Ruin and Rising

^CHAPTER 11

THE NEXT MORNING, I found Nikolai on the eastern terrace taking weather readings. Mal’s team was set to depart within the hour and was only waiting for the all clear. I pulled up my hood. It wasn’t quite snowing, but a few flakes had settled on my cheeks and hair.

“How does everything look?” I asked, handing Nikolai a glass of tea.

“Not bad,” he replied. “Gusts are mild, and the pressure’s holding steady. They may have it rough through the mountains, but it shouldn’t be anything the Bittern can’t handle.”

I heard the door open behind me, and Mal and Tamar stepped out onto the terrace. They were dressed in peasant clothes, fur hats, and sturdy wool coats.

“Are we a go?” Tamar asked. She was trying to seem calm, but I could hear the barely leashed excitement in her voice. Behind her, I saw Nadia with her face pressed against the glass, awaiting the verdict.

Nikolai nodded. “You’re a go.”

Tamar’s grin was blinding. She managed a restrained bow, then turned to Nadia and gave her the signal. Nadia whooped and broke into something between a seizure and a dance.

Nikolai laughed. “If only she’d show a little enthusiasm.”

“Be safe,” I said as I embraced Tamar.

“Take care of Tolya for me,” she replied. Then she whispered, “We left the cobalt lace in your trunk. Wear that tonight.”

I rolled my eyes and gave her a shove. I knew I would see them all in a week, but I was surprised at how much I was going to miss them.

There was an awkward pause as I faced Mal. His blue eyes were vibrant in the gray morning light. The scar at my shoulder twinged.

“Safe journey, moi soverenyi.” He bowed.

I knew what was expected, but I hugged him anyway. For a moment, he just stood there, then his arms closed hard around me. “Safe journey, Alina,” he whispered into my hair, and quickly stepped back.

“We’ll be on our way as soon as the Kingfisher returns. I expect to see you all safe and whole in one week’s time,” Nikolai said, “and packing some all-powerful bird bones.”

Mal bowed. “Saints’ speed, moi tsarevich.”

Nikolai offered his hand and they shook. “Good luck, Oretsev. Find the firebird, and when this is over, I’ll see you well rewarded. A farmhouse in Udova. A dacha near the city. Whatever you want.”

“I don’t need any of that. Just…” He dropped Nikolai’s hand and looked away. “Deserve her.”

He hastened back into the Spinning Wheel with Tamar behind him. Through the glass I saw them talking to Nadia and Harshaw.

“Well,” said Nikolai, “at least he’s learned to make an exit.”

I ignored the ache in my throat and said, “How long will it take us to reach Ketterdam?”

“Two to three days, depending on the weather and our Squallers. We’ll go north, then over the True Sea. It’s safer than traveling over Ravka.”

“What’s it like?”

“Ketterdam? It’s—”

He never finished his sentence. A shadowed blur cut across my vision, and Nikolai was gone. I stood staring at the place where he’d been, then screamed as I felt claws close over my shoulders and my feet lifted from the floor.

I glimpsed Mal bursting through the door to the terrace, Tamar on his heels. He lunged across the distance and seized me around the waist, yanking me back down. I twisted, arms moving in an arc, sending a blaze of light burning through the nichevo’ya that had hold of me. It wavered and exploded into nothing. I fell to the terrace in a heap, toppling with Mal, bleeding from where the monster’s talons had pierced my skin.

I was on my feet in seconds, horrified by what I saw. The air was full of darting black shapes, winged monsters that moved unlike any natural creature. Behind me, I heard chaos erupting in the hall, the smash of breaking glass as nichevo’ya hurled themselves against the windows.

“Get the others out,” I yelled to Tamar. “Get them away from here.”

“We can’t leave you—”

“I won’t lose them too!”

“Go!” Mal bellowed at her. He shouldered his rifle, taking aim at the attacking monsters. I lashed out with the Cut, but they were moving so quickly that I couldn’t target them. I craned my neck, searching the sky for Nikolai. My heart was pounding. Where was the Darkling? If his monsters were here, then he must be nearby.

He came from above. His creatures moved around him like a living cloak, their wings beating the air in a rippling black wave, forming and re-forming, bearing him aloft, their bodies slipping apart and together, absorbing the bullets from Mal’s gun.

“Saints,” Mal swore. “How did he find us?”

The answer came quickly. I saw a red shape suspended between two nichevo’ya, their black claws sunk deeply into their captive’s body. Sergei’s face was chalky, his eyes wide and terrified, his lips moving in a silent prayer.

“Shall I spare him, Alina?” said the Darkling.

“Leave him alone!”

