WARNING: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence and gore. Please read at your own discretion.
Four
The Darkling wasn't lying when he said that I had 'lessons to attend' after returning from our expedition to the Grand Palace. So, promptly after our arrival back to the safety and familiarity of the Little Palace, I was whisked away to attend a private lecture on Grisha theory and history. Even though I'd never been the definition of 'studious' and would have much rather have Baghra yell at me for a few hours, I let an (always) anxious Yelena lead me along and to the entrance to the library.
"Scholar Behrad is waiting for you inside," Yelena curtsied as we stood outside the grand double doors. They had been intricately carved to resemble the splayed cover of an ancient tome and were quite impressive on their own. I found myself curious as to what the library beyond might be like. "If that will be all, miss, I need to get back to my other duties." From the tone of her voice, I knew it would have pleased Yelena very much to have an errand to run on my behalf. The work that old hag, Ms Orlov, had waiting for her must have been horrid.
"You know," I hedged, feeling sorry for Yelena, "if it's not too much trouble, I have something I'd like you to do for me."
"Anything for you, Miss Esfir," the young woman gushed, her eyes lighting up with relief.
Shit, now I have to think of something for her to do… "Well," I began slowly, unsure of where I was heading, "you see, the thing is, I'm finding that I'm, um… A little homesick," I confessed with mock embarrassment, the lie coming to me suddenly. "Perhaps you could find a few things for my room to make me more comfortable?"
"Of course, miss," Yelena enthused, a genuine but polite smile on her face. "What can I get for you?"
"A deck of playing cards, a five-foot length of eighth-inch cord, and—if you can manage it—a bottle of kvas."
"Is that all, miss?" The young maid asked sceptically.
"For now—oh, except for that the length of cord must be red," I appended arbitrarily, trying to add some level of specificity to an otherwise menial list of asks.
"I'll take care of that right away," Yelena curtsied without question, hurrying off down the hall and out of sight before I could thank her.
Alone again, I pulled open the heavy library doors and went inside.
As I had never been inside a library before, I was awestruck. The room was massive and split into two storeys, the upper floor surrounded by a balcony. Unlike the other domes of the Little Palace, glass dominated the ceiling, letting the bright midday sun stream in from overhead. Small slanted desks for personal work and comfy chairs for leisurely reading were set neatly around the perimeter of the first floor. But the most notable feature of the space—beyond the floor-to-ceiling shelves crowded with books—was the massive round table, encompassed by a circular bench, at the library's centre, directly beneath the great glass dome.
"Ah, there you are," an unfamiliar voice exclaimed in hushed tones from the far side of the vast table. Looking over, I ultimately noticed a curly-haired man standing in a grey-embroidered purple kefta. He was tall and very slender, with circular glasses perched low on his narrow and (at least) twice-broken nose. The salt-and-pepper colour of his dark hair and his goatee aged him slightly, but his bright hazel eyes gave him a youthful and enthusiastic air. As I approached him around the table, he hurried forward to meet me. "You must be Esfir," he said with a slight bow, his voice bright with a Suli accent.
"And you must be Scholar Behrad," I greeted him, extending my hand.
"Yes, my apologies. I am Behrad Mosta'An, at your service, miss," he smiled, taking my hand in both of his and giving it a friendly shake. "I am to be your tutor."
"And yet you wear a Durast's kefta," I observed.
He smiled and released my hands, motioning for me to follow him back around the table. That was when I saw a massive stack of books sitting in the distance that I could only hope wasn't meant for me. "Yes, I am by nature a Fabrikator," he agreed, "but I have always had a gift for teaching. I lead several seminars on advanced Materialki metallurgy and am a resident expert on creating Grisha steel. Still, I have a personal and abiding interest in Grisha theory and history, and, as such, the Darkling specifically requested I assist you with your studies."
"How considerate of him," I murmured politely as we stopped directly before the daunting tower of tomes. "Scholar Behrad—"
"—Please, call me 'Behrad'," the Fabrikator insisted kindly. "We will be spending a lot of time together, so there is no need for such formalities."
"Alright, if you're sure," I consented, cautiously eyeing the pile of books. "This isn't everything you're going to teach me, is it?"
"No, no," Behrad chuckled as he picked up one item from the stack and held it out to me. It was a work entitled: The Fundamental Principles of the Small Science. And, for a heartbeat, I felt relieved. "This is only half of the subject matter we will be covering. The other half has been sent ahead to your rooms. After we finish today's introductory lesson, I will have the materials you see here sent up for you as well."
"Oh," I paled, gingerly taking the text Behrad offered. "Wonderful."
o-o-o-o
The next several days passed in a blur. When Baghra wasn't pushing me past the limits of my ability, I was with Behrad. And when Behrad wasn't jamming the nuances of Grisha theory and history into my head, I found myself with Botkin, the bearish combat trainer. My private lessons with the former Shu Han mercenary were by far the easiest part of my overall 'training', but they still left me just as exhausted as my other lessons.
Behrad asserted the brutal pace of my studies was at the Darkling's behest—to 'make up for lost time', as the Scholar put it. Every evening, I would drag myself back to the Vezda Suite to eat a hurried meal, soak my aching body, and finally fall into bed, only to do it all over again the next day. Which I supposed, in a warped sort of way, made some sense, but that didn't mean it was any easier to bear or that I enjoyed it.
When the familiar knock of my wake-up call came again to the doors of the Vezda Suite, I moaned with anguish. "Come back in an hour, Yelena," I barked, my voice groggy as it always was this early in the morning.
"I can't, miss, not today," the young woman called back through the doors, her voice muffled.
"Fine, just half an hour," I groaned as I burrowed farther into the covers and hid my head under a mountain of pillows.
"Miss, plea—" Yelena began to beg, only to be cut off by another familiar (but still unwelcome at this hour) voice.
"—Esfir, open these doors. Now," Genya snapped, her interruption unexpected.
"Genya?" I asked sluggishly, resurfacing to stare quizzically at the doors.
"No, it's Sankta Marya. Of course it's me," she yelled. "Now, let us in."
Falling face-first into a pillow, I let out a muffled whimper before forcing myself out of bed. Although I had taken to wearing the sashed nightgown provided for me upon my arrival at the Little Palace, I still donned my heavy, black velvet robe before shuffling over to open the door. And as soon as the deadbolts clicked free, Genya bust in with Yelena in tow.
