Chapter Two: Pit of Vipers
He gave her back her old rooms.
She wasn't sure what she was expecting. A cell, maybe. Or a cage where they could show her off. But when Ivan grabbed her arm and steered her away from the skiff, it wasn't into a torture chamber or a secret prison, but to the quarters in the Little Palace, which were still new enough to not look entirely lived in.
There were changes, of course. Anything with edges or sharp corners had been removed. All the furniture was bolted down to the floor. The windows had been discretely welded shut. She now had two guards posted outside, unsmiling and motionless.
And in her wardrobe, there was only black.
Alina's fingers trailed over the black, silk kefta that hung from edge to edge. Some were lined in furs, others tailored shorter on the sleeves. Some were formal; the embroidery elaborate and making intricate shapes in gold that she had only seen on gowns someone like only the Queen would wear. Others were plainer, though still black. Gold was spun into the cuffs and hems, but it didn't offset the eclipse she saw sewn into their fronts.
She snorted. At least they were past pretending she wasn't only here as an extension of his own power.
Alina was still staring at the kefta in a distant, numb sort of way when the door to her rooms opened. She stayed looking at the row of black clothes, waiting for her visitor to speak first.
"You look terrible," Genya observed, hands folded in the sleeves of her red kefta and eyes discretely trained away from the wardrobe.
She tried to smile, and failed. Her thumb moved over the stitching on the sleeve of one of her kefta. The gold threads shined with the angle of the lights. Alina shrugged, "…Turns out no one packed me a hairbrush."
Genya gave a low hum from the back of her throat, moving in quick, graceful steps to Alina's vanity. Her manicured fingers danced through its items, "Luckily for you, I know there's one here-"
"The silver one's gone," Alina muttered absently, letting the sleeve flutter down from her fingers.
Genya frowned, "It was in this drawer-"
The younger girl sighed, finally turning away from the kefta to give Genya a stare that she knew spoke volumes, "Confiscated. The handle had a sharp point."
Genya looked from Alina, back to the wardrobe, and pressed her lips into a smile that Alina was sure she mastered during her time in the Grand Palace, "The bristles were too rough on your hair anyways. Dozens of split ends."
Alina walked over to her bed, sitting on it with a graceless slump. It was exhausting, to act like this room wasn't just as restrictive as a cell. That she wasn't literally collared to a man who just destroyed an entire village only to make a point. She stared at her hands, at the creases and scar of her palms. Only a day ago, they had been emitting brilliant bursts of sunlight. Helping the Darkling ensure his warped idea of a dream. How many more villages would there need to be. How long would there be guards outside of her door.
The mattress dipped slightly as Genya sat down beside her. Alina saw her hesitate, for just a second, before she reached out and held Alina's hands in between her own. Alina stilled at the contact.
"So," Genya said with a soft, sad little sigh, "How should we do this?"
Alina frowned, "Do what?"
"From what I understand," she smiled, that same Grand Palace smile, "You won't be leaving for some time. I won't be either."
Some words felt like lead weights.
"…I know I don't deserve to be your friend," she continued, smile faltering just a little, "But I don't want…" she cleared her throat, "I don't want to-"
Alina's movement held none of Genya's hesitance as she removed her hands out from Genya's. She saw Genya's regret plainly on her face for that one, transitional second before Alina folded her fingers on top of hers.
"Genya," Alina said, as an odd sense of relief came flooding over her. Maybe it came from knowing that she wasn't alone here, even though she felt more alone than she had ever before in her entire life. Maybe it was the fact that not everything was taken from her when the collar was nested around her neck, "Please still be my friend."
Genya's eyes filled with tears, and her fingers squeezed Alina's tightly, "…you are entirely too forgiving for your own good."
Alina turned to the wardrobe, and looked at the hangers full of black kefta.
"Not always."
