Chapter Text
NIKOLAI
Nikolai throws back a shot of whiskey, reveling in the burn it trails from his throat to his stomach. He isn’t foolish enough to believe it will end his pounding headache, but at this point, he is desperate enough to try.
He pours himself another glass and swirls it around carefully before picking up the hastily scrawled letter on his desk. He reads once, twice, before slamming it back down and throwing himself into his chair.
“Miserable, horrible, piece of shit…” He mumbles to himself. Across him, Zoya sits impatiently. Her arms and legs are crossed tightly and foot bounces in a way that makes Nikolai pour another glass just for her. She scrunches her nose at the sight.
“You know I refuse to drink that rubbish.”
Nikolai scoffs. “This bottle is over fifty years old.”
“Nikolai.”
“I know,” he says seriously. Humor is not going to help him out of this newest predicament. The letter on his desk was just delivered from one of his many spies, with news that the Wandering Isle has officially gone silent. They’ve ceased all trade: no exports, no imports. A foreign ship hasn't breached their harbor in weeks, effectively trapping the Kaelish on the rocky shores. The leaders of Shu Han and Fjerda are, of course, eager to involve their militaries and start a nation-wide war. The Kaelish stand no chance against the Ravkans, Fjerdans, and Shu, which leads Nikolai to search for a more civilized approach. However, he would be a fool to make decisions without more information.
“Genya and I could sail over, attempt to send a message—”
“The Kaelish used to drink the blood of Grisha. I’m not sending you two in to be slaughtered.” Nikolai tosses back the last of his whiskey and settles back into his chair. He despises his office. Dealing with problem after problem has left him little time to handle such ridiculous and menial tasks like decorating, but the gaudy decor his father preferred is probably giving him an ulcer.
Zoya had approached him with the news of the Wandering Isle shutting their harbor down just a few weeks ago. Since then, she’s been working herself to exhaustion with the Second Army, nervous that an impending war is just over the horizon. Nikolai can see the bags under her eyes and the droop of her shoulders. He knows that Grisha grow stronger with more use of their powers, but Zoya’s overuse and lack of rest will surely lead her to a nasty burnout. He tells her the truth: he will not send two Grisha on their own to the Wandering Isle, but what he neglects to include was that he can’t add any more responsibilities to her plate.
“What other options do we have?” Zoya asks. She unfolds herself, but her posture remains rigid, never having outgrown the strict training that the Darkling instilled upon her.
He could send Ravkan soldiers, but doubts the Kaelish would give up any bit of information to a country they’ve always had problems with. And even if a First or Second Army soldier could successfully get through the harbor, who’s to say they won’t be fed lies?
No, he needs to send in spies.
“We need someone who can infiltrate the castle in Maroch Glen. We can tailor them to appear more Kaelish, act as guards or civilians or even royalty.”
Zoya blinks. “I know I've slept little for the past several weeks, but am I hallucinating? You want to break into Maroch Castle?”
Nikolai pours himself another glass before rising from the stiff wooden chair to peer out the window.
“Nikolai,” Zoya says through her teeth, “please tell me you're joking.”
“I’m not,” he says, slamming back the second glass.
“You cannot ask me to send my soldiers in to die. They aren’t trained to be conniving and thieving—” Zoya stops short when Nikolai’s eyebrows shoot up.
“You’re right,” he says, tapping his chin and returning to his seat. “But we do have some friends who may be able to help.”
“You think you can just call up Kaz Brekker and he’ll hop on the next ship to Ravka? He’s gone mad, Nikolai. You know how bad the Barrel has gotten in these last few years.”
She’s right, of course, and Nikolai can’t argue that Kaz Brekker is the wildest of cards in his deck. But what choice does he have? He needs a master, and Brekker is the most masterful of them all.
“I know how we can get him on board.”
“Inej Ghafa’s death destroyed him. Jesper and Wylan fled here after a nasty encounter with the bastard.”
Nikolai stares at Zoya for a long moment. In addition to impending world wars and murder trials and villages in peril, Nikolai has acquired secrets. Hundreds upon hundreds of secrets, some more interesting than others. And though he keeps very little from Zoya…there are a few he has yet to divulge her on.
“I know a way,” he says. And he hopes, prays, wishes with all of his might that his intuition is right. He saw the way Brekker looked at his Wraith in the Ravkan Embassy in Ketterdam. Nikolai knows the look all too well. He shares the same one with the commander in front of him now. Everyone has a weakness, as Kaz would say, and Nikolai knows exactly what Kaz’s is. “Inej Ghafa is alive.”