Five
"Why are you pushing me, Kseniya?" I complained as the only mother I had ever known hastily directed me down the hall.
"Because I don't want you to lose the game we're going to play," she answered in a whisper as she firmly steered me into my small bedroom. After following me inside and carefully shutting the door behind her, Kseniya knelt before me, her hands placed tightly—painfully so—on my shoulders to keep me in place. "You want to win, don't you?" She quietly asked when I fixed her with a puzzled stare.
"Of course: I always want to win," I answered matter-of-factly. "What kind of game is it? Is Naum playing, too?"
Kseniya smiled kindly at me, but her tawny-brown eyes were too intense. "Always asking so many questions, child," she chuckled, the sound tight and lacking its usual warmth. "We're playing pryatki*, so you need to hide—and hide well."
"You don't have to tell me that: you know I'm the best at hiding," I replied flatly.
"Yes, I know," Kseniya nodded thankfully. "But Naum is determined to find you this time, so be smart about it."
"Okay," I nodded, thrilled by the idea of a challenge.
When the sound of shouting followed by a tussle and a loud thump came from back in the main room of the farmhouse, we both jumped. That was when I saw the fear which had been lurking in Kseniya's eyes light on her face, sending my heart sinking to my feet. Kseniya was never afraid—not of anything. "Hide, Esfir," she instructed frantically, her grip on my shoulders tightening so sharply that I winced.
"We're not really playing a game, are we?" I asked meekly as realisation crashed over me like a bucket of icy water.
Kseniya let out a breath of a laugh, the sound sad as though she wished I was a little less observant. "Don't come out until Naum or I tell you to. Understood?" She very nearly pleaded. Kseniya never begged—she told.
"Y-yes," I stammered reluctantly. No sooner had the shaky word left my lips did Kseniya lean in to roughly plant a lingering kiss on my forehead before releasing me to hurry out of the room. The door closed behind her without a sound, but Kseniya's sudden absence was almost as loud as the terrified scream that soon came from the front of the house.
o-o-o-o
I woke with a start, once again jarred from a fitful sleep by the slightest noise. Bolting upright, I reactively drew forth the gilded letter opener hidden under my pillow and held it at the ready.
Looking wildly around, my heart racing, I found everything as quiet as it had been the last time I jolted awake, though sunlight was now threatening at the edges of the curtains. Over the panicked sound of my breathing, I pinpointed the cause of my alarm: muffled voices out in the hall, the concise back-and-forth discussion coming just beyond the unfamiliar double doors. Even though they were trying to be discreet, I always seemed to know when the oprichniki stationed in the hall were changing shifts, one set of guards making their mandatory (yet undoubtedly boring) report to their relievers. These hushed exchanges were a disturbance I had come to expect, but they startled me nevertheless.
I let out a drawn sigh and dropped my hand heavily into my lap, letting the letter knife tumble onto the coverlet. Flopping back into the pillows as the mounting exhaustion from several nights of interrupted sleep washed back over me, I stared up at the canopy overhead, the intricate scene of black rabbits and medlied nasturtiums visible to me even through the darkness. After a while, I lost myself in the bold colours and delicate detail of fur, bloom, and leaf as I waited for sleep to find me again. But just as I was beginning to doze off again, a knock came at the door.
"Who's there?" I barked as I sat upright again, my hand instinctively finding the grip of the letter opener in my lap.
"It's me, Yelena, miss," a muffled yet familiar voice answered politely. "May I speak with you?"
"Of course," I called back less harshly as I hurriedly stashed the knife opener back under my pillow and tossed the covers off. Springing out of bed, I headed to let Yelena in, making sure to grab the dressing gown draped over the vanity table chair as I went. Shrugging on the heavy, black velvet robe over my nightgown, I hastily tied the sash before unlocking and opening one of the doors.
I jumped with a start when I saw not only the young maid standing there but Fedyor and Ivan as well, looking very imposing in their crimson kefta. "Good morning, Miss Esfir," the young woman greeted me pleasantly with her usual curtsy, seeming to take no notice of my surprise. Unfortunately, I couldn't say the same for the two Grisha before me. Fedyor cracked a grin as I baulked while Ivan fixed me with one of his usual glares.
"G'morning, Yelena. I see you've brought friends," I lukewarmly observed as I composed myself.
"It's nice to see you, too," Fedyor interjected cheekily, a sentiment which Ivan seemed to derisively second with a scoff. I decidedly ignored them both.
"Yes, and a note—for you, of course, miss," Yelena fumbled awkwardly under the hawk-like stare of the guards on either side of the door. I couldn't help but see her eyes shift nervously to the rifles the oprichniki clutched, their fingers poised near the triggers.
"Please. If she's going to hurt me, I deserve it: she's half my size," I snapped, glaring first at the guard on my left and then to the one on my right. The two men in grey flinched slightly at the admonishment and immediately went back to staring blankly at the wall across the way. Rolling my eyes to show my disdain, I turned my attention down at the small plate Yelena held in both hands. The gleaming silver dish bore a single folded piece of paper emblazoned weightily with a jet-black sun in eclipse. "Thank you," I said more evenly as I took the note, the presence of the Darkling's sigil making slightly more sense of why two Corporalki were looming outside my door.
"My pleasure," the young maid responded with a quick bob of a curtsy. "Will there be anything else, miss?" She asked anxiously, clearly desperate to get away from the oppressiveness of my bodyguards now that her task was complete.
"No, but you'll be the first person I send for it that changes," I answered, making sure to smile appreciatively at Yelena even though my mind was racing. What sort of message could the Darkling need to send me that required Grisha protection?
"Thank you, Miss Esfir," Yelena curtsied again before hurrying off, the silver plate she held clutched to her chest like armour. As she scampered down the hall and out of sight, I found myself wishing that I could have followed after her.
With a small sigh, I went to duck back into the safety of the suite only to notice that Ivan and Fedyor hadn't yet turned to leave. "You've done your job, so don't feel you have to hang around on my account," I said plainly, unsure of why they were continuing to linger when they clearly would have rather been anywhere else.
"Hardly," Ivan growled as he tersely crossed his arms. "Read the note."
Although I'm thankful you saved my life, there's a reason I haven't missed seeing you these past few weeks. "I will—in private," I retorted just as brusquely.
"I have better things to be doing than waiting for you. Just read the note so I can get back to my meal," Ivan ordered, the nearly-permanent frown on his brow deepening into a true glower.
"Make me," I said smugly as I pointedly tucked the piece of paper into the fold of my robe. Even though, as a Heartrender, both Ivan and I knew he could manipulate my emotions as he pleased, we both also knew there was no Corporalki alive who was strong enough to manipulate a person's will. (Thank the Saints.)
"Would it kill you to be less pigheaded for once?" Ivan seethed, his only real recourse to try and badger me into doing what he wanted.
