Chapter Two: Materialki
A/N: Thank you so much to everyone for your kind support! To the anons leaving hateful reviews: I'm gonna keep deleting them, I don't stand for that shit. Keep on flaming, I don't care babes xx
"I had no idea that my return to court would prove so thrilling to you." Irina tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder, all flirtatious smiles and charm as she entered the Darkling's meeting room, casting her eyes over the black curtains and large table. Saints above, he could use a less broody space. Men were always terrible at decorating their own spaces, leaving them bland and lifeless.
"Princess Irina." The Darkling turned to face her, bowing from the waist. "It's lovely to have you back at Os Alta."
Irina beamed and leaned across the table, fingers splayed across the wood. "To what do I owe the privilege of this visit?"
The Darkling was quiet for a few moments, his dark eyes raking over her, as if trying to see what made her tick. Irina welcomed his gaze, for she was not immune to the weakness of men. However, she doubted that he was looking at her for reasons that had anything to do with the stir of desire.
"I wanted to talk about the reason you left court."
"Which one?" Irina laughed lightly, though her heart hammered in her chest. Was it possible that he knew the truth? "Vasily is telling anyone who will listen that I had a Heartrender's bastard child during my absence."
"The real one." The Darkling took a seat and gestured for her to do the same. He steepled his fingers. "The fact that you ran away to train as a Grisha far from prying eyes."
He knew. Irina didn't know how, but perhaps she had been a fool to underestimate him. Of course someone was bound to learn the truth of why she had left. Sucking in a deep breath, she did her best to keep her heartbeat steady. There was no point in panicking.
"Do you know what I am, then?"
"Materialki." The Darkling arched an eyebrow. "Many among the Grisha consider that the lowest order among us. But you aren't an ordinary Materialki, are you?"
Fuck. So he knew the whole truth. Irina was used to spinning whatever lies she wanted that when it came to honesty, she was utterly clueless as to how to proceed. Holding her head high, Irina allowed a smug smile to cross her lips, as though she couldn't care less that he'd discovered the truth about her so quickly.
"No. Durast and Alkemi."
"The two often work together, but we're yet to see a Grisha that's both." The Darkling smiled humourlessly. "I suppose that makes you quite special, Irina."
Irina could not remember the last time in Ravkan history that the royal family had a Grisha in the direct line of succession. Even when they'd become more accepted over the past few centuries, the Lantsov line had remained separate. Fortunately, Irina had two brothers who would inherit the throne before her. That being as it may, how would her familiar react to seeing her in a purple kefta?
"So you would have me train as a Grisha, then." Her voice was playful again, attempting to take back some of the control. She would be damned if she'd let the Darkling have all the cards.
"Tell me, Irina, what sort of future did you see for yourself?" The Darkling's brow furrowed, head tilting to the side in askance. "Your older brother has never respected you, and your twin is far away from here. You know what value your father the King places upon you."
Irina clenched her jaw. He was not wrong. At the age of twenty, Irina was a ripe prospect for marriage, and now that she had returned to Os Alta, it was only a matter of time before Pyotr and Tatiana found her a suitable match, to prevent the prospect of her disappearing again. She had always known this, yet she hadn't ever considered what sort of future she wanted for herself.
Being a Grisha would not be unpleasant. They had power and influence. Irina already had those in her arsenal, but being both royal and Grisha was different. She was special, and realising that was what had made her flee from Os Alta that night.
"I am not a pawn, Aleksander." Her voice was cold, devoid of the cheerful mirth that was so often associated with her. This was Irina Lantsov laid bare, and she wondered if he would flinch away from what he saw in her, the brief glimpse she would allow him before she closed up again.
"Which is why you would do well to join the Grisha ranks. You may prove a valuable asset, given time."
Irina folded her arms over her chest. "I will have a purple kefta with red and grey embroidery."
The Darkling laughed. "You would have your power out in the open?"
"Why hide from it?" Irina shrugged her shoulders, feigning nonchalance. "I am a princess of Ravka. I am a dual Materialki, the first on record. I had my time running and hiding from it, now it's time to accept it."
