Zoya shook her head. “Do you have any love for Ravka at all?”

“Ravka was meant to be ruled by holy men, and your king is not one. He is an abomination. The Saints must be freed from him.”

“I think you find abomination where it’s convenient. The same way you locate your Saints. What do you want? We’re short on time.”

“Were you seen?”

“I killed a man on the way up.”

“I see,” the Apparat said with some distaste. He nudged one of the monks. “Bring me the boy.”

The Priestguard moved to obey, opening the nearest cell and leading out an emaciated prisoner.

“This poor soul was taken from a Fjerdan village by Jarl Brum. He’s a Heartrender. Or maybe a Healer. He was never trained. But now he does whatever the drug parem tells him to.” The Apparat removed a packet from his robes and the Heartrender lifted his head, sniffing the air, a low moan escaping his throat. “You and I are going to leave this place together, Zoya Nazyalensky. You will declare your allegiance to Vadik Demidov, the true Lantsov king. And you will become my Saint, a symbol of the new Ravka.”

“And if I say no, Nina will be tortured by your monks?”

“She will be tortured by this Heartrender. One of your own. He will take the skin from her body inch by inch. And when her heart begins to fail, I’ll have him heal her and start all over. Maybe I’ll have Miss Zenik dosed with the drug. I understand she survived one encounter with parem. I doubt she’ll be so lucky again.”

For the first time, Zoya saw panic enter Nina’s eyes. I won’t let it happen, she vowed. I will not fail you.

“If Nina Zenik dies here today,” the Apparat continued, “who will remember her name? She is no Saint, has worked no miracles.”

“I’ll remember,” Zoya said, her fury growing. “I remember all their names.”

“You and I will leave this tower. You will announce you’ve defected to our side and offer your service to the true Lantsov heir. You will join us and see the false king deposed.”

“Where does this plan end, priest? You’ve told me what you intend, but what is your goal?”

“Demidov on the throne. Ravka purified and sanctified by the Saints.”

“And you?”

“I will attend to the matter of Ravka’s soul. And I will give you a gift that no one else can.”

“Which is?”

“I know the locations of Brum’s secret bases, all the hidden places where he’s keeping Grisha prisoners. Men, women, children, maybe even friends you once thought dead. Not even Fjerda’s king and queen know where to find them, only Jarl Brum and my spies. The witchhunter is far less stealthy than he thinks, and my followers have done their work well. I see I have your full attention.”

Grisha in cells. Grisha being tortured and experimented on. Grisha she could save. “You mean to make me choose between my king and my people.”

“Haven’t the Grisha suffered enough? Think of all the prison doors that would fly open if you joined my cause. Imagine all the suffering your people will endure until then.”

“Do you know what I think?” Zoya said, edging closer. If she could manage a lightning strike before the monks released the gas, she and Nina could make quick work of the rest of the Apparat’s men. “This has never been about the Saints or restoring Ravka to the faith—only your own desire to rule. Do you resent men born of royal blood? Women with power in their veins? Or do you truly think you know what’s best for Ravka?”

The priest’s eyes were dark as pits. “I have been waiting for the Saints to speak to me since I was a child. Maybe you recited the same prayers, had the same hopes? Most children do. But somewhere along the way, I realized no one would answer my prayers. I would have to build my own cathedral and fill it with my own Saints.” He held up the packet of parem. “And now they speak when I want them to. Speak, Sankta Zoya.”

The Heartrender, eyes focused on the drug he so desired, twisted his fingers in the air. Nina screamed, blood leaking from her eyes, her nose.

“Stop!” shouted Zoya.

The Apparat signaled the Heartrender, who whimpered softly but went still. The priest dabbed a bit of orange powder onto the Grisha’s tongue as reward.

Zoya watched the Heartrender’s eyes roll back into his head, watched the blood trickle from Nina’s nose.

“She’s like a sister to you, no? Maybe like a daughter?” The Apparat smiled gently, serenely. “Will you be the mother she deserves? The mother they all deserve?”

Zoya remembered her own mother marching her down the aisle of the cathedral to hand her to the rich old man who would be her groom. She remembered the priest standing behind him, ready to consecrate a sham marriage for the sake of a little coin. She remembered the Suli circling her on the cliff top. Daughter, they’d whispered. Daughter.

Zoya looked at the Heartrender, looked at the cells. How many of them were full? How many cells were there in military bases and secret laboratories? Whether she chose her king or her people, she would never be able to save them all. She could hear Genya’s voice, ringing in her ears: You push us away, keep us at arm’s distance so that you won’t mourn us. But you’ll mourn us anyway. That’s the way love works.

Understanding burned through her like fire from a dragon’s mouth, leaving her weightless as ash. She would never be able to save them all. But that didn’t mean she was Sabina leading her child to the slaughter.

Daughter. Why had that word frightened her so? She remembered Genya looping her arm through hers, Alina embracing her on the steps of the sanatorium. Nikolai drawing her close in the garden, the peace he’d granted her in that moment.

This is what love does. In the stories, love healed your wounds, fixed what was broken, allowed you to go on. But love wasn’t a spell, some kind of benediction to be whispered, a balm or a cure-all. It was a single, fragile thread, which grew stronger through connection, through shared hardship and honored trust. Zoya’s mother had been wrong. It wasn’t love that had ruined her, it was the death of it. She’d believed that love would do the work of living. She’d let the thread fray and snap.

This is what love does. An old echo, but it wasn’t Sabina she heard now. It was Liliyana’s voice as she stood fearless in the church, as she risked everything to fight for a child who wasn’t her own. This is what love does.