A/N I have recently convinced my sister to read the Vampire Academy series, and she came to me a few nights ago with questions about poor Sonya Karp. She was upset when I told her the books never go into detail about what happened to Ms. Karp between the time she is removed from St. Vlads and when she became Strigoi.
In Vampire Academy, Rose states (to Lissa) that she heard about Sonya becoming Strigoi 'about a month or so after she left'.
This story takes place during the period of Sonya's incarceration. In it I interpret Rose's statement of 'a month or so' to be approximately a 40 day period.
I took inspiration from the classic Russian poet Alexandr Pushkin and his work 'The Little Bird' (Птичка).
Hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer for entire story: Recognizable characters, select dialogue and VA belong to Richelle Mead. I only own the plot line of this story as well as characters not included in the original series.
The visions beat against her mind in a never-ending torrent. She felt like a tiny raft adrift on an angry churning sea. One after another, they played out, without stopping to give her exhausted brain a chance to rest.
She paced the cell, her movements constant and frantic. Twenty steps from one wall to the next, over and over, babbling to herself all the while. A nearby guard watched her, his expression not betraying the sympathy he felt for the lovely Moroi woman in front of him. The past few days had been hell on him, watching a lady suffer in such a manner was utterly deplorable, in his opinion. She was always like this, barely resting, hardly eating. For all intents and purposes, Sonya Karp had completely lost her mind.
"They're coming for me. Somehow, they know. Why do I keep seeing a blue house? I need to tend my flowers. Where is Misha? Damn them, always watching me. Did she get her out?"
As the last question left her mouth, she launched herself at the bars, her eyes wide and crazed. "Rosemarie! Did she get the Princess out?"
The man didn't answer her, not meeting her eyes. Four days ago when she was admitted into the facility, all the guardians assigned to this ward were given strict orders forbidding any form of conversation with the woman. She was susceptible to intense fits of rage, harming herself in the process. Much as it pained him to ignore a lady's question, he forced himself to follow orders. Still, he acknowledged that his resolve grew weaker, and would continue to do so as long as he remained near her. It was not in his nature to ignore a woman in such obvious distress.
"Where is my Misha? Can I see him? Please?" She reached out a hand towards the guardian, her expression one of intense longing. "Will you get him for me?"
Biting the inside of his lip, the man flicked his eyes towards the lovely woman. He recognized the yearning on her face—he'd felt the same way when his Sofiya had been taken from him, so many years ago at St. Basils. Surely, it could not hurt to take a message to her lover; it might even help her in the long run. How could anyone expect her to recover if she spent every day alone, with no one to talk to except herself?
"If you like I could give Guardian Tanner a message, madam." His voice was low and deep, his accent making the words musical.
Her blue eyes filled with tears as she nodded. "Does he… Does he still love me? Ask him. Please. Tell him… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. This isn't my fault. I… I can't control it anymore."
"I need not ask him, madam. I can answer your question. Mikhail loves you with all his heart. He makes calls every day, demanding to know where you've been taken. Begging to be allowed to come see you. I have heard the other guardians discussing his devotion on many occasions over the past few days."
A low sob escaped her. Sliding down the bars, she collapsed to the floor, leaning her head against the metal that caged her. Her thin shoulders shook as she cried out her sorrow, the sound tearing at his heart. She looked so much like his Sofiya, except for her hair. Madam Karp's hair was the rich color of fallen leaves in autumn. Sofiya had hair as black as the night sky. When she would let it down, releasing it from its bindings, it had flowed around her pale shoulders like an ebony cloak, gleaming like a raven's shiny wing.
His sympathy for the poor woman grew with each tiny gasp she made. Every one of her tears was like a slap to his face. To treat a woman like this… it was abominable. Damn his superiors to hell for their cruelty!
"Please madam. This will not help your health. You must concentrate on getting better. As soon as you do, they will release you."
"What is your name?" She choked out, rubbing at her tear stained cheek with a thin, pale hand.
"Savva. Savva Luzhkov."
"Thank you for speaking to me. All the silence was driving me—" she broke off, smiling sadly, "more insane than usual."
