Disclaimer: I don't own the Grisha Trilogy and its characters – it belongs to Leigh Bardugo. I do not own the Shadow & Bone TV series, which was developed by Eric Heisserer for Netflix and based on Leigh Bardugo's books. Recognisable lines from the 1998 version of The Parent Trap also don't belong to me.

For Darklina Week 2023 Day 1 Children & Childhood

Camp Kuya

L is for the way you look at me
O is for the only one I see
V is very, very extraordinary
E is even more than anyone that you adore

And love is all that I can give to you
Love is more than just a game for two
Two in love can make it
Take my heart but please don't break it
Love was made for me and you

"Sasha!" Alina calls into the other room, turning up the radio in the kitchen

Her husband of six months, nine days and about two hours appears in the doorway, brow furrowed in worry, "what's wrong, Alinochka?"

"Nothing," she laughs, putting the lid over the pot so the sauce can simmer, "just listen – they're playing our song."

His worried frown curves into a smile as he hears their wedding song, and she giggles as he suddenly sweeps her into his arms, twirling her around the kitchen in the same way they'd danced on their wedding day.

"I think the babies like it too," she grins as they pause to take a breath, bringing his hands to rest on her stomach so he can feel the twins kick.

She loves to watch the way his face transforms whenever he can feel the babies move. It's a soft kind of awe that makes her love him even more than she already does (although that often seems like it would be impossible).

"Irina and Keyen," he murmurs.

"They might be boys," she reminds him, "or a boy and girl."

"No," he shakes his head, so certain, "they're girls, I'm sure of it. Our girls."

Sometimes, Alina can scarcely believe this is all happening. She and Aleksander only met a year ago, and it's been such a whirlwind since, especially since she found out she was pregnant with twins (conceived, as far as the doctor can tell, on their wedding night). Every now and then, she feels a little overwhelmed by it all, but she loves Aleksander so much that her little worries seem unimportant in comparison.

He's her happy ever after – she's sure of it.

Eleven years and three months later

"Keyen Starkova," one of the Camp Kuya counsellors shouts out.

"Over here," she waves her hand in the air.

"Cabin 12."

"That's the same as us," her two new friends exclaim in unison.

Keyen grins. Camp is going to be awesome.

-x-x-x-x-

Ivan wrinkles his nose as he steps out of the car.

Why Aleksander agreed to let Irina attend a camp like this is entirely beyond him. Os Alta is full of enough amusements and diversions to fill his goddaughter's summer and would have the added advantage of not requiring Ivan to stand in the baking Keramzin summer heat surrounded by screaming children and wondering whether this place has any kind of decent hygiene rating.

Saints, Irina is bound to come back covered in insect bites and probably with lice.

"Well, here we are," Ivan says as Irina climbs out of the car, "we travelled all the way from Os Alta for … this."

She beams at him, and her smile reminds him of –

Well, no point thinking about that.

"I think it's all rather picturesque," she grins at him.

"Hmm," is all he can say to that.

The driver lines up her luggage – monogrammed, naturally – and Ivan pulls out his notebook, "right, let's review your papa's list."

They get through it all – vitamins and minerals (the saints know, she's going to need them in this place), herbal teas, suntan lotion, lip balm, insect repellant (he snuck an extra in her bags and, looking at the place, he's glad he did), umbrella, stationery, stamps, fountain pen, torch, batteries, photographs of her papa, her aunt and, of course, him – with minimal eye-rolling from Irina and she confirms she has everything.

"Oh, and here's something from your aunt," he adds, handing the neatly wrapped gift over, "a brand-new deck of cards. Maybe you'll find someone here who can actually challenge you at poker."

"I doubt it," Irina snorts with a cheeky smile, "but thank you. And thanks for bringing me, Uncle Vanya."

Suddenly reminded that he won't see her again for another month and a half, Ivan looks away quickly, not wishing to suffer the indignity of tearing up in public.

"Now," he reminds her as he hugs her tightly, "remember, if you change your mind and want me to pick you up at the end of camp, I'm just a phone-call away."

"Thanks, but I'll be fine. See you in six weeks, Uncle Vanya."

"Six weeks it is, Irinushka."

Their secret handshake is bittersweet. It reminds him that he is still important to his goddaughter, despite her mad decision to leave for camp for six weeks, but it is also a temporary goodbye.

Irina will be alright, he tells himself as the car drives him away.

She's a good girl, after all, and surely won't get herself into too much trouble.

"The winner and still undefeated champ," Ana Kuya declares, "Keyen Starkova!"

Cheers erupt and Keyen smiles proudly. Fencing is fun, especially when she keeps winning.

"Do we have any challengers?" Ana asks.

Another girl steps forward, mask already on, "sure, I'll take a whack at it."