"I see Scholar Behrad has you busy," Genya observed as she crossed the room, stepping over one of the many stacks of books scattered throughout the suite. As with the last time I had seen her, she was carrying her trunk.
"You have no idea," I sighed. "He's got me reading so many books that I can't keep them straight anymore."
"Ugh, I do not envy you. I'm so glad I finished with theory and history years ago," Genya cringed as she set her burden down on the dressing table. Yelena scurried over to the sitting area, her arms laden with a heavy tray dominated by a chafing dish.
"Your breakfast, miss," the young maid smiled.
"Thank you, Yelena," I yawned as I went and sat down on the loveseat.
"Of course, Miss Esfir. Miss Safin, do you require anything else?" Yelena asked expectantly.
"Let the Darkling know that Esfir will meet him in an hour, as requested," Genya replied with a smile before she began looking through the carefully organised sections of her trunk. Yelena nodded her understanding and curtsied before disappearing from the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
That woke me up. "What?" I asked, shocked, my hand hovering uselessly over the lid of the chafing dish. Suddenly, I wasn't so interested in what was beneath it.
"I thought that might catch your attention," Genya smiled slyly. I blushed involuntarily at the insinuation.
I hadn't seen hide nor hair of the Darkling since we returned from our misadventure to the Grand Palace nearly a week ago. It had occurred to me that he might be avoiding me on purpose, but I hadn't had much time to think about it between my lessons. "I mean, it's not like I care or anything," I grumbled as I returned my attention to my breakfast of tea and honeyed buckwheat kasha served with fresh plums and milk. "I'm just surprised. We're not exactly on the best terms," I said into my porridge.
"Right," Genya said, her voice dripping with scepticism.
"What does he want from me this time?" I offhandedly asked as I picked at my morning meal.
"Unfortunately, I've no idea—and, believe me: I'd tell you if I knew," Genya replied when I looked at her over my shoulder, my eyes narrowed with suspicion.
Turning back to my kasha, I stirred it around a bit and forced myself to swallow a few disinterested mouthfuls. It was excellent, but I had lost my appetite: my stomach was suddenly full of stupid, girlish butterflies. "It can't be any worse than going to the Grand Palace," I sighed, abandoning my spoon for a teacup. I held the blessedly warm porcelain in both my hands and tried to calm the anticipation that tickled my heart.
Genya chuckled as she came to sit next to me on the loveseat. Once again, I felt horribly bland in her presence. "Now that I heard all about," she almost purred, her penchant for gossip surfacing. "The Queen hasn't stopped talking about you."
"I'm sure she's only saying wonderful things," I drawled sarcastically.
"You absolutely terrified her," Genya laughed.
"I suppose I might have… After all, she did scream quite loudly," I grinned around the lip of my cup.
"Really?"
"Yes, and I'm astounded that all of the windows didn't shatter."
Genya snickered. "What I'd have paid to be in the gallery to hear that. The way she tells it to her monstrous ladies-in-waiting, you'd believe that the Queen was a picture of grace the whole while."
"Hardly," I scoffed, and Genya and I had a quiet giggle.
"Come, let's get you ready," the Tailor said once we had composed ourselves. "I can see you're not going to eat, so you might as well be downstairs early." After putting the cup I held back down on the tray and replacing the chafing dish's lid, I let Genya drag me over to the dressing table and sit me down. "You know, you don't have to do that," she pointed out as she poked once more through the contents of her trunk.
"Do what?" I asked as I watched her surface holding a jar of what looked like silver dust.
"Do little Yelena's work for her," Genya muttered as she next produced a sturdy-looking white comb made of intricately carved bone.
"I don't see what the harm is. Ms Orlov treats her terribly, and Yelena is so meek, so why shouldn't I do what I can to make her work more pleasant? It's not like it costs me anything," I shrugged as the Tailor pulled open the stopper of the jar and shook some of the contents onto the longer side of my hair. "Is that silver?"
"Yes: it's very expensive, so hold still," Genya muttered as she slowly passed the comb through my hair several times. "I know you're not used to being waited on, but it is literally Yelena's job to clean up after you and do things for you." Her work with the comb finished, Genya put it back in its place within her trunk and began running her fingers through my hair, manipulating it.
"For being Grisha, you know a lot about the jobs of servants," I said pointedly, meaning to call her out for being presumptive. But, instead, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of hurt pass across Genya's usually confident face, and she fell quiet for a second. "Genya, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—" I began to apologise, though I wasn't sure what for.
"—No, it's alright," she dismissed easily, her dazzling smile returning despite the sadness that hardened her eyes. "I suppose I never really told you the truth about my role at the Grand Palace."
Suddenly, so many things Genya had said to me in the past clicked into place. "Genya, are you a servant to the Queen?" I asked, stunned.
"If that's what you want to call stopping her tits from sagging, then yes," Genya muttered blackly.
"But how? You're Grisha. You trained as part of the Second Army. You—"
"—I was gifted to the Queen."
"By whom?"
"The Darkling," she said simply.
"Why? What could possibly give him the right to 'gift' you into serfdom?" I seethed, outraged.
"Because the Darkling is the General of the Second Army and our leader as Grisha. It was a show of faith between the Darkling and the King… And, besides, it's not really as bad as I make it sound," she demurred, but the edge to her voice told me that was a lie. "The Queen is a right treat, but I have a small room of my own in the Grand Palace and being in tight with the other servants has many unique benefits."
Another realisation clicked into place in my head. Genya had said the reason I had never seen a gold-on-cream kefta before was that it was uncommon outside of the Grand Palace and Os Alta—and she was right. Only the servants of the King and Queen wore cream and gold. "You still should have been given a choice," I muttered. "I don't care if the Darkling is a Saint in disguise: he had no right to use you like that."
"Just like he had no right to take you away from your home in Kribirsk and ship you off to the Little Palace," Genya said softly, her hands free from working with my hair. "But sometimes, we just have to deal with the opportunities given to us," she sighed as she cupped my chin and turned my face towards her. We shared an understanding look before Genya smiled sadly. "I think, for today, we'll just do you up a little bit. Nothing dramatic."
"Not that it really matters in the first place," I said wryly. "Even in a black kefta, the Darkling still sees me as just another gutter rat."
