“Once-great men do not always remain great. It was a Lantsov king who failed to keep the Black Heretic in check and allowed him to create the Fold. It was a Lantsov king who all but abdicated rule of Ravka to the Darkling and the Apparat, and let his country and his people languish in their care. I’m sorry I cannot claim Ravka’s crown, but I’m happy I cannot claim Lantsov blood.”

“Nikolai—” protested Zoya.

He gestured to Vadik Demidov. “But this man has no more right to the throne than I.” Nikolai cast his gaze around the chamber, gathering every bit of authority he had earned through blood and trial, on the seas as Sturmhond, on the battlefield as Nikolai Lantsov. He might have no true name, but he had victories enough. “Fjerda imposed on Ravka’s noble families to come to this place. So we will do those nobles the courtesy of letting them decide who should rule this nation.”

“Are you so arrogant you think they’ll choose a bastard?” his father said on a cackle.

Zoya turned to him and whispered, “This is exactly what Fjerda wants. You can’t let them vote and give legitimacy to such a body. You must stop.”

But Nikolai didn’t intend to stop. And if Zoya was angry now, he suspected he’d have to take cover momentarily.

He strode to the windows. “Yaromir, the first king, had no claim to royalty until he united Ravka’s warring noblemen beneath his banner. He had the help of Sankt Feliks to do it. Only one person can unite this country and bring peace to our nations. Soldier, Summoner, and Saint.”

He threw open the shutters. The winter wind blew through and on it, the sounds of the people chanting below. Sankta Zoya. Rebe Dva Urga. Saint Zoya. Daughter of the Wind. The only person to whom he could entrust this country he had fought and bled for, who might finally bring them an age of peace.

“I will kneel to only one ruler, and I will see only one person crowned this day. The age of the Lantsovs is over.” He sank to one knee. “Let the Nazyalensky dynasty begin. All hail the Dragon Queen.”

The words hung in the room like insects suspended in amber. Nikolai could hear the pounding of his heart, the chanting outside.

What happens if no one speaks? he wondered. What if they all get up and leave? Do I just stay here?

Then he heard a throat being cleared, and all the sweet Saints, a voice: “All hail the Dragon Queen! Moya Tsaritsa!”

Count Kirigin. The man did come through in a pinch.

Another voice shouted, “The Dragon Queen!”