There would be no sign. He hadn’t anticipated a weapon like this one.

Again, he tried to summon his nichevo’ya, but they couldn’t take shape. Fjerda’s drugged Squallers were amplifying the vibrations from those bells in some way, preventing his shadows from finding their form.

He couldn’t hear the screams of the Starless around him, but he could see their mouths open and wailing, their eyes wide with misery and confusion. On the Fjerdan line, he saw the emaciated Squallers forced into Fjerda’s service, their bodies frail and trembling, their faces hollow and haunted. This was parem. He’d never seen its effects before, hadn’t understood what it could do to his people. Grisha weaponized against Grisha. Fjerda had at last realized their dream of domination. And they just might realize their dream of conquest too.

He had to get out of this place and away from that sound.

Aleksander lurched to his feet, stumbling through the ranks of the Starless, all of them too lost to pain to pay him any mind.

Then he felt it, like a hook in his gut. He turned and saw the young king’s demon racing through the skies, that embodiment of his own power Aleksander had last glimpsed during the obisbaya, when he’d sought to claim the demon for himself.

The boy had set it free. It would cost him the throne. It would cost him everything. Why? So he could die heroically for a country that would turn its back on him? Would the boy never learn?

Sacrifice. The whisper of Yuri’s voice, full of reverence.

He is a fool. Your reverence belongs to me.

What good would this grand gesture do the king? Aleksander could feel the demon breaking apart just as his nichevo’ya had. It was stronger than they were, maybe because it had emerged whole from Nikolai instead of being pieced together from the shadows around them, maybe because it was linked to the king’s consciousness. Even so, it would be no match for the bells.

But it might be. With your help.

Of course, Yuri would like nothing better than for Aleksander to sacrifice himself to this cause. They followed you. They believed in you.

Aleksander needed to run. He would save himself as he always had, regroup and make another plan. The Fjerdans were plowing their way through the Ravkan ranks, and once they reached the Starless, Aleksander would be as good as helpless. He had to get out of here. He had eternity to launch a new strategy, to retake Ravka from the Fjerdans, to build his following and forge a new path to victory. He’d fought too hard to return to this life to endanger it now.

Yet he couldn’t deny what would happen to the Grisha if the Fjerdans won the day. And there would be no miracle, no grand resurrection for him, if there was no one there to see it.

Perhaps it wasn’t too late to salvage this moment. Aleksander planted his feet and opened his hands, calling out to the shadows. This time he didn’t attempt to form them into soldiers. Instead he sent them skittering over the field, fragile tendrils of darkness, blindly seeking the power they recognized. Like calls to like.

He released a shout as the shadows met the demon. They clung to its form.

More. Aleksander’s body shook as he fought to keep his sanity, that deafening, maddening vibration traveling through his skull. His threads of shadow wrapped around the demon’s body, giving strength to its limbs, banding together and binding its form.

The creature shrieked. Aleksander felt the demon’s mind, Nikolai’s mind.

The monster is me …

The ghost of a thought.

The demon’s wings beat against the winter sky and it hurtled toward the bells. It slammed into one, then another, sending them crashing to the ground in a heap of metal and glass. A soldier tried to fire on the creature, but it tore the helmet from his head and slashed its claws across the soldier’s face, silencing him, hot blood like a balm.

The Fjerdans scattered, terrified by the monster come to life before them. The drugged Grisha looked on without interest, their minds full of nothing except parem.

With a roar of triumph, the demon king smashed through the final bell. The wall of sound collapsed in blessed silence. Shouts rose from the Ravkan troops as they stumbled to their feet. They were bleeding. They were broken. But they were not done. They took up their guns, Ravka’s Grisha raised their hands, and they all threw themselves into battle once more.

“What happened?” cried Brother Chernov.

Aleksander could barely hear him. His ears were still ringing with that violent sound, and helping to forge the demon had taken a toll. He watched the monster slide back to the king, a dark blot skating over the field to return to its true master. The Starless hadn’t seen what he’d done or hadn’t understood it. They’d been on the ground, subjugated to the bells.

“What do we do?” said Brother Chernov.

Aleksander wasn’t sure. The bells were gone, but Fjerda had seized the advantage. Their troops were recovering, driving forward, and the king was surrounded.

“There are demons in the sky!”

At first he thought the monk meant Nikolai’s shadow creature, but he was pointing southeast.

“Who has a long glass?” he demanded, and Brother Chernov placed one in his hands.

There was something moving toward the battlefield, though he couldn’t tell what. He only knew it meant more trouble for the king. Nikolai had no allies to the south.

“Where is the sign?” pleaded Brother Chernov. “Why has the Starless One forsaken us? What do we do?”

Aleksander watched as the Fjerdans circled the king and his troops. The bells had given them the chance to cut off Nikolai’s path of retreat. Aleksander supposed he could send the nichevo’ya to help. He could attempt to rescue Ravka’s king a second time.

Or he could let him die and seize control of Ravka’s forces, then lead the charge himself.

The boy had been brave; he’d smashed the bells and risked his life and his country’s loyalty for it. But that did not mean he was meant to win this day.

Apologies, Nikolai. A man can hardly hope for two miracles in one morning.

“What do we do?” repeated Chernov desperately.

Aleksander turned his back on the last Lantsov king. Let him die a martyr.

“All we can do,” he said, addressing his flock. “We pray.”

39

ZOYA

ZOYA KNEW SHE WAS BEING IMPRUDENT, indulging in the same recklessness she’d scolded Nina for again and again, but she wasn’t going to let one of her soldiers be used as a pawn. The Apparat had a game to play, and he would play it. Zoya intended to dictate the rules.