Rule of Wolves (King of Scars #2) - Leigh Bardugo Page 0,189

didn’t intend to stop. And if Zoya was angry now, he suspected he’d have to take cover momentarily.

He strode to the windows. “Yaromir, the first king, had no claim to royalty until he united Ravka’s warring noblemen beneath his banner. He had the help of Sankt Feliks to do it. Only one person can unite this country and bring peace to our nations. Soldier, Summoner, and Saint.”

He threw open the shutters. The winter wind blew through and on it, the sounds of the people chanting below. Sankta Zoya. Rebe Dva Urga. Saint Zoya. Daughter of the Wind. The only person to whom he could entrust this country he had fought and bled for, who might finally bring them an age of peace.

“I will kneel to only one ruler, and I will see only one person crowned this day. The age of the Lantsovs is over.” He sank to one knee. “Let the Nazyalensky dynasty begin. All hail the Dragon Queen.”

The words hung in the room like insects suspended in amber. Nikolai could hear the pounding of his heart, the chanting outside.

What happens if no one speaks? he wondered. What if they all get up and leave? Do I just stay here?

Then he heard a throat being cleared, and all the sweet Saints, a voice: “All hail the Dragon Queen! Moya Tsaritsa!”

Count Kirigin. The man did come through in a pinch.

Another voice shouted, “The Dragon Queen!”

Nikolai couldn’t be sure who that was … Raevsky? Radimov? It had come from the left side of the room. And then he couldn’t keep track of the voices because they crowded together, one on top of the other, as the men and women of Ravka’s noble families shouted Zoya’s name.

It would not be all of them, he knew that. There were voices raised in anger too, men already shuffling out the door and off to make trouble. And he knew not all of those who knelt now liked this idea, or believed in it. They would begin fomenting revolution before they ever left the building. Nikolai might have doomed both the Lantsov and the Nazyalensky dynasties in a single move. But he didn’t think that was the case. The nobles of Ravka didn’t want to be ruled by a Fjerdan puppet.

He glanced up and met Zoya’s furious gaze.

“I am going to murder you in your sleep,” she seethed.

Nikolai winked. “Go on. Say something grand.”

46

ZOYA

“WHAT SAY YOU, Zoya Nazyalensky? General of the Second Army?”

The Zemeni ambassador had asked her the question, but she had no idea how to answer. She only knew that as soon as she was alone with Nikolai, she was going to throttle him. When had he decided on this ridiculous, utterly nonsensical plan?

She remembered the image Juris had thrust into her head when she’d taken his scales as amplifiers: a crown. She’d thought it was the dragon’s arrogance, his wish for a Grisha queen, but now she had to wonder. Had Juris predicted this moment, just as he’d seen what would happen in the observation tower?

He’d hinted at it again and again, but she’d misunderstood at every turn. You cannot tell me you have not contemplated what it would mean to be a queen.

Zoya had. Of course she had. When her foolish, dreaming mind had gone wandering. But this was something different. I can’t do this.

Can’t you? She was no humble girl plucked from obscurity. She was no young princess far from home. Her life had been given in service to the Grisha, to her country, to her king. Was this any different?

Of course it was different. She wasn’t thinking rationally.

We are the dragon and this is our time.

Zoya felt the eyes of everyone in the audience chamber assessing her. She could hear people chanting outside the city hall far below. All right. She was no queen and she certainly wasn’t a Saint, but she was a general. She would attack this the way she would any other strategic campaign. If these were her allies, let them say so.

“I am a soldier,” she said. “I’ve been a soldier since I was a child. Would you have a girl who has spent her life down in the trenches of battle wear a crown? Will you have a soldier queen?”

It was Pensky, general of the First Army, who stepped forward. They had been forced to work together since Nikolai had taken the throne. He’d never particularly liked Zoya, but she hoped he respected her.

He straightened his jacket, stroked his voluminous white mustache. “Better a