Their quarters turned out to be a cramped box with bunk beds tucked against both walls.

  “Well, thankfully we have a private washroom and we’ll all be together,” said Ylva. Nina suspected she meant it. Hanne’s mother might never trust them on their own again.