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A Glimpse Of Darkness
Aurelia drummed her feet on the floor, bored beyond belief, whilst Olga openly yawned. As she further fidgeted in her chair, her hazel eyes afire with exasperation, a loose curl fell annoyingly over her forehead, dislodged by the motion, Aurelia blaming Bettina for this. Her lady's maid, Vita, was ill, and nobody else was willing to lend her theirs, Aurelia consequently being left to the mercy of Madame Feodova's latest housemaid, Bettina, or 'Bettina the Battle-axe' as Aurelia had secretly christened her.
She had suffered Bettina's brutal attentions for three days now, Bettina unfortunately having hands like shovels, leaving her only fit for sweeping the floor like a human dustpan. This morning, she had haphazardly piled Aurelia's mass of dark waves atop her head, using an extravagant amount of hairpins, which Aurelia thought was sure to result in a national shortage, before panicking and sticking a white rose amongst the mess as a final flourish.
Impatiently, Aurelia swept the errant curl back with a quick flick of her palm, before resuming her foot-tapping, feeling a headache creeping on. Earlier on, she had tried in vain to remedy her coiffure, only succeeding in making herself look marginally less dishabille. Regardless though, her scalp was silently screaming for relief from the hairpins digging into her head, the pain increasing with every passing moment. Glancing down at herself, the sight of her new white dress with the violets tucked into her sash soothed her wounded vanity. She always looked well in white no matter what else was wrong with her world.
Everybody had stared when she had come into the schoolroom, a couple of the girls giggling, only to hurriedly clear their throats instead when she had glared at them. She might not have been loved, but she was feared, which suited her better.
"Where is Madame Feodova?" Olga asked impatiently, glancing around in vain.
"You tell me," Aurelia snapped, still irate at Olga for not lending her Maria to do her hair. Olga was the closest thing she had to a friend at Madame Feodova's 'Institute for Noble Maidens', but rival might have been a better word to describe their relationship.
"I don't know why Mama sent me to this pisshole," Olga complained, leaning back in her chair, making it creak threateningly. Despite possessing angelic features framed by long golden hair that was presently lying loose across the shoulders of her pink gown with the ruffled sleeves Aurelia secretly envied so, Olga's language was earthier than her appearance suggested.
"To lend you the illusion of being a lady?" Aurelia hazarded sarcastically, folding her arms across her chest. She didn't know why Olga was complaining. Her family was nearby, and so was Petyr, her handsome Hussar. Twenty miles of rutted road separated Aurelia from all she held beloved. She was so lonely sometimes, she even missed her dissolute drunk of a father, whom she was the erstwhile favourite of out of his nine children, probably because she didn't harp on at him about gambling haunts and gin bottles like her sisters did.
Olga jerked her chin at a large beautifully handpainted map hanging up on the blackboard. "What is with that thing?" she asked, ignoring Aurelia's insult. "Geography is on Fridays and today is Tuesday."
Aurelia rolled her eyes at this, since it was actually Wednesday, but then again Olga had always been a little dim. As for Geography, she personally considered that a pointless exercise, not with the Fold in existence, almost exiling them from the rest of the world, leaving them in last place when it came to learning what the latest fashions were and whether bonnets sat perched atop the head or to the side this season.
Rosalind Neukonov leaned across the aisle, blue eyes wide behind her spectacles as she gnawed the end of her long ginger braid, reminding Aurelia as ever of a rabbit nibbling on a carrot. "It's a Grisha map," she said in a high-pitched whisper, instantly making the rest of the room fall silent, the other girls freezing in shock at the sound of the forbidden phrase, "showing all of the Second Army's victories."
Olga visibly paled, before hurriedly crossing herself, everyone else following her example. Grisha were well-known to be witches despite the King's decree saying otherwise. No sane person went about their daily business without carrying an iron nail on them for protection, with many a front door made of rowan wood. There had been a scandal many years ago about one of Madame Feodova's students actually being an illegal Grisha, her family having hidden her away until she was sixteen, thinking it safe enough for her to enter society under the guise of being an orphaned relative they had taken in. But one day after a vicious fight with a classmate, she had lost control and lashed out, setting the other girl's gown alight, unwittingly revealing her real origins. She had been cast out of Madame Feodova's establishment, and the last anyone had heard was that she had gone on the run to avoid conscription, and was now wanted as a deserter.
"Saints, why is that heretic nonsense in here, then?" Aurelia snapped as the other girls clutched one another with frightened hands, except Rosalind who was still chewing her braid, and the usually intrepid Anya Hajuv who merely looked faintly interested. "What was Madame thinking!?"
Olga's blue eyes were almost bulging, her chest heaving, beyond caring about losing face in front of everyone. "Has she lost her wits?" she exclaimed, fanning herself frantically. "When my mother hears of this, I swear she will have a fit of the vapours."
"Calm down," Aurelia retorted, "or you'll have one yourself!"
"It's not me, it's these damn corsets!"
"It's actually supposedly all to do with educating young minds about what we owe the Grisha," Rosalind interjected with a lofty sniff. "So we accept their arcane existence once and for all."
Aurelia and Olga just gawped at her, the former pushing yet another wayward curl out of her eyes, whilst the latter fanned herself even more frantically.
