Siege and Storm (Shadow and Bone #2)(70)

“After he risked his own life rescuing us?”

“I may have taken some liberties with the details.”

“Oh, Nikolai will love that. Is there more?”

“I told them you hate herring.”

“Why?”

“And that you love plum cake. And that Ana Kuya took a switch to you when you ruined your spring slippers jumping in puddles.”

I winced. “Why would you tell them all that?”

“I wanted to make you human,” he said. “All they see when they look at you is the Sun Summoner. They see a threat, another powerful Grisha like the Darkling. I want them to see a daughter or a sister or a friend. I want them to see Alina.”

I felt a lump rise in my throat. “Do you practice being wonderful?”

“Daily,” he said with a grin. Then he winked. “But I prefer ‘useful.’”

The chapel was the only remaining building of a monastery that had once stood atop Os Alta, and it was said to be where the first Kings of Ravka had been crowned. Compared to the other structures on the palace grounds, it was a humble building, with whitewashed walls and a single bright blue dome.

It was empty and looked like it could use a good cleaning. The pews were covered in dust, and there were pigeons roosting in the eaves. As we walked up the aisle, Mal took my hand, and my heart gave a funny little leap.

We didn’t waste much time in the vestry. The few books on its shelves were a disappointment, just a bunch of old hymnals with crumbling, yellowed pages. The only thing of real interest in the chapel was the massive triptych behind the altar. A riot of color, its three huge panels showed thirteen saints with benevolent faces. I recognized some of them from the Istorii Sankt’ya: Lizabeta with her bloody roses, Petyr with his still-burning arrows. And there was Sankt Ilya with his collar and fetters and broken chains.

“No animals,” Mal observed.

“From what I’ve seen, he’s never pictured with the amplifiers, just with the chains. Except in the Istorii Sankt’ya.” I just didn’t know why.

Most of the triptych was in fairly good condition, but Ilya’s panel had sustained bad water damage. The Saints’ faces were barely visible under the mold, and the damp smell of mildew was nearly overpowering. I pressed my nose to my sleeve.

“There must be a leak somewhere,” said Mal. “This place is a mess.”

My eyes traced the shape of Ilya’s face beneath the grime. Another dead end. I didn’t like to admit it, but I’d gotten my hopes up. Again, I sensed that pull, that emptiness at my wrist. Where was the firebird?

“We can stand here all day,” Mal said, “but he’s not going to start talking.”

I knew he was teasing, but I felt a prickle of anger, though I wasn’t sure if it was at him or myself.

We turned to go back down the aisle and I stopped short. The Darkling was waiting in the gloom by the entrance, seated in a shadowy pew.

“What is it?” Mal asked, following my gaze.

I waited, perfectly still. See him, I begged silently. Please see him.

“Alina? Is something wrong?”

I dug my fingers into my palm. “No,” I said. “Do you think we should check the vestry again?”

“It didn’t seem very promising.”

I made myself smile and walk. “You’re probably right. Wishful thinking.”

As we passed by the Darkling, he turned his head to watch us. He pressed a finger to his lips, then bent his head in a mocking imitation of prayer.

I felt better when we were out in the fresh air, away from the moldy smell of the chapel, but my mind was racing. It had happened again.

The Darkling’s face had been unscarred. Mal hadn’t seen him. That must mean it wasn’t real, just some kind of vision.

But he’d touched me that night in his rooms. I’d felt his fingers on my cheek. What kind of hallucination could do that?

I shivered as we passed into the woods. Was this some manifestation of the Darkling’s new powers? I was terrified by the prospect that he might have somehow found a way into my thoughts, but the other possibility was far worse.

You cannot violate the rules of this world without a price. I pressed my arm to my side, feeling the sea whip’s scales chafe against my skin. Forget Morozova and his madness. Maybe this had nothing to do with the Darkling at all. Maybe I was just losing my mind.

“Mal,” I began, not certain what I intended to say, “the third amp—”

He put a finger to his lips, and the gesture was so like the Darkling’s that I nearly stumbled, but in the next second, I heard rustling and Vasily emerged from the trees.

I wasn’t used to seeing the prince anywhere except the Grand Palace, and for a moment, I just stood there. Then I recovered from my surprise and bowed.

Vasily acknowledged me with a nod, ignoring Mal completely.

“Moi tsarevich,” I said in greeting.

“Alina Starkov,” the prince replied with a smile. “I hope you will grant me a moment of your time.”

“Of course,” I replied.

“I’ll be right down the path,” Mal said, shooting Vasily a suspicious glare.

The prince watched him go. “The deserter hasn’t quite learned his place, has he?”

I bit down on my anger. “What can I do for you, moi tsarevich?”