"Please madam, get up from the ground. It is drafty and dirty, no place for a lady such as yourself. When my shift ends, I will contact Mikhail. I promise you."
She used the bars to pull herself upright, studying him all the while. She wondered about this man—why would he risk his superiors anger to help someone like her? Someone who couldn't tell fantasy from reality from one minute to the next—lost in a cloud of madness more often than not. Was this a trick? Was he one of the ones who wanted to hurt her? "Why do you look so sad, Guardian Luzhkov?"
"You remind me of someone I knew long ago. She had an… illness similar to your own."
Sonya laughed. "An illness. So polite. Why not just say she lost her mind?"
"Madam, please. I meant what I said. She had the exact same afflictions as you. I've read your file. I know you never specialized. That you can… do things that others cannot. My Sofiya was the same."
Her head snapped up, her deep blue eyes wide with shock as she processed the meaning of his words. "What happened to her? Is she… did she kill herself?"
He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "I cannot discuss that—please understand… it still hurts too much."
She cocked her head, gauging his reaction. Was he a plant, sent to find out what she could do? No. Something about the sadness in his eyes touched her, soothing her nerves—nerves that were drawn as taut as bowstrings. The tension was a feeling she'd been experiencing for far too long. Perhaps he would indeed help her. Maybe he could even—
Her temporary mental clarity began slipping away as tendrils of black mist invaded her thoughts. Frantically she clawed at her forehead, trying to stop the invasion. Her attempts were futile. Such a small amount of pain could no longer hold off the madness—it had surpassed her meager pain threshold a few days before. No, now she would require something stronger… Something more… intense if she wanted to hang on to her sanity. With a bloodcurdling scream she slammed her head into the iron bars, smiling manically as the skin spilt and blood began to flow down her face like claret tears. She repeated the action, slowly sliding to the floor, knocked unconscious by the force of the blow.
She'd moved so quickly Luzhkov had been unable to intervene. Pulling out his radio, he called for assistance. This wasn't the first time in the four days she'd been here that Sonya Karp had injured herself, but it was the first time it had happened on his watch. In all the time he'd been guarding this ward, he'd never seen the medical team in action.
They moved quickly, securing her to the small mattress with sturdy straps of material before cleaning and dressing the wounds. When she began to stir they sedated her, finishing their work as quickly as possible. Upon completion they removed her restraints, then left as suddenly as they'd appeared.
As Luzhkov watched the sleeping woman, he began softly humming a lullaby, hoping it would penetrate through the drugs she'd been given and soothe her troubled mind. He closed the distance between his regular post and the bars of her cell, studying her lovely face. So like Sofiya. Like Sofiya had been before…
Sighing to himself, he returned to the wall, waiting for the end of his shift, lost in memories of the woman he'd loved. The woman he still loved to this day, and would continue loving until the end of time.
Sofiya Badica had been the most beautiful girl in her class, with long dark hair and steel gray eyes. Ever male in the school had been in love with her, Moroi and dhampir alike. She refused every offer that came her way with a polite smile and kind words. Her answer was always the same. 'Thank you, but I cannot. My heart is not my own'.
Savva Luzhkov had loved Sofiya from the first moment he saw her, a young girl sitting beside the small pond near his village. Her family had been visiting relatives in the settlement, and she—as young children often do—wandered off to explore. Even at six years old, she'd been beautiful, her hair plaited down her back, her cheeks rosy from the chill in the air. He was eight years old then—a few weeks shy of his ninth birthday; despite his young age, he'd realized that the lovely girl's station in life would always be far above his own. The young boy might feel as though he'd discovered the rarest treasure in the world when he gazed upon her, but he would never be able to tell her what was in his heart. He was not worthy to even speak to such a beautiful, royal creature, let alone to harbor thoughts of puppy love.
Even as those thoughts ran through his head, she turned towards him, warming him with a beaming smile, calling out a cheerful hello. From that moment on, he'd been hers, completely and totally. Her family relocated to his village, and as the years passed he and Sofiya grew closer, until they were completely inseparable. They completed each other's sentences, almost as if they shared the same mind. A single word need not pass between them and still, somehow they'd communicate. He was her best friend, the person she confided all her secrets to—a fact that filled him with happiness.
