Author's Note: Lillianna's face-claim has been changed to Elle Fanning.

What You Have To Hold Onto

Lillianna stood with her arms held out by her sides as Aoife and two mob-capped servants circled her with screwed-up faces, trying to find any flaws in their work before Genya came to check it. She had spent a sleepless night despite the overwhelming luxury of her surroundings, once again regretting losing control, especially with somebody as dangerous as the Darkling. Her father had tried to teach her how to govern the wild currents of her character, to encase the undertow of her being in ice, but as of late, she had begun to turn away from his teachings. But she didn't repent of trying to help Genya. Whether her feeble efforts bore fruit, only time would tell.

She tried not to wince when Clara, one of her new attendants, trod on her foot, Clara apologizing profusely until Aoife elbowed her sharply in the side. Clara along with Natasha had originally been housemaids as of late, but with a pair of Lillianna's personal attendants falling ill the previous evening, Genya was reluctantly trialling the two girls to take their place. Such rapid elevation only served to increase the tension in the room, neither girl wanting to ruin such an unexpected opportunity.

The Darkling's leave-taking was to be a public affair, introducing Lillianna to the inhabitants of the Little Palace, and it was imperative that she appeared above reproach. Consequently Lillianna was becoming increasingly apprehensive at the prospect of her future position at the Little Palace, wondering how a wife would affect its dynamics and where she would fit in. Yet she suspected whatever her role was, it would be a passive one, Lillianna probably not even holding autonomy over her own household which Genya was temporarily overseeing until the wedding, with every decision most likely decided by the Darkling or one of his underlings.

"Stand straight!" Aoife barked, startling Lillianna into position. "Keep your damned head up!" Muttering in Kaelish, she suddenly stooped down to reposition a rogue ringlet, patting the pale hair back into place. She had dressed Lillianna's hair with the front styled in an intricate band of braids and light pink ribbon, whilst the back hair flowed down her waist in a river of waves. Lillianna's satin gown was also of the palest of pinks, edged with embroidered roses of a darker shade, one of the exorbitantly expensive ready-made gowns Genya had ordered to be made over, the seamstresses working around the clock to complete them.

"Oh, isn't she a vision?" Clara said dreamily, clasping her hands together, the reverence in her voice making Lillianna wince again. "Looks just like a princess, don't she?"

"That's enough, Clara," Natasha snapped, ignoring Aoife's pointedly raised eyebrows. "Go and fetch that pink shawl Genya said she wanted. You should have had it ready half an hour ago!"

"Sorry, Nat - I mean, ma'am, right away, ma'am," Clara apologised, bobbing a hasty curtsey before disappearing through the doors to Lillianna's dressing room.

"Saints, that girl has to go," Aoife burst out, rounding on Natasha. "Genya must have been out of her mind pickin' her over Sasha!"

"Oi!" -

-"I don't care if she's your cousin!" Aoife interrupted, halting Natasha with her palm. "There is no bloody future for her up here. She has hands like hammers!"

Natasha exhaled sharply, reluctantly conceding Aoife had a point. Clara had dropped the ivory curling tongs several times until Aoife had snatched them from her, before ruining the ribbon by stepping on it, forcing Natasha to run and fetch another reel. And that had been the least of Clara's clumsiness, Natasha not wanting to dwell on the rest. "Genya had Liesl sent back to the Grand Palace last night," she then said with a strange sidelong glance at Lillianna who was covertly lowering her arms to her sides. "Perhaps Clara could have her place? It would suit her skills better even it meant being demoted" -

- "Anya's little sister was promised Liesl's place," Aoife said abruptly, making Natasha pale, "so perhaps not, eh?"

Jaw tightening, Natasha finally took the hint and instead went to see what was taking Clara so long with the shawl.

