“Amplifiers can’t be combined.”

“I saw the book,” he replied. “It certainly looks like they can.”

I felt the weight of the Istorii Sankt’ya in my pocket. Had the Darkling feared I might learn Morozova’s secrets from the pages of a children’s book?

“You don’t understand what you’re saying,” I told Sturmhond. “No Grisha has ever taken a second amplifier. The risks—”

“Now, that’s a word best not used around me. I tend to be overfond of risk.”

“Not this kind,” I said grimly.

“Pity,” he murmured. “If the Darkling catches up to us, I doubt this ship or this crew will survive another battle. A second amplifier might even the odds. Better yet, give us an edge. I do so hate a fair fight.”

“Or it could kill me or sink the ship or create another Shadow Fold, or worse.”

“You certainly have a flare for the dire.”

My fingers snaked into my pocket, seeking out the damp edges of the scales. I had so little information, and my knowledge of Grisha theory was sketchy at best. But this rule had always seemed fairly clear: one Grisha, one amplifier. I remembered the words from one of the convoluted philosophy texts I’d been required to read: “Why can a Grisha possess but one amplifier? I will answer this question instead: What is infinite? The universe and the greed of men.” I needed time to think.

“Will you keep your word?” I said at last. “Will you help us escape?” I didn’t know why I bothered asking. If he intended to betray us, he certainly wouldn’t say so.

I expected him to reply with some kind of joke, so I was surprised when he said, “Are you so eager to leave your country behind once again?”

I stilled. All the while, your country suffers. The Darkling had accused me of abandoning Ravka. He was wrong about a lot of things, but I couldn’t help feeling that he was right about that. I’d left my country to the mercy of the Shadow Fold, to a weak king and grasping tyrants like the Darkling and the Apparat. Now, if the rumors could be believed, the Fold was expanding and Ravka was falling apart. Because of the Darkling. Because of the collar. Because of me.

I lifted my face to the sun, feeling the rush of sea air over my skin, and said, “I’m eager to be free.”

“As long as the Darkling lives, you’ll never be free. And neither will your country. You know that.”

I’d considered the possibility that Sturmhond was greedy or stupid, but it hadn’t occurred to me that he might actually be a patriot. He was Ravkan, after all, and even if his exploits had lined his own pockets, they’d probably done more to help his country than all of the feeble Ravkan navy.

“I want the choice,” I said.

“You’ll have it,” he replied. “On my word as a liar and cutthroat.” He set off across the deck but then turned back to me. “You are right about one thing, Summoner. The Darkling is a powerful enemy. You might want to think about making some powerful friends.”