"Would it kill you to be less irritable for once?" I snipped back, determined not to give him the satisfaction of getting his way.
"If it stops both of you from acting like children," Fedyor chimed in, as always trying to play diplomat between his grumpy lover and myself, "I can just tell you what it says, Esfir."
That took the wind out of my sails. "You're so considerate," I answered stiffly before drawing out the note from the breast fold of my robe once again. With a quick scowl at each Heartrender, I opened the heavy piece of paper. The handwriting was instantly familiar: it was the same as the tag on the gift box which Yelena had delivered to me what felt like so long ago. "Please join me in the war room," wrote the Darkling, his elegant scrawl as smooth as his voice. "To ensure you don't get lost, I have sent Ivan and Fedyor to escort you downstairs."
"See? That wasn't so hard," Ivan smarmed as I firmly creased the paper closed again and hid it back in the fold of my robe. I didn't need to look at him to know he was wearing a gloating smirk.
"How much time do you need?" Fedyor asked more kindly, keeping to task.
"Give me ten minutes," I muttered as I quickly turned and strode into the safety of the suite, closing the door and locking it behind me. Although I would have rather crawled straight into bed and gone back to sleep, I went next to throw open the curtains to let in the warm light of the morning. As sunlight flooded the small suite, I took a moment to pause and examine the note one final time, just to be sure I had read it correctly.
I hate that I've let you get to know me so well, I scolded myself as I once again navigated between the lines of the Darkling's succinct but carefully worded missive. Frustrated with myself, I tossed the note roughly onto the vanity and resolved (begrudgingly) to get myself ready for the day. Before shuffling off into the bathroom to erase the traces of my uneasy night's rest, I grabbed the letter opener out from under my pillow and placed it back in its expected spot. Although I didn't think it was strange (I'd slept with a real knife for most of my life), I knew the idea of stashing a 'weapon' under one's pillow was gossip-worthy material for the Little Palace, and the last thing I needed was people spreading rumours about me. Once washed and groomed, I returned to the main room to dress. Casting open the armoire, I pulled out fresh underclothes and my new kefta before ducking behind the small privacy screen.
I hadn't expected to see the small, beautiful box waiting for me on the vanity when I had arrived in my new (temporary) quarters. There hadn't been a note attached to it, but the thick black ribbon that had closed the silvery wrapping paper was a dead giveaway. Inside, carefully folded, was an immaculate new kefta to replace the one ruined by blade and blood. At first glance, it looked just like the one I had previously, but the longer I admired it, the more I realised it was even more stunning than I thought. Intricate patterns, swirling like shadows made corporeal, raced along the cuffs, hem, and even the neckline, making it more decorated than any other kefta I had ever seen. And, more remarkable still, like the riding cloak the Darkling had gifted me before the attempt on my life, the embroidery on this garment was flecked with silver, making it shimmer ethereally with every change in the light. I had stood for a long time, running my fingers over the intricate embellishments, amazed that something so fine not only existed but was for me.
I was thrilled to be able to wear it finally, even if the idea of dressing like a Grisha still made me feel a little awkward.
When I walked out confidently into the hallway exactly ten minutes later, I found Ivan and Fedyor chatting casually across the hall, leaning against the panelled wall. The usually gloomy Heartrender's head was dipped ever so slightly towards his lover's, their hands gently—barely—clasped behind the shield of their bodies. I couldn't hear what they were talking about, but the smile on Fedyor's face seemed more infectious than usual, having inspired a hint of genuine happiness to overtake Ivan. So, although I disliked Ivan, I hated to ruin such a tender moment for him: how he and Fedyor were stealing this time together made me feel as if they didn't have many chances to be alone.
As I closed the door quietly behind me, the two Corporalki seemed to snap back to attention, any traces of the softness between them disappearing instantly. "You were quick," Fedyor halfway complained as a slight flush rose in his cheeks. I got the feeling he was embarrassed to have been caught with his guard down.
"I can go back in and waste more time if you want," I suggested as I motioned nonchalantly to the doors behind me.
"No," Ivan replied flatly as he discreetly straightened his kefta and set his face back into its usual gloomy arrangement.
"Have it your way, then," I grouched as I began making my way down the corridor in the direction of the main hall. At the same time, I felt the two stern, grey shadows that constantly lingered outside my door fall into place just behind me. I couldn't help but bristle in the presence of the oprichniki: after spending most of my life trying not to be followed, suffering such a dedicated and well-armed entourage left me on edge.
"You're tense," Fedyor observed as he fell into step on my left. I could feel him eyeing my kefta as we walked, his gaze one of polite astonishment.
"Really? I can't imagine why," I countered blandly as Ivan simultaneously appeared to march along on my right. Flanked by two Heartrenders and followed by my armed oprichniki shadows, I felt like a prisoner. There was a reason I hadn't ventured out into the Little Palace since being released from the infirmary.
Ivan scoffed, unamused; reflexively, I rolled my eyes in response before he even spoke. "Serves you right for almost getting yourself killed."
"If I didn't know any better," I growled, falling easily into the perpetual and acerbic back-and-forth we shared, "I would say that was you trying to tell me you're glad I'm alive."
"Hardly," he snapped back a little too defensively as though I had touched a nerve. "It would have saved me a lot of trouble if that idiot had done a better job."
"Well, if that's the way you really feel," I hissed, "I'll stop myself short of thanking you for helping to save my life."
"If I had any other choice, I'd have left you to bleed out," Ivan sneered when I stared blackly at him.
"And if I had any other choice, Ivan, I wouldn't have to listen to your lies," Fedyor cut in with an exasperated groan as we descended the stairs to the first floor. I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from laughing when Ivan's dour expression faltered to expose his shock as he glared daggers at the side of his lover's head. When Fedyor didn't seem to take notice, Ivan averted his eyes and frowned ahead, the slightest hint of pink rising in his cheeks.
Vindicated, I let the issue drop. We walked in silence for a long while, my two shadows rattling not far behind us until we neared the main domed hall. As we came to a stop at the juncture between the hallway and the main entry, I tried to steady myself with a subtle yet deep breath. I could hear the din of conversation coming from the large, hexagonal room, the indistinguishable myriad of conversations unexpectedly filling me with dread. Normally, I wouldn't have been nervous at all about jumping headlong into a crowd, but in the past, no room had ever fallen silent with my arrival. So although I kept myself outwardly composed, inside, I was spiralling, the memories of my disastrous first morning on display at the Little Palace sending my heart into my throat.
"Do you want me to calm your nerves?" Fedyor leaned in to whisper, his suggestion kind.
I took my turn to flush pink as I distressingly realised my feelings might not be as private as I'd like them to be. "You Heartrenders are insufferable," I quietly fumed as Ivan snickered at my expense.