"You are…" The Darkling paused as if uncertain how to proceed. His uncertainty made her lips curve upwards in a smile. "Not what I expected."
"Oh, I live to defy expectations." Irina eased herself up from her seat and tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder. "I will be ready to commence my training tomorrow."
She swept from the room without a backward glance, eagerly anticipating the revelation that she already was trained. The Darkling would never see it coming. He knew why she had run, but not what she had been doing in the year she'd been gone. Perhaps she still had some cards to play, after all.
"You lied to us."
The door to Irina's room burst open and Vasily stormed in. She rolled her eyes and wrapped her silk dressing gown more tightly around her slender frame, rising from the bed to greet her irate older brother.
"Vasily, must you be so dramatic about literally everything?"
"This was what you always wanted, wasn't it?" Vasily sneered, and Irina paused at the fact that it wasn't anger in his eyes, but hurt. She had anticipated his rage, but not that he might feel betrayed by the revelation of her Grisha power.
"What are you talking about?" Irina frowned. "I discovered I was a Fabrikator a year ago, it's hardly something I've been hiding my whole life."
"But think about what you could have now." Vasily smiled bitterly. "Saints, you and Nikolai. You've always thought you're more clever, more charming. That the throne should go to you and not me."
"I really don't know what you mean, Vasily." Irina had no intentions for the throne, and she began to think he was being paranoid. Why did being a Grisha mean that suddenly she'd have aspirations she hadn't cared for in the past?
"A Grisha Queen." Vasily's voice was mocking, eyes narrowing. "You'll live longer than the rest of us, by decades if not centuries. That's what you want, isn't it?"
Irina was stunned into silence. She hadn't even considered that side of things, and it felt like someone stabbing a knife into her side and twisting hard. She would outlive her parents. She would outlive Vasily. She would outlive Nikolai. The thought brought genuine tears to her eyes, though she did her best not to let Vasily see he had shaken her.
"I don't want Ravka," she snapped, "You're welcome to it."
Vasily scoffed. "All you have to do is wait."
"I know what you and father wanted for me," Irina hissed, and suddenly she had gone through all her masks and it was just her there, upset and angry that she couldn't even have this one thing, "You'd have made a broodmare of me, so trust me, I certainly do prefer this to the alternative."
"Why is that such a terrible thing?" Vasily demanded, planting his hands on his hips. "Saints, Irina. It's not torture. You grew up a princess, you knew precisely what was expected of you. If we had known you were Grisha, it might have been different, but…"
"Because I don't want children, Vasily!"
There they were, the words she had been too afraid to admit to anyone but herself. Her family had always expected that she would be a mother one day, but what if that wasn't what Irina wanted? No one seemed to care about that, but surprise contorted Vasily's features as he examined her.
"What?" He shook his head as if shaking away cobwebs. "You're just young. You'll change your mind when…"
"No, I don't think I will."
Irina was made to be a princess. She was well suited to life in the palace, to beautiful dresses and fancy balls. She flirted with potential suitors and perhaps kissed a few more people than she should have.
Irina was made to be a Grisha. Power had always been something that came naturally to her, in one form or another, and it had taken some time before she'd acknowledged she had the small science flowing through her veins. In a way, it made sense.
Irina was not made to be a mother. She was not overly fond of children, and she thought herself far too selfish to put anyone before herself. Let her brothers reproduce, but she wouldn't do it. She had always taken great care with her lovers, to prevent herself from coming to that.
"Good luck with training tomorrow." Vasily's parting words were curt, and he swept from the room with as much frustration as he'd entered.
As the door slammed, Irina sat down on her bed and crossed her legs. She had been far too vulnerable today already, first with the Darkling, and now with Vasily. It was time to secure her masks again, fusing them back on like they were forever part of her. She would have no shortage of curious eyes her way tomorrow, and they would see whatever she wanted them to see.
Irina's kefta was ready for her when she rose in the morning, and she admired herself in the reflection of the mirror, tracing her fingers over the red and grey embroidery. Just as she'd asked for. Today she would give the Second Army what they expected: a spoiled princess who had no idea what to do with her Grisha powers.