"Are you talking about these obsequious state dinners that are being given by the Grisha to boost morale?" Anya cut in, kicking the back of Rosalind's chair to get her attention. "My father was forced to attend one of the dinners because of his status as a diplomat. He said it was an absolute shambles. Nobody would touch the food in fear of being poisoned, and it was said that anyone General Kirigan looked upon was instantly cursed."
"Well, the Grisha came to my cousin's university," Rosalind shrugged, finally letting go of her braid, where it dropped to the floor, "and they gave a grand speech about how the otkazat'sya should basically be grovelling at their feet in gratitude. My uncle wrote to the university's Chancellor to complain about it, and they told him that all educational establishments in Ravka had to participate regardless of their personal feelings, as commanded by the King, and was subsequently subject to royal protocol. But it's not really about raising morale or educating young minds - I personally suspect the state dinners and speeches are all part of a mass propaganda campaign being orchestrated by the Grisha to overthrow the otkazat'sya as the ruling class."
"Like hell they will!" Aurelia snapped, thumping her desk with her fist, making everybody jump. "They should bring back the Pyre. But even burning is too good for them. Kill them all I say, for the only good Grisha" -
-"is a dead Grisha?" a cold voice finished for her, making Aurelia whirl around in her seat, only to see a man standing in the doorway, gripping the frame with a white knuckled hand.
Startled, Aurelia just stared at him, barely aware of the frightening silence that had suddenly fallen, Olga and the other girls almost shrinking away from her. The stranger was tall and leanly muscled, clad in an exquisitely tailored black kefta and matching fur-lined cloak that fell to his heels in neat folds. His demeanour was one of a composed nobleman, but to Aurelia, it seemed there was a barely hidden savagery that hung strangely around him, ruining the illusion. He was darkly handsome, with thick black hair slicked back from his brow, his pale face bearing the beginnings of a beard, lending his youthful exterior false age.
Aurelia could just hear her eldest sister, Serena, pronounce him a 'vision' in her characteristically throaty tones, but to Aurelia right now, his visitation was rapidly becoming more of a hellish visitation than a heavenly one. The stranger simply stood there, still awaiting her answer, staring at her from across the room with eyes that were like looking into a black void, the deep darkness of them oddly rendering his pupils out of existence. Then he suddenly strode forwards, letting go of the doorframe as he did, moving with a swift panther-like grace, his tails of his black cloak flying out behind him like a shadow.
Panicking, Aurelia utterly lost her head, throwing herself backwards with a sharp cry of shock, knocking her desk over with a loud crash. In vain she tried to get up, but her gown had become caught in her chair, its foot clamping her hem to the ground, holding her prisoner. As she struggled to break free, the other girls squealing like pigs before the slaughter, the stranger was bearing down on her, his handsome face furious, looking as if he was going to strike her where she sat.
"General Kirigan!" Anya suddenly exclaimed as she sprung to her feet, almost knocking her own desk over. "It is such an honour to meet you. My father recently attended a state dinner you spoke at. He was most impressed by your speech. I think you have a convert on your hands, sir."
General Kirigan rounded on her, distracted despite himself, just as Anya intended him to be. But she just smiled winsomely at him, deliberately displaying her dimples for his benefit, tossing her long dark hair back at the same time. Her voice was almost arch to the point of flirtatious, whilst remaining demurely respectful, Aurelia as astonished at her self-possession as at her involvement. Anya was no ally of hers. In fact, she had spat in Aurelia's dinner not three days ago, but that might have had something to do with Aurelia calling Anya's mother a fat herbivore.
"General," Madame Feodova called from the doorway, making his dark head jerk up, "here you are. I hope my students are making you feel welcome." As she spoke, she swept like an empress into the room, discreetly signalling Anya with her hand to sit down, Madame's stern face at odds with her airy tone, displeased at Anya's apparent display of forwardness.
"Very," General Kirigan said through gritted teeth, his oddly ebony eyes finding Aurelia's again, making her visibly cower.
Beside her, Olga whimpered behind her hands, the other girls hunching down in their seats. Even Anya turned pale, but she sat up straight and proud regardless, hands folded primly in her lap. Swallowing hard, Aurelia hurriedly righted her desk with trembling hands, loudly tearing the hem of her gown in the process. Madame frowned, her green gaze travelling between Aurelia and the General, brow furrowing at the strange sight before her.
"Saints, what on earth is that bird's nest on your head, Miss. Zaitsev?" Madame suddenly erupted, startling everyone, even the General. "Did Bettina dress your hair in the dark? And remove that ridiculous flower at once!"
"Y-y-es, Madame," Aurelia stuttered, fumbling in vain for the flower, only for the General to suddenly snatch it out of her hair, their fingers briefly touching. She flinched as though burned, eyes flung wide as the General then made a mockery of a bow to her, proffering the flower like a bouquet.
"I believe this belongs to you," he drawled, making her flush hotly.
Madame's brow furrowed further, still not understanding his strange anger. "Miss. Zaitsev, please go to your room," she ordered as Aurelia made no move to take the flower from him. "As punishment for your slovenliness, you will lose your parlour boarder privileges for a month. You and I will discuss this matter further later."
Without another word, Aurelia got up and left the classroom, the General deliberately dropping the flower as she went past, her heel unconsciously crushing it as she blindly fled from him.
So I saw the fire in his eyes
It was almost my fire...