“I think so. Love is not known for making men reasonable. I think that’s one of the few things Isaak and I had in common—an inability to stop loving whom we should not. Give me a chance to show you what might be.”

He’d spoken almost those same words to Zoya. Give me a chance. Give me time. Every day he prayed he might find a way to keep his country from destruction, to make peace a possibility. But he couldn’t do it alone.

He strode to the door. “I will tell my Healers to restore your strength.”

“You … you will?” She didn’t believe him.

“Friend or foe, Ravka will have you at your best, Mayu Kir-Kaat. I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge.”

Nikolai had planned to ride to Lazlayon to meet with David and the other Fabrikators, but he needed to clear his head, and the sky was the best place to do it. Instead of returning to the Grand Palace, he walked down to the lake. He released the tethers that bound his favorite flyer to the dock and slipped into the cockpit of the Sparrowhawk, engaging the propellers. He pulled on his goggles, and in moments, the flyer was bouncing over the water of the lake like a skipping stone, then rising into the air.

The demon liked to fly. Nikolai could feel it turn its face to the wind, longing to be free to ride the clouds. He soared past the walls of Os Alta, and northeast, sailing over miles of farmland. Up here, the world felt wide and he felt less like a king than the privateer he’d once been. We need a king, not an adventurer. A shame.

He’d had to be a king when he spoke to Ehri and Mayu. He had needed to seem confident and assured, just human enough. But being around them, talking about Isaak, had left him shaken. Nikolai had been the one to bring Isaak to the palace and make him one of his guards. They were the same age and yet, how little of the world had Isaak had a chance to see? He would never be at home with his sisters again, his mother. He would never translate another poem or greet another day. Nikolai knew guilt would only cloud his judgment, slow him down, keep him from making the difficult choices he would need to make in the days to come. It wasn’t useful, but he couldn’t shrug it off like some kind of mood. Isaak had trusted him, and that trust had gotten him killed.