“He betrayed you to the first oprichnik he could find. I wonder, will you offer him mercy or justice?”

“I don’t want him harmed,” I shouted.

My mind was reeling. Had Sergei really betrayed us? He’d been on edge since the battle at the Little Palace, but what if he’d been planning this all along? Maybe he’d just been trying to slip away during our fight with the militia, maybe he’d let Genya’s name drop deliberately. He’d been so ready to leave the Spinning Wheel.

That was when I realized what Sergei was muttering—not prayers, just one word over and over again: Safe. Safe. Safe.

“Give him to me,” I said.

“He betrayed me first, Alina. He remained in Os Alta when he should have come to my side. He sat on your council, plotted against me. He told me everything.”

Thank the Saints we’d kept the location of the firebird a secret.

“So,” said the Darkling, “the decision is mine. And I’m afraid that I choose justice.”

In one movement, the nichevo’ya ripped Sergei’s limbs from his body and severed his head from his neck. I had the briefest glimpse of the shock on his face, his mouth open in a silent scream, then the pieces disappeared beneath the cloud bank.

“All Saints,” Mal swore.

I gagged, but I had to shove down my terror. Mal and I turned in a slow circle, back to back. We were surrounded by nichevo’ya. Behind me, I could hear the sounds of screams and glass shattering in the Spinning Wheel.

“Here we are again, Alina. Your army against mine. Do you think your soldiers will fare any better this time?”

I ignored him and shouted into the misty grayness. “Nikolai!”

“Ah, the pirate prince. I have regretted many of the things I’ve had to do in this war,” said the Darkling. “This is not one of them.”

A shadow soldier swooped down. In horror, I saw it held Nikolai struggling in its arms. Any bit of courage I had evaporated. I couldn’t see Nikolai ripped limb from limb.

“Please!” The word tore from me, without dignity or constraint. “Please don’t!”

The Darkling raised his hand.

I clapped my fingers over my mouth, my legs already buckling.

But the nichevo’ya didn’t attack Nikolai. It tossed him onto the terrace. His body hit the stone with a sickening thud and rolled to a stop.

“Alina, don’t!” Mal tried to hold me back, but I broke free of him and ran to where Nikolai lay, falling to my knees beside him. He moaned. His coat was torn where the creature’s claws had shredded the fabric. He tried to push himself up on his elbows and blood dribbled from his mouth.

“This was unexpected,” he said weakly.

“You’re okay,” I said. “It’s okay.”

“I appreciate your optimism.”

I caught movement from the corner of my eye and saw two blots of shadow slip free of the Darkling’s hands. They slithered over the lip of the balcony, undulating like serpents, heading directly toward us. I raised my hands and slashed out with the Cut, obliterating one side of the terrace, but I was too slow. The shadows slithered lightning fast across the stone and darted into Nikolai’s mouth.

His eyes widened. His breath hitched in surprise, drawing whatever the Darkling had released into his lungs. We stared at each other in shock.

“What—what was that?” he choked.

“I—”

He coughed, shuddered. Then his fingers flew to his chest, tearing open the remains of his shirt. We both looked down, and I saw shadow spreading beneath his skin in fragile black lines, splintering like veins in marble.

“No,” I groaned. “No. No.”

The cracks traveled across his stomach, down his arms.

“Alina?” he said helplessly. The darkness fractured beneath his skin, climbing his throat. He threw his head back and screamed, the tendons flexing in his neck as his whole body contorted, his back bowing. He shoved up to his knees, chest heaving. I reached for him as he convulsed.

He released another raw scream, and two black shards burst from his back. They unfurled. Like wings.

His head shot up. He looked at me, face beaded in sweat, gaze panicked and desperate. “Alina—”

Then his eyes—his clever, hazel eyes—went black.

“Nikolai?” I whispered.

His lips curled back, revealing teeth of black onyx. They had formed fangs.

He snarled. I stumbled backward. His jaws snapped closed a bare inch from me.

“Hungry?” the Darkling asked. “I wonder which one of your friends you’ll eat first.”

I raised my hands, reluctant to use my power. I didn’t want to hurt him. “Nikolai,” I begged. “Don’t do this. Stay with me.”

His face spasmed in pain. He was in there, fighting himself, battling the appetite that had taken hold of him. His hands flexed—no, his claws. He howled, and the noise that came from him was desperate, shrieking, completely inhuman.

His wings beat the air as he rose from the terrace, monstrous, but still beautiful, still somehow Nikolai. He looked down at the dark veins coursing over his torso, at the razor-sharp talons that had pushed from his blackened fingertips. He held out his hands as if pleading with me for an answer.

“Nikolai,” I cried.

