Siege and Storm (Shadow and Bone #2)(36)

“Different how?”

“More … human?”

Mal frowned. “No, they sounded pretty much like they always do. Like monsters who want to eat us.” He laid his hand over mine. “What happened, Alina?”

I saw him. “I told you: I was tired. I lost focus.”

He drew back. “If you want to lie to me, go ahead. But I’m not going to pretend to believe you.”

“Why not?” asked Sturmhond, stepping into the tent. “It’s only common courtesy.”

Instantly, we were on our feet, ready to fight.

Sturmhond stopped short and lifted his hands in a gesture of peace. He’d changed into a dry uniform. A bruise was beginning to form on his cheek. Cautiously, he removed his sword and hung it on a post by the tent flap.

“I’m just here to talk,” he said.

“So talk,” Mal retorted. “Who are you, and what are you playing at?”

“Nikolai Lantsov, but please don’t make me recite my titles again. It’s no fun for anybody, and the only important one is ‘prince.’”

“And what about Sturmhond?” I asked.

“I’m also Sturmhond, commander of the Volkvolny, scourge of the True Sea.”

“Scourge?”

“Well, I’m vexing at the very least.”

I shook my head. “Impossible.”

“Improbable.”

“This is not the time to try to be entertaining.”

“Please,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “Sit. I don’t know about you, but I find everything much more understandable when seated. Something about circulation, I suspect. Reclining is, of course, preferable, but I don’t think we’re on those kinds of terms yet.”

I didn’t budge. Mal crossed his arms.

“All right, well, I’m going to sit. I find playing the returning hero a most wearying task, and I’m positively worn out.” He crossed to the table, poured himself a glass of kvas, and settled into a chair with a contented sigh. He took a sip and grimaced. “Awful stuff,” he said. “Never could stomach it.”

“Then order some brandy, your highness,” I said irritably. “I’m sure they’ll bring you all you want.”

His face brightened. “True enough. I suppose I could bathe in a tub of it. I may just.”

Mal threw up his hands in exasperation and walked to the flap of the tent to look out at the camp.

“You can’t honestly expect us to believe any of this,” I said.

Sturmhond wiggled his fingers to better display his ring. “I do have the royal seal.”

I snorted. “You probably stole it from the real Prince Nikolai.”

“I served with Raevsky. He knows me.”

“Maybe you stole the prince’s face, too.”

He sighed. “You have to understand, the only place I could safely reveal my identity was here in Ravka. Only the most trusted members of my crew knew who I really was—Tolya, Tamar, Privyet, a few of the Etherealki. The rest … well, they’re good men, but they’re also mercenaries and pirates.”

“So you deceived your own crew?” I asked.

“On the seas, Nikolai Lantsov is more valuable as a hostage than as a captain. Hard to command a ship when you’re constantly worrying about being bashed on the head late at night and then ransomed to your royal papa.”

I shook my head. “None of this makes any sense. Prince Nikolai is supposed to be off somewhere studying boats or—”

“I did apprentice with a Fjerdan shipbuilder. And a Zemeni gunsmith. And a civil engineer from the Han Province of Bolh. Tried my hand at poetry for a while. The results were … unfortunate. These days, being Sturmhond requires most of my attention.”

Mal leaned against the tent post, arms crossed. “So one day you decided to cast off your life of luxury and try your hand at playing pirate?”

“Privateer,” he said. “And I wasn’t playing at anything. I knew I could do more for Ravka as Sturmhond than lazing about at court.”

“And just where do the King and Queen think you are?” I asked.

“The university at Ketterdam,” he replied. “Lovely place. Very lofty. There’s an extremely well-compensated shipping clerk sitting through my philosophy classes as we speak. Gets passable grades, answers to Nikolai, drinks copiously and often so no one gets suspicious.”

Was there no end to this? “Why?”

“I tried, I really did. But I’ve never been good at sitting still. Drove my nanny to distraction. Well, nannies. There was quite an army of them, as I recall.”

I should have hit him harder. “I mean, why go through this whole charade?”

“I’m second in line for the Ravkan throne. I nearly had to run away to do my military service. I don’t think my parents would approve of my picking off Zemeni pirates and breaking Fjerdan blockades. They’re rather fond of Sturmhond, though.”

“Fine,” said Mal from the doorway. “You’re a prince. You’re a privateer. You’re a prat. What do you want with us?”

Sturmhond took another tentative sip of kvas and shuddered. “Your help,” he said. “The game has changed. The Fold is expanding. The First Army is close to outright revolt. The Darkling’s coup may have failed, but it shattered the Second Army, and Ravka is on the brink of collapse.”