"I wouldn't sound so sure," Genya smugly grinned as she plucked two pink rose petals from the depths of her trunk and motioned for me to tilt my chin upwards. I froze as she passed the first petal lightly over the apples of my cheeks and then the second over my lips. The fragments of flower spent, she discarded them. "Perfect," she beamed.
Taking my cue to get dressed, I was standing before the full-length mirror in the opposite corner of the room a short while later. Again, I couldn't help but marvel at Genya's skill: she has artfully plaited the length of my hair to one side and tucked it up on itself into an offset, braided knot shimmering with strands of real silver. It was a functional but stylish updo and somehow complimented the delicate flush of my cheek and lips. "You worked a miracle the last time I saw you, but you've managed to outdo yourself this time," I said with an appreciative smile. "Thank you, Genya."
"Anything for a friend," she smiled back. "Now, let's get you downstairs."
o-o-o-o
Genya and I chatted as we walked through the hallways of the Little Palace, though I spent most of the conversation reacting to some of the scandalous stories she had to tell. Unfortunately, most of the gossip she shared centred around my recent audience with the King, but I tried not to overthink it. Instead, I took as much pleasure as I could whispering and giggling with the Tailor, enjoying the ease of our budding friendship.
"This is where I have to leave you," Genya sighed sadly as the smell of horse hinted on the air. We had come to a stop just outside the east stables. I'd been here once before, though quite by accident. I had found myself turned around while trying to make it to my first training session with Botkin in the west stables and ended up here instead.
"Let me guess: the Queen hates the smell of horses," I teased impishly, earning a knowing smile from Genya.
"Only because Vasiliy wastes so much gold on them," she whispered with a wink. "I'll come to visit with you later tonight after the Queen retires. We can nip into that kvas little Yelena snuck up for you if you're willing to share."
"Saints, that sounds amazing. You have no idea how much I need a drink," I sighed wearily. "I just haven't had the time between studying and being so exhausted I can't stay on my feet."
"Well, we'll fix that," the Tailor assured with a grin. "Anyway, best of luck today."
"Why do I need luck?" I hissed. "I thought you said you didn't know what the Darkling wanted from me?"
"Yes, I did say that—and I don't," she clarified. "But you never asked if I knew what the Darkling's plans were for your day," Genya sang mischievously before turning on her heel and walking away, leaving me sputtering.
Mildly annoyed, I watched the Tailor leave. As much as I adored Genya and enjoyed her company, my initial assessment of her was proving more and more right: she was too clever. I'd have to keep at least a little more of my guard up around her…
Entering the east stables, I relished the musky smell of horse and straw that perfumed the air. In contrast to the west stables, which housed the Little Palace's horses, the stalls here were for privately-owned animals—like those that drew the Darkling's coach and those of visitors—so, because of this, many of the individual pens were empty.
Walking over to one of the stabled black geldings used to pull the Darkling's coach, I held my left hand calmly out towards his large head, which was poking out into the aisle. "Hello, friend," I said as he placed his velvety-soft muzzle against my palm, his breath hot against my skin. Then, moving in closer, I put my other hand on his forehead beneath his thick forelock and let him gently press his nose into my chest as I stroked him.
"Well, I suppose it's safe to say," I murmured to the horse, "that whatever's happening today doesn't involve that saintsforsaken coach, hm? Not to suggest that I mind you," I clarified when the gelding softly nickered as if he was offended.
"Am I to add 'horse whisperer' to your growing list of surprises?" The Darkling suddenly asked as he swept into the stables, drawing my attention. He was wearing a luxurious black travelling cloak collared with ebony wolf's fur overtop his kefta and holding something similar draped over his arm. He stopped about an arm's length away, regarding me with curiosity and the barest hint of a smile.
Looking back to the gelding, I leaned in and gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead to hide the grin that crept onto my lips. "Yes—if that's what you'd like to call it," I said down to the Percheron's forelock before meeting the Darkling's intense gaze, my face once again composed.
"What would you call this?" He asked, his clear, quartz eyes piercing through me as easily as ever.
"'Being kind'," I replied with a wry smile.
"Somehow, I find that more of a wonder," the Darkling smirked.
Alright, touché. I opened myself up for that. "Did you ask me down here just to insult me, or was there another reason? Because, if not, I have better things to be doing," I riposted.
"Such as?"
"Namely sleeping. I'm exhausted."
"Too tired to go out for a ride through the countryside?" The Darkling asked coyly.
I considered that for a moment, stroking the gelding's forehead again when he nudged my arm for more attention. "I suppose that sounds better than another lecture with Behrad," I allowed with a slight shrug to play down the ridiculous feeling of anticipation that began to tickle the bottom of my stomach.
"Good, I'm glad we agree. This is for you," the Darkling said as he glanced down at the black fabric draped over his arm. "Turn around."
Giving the horse one last gentle pat, I turned away from the Darkling—something I would never have dreamed of intentionally doing when I had first met him in Kribirsk. Yet, a moment later, the Darkling had stepped in towards me, standing impossibly close, to curl his arms around my shoulders. As he fastened an elegantly hooded cloak at my neck, I could only hope that he couldn't feel the hammering of my heart in my chest.
For the briefest moment, the Darkling's hands seemed to linger at the clasp where it sat atop my collarbones before he pulled away. The absence of his nearness was almost painful. Then, turning to face him, I reactively reached up to touch where the Darkling's hands had lingered at my throat. As my sensitive fingers traced the shape of the metal sitting there, I realised what it was: two interlocking circles that, when joined, formed the Darkling's sign—the sun in eclipse. Stealing a glance down at myself, I saw patterns mirroring those on my kefta embellished the hem of the exquisite garment, the intricate embroidery flecked with glimmering strands of silver. "Thank you. It's stunning," I said earnestly when I found the courage to look the Darkling in the eyes again, praying the heat rising in my face wasn't as visible as it felt.
"Come, our horses are saddled and ready," he replied quietly, a smile playing once again on his perfect lips as he walked past me. I watched him retreat for a moment, trying to catch my breath, before following after him. He led me further into the livery yard until we rounded a corner and entered a massive tacking area where two gigantic Shire horses were standing in cross-ties. One was a beautiful blue roan mare and the other a pitch-black stallion. And although the stallion was magnificent, the fire in his dark brown eyes captivating, I knew the mare was meant for me.