"Only when we want to be. And, besides, no one would know," Fedyor shrugged, unfazed.
"I would," Ivan chipped in smugly. Even though I pretended not to hear him, I had to fight to resist the urge to stick my tongue out at the Corporalki as he smirked at me.
"Let's just get this over with," I grumbled, ending any further discussion. Just walk in and act like you belong—like always, I told myself as I balled up my courage and stepped into the entryway. And, for a brief moment, I was hopeful that no one would notice me as I entered the main hall, followed by my painfully dutiful retinue. As we passed through the stillness of the foyer, in plain sight of the tables and sitting areas full of Grisha of every order, the comingling of voices, laughter, and breakfast-time noise continued without interruption. But as soon as I broke the threshold of the domed hall, the din of conversation instantly died. I tried not to pay attention to the weight of the stares focussed on me, but it was impossible. Materialki, Etherealki, and Corporalki alike paused in various stages of eating and chatting to watch as I forged my way towards the imposing yet exquisite black double doors to the Darkling's council chambers.
A murmur swept over the hall as I carefully picked my way through the hall, arbitrarily approaching the dais from the right. Consequently, this put me in direct opposition to the table at which the Etherialki sat so, even though the crimson-clad Corporalki nearest to me were craning in their seats for a better look, I felt the eyes of the Summoners somehow more than anything. Reacting to the intensity, I looked over at the others of my order and accidentally met the eyes of a woman I had never seen before (with one glimpse of her, I knew I would have remembered her if I had). She had warm, golden skin complemented perfectly by the thick waves of her long, dark brown hair, and her eyes were a startling shade of blue, rimmed with long, full lashes. Ordinarily, I'm sure she was a sight to behold in her silver-and-blue Squaller's kefta, but, for the fierce scowl that pinched her sculpted eyebrows and narrowed her full lips, she looked rather bearish.
Forcing myself to look away as we closed the last of the distance to the Darkling's dais and ascended the few steps, I subtly leaned towards Fedyor and asked: "Who is that Squaller—the one glaring at me?"
The Heartrender cast a glance over his shoulder and then chuckled as the looming double doors, subtly emblazoned with the Darkling's sun in eclipse, opened for us. "Zoya Nazyalensky," he answered as we entered another hallway, and the doors closed behind us a moment later with a resounding thud. "Don't pay her any mind," he continued offhandedly. "She hates anyone who isn't a Summoner, and even then, she's not very friendly."
Yeah, if looks could kill… "Right," I muttered as we approached another door, this one more prominently showcasing the Darkling's sigil in silver relief. Stupidly, my heart stuttered at the sight of it, and I could only hope that neither Ivan nor Fedyor noticed as we were all ushered inside.
The war room was as beautiful as it was arresting. Huge maps of Ravka, Fjerda, and Shu Han covered the walls, highlighting the fact that there weren't any windows. A long table, covered with stacks of papers, books, more rolled-up maps, and curious brass instruments of every size and shape. Lamps burned in sconces on the dark panelled walls and along the length of the table, making the space bright but somehow also solemn. Seated at the far end of the table, the Darkling was pouring over a collection of papers. To my dismay, Baghra was huddled at his immediate left, wrapped up in a thick black shawl as though she were outside in the dead of winter.
I struggled to keep my mouth from falling open in shock.
As the doors closed with a definitive click, the Darkling's eyes snapped up to meet mine. "The rest of you may leave," he said dismissively before turning his attention back to whatever he was reading.
A quiet chorus of 'da, moi soverenyi' sounded all around me and, in what felt like a heartbeat, I suddenly found myself standing alone. When the doors closed again, the Darkling set down the papers he held and motioned to the empty chair to his right. "Come sit," he said with the barest hint of a smile.
"She's not a dog," Baghra chastised, her voice somehow harsher than usual.
It was barely noticeable, but I saw the Darkling's eyes flick towards the stern woman at his elbow, the glare he gave her fierce. "Please," the Darkling added stiffly, despite the near-instant return of his composure.
I hesitated, almost girlishly in my indecision. I suddenly felt as though I was stepping into the middle of a fight I had neither desire nor the acumen to take part in.
"Now, child!" Baghra ordered as she struck her greywood cane on the floor. Against my will, I flinched at the unexpected sound.
So much for not being a dog, I complained inwardly as I crossed the room as confidently as I could and sat in the chair the Darkling had offered to me. A glance at the tabletop as I composed myself revealed that the General was reviewing reports of some sort. Although I couldn't make out much, I did see 'the Fold' repeated several times in the wall of handwritten text.
"Do your eyes always tend to wander?" The Darkling asked pointedly as he turned the papers before him on their face and moved them farther towards the middle of the table.
"Only to things I'm interested in taking," I answered without thinking as I turned my attention back to him.
"I'll keep that in mind," the Darkling said lightly, another hint of a smile raising the corner of his mouth. It vanished when Baghra scoffed derisively.
"You're in a pleasant mood today," I drawled, earning a glower from the severe Grisha across from me.
"I didn't leave the warmth of my home to watch such nonsense," Baghra snapped, her skeletal hands curling tightly around the head of her awful cane. "You were asked here to have an important discussion, not so you could bat your eyelashes."
I bristled at the admonishment. "That's news to me," I said stiffly.
"Use your head next time, girl," Baghra snipped. I could tell by the look in her stormy eyes that, had there not been a table between us, she would have very much liked to give me a whack with her stick. I returned her glare in equal measure. When the Darkling cleared his throat, I turned my ire away and down the table.
"Baghra and I are of different opinions about how your training should progress going forward," the Darkling said plainly as though he were making a statement about the weather. When I looked back at him, confused, he fixed me with an unreadable stare. "After the attempt on your life," he continued, "I believe that you need to learn how to protect yourself better, and Baghra—"
"—She's not ready," Baghra interrupted vehemently, tapping her cane sharply for emphasis and drawing my attention. "If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times: I will not teach someone to use the Cut at will until they fully embrace who they are. It's a recipe for disaster otherwise."
"She won't have a chance to do that if she's dead," the Darkling growled, his practised mask of self-control slipping. "Or would you rather that twisted zealot, the Apparat, succeed in snuffing out one of our own?"
"Of course not. But teaching her to use the Cut willingly isn't going to help—in fact, it will only make things worse. The only way to put an end to the Apparet's fanatical nonsense is for the girl to stop living in denial," Baghra spat, the words aimed directly at me. Even though she was scowling, I could see some strange mix of disappointment and pity surfacing in her that made me feel small, like a child.
"I know who I am," I answered sharply, even though the way my heart clenched with shame confirmed I had lied.
"And what are you, then?" Baghra challenged as though she knew I wasn't as strong in my convictions as I pretended to be.
