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THE JOURNEY TO Os Alta was less a march than a slow, excruciating parade. We stopped at every town along the Vy, at farms, schools, churches, and dairies. We greeted local dignitaries and walked the wards of hospitals. We dined with war veterans and applauded girls' choirs. The only thing that kept me going is the fact that I can at least see Botkin again after all this.
It was hard not to notice that the villages were mostly populated by the very young and the very old. Every able body had been drafted to serve in the King's Army and fight in Ravka's endless wars. The cemeteries were as big as the towns.
Nikolai handed out gold coins and sacks of sugar. He accepted handshakes from merchants and kisses on the cheek from wrinkled matrons who called him Sobachka, and charmed anyone who came within two feet of him. He never seemed to tire, never seemed to flag. No matter how many miles we'd ridden or people we'd met, he was ready to meet another.
He always seemed to know what people wanted from him, when to be the laughing boy, the golden prince, the weary soldier. It was the training that came with being born a royal and raised at court, but it was still unnerving to watch. He has many personas, but back then, he only had one persona reserved for me when it was just the two of us.
Himself. Truly himself. Or maybe that's what I'd just like to think.
He hadn't been kidding about spectacle. He always tried to time our arrivals at night when the moonlight was the most, or he'd stop our procession near a lake or any body of water. All better to show off the Ocean Summoner.
When Nikolai caught me not bothering to hide my eye rolling, he just winked and said, "Everyone thinks you're dead, lovely. It's important to make a good showing."