He turned in the air, wrenching himself away, and raced upward, as if he could somehow outpace the need inside him, his black wings carrying him higher as he cut through the nichevo’ya. He looked back once, and even from a distance, I felt his anguish and confusion.

Then he was gone, a black speck in the gray sky, while I remained trembling below.

“Eventually,” said the Darkling, “he will feed.”

I’d warned Nikolai of the Darkling’s vengeance, but even I couldn’t have foreseen the elegance of this, the perfect cruelty. Nikolai had made a fool of the Darkling, and now the Darkling had taken my polished, brilliant, noble prince and made him into a monster. Death would have been too kind.

A sound came from me, something guttural, animal, a noise I didn’t recognize. I raised my hands and brought the Cut blazing down in two furious arcs. They struck the whirring shapes that surrounded the Darkling and I saw some burst apart into nothing, only to have others take their place. I didn’t care. I struck him again and again. If I could knock the top off a mountain, surely my power was good for something in this battle.

“Fight me!” I screamed. “Let’s end this now! Here!”

“Fight you, Alina? There is no fight to be had.” He gestured to the nichevo’ya. “Seize them.”

They swarmed down from every direction, a seething black mass. Beside me, Mal opened fire. I could smell gunpowder and hear the clink of empty cartridges as bullets hit the ground. I was focusing every bit of power I had, nearly pinwheeling my arms, cutting through five, ten, fifteen shadow soldiers at a time, but it was no good. There were simply too many of them.

Then suddenly they stopped. The nichevo’ya hung in the air, bodies limp, wings moving in silent rhythm.

“Did you do that?” Mal asked.

“I—I don’t think so…”

Silence descended on the terrace. I could hear the wail of the wind, the sounds of the battle raging behind us.

“Abomination.”

We turned. Baghra stood inside the doorway, her hand on Misha’s shoulder. The boy was shaking, his eyes so wide I could see more white than iris. Behind them, our soldiers were fighting not just nichevo’ya but oprichniki and the Darkling’s own Grisha in their blue and red kefta. He’d had his creatures bring them all to the mountaintop.

“Guide me,” Baghra told Misha. What courage it must have taken for him to lead her out onto the terrace, past the nichevo’ya, who shifted and bumped up against each other, following her passage like a field of glistening black reeds. Only those closest to the Darkling remained moving, clinging to their master, their wings beating in unison.

The Darkling’s face was livid. “I should have known I’d find you cloistered with the enemy. Go back inside,” he ordered. “My soldiers will not harm you.”

Baghra ignored him. When they reached the end of the terrace, Misha placed her hand on the lip of the remaining wall. She leaned against it, releasing an almost contented sigh, and gave Misha a nudge with her stick. “Go on, boy, run to the scrawny little Saint.” He hesitated. Baghra reached out and found his cheek, then patted it none too gently. “Go on,” she repeated. “I want to talk to my son.”

“Misha,” Mal said, and the boy bolted over to us, ducking behind Mal’s coat. The nichevo’ya showed no interest in him. Their attention focused wholly on Baghra.

“What is it you want?” asked the Darkling. “And do not hope to plead for mercy for these fools.”

“Only to meet your monsters,” she said. Baghra leaned her stick against the wall and held out her arms. The nichevo’ya moved forward, rustling and nudging against each other. One nuzzled its head against her palm, as if it were sniffing her. Was it curiosity I sensed in them? Or hunger? “They know me, these children. Like calls to like.”

“Stop this,” demanded the Darkling.

Baghra’s palms began to fill with darkness. The sight was jarring. I’d only ever seen her summon once before. She had hidden her power away as I had once stifled mine, but she had done it for the sake of her son’s secrets. I remembered what she’d said about a Grisha turning his power on himself. She shared the Darkling’s blood, his power. Would she act against him now?

“I will not fight you,” the Darkling said.

“Then strike me down.”

“You know I won’t.”

She smiled then and gave a little chuckle, as if she were pleased with a precocious student. “It’s true. That’s why I still have hope.” Her head snapped to me. “Girl,” she said sharply. Her blind eyes were blank, but in that moment, I could have sworn she saw me clearly. “Do not fail me again.”

“She isn’t strong enough to fight me either, old woman. Take up your stick, and I will return you to the Little Palace.”

A terrible suspicion crept into me. Baghra had given me the strength to fight, but she’d never told me to do it. The only thing she’d ever asked of me was to run.

“Baghra—” I began.

“My hut. My fire. That sounds a pleasant thing,” she said. “But I find the dark is the same wherever I am.”

“You earned those eyes,” he said coldly, but I heard the hurt there too.