The first week passed in the same way that Alina imagined animals spent their time in the zoo. Apparently, the Darkling had decided that the best place for her during his silent revolution was kept in her rooms, out of sight and out of contact with anyone else aside from her guards. The only reprieve was the occasional visit from Genya, when they would have tea and snacks and talk about anything else besides the heavy knowledge that Alina was not going to be kept comfortably without a cost. And about anyone who wasn't Mal, though he was never far from her mind.
And at night, there were the dreams.
Alina had hoped that the dreams of the stag would stop after the events of the Fold, but they only grew more vivid. Every night she would see the white of its fur stained with blood as the Darkling drew his knife across its throat. Would see the way its nostrils flared in fear before it bowed before her. Would hear the grating, unforgettable sound of a saw cutting through the bone of its antlers.
Some nights, there would be others in the meadow. Sometimes it was Mal, his cheeks hollow with hunger and his throat covered with haggard stubble. Mal would say nothing, wouldn't come close to her. He would only stand beside the stag, and fall over its body when the stag's blood stained the snow.
Other times it would be the little boy from Novokribirsk, face down and motionless in the cool silence of the night. The back of his jacket would be torn in two places, as if something with talons had attempted to claw into the fabric.
And one night it was Baghra. Who stared at her so intensely the blacks of her eyes bled and expanded into the darkness, like toppled wells of ink.
All three of them only watched. They only waited. And every time Alina thought she heard them—the cries of the child, the admonishment of the old woman, and the desperation in Mal's voice—sunlight would fall through the cracks of her bedroom window and she would be awake again. Their presence would become a distant memory, and the only thing from the dreams that was fresh in her mind was the color of newly spilled blood on the snow.
One morning, almost two weeks since Novokribirsk, a sharp rap tore her away from her nightmares. Alina woke in a slow, groggy sort of way, rubbing a knuckle against her eyes to clear the sleep from them.
The knock sounded again, this time louder.
She inhaled, pushing back the elaborate covers from her body and walking across the floor in her bare feet and sleeping clothes. It wasn't unusual for Genya to come to her rooms early, but today seemed earlier than usual.
Alina was mid-yawn when she opened the door and saw a different red kefta instead.
Ivan stood with his hand poised to knock again, his jaw clenched in a way that indicated the grinding of teeth. His hair, usually combed neatly, was almost as tangled as Alina's own from sleep. His eyes moved slowly from the top of Alina's head to her bare feet, pausing only for a brief moment on the skin her nightgown exposed.
"He wants you seen," Ivan muttered, eyes snapping back to her face, "Put on a kefta."
"All of mine have been destroyed," Alina replied coldly, irritation filling her at the orders after two weeks of silence.
The hand that was poised to knock fell back at his side, clenched into a fist, "Don't be an idiot right now."
Alina kept her voice as level as possible, "I don't have anything to lose."
Ivan's eyes widened, and she realized that the expression on his face was shock, "What do you mean?"
She frowned in confusion. Wasn't it obvious? "The worst he can do is kill me."
As quickly as the shock registered on his face, it was gone. And Ivan snorted, "Hardly," he glared down at her, his eyes cold, "Put on a kefta. One of the informal ones."
"And if I don't?"
"Then the tracker pays for it," the Heartrender watched her face carefully after the statement, though Alina, again, found herself confused. Her willingness to do anything for Mal, too, should have been painfully obvious by this point.
The only answer she gave him was a slammed door on his face. But then she thought of Mal and Tsibeya and what price she paid to keep him there, and retrieved the plainest kefta from its hanger. As angry hands slipped silk over buttons and made a sloppy knot out of a sash, she wondered how long she would be able to stomach the masquerade of obedience, and how much he would make Mal suffer as a result.
After dressing, Ivan was rigid with obvious irritation as he led her down the halls of the Little Palace. They were suspiciously empty, with only the guards giving her a cursory glance before returning to their silent, grim posts.
"Who am I being seen by," Alina finally muttered, smacking Ivan's hand away when he tried to put her own in the crook of his arm. She wasn't going to be led around like an animal on a leash.
