Grisha 02 - Siege and Storm

by Leigh Bardugo

  “Who are you?” Mal asked furiously.

  “That’s a complicated question.”

  “Actually, it’s pretty straightforward,” I said, springing to my feet. “But it does require telling the truth. Something you seem thoroughly incapable of.”

  “Oh, I can do it,” Sturmhond said, shaking water from one of his boots. “I’m just not very good at it.”

  “Sturmhond,” Mal snarled, advancing on him. “You have exactly ten seconds to explain yourself, or Tolya’s going to have to make you a whole new face.”

  Then Tamar leapt to her feet. “Someone’s coming.”

  We all quieted, listening. The sounds came from beyond the wood surrounding the lake: hoofbeats—lots of them, the snap and rustle of broken branches as men moved toward us through the trees.

  Sturmhond groaned. “I knew we’d been sighted. We spent too long on the Fold.” He heaved a ragged sigh. “A wrecked ship and a crew that looks like a bunch of drowned possums. This is not what I had in mind.”

  I wanted to know exactly what he did have in mind, but there was no time to ask.

  The trees parted, and a group of mounted men charged onto the beach. Ten … twenty … thirty soldiers of the First Army. King’s men, heavily armed. Where had they all come from?

  After the slaughter of the volcra and the crash, I didn’t think I had any fear left, but I was wrong. Panic shot through me as I remembered what Mal had said about deserting his post. Were we about to be arrested as traitors? My fingers twitched. I wasn’t going to be taken prisoner again.

  “Easy, Summoner,” the privateer whispered. “Let me handle this.”

  “Since you’ve handled everything else so well, Sturmhond?”

  “It might be wise if you didn’t call me that for a while.”

  “And why is that?” I bit out.

  “Because it’s not my name.”

  The soldiers cantered to a halt in front of us, the morning light glittering off their rifles and sabers. A young captain drew his blade. “In the name of the King of Ravka, throw down your arms.”

  Sturmhond stepped forward, placing himself between the enemy and his wounded crew. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Our weapons are at the bottom of the lake. We are unarmed.”

  Knowing what I did of both Sturmhond and the twins, I seriously doubted that.

  “State your name and business here,” commanded the young captain.

  Slowly, Sturmhond peeled his sodden greatcoat from his shoulders and handed it to Tolya.

  An uneasy stir went through the line of soldiers. Sturmhond wore Ravkan military dress. He was soaked through to the skin, but there was no mistaking the olive drab and brass buttons of the Ravkan First Army—or the golden double eagle that indicated an officer’s rank. What game was the privateer playing?

  An older man broke through the lines, wheeling his horse around to confront Sturmhond. With a start, I recognized Colonel Raevsky, the commander of the military encampment at Kribirsk. Had we crashed so close to town? Was that how the soldiers had gotten here so quickly?

  “Explain yourself, boy!” the colonel commanded. “State your name and business before I have you stripped of that uniform and strung up from a high tree.”

  Sturmhond seemed unconcerned. When he spoke, his voice had a quality I’d never heard in it before. “I am Nikolai Lantsov, Major of the Twenty-Second Regiment, Soldier of the King’s Army, Grand Duke of Udova, and second son to His Most Royal Majesty, King Alexander the Third, Ruler of the Double Eagle Throne, may his life and reign be long.”

  My jaw dropped. Shock passed like a wave through the row of soldiers. A nervous titter rose from somewhere in the ranks. I didn’t know what joke this madman thought he was making, but Raevsky did not look amused. He leapt from his horse, tossing the reins to a soldier.

  “You listen to me, you disrespectful whelp,” he said, his hand already on the hilt of his sword, his weathered features set in lines of fury as he strode directly up to Sturmhond. “Nikolai Lantsov served under me on the northern border and…”

  His voice faded away. He was nose to nose with the privateer now, but Sturmhond did not blink. The colonel opened his mouth, then closed it. He took a step back and scanned Sturmhond’s face. I watched his expression change from scorn to disbelief to what could only be recognition.

  Abruptly, he dropped to one knee and bent his head.

  “Forgive me, moi tsarevich,” he said, gaze trained on the ground before him. “Welcome home.”

  The soldiers exchanged confused glances.

  Sturmhond turned a cold and expectant eye on them. He radiated command. A pulse seemed to pass through the ranks. Then, one by one, they slipped from their horses and dropped to their knees, heads bent.

  Oh, Saints.

  “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.

  CHAPTER

  9

  “YOU’RE LUCKY YOU didn’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.

&nb
sp; 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.”

  “I served with Raevsky. He knows me.”

  “Maybe you stole the prince’s face, too.”

  He sighed. “You have to understand, the only place I could safely reveal my identity was here in Ravka. Only the most trusted members of my crew knew who I really was—Tolya, Tamar, Privyet, a few of the Etherealki. The rest … well, they’re good men, but they’re also mercenaries and pirates.”