Aoife watched her go before rumpling up her ginger curls with both hands, face suddenly tired and furious. "You need to talk to your ma," she snapped, rounding on Lillianna this time, startling her again, "and the sooner, the better. She's turnin' the whole of downstairs against you with her behaviour, constantly carpin' that the place isn't bein' run right and whatnot. She got Liesl turned off and her mother is the head cook. You don't want to get off on the wrong foot with downstairs, I can tell you that, not unless you want them spittin' in your food, miss."

Lillianna paled at this, suddenly glad she had been unable to eat any of the surprisingly elaborate breakfast laid out for her earlier. "But - but I don't have any say in anything," she protested in vain. "Saints, I don't even get to decide what kind of dress I want to wear!" She gestured helplessly down at the elaborate confection she'd been shoehorned into but Aoife merely appraised her with narrowed eyes, crossing her arms over her frilly aproned front.

"Then find your voice and fast," Aoife said coldly, not caring she was stepping out of her place, to do so second nature by now. "This is your second day here and everyone is already walkin' all over you, skivvies and all."

Lillianna stiffened, sudden rage rising in her despite everything. "Why should I expend the effort?" she retorted, startling Aoife this time round. "The servants have probably been set against me from before I even arrived. No doubt they're reporting my every movement, right down to the last piss I took!"

Aoife's hand flew to her mouth in shock. "Miss!" she said in disbelief, eyes bulging. "Saints, guard your tongue! Genya wouldn't half hang you out to dry if she heard you talkin' like that!"

Lillianna just laughed bitterly. "You know what I said is true," she said, pacing the floor now, setting her lace-trimmed petticoats swaying, "I'm being watched at every turn, even by you - perhaps, especially, you."

Aoife lowered her hand, avoiding Lillianna's questioning stare. "Knowledge is power, miss," she then said surprisingly softly, glancing around as she spoke, "I keep my hand in, so to speak - if there's somethin' worthwhile in it for me. That goes for the rest of us. At the end of the day though, we've got more than enough to occupy us, never mind spyin' on all and sundry. But... there are those who are being paid to take the trouble. That's all I can say, miss."

Lillianna bit her lip. She didn't need Aoife to confirm her suspicions. It had already been proven beyond a doubt she was under close observation. Sighing heavily, she plumped herself down on the padded white velveteen window-seat, not caring if she crumpled her skirts in the process. Aoife opened her mouth to admonish her, but the look on Lillianna's face made her hold her tongue instead. She had been genuinely trying to warn Lillianna over Varvara's behaviour, but not out of any great concern for her. Aoife believed in self-preservation more than any saints.

It had taken a long time for Aoife to achieve her ambition of rising above her station of scullery maid. Downstairs was composed of a confusing web of enmities and allegiances and Aoife had fought tooth and nail for her place in the proceedings. Now she was being forced to defend her position, walking a fine line between appeasing downstairs without appearing to offend upstairs. But Liesl being so unfairly dismissed had hit a nerve in the kitchens, requiring all of Genya's tact to smooth it over.

"Was Liesl the little girl who lit the fires?" Lillianna said suddenly, making Aoife glance up.

"Yes - been here at the Little Palace for almost a year without a word bein' said against her."

Lillianna half closed her eyes. "I'm sorry," she then said tiredly, "but I don't know what to do, really, I don't."

Aoife smoothed down her ginger curls. "Look here, I'm happy bein' promoted, miss," she then said grudgingly, "I was goin' nowhere at the Grand Palace, especially with Genya about, hoggin' all the attention." She raised her gaze to the ceiling, twisting her hands together, the movement uncharacteristically careless. "Lizabeta, the Queen's lady's maid, who I trained under - now she ain't goin' nowhere fast either. Difference is, she don't mind. But I do. And I also mind if I have to work beside clumsy eejits like Clara Pankov or under a mistress who won't shift herself either."