As when the Darkling asked me the same question in the Grisha pavilion, I wanted to say so many things to prove Baghra wrong, but my tongue suddenly felt like lead in my mouth. And while she stared me down, her bleak grey eyes boring down and through my soul, I knew that I couldn't give her the answer she wanted. I was a thief, a foundling, a no one—I was anything and everything… Except a Grisha.
"Just as I thought," Baghra frowned when I failed to answer. "You've made great progress with me, but you're purposefully holding yourself back," she explained when I stiffened with guilt. "So long as you insist on denying yourself your full potential, I can't help you."
"Won't help," the Darkling corrected, the resentment roiling beneath the matter-of-factness in his voice halting.
"I know a lost cause when I see one," Baghra responded as she met the Darkling's pointed look, an unusual twinge of regret lessening the proud jut of her chin.
Even though I knew better than to insert myself into an argument above my weight class, I couldn't stop myself from saying something in my own defence. "I'm not a lost cause," I fumed, my interjection a surprise to both Baghra and the Darkling.
"Oh?" Baghra sneered, fixing the force of her desolate eyes on me, any trace of softness that had crept upon her vanishing. "Prove it, then," she goaded as she leaned back in her chair imperiously. "Frighten me with your power, like you did the Queen."
Against my will, I felt my face burn with a fresh flush of embarrassment and anger. "You know I can't," I hissed quietly. Ever since my audience with the King, at each lesson I had with Baghra, she had pushed me to reproduce that spontaneous and magnificent display of summoning prowess. And even though we worked together for hours on end, to the point that I became physically and mentally exhausted, I could never manage anything nearly as impressive. Even when I tried to practice on my own, away from Baghra's constant belittling and horrid cane, I still could only manage what amounted to useless parlour tricks. If the Queen could see me now, she'd laugh in my face.
"Yes, I do. And I'm sure I know exactly why," Baghra taunted as though she was trying to make me angry.
"You don't know anything about me," I answered flatly, on the defensive.
"Something happened to you when you were a child, didn't it?" The aged and faded woman across from me pressed ruthlessly. Had I more sense about myself, I would have noticed that she seemed to be speaking from experience, but my building rage blinded me to the nuances of her voice.
"That's not your business," I seethed, each syllable Baghra hurled at me plucking on my long-buried wounds like the strings of an over-tensioned balalaika. And, as my temper finally ran away from me, I was all too willing to echo back the melody she wanted to hear.
"And it scarred you so deeply," Baghra mused scathingly, egging me on as she drowned out my protests, "that you won't even acknowledge what you are—"
"—Shut up—"
"—A Shadow Summoner—"
"—I said shut up—"
"—A Grisha—"
"I'm not Grisha!" I spat reflexively as I slammed my fists on the table in exasperation, tendrils of shadow snaking out from my clenched hands. As I glanced down and caught myself with a flinching gasp, the skeins of darkness dissipated instantly, leaving nothing behind but the sting of my humiliation.
"Hm," Baghra huffed, the sound of her disparaging satisfaction tainted by another flash of disappointment. I couldn't make myself look at her as she glared at me: I was too busy cringing under the sudden and uncomfortable weight of the kefta I wore.
"There you have it," Baghra continued relentlessly, "that is why I won't teach her as you want."
"Then I'll teach her myself," the Darkling replied calmly—coolly even, as though he were trying to save face after watching me make such a fool of myself. Even so, I whipped my head up to look at him, wide-eyed and stunned, as if he had shouted. The Darkling had been rather hands-off towards my training since I arrived at the Little Palace and, honestly, I had preferred it that way. I didn't want the Darkling—the only other Shadow Summoner in the world—to see that I was failing at what, according to him and the rest of the world, should have been as natural to me as breathing.
"You're a fool, boy," Baghra barked, turning her venom on him without hesitation. "Summoning fuelled purely by emotional extremes is dangerous. Have I taught you nothing!?"
"You taught me plenty, old woman," the Darkling retorted, his clear grey eyes flashing dangerously.
For a moment, I thought Baghra was going to lash out at the Darkling with her cane, but, instead, her thin lips pursed into a line so hard they practically disappeared from her face. The moment of silence that then descended over the war room was tense and uncomfortable; I could only watch, dazed, as the Darkling and Baghra stared each other down, the unspoken argument that raged between them clearly about more than just my lessons.
After what felt like a long while, Baghra looked away in frustrated capitulation before rising to loom over the table. "Don't come snivelling back to me when you realise your mistake," she snipped contemptuously at the Darkling, her bleak eyes narrowed angrily as she briskly left the room, disappearing through a nearly-hidden exit along the back wall.
As the door clicked shut, leaving the Darkling and me alone, I unconsciously let out a small sigh to release the tightness that lingered in my chest. As usual: what an utter fucking disaster, I lamented internally. The urge to cradle my head in my hand was strong, but I forced myself to resist as I became acutely aware of the presence of the man on my right.
"She's wrong," the Darkling said bluntly as he reclined in his chair, drawing my attention back to him. Seeing him suddenly in repose made me realise how stiffly he has been sitting in Baghra's presence, like a child at attention while under the eye of an overbearing parent.
So much for Baghra being 'impressed' by my progress… "About what: that I'm a waste of time or that I'm delusional?" I asked incredulously.
The Darkling regarded me for a moment with his head tilted ever so slightly as if he was seeing me in some new way. "About both things," he said simply, the statement oddly emphatic despite his usual aloofness.
Which one of us is delusional now? "I appreciate that you're trying to spare my pride, but I know you don't mean that," I deflected with a scoff of a laugh. Although I was playing it off as if I was fine, a tide of self-consciousness was welling up inside my chest, threatening to drown me. Baghra hadn't even laid a finger on me, yet I felt as if she had stripped me naked, exposing all of my flaws and shortcomings (beyond those I advertised) for the Darkling's judgement. And even though I shouldn't have cared, I found myself nervous that he might not like the mess of me that Baghra left for him to sort out.
"I wouldn't lie to you about something like that," the Darkling replied easily, though he still regarded me curiously. "What Baghra said was out of line."
But, unfortunately, not untrue. "I'm sure she would disagree with you on that," I countered as I relaxed a little in my seat and fiddled with my favourite ring. Fidgeting was the only thing keeping me from bolting out of the war room. It also kept me from trying to decode the strange mix of hardness and intrigue that lingered in the Darkling's cold, gem-like eyes.
"She and I disagree on a lot of things," the Darkling answered wryly, the unrestrained bitterness nipped at the fringes of his words halting.
I pretended not to notice that anything was amiss. "Believe it or not, I did catch that," I said impishly. Not looking up from my hands, I spun the moon-emblazoned gold band carefully around my left middle finger, naming the lunar phases in my head as I went. New moon, waxing crescent, first quarter, waxing gibbous…
"I'd be more concerned if you hadn't," the Darkling said back after a breath of a pause, the elusive sound of a smile chasing away the remnants of cynicism in his tone.