It's the hardest match so far. Keyen hasn't had much trouble with any of her other opponents, but this girl is good, even if she doesn't really want to admit it.

They lunge, parry, whirl and jump around the makeshift field, but the space isn't big enough, not for them.

Keyen doesn't notice as other campers scatter in their wake. She just wants to win, especially when her opponent leans against a haybale and yawns as if she's no challenge at all.

For a few moments, Keyen thinks she might succeed, but then her opponent lunges, the tip of her foil landing a hit on Keyen's vest and sending her falling into a trough of water at the same time.

Soaking wet and aching, Keyen glares up.

"Sorry, let me help you," the other girl says.

Keyen, irritated at her loss and wrinkling her nose at the girl's posh, polished accent, pulls hard on the hand offered to her and her opponent tumbles into the water trough too with a high-pitched squeal.

They make their way back to their initial starting point, Keyen annoyed and embarrassed and starting to shiver slightly.

"Looks like we've got ourselves a new camp champ," Ana announces, "Miss Irina Morozova. Now, shake hands, girls."

Keyen stays still as a statue. She's still red-faced and she just wants to go back to her cabin and change.

"Girls," Ana chides, "shake hands."

Keyen huffs and then turns, hand extended.

And then she freezes, as does Irina.

It's like looking in a mirror. Irina's hair is longer, her nails buffed and painted a pearlescent pink rather than Keyen's electric blue, and her ears aren't pierced, but aside from that, they are uncannily alike.

As they shake hands, a jolt of electricity seems to go through them both. They break apart as quickly as possible, ducking their heads, but Keyen can't help but sneak a look at Irina, who seems just as shocked and confused as Keyen is.

Everyone is staring. Keyen hates it.

"What's up with them?" she mutters.

"Don't you see the resemblance between us?" asks Irina.

She does, but Keyen isn't about to admit it, not when the other girl has just taken away her undefeated title.

"Between you and me?" she pretends to consider it, "let's see – turn sideways … now the other way … well, your eyes are much closer together than mine, your ears – well, don't worry, you'll grow into them – your teeth are a little crooked, and that nose … well, don't fret, those things can be fixed."

"Want me to deck her for you," one of Irina's minions steps forward threateningly. It almost makes Keyen laugh, considering the girl is at least three inches shorter than she is and looks like a gust of wind would knock her over.

"Hold on, I'm not quite finished. You want to know the real difference between us?"

Irina sneers, looking down her nose at Keyen, "let me see. I know how to fence and you don't? Or, I have class and you don't? Take your pick."

"Why I oughta," Keyen hisses, stepping forward and quite ready to punch the prissy girl in the nose.

"Ok, ladies," Ana steps in, "enough of that. Irina … Keyen … no, wait … Keyen, Irina … or is it …?"

Keyen doesn't wait to hear anymore and stomps off, her friends following behind. She can't believe people think she looks anything like that snobby, uptight Morozova girl.

It's ridiculous.

It's been a fun few days for Irina.

She'd beaten that scruffy ragamuffin Keyen at fencing, and she's been excelling at all camp activities since.

And now, she's practically swimming in cash, chocolate and assorted knick-knacks – no one so far has been a challenge at all when it comes to poker.

But then Keyen arrives, all silly swagger, nails now neon green, "I'll take a whack at it."
"Be my guest," Irina smiles at her sweetly.

It'll be the icing on the cake to win this match.

Except … she doesn't win.

Irina can't quite believe it. Her papa, Ivan and Aunt Ulla are all absolute pool sharks and they've taught her well.

And yet, here is this girl, not only being proper competition but actually beating her.

Suddenly, her eagerness to agree to Keyen's proposal – that the loser jumps naked into the lake – seems like a very stupid idea.

Papa would be furious to know she'd gone along with such a thing. He always tells her never to make a bet she isn't willing to follow through on.

And Irina really doesn't want to follow through on this one.

Still, she's not a coward or a liar, so she goes out to the lake, thankful for the cover of darkness, and jumps into the lake, the freezing water cooling the heated and embarrassed flush on her face.

But, of course, that horrid Keyen Starkova plays dirty.

It doesn't matter that all the giggles are indistinguishable, or that it's too dark to see who actually took her clothes, Irina knows it was Keyen and her awful friends.

Fine then.

Eleven years with papa, Aunt Ulla and Ivan have taught Irina a great deal.

Three languages (and a smattering of two others). Fencing and tennis. Poker. More about the economics and history of Ravka than most adults know. How to glare almost anyone into submission. Proper manners for a formal state dinner. That she and Aunt Ulla should probably not bake unsupervised. To not be upset when papa gets misty-eyed and quiet whenever she practices her Shu or begs for mooncakes or asks for another book of old maps for her birthday. To never, ever talk about the art studio on the top floor of their townhouse, which she is forbidden from entering.

