2.

They glide in like angels, their vibrant keftas streaking red, blue, and purple like watercolors in the rain.

The blue-robed man dismounts first and tethers his steed, which gives a proud but faintly disapproving snort. "Vody Khodunki," says the Grisha, the pale blue embroidery on his cuffs shining in the sunlight. "We have come to conduct the tests."

Tests. Genya Safin stands very still in her doorway. Already, villagers cluster at a safe distance, like frightened birds scattered by a sudden, startling sound. In the corner of her eye, Genya glimpses a young man, tightly gripping his little boy's hand until his knuckles go white. All of Caryeva watches warily - wondering, trembling at the descent of the Second Army.

"Odaren Nyy," says the purple-robed woman, bowing deeply. "I am merely an observer. Istre Bitel will test the hopefuls."

The crimson-cloaked man has sharp, perceptive brown eyes and a haughty brow like a hawk's. "Bring the children," he requests, and though his voice is low, it resounds with inner power, reverberates through the crowd like the striking of a great drum.

The children come, slowly at first, then quickly as the trickle becomes a steady flow. Istre takes the first boy's hand in his own, and Caryeva holds its breath, but there is nothing to fear - not from this one.

The Corporalnik sighs. "Otkazat'sya," he says, and swiftly the boy is dismissed. He wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his tiny hand.

The other two Grisha - the man in darkest indigo, the woman in brilliant purple - only observe, impassive.

The next child steps bravely forward, jaw set. A girl. No older than four, by the looks of her wide eyes and softly rounded face. Otkazat'sya. When she weeps, it is in sadness. When her parents shed tears, it is in thinly veiled relief.

Genya's heart thuds unevenly against her ribs. The line moves forward; she takes another step. And another. And another. She looks to the woman draped in violet for encouragement - and the world seems to tilt beneath her, the sky spinning like a top.

The Fabrikator has skin like snow, untouched by blemish. Her eyes are the crystal blue of the True Sea, or at least, what Genya imagines it must look like. Her hair falls in delicate auburn ringlets, framing the smooth curves of her cheekbones, her jaw, her neck. She is more than beautiful.

She is flawless.

The Grisha catches the child staring, and quickly the child turns away. "Is something wrong?"

"You're beautiful," Genya says without thinking.

"Am I?"

Genya swallows. "I want to be beautiful like you."

The Grisha glides toward her, kneels to meet her eyes. "We all have flaws, child," she whispers, taking the child's hand in her own. Only now does Genya notice the slender scars along the Fabrikator's right palm - remnants of Materialnik mistakes, failed experiments, foolish errors. "Our scars make us who we are."

Genya grips the Grisha's hand, closing her eyes. "But I want to be beautiful."

"Each is beautiful in her own way, child."

Genya's eyebrows knit together. She concentrates. She tightens her hold on the Grisha's wounded palm. "I want to be perfect," she says, releasing the woman's hand.

Silence falls like the night, sweeping and absolute. The Fabrikator stares, eyes glassy, at her palm. She blinks once. Twice. Still the unearthly truth swims before her watering eyes.

Her scars are gone.

A/N: True to the spirit of the Grisha trilogy, all original Grisha names here are Russian - or at least, the closest thing to Russian that Google yielded. I'm not a linguist...

Anyway, the glossary:

istrebitel' - fighter

vody - water

khodunki - walker

odarennyy - gifted

Istre Bitel in this chapter is a Heartrender, so the name is fitting. Vody Khodunki's full name means "water walker," and given the resemblance of the Saints religion in Ravka to Catholicism, I thought the spiritual connotations surrounding the phrase were rather neat. Lastly, Odaren Nyy is the Fabrikator, and since all Grisha are gifted, I thought it was pretty fitting.

End fangirl rant.

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