"And I mind having a lady's maid who doesn't seem to understand the concept of 'rape'," Lillianna snapped, becoming exhausted by Aoife's brazen cheek. "I don't care if it's the King or even the devil himself. It's just simply unacceptable"-

-"Miss, if you value your head on your shoulders, shut your bloomin' trap," Aoife retorted, jabbing her finger at Lillianna. "When I say shift yourself, I don't mean to the flamin' scaffold." Shaking her head, she abruptly left the room, leaving Lillianna staring after her.

Closing her eyes again, Lillianna then leaned her head back, not caring she was crushing her ringlets against the glass, ringlets Aoife and the others had agonized over for two hours straight. The urge to go home was suddenly overwhelming, Lillianna finding herself on her feet before she even realised what she was doing. As she did, she unexpectedly caught sight of her ridiculous reflection in the mirror opposite, a creation of spun pastel sweetness, a world away from herself. Slowly but surely she was being stripped of her very soul, Aoife's warning ringing afresh through her to find her voice and fast -

-"Lillianna!"

Her head jerked up, only to see Genya striding through the doors, her beautiful face absolutely bloodless, eyes glittering oddly. Before Lillianna could blink, Genya was on top of her, hand around her throat, pinning her against the glass.

"What do you think you are doing, going to the General behind my back and issuing orders as if you own me!?" Genya hissed, tightening her grip, making Lillianna gasp.

"The-King"-

-"What do you know of the King!?" Genya demanded, nostrils flaring. "Of me? You don't even know me! What do you know at all!? Nothing, that's what! Absolutely nothing!" -

- "Ma-am!" Aoife yelled from the doorway, Natasha and Clara gawping at her heels. "Have you lost your wits!?"

"I am not your property!" Genya spat, her face inches from Lillianna's. "I am my own person!" - Aoife pulled Genya off Lillianna who collapsed against the glass, fingers flying to her throat. "Saints, unhand me!" Genya yelled, shoving Aoife from her, only for Aoife to shove her even harder, suddenly sending Genya flying to the floor, where she landed heavily on her rear, eyes flung wide with shock.

For one suicidal moment, Aoife was tempted to laugh at seeing the usually dignified Genya knocked on her arse, kefta and all, that perfect face aflame with humiliation. But the murderous look in Genya's eyes immediately quelled the impulse. "Ma-am, for the love of all that is holy, contain yourself," she snapped, signalling the still gawping Natasha and Clara to stay back, "or you'll have the Darklin' himself down upon us all."

At this, the fire in her amber eyes abruptly dimmed, Genya taking a deep breath, trying and failing to pull together what remained of her pride. "It is General Kirigan to you, Aoife Hannigan," she said through gritted teeth, pushing her tumbled hair out of her face. "If you use that euphemism one more time within my hearing, I will send you packing, do you understand?"

Aoife looked like she was going to say something else that was inflammatory, but obviously thought better of it. Instead she dropped a brief curtsey, before folding her hands in front of her, awaiting Genya's next orders, as if Genya hadn't just tried to strangle Lillianna in front of them all.

"Natasha and Clara, I - I will reconvene with you in the War Room," Genya then said, struggling to keep her voice steady as she drew herself to her feet, "General Kirigan informed me the bookshelves are not being dusted correctly. You will go over them again and I will check afterwards to see it has been done properly" -

-"But ma-am" -

-"Assisting Aoife this morning was a privilege I didn't have to grant you," Genya snapped, "and checking your work afterwards is another. I am demeaning myself by doing so. I am not the housekeeper. I am the Tailor. So do not question my decisions or it will be the worst for you, do you understand?"

Natasha and Clara swallowed hard in unison before dropping frightened curtseys, Clara almost falling on her face if Natasha hadn't yanked her upright, ruining her own impeccable curtsey. Then the two girls hurried out of the room, Clara looking back at them over her shoulder with wide eyes until Natasha clipped her around the ear, forcing her to face forwards.

"Think that was wise, Safin?" Aoife drawled, unable to stay silent a moment longer. "Bet you a month's pay it will be all over the Little Palace by tonight you were brawlin' like a Kerch barmaid."

