“Rest,” he told them. “Rest and we will await the sign.” When the right moment came on the battlefield, he would release his nichevo’ya and they would all know the Starless One had returned.

These people were outcasts, he realized, as he picked his way among the sleeping pilgrims. Just as the Grisha had once been.

It’s not too late for you. So Alina had said. Or was it his mother? Or the gnat? It didn’t matter. All his long life he’d been guided by clarity of purpose. It had let him kill without remorse and had given him the daring to seize power that should have been beyond his grasp. It had brought him back from the dead. That was the clarity he needed now.

Aleksander lay down in the blankets that had been set aside for him. They smelled powerfully of horse. He picked up a handful of the Fold’s dead sands and let them drift through his fingers. Was this his legacy? This wound where nothing would grow? A blight that spread even as his nation marched to war?

He looked up at the stars spread like spilled treasure across the night sky. The Starless One. His followers spoke his name in tones of reverence, and in the days to come, their numbers would grow. But people didn’t turn their eyes to the heavens in search of the dark. It was the light they sought.

All that will change, he vowed. I will give them salvation until they beg me to stop.

34

NIKOLAI

THE MOOD AT LAZLAYON was bleak. Nikolai had wanted to speak to Adrik before they landed, but he hadn’t seen the Squaller. There was little room not to bump into each other on a ship like the Cormorant—and that meant Adrik was avoiding him.

“A word,” Nikolai said as they disembarked at the misty landing strip beside the secret entrance to the labs.

Adrik looked wary but said only, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“If you don’t feel you can serve any longer, you may put in your resignation. We’re desperate for trained Grisha, but I can’t afford a soldier whose heart isn’t in this fight.”

“I have no interest in resigning.”

“You’re sure? Think before you answer.”

Adrik was younger than Nikolai, but his consistently miserable demeanor made that easy to forget. Now he looked like a boy—the boy whose body had been savaged by the Darkling’s monsters and who had fought on when others had lost their will.

“Are you … how much of you is you and how much is that thing?”

“I don’t know,” Nikolai answered honestly. “But the demon isn’t the Darkling’s to command. It’s mine.”

“You’re sure about that?”