Victory at Nezkii and Ulensk had bought them a chance, time to get their missiles working, build up their fleet of flyers, and most importantly, deal with the Shu. The upcoming nuptials would help to stave off Queen Makhi, and maybe, if he could finesse this elaborate bit of diplomacy, make them allies. The price would be steep, but for Ravka, he would pay it.

Nikolai was dictating a reply to General Raevsky, and trying to ignore the noise of Tolya and Tamar sparring outside the stables, when he sensed her. What they had endured on the Fold had connected them in some way, and he knew he would see Zoya when he turned—yet the sight of her struck like a sudden change in the weather. A drop in temperature, the crackle of electricity in the air, the feeling of a storm coming on. The wind lifted her black hair, the blue silk of her kefta whipping around her frame.

“Your heart is in your eyes, Your Highness,” murmured Tamar, wiping the sweat from her brow.

Tolya poked his twin in the arm with a sparring sword. “Tamar knows because that’s the way she looks at her wife.”

“I am free to look at my wife any which way I please.”

“But Zoya is not Nikolai’s wife.”

“I’m standing right here,” said Nikolai. “And there is nothing in my eyes except the never-ending dust you two kick up.”

He was glad to see his general. There was nothing out of the ordinary about that. Her presence brought a perfectly understandable relief, a feeling of calm that came with knowing that whatever the problem was, they would best it, that if one of them faltered, the other would be there to drag them along. That comfort was not something he could afford to get used to or rely on, but he would enjoy it while he might. If only she weren’t wearing that damned blue ribbon again.

“I hear someone tried to kill you,” Tamar called as Zoya drew near.

“Neither the first nor the last,” Zoya said. “One of the assassins is still alive. I’ve had him sent along to Os Alta for questioning.”

“He’s one of the Apparat’s?”

“That’s my guess. I hear we won.”

“I’d call it a draw,” said Tolya.

Nikolai signaled for another horse to be brought around. He knew the mare Zoya preferred, a swift-hooved creature named Serebrine. “The Fjerdans are not currently marching toward our capital,” he said. “I’ll call it a victory.”

“Then enjoy it,” Tolya said, climbing atop his huge gelding.

“People only say that when they know it won’t last.”

“Of course it won’t last,” said Zoya. “What does?”

“True love?” suggested Tamar.

“Great art?” said Tolya.

“A proper grudge,” replied Zoya.