When Fedyor finished his tale, I asked that he be brought dinner and advised him that he should be ready to travel to Os Alta at dawn.

“I don’t know what kind of reception we can expect,” I warned him.

“We’ll be ready, moi soverenyi,” he said, and bowed.

I started at the title. In my mind, it still belonged to the Darkling.

“Fedyor…” I began as I walked him to the door. Then I hesitated. I couldn’t believe what I was about to say, but apparently Nikolai was getting through to me—for better or worse. “I realize you’ve been traveling, but tidy up a bit before tomorrow. It’s important that we make a good impression.”

He didn’t even blink—just bowed again and replied, “Da, soverenyi,” before disappearing into the night.

Great, I thought. One order down, a few thousand more to go.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, I dressed in my elaborate kefta and descended the dacha’s steps with Mal and the twins. The gold sunbursts glittered from their chests, but they still wore peasant roughspun. Nikolai might not like it, but I wanted to erase the lines that had been drawn between the Grisha and the rest of Ravka’s people.

Though we’d been warned that Os Alta was teeming with refugees and pilgrims, for once Nikolai didn’t insist that I ride in the coach. He wanted me to be seen entering the city. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to put on a show. My guards and I were all seated on beautiful white horses, and men from his regiment flanked us on both sides, each bearing the Ravkan double eagle and flags emblazoned with golden suns.

“Subtle, as always,” I sighed.

“Understatement is overrated,” he replied as he mounted a dappled gray. “Now, shall we visit my quaint childhood home?”

It was a warm morning, and the banners of our processional hung limp in the still air as we wended our way slowly along the Vy toward the capital. Ordinarily, the royal family would have spent the hot months at their summer palace in the lake district. But Os Alta was more easily defended, and they’d chosen to hunker down behind its famous double walls.

My thoughts wandered as we rode. I hadn’t gotten much sleep and, despite my nerves, the warmth of the morning combined with the steady sway of the horse and the low hum of insects made my chin droop. But when we crested the hill at the outskirts of the town, I came quickly awake.

In the distance, I saw Os Alta, the Dream City, its spires white and jagged against the cloudless sky. But between us and the capital, arrayed in perfect military formation, stood row after row of armed men. Hundreds of soldiers of the First Army, maybe a thousand—infantry, cavalry, officers, and grunts. Sunlight glittered off the hilts of their swords, and their backs bristled with rifles.

A man rode out before them. He wore an officer’s coat covered with medals and sat atop one of the biggest horses I’d ever seen. It could have carried two Tolyas.