Alina brushed out her white hair, still damp from the baths, first in the sea and then in the water. It reminded her of that first bath she could really remember, on the Governor Keramsov's ship as he was sailing to the Port that would bear his name, as per the sigil of the Ravkan tsar.
That had been ten years ago, on a night much like this one. It was a starless night, the moon was covered by clouds—surely there was a summer storm rolling in.
If only the clouds had been about earlier that day, when she had been touring the fort around the docks.
Governor Keramsov had insisted that she accompany him in a tight-laced corset, with her hair curled in ringlets and wearing her finest dress of stiff turquoise taffeta and lace from Ravka. She even wore pearls and jewels around her neck and wrists, only making the summer heat of the Port worse.
She'd smiled politely and responded when indicated for at the correct intervals. But mostly, the handsome young soldier prattled on to the Governor about Ravkan politics and the tsar's new trading policies. She was acknowledged, admired—then ignored.
That was fine. Alina stopped at the terrace, where the sea-winds met the fort and created a strong, cool breeze. She withdrew from the pockets hidden in her taffeta skirts a fan painted red and gold like the plumes of the legendary firebird.
The Governor drifted back to her.
"My apologies, this summer does seem to be much warmer than in previous years." His smile did not quite reach his eyes. "Tell me, how do you like Commodore Oretsev?"
Alina glanced at the commodore as he lurked nearby, chatting up one of the other young women on the fort. She thought she caught him sneaking a glance at her, once or twice.
"He's alright." She looked out to the sea, the same color as her dress here, in the New World. No matter how she waved her fan, the cool could not break or divert the penetrating heat.
"I was hoping you would like him." There was a cold cunning that gleamed in the Governor's eyes—the same cunning that had raised him to such a position. Some might have called it a downgrade, as he was a Duke in the old world—but the governors were practically tsars on their islands in the New World.
"He is handsome, I would suppose."
"Do you think he would make a good husband?" Governor Keramsov asked.
"I don't know," Alina admitted—she could hardly focus on the Governor's words. "Why are you asking me such questions?"
"I believe he could make a very advantageous marriage for you." Governor Keramsov glanced back at the commodore. "I would like for you marry Commodore Oretsev—I have nearly arranged it."
"What?" Alina's own voice sounded leagues away, the colors of the harbor swirled, and her own knees seemed to not work. The heat surrounded her, smothering her with the tightness of her corset. Why it was laced so tightly, when she already had such a small frame, Alina was unsure.
The next thing she knew she was underwater, fighting her layers to emerge victorious on the beach.
Alina supposed it was lucky that the Commodore had been quick to rescue her—it certainly sealed the deal for the Governor.
Come six months, and she would be married to Commodore Malyen Oretsev. And there was nothing she could really say in the matter.
Over the years as one of the many children adopted by Governor Keramsov, Alina had learned that to survive, she needed to keep her head down and her words to herself, to obey.
It was easier, that way, to go with the tide, rather than to fight and struggle against the current.
Still, a part of her wondered if her time with the Governor had come to an end—if it was time to run away, to try and find a life somewhere else.
But it wouldn't be here, on Port Keramzin, not with the control the Governor held over the island.
But where else could she go? Alina knew she came from somewhere before that horrible night, but try as she might, memories of the time before eluded her.
Would her real parents have forced her to marry the Commodore? Would they insist on tight-lacing and all the latest Ravkan fashions?
Alina supposed it was futile to wonder.
Still, by the candle she could see the book of maps she had taken from the Governor's office when she was eight and the both of them were adjusting to his new manor.
Alina had always been fascinated by them, by the idea of all these places beyond the small island she'd always known and the endless seas.
It was somehow unfathomable, that there was more—and yet, Alina wanted to see it all.
Perhaps that early fascination with maps and places to go had also inspired the stack of novels about pirates that were on her bedside table. It was a choice in literature that the governor and Miss Kuya did not approve of, but they for some reason or another indulged it all the same.
In her dreams, Alina was on the high seas with a crew of dashing pirates at her command.
If only. She smiled wryly at the stack, then looked out at the ocean, feeling as if she were tight-laced into that corset once more.
It seemed her dreams would come to an end, soon, with marriage to the Commodore, as was all too common a fate for women like Alina.
It would be so easy, just to go along with it, to hide the parts of her that longed for more, like a mouse.
But for once, as Alina set the brush down and blew out the candle, she hoped for a diversion, some opportunity to be who she truly was.
Whoever that was.
Someday, she would be able to step into the sun.