Siege and Storm (Shadow and Bone #2)(37)

I felt a sinking sensation. “And let me guess: You’re just the one to put things right?”

Sturmhond leaned forward. “Did you meet my brother, Vasily, when you were at court? He cares more about horses and his next drink of whiskey than his people. My father never had more than a passing interest in governing Ravka, and reports are he’s lost even that. This country is coming apart. Someone needs to put it back together before it’s too late.”

“Vasily is the heir,” I observed.

“I think he can be convinced to step aside.”

“That’s why you dragged us back here?” I said in disgust. “Because you want to be King?”

“I dragged you back here because the Apparat has practically turned you into a living Saint, and the people love you. I dragged you back here because your power is the key to Ravka’s survival.”

I banged my hands down on the table. “You dragged me back here so you could make a grand entrance with the Sun Summoner and steal your brother’s throne!”

Sturmhond leaned back. “I’m not going to apologize for being ambitious. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m the best man for the job.”

“Of course you are.”

“Come back to Os Alta with me.”

“Why? So you can show me off like some kind of prize goat?”

“I know you don’t trust me. You have no reason to. But I’ll abide by what I promised you aboard the Volkvolny. Listen to what I have to offer. If you’re still not interested, Sturmhond’s ships will take you anywhere in the world. I think you’ll stay. I think I can give you something no one else can.”

“This ought to be good,” muttered Mal.

“I can give you the chance to change Ravka,” said Sturmhond. “I can give you the chance to bring your people hope.”

“Oh, is that all?” I said sourly. “And just how am I supposed to do that?”

“By helping me unite the First and Second Armies. By becoming my Queen.”

Before I could blink, Mal had shoved the table aside and closed in on Sturmhond, lifting him off his feet and slamming him into the tent post. Sturmhond winced but made no move to fight back.

“Easy, now. Mustn’t get blood on the uniform. Let me explain—”

“Try explaining with my fist in your mouth.”

Sturmhond twisted, and in a flash, he’d slipped from Mal’s grip. A knife was in his hand, pulled from somewhere up his sleeve.

“Step back, Oretsev. I’m keeping my temper for her sake, but I’d just as soon gut you like a carp.”

“Try it,” Mal snarled.

“Enough!” I threw out a bright shard of light that blinded them both. They put up their hands against the glare, momentarily distracted. “Sturmhond, sheathe that weapon, or you’ll be the one who gets gutted. Mal, stand down.”

I waited until Sturmhond tucked away his knife, then slowly let the light fade.

Mal dropped his hands, his fists still clenched. They eyed each other warily. Just a few hours ago, they’d been friends. Of course, Sturmhond had been a completely different person then.

Sturmhond straightened the sleeves of his uniform. “I’m not proposing a love match, you heartsick oaf, just a political alliance. If you’d stop and think for a minute, you’d see it makes good sense for the country.”

Mal let out a harsh bark of laughter. “You mean it makes good sense for you.”

“Can’t both things be true? I’ve served in the military. I understand warfare, and I understand weaponry. I know the First Army will follow me. I may be second in line, but I have a blood right to the throne.”

Mal jabbed his finger in Sturmhond’s face. “You don’t have a right to her.”

Some of Sturmhond’s composure seemed to leave him. “What did you think was going to happen? Did you think you could just carry off one of the most powerful Grisha in the world like some peasant girl you tumbled in a barn? Is that how you think this story ends? I’m trying to keep a country from falling apart, not steal your best girl.”

“That’s enough,” I said quietly.

“You can stay at the palace,” Nikolai continued. “Perhaps as the captain of her personal guard? It wouldn’t be the first such arrangement.”

A muscle jumped in Mal’s jaw. “You make me sick.”

Sturmhond gave a dismissive wave. “I’m a depraved monster, I know. Just think about what I’m saying for a moment.”

“I don’t need to think about it,” Mal shouted. “And neither does she. It isn’t going to happen.”

“It would be a marriage in name only,” Sturmhond insisted. Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he flashed Mal a taunting grin. “Except for the matter of producing heirs.”

Mal surged forward, and Sturmhond reached for his knife, but I saw what was coming and stepped between them.

“Stop!” I shouted. “Just stop it. And stop talking about me as if I’m not here!”

Mal released a frustrated growl and began pacing back and forth again. Sturmhond picked up a chair that had toppled and reseated himself, making a great show of stretching out his legs and pouring himself another glass of kvas.

I took a breath. “Your highness—”