  “So you deceived your own crew?” I asked.

  “On the seas, Nikolai Lantsov is more valuable as a hostage than as a captain. Hard to command a ship when you’re constantly worrying about being bashed on the head late at night and then ransomed to your royal papa.”

  I shook my head. “None of this makes any sense. Prince Nikolai is supposed to be off somewhere studying boats or—”

  “I did apprentice with a Fjerdan shipbuilder. And a Zemeni gunsmith. And a civil engineer from the Han Province of Bolh. Tried my hand at poetry for a while. The results were … unfortunate. These days, being Sturmhond requires most of my attention.”

  Mal leaned against the tent post, arms crossed. “So one day you decided to cast off your life of luxury and try your hand at playing pirate?”

  “Privateer,” he said. “And I wasn’t playing at anything. I knew I could do more for Ravka as Sturmhond than lazing about at court.”

  “And just where do the King and Queen think you are?” I asked.

  “The university at Ketterdam,” he replied. “Lovely place. Very lofty. There’s an extremely well-compensated shipping clerk sitting through my philosophy classes as we speak. Gets passable grades, answers to Nikolai, drinks copiously and often so no one gets suspicious.”

  Was there no end to this? “Why?”

  “I tried, I really did. But I’ve never been good at sitting still. Drove my nanny to distraction. Well, nannies. There was quite an army of them, as I recall.”

  I should have hit him harder. “I mean, why go through this whole charade?”

  “I’m second in line for the Ravkan throne. I nearly had to run away to do my military service. I don’t think my parents would approve of my picking off Zemeni pirates and breaking Fjerdan blockades. They’re rather fond of Sturmhond, though.”

  “Fine,” said Mal from the doorway. “You’re a prince. You’re a privateer. You’re a prat. What do you want with us?”

  Sturmhond took another tentative sip of kvas and shuddered. “Your help,” he said. “The game has changed. The Fold is expanding. The First Army is close to outright revolt. The Darkling’s coup may have failed, but it shattered the Second Army, and Ravka is on the brink of collapse.”

  I felt a sinking sensation. “And let me guess: You’re just the one to put things right?”

  Sturmhond leaned forward. “Did you meet my brother, Vasily, when you were at court? He cares more about horses and his next drink of whiskey than his people. My father never had more than a passing interest in governing Ravka, and reports are he’s lost even that. This country is coming apart. Someone needs to put it back together before it’s too late.”

  “Vasily is the heir,” I observed.

  “I think he can be convinced to step aside.”

  “That’s why you dragged us back here?” I said in disgust. “Because you want to be King?”

  “I dragged you back here because the Apparat has practically turned you into a living Saint, and the people love you. I dragged you back here because your power is th
e key to Ravka’s survival.”

  I banged my hands down on the table. “You dragged me back here so you could make a grand entrance with the Sun Summoner and steal your brother’s throne!”

  Sturmhond leaned back. “I’m not going to apologize for being ambitious. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m the best man for the job.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “Come back to Os Alta with me.”

  “Why? So you can show me off like some kind of prize goat?”

  “I know you don’t trust me. You have no reason to. But I’ll abide by what I promised you aboard the Volkvolny. Listen to what I have to offer. If you’re still not interested, Sturmhond’s ships will take you anywhere in the world. I think you’ll stay. I think I can give you something no one else can.”

  “This ought to be good,” muttered Mal.

  “I can give you the chance to change Ravka,” said Sturmhond. “I can give you the chance to bring your people hope.”

  “Oh, is that all?” I said sourly. “And just how am I supposed to do that?”

  “By helping me unite the First and Second Armies. By becoming my Queen.”

  Before I could blink, Mal had shoved the table aside and closed in on Sturmhond, lifting him off his feet and slamming him into the tent post. Sturmhond winced but made no move to fight back.

  “Easy, now. Mustn’t get blood on the uniform. Let me explain—”

  “Try explaining with my fist in your mouth.”

  Sturmhond twisted, and in a flash, he’d slipped from Mal’s grip. A knife was in his hand, pulled from somewhere up his sleeve.

  “Step back, Oretsev. I’m keeping my temper for her sake, but I’d just as soon gut you like a carp.”

  “Try it,” Mal snarled.

  “Enough!” I threw out a bright shard of light that blinded them both. They put up their hands against the glare, momentarily distracted. “Sturmhond, sheathe that weapon, or you’ll be the one who gets gutted. Mal, stand down.”

  I waited until Sturmhond tucked away his knife, then slowly let the light fade.

  Mal dropped his hands, his fists still clenched. They eyed each other warily. Just a few hours ago, they’d been friends. Of course, Sturmhond had been a completely different person then.