Walking over to her, I slowly introduced my hand in greeting. She snorted a bit but readily accepted my presence, her light hazel eyes soft and kind. "What's her name?" I asked the Darkling as he approached the towering stallion to my left and laid a knowing hand on the horse's great neck.
"They don't have names," he answered matter-of-factly before meeting my pointed stare. "That bothers you?"
"A little—it's just odd," I chuckled. "Why haven't you named them?"
The Darkling regarded the stallion for a moment before looking back at me. "These aren't the first horses I've ever owned, and they won't be the last. Inevitably, I outlive most things, and, as such, I try not to get too attached. And that's what naming a thing does—it creates attachment."
I'd heard rumours that powerful Grisha lived unordinarily long lives, but the Darkling was making it sound as though he'd seen years in number beyond even the limits of Grisha standards. "How old are you?" I innocently asked as I checked the mare's bridle and gave her a few more gentle scratches on the forehead.
The Darkling looked at me, his stare somewhere between bemused and mildly offended. "That's quite a personal question," he deflected.
Guess we're not entirely on friendly terms. "Maybe, but it was also a valid one. You can't casually go off about 'outliving most things' and not expect a question about your age," I shrugged as I disappeared behind the enormous mare's side to check the tightness of her girth (and to hide my embarrassment). "Either way," I grunted as I pulled the buckles closed one more notch, "you don't have to answer if you're that sensitive about it."
"Are you ready to leave?" The Darkling asked as I heard him untie his horse.
"I suppose so," I replied as I put the saddle flap down and went to release the mare from her ties. As I did so, I found the Darkling waiting for me, hands gripped tightly on the reins beneath the stallion's muzzle, ready to lead it onward. Quickly, I undid the mare's ties and similarly grabbed the reins; as soon as my hand closed around the leather straps, the Darkling walked his horse out of its tie-stall so that I could follow. Moments later, we were outside in a courtyard where two mounting blocks were waiting for us.
Without hesitation, I led the mare up to one of them, lowered the stirrups, and gracefully climbed atop her. Although she had looked large from the ground, sitting on her back, I realised just how massive she was: she must have been at least sixteen hands high (making the stallion at least eighteen or nineteen hands at the very least). As I sat and arranged my new cloak behind me in a flowing trail, I marvelled at the way the silver threaded throughout its embroidery caught the morning sun.
Glancing at me over his shoulder to see if I was mounted, the Darkling nudged the stallion forward, and I followed, steering the mare towards his right side. "You look comfortable atop a horse," the Darkling mused, the wolf fur cascading over his shoulders ruffling in the gentle breeze.
"You sound shocked," I countered as we headed across the grounds of the Little Palace, heading in a direction I had never been.
"You just didn't strike me as the type," the Darkling countered.
"To steal a horse, you have to know how to ride one," I said slyly as I pulled up alongside him, the two horses seemingly happy to be close again.
"Is there anything you haven't stolen?" The Darkling asked incredulously.
I thought about that for a moment as we entered into a hidden wooded path, heading away from the rear of the Little Palace. "I've never stolen something from a church," I admitted. "Not to suggest that I wouldn't," I clarified. "People are just so fucking superstitious that I've never had a chance to do so."
"That may change soon enough," the Darkling muttered almost inaudibly as we passed through the dense copse of trees, the dappled sunlight covering us in shifting spots.
I eyed him sideways for a moment but wisely turned my focus back on the path. We rode in silence for a long while before coming upon a back gate in the walls that surrounded the entirety of Os Alta. And, although it was small, there was a full contingent of guards posted at the portcullis; they snapped to attention after catching sight of the Darkling.
"You and the lady out for a ride, sir?" One of the guards asked, his face obscured beneath his helm.
"Yes. Open the gate," the Darkling replied, the air of authority in his voice natural.
"Right away, sir. Right away," the guard answered as he made a series of hand signals in the direction of the gate. "When do you expect you'll be back?" He pressed as the heavy barrier began to rise.
"Later," the Darkling said noncommittally as the portcullis neared the top of the arch that housed it.
"Understood, General Kirigan," the guard saluted as the gate stopped moving with a heavy clank. "Enjoy the day, sir."
"Thank you, Captain," the Darkling nodded before pushing his steed onward. I followed after him, trying to ignore the heavy stares of the soldiers we passed.
After a short sojourn through the thick walls of the capital, we emerged into the lush countryside surrounding the city. The sky was a nearly cloudless blue, and the fields that spread outwards in every direction were a veritable sea of green. Tiny farmhouses and livestock paddocks were dotted out in the distance, marking the steads of the families that lived outside the security and relentless bustle of Os Alta's walls. Basking in the warmth of the sunlight, I nearly felt as if I were home again.
As the mare I rode pawed anxiously at the ground, I reached down to pat her soothingly on the neck, the heat of her body beneath my hand a comfort. Lastly, looking over in the Darkling's direction, I found him watching me intently. "Try and keep up," he challenged, a fire sparking in his eyes to match that which I had seen burning in the soulful stare of the stallion he rode. Then, without warning, he spurred his mount forward, encouraging the mountain of pure muscle beneath him into a canter as he sped away from me.
Not wanting to be left behind but also relishing the thrill of a race, I egged the mare beneath me on, letting the pent-up energy I could feel coursing through her toned and athletic form free. She broke out into a fast trot at first but quickly picked her pace up to a canter without much persuasion as we raced after the ebony stallion and his charge. My cloak billowing out me like a shadowy trail, I let the mare carry me onward, the rhythmic pounding of her feathered hooves against the earth mirroring the racing of my heart. It wasn't long until I was riding, once again, alongside the Darkling, the presence of him nearby both a comfort and a thrill. Glancing over at him as we flew through the countryside, the air in my face bracing and fresh, we shared a giddy and unrestrained grin before focussing back on the path ahead.
o-o-o-o
"I'm at least one hundred and twenty," the Darkling said unexpectedly, his cool, grey eyes focused on the horizon. It wasn't hard to tell that he was staring in the direction of Os Alta, its great double walls reduced to little more than an amorphous blip against the cloudless, blue sky.