He was content with that—being her friend. He would always wish there could be more between them, but he knew her family would never allow their highborn daughter to become romantically ensnared with a lowly dhampir. Even after ten years, the Badica's barely tolerated the platonic friendship their only child had formed with someone they considered lower than 'the help'.
They put up with him out of sheer necessity. Their sweet young daughter harbored a very dark secret. She was subject to fits of intense melancholia, sometimes so debilitating that she had to be sedated. During those times, there was only one person she allowed near her, and that was Savva. When the depression was upon her, he would hold her hand and sing to her, telling her stories as she rode out the storms that raged within her mind. Only he could anchor her, preventing her from slipping away into the delusions. For that, at least, her parents were thankful.
He'd always known they would remain close—at least until Sofiya's parents decided upon a suitable royal match for their daughter. He knew when that happened—when she married—he would lose her forever, so he committed each and every moment they spent together into his memory. Someday that would be all he had to hold onto. Memories, stored in his mind like a dried out flower pressed between the pages of a book.
Their easygoing friendship changed sooner than he could have anticipated. Not because of her parents, but because of Sofiya's own actions. It was something no one had anticipated or planned for.
One quiet, cold evening a week before her sixteenth birthday, Sofiya sat bundled up, almost reclining on a bench outside the building that contained her dorm room. Her head tilted back as she smiled up at the night sky, her dark braid so long that it almost brushed the ground. Savva watched her from the shadows, thinking she looked like an angel under the moons soft, silvery glow, wishing he had some artistic talent so that he could sketch her or paint her, capturing her beauty on canvas forever.
For hours they stayed like that, until their peaceful scene was shattered by an unwanted intruder. He sensed an approaching Moroi before he saw him, alerted by the crunch of leaves underfoot. Cursing the intrusion on their solitude, he felt himself tensing as the boy came into sight. Intense frustration washed through him as he realized who it was. Lord Rudolf Szelsky—a notorious womanizer—was the man Sofiya's mother was determined to match with her daughter. He was the latest in a never ending stream of suitors come to invite her to the upcoming Troitsa celebration. There would be refreshments, a bonfire and dancing, chaperoned by the academy staff in just two weeks' time. So far every unattached male under the age of twenty had asked for the privilege of escorting her, but she'd shot each and every one of them down, sending them away with a sad little smile and no lingering resentment or hard feelings. She had that effect on people, no matter what she did, they still longed for her company. Not that she was ever rude. His Sofiya did not have a discourteous bone in her body.
He watched her greet the newcomer, biting back a smile a few moments later when her sweet voice drifted his way, carried to him by the evening breeze.
"I'm terribly sorry, Lord Szelsky. It is most kind of you to ask, but I cannot. My heart is not my own."
The Moroi was older than Sofiya—his age at least, perhaps a year older—and extremely handsome. As such, he was most assuredly unaccustomed to being refused by a female when he asked them out. For a moment he looked as though he might argue, perhaps even demanding her companionship. Savva prepared himself—it wouldn't be the first time he'd stepped in to defend her from unwanted advances. Just as he was about to make his presence known, the young Szelsky lord seemed to remember a rumor he'd heard—the young Badica girl had a dhampir friend that always lingered somewhere nearby. Perhaps he also recalled what had happened last term when Grigor Voda tried to steal a kiss—the boy had been unconscious for almost a full day, knocked out from a single, powerful blow. Deciding she wasn't worth physical pain or the accompanying humiliation, Szelsky bowed politely, his eyes darting around as if he could feel Savva's fierce, dark gaze weighing down on him from the trees.
Sofiya's amused laughter pulled him out of his dark thoughts, her words lightening his mood in an instant. "Come out, my guardian. Everyone knows you're there. Sit beside me and keep me company for a change."
Smiling, he stepped out of the trees, hurrying to her side. "I'm not your guardian yet, Sofochka. I'm still just a novice."
