Then reality returned. I sat up and fumbled for the lamp on the bedside wall. I turned up the flame and surveyed the dark silk bed hangings, the slate floor, the carved ebony walls. I really was going to have to make some changes. This room was just too depressing to wake up in. It was strange to think that I was actually in the Darkling’s chambers, that I’d spent the night in his bed. That I’d seen him standing in this very room.
Enough of that. I threw off the covers and swung my legs over the side of the bed. I didn’t know whether the visions were a product of my imagination or some real attempt by the Darkling to manipulate me, but there had to be a rational explanation for them. Maybe the nichevo’ya bite had infected me with something. If that was the case, then I’d just have to find a way to cure it. Or maybe the effects would wear off with time.
The argument outside my door grew louder. I thought I recognized Sergei’s voice and Tolya’s angry rumble. I threw on the embroidered dressing gown that had been left for me at the foot of the bed, checked to make sure the fetter on my wrist was hidden, and hurried out to the common room.
I almost ran right into the twins. Tolya and Tamar were standing shoulder to shoulder, blocking a group of angry Grisha from entering my chamber. Tolya’s arms were crossed, and Tamar was shaking her head as Sergei and Fedyor loudly made their case. I was distressed to see Zoya beside them, accompanied by the dark-skinned Inferni who had challenged me the previous day. Everyone seemed to be talking at once.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
As soon as Sergei saw me, he strode forward, clutching a piece of paper in his hand. Tamar moved to block him, but I waved her off.
“It’s all right,” I said. “What’s the problem?” But I thought I already knew. I recognized my own writing and the remnants of the gold sunburst seal that Nikolai had provided for me on the paper Sergei was now shaking in my face.
“This is unacceptable,” Sergei huffed.
I’d sent out word the previous night that I would be convening a war council. Each Grisha Order was to elect two representatives to attend. I was pleased to see they’d chosen Fedyor as well as Sergei, though some of my good will wore off when the older Grisha chimed in.
“He’s right,” said Fedyor. “The Corporalki are the Grisha’s first line of defense. We’re the most experienced in military affairs and should be more fairly represented.”
“We’re just as valuable to the war effort,” declared Zoya, her color high. Even in a snit, she looked gorgeous. I’d suspected she would be chosen to represent the Etherealki, but I certainly wasn’t happy about it. “If there are going to be three Corporalki on the council,” she said, “then there should be three Summoners, too.”
Everyone started shouting again. I noted that the Materialki hadn’t shown up to complain. As the lowest Grisha Order, they were probably just glad to be included, or possibly they were too caught up in their work to be bothered.
I still wasn’t quite awake. I wanted my breakfast, not an argument. But I knew this had to be addressed. I intended to do things differently—and they might as well know just how differently or this effort would fall apart before it even began.
I held up my hand and they quieted instantly. Clearly, I had that trick down. Maybe they were afraid I was going to ruin another ceiling. “There will be two Grisha from each Order,” I said. “No more, no less.”
“But—” began Sergei.
“The Darkling has changed. If we have any hope of beating him, we need to change, too. Two Grisha from each Order,” I repeated. “And the Orders will no longer sit separately. You’ll sit together, eat together, and fight together.”
At least I’d gotten them to shut up. They just stood there, gaping.
“And the Fabrikators start combat training this week,” I finished.
I took in their horrified expressions. They looked like I’d told them we’d all be marching into battle naked. The Materialki weren’t considered warriors, so no one had ever bothered to teach them to fight. It felt like a missed opportunity to me. Use whatever or whoever is in front of you.
“I can see you’re all thrilled,” I said with a small sigh.
Desperate for a glass of tea, I walked to the table where a breakfast tray had been laid with covered dishes. I lifted one of the lids: rye and herring. This morning was not getting off to a good start.
“But … but it’s always been this way,” sputtered Sergei.
“You can’t just overturn hundreds of years of tradition,” protested the Inferni.
“Are we really going to argue about this, too?” I asked irritably. “We’re at war with an ancient power beyond reckoning, and you want to squabble over who sits next to you at lunch?”
“That’s not the point,” said Zoya. “There’s an order to things, a way of doing them that—”
They all started gabbling again—about tradition, about the way things were done, about the need for structure and people knowing their places.
I set the cover back down on the dish with a loud clang.
“This is the way we’re doing it,” I said, rapidly losing patience. “No more Corporalki snobbery. No more Etherealki cliques. And no more herring.”
Zoya opened her mouth but then thought better of it and shut it again.
“Now go,” I barked. “I want to eat my breakfast in peace.”
For a moment, they just stood there. Then Tamar and Tolya stepped forward, and to my continuing amazement, the Grisha did as they were told. Zoya looked peeved, and Sergei’s face was stormy, but they all shuffled meekly out of the room.
Seconds after they left, Nikolai appeared in the doorway, and I realized he’d been eavesdropping in the hall.
“Nicely done,” he said. “Today shall be forever remembered as the date of the Great Herring Decree.” He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Not the smoothest delivery, though.”
“I don’t have your gift for ‘amused and aloof,’” I said, sitting down at the table and tearing eagerly into a roll. “But ‘grouchy’ seems to be working for me.”
A servant rushed forward to bring me a cup of tea from the samovar. It was blissfully hot, and I loaded it with sugar. Nikolai took a chair and sat without being asked.