He glared at her for daring to hit him, and instead wrapped his fingers around her bicep, "Court." He said in the same tone someone might say "plague" or "amputation."
She tried to shrug out of his hold, but his grip remained firm, "Let go or I'll blind you."
Alina must have had enough venom in her voice to make her threat sound honest, because he begrudgingly released her arm, moving a step closer behind her to compensate.
"Why am I being seen by court? Are they nervous about having their king poisoned?"
"Shut up. And walk faster."
"Why."
"You'll…" he sent her a look so heavy with schadenfreude she could practically hear the vindictive smirk in his words, "Be late for brunch."
She halted in her step, "Brunch?"
Ivan nodded with sneer, "Brunch." He grabbed her arm again, apparently believing Alina's threat to have a fast time limit, and they turned a fast corner. It wasn't until the sun hit her eyes that Alina realized they were leaving the Little Palace and instead heading to the Grand.
She took a deep breath, enjoying the outside for the first time since her voluntary imprisonment. Her head tilted upwards, looking at the blue of the sky.
Ivan seemed to catch her unspoken desire, "Behave in front of the nobles, and you'll have more time outside."
A memory hit her then, sharp and clear: Baghra, standing knee-deep in the snow, her eyes daring Alina to ask her something. She bit her lip as, for the first time, it occurred to her that she had not seen or heard from Baghra since the night of the Winter Fete.
"I want to walk by the lake. Near the pavilion," she demanded as they approached the door.
Her babysitter looked at her with skepticism, "Why?"
Alina tried her best to sound sincere, "I…want to train."
Ivan gave another snort, "Train."
She glared at him, "Yes, train. With Botkin." Alina didn't dare ask to train with Baghra. Didn't want to face the secret, dread reality of the old woman's fate that she already suspected.
Ivan frowned, as if knowing she was lying but being unable to prove the deceit. Finally he sighed, "You are not to speak unless spoken to directly. You do not know why the king has fallen ill. You support the Darkling. Do you understand?"
Alina felt every inch of her scream in protest, but she swallowed her resentment. She could sit in a crowd of vultures if it meant leaving the Little Palace and having a chance to look for Baghra in her hut, "I want three hours by the lake."
"Sessions with Botkin are one."
"Mine are usually three."
"Liar. Two hours, if you behave perfectly. Which you won't."
She spat as the doors to the Grand Palace came into view, "Fine."
Brunch was a concept Alina knew existed, but not one that she had ever planned to experience. Ivan escorted her to an outdoor room that looked a lot like a greenhouse, though Ivan called it the orangery. Alina didn't understand, as nothing inside was the color for which it was named. Within its clear, glass walls, were several expensive-looking table sets, though only one held occupants. And Alina could have cried when she saw who she was to sit next to.
Genya was seated across from a conglomeration of noble women, all of whom were dressed in opulent furs and heavy silk despite the warmer weather. Their pinched expressions as they gazed at Genya's red kefta were enough to tell Alina that these were no doubt friends of the queen.
Ivan steered her towards the table, even going so far as to push her chair out for her. Alina sat almost bonelessly, staring at the too many forks and thinly sliced lymonnyk, the blini coated in fresh berries and heavy cream, the other extravagant items in the zakuski, and the plates that were full of servings that would barely fill a mouse's stomach despite the excessive amounts of food.
Genya, beside her, unfolded her napkin across her lap in a motion that also drew attention to the blue stitching on her hems, "Alina, I'm glad your morning prayers didn't keep you from attending this time."
Ivan pushed her chair in, and left to stand by the door of the orangery in steps quick enough to imply he believed nobility was an illness that could be caught in the air.
Alina looked hesitantly around the table. Four women sat across from her, as far from Genya as they could.
"Prayers," she repeated, deadpan.
Genya, however, was skilled at far more than arranging hair or removing dark circles from the eyes, "We are all concerned about the King, of course, but your dedication to his health is admirable."
