To her surprise, he reached into his coat pocket and tossed a sheaf of papers onto the table. David’s rocket schematics.

Wylan unrolled them, his eyes moving rapidly over the plans. “These are missiles. You need the titanium to improve their range.”

“Yes.”

“And you want to build something bigger.”

Now Nikolai looked surprised. “Yes. Maybe.”

“This is for Ravka. Because of the bombing at Os Alta. You blockaded Fjerda for them and now you’re helping them build a weapon.”

“That bombing was a test. It was meant to provoke. If Ravka doesn’t respond, Fjerda will know they can’t. They’ll march and they’ll keep marching until every Ravkan is under Fjerdan rule and every Grisha has been thrown into a cell.”

“Or worse,” added Zoya.

Jesper went to the sideboard and pulled a gun belt from the drawer. He slid twin pearl-handled revolvers into their holsters. “When do we leave?”

But Wylan looked less sure.

“This titanium could stop a war,” Nikolai said.

Wylan ran a finger over one of the schematics. “And you can really arm and aim these things?”

“We can. Mostly. Hopefully.”

“I have some ideas,” said Wylan. “The problem is the nozzles, right?”

“Nozzles?” said Jesper.

“Yes,” said Nikolai. “For launching and directing the rocket.”

“That is a ridiculous word,” said Jesper.

“It’s an accurate word,” objected Wylan. “And slightly ridiculous. May I?”

Nikolai nodded, and Wylan began to sketch something onto the schematic.

Zoya felt a sudden sharp sting to her heart. It was too easy to imagine David in this room, his head bent over those plans, the pleasure he would have felt encountering another person who could speak his language. She knew from the look in Nikolai’s eyes that he was thinking the exact same thing. The knowledge of what they’d lost was like a tether between them, a hook in both of their hearts. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked to be reassigned to Os Kervo. She wanted to work with him for the future they both dreamed of. She wanted to build a peace with him. Even when he married, she could stay at the palace, serve by his side. That was the right choice, the noble one—and the thought of it made her feel like snatching a bottle of whiskey from the sideboard and downing the whole thing. It didn’t help that the idea of losing her hadn’t seemed to bother Nikolai a bit. That’s good, she told herself. That’s the way it should be. And what was there to lose, really? They were compatriots, friends; anything else was illusion, as cheap and false as the performances on East Stave.

“We should get started,” she said briskly. “We have a lot of ground to cover.”