Zoya set down Oncat. “There’s hot tea?”

The soldier nodded. Alina cut Zoya a glance, and she shrugged. If they had to endure the Darkling, they could at least be civilized about it.

“Keep eyes on the door,” Zoya commanded. “If you hear anything out of the ordinary—anything at all—do not wait for my orders.”

“I’ve guarded him in the sun cell,” the tattooed soldier said. “He seems harmless enough.”

“I didn’t ask for an assessment of the threat,” Zoya bit out. “Stay alert, and respond with deadly force. If he gets free, we won’t have a second shot at him, understood?”

The soldier nodded, and Zoya dismissed her with a disgusted flick of her hand.

“Still making friends?” Alina said with a laugh.

“These children are going to get themselves and us killed.”

Mal smiled. “Are you nervous, Zoya?”

“Don’t be absurd.”

He turned to Alina. “She’s nervous.”

“You’re not?” asked Alina.

“Oh, I’m terrified, but I didn’t expect Zoya to be.”

Alina yanked her shawl tighter. “Let’s get this over with.”

Zoya strode to the coach and ducked inside. She unhooked the Darkling’s shackles from the seat and drew the blindfold back over his eyes.

“Is that strictly necessary?”

“Probably not,” she admitted. “Behave yourself.”

Flanked by Sun Soldiers, she led him across the yard and up the stairs.

“Wipe your feet,” Alina said.

He stilled at the sound of her voice, then obeyed.

Zoya met her eyes and Alina winked. Any little victory.

It was colder inside than out, the sanatorium’s battered marble floors and broken windows providing little insulation. The entry had once been a grand receiving room, with double staircases that led to the east and west wings. But now one of those staircases had buckled from rot. A shattered chandelier lay on its side in the corner, beside heaps of dust and glass the Sun Soldiers had swept up. Old medical equipment was propped against the walls—the twisted frame of a cot, a rusty metal tub, what might have been leather straps for restraining patients.

Zoya stifled a shudder. That cozy hotel was sounding better and better. A table had been set with a samovar and glasses at the center of the room. Four chairs surrounded it. Zoya hadn’t known Misha was coming.

Two Sun Soldiers led the Darkling to a chair, his shackles jangling. They had no idea they were in Alina Starkov’s presence, that their power had come from her loss.

Zoya gestured for them to take up positions at the base of the steps. She didn’t want anyone to overhear their conversation. There were already soldiers posted outside every exit point, and high above, she heard the distant but comforting sound of engines. She had requisitioned two of Nikolai’s armed flyers to patrol the skies.

When they were alone, Alina sat and said, “Misha, will you pour the tea?”