THREAD OF TWILIGHT
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Prompting Quotes:
◦ "It is because I love him that I will not let him put himself beyond redemption." — Baghra, Shadow and Bone
◦ "I have lived a long life, rich in grief." — The Darkling, Ruin and Rising
◦ "Had the Darkling had friends like this? People whom he'd loved, who had fought for him, and cared for him, and made him laugh?" — Alina, Ruin and Rising
Disclaimer: I only lay claim to those characters you don't recognize.
Author's Note: The first true spark of possibility in creating a Grishaverse tale came two years ago, with Alina and Mal aboard Sturmhond's appropriated whaler in Siege and Storm, and the aforementioned quotes provided with much food for thought. Ideas kept coming as I read and reread my way through the Grishaverse. The ending of Rule of Wolves was what convinced me to expand on those ideas – it was eerily uncanny that some of them already fit so well with the book's last scenes.
I hope you enjoy what follows. The sharing of thoughts is much appreciated.
PROLOGUE
The boy and his mother had come to the village when the trees were beginning to blossom. Many of the villagers were uncomfortable around them — the woman made them uneasy. She was never discourteous or sour in manner, but there was something imposing in the way she carried herself.
The girl knew it was because she was a Grisha of great power. Young though she was, she could still feel it. She had never seen the woman summon, but she had heard her grandmother and mother whispering. Her grandmother was the one who had greeted the newcomers, helped them find lodgings, and she was in the woman's company almost daily.
The girl didn't know much about these engagements — they always took place behind closed doors, away from prying eyes. She did know that the woman — Milla — was intrigued by her grandmother's knowledge of plants and substances, by how she saw the human body as another solid thing. Her mother would often be present at their meetings, taking with her jars and bottles filled with liquids and powders.
Unlike his mother, the boy wasn't truly intimidating. He was a little older than the girl, barely thirteen, but he didn't speak much and possessed a seriousness that belied his age. During the first days after their arrival, he had mainly kept to himself, not seeking to make friends.
When he didn't join his mother in her meetings with the girl's grandmother, the girl saw him sitting alone reading, or walking around the village and taking in his surroundings with keen eyes. She couldn't blame his being cautious. If his power was as unusual as her grandmother said it was, aloofness would be the wisest course to take. In a predominantly otkazat'sya village like Lozna, where Grisha were tolerated if they could contribute to the community, his and his mother's peculiarity might cause a stir if discovered.
But the girl was a curious creature, and on the fourth day she approached the boy.
He was beside the bank of the stream that skirted the village, partially hidden by the tall grasses.
"Will you stay there?"
The boy spoke without turning his gaze away from the water.
The girl realized he had felt her staring. She flushed. "Sorry. It's just . . . I've never seen anyone sit so still before."
He looked at her then. "Most people ask to see my power," he said at last.
"That wouldn't be polite. I don't know you," the girl replied. The boy tilted his head to the side. She walked closer and lowered herself to the ground. "My grandmother said your mother will stay for dinner today."
"Yes," he said, still watching her. "My mother likes your family. She usually mingles only with other Grisha."
The girl understood. "My father and brother are different from most otkazat'sya. We wouldn't be living like this if they weren't."
The boy nodded slowly. "True."
"—asha!"
The high voice came from the direction of the village. The boy and the girl turned and caught sight of a head of ash-brown hair. The girl smiled.
"Daria!" The young boy making his way to the stream hadn't seen them yet.
"I must go." The girl got to her feet and dusted herself off. "I will see you at dinner."
The boy was a little surprised to see her still smiling at him as she said goodbye, but the expression made him feel warm.
•
After that day Daria would greet him whenever she saw him, and they would talk for a bit. Little by little they began spending time together in the small olive grove near the vineyard of Daria's father, where some evenings she would try to teach him how to summon without using his hands.
"Grandmother says you just need to focus," she said the first time. "Picture what you want to make happen and direct your power that way."
She clasped her hands together to stop them from moving. A cluster of fallen leaves by her feet slid towards the base of the nearest tree.
The boy mimicked her gesture and stared at an empty spot in front of him. His eyes narrowed. After a few seconds, he blew out a breath and raked his fingers through his hair.
"I can focus it better with my hands."
Daria gave a little hum. "Don't overthink it, Viktor," she said. "It takes time. I can use my power like that only over very short distances."
Viktor exhaled and clasped his hands again.
His attempts over the next days yielded little, until one evening after nearly four weeks of practicing, a smile brushed his features.
"I think I did it."
Daria turned to where he was looking. The dark wisp of a speck seemed to hover in the air inches from his face before vanishing completely.
Daria's expression matched his. "You did."
Viktor then gestured to the log she had placed in front of her. "What are you working on?"
"Oh, I'm trying to create details."
Daria focused on the log again. Her fingers curled and glided over it, drawing shapes as a frown settled on her face. Viktor watched her, saying nothing.
When her hands finally stilled, Daria pursed her lips for a moment but picked up the piece of wood nonetheless. It looked like a bird, even though a crudely shaped one.
"Grandmother says there's much more to this." She waggled her fingers toward the carving. "I've tried, but I haven't managed to make something break apart yet."
Viktor studied her, his gray eyes boring into her. "Wielding such power takes practice." He let out a breath. "It's not easy."
She peered at him, her face suddenly lighting up. "You can do something like that? Show me!"
His eyes widened and his head jerked back. "I—I haven't mastered it yet. I can't focus it properly."
"But you can manage something." Daria leaned toward him, her voice brimming with excitement. "Show me, please."
Viktor turned his face to the side, avoiding her gaze, his mouth opening and then closing again.
"I helped you summon without hands," Daria persisted.
Viktor's brows furrowed, his lips pressing together as he studied her, thinking. He sighed. "Just . . . don't stand too close."
Daria beamed. She nodded eagerly and took a couple of steps back, turning the wooden bird in her hands.
Viktor breathed in deeply. He focused on a tree stump near them, raised his arms and breathed in again. Daria missed the downward motion of his hand — the rotating bird had slipped from her grasp. She lunged toward it.
She saw Viktor's horrified expression before she felt the burn on her arm. The wooden carving fell to the ground once more.
"I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I was aiming at the tree." Viktor's words came out in a rush, his eyes darting from Daria's arm to her face.
She had gone still, but after a moment she pressed her sleeve to her skin. There wasn't much blood, and the pain was reduced to a sting. She shook her head. "It doesn't hurt anymore. It's not your fault — I was the one who insisted. You told me you hadn't mastered it yet, and I didn't listen."
"Even so, I hurt you." Viktor wouldn't let it go, and when they reached the village and he showed no signs of stopping, Daria stalked away from him.
"My sleeve snagged on the rosebushes," she said when her parents saw the long gash on her forearm, blaming the shrubs planted at the end of the vine rows.
Standing to the side with her grandmother, Viktor's mother said nothing, but had she been paying attention, Daria might have recognized the shrewd expression on her face.