I didn't reply immediately. Instead, I took a moment to enjoy the contradiction of the solemn image of the Darkling as he brooded amidst the idyllic meadow which surrounded us. Nearby, the horses were grazing on clover and, overhead, birds looped and sang. A gentle breeze swept through the tall grass, carrying with it the scent of wildflowers and tilled earth. Beneath the rustling of the grass hung the buzzing of insects and the distant lowing of cattle.
"'At least'?" I repeated, hiding the sense of shock that threatened to register on my face. Although the Darkling didn't look to be much older than I was at twenty-one, something about the distance in his eyes screamed of a life almost over-lived.
"I stopped keeping track a long time ago… There's no point, really," the Darkling shrugged, eyes still trained on the line where the earth met the sky. I couldn't help but steal a glance at him and relish the way the bright sunlight cascaded over the statuesque planes of his face, highlighting his serious expression.
I nodded as if to say I understood, but all I could think as I looked back out over the countryside was that nearly a century and a half was a long time to be alone. It was suddenly less of a wonder why the Darkling was always so cold and detached. I would be wretched, too, if, through no choice of my own, I had to watch everyone I knew grow old and pass away while I stayed stagnant. Not that I was exceptionally close to too many people, but the thought still stung.
When I felt the Darkling's intense stare fall on me, I looked back to him. His slate eyes were unreadable. "What are you thinking, Esfir?" He asked quietly—almost hesitantly as though he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
I considered how I wanted to answer for a moment: either I spoke my mind, or I played it safe and guarded my feelings. Esfir the Thief knew what her answer would have been without hesitation, but Esfir the Shadow Summoner wasn't so sure. "That I don't envy you," I replied, my honesty surprising even to myself.
The Darkling seemed just as taken aback as I was. "Why is that?"
"Because it sounds incredibly tragic—to be so alone," I explained. My words left me feeling oddly vulnerable as if I had exposed some sort of weakness I should have been more careful to conceal.
"That's the price of true power," the Darkling countered almost bitterly.
"Then I'm glad I'm not as powerful as you are."
"Perhaps not right now, but you will be."
"Don't sound so sure," I muttered blackly.
"I've seen your abilities for myself," the Darkling said. "What you did during your audience with the King and Queen was no small feat."
"Please," I scoffed. "Whatever I did at the Grand Palace was nothing more than a fluke. I haven't been able to repeat it to the same extent, no matter how hard Baghra punishes me or how hard I push myself."
"Even so, she's consistently impressed by you," the Darkling said, echoing the sentiment he had shared with me to try and bolster my confidence before seeing the King.
I glared suspiciously at him. "For someone as busy as you are, you sure find a lot of time to talk to Baghra about me."
"I ask for frequent updates from all of your instructors," the Darkling said pointedly. "You shouldn't be astonished to hear that I have a vested interest in your training."
You mean a vested interest in making sure I don't sully the name of 'Shadow Summoner' by being a complete failure… "I'm glad to hear I'm not proving to be an utter disappointment, then," I drawled (even though I felt like one).
"Not by any stretch," the Darkling almost smiled, the subtle compliment catching me off guard.
To hide the slight blush rising in my cheeks, I turned to watch the horses as they grazed. Only when I felt the weight of the Darkling's stare lift from me did I think it safe to steal a glance back at him. He had turned his gaze back towards Os Alta, his mind scheming tirelessly behind the guise of calm he wore like a mask.
It was so hard to think that, such a short while ago, I had seen a completely different side of him come to the surface. Although the fast-paced ride across the countryside had been exhilarating, what delighted me most about the journey was not the feeling of freedom that coursed through me or the rush of the wind in my face. Instead, it was the occasional glances I was able to steal at the Darkling as we rode, side-by-side, our horses' gates perfectly in sync. As we raced through the endless sea of green surrounding the capital, the Darkling seemed to forget my presence and just let himself be. And, in that fleeting moment, I could see beyond his meticulously curated façade, the armour of it lost somewhere along the way. From his elated smile to his unaffected posture, he looked less like the storied monster that was 'the Darkling' and more like a human, free from pretence, expectation, and responsibility. That freedom had vanished, though, as soon as his boots returned to the ground. And as we sat, mere feet and yet somehow miles apart, the cold distance in the Darkling's eyes let me wondering if I had even really seen what lay beyond his indifference at all.
I was just about to speak again when the Darkling beat me to it. "I answered your question," he began, almost as if negotiating with me, "so now you'll answer one of mine." He half instructed, half suggested as he turned to look at me once again, his stare spearing right through me.
"I suppose that's fair," I laughed, admittedly a little nervously. I mean, what more could the Darkling possibly want to know about me? He already knew everything that might be considered 'important' and didn't strike me as the type of man who bothered himself with unnecessary particulars. And, besides, I wasn't sure how much I wanted the Darkling to know about me beyond the obvious.
"What would you name them—the horses—if they were yours?" He asked almost pensively as he shifted his gaze to watch the gentle giants as they meandered through the tall grass.
I was shocked. Whatever I had been expecting the Darkling to ask, that most definitely wasn't it.
Stuffing down as much of my surprise as I could, I considered my response. It seemed like a harmless enough question, so I decided to humour the chance to daydream. "Well," I said carefully, "I suppose since Shire horses come from the Wandering Isle, I'd pick something Kaelish," I mused.
"You speak Kaelish?" The Darkling interjected, trying to hide his bewilderment with an air of polite interest.
"Enough to get by in a pinch, I suppose," I shrugged. "I mean, so long as I'm in a tavern or gambling. I don't know how to say anything repeatable in polite company."
A hint of a smile tugged at the Darklings mouth, but, nevertheless, he still seemed mildly intrigued. "I didn't think people from the Wandering Isle often went so far south as Kribirsk," he pondered offhandedly.
"You'd be amazed at the types of people who blow across the shores of the Fold when you bother to look outside the First Army encampment," I countered pointedly.
"And I'm sure they're all upstanding citizens of the King," the Darkling teased.
I rolled my eyes. "Most people aren't criminals," I countered, unable to keep myself from smiling (just a little). "But, to answer your question: I'd name the mare Maeve and the stallion Cian."
"And what do those names mean?"
"No idea—other than they're 'good, strong' Kaelish names… Or so I was told."
"Hm," the Darkling assented with a slight nod before shifting his focus to watch the two horses, seeming to consider them in some new way.
