He hadn’t felt reassured. He’d felt panicked. He knew firsthand what an armed, desperate Nadya could accomplish, and it inevitably ended in death for the enemy. Which was fine when the enemy was a band of Germans. Less than fine when it was his own brother.

But he’d awoken today with the certainty that he could make it right. It would just require doing the thing he most feared. Facing Zivon.

Funny—instead of the dread the idea had instilled in him for the last months, making the decision brought peace. He smiled. “It’s a lovely summer day, I’m spending it with the woman I love, and I think our next step will net us all we need it to do.” He shrugged. “Why not be happy?”

She grunted and reached for the water they’d brought out with them. “I lack the faith you seem to have. Nothing has gone our way since we stepped foot on this stinking island. And if this doesn’t work—if the press doesn’t print the story or the Admiralty doesn’t believe it or the photographs Paul gave us don’t convince them—”

“Then I ask Zivon directly for what we need.” He looked straight ahead as he said it, not wanting to see Nadya’s face. He wouldn’t put it past her to be angry instead of relieved at his decision. To say, “You could have come to this conclusion a month ago and saved us a lot of wasted time and effort.” She’d be right to say it.

But she didn’t. Instead, her small, deceptively delicate-looking fingers moved over his arm. “Do you really think he will? Come, Evgeni. This is why I haven’t pushed on that point. He will not help you. Not if it means helping us. And I think you are right that he will see through any lie you try to tell. He will not make this decision freely.” She pushed to her feet and stomped toward the birds.

They fluttered a mere few feet away. London’s pigeons were obviously no more intimidated by people than Petrograd’s were. She spun back to face him. “You must be prepared to force him. Or if that is something you cannot do, I will.”

Somehow, the way she said it sounded like an offer, not an accusation. She’d grown in the last few months. The Nadya he’d first left behind in Russia when he fled with Zivon would have spat it out like a challenge. A threat.

He held out a hand to her. And waited the long moment until she came forward and put her fingers in his. “I will try it my way first. I think . . . I think I can convince him.”