Genya's eyes suddenly bulged. "Out!" she shouted, pointing at the door. "Out! Out! Out! Or Saints help you!"

Aoife exited with a small smirk, sweeping away with an arrogant toss of her head, leaving a terrified Lillianna alone with Genya.

Genya turned to Lillianna, chest heaving. But to Lillianna's terrible relief, she made no move towards her, fists curling into balls by her sides instead. "I don't need your pity," she said with great difficulty, "and I don't need your help. I make my own choices and I bear the consequences of them. It is for the good of all Grisha, that I do what I do. I endure for them and them alone. Do you understand what I'm saying, Lillianna?"

Lillianna looked at Genya for a long moment, sensing something hanging in the balance between them. Genya met her stare for stare, waiting for Lillianna's answer. Biting her lip, Lillianna then nodded, too scared to speak, even as she didn't understand. Why was Genya determined to suffer so? Did the Darkling know of what she underwent? Would he even care? All she could comprehend was that he had somehow deliberately twisted the situation to suit himself and now he wouldn't act as he had implied, Genya making it more than plain such interference would be unwelcome.

Genya studied Lillianna, before unexpectedly holding her hand out to her, who hesitated for several heartbeats before finally taking it, reluctantly allowing Genya to haul her to her feet. "Where is your mother? she asked, reaching out to smooth down Lillianna's ringlets, ignoring the way she flinched from her. "I thought she would be here."

Lillianna avoided looking at Genya, still feeling her fingers around her throat. "I - I - I don't know," she admitted, hunching her shoulders, only for Genya to push them back down with both palms, "she wasn't at the fitting yesterday either, remember?"

"That was probably for the best though," Genya said abruptly, examining Lillianna's embroidered bodice with a critical eye, before roughly turning her around to check the back. "Especially after the debacle with that dressmaker. I was told she was one of the best, that her work was second to none, but she seemed to have taken leave of her senses."

"Will there be trouble because of it?" Lillianna asked nervously over her shoulder, something in Genya's voice provoking her to dare such a question.

Genya dropped her hands to her sides again, half closing her eyes. "The General fears so," she then said with great reluctance, "your family heritage was never disclosed beyond his inner circle, not even to the King. To the world at large, you are a girl raised from obscurity by the grace of the Saints themselves. But now? Who knows what wild rumours are rising?"

Lillianna stared at Genya, shocked despite everything. She had simply assumed her heritage was common knowledge like it had been back home. The dressmaker's odd behaviour seemed to confirm this at the time, but Genya's worried face was saying otherwise.

"Didn't you know this?" Genya then said, brow furrowing. "Surely when the General proposed to you, he would have explained everything?"

Lillianna's mouth opened and closed stupidly, unable to believe what she was hearing. She hadn't set eyes upon her future husband until yesterday. "Nobody told me anything, least of all the Darkling!" she blurted out. "Not even my own mother!"

Genya shook her head at this. "The General said you were in danger because of your background," she reiterated, "he told your mother that there had to be the greatest discretion."

"Saints, why?"

Genya stared at her in disbelief. "Your father once saved his life long ago," she said incredulously, "the General always felt he owed him a debt. When he heard of your change of fortune, he wanted to help, to honour your father without agenda. But he was... much struck by you. His admiration set his conscience at odds. Offering you the protection of his name seemed the best way to achieve both his ambitions. But the King was pressurizing him to marry a otkazat'sya girl of his choosing - the War Council thought it would quell the rising tensions between Grisha and otkazat'sya, the wedding providing a public spectacle to distract the masses. But then there was you..."

