Page 75 of Rule of Wolves

Makhi’s brown eyes flashed. “Did you read that in a book? Marriage is a pretense. But bloodline is everything.”

“Thank you for explaining the distinction. Vladim Ozwal will perform the ceremony.”

The young priest already stood at the altar, wearing a long brown cassock emblazoned with a golden sun. He was one of the Soldat Sol who had abandoned their service to the Apparat to follow Alina Starkov. He had fought beside the Sun Saint on the Fold and had received her powers, and if Zoya’s story was true, he bore the handprint of the Sun Summoner as a brand upon his chest. When the Apparat had slithered off to Fjerda, Ravka’s priests had scrambled to appoint a new head of the church who would serve as spiritual counselor to the king. There had been older, more experienced candidates, many of whom were little more than the Apparat’s cronies. But in the end, the new guard had won out and Ozwal had been chosen. Apparently, it was hard to argue with a man who bore the fingerprints of the Sun Summoner seared into his own flesh.

“I can barely see,” said Queen Makhi. “We should be at the front of the chapel.”

“Not just yet,” said Nikolai. “Ravkan tradition.”

Adrik and Nadia rose and faced the guests, side by side in their blue kefta, their cuffs embroidered in Squaller silver, Adrik’s bronze arm polished to a high shine. They began to sing in close harmony. It was an old Ravkan folk song about the first firebird and the sorcerer who had tried to capture her.

David and Genya had already begun their slow walk down the aisle. Genya had chosen an extraordinarily long train.

“Who are these people?” Makhi asked. “Where is my sister?”

“They are two members of the Grisha Triumvirate, David Kostyk and Genya Safin.”

“I know who they are. What are they doing here? I will march to the front of this chapel and stop this whole proceeding if—”

Nikolai rested a hand on Makhi’s silk sleeve, then removed it at her glare.

“Do not think to lay a hand on this, the most holy body of Queen Makhi Kir-Taban.”

“My apologies. Truly. But I do think it would be best not to make a scene.”

“Do you think I care about creating a spectacle?”

“No, but you should. I don’t think you want all these people to know where your sister is.”

Makhi tilted her head back, looking down her nose at Nikolai. He felt less victorious than wary. This queen was ruthless and brilliant and very dangerous when cornered. But corner her he must.

“David and Genya were wed with little pomp on a rather hasty trip to Ketterdam,” Nikolai said. “They never had a chance to exchange their vows in Ravka.”

But they were speaking them now.

“Here, witnessed by our Saints and our friends,” Genya said, “I speak words of both love and duty. It is not a chore but an honor to swear faith to you, to promise love to you, to offer my hand and my heart to you in this life and the next.” They were the traditional Ravkan words, spoken at the weddings of nobleman and peasant alike.

The Grisha vows were very different.

“We are soldiers,” David recited, low and shaky. He was unused to speaking in front of a crowd. “I will march with you in times of war. I will rest with you in times of peace. I will forever be the weapon in your hand, the fighter at your side, the friend who awaits your return.” His voice grew stronger and louder with every word. “I have seen your face in the making at the heart of the world and there is no one more beloved, Genya Safin, brave and unbreakable.” The vow rang through the chapel. Genya’s face was shining, as if those words had kindled some secret light.

Tolya, towering over the bride and groom, set a thorn-wood crown upon David’s head and then one upon Genya’s, as Vladim said the blessings. Nikolai would have liked to be a part of the ceremony, to stand with his friends in this moment of happiness when there was so much uncertainty before them. But this wedding had been constructed for the benefit of Queen Makhi, and there was no way he was leaving her side.

“You will answer my questions,” Makhi hissed. “We were brought here for your wedding to my accursed sister.”

“I don’t recall the invitation saying any such thing.”

Queen Makhi’s cheeks were red with indignation. “A royal wedding. It said a royal wedding.”

“And here we are in the royal chapel.”

“Where is Princess Ehri? Is she imprisoned? Has the wedding already taken place?”

“Now what good would a quiet ceremony do me? And who would marvel at my glorious new suit?”

“Where is my sister?” she whispered furiously.

Vladim was finishing the ceremony. David leaned forward to kiss Genya. He smiled, taking that same auburn strand of hair between his fingers. The guests burst into applause.