"Some more concerned than others," spoke the youngest of the nobles. She had round cheeks, a string of emeralds around her neck, and the dim, straining gaze of a mole.
Genya smiled, grabbing the tea kettle and seamlessly pouring Alina a cup before serving herself. Alina imagined that was deliberate, for some reason. "No one would ever doubt your…ardent sorrow at the King's current state, Countess Demidova."
The Countess's lips pressed into a firm line as she somehow managed a gracious look despite the burning red of her round, round cheeks.
Alina looked at the noble woman. They were all…severe. And strained. Perfumed containers holding too much pressure, and therefore doomed to one day explode. Beside the mole woman sat a slightly older looking noble, with blonde hair piled high on her head in a style that was so bizarre and needlessly complicated that it must have been a fashion somewhere, and next to her was a woman who had a head of silver-white hair, creases lining her lips, which had been set in a deep scowl since Alina had arrived at the inappropriately titled orangery. The last woman was quiet, her face a calm mask, her gown made of furless silk, and Alina remembered all the tales she had heard of snakes, and how they looked before they released their venom.
The strangely haired woman took a delicate sip of tea, "Hopefully your predisposition of concern towards the King has not dulled your manners, Sun Summoner?"
Genya sent Alina an expectant look, and she frowned in confusion. The silence stretched on, before Alina decided she had enough of it and reached for a blini with one of the medium-sized forks-
Genya gave her a discrete headshake, and, remembering her deal with Ivan, Alina set down the cutlery with a defeated resignation. The Tailor gave her a look that could almost be sympathetic before she cleared her throat, "The rudeness is mine, I'm afraid. I handle introductions for the Sun Summoner," she took a knife and a fork and began to gingerly cut the blini on her plate in half, "This is Alina Starkov, Sun Summoner as I'm sure you are all aware. Alina, these are ladies of the Queen's court. Countess Katerina Demidova," the mole woman's jaw clenched, just a little, "Countess Zinaida Dushkova," and the blonde woman's upper lip pulled.
"Dashkova," she corrected.
Genya inclined her head, "Apologies, I have always heard it pronounced in the former way at court," the blonde woman went flush with…something. Alina didn't understand why a wrong name was such an indignity, "Duchess Polina Kirsanova, and…" Genya frowned.
"Countess Kitaar," the calm woman said, with none of the perceived indignity of Dushkova.
Genya's frown eased, but was not entirely removed from her face, "Countess Kitaar. I don't believe we've met."
"Probable. I've been with my family in the Shu regions," Countess Kitaar replied politely, turning her attention back to the small square of lymonnyk on her plate.
Genya slid half of her blini onto Alina's plate, "They have all been very excited to meet you. Especially with your…religious obligations taking up most of your time since your return from the Unsea."
Alina stopped her snort by shoving a bite of strawberry-covered blini into her mouth.
Duchess Kirsanova, the old woman, gave a bark of laughter, and Alina watched as she retrieved a silver flask from her sash, pouring its clear contents unabashedly into her tea, "I was more concerned with the monarchy being disposed, myself."
Everything at brunch became very, very still.
Genya's fingers tightened on her tea cup, "The Apparat is the appointed leader as the King recovers."
Kirsanova rose two steel-colored brows as she took a lengthy swig of her…brunch tea, "We have a prince, if I'm not mistaken."
"Two," the mole woman said, with another flush on her cheeks, and Alina would not be surprised if she was as ardent over the second prince as she was for the King.
"Prince Vasily has decided to focus on the duty a son has to his mother for the time being, and is attending to the Queen in her distress," Genya said in a polished tone, an answer given many times, "While I am not one to impose my opinion on the state of affairs to members of the royal family, you are welcome to inform him of his responsibilities, Kirsanova."
Alina stilled halfway through another bite of the thin pancake. She wasn't fluent in the language of court, but even she knew the dismissal of the Duchess's title in her address was a deliberate slight.