Well, since we're playing barkochba*... "Why did you ask me to ride with you today?" I asked bluntly. The Darkling's eyes narrowed as if he was annoyed I had asked such a question, but he neither answered nor looked at me. "And please don't say 'because you enjoy my company'—I'm not so stupid to fall for something that sappy," I prodded flatly.
Another long moment of silence passed between us. The anger gathering on the Darkling's brow almost made me regret my question, but I tried my best not to let that show. I'd already exposed myself once, and I wasn't going to make the same mistake twice in one day.
"I'm not so sure anymore," the Darkling murmured, his voice so raw that I wasn't sure if I should be moved or wounded. Something about the way his usually cold eyes suddenly filled with fire made him look as conflicted as I felt.
"Right… Well, that makes two of us," I chuckled awkwardly down at my lap. I wasn't sure what I had wanted the Darkling to say, but, stupidly, his doubt left me stinging with unexpected rejection. As a distraction from the awkward tension that settled in between us, I began to fiddle with my favourite ring.
I was absently walking the gold band across my knuckles when the Darkling asked: "Why did you agree to join me?"
I nearly dropped the damned thing in the grass. "Because I didn't know until the last moment what was happening," I answered truthfully while shoving the ring back into its proper place. "Genya is very good at keeping your secrets," I added with a sideways glance.
"I find she can also be rather persuasive," the Darkling said, the sly smirk he wore somehow twisted in more ways than one.
"That's one way to put it," I allowed dryly.
"I suppose my real question is, then: would you have agreed to join me had I asked you myself?" The Darkling pressed, the conflicting mix of his emotions still biting at the fringes of his formality.
I couldn't make myself look at him. "Honestly?" I asked back with a teasing smile as I plucked the top off a stalk of grass and began tying it in artless knots. Instantly, I reflected on the awkward breakfast we had shared what felt like so long ago.
"Of course," the Darkling said with the same hint of amusement in his voice as before.
"Probably not—if only to teach you a lesson," I answered impishly to my hands as I turned the knotted stalk of grass deftly between my fingers.
"And what lesson would that be?"
"That you can't always have what you want, even if you are the Darkling."
"And what if I had insisted you join me?"
"Well, that depends."
"On?"
"How you insisted," I smirked, meeting the Darkling's bemused stare. "You should know by now that I don't take kindly to being ordered around."
"Believe it or not, I have picked up on that fact," he smiled back, his face finally softening.
"Good, then this hasn't been a complete waste of my time after all," I sighed with mock relief.
The Darkling laughed at that, and I had to admit that I had missed the rich sound of his happiness and the way it rippled through the air like skeins of summoned shadow. However, I could have done without the silly wave of butterflies that it sent careening through my chest like the decimating blast from a Zemeni pistol.
No, you can't let yourself get comfortable, I chastised the foolish and naïve girl threatening to rise in me. I knew everything the Darkling did had an explicit reason, so he must have had some ulterior motive for bringing me out here, alone, and showing me such kindness. He wanted me to feel comfortable around him because comfort meant mistakes, and mistakes meant leverage. So I couldn't allow myself to let my guard down—and especially not with him.
I couldn't. I shouldn't. I mustn't.
… But I was.
o-o-o-o
It was well past supper by the time Genya came knocking on the door to the Vezda Suite. I had only just fallen into one of the sitting area chairs myself when I had to get up to let her in.
After the Darkling and I returned to the Little Palace, I had spent most of the day out by the lake, practising. There had been scarce few other Etherealki about, and the ones who had been at the pavilions left as soon as they saw me approaching. And although it pricked to have the other Summoners so purposefully avoid me, I understood their hesitations. I didn't attend classes with them, and, between all of the work the Darkling had me doing to 'catch up' to my peers, I hardly had time to eat, let alone go down to the main hall to (try to) socialise. That would have to change, I decided, but—for the moment—I was happy to be alone. Trying to call on the shadows in the middle of the day was especially hard, and not having an audience was more of a blessing than a burden.
I'd worked myself to the point of exhaustion, only stopping when I could barely hold myself upright before turning in. Nevertheless, once Genya showed up, I found myself invigorated by her presence and her unfailing ability to make me laugh. We had supper brought up and spent the better part of the last five or more hours swapping stories and gossip. After we'd finished eating, I tried to teach Genya to play one of my favourite childhood pastimes.
"I don't understand the point of this," Genya laughed as she struggled to change 'cat's eye' to 'fish in a dish' in our best game of strunnaya igra** since I had started teaching her how to play over an hour ago.
I laughed with her as she fumbled and dropped the cord from her clumsy fingers. "Loser takes a drink," I egged as I triumphantly snatched the simple toy from the floor and placed it on the tea table. "If we were playing by urchin rules, you'd owe me money, too."
"You're impossible," Genya giggled drunkenly as she reached for the half-empty bottle of kvas we had been sharing and poured herself another shot.
"Just thank your lucky stars that I didn't try to teach you to play Three Man Bramble," I warned with a shark-like grin.
"I'll remember that for later," she muttered. "Where did you learn this ridiculous game, anyway?" The Tailor asked as she looked mournfully at the full-to-spiling glass in her hand.
Feeling sorry for her, I took the bottle back from Genya, poured myself a pity dram, and saluted the Tailor before we both downed our liquor. "I used to play it all the time as a kid," I winced, my throat burning. "We made do with what we had, and gutter rats don't have much. But it was easy enough to come by a length of string," I shrugged.
"You really did grow up in the streets, huh?" Genya slurred slightly, though the sincerity was still there.
I nodded as I poured myself another shot and downed it immediately. "It was either that or… Well, there wasn't another option," I muttered ruefully as I toppled back onto my arm of the loveseat, the bottle of kvas dangling perilously from my hand.
"I'm sorry," Genya murmured remorsefully in only the way a drunk girl can.
"Don't be," I dismissed, waving the bottle around. "Believe me: there are worse fates than being poor."
"Tell me about it," the Tailor grumbled, the sudden despondency in her voice causing me to sit up straight again.
"Wait, did you grow up broke, too?" I asked, mildly dumbfounded. I was in about two or three shots over Genya's four (lightweight), and the alcohol was starting to take effect.
"No," Genya laughed before catching herself with a cringe. "I'm sorry, Esfir. I didn't mean—"
"—Don't worry about it," I chuckled. "That's not the worst thing anyone's ever said to me."
