Rule of Wolves (King of Scars #2) - Leigh Bardugo Page 0,187
he hoped he could count a few more friends among them. Nikolai was popular with the people, but the people weren’t gathered here. They had no voice in this chamber.
Not entirely true, he considered. Dense crowds had thronged the square outside the city hall and he could hear the distant sounds of their chanting, even if it was hard to make out what they were saying through the closed shutters.
He felt curiously light. Whether or not he kept the Ravkan throne seemed almost incidental now that he might see his country and his people free. He didn’t know Demidov, but he might not be the most terrible choice, especially since Zoya had the power to combat the Apparat’s influence. She could remain to counsel the Little Lantsov as a voice to oppose Fjerda. And to keep the king from doing anything ridiculous. She’d essentially be occupying the same role she always had.
And Nikolai? He would be banished. There was no way that Demidov could allow him to remain as a member of the cabinet. He wouldn’t be permitted to resume his experiments at Lazlayon nor take up some position in the Ravkan government. Maybe there was some freedom in that. He could return to the sea. He could become Sturmhond again and join forces with the legendary Wraith, terrify slavers, become the scourge of … something. It all sounded reasonable, exciting even, except when he considered leaving behind the woman beside him.
The floor of the audience chamber was set with benches like those above. But no one sat. Instead they all stood—the Zemeni, the Ravkans, the Fjerdans, the Kerch—all facing each other beneath the dome, as if about to begin a dance.
The Zemeni ambassador stepped forward. “Both nations have submitted their list of concessions for peace. His Most Royal Highness, King Nikolai Lantsov of Ravka, has the floor.”
Nikolai could only handle so much pomp, so he decided to dispense with it.
“I read your list of proposed concessions, Commander Brum. They’re absurd. I think intentionally so, because you don’t want peace at all.”
“Why would we?” Brum shot back. It seemed he was done with pomp as well.
“It wouldn’t be unprecedented, given the crushing defeat you just suffered.” He turned to Zoya. “This is awkward. Does he know they lost?”
Brum cut his hand through the air in dismissal. “A battle is not a war, and I do not believe Ravka has the stomach for a prolonged conflict. If you did, you would press your advantage instead of waving the flag of truce.”
True, alas. “Are you so eager to see more blood spilled?”
“I am eager to see Fjerda’s sovereignty protected from witches and demons and those who would see the work of Djel corrupted. We all witnessed the monster you became on the battlefield.”
“I am both man and monster. Something I imagine you know quite a lot about.”
“And this creature”—Brum pointed at Zoya—“the Stormwitch or whatever abomination she’s become. No one should have such power.”
“I’ll wager the same thing was said of the first man who held a gun in his hand.”
A murmur rose from the benches. To Nikolai’s hopeful ears, it sounded approving. I haven’t lost them entirely. Whatever reports of demons his countrymen had heard from the battlefield, the king who stood before them in polished boots and gilded epaulets was every inch the civilized ruler.
“You may offer all the fine talk you like,” said Brum. “It won’t change the size of your army or the odds that favor us.”
“Forgive my indelicacy,” said Hiram Schenck, the Kerch delegate, who had drunk Count Kirigin’s excellent wine and denied Ravka aid. “But can you even speak for Ravka, Nikolai … well, whoever you are?”
A gasp went up from the crowd. This was not the polite allusion to Nikolai’s parentage some had expected. It was a blatant insult—reprisal for preserving Zemeni trade routes and handing the Kerch what amounted to worthless technology.
Nikolai only smiled. “I’m the man who still wears the double-eagle crown and the demon who just tore apart a battlefield. Let me know if you need your memory refreshed.”
Brum seized his chance. “We reject this pretender, the bastard king, as the true ruler of Ravka. He cannot speak for his country when he has no right to hold the throne.”
“That may well be,” the Zemeni ambassador said grimly. “But who are you to speak for Fjerda? Why do we not hear from Fjerda’s crown prince?”
Oh friend, thought Nikolai ruefully, we’ll find no luck in that quarter.