Not that Kirsanova appeared to care in the slightest, as she poured more vodka into her tea, "A new jacket is not a new suit of armor."
Genya gave a smile that was too much like a shark's, "I have plenty of armor at my disposal," she cleared her throat once more, "Now, shall we move on to less tedious topics?"
Small conversation continued, as did Kirsanova's drinking, until the general morale of those seated improved. Through the course of the meal, Alina did her best to avoid joining any discussion, instead settling for shoving mouthful after mouthful of blini in lieu of speaking. Politics, and the civility of Court, were too dangerous of games for her to attempt to play. And Ivan's promise burned in the back of her mind, the almost desperate need to see Baghra again overtaking any other thought she might have.
Because Baghra was the only person besides the Darkling who might know how to remove her collar.
Alina chewed thoughtfully on another piece of pancake, and her eyes rested on the calm woman for a reason she couldn't explain. Kitaar gave no indication that Alina's attention was focused on her, instead she only watched her tea as the conversation unfolded around her.
An hour passed of dull, simple conversation before the one with ridiculous hair broke the calm.
"You're a lot plainer than I anticipated," she said, that upturned nose in full prominence. It took Alina a few moments to realize the comment was directed at her.
The comment left her mouth before she could stop it, "I didn't have time to tier my hair before my babysitter dragged me here."
She felt Ivan's and Genya's stares train on the back of her head, no doubt in warning.
Dush or Dashkova scowled, but hesitated, as if she wasn't sure if that was meant to be a compliment before she pressed on, "You do realize that your position in the Second Army is unprecedented, do you not-?"
Genya's softest tone cut through the question, and Alina's eyebrows furrowed as she spoke, "If I heard correctly, you have a training session today, don't you Alina?"
Alina looked at Genya in confusion. She did, or at least, she assumed she did. But Genya had to have sharp ears to overhear her conversation with Ivan. She turned back to the blonde, silly woman, "…I'm aware that I'm the only Sun Summoner."
Dushkova scoffed, "Not that. How you're the Darkling's-"
The blonde woman fell silent just as Ivan's hand came to rest on Alina's shoulder.
"Time to go, moya sovereniy."
Alina jerked at the title, head turning to meet Ivan's gaze. The Heartrender's expression gave nothing away, but Alina felt Kitaar's even, assessing stare now trained on the both of them.
"…okay," she said, not liking how he appeared just as soon as the women were starting to discuss the Darkling, and her role to him, but also not in a hurry to spend another second in this pit of vipers masquerading as a pretentious meal. Alina stood, sending a side glance to Genya before she left without another word. She had no desire to pretend this meal was anything other than an obligation.
As soon as they were out of earshot, the question came.
"What were they talking about."
Ivan said nothing, only kept walking with a hand around her bicep, yet again. She was beginning to wonder if he thought she was incapable of supporting her own weight.
"You've never called me sovereniy."
His jaw clenched and he came to an abrupt halt, "Do you want your lesson with Botkin, or not?"
She did. More than anything. But something about the woman's sneer stuck out in her mind. It wasn't unlike the ones she'd receive from Mal's various girlfriends. "Do you want me to go to brunch when everyone knows something I don't?"
Ivan glared at her, as if trying to physically remove the validity of the question with the expression.
"Tell me or I'll ask Kirsanova next time," Alina threatened.
He finally snorted, "You know, your resistance to the obvious is remarkable. They'll have to give your brain to the Corporalki healers to study when you die."
Alina frowned, "What obvious?"
Ivan's next words were mocking, "Did you think the Darkling kissed you in front of the envoys and Second Army because he was caught up in the moment?"
Her stomach plummeted. "He was…" But no clear explanation came.
He snorted, and started dragging her along again, "He was making a statement."
Alina took a deep breath, and asked the question she didn't want to ask as she moved her legs to match with his, "…what kind of statement."
Ivan rolled his eyes, looking straight ahead, and therefore oblivious to the way his next words made Alina pale:
"It means everyone believes you're his consort."
