“And just how would I manage that?”

“I believe there’s an elaborate system of mirrors, pulleys, and possibly hypnotism involved. I got a little lost.”

I started to giggle.

“It wasn’t all funny, Alina. When they were in their cups, some of the nobles made it clear they think all of the Grisha should be rounded up and executed.”

“Saints,” I breathed.

“They’re scared.”

“That’s no excuse,” I said, feeling my anger rise. “We’re Ravkans, too. It’s like they forget everything the Second Army has done for them.”

Mal raised his hands. “I didn’t say I agreed with them.”

I sighed and swatted at an innocent tree branch. “I know.”

“Anyway, I think I made a bit of progress.”

“How did you manage that?”

“Well, they liked that you served in the First Army, and that you saved their prince’s life.”

“After he risked his own life rescuing us?”

“I may have taken some liberties with the details.”

“Oh, Nikolai will love that. Is there more?”

“I told them you hate herring.”

“Why?”

“And that you love plum cake. And that Ana Kuya took a switch to you when you ruined your spring slippers jumping in puddles.”

I winced. “Why would you tell them all that?”

“I wanted to make you human,” he said. “All they see when they look at you is the Sun Summoner. They see a threat, another powerful Grisha like the Darkling. I want them to see a daughter or a sister or a friend. I want them to see Alina.”

I felt a lump rise in my throat. “Do you practice being wonderful?”

“Daily,” he said with a grin. Then he winked. “But I prefer ‘useful.’”

The chapel was the only remaining building of a monastery that had once stood atop Os Alta, and it was said to be where the first Kings of Ravka had been crowned. Compared to the other structures on the palace grounds, it was a humble building, with whitewashed walls and a single bright blue dome.

It was empty and looked like it could use a good cleaning. The pews were covered in dust, and there were pigeons roosting in the eaves. As we walked up the aisle, Mal took my hand, and my heart gave a funny little leap.

We didn’t waste much time in the vestry. The few books on its shelves were a disappointment, just a bunch of old hymnals with crumbling, yellowed pages. The only thing of real interest in the chapel was the massive triptych behind the altar. A riot of color, its three huge panels showed thirteen saints with benevolent faces. I recognized some of them from the Istorii Sankt’ya: Lizabeta with her bloody roses, Petyr with his still-burning arrows. And there was Sankt Ilya with his collar and fetters and broken chains.

“No animals,” Mal observed.

“From what I’ve seen, he’s never pictured with the amplifiers, just with the chains. Except in the Istorii Sankt’ya.” I just didn’t know why.

Most of the triptych was in fairly good condition, but Ilya’s panel had sustained bad water damage. The Saints’ faces were barely visible under the mold, and the damp smell of mildew was nearly overpowering. I pressed my nose to my sleeve.