It still didn’t sit right. They had traveled together for months, endured hardships, witnessed miracles. She had become his closest confidante and most trusted adviser. And he’d sent her away. Not just away, you podge. He’d sent her on an impossible quest with their most deadly enemy. Well, one of them. Truth be told, it was hard to keep track of who was deadliest these days—the Fjerdans with their war machines and Grisha prisoners, the Kerch with their unparalleled navy and bottomless coffers, the blight slowly devouring the world, the Shu who were currently arriving at their door.

Nikolai’s flyers had been tracking Queen Makhi’s airship from a distance, and he’d received word when the party arrived. They’d docked at Poliznaya, where they’d unloaded horses, carriages, and a large retinue of servants, including twelve Tavgharad in black uniforms. General Pensky had greeted them in full military dress, and his soldiers had escorted them on to Os Alta. Nikolai had made sure that the crowds assembled in the streets were watched over by First Army soldiers and Grisha Heartrenders, prepared to drop the pulses of anyone who wanted to make trouble. Though they hadn’t been at war with the Shu in several years, there was still plenty of anti-Shu sentiment, and he didn’t want this day to be more fraught than it had to be.

Tolya knocked at the door to Nikolai’s dressing room and leaned in. “They’re at the gates. You’re making ships again. That nervous?”

Nikolai looked down at the little wire boat in his hand. It was an old habit from childhood, fashioning bits and pieces into the shapes of animals or objects.

“You’re not worried about this whole madcap endeavor?” Nikolai asked.

“I am,” Tolya said grimly. “But this is the right choice. I know it.”

“Saints, are you wearing a kefta?”

Tolya and Tamar usually favored the olive drab of First Army soldiers. They had rejected the trappings of the Second Army from their earliest days at the Little Palace. But now here Tolya was, filling the doorway in Heartrender red, his sleeves heavily embroidered in black and his long hair bound tightly at the nape of his neck.

“Today we stand with Ravka’s Grisha,” said Tolya.

Zoya was going to be very sorry she missed this.

Nikolai took a last glance in the mirror, his medals affixed to the pale blue sash across his chest. He touched his fingers to the blue velvet ribbon tucked into his pocket.

“Let’s go,” he said. “The sooner we start this day, the sooner it will be over.”

“It’s almost as if you don’t like weddings,” Tolya said as they made their way out of the palace.

“I’m very fond of weddings, particularly the part where I can start drinking. I’m amazed they had a kefta in your size.”