Fjerda’s military might. Kerch might be next on their list of acquisitions.
Schenck just smiled. “Perhaps the wolves will have a few less teeth after a prolonged fight with their neighbor.”
“So you’re hoping we’ll weaken Fjerda. You just aren’t willing to help us do it. There are ships from the Kerch navy anchored off the northern coast. We have a flyer. There’s time to send a message.”
“We could rally our ships. If the Kerch had sent me here to offer aid to Ravka, that’s precisely what we would do.”
“But they didn’t.”
“No.”
“They sent you to waste our time and keep me from where I belong.”
“While I appreciate the wine and your charming company, I’m afraid I see no point to this meeting. You have nothing to bargain with, Miss—”
“General.”
“General Nazyalensky,” he said, like an uncle indulging his most precocious niece. “We have everything we want.”
“Do you?”
Schenck’s brow creased. “What does that mean?”
This was Zoya’s last gamble, her last opportunity to salvage this parlay.
“Our king has a gift for making the impossible possible, for building extraordinary machines that can conquer new frontiers. He has assembled some of the greatest scientific minds among Grisha and otkazat’sya. Are you sure you want to be on the opposing side of that?”
“We choose no sides, Miss Nazyalensky. I thought I made that clear. And we do not bargain against the future. Ravka may have a gift for inventions we have not yet seen, but Fjerda has a gift for brutality the world well knows.”
Zoya watched him for a long moment. “You were willing to wed your daughter to Nikolai Lantsov. You know he is a good man.” Simple words, but Zoya was too aware of how rare they were.
“My dear,” said Schenck, finishing his glass of wine and pushing back from the table. “Perhaps the Shu have lower standards, but I sought to wed my daughter to a king, not a bastard.”
“Meaning what?” Zoya retorted, feeling her composure fray. Was this wart of a man brazen enough to question Nikolai’s parentage openly? If that was the case, they were worse off than even she had thought.
But all Schenck did was smile slyly. “Only whispers. Only rumors.”
“Be careful whispers don’t become talk. It’s a good way to lose a tongue.”
Schenck’s eyes widened. “Are you threatening a delegate of the Kerch government?”
“I only threaten gossipmongers and cowards.”
Schenck’s eyes bugged out even farther. Zoya wondered if they would bolt from his skull.
“I am due for a meeting,” he said, rising and striding toward the door. “And I believe you are due on the losing side of a battlefield.”
Zoya dug her nails into her palms. She could almost hear Nikolai in her head, counseling caution. All Saints, how did he meet with these spineless, self-satisfied toads without committing murder once a day?
But she managed. Only after Schenck was gone did she release a gust of air, hurling that fine bottle of Caryevan wine into the wall with a gratifying smash.
“Schenck never meant to offer us any help, did he?” asked Kirigin.
“Of course not. Schenck’s only purpose was to humble us further.”
Her king would face the Fjerdans and there would be no help from Hiram Schenck and his ilk. Nikolai had known the endeavor was futile but he had sent her nonetheless. Do this gallows deed for me, Zoya, he’d said. And of course, she had.
“Should we send a message to King Nikolai?” Kirigin asked.
“We’ll deliver it ourselves,” said Zoya. There might still be time to meet the Fjerdan tanks and guns beside her soldiers. She strode outside, where a servant was waiting. “Go, get our pilot to ready the flyer.”
“Our bags?” Kirigin asked, hurrying after her down the hall.
“Forget the bags.”
They rounded a corner and headed down a flight of stairs, through the courtyard, and out onto the docks where they’d landed their sea flyer. Zoya was not made for diplomacy, for closed rooms and polite talk. She was made for battle. As for Schenck and Duke Radimov and every other traitor who sided against Ravka, there would be time to deal with them after Nikolai found a way to win this war. We are the dragon and we bide our time.
“I … I have never been in the air,” Kirigin said as they approached the docks where the flyer was moored. She should probably leave him here. He didn’t belong anywhere near combat. But she also didn’t want him under the influence of West Ravka’s nobility.
“You’ll be fine. And if you’re not, just vomit over the side and not into