Adrik and Nadia rose and faced the guests, side by side in their blue kefta, their cuffs embroidered in Squaller silver, Adrik’s bronze arm polished to a high shine. They began to sing in close harmony. It was an old Ravkan folk song about the first firebird and the sorcerer who had tried to capture her.

David and Genya had already begun their slow walk down the aisle. Genya had chosen an extraordinarily long train.

“Who are these people?” Makhi asked. “Where is my sister?”

“They are two members of the Grisha Triumvirate, David Kostyk and Genya Safin.”

“I know who they are. What are they doing here? I will march to the front of this chapel and stop this whole proceeding if—”

Nikolai rested a hand on Makhi’s silk sleeve, then removed it at her glare.

“Do not think to lay a hand on this, the most holy body of Queen Makhi Kir-Taban.”

“My apologies. Truly. But I do think it would be best not to make a scene.”

“Do you think I care about creating a spectacle?”

“No, but you should. I don’t think you want all these people to know where your sister is.”

Makhi tilted her head back, looking down her nose at Nikolai. He felt less victorious than wary. This queen was ruthless and brilliant and very dangerous when cornered. But corner her he must.

“David and Genya were wed with little pomp on a rather hasty trip to Ketterdam,” Nikolai said. “They never had a chance to exchange their vows in Ravka.”

But they were speaking them now.

“Here, witnessed by our Saints and our friends,” Genya said, “I speak words of both love and duty. It is not a chore but an honor to swear faith to you, to promise love to you, to offer my hand and my heart to you in this life and the next.” They were the traditional Ravkan words, spoken at the weddings of nobleman and peasant alike.

The Grisha vows were very different.

“We are soldiers,” David recited, low and shaky. He was unused to speaking in front of a crowd. “I will march with you in times of war. I will rest with you in times of peace. I will forever be the weapon in your hand, the fighter at your side, the friend who awaits your return.” His voice grew stronger and louder with every word. “I have seen your face in the making at the heart of the world and there is no one more beloved, Genya Safin, brave and unbreakable.” The vow rang through the chapel. Genya’s face was shining, as if those words had kindled some secret light.

Tolya, towering over the bride and groom, set a thorn-wood crown upon David’s head and then one upon Genya’s, as Vladim said the blessings. Nikolai would have liked to be a part of the ceremony, to stand with his friends in this moment of happiness when there was so much uncertainty before them. But this wedding had been constructed for the benefit of Queen Makhi, and there was no way he was leaving her side.

“You will answer my questions,” Makhi hissed. “We were brought here for your wedding to my accursed sister.”

“I don’t recall the invitation saying any such thing.”

Queen Makhi’s cheeks were red with indignation. “A royal wedding. It said a royal wedding.”

“And here we are in the royal chapel.”

“Where is Princess Ehri? Is she imprisoned? Has the wedding already taken place?”

“Now what good would a quiet ceremony do me? And who would marvel at my glorious new suit?”

“Where is my sister?” she whispered furiously.

Vladim was finishing the ceremony. David leaned forward to kiss Genya. He smiled, taking that same auburn strand of hair between his fingers. The guests burst into applause.

Now it was Nikolai’s turn to speak.

“She is home, Your Highness. In Ahmrat Jen. In Shu Han.”

Makhi blinked slowly. “Home,” she repeated. “In Shu Han.”

“Yes,” said Nikolai. “She and a regiment of Grisha guards and First Army soldiers departed via airship two days ago along with Tamar Kir-Bataar.”

“Tamar Kir-Bataar is a mongrel and a traitor.”

“Mongrels and bastards make fine companions. She is also one of my most trusted advisers and friends, so I will respectfully ask you to watch your tongue. Princess Ehri will have landed and spoken to your other ministers by now.”

“My … my ministers? Are you mad?”

“She will tell them of the plot you hatched to assassinate me and have her killed for the sake of invading Ravka and starting a war with Fjerda—a war your subjects would never want without good reason, like the slaying of Princess Ehri Kir-Taban, beloved of the people. It must be galling to know how much your younger sister is adored.”

Makhi laughed, and Nikolai had to admire her poise. “You expect Ehri to make this case? Shy, retiring, sweet-natured Ehri? She will crumple under questioning. She is no politician, no ruler, and there is no way she can persuade—”

“She is in the company of Mayu Kir-Kaat.”

Queen Makhi was too practiced a politician to show her distress. Her eyes widened only slightly.

“Yes,” said Nikolai. “Your assassin lives. Mayu Kir-Kaat will corroborate Ehri’s story and explain the instructions you sent to your Tavgharad.”

“It was a line of poetry.”

“Even if your ministers do not know their verses, I imagine your court is full of learned men and women who will understand its meaning, just as your guards did, just as Mayu did.”

Makhi sniffed. “Let them make their case. Let them shout it to the heavens. I am the queen, and that cannot be changed or altered. Only a Taban queen can name a Taban queen.”

Nikolai almost felt bad for the blow he was about to deal. But this was for Ravka. And for Isaak too.

“Very true. But I believe your grandmother still lives, tending to her rosebushes at the Palace of the Thousand Stars. I’ve always wanted to see it for myself. She is still very much a Taban queen and can take her crown back with a single command.”

A second loud cheer went up from the crowd, and David and Genya began their trip down the aisle in a shower of quince blossoms, Tolya trailing behind them with a huge grin on his face and Genya’s train in his hands.

Nikolai applauded heartily, then watched as Tolya’s golden eyes met Queen Makhi’s furious gaze. The giant’s grin faded. He had given up his twin to thwart Makhi, and he did not look ready to forgive the sacrifice. As the wedding party passed, he whispered something in Shu that made Makhi practically snarl.