Without thinking, I looked up at the Darkling to catch a glimpse of the gentleness I heard in his voice—and instantly regretted my carelessness. The Darkling's tone may have softened, but his expression had not: there was still a clinicality lingering in his stare as if he merely considered me a pointlessly complex problem in need of solving. "Right," I murmured a little too curtly, stung by his unabashed coldness. As I pushed my ring back into place, I felt the Darkling's gaze fall on my hands and immediately hid them in my lap beneath the table. I didn't want him to notice just how weak I was acting under his scrutiny.
"We'll begin tomorrow," the Darkling said brusquely as a small frown darkened his perfect brow. I'd finally managed to insult him, though I wasn't sure exactly how. "Someone will come to collect you in the morning," he dismissed offhandedly as he reached for the stack of papers he had been reading and began to pour over them again, ignoring me.
Stunned, I glared at the Darkling for half a heartbeat, hoping that he could feel the blades of the mental daggers I was lobbing at him. If he did, he never showed it. "That's it?" I asked sharply when the Darkling didn't so much as glance at me.
"What else did you expect?" He drawled after a pause, still not looking at me.
"Not to be treated like a sack of potatoes," I replied frostily.
"I see. Would you rather I coddled you?" The Darkling inquired just as icily.
I baulked at that. "Not if I can help it."
"Then what's the issue?" He asked pointedly, his temper flaring as he glared up at me. "I have work to do before I can devote my time to your training. If you haven't forgotten, I am the General of the Second Army, and these frontline reports need dealing with—unless, that is, you'd rather the Fjerdans attempt to push, unabated, across our northern border?"
I knew he was lying about the threat of a Fjerdan attack, but I bit my tongue (one of the few smart decisions I've probably ever made). Ravka was in the midst of a war with Fjerda and Shu Han, so while the lie was an easy one for the Darkling to fall back on, it only made me more curious as to what he was really doing. The Shadow Fold grew, little by little, every year since its appearance nearly four hundred years ago, but aside from being a terrible inconvenience and a home to the worst kind of monsters, it was of minimal import outside Ravka. So he must have had an entirely different—and perhaps personal—reason for requiring so many detailed field reports on it.
"Of course not," I smarmed back, hiding my true thoughts behind a dark glower. "I may be a thief, but I'm also Ravkan—or does the Black General believe me to be a traitor to my homeland?"
"You were a thief," the Darkling corrected distinctly, his beautiful slate eyes narrowing to return the force of my stare.
"On that, I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree," I rebutted dryly.
"There's nothing to disagree about: regardless of what you like to call yourself, you are, first and foremost, a Grisha," the Darkling said unbendingly as he returned to reading the papers in his hands. "You always have been, and you always will be," he muttered absently in closing, clearly dismissing me via his obvious distraction.
I wasn't sure what angered me more: that the Darkling was deliberately ignoring me at that moment or that he was so callously ignoring me as a whole. "Baghra was right about one thing," I spitefully lashed out as I stood up abruptly from my seat.
The clattering of my chair skidding backwards seemed to force the Darkling out of his head: his eyes jerked upwards to meet mine, the stern look he fixed me with as intense as my indignation. "And what is that?" He asked calmly—dangerously, even, as if he were daring me to keep speaking.
"You are a fool," I answered viciously before storming out of the war room.
o-o-o-o
I had spent the remainder of the day sequestered in my rooms, catching up on the reading Behrad had assigned to me before I ended up in the infirmary. However, it was debatable how much of the dissertation on odinakovost and etovost I absorbed by the time I turned in for the evening because, even though my eyes were skimming the pages line by line, I was mentally miles away. For hours, I ruminated on everything that had taken place earlier in the war room, oscillating between feeling furious, embarrassed, anxious, and bewildered over the general disaster that had resulted. Needless to say, the conflict of my emotions made for yet another restless night. So, even though I was expecting a knock at my door at some point the next morning, I was still startled when it came (and at an absurd hour, I might add).
"Whoever it is, go away," I snapped in the direction of the door as I shot up from under the covers, the gilded letter opener once again clenched in my fist. After struggling to fall asleep all night, I had finally managed to doze off what felt like only seconds ago. Understandably, I didn't appreciate such a disturbance.
"I will not go away, young lady," the unmistakable and unwelcome voice of Ms Orlov barked right back. "Open this door at once or, Saints help me—"
"—You'll what? Break it down?" I interrupted with a sneer, my mood unusually foul. "Please, no. I'm terrified," I taunted blandly asI flopped back onto the pillows and tried to get comfortable again.
"Don't be ridiculous, you silly girl," came the hag's chillingly serene, albeit slightly muffled, answer. "Rather, I'll bring the Darkling up to fetch you himself and see how that adjusts your attitude."
That gave me pause. As much as I wanted to tell the witch to shove her threats where the sun didn't shine, I decidedly held my tongue. Something about her tone, although overly sweet, told me that she was being very, very serious, and the last thing I wanted after how the Darkling and I had parted ways was to make him even angrier with me.
So, when I didn't riposte with another snarky witticism, Ms Orlov pressed the attack. "Open this door, child. Now," she instructed flatly.
"I hate you," I hissed as I rolled unceremoniously out of bed, letter knife in hand. After stashing my 'weapon' back in its usual spot and hastily donning my robe, I shuffled over to the doors and opened one. Ms Orlov was standing there, glaring at me, in all her ogrish horror.
"I heard that," she said coolly as she blustered past me into the dark of my rooms. Although I knew she couldn't see in the blackness as I could, she managed to make her way over to the window without bumping into anything and violently cast open the curtains. As I followed her back inside and closed the door behind me, I winced and blinked as the light of the early morning flooded the space.
"Was that necessary?" I grumped as my eyes adjusted to the sudden change in brightness.
"Yes," the harpy grinned shrewdly as she disappeared into the bathroom. A moment later, after the sound of running water filled the air, she reappeared and gently tugged on the tasselled bell-pull next to the bed. "I have arranged for breakfast to be brought up for you," she stated as she paused to glare at me down her cronish nose. "You have twenty minutes to bathe, following which you will dress for an audience with the Darkling and finish your meal. I will return to escort you downstairs in one hour."
"And if I don't do any of that and go back to sleep instead?" I mused petulantly, not moving from where I stood before the door. Although I knew I didn't look very imposing in my nightclothes, hair mussed and eyes squinting, I wasn't just going to let the old biddy boss me around.
"Then I will bring you downstairs as you are," she replied, unperturbed. "The choice is yours, miss," she finished snidely before breezing past me and back out into the hall, leaving me alone again.
