“The battle is just the backdrop for him,” she realized. “He’s going to stage his return with some kind of miracle.” She remembered what Alina had said to him. Why do you have to be the savior? The Darkling would wait for his moment, maybe even for Nikolai’s death, and then the Saint would appear to lead them all to—what? Freedom? He’d never had to face Fjerda’s new war machines. He couldn’t beat them on his own, no matter what he believed. And Zoya would dose herself with parem before she followed him again.

“General!” A soldier was running toward her with a note in his hand. “I was asked to deliver this to you.”

Genya plucked it from his fingers.

“By whom?” said Zoya.

“A man in monk’s robes. He came ashore a little ways up the coast.”

“Were his robes brown or black?”

“Brown and bearing the Sun Summoner’s symbol.”

Genya’s eyes moved over the paper. “Oh, Saints.”

“Give it to me.”

“Zoya, you must keep your head.”

“What the hell does it say?” She snatched it from Genya’s hand.

The note was brief and in Ravkan: I have Mila Jandersdat. Come to the eastern observation tower aboard Leviathan’s Mouth. She will await you in the cells.

Zoya crushed the note in her hand. The Apparat had Nina.

“This is a trap,” said Genya. “Not a negotiation tactic. He wants you to do something rash. Zoya? Zoya, what are you doing?”

Zoya stalked back to the tent. “Something rash.”

“We have a strategy,” Genya argued, hurrying to follow. “It’s working. We need to stick to it. And Nikolai needs you to help guide our rockets.”

Zoya hesitated. She didn’t want to leave her king without the resources he needed. And damn it, she wanted to be beside him in this fight. Every time she thought of him lying on the floor of the Cormorant, his arm cushioning his head as he spoke those words, those absurd, beautiful words … No prince and no power could make me stop wanting you. The memory was like drinking something sweet and poisonous. Even knowing the misery it would cause her, she couldn’t stop craving the taste.