Siege and Storm (The Grisha 2)

“I didn’t realize ‘winning the people’ meant meeting every single one of them,” I grumbled. “Aren’t we in a hurry?”

“Ravka needs to know its Sun Summoner has returned. ”

“And its wayward prince?”

“Him too. Gossip will do more than royal pronouncements. And that reminds me,” he said, lowering his voice. “From here on out, you need to behave as if someone is watching every minute. ” He gestured between me and Mal with his fork. “What you do in private is your own affair. Just be discreet. ”

I nearly choked on my wine. “What?” I sputtered.

“It’s one thing for you to be linked with a royal prince, quite another for people to think you’re tumbling a peasant. ”

“I’m not—it’s nobody’s business!” I whispered furiously. I darted a glance at Mal. His teeth were clenched, and he was gripping his knife a little too tightly.

“Power is alliance,” said Nikolai. “It’s everyone’s business. ” He took another sip of wine as I glared at him in disbelief. “And you should be wearing your own colors. ”

I shook my head, thrown by the change of subject. “Now you’re choosing my clothes?” I was wearing the blue kefta, but clearly Nikolai wasn’t satisfied.

“If you intend to lead the Second Army and take the Darkling’s place, then you need to look the part. ”

“Summoners wear blue,” I said irritably.

“Don’t underestimate the power of the grand gesture, Alina. The people like spectacle. The Darkling understood that. ”

“I’ll think about it. ”

“Might I suggest gold?” Nikolai went on. “Very regal, very appropriate—”

“Very tacky?”

“Gold and black would be best. Perfect symbolism and—”

“No black,” Mal said. He pushed back from the table and, without another word, disappeared into the crowded room.

I set down my fork. “I can’t tell if you’re deliberately making trouble or if you’re just an ass. ”

The

prince took another bite of his dinner. “He doesn’t like black?”

“It’s the color of the man who tried to kill him and regularly takes me hostage. My sworn enemy?”

“All the more reason to claim that color as your own. ”

I craned my neck to see where Mal had gone. Through the doorway, I watched him take a seat by himself at the bar.

“No,” I said. “No black. ”

“As you like,” Nikolai replied. “But choose something for yourself and your guards. ”

I sighed. “Do I really need guards?”

Nikolai leaned back in his chair and studied me, his face suddenly serious. “Do you know how I got the name Sturmhond?” he asked.

“I thought it was some kind of joke, a play on Sobachka. ”

“No,” he said. “It’s a name I earned. The first enemy ship I ever boarded was a Fjerdan trader out of Djerholm. When I told the captain to lay down his sword, he laughed in my face and told me to run home to my mother. He said Fjerdan men make bread from the bones of skinny Ravkan boys. ”

“So you killed him?”

“No. I told him foolish old captains weren’t fit meat for Ravkan men. Then I cut off his fingers and fed them to my dog while he watched. ”

“You … what?”

The room was packed with rowdy soldiers singing, shouting, telling stories, but it all fell away as I stared at Nikolai in stunned silence. It was as if I was watching him transform again, as if the charming mask had shifted to reveal a very dangerous man.

“You heard me. My enemies understood brutality. And so did my crew. After it was over, I drank with my men and divvied up the spoils. Then I went back to my cabin, vomited up the very fine dinner my steward had prepared, and cried myself to sleep. But that was the day I became a real privateer, and that was the day Sturmhond was born. ”

“So much for ‘puppy,’” I said, feeling a bit nauseated myself.

“I was a boy trying to lead an undisciplined crew of thieves and rogues against enemies who were older, wiser, and tougher. I needed them to fear me. All of them. And if they hadn’t, more people would have died. ”

I pushed my plate away. “Just whose fingers are you telling me to cut off?”

“I’m telling you that if you want to be a leader, it’s time you started thinking and acting like one. ”

“I’ve heard this before, you know, from the Darkling and his supporters. Be brutal. Be cruel. More lives will be saved in the long run. ”

“Do you think I’m like the Darkling?”

I studied him—the golden hair, the sharp uniform, those too-clever hazel eyes.

“No,” I said slowly. “I don’t think you are. ” I rose to go join Mal. “But I’ve been wrong before. ”

* * *

THE JOURNEY TO OS ALTA was less a march than a slow, excruciating parade. We stopped at every town along the Vy, at farms, schools, churches, and dairies. We greeted local dignitaries and walked the wards of hospitals. We dined with war veterans and applauded girls’ choirs.

It was hard not to notice that the villages were mostly populated by the very young and the very old. Every able body had been drafted to serve in the King’s Army and fight in Ravka’s endless wars. The cemeteries were as big as the towns.