"I'm still sorry," Genya apologised. "It's just that I—"
"—You don't have to explain yourself. A simple 'sorry' is enough for me," I smiled kindly as I put down the bottle of kvas on the tea table alongside my empty pony. I'd had enough drink for now. "Perhaps it's time we called it a night, though," I sighed.
"You're probably right," Genya yawned.
"I'm always right," I corrected mischievously.
"Sure, and I'm the fabled Sun Summoner," the Tailor drawled sarcastically as she pushed herself up unceremoniously from her place next to me on the loveseat. "G'night, Esfir," she smiled, her usually prim mannerisms made sloppy from drink.
"Night, Genya," I crooned back, my eyes suddenly heavy. I guess it had been a while since I'd drunk to excess… I was losing my tolerance. I watched Genya leave and then forced myself to get up and lock the doors behind her. And as much as I wanted to fall straight into bed, I made a minimal effort to at least take off my boots and turn down the lights before collapsing, face first, on the mountain of pillows that topped my bed. I dozed for what felt like a long time, drifting in and out of sleep, until a strange noise intruded on my alcohol-hazed dreams.
In my mind, I was back at the inn in Kribirsk where Zdisek has sent me to lift the Darkling's dagger. The suite was just as I remembered it: hardly lived in and impossibly dark. Harsh beams of moonlight streamed in across the weathered floor, casting eerie shadows of the barely-used furniture on the barren walls. However, what struck me as odd was the sound that filled the room: a constant tap-tap-tap that started softly but was somehow growing louder. Looking around, I found the space empty, save for one lone chair. It had been set in the centre of the space and turned to face the windows. Unsure of what else to do, I ran my hand over the sun-faded upholstery and took my place on the stiff, uncomfortable seat.
As I sat and stared at the windows before me, I dimly realised that the incessant tapping sound echoing around the barren room was coming from outside the glass. Then, a huge raven landed on the sill, its beady black eyes immediately finding mine through the dark. I held my breath as it stared at me, its talons scraping noisily against the wood upon which it perched. Silently, I willed it to leave, but it wouldn't budge; instead, it just sat there, shifting its weight menacingly as it leered at me. Disturbed, I could only watch as it determinedly began to tap-tap-tap at the windowpane near the latch, the horrible sound of its work sending a chill racing up my spine.
Startled awake with a violent shiver, I jumped out of bed as an influx of adrenaline staved off the unusual drunkenness which had overwhelmed me. Then, standing stock-still, I frantically surveyed the room, looking for any signs that something was amiss. Although I had no trouble seeing through the dark, I couldn't find anything to validate the sense of terror that heaved in my chest and set my heart racing.
"Who's there?" I barked as I took a nervous glance at the two large windows. But, just as they had been before Genya had left, the curtains were drawn and the latches closed. No eerie taps came from beyond the panes, and no answer responded to my demands, save for the gentle sounds of the outdoors.
Suddenly, realisation flooded over me like a wave of icy water.
Spinning around in the direction of the bathroom, I barely had time to put up my hands to absorb the first strike of the knife that came hurtling towards my neck. The (thankfully) keen blade sliced wickedly through the meat of my hands, sending a terrible searing pain upwards through my arms. As the smell of blood—my blood—erupted in the air, I retaliated by lashing out with a swift kick, the enraged-yet-startled bellow I released fuelling my strike. My stockinged foot collided with the gut of the shrouded figure that loomed before me, sending it reeling a step or three backwards.
Without hesitation, the shade attacked again, its blade glinting in the dim light of the embers smouldering in the hearth. But, this time, I was ready. Ignoring the pain in my hands, I waited as my assailant charged back at me, and as the knife came rushing downward in a brutal slash towards my neck, I reached up to try and redirect the blow. I was partially successful. Instead of connecting with my throat, I managed to turn the blade wide, my blood-slicked palms ruining the disarming manoeuvre I knew like a reflex. And although they faltered slightly after the deflection, my attacker recovered quickly and sent their knife biting deeply into my bicep instead.
Immediately, heat bloomed near my shoulder, and wetness seeped down my arm. Then, crying out in a mix of frustration, fear, and fury, I balled up my gushing hands and loosed my left fist in an overarching strike, which thankfully collided with the face of my opponent. Bone crunched on bone and my attacker satisfyingly grunted in agony. And as I followed the blow with a clean uppercut to the gut, I realised, however dimly, that the sounds of pain I was causing were coming from a woman.
Luckily, my last strike had been hard enough to cause my foe to release her weapon unintentionally. As it clattered to the ground, I attempted to shoulder charge the person across from me but slipped on the pooling blood from my wounds. Tumbling to my knees, I barely had time to brace myself as the assassin pounced on me and sent my head reeling into the floor. Before I could flinch, her thin yet powerful hands were reaching for my throat to strangle me.
"No!" I roared as I groped for my assailant to try and gouge out her eyes.
"The Apparat sends his regards," the unfamiliar voice of the woman on top of me hissed as I unsuccessfully slapped my blood-soaked palms across her face.
Howling with every ounce of energy I had left, I tried to push the body perched atop me away, but she wouldn't budge. Instead, her knees clenched even more painfully into my ribs, pinning the entire weight of her body atop my chest. She was trying to crush the air out of my lungs—and it was working. But as blackness bloomed at the fringes of my vision and I felt the strength of ten wiry fingers wrap around my throat, I flew into an instinctive rage, lashing out at the thing hovering over me in the only way I knew would save me.
I didn't even remember moving my hands or calling on the shadows to exact my will… It just happened—exactly the same as it had so very, very long ago. One minute, I was having my life wrung out of me, and the next, there was a flash of pure shadow, and the pressure surrounding my throat stopped. I could only watch and listen as the body lingering above me sputtered and jerked, each twitch of its limbs and flesh resulting in a terrible gurgling sound. And even though I knew what was going to happen next, I couldn't prepare myself for it.
Almost as if in slow motion, the figure gave one last spasm before it split into pieces, sliced cleanly through in two arcs. The head and shoulders fell backwards first, followed by the arms, one after the other. Then, at last, the trunk slid into two lumps, the smaller top section slipping to the left while the heavier and more complete remainder of the body crumpled to the right. Entrails and blood washed over me, soaking through my kefta as if I had dunked into a foul, hot bath. The putrid smell of faeces, urine, and viscera blossomed in the air, stifling the scream that threatened to escape me.
