Of too many things, quite frankly. That’s almost always the case with Nikolai, but it’s worse tonight. Has been worse, since he killed Barnaby. He keeps seeing that moment again, playing out in front of his eyes. The sword piercing his friend’s chest, the way he’d fallen back against Kotetsu before Nikolai had time to catch him, the sound of the gunshot that sent Kotetsu after him.
Over and over and over again. And it’s right that it should be so. Barnaby deserves far more from him than his guilt.
The wrongness of it is the other image that comes up, unbidden. Of Alina on the end of that sword instead of Barnaby, while he promises to kill her. Of his mother and his father, while he tells them that it’s this, or exile. That’s what he keeps thinking of. He knows that this doesn’t end here, with this one choice. How many people will he have to pare out of his life, in order to keep Ravka safe? How many will he have to lose, and how much will it take from him?
He turns his head, expression troubled. His hands play on Alina’s back, fingers curving against her spine. ]
Once you worried that I was like him.
[ The Darkling. Nikolai speaks calmly, but he doesn’t feel calm. ]
I told you that I was ambitious. That I made no apology for it, but that I hoped I still knew the difference between right and wrong. Do you remember?
[ He pauses for a second, long enough to take a breath. Not long enough to let her answer. He knows she remembers. ]
I don’t know that it’s true anymore. I think that line has blurred. A good man wouldn’t do what I have done. I’m doing what’s needed of me, and not what’s right.
It was easier when I could be Sturmhond, fighting Ravka’s wars. What kind of King does it make me, Alina, what kind of man does it make me, if this is what I have to do to rule?
no subject
Of too many things, quite frankly. That’s almost always the case with Nikolai, but it’s worse tonight. Has been worse, since he killed Barnaby. He keeps seeing that moment again, playing out in front of his eyes. The sword piercing his friend’s chest, the way he’d fallen back against Kotetsu before Nikolai had time to catch him, the sound of the gunshot that sent Kotetsu after him.
Over and over and over again. And it’s right that it should be so. Barnaby deserves far more from him than his guilt.
The wrongness of it is the other image that comes up, unbidden. Of Alina on the end of that sword instead of Barnaby, while he promises to kill her. Of his mother and his father, while he tells them that it’s this, or exile. That’s what he keeps thinking of. He knows that this doesn’t end here, with this one choice. How many people will he have to pare out of his life, in order to keep Ravka safe? How many will he have to lose, and how much will it take from him?
He turns his head, expression troubled. His hands play on Alina’s back, fingers curving against her spine. ]
Once you worried that I was like him.
[ The Darkling. Nikolai speaks calmly, but he doesn’t feel calm. ]
I told you that I was ambitious. That I made no apology for it, but that I hoped I still knew the difference between right and wrong. Do you remember?
[ He pauses for a second, long enough to take a breath. Not long enough to let her answer. He knows she remembers. ]
I don’t know that it’s true anymore. I think that line has blurred. A good man wouldn’t do what I have done. I’m doing what’s needed of me, and not what’s right.
It was easier when I could be Sturmhond, fighting Ravka’s wars. What kind of King does it make me, Alina, what kind of man does it make me, if this is what I have to do to rule?