Rule of Wolves (King of Scars #2) - Leigh Bardugo Page 0,182
Nina as they set down near one of the piers. “Tell the king we can’t rely on Prince Rasmus. Hanne still has hope for him, but he’s not who we thought he was. Not at all.”
One less ally. The prince had let his country’s hatred choose his road.
I’ll create a distraction so you can rejoin the soldiers on base without notice.
Nina grinned. “That shouldn’t be much of a challenge.”
Zoya bumped Nina with her snout. It was a gesture more intimate than she ever would have been tempted to make in her human body. Stay as safe as you can.
Nina set a hand on Zoya’s scales. She rested her cheek briefly against Zoya’s head. “Thank you,” she whispered, and then she was vanishing up a ramp and into the bustle of the base.
Zoya wondered if she would ever see Nina Zenik again.
She set out over the waves, then whirled back around, exploding through the mist as she arced over the naval base. She heard screams from below, felt the Fjerdans’ terror like an icy wave, and reveled in it. Fear was a language universally understood. She drew in a breath and released a crackling burst of lightning, then banked to the left and headed back to the mainland, her wings spread wide, feeling the salt spray against her belly, as she coasted low over the water. She could still sense Nina’s powerful heart, the steady beat of her courage.
When you are tied to all things, there is no limit to what you may know.
And apparently to what she would have to feel. All this emotion was exhausting. She was Zoya and she was the knight known as Juris and she was the dragon he had once slain.
She circled the battlefield, noted the Fjerdans in retreat. It was hard to see so many bodies on the ground, feel the grief emanating from soldiers as they tended to their wounded and mourned their dead. But she could find no sign of the Starless Saint or his followers. The Darkling had been the first to kneel, though she had no illusions that he’d suddenly come around to their side. He wasn’t done, and yet she couldn’t guess his intent. His presence on the battlefield had been like a gap in all that life and fear, a deep well of eternity.
Zoya turned toward the village of Pachesyana, where the Ravkan forces had set up their headquarters. The soldiers’ camp came into view and then the royal command tent. She knew she needed to focus to manage a landing in this small space, but she was more tired than she’d realized. She’d done too much, too fast. She could feel her control over the dragon’s shape slipping, and then she wasn’t flying, she was falling.
A gust of air caught her, buffering her descent. When she struck the earth, the impact was gentle, but it still came as a surprise, knocking the breath out of her. Some part of her wanted to just give in to her fatigue and slide into unconsciousness.
She felt arms encircle her and lift her head.
“Zoya?” Nikolai’s voice. The voice of a king. The voice of a brilliant, creative boy, left alone with his books and inventions, forever roaming an empty palace. His hurt and worry washed over her. “Please,” he whispered. “Please.”
The dragon’s mind receded, leaving her mind blessedly empty of any thoughts but her own. Zoya forced herself to open her eyes. Nikolai’s lip was bloodied. There was soot in his hair. But he was alive and for this brief moment, he was holding her. She wanted to curl into him and let herself cry. She wanted to lie beside him and just feel safe for an hour. She had so much to say to him and she didn’t want to wait.
Zoya made herself sit up. “The Fjerdans?”
“Careful,” he said, still helping to support her. “Nadia broke your fall, thank the Saints, but you hit the ground hard.”
“The Fjerdans,” she repeated. “They retreated?”
“We’ve called a truce.”
Zoya saw Tolya with his big brow furrowed, Tamar biting her lip, Nadia with her goggles around her neck, Leoni holding tight to Adrik’s arm, Genya with a hand pressed to her mouth. Relief flooded through her and she wanted to pull them all close. Instead she said, “We’ll get no help from Fjerda’s crown prince. Nina seems to have overestimated her influence.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Tamar mused. “An entire battlefield just declared you a Saint.”
“Actually, the Darkling declared you a Saint,” Nikolai corrected.