Everyone started shouting again. I noted that the Materialki hadn’t shown up to complain. As the lowest Grisha Order, they were probably just glad to be included, or possibly they were too caught up in their work to be bothered.

I still wasn’t quite awake. I wanted my breakfast, not an argument. But I knew this had to be addressed. I intended to do things differently—and they might as well know just how differently or this effort would fall apart before it even began.

I held up my hand and they quieted instantly. Clearly, I had that trick down. Maybe they were afraid I was going to ruin another ceiling. “There will be two Grisha from each Order,” I said. “No more, no less.”

“But—” began Sergei.

“The Darkling has changed. If we have any hope of beating him, we need to change, too. Two Grisha from each Order,” I repeated. “And the Orders will no longer sit separately. You’ll sit together, eat together, and fight together.”

At least I’d gotten them to shut up. They just stood there, gaping.

“And the Fabrikators start combat training this week,” I finished.

I took in their horrified expressions. They looked like I’d told them we’d all be marching into battle naked. The Materialki weren’t considered warriors, so no one had ever bothered to teach them to fight. It felt like a missed opportunity to me. Use whatever or whoever is in front of you.

“I can see you’re all thrilled,” I said with a small sigh.

Desperate for a glass of tea, I walked to the table where a breakfast tray had been laid with covered dishes. I lifted one of the lids: rye and herring. This morning was not getting off to a good start.

“But … but it’s always been this way,” sputtered Sergei.

“You can’t just overturn hundreds of years of tradition,” protested the Inferni.

“Are we really going to argue about this, too?” I asked irritably. “We’re at war with an ancient power beyond reckoning, and you want to squabble over who sits next to you at lunch?”

“That’s not the point,” said Zoya. “There’s an order to things, a way of doing them that—”

They all started gabbling again—about tradition, about the way things were done, about the need for structure and people knowing their places.

I set the cover back down on the dish with a loud clang.

“This is the way we’re doing it,” I said, rapidly losing patience. “No more Corporalki snobbery. No more Etherealki cliques. And no more herring.”

Zoya opened her mouth but then thought better of it and shut it again.

“Now go,” I barked. “I want to eat my breakfast in peace.”

For a moment, they just stood there. Then Tamar and Tolya stepped forward, and to my continuing amazement, the Grisha did as they were told. Zoya looked peeved, and Sergei’s face was stormy, but they all shuffled meekly out of the room.

Seconds after they left, Nikolai appeared in the doorway, and I realized he’d been eavesdropping in the hall.