And she has also learnt how to get creative with her revenge and pranks.

For a week, it's war.

Everyone learns to steer clear of Irina Morozova and Keyen Starkova, lest they find themselves caught up in one of the escalating series of pranks the girls play on each other.

Beds on the roof. Crickets in clothes. Salt in the soup. Water balloons. Whipped cream and syrup all over one of the cabins.

They both know they should stop.

Restraint, after all, is a lesson that Irina's papa and Keyen's mama have imparted upon them often.

They just can't resist, though. They keep needling each other more and more.

Eventually, something has to give.

And that something, as it turns out, is a bucket of chocolate syrup that lands on Ana Kuya's head, shortly followed by a flurry of feathers.

It's humiliating to march ten minutes through the woods with their luggage in hands, all the other girls whispering behind them.

At least the Isolation Cabin is in perfectly good condition. And with only two of them in there, there's plenty of room.

If only the company was better.

"Learn to get along, girls," Ana Kuya instructs them sternly, "enough of this silly rivalry."

Keyen scowls. Irina pouts.

"Behave," Ana Kuya reminds them.

… it's like prison, papa. They've locked me away in a cabin with the most appalling monster of a girl. You won't believe the indignities I have suffered. I think she's just jealous because I'm a better fencer. I'm sure I am better at poker too, but she just got lucky once …

It's a letter Irina will probably never send, since papa will certainly insist that she returns home if he thinks she is even the slightest bit unhappy. Still, it's nice to vent her feelings a little bit, especially when the pouring rain outside means she can't put any real distance between herself and Keyen.

She only looks up when a sudden gust of wind sends all of the pictures Keyen is pinning to her wall flying around the room and the girl starts struggling to close the window.

A day ago, Irina would have simply been amused, might even have laughed at Keyen's misfortune. But now, with just the two of them in this cabin, it suddenly seems mean-spirited and pointless.

Instead, she runs over to help and, between the two of them, they manage to get the window slammed shut.

"Thanks," Keyen half-whispers, oddly shy.

"You're welcome," Irina nods.

By silent agreement, the two of them begin picking up all the magazine cuttings and pictures that have landed on the floor, and then Irina finds a small black teddy bear, soft and worn, with a little charm around its neck that looks a bit like an eclipsed sun. They must have been a popular line when they were babies, because Irina has a similar bear – although hers is golden, not black, and the charm is a golden sun – called Sol that she left at home because she worried that she might lose him at camp.

"Oh," she hands him to Keyen, "here's your …?"

"Volcra," Keyen says, cuddling the bear close.

"Are any of the pictures ruined?" Irina asks.

"Only the beautiful Tolya Yul-Bataar," the other girl sighs, holding up a soggy magazine page depicting a tall, muscled dark-haired man with bronze skin and golden eyes.

Irina frowns, "who?"

Keyen's eyes widen, "you've never heard of Tolya Yul-Bataar? He and his sister Tamar are amazing. They're from Shu Han and they've made loads of really cool martial arts movies – they do all their owns stunts, you know!"

Irina just shrugs helplessly. The heart-throb all her classmates in Os Alta talk about is Nikolai Lantsov, and while Irina agrees that Tolya is handsome, she still thinks she might prefer Nikolai's golden, roguish charm.

"How far away is Os Alta?" Keyen asks, as if it's impossible for Irina to not have heard of Tolya.

She doesn't really watch many movies, though. She and papa go on lots of trips to the museum, and he has a huge library full of books rather than many video tapes. Besides, she's so busy with fencing, tennis, language lessons and other activities that she doesn't have much time for movies.

"Os Alta isn't that far away, really," she tells Keyen, "but it feels very far away sometimes."

She's not sorry she came, but she misses her family, has never spent any time away from them.

"Where's your house?"

"Not too far. I live in Caryeva – here," she shows Irina a photograph.

"Wow," her eyes widen.

It's nothing like her own home. Irina loves their Os Alta townhouse, but she thinks it would be lovely to visit Keyen's home, with its outdoor pool and huge garden.

"We built it when I was little. We've got this incredible porch that looks out over the entire vineyard and –"

"Who's that," Irina knows it's rude to interrupt, but she's curious about the woman in the photograph.

"Oh, that's mama. She didn't realise I was taking the picture. She's my best friend – we do everything together."

Irina looks away uncomfortably. The way Keyen talks about her mama is so warm and affectionate and it reminds Irina of what she can never remember having.

"What's the matter?" Keyen frowns as Irina gets up.

"It's nothing, I'm only a bit cold."

Thankfully, the other girl just rummages in her trunk and then holds up a packet of Oreos, "want one?"

Irina nods eagerly, "oh, yes. At home … at home I eat them with peanut butter."

