✵ SWEETER THAN HONEY ― nikolai lantsov ✵

Yi

We reach a clearing leading into a significantly larger tunnel. I spot Mal sparring against Stigg. Spurts of flame whirl towards the tracker, but in a few swift movements, he has the Inferni pinned down.

"Well done, Stigg," Zoya remarks as we approach. "You're trussed and ready for basting."

Mal gives her a sharp look and she rolls her eyes.

"Distract, disarm, disable," the tracker recites to Stigg. "The trick is not to panic." He gets to his feet and offers the Inferni a hand, of which he accepts. "You all right?"

Stigg scowls but nods and leaves to go spar with a girl wearing a golden blonde braid.

Not as golden as Nikolai's hair, something in me whispers hollowly.

I know by the fact that he wasn't there when I awoke that he isn't anywhere in these tunnels. I swallow, remembering the look in his eyes, that moment before we both parted ways, because I genuinely believed that I was going to see him again. He could be dead, bleeding out on the floor of the Kingfisher because I didn't come along to help defend his parents.

The thought of those hazel eyes filled with embers and evergreens going blank and lifeless makes my chest tighten.

He's alive, Yi. Alive, I remind myself bleakly.

"Princess Yizhi Kir-Taban," I hear a sickly rasp say.

My eyes snap towards the voice and I see the Apparat, his creased forehead and crusty old robes as unpleasantly familiar as ever. A twinge of annoyance rushes through me.

This is the man that has turned me into some kind of savior to children, the reason people sell my bones in hopes of good luck and prosperity, the reason so many are laying there lives down today for Alina. He's a liar. A fraud.

I school my features into a kind smile.

"I see that you're awoken," he notes. 

Clearly, I think to myself, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.

"There are many who would appreciate seeing you," he continues, his eyes solemnly locked onto mine. For some reason, it always seems as though his expression is a cross between a pig relieving itself and a chicken. 

"I'm sorry, I don't follow," I say gently.

"You are a ruler. A symbol. Your leadership will be much admired."

Somehow, I suspect that leadership means standing next to me and smiling while I do all the ordering around. 

"I'm not so sure I feel up to it. I'm sure you understand how tired I am." I offer a weak smile. 

The Apparat nods gravely. "Of course. The princess must have her rest. All I ask is that you give our people hope with your words, no?"

I press my lips together. "I—. . . yes, I understand."

"Wonderful." He gives me a smile, revealing blackened gums and yellowed teeth. "Come this way."

"Well—I was hoping to start training today," I protest.

He narrows his eyes. "Sparring is not a task fit for a princess."

I purse my lips. "The people need to know that I can help in the efforts to fight, don't they?" I argue, but the Apparat's face has a discontent expression plastered onto it.

"They are fighting to protect you. Do not render their efforts useless by joining them in the front lines," he heeds seriously.

"You would subject your own people to fight if you knew they were going to die?" I ask, failing to hide my unhappiness. "Allow me to train. I need to practice my mobility as recovery."