The young king sat in the mahogany war room, looking languidly at the wood-paneled walls half covered in maps. The red pins that had once marked the battle fronts of Ravka were all but replaced by dozens of green string lines marking the trade routes across the kingdom – and one hopeful yellow line toward Ketterdam, Kerch.
The leftmost map of Western Ravka stood out from the others, having been treated with a new a layer of paint relatively recently. Nikoli himself had taken great pleasure in covering over what had once been known as the Fold... but erasing the Fold on a paper Ravka and recovering from its damages in real Ravka were two very different things.
Just today, his land surveyors had written to confirm that agriculture would be near impossible for at least another decade, and even then, all the blood and bone riddled soil of the Fold would at best produce only bumper crops. The worst part of it was, there was nothing Nikolai could do. Not without money.
With Ravka's coffers swept and emptied from the recent war, the kingdom tittered on the verge of total bankruptcy. Nikolai too often considered sailing under Sturmhond's flag once again just so he might bring in some real wealth for a change instead of this incessant planning, strategizing, and delegating he was expected to do from an office. It was suffocating, infuriating, boring. He missed the rush of flying where he pleased, of running from pursuers, of near brushes with misfortune and - his mind reeled toward memories of Ketterdam.
"Saints," Nikolai breathed out a baffled laugh.
How could he possibly miss that place? Its winding canals, the smell of sewage, the sly bandits! He must be going mad from all this confinement. Even so, the trip had been rewarding: Genya had reported just the night before that David and Kuwei were close in discovering the antidote against Jurda-Parem. It was a great relief to know that they would avert what would have been a catastrophe for Grisha everywhere.
Nikolai sat up once more in the red leather backed chair and picked up his quill. Spools of parchment spilled over the oaken desk, all depicting intricate diagrams: The Firebird. Alina and Mal hadn't taken to the new ship's christening, but Nikolai was set on it. This one would establish Ravka's trade position with other nations. It had to.
As his quill moved across the pages and the scratch of the nib took him into a peaceful trance, a sudden stampeding of feet outside his study jerked his quill across a misplaced line. His string of curses were masked over by delighted screams, then from outside, he heard the clopping of hooves and –
"Out of the way!" Zoya's voice cut through the commotion. When apparently that failed to work, she yelled, "Move!"
Nikolai smiled. He had almost forgotten – today was the day.
He rose from his seat and went to the window. Her red hair made her instantly recognizable despite the crowds pressing in against her -
Nina Zenik had returned to Ravka.