She looks up to see Keyen has pulled out a jar of peanut butter as well, "me too! That is so weird."

"Really? Most people find it disgusting."

Keyen shrugs, "more for us, I guess."

"What's your mama like?" Keyen asks as they dip their Oreos in the peanut butter.

"Actually … I don't have a mama," she admits, "I mean … I had one once, obviously, but my parents divorced ages ago. Papa never even mentions her – it's like she evaporated into thin air."

"It's scary the way nobody stays together anymore," Keyen shakes her head, "my parents divorced when I was a baby. So, how old are you?"

"I was eleven on June 21st."

Keyen chokes on her Oreo, "so was I!"

"How weird is that," Irina mutters.

Too odd, really. It could be a coincidence, but it seems a little too unlikely.

Keyen looks out of the window and starts talking about the rain letting up and how they should go out to the mess hall, but Irina can't stop turning over everything she's just learnt in her mind.

"Keyen, what's your papa like?"

"I've never met him, or at least I don't remember meeting him. Mama doesn't like to talk about him, but I know he was really handsome."

"How do you know that?"

"Mama had an old photograph of him hidden in her drawer and she caught me looking at it all the time, so she said I could keep it. Look, I'm really thirsty, can we go to –"

"Will you stop thinking about your stomach right now!" Irina cries, waving her hands wildly, "don't you realise what's happening?"

"Err …"

"Think about it. I only have a papa and you only have a mama. I don't remember my mama and you don't remember your papa. I have one old photo of my mama and you have one old photo of your papa, although at least yours is probably a whole picture, mine is a pathetic little thing all crinkled and ripped from corner to corner –"

Keyen hurries over to her trunk and pulls out a photo.

"What is that?"

"The photo I have of my papa. It's ripped too."

"From corner to corner?"

"Yes."

Irina shivers and then runs to fetch her own photograph. This is insane, crazy, bizarre. And yet …

She feels like her life is about to change.

"This is so freaky," she says as they hold their pictures, "I guess … we show each other on the count of three."

Keyen nods.

"One."

"Two."

"Three."

They gasp in unison as the two pieces fit together.

"That … that's my papa," Irina whispers.

"And that's my mama," Keyen murmurs.

The other girl swipes away some tears, "so if my mama is your mama, and your papa is my papa, and we were both born on June 21st, then we … we're like sisters."

"Keyen, we're not just sisters," Irina wipes away her own tears, "we're twins!"

It feels right when they hug, like Irina has found a part of herself she never knew she was missing.

She has never once felt neglected or alone, not with papa and Uncle Ivan and Aunt Ulla. But to have a sister, a twin, is a wonderful and marvellous gift.

"Saints, I can't believe it. I'm not an only child," Keyen grins, "I'm a twin. There's two of me … two of us."

"It's like … mind-boggling."

"Totally."

"Saints, I can't believe it," Irina hugs her sister again on impulse.

Her sister. My sister. She doesn't think she'll ever get tired of saying it.

"I have to ask … what are they wearing?"

"I think they're costumes. Mama loves this series of books – the Sol Koroleva series – and I think those outfits look like the ones two of the main characters wear in one of the books."

"I can't imagine papa dressing up like that."

"I don't think mama does it anymore either."

"I … I've never seen papa look so happy as he does here."

"And I've never seen mama smile like that."

"They look so in love. Why do you think they broke up?"

"I don't know. Grownups can be strange sometimes."

"It's strange that neither of them ever got remarried."

"Mama normally says she doesn't have time for that."

"I don't think papa would have the time either. He's usually working or with me."

"Hah," Keyen suddenly sits up in bed, "I have a beyond brilliant idea."

Irina, from experience with her pranks, knows Keyen's ideas should probably be considered with some caution.

"I'm serious," she grins at Irina's nervous look, "I'm a genius. You want to know what mama's like, and I'm dying to know papa. So – and don't freak out – we should switch places."

"What!"

It can't possible work … can it?

"Irina, we can pull it off. We're twins, aren't we?"

"We're basically strangers," she reminds her sister, "and totally different."

Keyen shrugs like it's no big issue, "no problem. I'll teach you to be me and you can teach me to be you. Look, I can do you already."

She pulls her hair back, "I have class and you don't."

"I don't sound that posh," Irina grumbles, but she can't deny the impression is a good one.

"Come on, Irina, I wanna meet my papa."

It could work. Maybe. And then …

"The truth is, if we switch, sooner or later, they'll have to switch us back."

"And then they'll meet," Keyen breathes out excitedly, "face to face."

"After all these years."

"Thank you," Keyen laughs as they lie back down to get some sleep, "I told you I was a genius."

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.

You can find me on Twitter under the username Keira_63. I pretty much just post mini prompt fics.