When Ms Orlov returned (in exactly one hour), I was, despite the railing of my better self, bathed, dressed, and fed.
"Hm," the gargoyle sniffed pompously as she stood in the open doorway, waiting for me to get up from my seat before the small fireplace.
"Don't look so pleased with yourself," I quipped as I set down my tea and rose to go meet the beldam. When I stopped before Ms Orlov, she looked me up and down, her thin lips pursing into a tighter and tiger line as if she was upset to find no fault with my appearance.
"I suppose you'll do as you are," the old bag sniffed before marching away down the hall, clearly intending for me to follow after her.
For half a second, I debated turning on my heel and going straight back into my rooms to spend the rest of the day in bed. But when Ms Orlov stopped to turn and fix me with a reproachful glare, I decided it wasn't worth the trouble to make her that angry. Sighing (a little overdramatically, I will admit), I closed the door behind me and went to follow after her. I tried not to flinch when my two oprichniki shadows fell into step behind me, but no matter how many times I felt their presence at my back, I still found it unnerving to have them so close to me when out in the open.
Following in the grey gorgon's wake, I let her lead me through the nearly identical hallways, unsure of where we were headed. At first, I thought she was taking me down to the domed hall, but when we avoided that part of the Little Palace altogether, I lost all hope of knowing where the Darkling intended to meet with me. I walked in silence behind Ms Orlov for a long while, trying to figure out our destination on my own, but as we entered a wing that I had only seen in passing, my curiosity (or perhaps my nerves) got the better of me. "Where are you taking me?" I asked bluntly.
"To your lessons with the Darkling," the old bat answered stiffly. Clearly, Ms Orlov felt escort duty was beneath her.
"Right," I drawled back blandly. "Somewhere along the line, I figured that out on my own. I meant where in the palace—I've never had a reason to come this way before."
"No, you wouldn't have—would you?" The contemptible shrew sneered over her shoulder. "Access to this wing of the Little Palace is privileged," she explained haughtily when I glared blackly at her in return. "These rooms are for the Darkling's personal use."
Of course, they are. "Well, don't I feel special," I said sarcastically as we stopped at the end of the hall before two massive double doors, engraved the same as those to the Darkling's council chambers.
"As you should," Ms Orlov replied pointedly before rapping sharply on the face of a fox engraved on the doors amidst a tangle of vines. We glowered at each other for a heartbeat before a lock clicked open somewhere, and the carline turned to leave.
"I suppose I'll just find my own way back, hm?" I asked at the shrike's ridiculously tight salt-and-pepper as it bobbed stiffly down the hallway with her equally rigid gate.
Ms Orlov didn't stop to look back at me—which was just as well: I was growing to truly hate her wicked, pinched face. "I have no doubt you can manage such a simple task without my aide, miss," she called back over her shoulder, the disdain in her tone scathing.
"Miserable cunt," I cursed under my breath before wrenching open one of the heavy doors, the elegant bone-white pull cold beneath my skin. And although I left space for the two oprichniki at my back to follow me through to the room beyond, instead, they stayed out in the hallway, closing the door behind me with a definitive thunk.
I stood on the threshold of a large hexagonal room that was the exact antithesis of the Little Palace's main hall. Where the domed hall was bright and airy, this room was dark and serious, much like the war room. Narrow windows traced the perimeter of the space, high overhead near the domed ceiling, which, unlike its counterpart, was wrought in what looked like obsidian veined with intricate silver scrollwork. The room was spartanly bare for the most part: the only furniture in the space was the long benches that sat against the four sidewalls and a narrow table opposite the entrance. Dozens of thick candles burned in contrastingly delicate silver sconces high overhead, giving an otherworldly glow to the space despite the natural light that streamed in from above.
Standing at the nexus of the room was the Darkling, watching me—his clear, grey eyes piercing with the severity of his focus. For a heartbeat, his countenance took me completely: at once, he seemed both corporeal and intangible, as though he was the embodiment of pure shadow. Darkness seemed to radiate out from him in skeins, swallowing the warmth and light around him completely as if into a void. And although I knew he was a Shadow Summoner—the once supposed only Shadow Summoner—I had never seen his power manifest so literally nor so overwhelmingly.
Against my better senses, I hesitated, awestruck by the Darkling's terrifying glory, as he raised his hands at me in summoning. It was only when he lashed out at me with a twisting bolt of shadow, aimed squarely at my chest, that I remembered myself enough to react. Thankfully, I was able to duck and roll nimbly out of the way of the Darkling's assault, the hours of training I had suffered through with Botkin making my street-fighting skills more graceful than they had been. "What the hell are you doing?" I roared at the Darkling as I fluidly landed back on my feet, my hand instinctively reaching for the dagger that wasn't at my hip.
The Darkling didn't respond. Instead, he lashed out again with another precise attack, sending two ropes of blackness at me in a pincer type manoeuvre, trying to slice into me from both sides. Grunting with the effort, I just managed to jump backwards out of the way. So close had I shaved my retreat that I saw, eyes wide with shock, the two streams of darkness collide into each other mere inches before my nose—right where my head had been. The violence of their impact blew my hair back from my face.
"Are you TRYING to kill me!?" I screamed, somewhere between angry and afraid.
"If you don't want to die, defend yourself," the Darkling ordered coldly as he swept his hand downward in a deadly arch. An impenetrable wave of shadow at least ten feet wide rushed forward in response, speeding towards me like an inky tidal wave.
Taking a bounding start, I barely managed to dive out of the way as the wave of shadow collided against the room's large doors with an audible crash. I landed hard on the wooden floor, skidding a long way on my shoulder. As I scrambled to get back to my feet, I saw out the corner of my eye as the Darkling clenched his fists, gathering shadow about them like writhing coils of snakes. Anticipating that he would strike where I would be if I rose to stand, I instead forced myself into another roll and (luckily) felt the force of the Darkling's next attack go sailing over my head.
"You can't run from me forever, Esfir," the Darkling barked, annoyance colouring his usually composed tone.
"Watch me," I snapped back as I righted myself. I had barely gotten my feet under me before a great lash of pure shadow flew out across the room to strike me square in the gut, the impact cracking with the force of a whip. Flying backwards, I collided with the sidewall and tumbled awkwardly down onto the bench and then the floor, my shoulder taking the brunt of my fall.
"Was that supposed to be intimidating?" The Darkling drawled boredly as I peeled myself up off the floor.
"If I had a knife," I growled as I stood once again, trying not to worry the bruise I could already feel forming on my aching arm, "you'd be dead."
"Second time lucky?" He smirked back, cocky as ever.
"I missed on purpose the first time I tried to kill you," I lied.
"Is that so?" The Darkling scoffed as he easily summoned a floating globe of darkness in his palm. Although it was only the size of an apple, I didn't doubt that the Darkling could use the paltry orb with exacting and deadly effect.
