Author's Note: This is a rewrite of a story I posted here a few years ago that was originally based solely on the books, but will now be a mixture of both the book/TV series. (Upcoming) videos for characters canon and original, can be found on my YouTube channel via the link on my profile.

'And I thought then

Of the far earth,

Of the spring sun

And the slow wind,

And a young girl…'

Mary Oliver

And what there is between a man and woman.

And in which darkness it can best be proved.

Evan Bolland

The Fire From My Wish

The grief that came in waves

That rolled

I navigated through…

Lillianna Katukov raised her arms, allowing the servants to divest her of her outer garments, forcing her face to fall into its usual serene lines whilst they worked. Somebody took the fur hat from her head, gently lifting her heavy fall of white-blonde hair out of the way, before letting it drop down her back again, where it brushed against the base of her spine. The rest of her furs were spirited away, furs that were once of red wolves who had roamed the wild reaches of the west, their amber hues now flickering like flames in the dim candlelight. Her shuba was removed almost reverently; the silver fur dyed sky blue, the cuffs and collar edged with the softest of sable.

But the admiration was tinged with fear, worried whispers following in its wake as the shuba was passed from one hand to another. A harsh voice ordered in an undertone for the shuba to taken away and swiftly. Lillianna reluctantly understood their alarm. Only Etherealki were allowed to wear that shade of blue. Yet she didn't see why it mattered when she was not Grisha despite her lineage. But her mother, Varvara Katukov, had decided Lillianna's exalted descent allowed her such entitlement, especially in the wake of their sudden change of fortune. It was upon her orders Lillianna's shuba had been dyed blue, Varvara not caring of the consequences, considering herself above them.

Lillianna was the last of her line, a direct descendant of the Last Sun-Summoner, who had perished several centuries ago, taking the power of the once proud House of Katukov with her to the grave. Once they had been the greatest of the Grisha, but no more. Before her father's death, Lillianna and her parents had lived a retired life on a distant estate, the war almost another world, only seeing their serfs. But after Ivan Katukov's passing, it had been discovered he had been deep in debt, leaving his widow and daughter to the perils of a penurious existence.

For them to survive, Varvara had been forced to sell her grandmother's jewellery piece by piece, whilst disgrace and dread further darkened their days. She herself had come from a noble and respected family, but even as a young girl, she had always wanted more. Grisha were reviled not revered, the populace considering them in the light of witches, but Varvara was envious of their abilities. She considered them the true power of Ravka and longed to be part of it. But all she owned was an ancient name that wasn't even hers, and a daughter she had no dowry for. Then the summons from Os Alta came, the Darkling mysteriously desiring their presence, and here they were, Lillianna trying to hide from her fear.

"Rebe," Varvara exclaimed as she swept into the room, making Lillianna turn around, the servants retreating to a respectful distance.

"Mother," Lillianna acknowledged, folding her hands in front of her.

Varvara came to a stop in front of Lillianna, looking her daughter over as if she were a piece of livestock, her gaze dwelling longest on Lillianna's face. "A beauty," she said critically, sniffing as she spoke, "and naturally so. No need for the Tailor here. Not that she is... But your hips!" she tutted, shaking her head vehemently, the motion threatening to ruin the carefully coiffured auburn curls. "It's all about the hips," she declared, "and you are lacking on that front."

Lillianna just stood there, letting the words wash over her, chin raised, remembering the first time her father had taken her out hunting. Be like the depths of a frozen lake. Nothing must stir that still surface.

"But that hair more than makes up for it," Varvara continued, using both hands to sweep Lillianna's pale hair back from her face, weaving her fingers through it like threads on a loom, "hair that was last seen five generations back, the hair of a Sun-Summoner, brighter than the sun itself, the only inheritance you have."

Lillianna swallowed hard. "Why are we here, Mother?" she asked, voice shaking despite herself.

Varvara dropped her hands to her sides. "You need new gowns," she complained, turning away from Lillianna, "the ones you have are no better than sarafans. He will need to address that; you cannot be married without a decent trousseau."

The room suddenly swung around Lillianna in sickening circles, the air rushing to her ears. It felt like she was falling underwater, being carried away by the cruel currents. Do not be dragged under, milaya. "Married?" she said, her voice now suddenly strangely steady.

Ignoring Lillianna, Varvara instead examined the solid silver samovar with eyes full of avarice. She lifted the lid, deeply inhaling the rich smoky aroma of the black tea as it brewed. "You are to be wed," she then said abruptly, not looking at Lillianna, "to the Darkling."