Count Kirigin’s description of the stranger had been apt. He was tall—and that was about all Nikolai could say regarding his appearance. He was bundled in a heavy wool coat, a hat slung low over his ears, so that little more than his bright blue eyes were visible, and he was covered in soot.

“Damn it,” said Nikolai, suddenly realizing what this had to be. “He must have been in Os Alta and lost family or friends in the bombing.” He’d come here looking for someone to hold accountable, and Nikolai couldn’t blame him for choosing the king. Well. This wouldn’t be the worst thing he’d face in the coming days.

Nikolai greeted the stranger. “I’m told I have been ordered to make an appearance.”

“Not ordered. Invited.” He spoke Ravkan with a faint accent.

“The hour is late. What can I do for you?”

The stranger reached into his pocket. Instantly, Zoya and Kirigin’s guards lunged in front of Nikolai, hands and rifles raised.

“Best to move slowly in such situations,” said Nikolai.

The stranger held up his palms, showing he had no weapon, just a small package wrapped in brown paper.

“For the king,” he said, holding it out. “And only for the king.”

Cautiously, Zoya reached for the package.

“Give it over,” said Nikolai. “If he’s going to kill me with the world’s tiniest bomb, I’ll at least have an interesting death.”

He pulled the paper away. It was a miniature of Tatiana Lantsov, Ravka’s former queen. His mother. Nikolai’s gaze snapped to the stranger before him. He’d only ever seen his true father in a portrait, a miniature just like this one that had belonged to his mother. Magnus Opjer had looked the spitting image of Nikolai. Except for his bright blue eyes.

“Leave us,” he said to Zoya and the guards.

“It isn’t safe—” Zoya began, but she stopped when she saw the expression on his face. “All right,” she said. “But we’ll be just up the path. I’m not letting either of you out of my sight.”

He listened to their footsteps fade but kept his eyes on the man before him.

Opjer unwound his scarf and Nikolai drew in a breath.

“Tatiana told me you took after me,” Opjer said. “But I cannot quite believe the likeness.”

“It’s all true then.”

“I’m afraid so.”

Had a part of Nikolai believed it was some great joke? That his mother had been mistaken? That Fjerda’s rumormongering would prove to be nothing more than gossip? But here was the proof; all the whispers were true. He was the pretender. He had no Lantsov blood. Not a drop of it. In fact, he was more Fjerdan than Ravkan.

Nikolai took in Opjer’s ragged clothes. Why had he fled Fjerda? Why would he come all this way to see a son he’d never met before? Maybe he did have assassination in mind.

“Why come to me now, looking like a beggar, bearing a miniature of my mother? Mere sentiment?”

“I tried to get here sooner. To warn you of the bombing.”

So, Nikolai was right about that much. Opjer had been in Os Alta during the attack. “You knew what they intended?”

“I overheard their plans where I was being held captive. I got here in time to sound the alarm, but it was all for nothing.”

“You were the one who got them to ring the bells in the lower town.” Nikolai had wondered how they’d somehow spotted the Fjerdan flyers before his palace lookouts.

“Yes. But still the bombs fell.”

Then this man had a conscience. Or he knew how to pretend to have one.

“How did you find this place? How did you know I would be here?”

“I didn’t. But I knew I had no hope of getting in to see you at the palace, and when I heard the tales of Lazlayon…” He lifted his shoulders. “I knew you were a frequent guest of the count’s. I hoped there was more to it than it seemed.”

“And did you share this knowledge with anyone?”

“No.”

Nikolai didn’t know what to believe. It seemed impossible that this person who had loomed in his imagination so long should be standing right before him. He had never wanted to be an ordinary man more. An ordinary man might greet this stranger properly, invite him in for a glass of whiskey or a cup of tea, take the time to understand him. But not a king.

“You haven’t answered my question,” said Nikolai. “Why come here tonight? Why seek me out after all these years? Is it blackmail you have in mind? Or have you come to kill Ravka’s king?”

Opjer’s back straightened. “Do you think so little of me?”

“I know so little of you. You’re a stranger to me.”

“I wanted to know you,” Opjer said. “I kept my distance for your mother’s sake. I never wanted to risk harming either of you. I came here … I’m here because I’m selfish, because I wanted to see my son once before I disappear.”

“Disappear?”

“It is the best gift I can give you. The only gift, really. I’m going to erase myself. As long as I live, I am a threat to you.”

“All Saints, you can’t mean you’re going to fall on your sword for the sake of my throne.”

Opjer laughed, and Nikolai felt a chill race up his spine. That was his laugh.

“I’m not nearly so self-sacrificing. No, I will go to Novyi Zem. I have money. I have time. I’ll live a new life there. Maybe I’ll have myself tailored and really start fresh.”

“A shame,” said Nikolai. “We’re extremely handsome.”

Opjer grinned. “Think of all the poor souls who will never look on this face.”

“That’s … that’s really all you came here for? To meet me?”

“Not all. Not entirely. You have a half sister.”

“Linnea.”

Opjer looked pleased. “You know of her? She’s studying engineering at the University of Ketterdam. Fjerdan law prohibits passing my holdings directly to her, but I’ve made arrangements. I only ask … if the war goes your way, I would ask that you look out for her, offer her your protection as I was never able to offer you mine.”

“I might like having a little sister. Though I’m not much for sharing.” Even if Ravka lost the war, Nikolai would find a way to reach out to Linnea Opjer. He could do that much. Assuming he lived. “I give you my word.”