For once, Nikolai couldn’t brush away that word as mere superstition. The Tula Valley had been the site of some of the holiest land in Ravka, where Sankt Feliks had supposedly cultivated his orchard—or the thorn wood, depending on which story you believed. It was also the location of the first obisbaya, a ritual meant to separate beast from man. But the Darkling had tainted all that. His attempt to create his own amplifiers and his use of merzost to do it had made a mockery of his power, twisting it into a dark territory crowded with monsters. Sometimes Nikolai wondered if they’d ever be free of that legacy.

Not if you don’t face your part in it. It was time they acknowledged the ugly truth of what this blight meant.

“There’s no other explanation,” he said. “The Fold is expanding. And we caused it.”

“You don’t know that—” Tamar began.

“We do,” said Zoya. Her voice was cold.

Nikolai remembered the earthquakes that had been felt throughout Ravka and beyond when the boundaries of the Fold had ruptured. Elizaveta had been defeated. Three Saints, Grisha of infinite power, had died violently. Nikolai’s attempt to endure the obisbaya and rid himself of his demon had failed. The Darkling’s power lived on inside him, and now the man himself walked the earth once more. Of course there were bound to be consequences.

“We’ll take soil samples,” he continued. “But we know what’s happening here.”

“Fine. You’re to blame,” said Tamar. “How do we stop it?”

“Kill the Darkling,” said Zoya.

Tolya rolled his eyes. “That’s your answer to everything.”

Zoya shrugged. “How do we know if we don’t try?”

“And what about the demon trapped inside the king?” asked Tamar.

Zoya scowled. “Details.”

“We could attempt the obisbaya again,” Tolya suggested. “I found a new text that—”

“It nearly killed him last time,” Zoya snapped.

“Details,” said Nikolai. “We’ll have to consider it.”

“After the wedding,” said Zoya.

“Yes,” said Nikolai, trying to summon some enthusiasm. “After the wedding.”

With her eyes on the horizon, Zoya said, “Please tell me you’ve made progress with Princess Ehri.”

“Contemplating jabbing a thorn through my heart again is easier than wooing a princess.”

“It certainly requires more finesse,” Zoya said. “Which you have in abundance.”

“That doesn’t quite sound like a compliment.”

“It isn’t. You have more charm than sense. But while that makes you irritating, it should also be of use in delicate matters of diplo- macy.”