“I did,” she said with a sigh. “And more.” Then, without warning, she slammed her hands together. Thunder boomed over the mountain and darkness billowed from her palms like banners unfurling, twisting and curling around the nichevo’ya. They shrieked and jittered, whirling in confusion.

“Know that I loved you,” she said to the Darkling. “Know that it was not enough.”

In a single movement, she shoved herself up on the wall, and before I could draw breath to scream, she tipped forward and vanished over the ledge, trailing the nichevo’ya behind her in tangled skeins of darkness. They tumbled past us in a rush, a shrieking black wave that rolled over the terrace and plummeted down, drawn by the power she exuded.

“No!” the Darkling roared. He dove after her, the wings of his soldiers beating with his fury.

“Alina, now!” Through the haze of my horror, I heard Mal’s words, felt him pushing me through the door, and suddenly, Mal had Misha in his arms and we were running through the observatory. Nichevo’ya streamed past us, yanked toward the terrace by Baghra’s trailing skeins. Others simply hovered in confusion as their master drew farther away.

Run, Baghra had told me again and again. And now I did.

The heated floor was slippery with melted snow. The massive windows of the Spinning Wheel had been shattered and flurries gusted through the room. I saw fallen bodies, pockets of fighting.

I couldn’t seem to think straight. Sergei. Nikolai. Baghra. Baghra. Falling through the mists, the rocks rising up to meet her. Would she cry out? Would she close her blind eyes? Little Saint. Little martyr.

Tolya was running toward us. I saw two oprichniki come at him, swords drawn. Without breaking stride, he threw out his fists and the soldiers collapsed, clutching their chests, their mouths dripping blood.

“Where are the others?” Mal shouted as we came level with Tolya and pelted for the staircase.

“In the hangar, but they’re outnumbered. We need to get down there.”

Some of the Darkling’s blue-robed Squallers had tried to blockade the stairs. They hurled crates and furniture at us in mighty gusts of wind. I slashed out with the Cut, smashing the crates to kindling before they could reach us, sending the Squallers scattering.

The worst was waiting in the hangar below. All semblance of order had broken down in the panic to get away from the Darkling’s soldiers.

People were swarming over the Pelican and the Ibis. The Pelican already hovered above the hangar floor, borne aloft by Squaller current. Soldiers were pulling on its cables, trying to drag it back down and climb aboard, unwilling to wait for the other barge.

Someone gave the order, and the Pelican surged free, plowing through the crowd as it took flight. It rose into the air, trailing screaming men like strange anchors, and disappeared from view.

Zoya, Nadia, and Harshaw were backed up against one of the hulls of the Bittern, using fire and wind to try to keep back a crowd of Grisha and oprichniki.

Tamar was on the deck, and I was relieved to see Nevsky at her side, along with a few other soldiers from the Twenty-Second. But behind them, Adrik lay in a pool of blood. His arm hung from his body at a bizarre angle. His face was white with shock. Genya knelt over him, tears streaming down her face as David stood above her with a rifle, firing down at the attacking crowd with precarious aim. Stigg was nowhere to be seen. Had he fled on the Pelican or simply been left behind in the Spinning Wheel?

“Stigg—” I said.

“There’s no time,” replied Mal.

We shoved through the mob, and at a shouted order from her brother, Tamar slid into place and seized the Bittern’s wheel. We lay down cover as Zoya and the other Squallers scrambled on deck. Mal stumbled as a bullet struck his thigh, but Harshaw had hold of him, dragging him aboard.

“Get us moving!” shouted Nevsky. He signaled to the other soldiers, and they arrayed themselves along the hull’s railing, opening fire on the Darkling’s men. I took a place beside them, sending bright light up against the crowd, blinding them so they couldn’t take aim.

Mal and Tolya took their positions at the lines as Zoya filled the sails. But her power wasn’t enough.

“Nadia, we need you!” bellowed Tamar.

Nadia looked up from where she’d knelt beside her brother. Her face was streaked with tears, but she rose to her feet, swaying, and forced a draft up into the sails. The Bittern started to slide forward on its runners.

“We’re too heavy!” Zoya cried.

Nevsky grabbed my shoulder. “Survive,” he said roughly. “Help him.” Did he know what had happened to Nikolai?

“I will,” I vowed. “The other barge—”

He didn’t stop to listen. Nevsky shouted, “For the Twenty-Second!” He vaulted over the side, and the other soldiers followed without hesitation. They threw themselves into the mob.

Tamar called the order, and we shot from the hangar. The Bittern plunged sickeningly from the ledge, then the sails snapped into place and we were rising.

I looked back and caught one last glimpse of Nevsky, rifle at his shoulder, before he was swallowed by the crowd.