"You've always be my guardian, Savva. Even without a promise mark." Her fingers brushed against the back of his neck, causing his eyes to involuntarily flutter shut as he savored the sensation. They were long and slender, warm against his skin, filling him with a tingle that only she could create. Closing the distance between them, she burrowed her tiny hands in his coat pocket and rested her head on his shoulder. "It's chilly tonight."
"Then why are we out here, when warm fires are lit, waiting just inside the door?"
She laughed. "I wanted to stargaze. It's so beautiful—the night sky—don't you think?"
He longed to put his arms around her. To say that the beauty of the sky paled when compared to her face. Instead, he held his tongue, simply cherishing the feel of her slim body pressing against his arm as she huddled closer in an attempt to warm herself.
His heart raced at her close proximity. Did she realize what she did to him, when she cuddled up so close? He turned his face, just a few inches, taking in the scent of her hair. It was like wildflowers in a springtime meadow, a scent that was uniquely Sofiya, making his chest ache and his body awaken.
"Have you asked anyone to the festival?" She asked, almost hesitantly.
"No. There's no one I care to take." He rested his cheek on her head. It was the truth. If he couldn't escort Sofiya, he would rather go alone. At least then he could follow her, making sure no one took advantage of her innocence.
"No one… No one at all?" Her voice sounded strange, almost as if she were falling into one of her… spells. He pulled back glancing down at her. She was indeed crying, with a frantic look in her eyes. "What's wrong Sofochka?"
"Nothing." She scooted closer still, burying her face in his coat.
"It's not nothing. You're upset. Tell me why." He demanded, allowing himself to rub her back for a moment to comfort her. He fought against the urge to embrace her, to whispering soothing words against her soft, teary cheek. He would tell her that she was his life. Now and forever, his precious girl.
She pulled away, refusing to look at him. "I thought you might want to ask me."
"Your parents would never allow that, Sofochka. They—"
"I don't care. I want to go with you. Shouldn't that be all that matters?"
He studied her tear streaked face, realizing she might be scared to go with anyone else. If that were the case, perhaps he should ask his sister to council her. Magda was older and wiser, so it would be easy for her to advise the younger girl what to expect on a date, and how a lady should behave. He tried to formulate his thoughts into words, knowing he'd fail miserably. This wasn't the type of discussion he wanted to have with her—it tore out his heart to encourage her to date another man.
"Sofiya, I know that it might seem scary, to accept some of the… invitations that come your way, but… you need to. Those boys are the ones your parent's will match you with in a few years time. I'm a no one, and society would not look kindly upon us attending together, even knowing we are just dear friends. Perhaps if you spoke with Magdalina—she's been dating for a while. Maybe then it wouldn't be so frightening to you."
Her eyes narrowed. "You think I want to go with you because I'm scared of other boys? Are you that stupid, Savva?"
The coldness of her tone hurt him, stunning him into silence. He stared at the ground, trying to gain control over his wayward emotions. He must compose himself. It would do neither of them any good if he confessed his true feelings.
"I don't care about society, or my parents. I don't care about the fact I'm a royal Moroi and you're a dhampir." She paused, trying to control her breathing. "I wish I were someone else. I wish I were a dhampir."
Her statement jerked his head up, his brown eyes locking with her gray ones. . "What? Why would you want that?"
"I'd be free then. Free to love who I wanted. Free to—"
His bitter laugh cut her off. "Free? You think we're free? If that's what you believe Sofiya, then I'm not the stupid one. We have no freedom to love. Our men are sworn into fealty—into slavery to the Moroi. Sometimes our women become guardians, unless they're content to sit at home and spread their legs for the Moroi Lords who feel the urge to stray from their high born wives. At best we might experience a few nights of stolen passion. But not love. Never love."
"But your parents… they love each other. I've watched them." Her voice sounded small and shocked at his outburst.