Shoving the lifeless remains of the corpse off of me, I scrambled upright, and dove for the bell pull next to my bed. Accidentally, I yanked on the cord so hard as I slipped on the blood-soaked hardwood that I nearly ripped it away from its fastenings.
Collapsing back to my knees, I rolled over and propped myself up in the nook between the nightstand and the bed. I tried not to look at the disparate chunks of lifeless flesh strewn across the floor, but it was impossible. No matter which way I turned my head or shifted my gaze, my eyes always found a way back to focus on a pale section of bloodless skin; a raw, red seam of oozing flesh; or a strangely clean patch of brilliant white bone. The only thing I couldn't look at was the corpse's face. My eyes skimmed off its features like oil on water.
I don't know how long I sat there, looking but not looking at the gruesome scene I had made, but eventually, a gentle knock came at the doors of the Vezda Suite.
"Miss? Is everything alright?" An unfamiliar male voice called out from the hall.
"Get the Darkling," I heard myself respond, my voice eerily hollow.
"Miss," the servant said nervously, "I'm sure that's not necessary. If you could just open the d—"
"—DO IT!" I screeched beside myself.
"R-right away, Miss," the voice stammered before I heard footsteps race off noisily down the hall.
Another impossible pause followed, the silence of the corpse mere feet away from me chilling. Once or twice, I thought I saw the body move, twitching as if it were trying to pull itself back together, but I knew that wasn't possible. Nothing could survive such utter decimation. Not now, not before, not ever.
"Esfir?" The Darkling suddenly called from out in the hallway, the calmness of his tone slicing through my shock. "Open the doors," he instructed.
Robotically, I tried to rise, but I was overwhelmed by an intense wave of dizziness as I stood. I had lost too much blood, and the adrenaline that had fuelled me to survive had long worn off. Before I could steady myself, I collapsed backwards into the nightstand, sending it crashing noisily into the wall. "I can't… I can't get up," I called out weakly. "I'm… Bleeding," I panted, exhaustion and anaemia setting in rapidly.
"Wake Ivan and a Healer—I don't care which one. Just do it," the Darkling snapped to someone else, his voice growing dim in my ears. Was he walking away?
"Please, don't leave me," I whimpered quietly. The effort it took to speak was astronomical. I felt cold and clammy and so, so tired…
Dimly, I registered a tremendous crack coming from across the room. Then, suddenly, the Darkling was kneeling at my side. And although I was having trouble seeing through the dark for the first time in my life, I could still clearly see his face. He looked composed, but there was terror swimming in his usually cold eyes. "Saints," he whispered so quietly I wasn't sure I had heard him speak. "What happened?" The Darkling asked more clearly as his hands gently skirted around the wound on my shoulder, assessing the damage. When he inhaled sharply, I knew it was bad.
"Through the window," I muttered absently, struggling to remember what had occurred. Everything was a muddle: there was kvas, then a raven, the sound of the breeze outside, an uncomfortable chair, the pain of a knife, the sight of the corpse overtop me, and the tapping. Always the tap-tap-tapping…
"Stay awake," the Darkling demanded as my eyes fluttered once or twice.
I moaned as I tried to do what I was told, but it was hard. My eyelids were just so heavy… "The Apparat," I exhaled tenuously as I willed myself to stay alert. "She said—"
"—I know," the Darkling whispered as he cast a hate-filled glare in the direction of the corpse I had made. "Tell me something, Esfir," he continued without missing a beat as he attempted to keep me talking and conscious.
"What?" I tried to smile, but I could only grimace as a chill rocked through me.
"Who taught you how to use the Cut?" The Darkling asked as he carefully grabbed my wrist to inspect my palm, making sure our bare skin didn't touch.
I was bewildered. "I don't," I started half-heartedly as another wave of dizziness overtook me, though this time it was accompanied by a rush of nausea. When the feeling passed, I tried to speak again. "I don't know what 'cut' you're talking about," I said truthfully, my words sluggish. "I just—I just wanted her to stop… Like when I was a girl. It was an accident—I swear," I faltered, catching myself before I let my pain-addled tongue run away without me.
"It's alright," the Darkling very nearly soothed. "You did what you had to. I would have done the same."
I didn't realise how much I had wanted to hear that—especially from the Darkling. "Well, I never thought I'd live to see you sink to my level," I panted. Breathing was starting to become a labour. I was just so tired… "But here we are," I finished weakly, catching myself on the edge of drifting off.
"Yes, here we are," the Darkling agreed quietly as a clamour rose in the hall and the warm light of lamps came into sight. I vaguely registered the sound of hurried steps, hushed gasps of horror, and the sound of someone retching.
"Shit," a familiar voice cursed as it approached, bringing a lamp with it. Ivan then kneeled before me, his face rigid with concentration. Setting down his light, the Heartrender gingerly began examining me. He didn't seem enthusiastic about what he found. "Geir! Stop puking your guts out and get your sorry ass over here!" The Corporalnik hollered over his shoulder before turning to the Darkling. "Moi soverenyi, I need you to move."
"Of course," the Darkling acquiesced, though I could tell by the slight tightness in his voice that he didn't want to leave. "Bring her to the infirmary as quickly as you can. I'll be waiting."
"Yes, sir," Ivan nodded gravely.
I wanted to tell the Darkling to stay, but I could only watch in silence as he strode away and allowed a strange man with white-blonde hair and stormy blue eyes to take his place at my side.
"All of your wounds are down to the bone," Ivan hissed at me. "You're lucky you're not dead."
"Maybe, but you should see the other bitch," I smirked weakly.
"I have," Ivan muttered pointedly. "What's left of her is hard to miss."
"Remember that the next time you upset me," I teased, still trying to take the piss out of the Heartrender even though I could barely see straight.
"Ivan, you need to shut up and put her under so I can work—her life depends on it," the stranger interjected quietly, his voice heavy with a Fjerdan accent.
Ivan sighed and, for half a second, almost looked concerned for me. "This is going to be dangerous," he warned tersely. "You've lost a lot of blood, but it'll be safer for everyone if you're not moving around while we're trying to fix you up. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I consented with an exhausted sigh.
Then, everything faded to black.