seat.
She descended from the coach, closing the door behind her. Mal and Alina stood on the sanatorium’s stairs, but when Alina saw Zoya, she smiled and raced down the steps with arms open. Zoya blinked away an embarrassing prickle of tears. She hadn’t known how Alina might greet her, given the circumstances. She let herself be hugged. As always, Ravka’s Saint smelled of paint and pine.
“Is he in there?” Alina asked.
“He is.”
“You bring me the worst gifts.”
The tabby had returned from its sojourn and was twining through Misha’s legs. It padded over to Zoya. “Hello, Oncat,” she murmured, hefting the cat into her arms and feeling the comforting rumble of its purr.
Misha said nothing, just watched, his young face tense. He was only eleven years old, but he’d seen tragedy enough for ten lifetimes.
“Are you ready?” she asked Alina.
“Not at all. Couldn’t we have met someplace slightly less … nightmare-inducing?”
“Believe me, I’d rather be in a plush hotel in Os Kervo sipping a glass of wine.”
“It’s not so bad,” said Mal. “We don’t get out much.”
“Just for the occasional hunting trip?” asked Zoya.
Noblemen loved to hunt on the lands around Keramzin, and in the company of two humble peasants, they often drank and gossiped and talked matters of state. Alina and Mal had turned the orphanage into a way station for intelligence gathering.
The Sun Soldiers had fanned out to surround the sanatorium and create a perimeter. Now a young soldier with sun tattoos on both of her forearms emerged from the building.
She bowed to Zoya but paid little attention to the girl with the shawl tucked around her head. As far as these soldiers and everyone in Ravka knew, Alina Starkov had died on the Shadow Fold.
“There’s water damage throughout, so we’ve placed chairs in the entry.”
Zoya set down Oncat. “There’s hot tea?”
The soldier nodded. Alina cut Zoya a glance, and she shrugged. If they had to endure the Darkling, they could at least be civilized about it.
“Keep eyes on the door,” Zoya commanded. “If you hear anything out of the ordinary—anything at all—do not wait for my orders.”
“I’ve guarded him in the sun cell,” the tattooed soldier said. “He seems harmless enough.”
“I didn’t ask for an assessment of the threat,” Zoya bit out. “Stay alert, and respond with deadly force. If he gets free, we won’t have a second shot at him, understood?”
The soldier nodded, and Zoya dismissed her with a disgusted flick of her hand.
“Still making friends?” Alina said with a laugh.
“These children are going to get themselves and us killed.”
Mal smiled. “Are you nervous, Zoya?”
“Don’t be absurd.”
He turned to Alina. “She’s nervous.”
“You’re not?” asked Alina.
“Oh, I’m terrified, but I didn’t expect Zoya to be.”
Alina yanked her shawl tighter. “Let’s get this over with.”
Zoya strode to the coach and ducked inside. She unhooked the Darkling’s shackles from the seat and drew the blindfold back over his eyes.
“Is that strictly necessary?”
“Probably not,” she admitted. “Behave yourself.”
Flanked by Sun Soldiers, she led him across the yard and up the stairs.
“Wipe your feet,” Alina said.
He stilled at the sound of her voice, then obeyed.
Zoya met her eyes and Alina winked. Any little victory.
It was colder inside than out, the sanatorium’s battered marble floors and broken windows providing little insulation. The entry had once been a grand receiving room, with double staircases that led to the east and west wings. But now one of those staircases had buckled from rot. A shattered chandelier lay on its side in the corner, beside heaps of dust and glass the Sun Soldiers had swept up. Old medical equipment was propped against the walls—the twisted frame of a cot, a rusty metal tub, what might have been leather straps for restraining patients.
Zoya stifled a shudder. That cozy hotel was sounding better and better. A table had been set with a samovar and glasses at the center of the room. Four chairs surrounded it. Zoya hadn’t known Misha was coming.
Two Sun Soldiers led the Darkling to a chair, his shackles jangling. They had no idea they were in Alina Starkov’s presence, that their power had come from her loss.
Zoya gestured for them to take up positions at the base of the steps. She didn’t want anyone to overhear their conversation. There were already soldiers posted outside every exit point, and high above, she heard the distant but comforting sound of engines. She had requisitioned two of Nikolai’s armed flyers to patrol the skies.
When they were alone, Alina sat and said, “Misha, will you pour the tea?”
“For him