Lillianna sat back down on the window-seat, head spinning. The Darkling had never beheld her before now. So why was he lying? Was everything else a lie, then? Had her father really saved the Darkling's life? If so, how? When? Why? But that hadn't really driven the Darkling to make marriage proposals, had it? She was here because he wanted a Sun-Summoner from her. Of that, she was more than sure, the only thing she was sure of. Nobody else in the court seemed to consider it though. Perhaps such a notion existed in the realm of the impossible for them. Varvara had been aware of or at least deduced his true intentions but nobody else had, only seeing a confirmed bachelor buying a bride to set up his nursery.

"You were of good family, if poor in the purse, and you were otkazat'sya," Genya continued, pacing the floor, "but then the General learned of your heritage, your mother accidentally letting it slip, changing everything. If your forefathers had just been ordinary Grisha, it would have been different, but that they were Sun-Summoners? The General felt he might as well paint a target on you. He warned your mother over and over again of the danger you would be in if such knowledge became public. When he found out you had worn that ridiculous blue shuba halfway across Ravka, the official colour of the Etherealki, the Grisha order of the Sun-Summoners..." Genya's voice trailed off as she swallowed hard, the sudden look of fear in her eyes saying more than words.

Lillianna bit her lip, abrubt tears burning the backs of her eyes. "My mother said to you I was a gamble, a venture," she said suddenly, startling Genya.

Genya hesitated. "We thought the arrangement would fall through," she then said tiredly. "It might have been best if it had. Secretly, we all thought the General had lost his senses. All this trouble for some girl from the middle of nowhere. And when it came out about your heritage, it just served to make the situation even worse. The last of the Sun-Summoners who wasn't even a Sun-Summoner."

"What about the King?"

"The King is... temperamental," Genya said with some difficulty again, "he makes decisions based on the fall of a coin. But when he granted his permission and you finally arrived... it was like life could go back to normal."

Lillianna half turned away, chin trembling. "My mother should have told me," she said through gritted teeth, "instead of lying until the last moment. It just shows how much of a fool I was not to realize what was going on."

Genya once again pushed the hair out of her eyes. "Did you not even suspect something was in the wind?" she said impatiently. "Not even when your mother received the summons to come to Os Alta?"

"Yes... and no," Lillianna said, wringing her hands again. "My mother merely implied our fortunes were changing for the better. There had been problems with our finances - my mother felt we were owed something by the army in recognition of my father's sacrifices for his country. I thought the Darkling - no, don't correct me! - was dealing with it."

Genya exhaled sharply. "Perhaps your mother was trying to protect you with her silence," she then said awkwardly. "Telling a sheltered young girl she is going to marry a man as... well-known and important as the General - it would be a daunting prospect for both of you."

Lillianna bit her lip again, thinking notorious would be a better phrase to describe the Darkling. But what was more frightening than the thought of her future husband was Genya's version of events and her certainty of them. Yet what Lillianna knew and what Genya said were two different things further confused by the gaps inbetween.

Genya tossed her head back, the gesture strangely unsure despite its apparent arrogance. "Perhaps a tête-à-tête with your mother would be a good idea," she said smartly, too smartly, "a very good idea indeed."

Lillianna looked away, chin trembling. Genya was simply trying to change the subject, to perhaps even shift the blame elsewhere. "Do you really believe that the Darkl - the General went to all that effort for a mere girl with no money or prospects?" she said suddenly, voice cracking. "That he would defy his King for a nobody he doesn't even know? Even for honour? Isn't it convenient I happened to just be the last of the Sun-Summoners bloodline? Has he become so driven by desperation to seek in me what he will never find?"

Genya stared at her again, before suddenly grabbing Lillianna by the shoulders. "I would have been of that mind too," she said fiercely, stooping down so she was eye-level with the other girl, "it would have convenient, too convenient. You do not know how much he desires to have a Sun-Summoner within his reach, or the pressure the King has put him under to find one. But you are not a Sun-Summoner. Whatever power your bloodline once possessed is long gone. The General didn't know who or what you really were when he decided to offer for your hand in marriage. That is what counts, what you have to hold onto."

I wanted everything I never had

Like the love that comes with light...