Stop it, I chastised myself. You’re not some scared little girl anymore, shaking in her army-issue boots. You’re a Grisha, the Sun Summoner. They need you. And you could bring this whole palace down around them if you wanted to. I straightened my spine and tried to steady my heart.

When we reached the double eagle fountain, Tolya helped me from my horse. I squinted up at the Grand Palace, its gleaming white terraces crammed with layer after layer of gold ornament and statuary. It was just as ugly and intimidating as I remembered.

Vasily handed the reins of his mount to a waiting servant and headed up the marble steps without a backward glance.

Nikolai squared his shoulders. “Keep quiet and try to look penitent,” he muttered to us. Then he bounded up the staircase to join his brother.

Mal’s face was pale. I wiped my clammy hands on my kefta, and we followed the princes, leaving the rest of our party behind.

Inside, the halls of the palace were silent as we passed from room to glittering room. Our footfalls echoed on the polished parquet, and my anxiety grew with every step. At the doors to the throne room, I saw Nikolai take a deep breath. His uniform was immaculate, his handsome face cut in the lines of a fairy tale prince. I suddenly missed Sturmhond’s lumpy nose and muddy green eyes.

The doors were thrown open and the footman declared, “Tsesarevich Vasily Lantsov and Grand Duke Nikolai Lantsov.”

Nikolai had told us that we wouldn’t be announced but that we should follow behind him and Vasily. With hesitating steps, we complied, keeping a respectful distance from the princes.

A long, pale blue carpet stretched the length of the room. At the end of it, a group of elegantly dressed courtiers and advisers milled around a raised dais. Above them all sat the King and Queen of Ravka, on matching golden thrones.

No priest, I noted as we drew closer. The Apparat had always seemed to be lurking somewhere behind the King, but now he was conspicuously absent. He did not seem to have been replaced with another spiritual adviser.

The King was far frailer and weaker than when I’d last seen him. His narrow chest looked like it had caved in on itself, and his drooping mustache was shot through with gray. But the greatest change had been wrought in the Queen. Without Genya there to tailor her face, she seemed to have aged twenty years in just a few months. Her skin had lost its creamy firmness. Deep furrows were beginning to form around her nose and mouth, and her too-bright irises had faded to a more natural but less arresting blue. Any pity I might have felt for her was eclipsed by my memory of the way she’d treated Genya. Maybe if she’d shown her servant a little less contempt, Genya wouldn’t have felt compelled to throw her lot in with the Darkling. So many things might have been different.