"Yes, and it's a mistake I won't repeat," I hissed bitingly as the Darkling toyed with the shifting sphere of blackness, rolling it about his hand and fingertips with the barest and most casual flick of the wrist. I couldn't help but tense as he did so, anticipating that he would send it flying towards me without warning.
The Darkling cracked a fleeting smile at my threat. "Do you plan to talk me to death?" He asked sarcastically as he caused the summoned shadow hovering about his hand to swell to roughly the diameter of a human head. Inwardly, I quailed a little.
At this point, no: I'd prefer the satisfaction of strangling you. "Why? Am I boring you?" I questioned back jokingly to cover the glance I stole at the grand doors far to my left. The Darkling had managed to chase me away from the exit and effectively block my only way out.
"To make it to the door, you'll have to get past me," the Darkling challenged with a smirk, his clear quartz eyes eerily reflecting the dark energy of the shadows he manipulated.
"That shouldn't be a problem," I smiled back, projecting a swagger of confidence I surely didn't feel. How had the Darkling noticed such a small shift in my focus?
"You know you can't slip past me—I can see you in the shadows," the Darkling said flatly, as though he was annoyed the idea might have crossed my mind.
"Like I would have forgotten that," I replied lazily. "Otherwise, I would have been long gone by now."
"Stop stalling," the Darkling purred with anticipation, his mood as mercurial as always.
"I'm not," I delayed further.
"Then move."
"Or what?"
"I'll make you move," he warned as he motioned to toss the orb he brandished to his other hand, though instead of simply shifting in space, the damnable thing split in two.
Fuck. "This really isn't a fair fight," I complained under my breath as I took another (more obvious) look at the distance between myself and the exit. Even if I ran as fast as I could, there was no way I would be able to get past the Darkling unscathed; any path open to me was in his direct line of fire. And judging by how violently he had already assaulted me, I knew I didn't want to get caught on the receiving end of any further displays of the Darkling's power.
"Just like taking orders isn't one of your specialities, fairness isn't one of mine," the Darkling responded pointedly before further splitting the orb above his right hand into four (slightly) smaller ones. I barely had time to blink before he willed two of the shadowy cannonballs to come speeding towards me, leaving me no choice but to run.
Again, I just managed to dodge out of the way as I bolted for the door, the force of the Darkling's attack colliding with the floor propelling me forward. Unfortunately, this time, I didn't get very far before I felt another one of the void-like orbs come hurtling in my direction. Skidding to a halt, I watched, horrified, as the inky sphere collided with the wall barely a foot ahead of where I was. Had I not stopped, it would have hit me squarely in my already battered shoulder.
"I can keep this up for a lot longer than you can keep evading me," the Darkling growled as he threw the final smaller globe he controlled directly at me. Too slow to react this time, it hit me squarely in the chest, driving me off my feet and back once more into the wall.
The force of the impact knocked the wind right out of me.
Practically paralysed, I crumpled to the floor in a heap. As I finally managed to push myself up to my hands and knees, still struggling to breathe properly, I could only watch as the Darkling looked on me from afar. There was a sad sort of determination in his gaze, as though he had reservations about what he was about to do. Even so, he didn't hesitate before purposefully willing the last and largest orb of shadow he had summoned to come screaming towards my head, a blow that would surely knock me unconscious, if not kill me.
Gasping air back into my lungs, I threw my arms up to shield myself. Eyes crammed shut, I waited, terrified, willing for the Darkling's attack to miss me somehow… But the impact I expected never came. Instead, the force driving the shadows seemed to break around my body, washing over me as little more than a violent rush of air.
Astonished, I dropped my arms to gape at the Darkling. Although the skeins of darkness that had gathered about him like some black aureola had now disappeared, he still looked more magnificent than I had ever seen him. His face seemed to glow with vitality, and his eyes were alight with fire as he impassively met my gawking stare. "You stopped?" I asked, bewildered.
"Of course not," the Darkling replied, sounding insulted.
"Then what—?" I floundered.
"You dissipated the shadows," he said matter-of-factly as if that should have naturally occurred to me.
"I didn't do anything," I refuted as I forced myself to stand once again, my bruised shoulder complaining that I had asked it to assist in the act.
"Whether you recognise it or not, you did," the Darkling said simply. "If anyone else had tried to physically block such an attack, the bones in their arms would have shattered."
I wanted to say a lot of things in response to that, but what I managed to blurt out was: "You actually tried to kill me!"
"Consider us even," the Darkling smiled wryly before turning to walk across the room to the long table against the hexagonal room's back wall. I ran to follow after him, closing the distance between us just as the Darkling poured himself a goblet of water from an icy-looking silver pitcher.
"Fine. We're even," I allowed as he took a deep drink. "But was all that absolutely necessary?"
The Darkling looked at me for a moment before draining his glass and setting it sharply down on the table. "Yes: I was trying to prove a point," he answered nonchalantly.
"Which is what, exactly?" I fumed. "Because I fail to see the relevance of you trying to send me back to the infirmary."
"My point is that Baghra was wrong to doubt you," the Darkling replied, the barest suggestion of ardency in his tone arresting. "When you don't get caught up in your assumptions about yourself, you're instinctually as capable—if not more so—than Grisha with decades of experience wielding their power." The snarky retorts I had prepared to fire back with withered on my tongue. Seeming to sense this, the Darkling continued. "And if it takes my sending you to the infirmary every day for the next year to get you to believe that, then so be it."
I cringed inwardly as the words the Darkling was saying clashed with the carefully constructed worldview that had served to protect me since I was small. "But I was frightened just now," I said hurriedly in denial, "and Baghra said—"
"—Emotion drives all Grisha on some level," the Darkling interrupted, a touch of anger nipping at his dismissal of my excuses. "The difference is being able to keep yourself from being overwhelmed by it. Baghra knows that as well as I do."
"I lost my temper yesterday," I continued, desperately clinging to what I believed about myself. "You saw what happened."
"Anyone would lose their temper after being told they're a waste of someone's time," the Darkling pointed out. "Baghra is a cantankerous harridan at times," he muttered knowingly before pouring himself another drink. When he picked up his goblet and paused to look into its depths, I had the feeling he wished it contained something stronger than water. "She provoked you intentionally yesterday to justify herself," he finished curtly before taking another long drink.
I hated that I couldn't tell the Darkling that he was wrong. Baghra was a prickly bitch at times, and her behaviour in the war room the day previous wasn't anything special. She frequently belittled and irritated me during our time training together, as if she enjoyed pushing my buttons. I didn't usually rise to her insults and threats, but yesterday… I wasn't sure what came over me. Perhaps it was because I wasn't expecting to see Baghra there, next to the Darkling, that I had let her get on my nerves so easily. Or, maybe, it was because of the stress I'd been under lately that I hadn't been able to brush her off as I usually did. But, regardless, I'd let Baghra get right under my skin—just like she'd intended to—and, somehow, that made the horrible (and true) things she'd said about me sting even worse.
