Siege and Storm (Shadow and Bone #2)(54)

He made it sound like I was a groundskeeper or a county clerk. Penitent, I reminded myself, and bit back a sarcastic reply.

“It would be my greatest honor to serve the Ravkan King,” I said.

Either the King loved flattery or Nikolai had done a remarkable job of pleading my case, because the King grunted and said, “Very well. At least temporarily, you will serve as the commander of the Grisha.”

Could it possibly be that easy? “I … thank you, moi tsar,” I stammered in baffled gratitude.

“But know this,” he said, wagging a finger at me. “If I find any evidence that you are fomenting action against me or that you have had any contact with the apostate, I will have you hanged without plea or trial.” His voice rose to a querulous wail. “The people say you are a Saint, but I think you are just another ragged refugee. Do you understand?”

Another ragged refugee and your best chance of keeping that shiny throne, I thought with a surprising surge of anger, but I swallowed my pride and bowed as deeply as I could manage. Was this how the Darkling had felt? Being forced to bend and scrape before a dissolute fool?

The King gave a vague wave of his blue-veined hand. We were being dismissed. I glanced at Mal.

Nikolai cleared his throat. “Father,” he said, “there’s the matter of the tracker.”

“Hmm?” said the King, glancing up as if he’d been nodding off. “The…? Ah, yes.” He trained his rheumy stare on Mal and said in a bored tone, “You have deserted your post and directly disobeyed the orders of a commanding officer. That is a hanging offense.”

I drew in a sharp breath. Beside me, Mal went very still. An ugly thought leapt into my head: If Nikolai wanted to get rid of Mal, this was certainly an easy way to do it.

An excited murmur rose from the crowd around the dais. What had I walked us into? I opened my mouth, but before I could say a word, Nikolai spoke.

“Moi tsar,” he said humbly, “forgive me, but the tracker did aid the Sun Summoner in evading what would have been certain capture by an enemy of the Crown.”

“If she was ever really in any danger.”

“I saw him take up arms against the Darkling myself. He is a trusted friend, and I believe he acted in Ravka’s best interest.” The King’s lower lip jutted out, but Nikolai pressed on. “I would feel better knowing that he is at the Little Palace.”

The King frowned. Probably already thinking of lunch and a nap, I thought.

“What do you have to say for yourself, boy?” he asked.

“Only that I did what I thought was right,” Mal replied evenly.

“My son seems to feel you had good reason.”

“I imagine every man thinks his reasons are good,” Mal said. “It was still desertion.”

Nikolai raised his eyes heavenward, and I had the urge to give Mal a good shake. Couldn’t he be a bit less flinty and forthright for once?

The King’s frown deepened. We waited.

“Very well,” he said at last. “What’s one more viper in the nest? You will be dishonorably discharged.”

“Dishonorably?” I blurted.

Mal just bowed and said, “Thank you, moi tsar.”

The King lifted his hand in a lazy wave. “Go,” he said petulantly.

I was tempted to stay and make an argument of it, but Nikolai was glaring a warning at me, and Mal had already turned to leave. I had to scurry to catch up with him as he marched down the blue-carpeted aisle.

As soon as we left the throne room and the doors closed behind us, I said, “We’ll talk to Nikolai. We’ll get him to petition the King.”

Mal didn’t even break his stride. “There’s no point,” he said. “I knew it would be this way.”

He said that, but I saw in the slump of his shoulders that some part of him had still hoped. I wanted to grab hold of his arm, make him stop, tell him I was sorry, that somehow we’d find a way to make things right. Instead, I hurried along beside him, struggling to keep up, keenly aware of the footmen watching us from every doorway.

We retraced our steps through the gleaming hallways of the palace and down the marble staircase. Fedyor and his Grisha were waiting by their horses. They’d cleaned up as best they could, but their brightly colored kefta still seemed a bit bedraggled. Tamar and Tolya stood slightly apart from them, the golden sunbursts I’d given them sparkling on their roughspun tunics. I took a deep breath. Nikolai had done what he could. Now it was my turn.





CHAPTER


13





THE WINDING WHITE gravel path led us through the palace grounds, past the rolling lawns and follies, and the high walls of the hedge maze. Tolya, ordinarily so still and silent, squirmed in his saddle, his mouth set in a sullen line.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

I thought he might not answer, but then he said, “It smells like weakness here. Like people getting soft.”

I shot a glance at the giant warrior. “Everyone is soft compared to you, Tolya.”

Tamar could usually be counted upon to laugh off her brother’s moods, but she surprised me by saying, “He’s right. This place feels like it’s dying.”

They weren’t helping to settle my nerves. Our audience in the throne room had left me jittery, and I was still a little taken aback by the anger I’d felt toward the King, though Saints knew he deserved it. He was a filthy old lech who liked to corner servant girls, to say nothing of the fact that he was a rotten leader and had threatened to execute both me and Mal in the space of a few minutes. Even thinking about it, I felt another jab of bitter resentment.