"Pytor is not my father—you know that dhampirs cannot breed together. My mother was raped by a drunken Moroi when she was fourteen years old. Pytor was a friend of her family—he was injured when Strigoi killed his charge. The council deemed his useless because the monster crushed his hand. Had he still been a guardian, they would not have married. Even after their wedding, both were instructed that should one of the great lords come looking for fun, she was forbidden to refuse. My father is some nameless Moroi that pulled her from her marriage bed for a night of fun. "
"I thought… My grandmother tells stories about dhampirs that had children together. In the olden days…"
He scoffed at her. "That's exactly what they are. Stories. Fairy tales to amuse children." He stood, not wanting her to see the anger that was clawing at his heart. "As a dhampir I have no choice but to be a guardian, Sofochka. That means I cannot love. I can only serve." He turned to go, but her words froze him in place.
"If you're with me, you can do both, Savva. I love you. You have my heart." Her voice was thick with unshed tears.
His heart swelled to bursting, but at the same time, her words shattered him into a million pieces. It was impossible. They would never allow it. If anyone found out, those in power would never assign him to be her guardian. Perhaps if her family were disgraced, or if she were not royal—but as it was…
"You've had claim to it since the day I met you." Her voice was closer now, right behind him.
All he would have to do would be to turn and take her in his arms. So easy, but so, so forbidden. He wanted to—God above, how he wanted to. He'd dreamt of it night after night, year after year. To love Sofiya freely. To escape the life that was predestined for all male dhampirs, taking her away from here—to live among humans, perhaps—and make her his wife. They would have children and raise them together, giving their sons and daughters the choices he'd never had when he was young. His feelings for her had grown so much more intense over the last three years, until he was constantly on the verge of confessing his love to her. Every day it grew more difficult to stand beside her as just her friend when he yearned for so much more.
He forced himself to concentrate on the fact such a pairing was strictly forbidden. Sighing deeply, he realized this might be a sign from above that it was time to set her free, into the life she deserved. She should not be saying such things to him—her words of love should not be wasted on a lowly dhampir.
"Savva?" Her voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Do you… love me too?"
She sounded so scared, as if his answer were the most important thing in the world to her. He knew he should deny it. He should be brusque and abrupt and walk away. But it was Sofiya. His Sofiya—and he loved her more than life itself. In the end, there was only one thing he could do.
He gathered her in his arms and kissed her senseless.
It was more glorious than he'd ever imagined. Her lips were soft and sweet, fitting against his own like the pieces of a children's puzzle. Pulling her body closer, he used one hand to pull off the ribbon that tied the end of her braid. Laughing, she shook her head as he slid his fingers through the thick strands, unraveling the weaving that held it so tightly in place.
"Is that a yes?" She asked, smiling sweetly.
"That is an I love you, my Sofochka. Always you, from that very first day. You stole my heart and have held it all this time." He reclaimed her lips, his hands threading through her hair as she pressed herself up against his broad chest.
From that moment on, everything changed, in ways they'd never imagined possible.
"Luzhkov? You okay, man?"
Shaking his head, he pushed his memories aside, nodding to the guardian who'd come to replace him. He shouldn't have done that. Drifting off was unprofessional at best, and could be fatally dangerous at worst. "Yes. Forgive me. I was thinking about what happened earlier." He nodded his head towards Sonya's cell. "She was upset and harmed herself. It was… disturbing."
"That one…" The other man sighed. "She shouldn't be here. They need to move her to a more secure facility. The look she gets in her eyes sometimes… it's almost as if she's trying to figure out how to take me down. She scares the hell out of me, and I don't say that lightly."
Handing over his radio and clipboard, Savva excused himself. Thanks to the fact he often covered for other guards on his off time, this had been the last shift he would have for a three day period. It would take him almost twenty-two hours to drive to Saint Vladimir's from Albuquerque.
He stopped off at the guardian break room, swapping a few shifts in order to buy himself an extra day—just to be on the safe side. Sonya Karp awoke his protective nature—something he thought had been destroyed the day he lost the woman he loved. He'd been wrong. It was still there, it had just been deeply buried beneath two decade's worth of heartache and misery. Somehow, this woman—this stranger—had excavated it with a few simple sentences.
He would help poor, deranged Sonya Karp because he'd given her his word, and also because no one else seemed to give a damn about her suffering. The fact she reminded him of his Sofiya didn't have any bearing on his decision in the slightest. In any case, that was what he tried to convince himself of as he hurried off to fulfill his promise.