“What do you have to say for yourself, boy?” he asked.

“Only that I did what I thought was right,” Mal replied evenly.

“My son seems to feel you had good reason.”

“I imagine every man thinks his reasons are good,” Mal said. “It was still desertion.”

Nikolai raised his eyes heavenward, and I had the urge to give Mal a good shake. Couldn’t he be a bit less flinty and forthright for once?

The King’s frown deepened. We waited.

“Very well,” he said at last. “What’s one more viper in the nest? You will be dishonorably discharged.”

“Dishonorably?” I blurted.

Mal just bowed and said, “Thank you, moi tsar.”

The King lifted his hand in a lazy wave. “Go,” he said petulantly.

I was tempted to stay and make an argument of it, but Nikolai was glaring a warning at me, and Mal had already turned to leave. I had to scurry to catch up with him as he marched down the blue-carpeted aisle.

As soon as we left the throne room and the doors closed behind us, I said, “We’ll talk to Nikolai. We’ll get him to petition the King.”

Mal didn’t even break his stride. “There’s no point,” he said. “I knew it would be this way.”

He said that, but I saw in the slump of his shoulders that some part of him had still hoped. I wanted to grab hold of his arm, make him stop, tell him I was sorry, that somehow we’d find a way to make things right. Instead, I hurried along beside him, struggling to keep up, keenly aware of the footmen watching us from every doorway.

We retraced our steps through the gleaming hallways of the palace and down the marble staircase. Fedyor and his Grisha were waiting by their horses. They’d cleaned up as best they could, but their brightly colored kefta still seemed a bit bedraggled. Tamar and Tolya stood slightly apart from them, the golden sunbursts I’d given them sparkling on their roughspun tunics. I took a deep breath. Nikolai had done what he could. Now it was my turn.

CHAPTER 13

THE WINDING WHITE gravel path led us through the palace grounds, past the rolling lawns and follies, and the high walls of the hedge maze. Tolya, ordinarily so still and silent, squirmed in his saddle, his mouth set in a sullen line.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

I thought he might not answer, but then he said, “It smells like weakness here. Like people getting soft.”

I shot a glance at the giant warrior. “Everyone is soft compared to you, Tolya.”

Tamar could usually be counted upon to laugh off her brother’s moods, but she surprised me by saying, “He’s right. This place feels like it’s dying.”

They weren’t helping to settle my nerves. Our audience in the throne room had left me jittery, and I was still a little taken aback by the anger I’d felt toward the King, though Saints knew he deserved it. He was a filthy old lech who liked to corner servant girls, to say nothing of the fact that he was a rotten leader and had threatened to execute both me and Mal in the space of a few minutes. Even thinking about it, I felt another jab of bitter resentment.