Siege and Storm (Shadow and Bone #2)(81)

“How’s it going?” I asked.

“Better,” he said, studying the slick surface of the nearest dish. “I think I’ve gotten the curvature right. We should be ready to try them out soon.”

“How soon?” We were still receiving conflicting reports of the Darkling’s location, but if he hadn’t finished creating his army, it wouldn’t be long.

“A couple of weeks,” David said.

“That long?”

“You can have it soon, or you can have it right,” he grumbled.

“David, I need to know—”

“I told you everything I know about Morozova.”

“Not about him,” I said. “Not exactly. If … if I wanted to remove the collar. How would I do that?”

“You can’t.”

“Not now. But after we’ve—”

“No,” David said, without looking at me. “It’s not like other amplifiers. It can’t just be taken off. You’d have to break it, violate its structure. The results would be catastrophic.”

“How catastrophic?”

“I can’t be certain,” he said. “But I’m pretty sure it would make the Fold look like a paper cut.”

“Oh,” I said softly. Then it would be the same with the fetter. Whatever I was becoming, there was no turning back. I’d hoped the visions were the result of the bite from the nichevo’ya, that the effects might somehow diminish as the wound slowly healed. But that didn’t seem to be happening. And even if it did, I would always be tied to the Darkling through the collar. Again, I wondered why he hadn’t chosen to try to kill the sea whip himself and bind us closer still.

David picked up a bottle of ink and began twirling it between his fingers. He looked miserable. Not just miserable, I thought. Guilty. He had forged this connection, placed this chain around my neck for eternity.

Gently, I took the ink bottle from his hands. “If you hadn’t done it, the Darkling would have found someone else.”

He twitched, something between a nod and a shrug. I set the ink down at the far edge of the table where his jittery fingers couldn’t reach it and turned to go.

“Alina…?”

I stopped and looked back at him. His cheeks had gone bright red. The warm breeze lifted the edges of his shaggy hair. At least that awful haircut was growing out.

“I heard … I heard Genya was on the ship. With the Darkling.”

I felt a pang of sorrow for Genya. So David hadn’t been completely oblivious.

“Yes,” I said.

“She’s all right?” he asked hopefully.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “She was when we escaped.” But if the Darkling knew that she’d as good as let us go, I didn’t know how he might have dealt with her. I hesitated. “I begged her to come with us.”

His face fell. “But she stayed?”

“I don’t think she felt like she had a choice,” I said. I couldn’t believe I was making excuses for Genya, but I didn’t like the idea of David thinking less of her.

“I should have…” He didn’t seem to know how to finish.

I wanted to say something comforting, something reassuring. But there were so many mistakes in my own past that I couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t ring false.

“We do the best we can,” I offered lamely.

David looked at me then, the regret plain on his face. No matter what I said, we both knew the hard truth. We do our best. We try. And usually, it makes no difference at all.

*

I CARRIED MY BLACK MOOD with me to the next meeting at the Grand Palace. Nikolai’s plan seemed to be working. Though Vasily still dragged himself to the council chamber for our meetings with the ministers, he arrived later and later, and occasionally I caught him dozing off. The one time he failed to appear, Nikolai hauled him from his bed, cheerfully insisting that he get dressed and that we simply couldn’t proceed without him. A clearly hungover Vasily had made it through half of the meeting, swaying at the head of the table, before he bolted into the hallway to vomit noisily into a lacquered vase.

Today, even I was having trouble staying awake. Any bit of breeze had vanished, and despite the open windows, the crowded council chamber was unbearably stuffy. The meeting plodded on until one of the generals announced the dwindling numbers from the First Army’s troop rolls. The ranks had been thinned by death, desertion, and years of brutal war, and given that Ravka was about to be fighting on at least one front again, the situation was dire.

Vasily waved a lazy hand and said, “Why all the gnashing of teeth? Just lower the draft age.”

I sat up straighter. “To what?” I asked.

“Fourteen? Fifteen?” Vasily offered. “What is it now?”

I thought of all the villages Nikolai and I had passed through, the cemeteries that stretched for miles. “Why not just drop it to twelve?” I snapped.

“One is never too young to serve one’s country,” Vasily declared.

I don’t know if it was exhaustion or anger, but the words were out of my mouth before I thought better of them. “In that case, why stop at twelve? I hear babies make excellent cannon fodder.”

A disapproving murmur rose from the King’s advisers. Beneath the table, Nikolai reached over and gave my hand a warning squeeze.