A Grisha woman in Alkemi colours that Irina recognised by sight alone led her through the corridors and into the Fabrikator chambers. Now Irina remembered—Materialki didn't train out in the yard with the Corporalki and Etherealki. Their talents were far more subtle. Her curious eyes raked across the room, where various Grisha in their purple keftas sat at their work stations.
"My name is Svetlana." The woman was, at a guess, a similar age to Vasily. Her expression indicated that she was none too pleased with the situation she found herself. She would have been pretty, freckle-faced and brunette, if not for the scowl across her features. "The General has tasked me with overseeing your first day here."
Irina was not disappointed nor surprised by the Darkling's absence. The precious Sun Summoner, who Irina was yet to meet, was here now. Of course he had far better matters to deal with than a simple dual Fabrikator. Irina was special, but not that special.
"You will receive no preferential treatment here." Svetlana's voice maintained the same bored drawl as Irina's gaze raked over the dozens of workstations. "You may be a princess, but you are a Grisha first in these rooms. You will be treated no differently to anyone else."
"I hardly expected anything else," Irina said smoothly.
"David!" Svetlana barked. A man with dark hair sticking out at all angles, probably the same age as Svetlana, blinked as he looked up from his workstation. The grey embroidery on his kefta marked him out as a Durast. "Irina will be joining you today."
"I have company?" His brow furrowed.
"She is learning and observing." Svetlana sounded exasperated now, whirling to face Irina once more. "Once you have spent the morning with David, you will be assigned to one of the Alkemi to observe their work. Tomorrow, we will see what you can do. For today, you are watching."
Irina masked her disappointment. Though she hadn't intended to show off her abilities, she had hoped to do more than sit on a wooden stool amidst the miasma of smoke that wafted through the workspace.
"We are not show-offs like the Corporalki and Etherealki." Svetlana's lip curled at the mention of the higher-ranking Grisha. "Our abilities are more subtle and require more precision. Make no mistake, princess, you will be expected to actually work."
"Yeah, I got that," Irina said dryly, wincing when Svetlana grabbed her by the shoulders and forcibly sat her down on the stool beside David's.
"Watch. Do not talk."
Irina's first day as a Grisha was exhausting. Watching everything made her itch with impatience, determined to show a little of her own skill. She kept reminding herself that no one at the Little Palace knew where she'd been and that she'd honed her talents over the year she had been away. She bit down on her tongue and sat with David, and later an Alkemi called Paja, to observe them at work.
What frustrated Irina was Svetlana's attitude, as though she didn't think the pampered princess had worked a day in her life. Svetlana didn't know just how hard Irina had worked at her talents, but the less Irina said, the better. Instead she silently fumed at Svetlana's judgement, before she returned to the Grand Palace at sundown.
She was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she almost cannoned into someone. The cream and gold uniform made her think it was a servant, before the red hair told her that it was Genya Safin, a Tailor who primarily served Irina's mother, Tatiana. She opened her mouth to offer an apology, before noting the way Genya carried herself, as if she was trying to shrink in on herself.
"Genya?"
"Is there something I can do for you, your Highness?" Genya's words were brittle, eyes flaring with anger.
Irina was not stupid. She had seen the way her father looked at Genya, and she had an inkling of what had been happening between the pair since before her departure from Os Alta. It appeared that things continued even now, making a shiver of revulsion race up her spine. How was she meant to stop her father from what he was doing, when it seemed even the Darkling turned a blind eye?
"Say the word, and I will make it stop," she promised, despite knowing that they were just empty words.
"You can't." Genya's smile was sharp as glass. "No one can."
She swept away, leaving Irina standing conflicted in the hallway. How could the Darkling be allowing this to happen? Had he said anything to the King? Irina could not say that she was close with Genya, but no one deserved what she was being subject to. If Genya would not speak to the Darkling about the matter, then Irina supposed she would simply have to petition the man herself.
She was, after all, a woman used to being listened to.