Some of the townspeople looked resentful, but others appeared downright chastised. In another life Zoya would have made a terrifying governess—straight-backed, sour-faced, and perfectly capable of making every man present wet his trousers in fear. But a Suli woman was staring at Zoya, her expression speculative, and his general, who could usually be counted upon to meet any insolent look with a glare powerful enough to scorch forests, was either oblivious or deliberately ignoring her.
“Khaj pa ve,” the woman said. “Khaj pa ve.”
Though Nikolai was curious, he had more pressing matters to attend to. “I know it is little comfort, but we should discuss what aid the crown can offer in recompense for your lost land and homes. I will—”
“I’ll speak to the governor,” Zoya said briskly.
Nikolai had intended to talk with Mirov himself, since the man’s interest in status might make him susceptible to attention from royalty. But Zoya was already directing her mount his way.
“Be charming,” he warned her under his breath.
She flashed him a warm smile and a wink. “I will.”
“That was very convincing.”
The smile vanished in an instant. “I’ve had to watch you smarm all over Ravka for years. I’ve learned a few tricks.”
“I don’t smarm.”
“Occasionally you smarm,” said Tolya.
“Yes,” conceded Nikolai. “But it’s endearing.”
He watched Zoya slide down from her horse and lead Mirov away. The man looked nearly slack-jawed, a frequent side effect of Zoya’s beauty and general air of murderousness. Perhaps there were some things more intoxicating than status for Mirov after all.
But Zoya hadn’t been pressing an advantage with Mirov. She was running away. She hadn’t wanted that Suli woman to confront her, and that wasn’t like his general. At least, it hadn’t been. Since she’d lost Juris, since their battle on the Fold, Zoya had changed. It was like he was viewing her from a distance, like she’d taken a step away from everyone and everything. And yet she was sharp as always, armor firmly in place, a woman who moved through the world with precision and grace, and little time for mercy.
He turned his attention to the Suli. “For your safety, it might be best if you moved on tonight.”
Their leader bristled. “Whatever this horror is, we had nothing to do with it.”
“I know that, but when night falls, cooler heads may not prevail.”
“Is this what protection from Ravka’s king looks like? A command to scurry into the shadows?”
“It’s not an order, it’s a suggestion. I can station armed men here to defend your camp, but I don’t think you’d welcome their presence.”
“You would be right.”
Nikolai didn’t want to leave these people with no place to shelter. “If you’d like, I can send word to Countess Gretsina to open her fields to you.”
“She would welcome Suli on her lands?”
“She will or she won’t get any of the new threshers we’re distributing to farms.”
“This king deals in both bullets and blackmail.”
“This king rules men, not Saints. Sometimes more than prayer is required.”
The man released a huff of laughter. “On that we can agree.”
“Tell me,” said Nikolai to the woman beside the Suli leader, attempting to keep his voice casual. “You said something to General Nazyalensky.”
“Nazyalensky,” she said with a laugh.
Nikolai’s brows rose. “Yes. What did you say to her?”
“Yej menina enu jebra zheji, yepa Korol Rezni.”
The Suli man laughed. “She said her words were for the general and not for you, King of—”
“I understood that part just fine,” said Nikolai. Korol Rezni. King of Scars. Of the many things he’d been called, it certainly wasn’t among the worst, but at the sound of those words, the demon in him stirred. Easy now, we’ve reached an understanding, you and I. Though the demon wasn’t much for logic.
Over the next hour, Nikolai and Tamar interviewed the Suli who were willing to describe the blight to them, then reconvened with Tolya and Zoya.
“Well?” he asked, as they rode back to the hilltop.
“Same as near Balakirev,” said Tolya. “A blot of shadow rolling over the countryside, like night coming on too quickly. Everything the shadow touches succumbs to blight—livestock, property, even people dissolve into smoke, leaving behind nothing but barren earth.”
“Pilgrims came through only a day ago,” said Zoya. “Followers of the Starless One. They claim this is punishment for the reign of a faithless king.”
“How unfair. I have plenty of faith,” Nikolai objected.
Tolya raised a brow. “In what?”
“Good engineering and better whiskey. Did Mirov and his friends break bread with the pilgrims and give them a fair hearing for their treason?”
“No,” Zoya said with some satisfaction. “Enough of them remember the war and the Darkling’s destruction of Novokribirsk. They chased those black-clad fanatics out of town.”
“They do love a mob in Yaryenosh. What did that woman say to you?”
“No idea,” said Zoya. “I don’t speak Suli.”
Tamar peered at her. “You looked like you understood her. You looked like you couldn’t wait to be out of her sight.”
So Nikolai hadn’t been the only one to notice.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Zoya said. “There was work to be done.”
Tolya bobbed his head at Nikolai. “The Suli aren’t fond of you, are they?”
“I’m not sure they have reason to be,” said Nikolai. “They shouldn’t have to live in fear within our borders. I haven’t worked hard enough to secure their safety.” Another item to add to his list of failures. Since taking the throne, he’d contended with too many enemies on the field—the Darkling, the Fjerdans, the Shu, jurda parem, the damned demon living inside him.
“We all live in fear.” Zoya nudged her horse into a gallop.
“I guess that’s one way to change the subject,” said Tolya.
They followed in her wake, and as they crested the hill, Tamar looked back at the wound the blight had left on the fields. “The Starless are right about one thing. There’s a connection to the Darkling.”
“I’m afraid so,” said Nikolai. “We’ve all seen the sands of the Fold. Dead and gray. Just like the areas struck by this blight. I thought that when the Shadow Fold collapsed and the darkness was dispelled, the land it covered might heal itself.”
“But nothing has ever grown there,” said Tolya. “It’s cursed land.”
For once, Nikolai couldn’t brush away that word as mere superstition. The Tula Valley had been the site of some of the holiest land in Ravka, where Sankt Feliks had supposedly cultivated his orchard—or the thorn wood, depending on which story you believed. It was also the location of the first obisbaya, a ritual meant to separate beast from man. But the Darkling had tainted all that. His attempt to create his own amplifiers and his use of merzost to do it had made a mockery of his power, twisting it into a dark territory crowded with monsters. Sometimes Nikolai wondered if they’d ever be free of that legacy.