Rule of Wolves (King of Scars #2) - Leigh Bardugo Page 0,55

rest her cheek against the silky top of Genya’s head and made them both a promise: Wherever this adventure led, the Darkling wasn’t coming back from it.

12

NIKOLAI

ZOYA HADN’T WAITED TO SAY goodbye. Alina had been contacted and—thanks to her generosity or an unhealthy taste for martyrdom—had agreed to the meeting. Zoya had arranged the mission with predictably ruthless efficiency, and a week later, she was gone. Before dawn, without fanfare or parting words. Nikolai was both stung and grateful. She was right. The gossip around them had become a liability, and they had enough of those already. Zoya was his general and he her king. Best for everyone to remember it. And now he could visit the Little Palace without having to worry about bumping into her and enduring her acid tongue.

Excellent, he told himself as he made the walk from the Grand Palace. So why do I feel like I’ve had my guts gently gnawed on by a volcra?

He passed through the wooded tunnel that he now recognized as quince and headed down past the lake, where he could see two of his new flyers bobbing gently in the water, gray morning light glinting off their hulls. They were extraordinary machines, but Ravka simply didn’t have the money to produce them in any real quantity. Yet. Perhaps an infusion of Shu gold would do the trick.

Tamar’s spies had brought them news of the Fjerdan prince’s public collapse, and it didn’t bode well for Ravka. They’d renewed diplomatic talks, but Nikolai knew Fjerda was holding separate conversations with West Ravka and trying to encourage them to secede. Jarl Brum had been steering his country’s strategic choices for years, and a weakened Prince Rasmus would only embolden him.

The infirmary was located in the Corporalki wing of the Little Palace, behind the imposing red-lacquered doors. There were private rooms for patients who needed extensive care and quiet, and one of them had been set aside for Princess Ehri Kir-Taban. The hallway was heavily protected by both Grisha and palace guards.

Ehri lay in a narrow bed. She wore a green silk dressing gown embroidered with pale yellow flowers. Her skin was a raw pink, shiny and taut. The fire had scorched the hair from her head, which was wrapped in soft white linen. She had no eyebrows or lashes. Genya had explained that it would still take several days to bring Ehri’s flesh and hair back to full health, but they had reversed the worst of the damage. It was a miracle she had survived—a miracle wrought by Grisha Healers, who had restored her body and kept her pain in check as they did it.

Nikolai sat down beside the bed. Ehri said nothing. She rolled her head to the side, turning her gaze to the gardens and away from him. A single tear slipped down her pink cheek. Nikolai drew a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed it away.

“I would prefer that you left,” she said.

That was what she’d said every time he’d summoned the will to speak to her since her true identity had been discovered. But he couldn’t put this off any longer.

“We should talk,” he said. “I’ve brought novels and summer cherries by way of a bribe.”

“Summer cherries. In the dead of winter.”

“It is never winter in the Grisha greenhouses.”

She closed her eyes. “I’m grotesque.”

“You are pink and rather hairless. Like a baby, and people love babies.” Actually, she looked more like the hairless cat his aunt Ludmilla had favored more than any of her children, but that seemed an impolitic thing to say to a lady.

Ehri did not wish to be charmed. “Must you make a joke of everything?”

“I must. By royal mandate and the curse of my own disposition. I find life quite unbearable without laughter.”

She returned to studying the gardens.

“Do you like the view?” he asked.

“This palace is nothing compared to the grandeur of Ahmrat Jen.”

“I imagine not. Ravka has never been able to match Shu Han for monuments or scenery. I’m told the architect Toh Yul-Gham took one look at the Grand Palace and declared it an affront to the eyes of god.”

The corner of Ehri’s lips tugged up in the barest smile. “Are you a student of architecture?”

“No. I just like to build things. Contraptions, gadgets, flying machines.”

“Weapons of war.”

“That has been a necessity, not a calling.”

Ehri shook her head and another tear escaped. Nikolai offered her the handkerchief. “Keep it,” he said. “It’s got the Lantsov crest embroidered on it. You can blow your