"You look pensive," the Darkling observed calmly as he relinquished his glass and leaned against the table, his contrapposto pose accentuating the subtle yet sublime strength of his body.
I wanted to laugh off his apparent concern by cracking a joke about how I was actually just in pain (my shoulder did ache something awful), but I couldn't make the words come out. "I just don't understand why you care," I sighed heavily instead, the statement tumbling out against my will.
"About what?" The Darkling asked back, his usually hard grey eyes softened by the genuine hint of confusion that overtook him.
"About everything," I said, both exasperated and overwhelmed that I had to explain myself further.
"You'll have to be a little more specific than that," the Darkling prodded, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he righted himself to take a cautious yet deliberate step towards me.
"I mean everything," I began to ramble. "Why do you care about Baghra and lessons and clothes and the King and—"
"—You?" The Darkling interjected so calmly I nearly mistook the candidness in his voice for kindness.
I faltered at that despite myself, a lump of emotion unexpectedly tightening my throat. "Yes," I eventually conceded when the feeling passed, already too far along such a sensitive line of questioning to take my words back (even though I would have liked to). "Why do you care?" I repeated sincerely, a blush unexpectedly burning in my cheeks.
The Darkling considered that for a long moment, the slightest of frowns darkening his perfect face. "The reason changes from day to day," he eventually answered evasively.
"But that's exactly my point: there's no real reason for any of this," I stressed with a scoff of disbelieving laughter. "For all the time and effort you've wasted, I'm still the same as I was when we met… It would have been so much easier if you had just left me in Kribirsk—or killed me if that would have made you happier."
"There was a time when it would have," the Darkling chuckled, the rich sound of his laughter catching me by surprise. How I loved the sound of his happiness… "But," he continued somewhat impishly when I fixed him with a displeased glare to try and save face, "I find now that I'm glad I decided—against my better judgement, I might add—to let you live."
"Was I really that close to meeting the ferryman?" I asked drolly. For all my blustering about not being afraid of dying, I wasn't eager to prematurely exit the realm of the living. I knew that I had come close to tying a noose around my neck back then, but I didn't think the Darkling was that close to releasing the trap door.
"Yes," the Darkling nodded solemnly as he took another step towards me, shrinking the distance between us. "The day you left for Os Alta, I fully intended to have you executed, but, instead, I decided to test you in the Grisha pavilion."
"What?" I breathed, well and truly stunned.
"Truthfully, I didn't plan on seeing you again after sending you to the brig," the Darkling explained as a strange look lighted on his face as if he couldn't even comprehend why he was telling me any of this. "But after I had you escorted away… I couldn't stop wondering," he murmured, suddenly sounding angry with himself for being so sentimental.
"About what?" I asked tentatively, unsure if I should feel hurt or moved by the Darkling's sudden show of feeling.
"About what you could be," he answered with a sardonic sort of half-grin. "I told myself you were crass and brazen and arrogant and difficult and that the logical thing to do was to get rid of you. After all, you'd stolen from me and tried to kill me, so what purpose could you have beyond being made an example of?" The Darkling said in a rush before pausing to rein himself back towards composure. "And yet," he went on more evenly, taking a final stride to stand directly before me, "the more I tried to convince myself to be rational, the more I realised that killing you would be a waste."
"As smart as you think you are, you couldn't have known what would happen if—when—you tested me," I countered jokingly to try and lighten the tension between us, which sent my heart pounding in my chest. Even though I pretended not to notice, I was hyper-aware of the Darkling's nearness and how it resurrected in me the foolish and naïve girl who never failed to appear when I least wanted her to.
Another rueful smirk lighted on the Darkling's lips, highlighting the conflict in him that once again pinched his brow with the smallest of frowns. He was angry with himself for being so vulnerable towards me, I recognised with some bitterness. He hated that I was making him feel. "I didn't need to test you. I've always known what you are," the Darkling admitted, his grey eyes intense with the depth of emotion he was trying to contain behind his usual mask of indifference. "I wanted—want," the Darkling corrected with unexpected fervency, "for you to see for yourself that you're…" He then trailed off, his sudden hesitancy to continue shockingly boyish.
"Grisha?" I offered wryly, the word unpleasant in my mouth.
"Yes," the Darkling agreed, though the quickness with which he replied told me instantly that wasn't what he'd intended to say at all.
"So that's why you care? Because I'm Grisha?" I couldn't help but smile cynically, the simplicity of his reasoning almost as laughable as it was infallible.
"I think that's as good a reason as any," the Darkling answered with an audible shrug, still standing too close for comfort.
"Forgive me for not believing you," I muttered with a jaded sort of humour before walking past him to the table along the wall. To hide the shaking of my hands, I poured myself some water even though I wasn't thirsty. The pitcher's weight aggravated my bruised shoulder, but I was thankful for the pain: it distracted me from the tickling of the butterflies in my stomach.
For a moment, the Darkling was silent. I could feel his eyes on my back as I forced myself to take a deep drink from the filigreed goblet I held, clutched desperately in my hand like a talisman against the foolishness of my feelings. "Why don't you trust me?" He then suddenly asked with the same air of accident as when I had questioned his motives earlier.
"I don't trust anyone," I responded unemotionally to the wall, trying desperately to keep my guard up.
"But I'm not just 'anyone'."
Never 'just anyone'… "No."
"I'm the Darkling."
Rather, a poignant reminder… "Yes."
"The most feared Grisha in all of Ravka."
Of all the pain I've had to bury… "Yes."
"A Shadow Summoner—like you."
And all the truths I've tried so hard to outrun. "Yes."
"So you especially don't trust me," he observed a little too keenly for my liking.
I let out a small laugh, thankful the Darkling kept his distance and couldn't see the troubled half-smile I wore. "Especially not," I agreed quietly before draining the last straggling drops of water from my glass and setting the thing down.
If I had breathed at the wrong moment, I would have missed hearing the small, sharp intake of air the Darkling made after I spoke. I'd hurt him. "I hoped that you might have changed your mind about me by now," he said easily, though I knew better.
I wanted to tell him not to waste time waiting for the impossible—that I wouldn't be taken in easily by a few sweet words and gifts from such a powerful man… But a tiny part of me (that starry-eyed girl) wanted to believe the small gestures of kindness and confidence the Darkling had made towards me were motivated by good intentions. Turning to face him without thinking, I found the Darkling standing, almost stoically, still at a distance, regarding me with his usual aloofness. But I could easily see in his clear, quartz eyes the pain that I'd heard in his breath, and it was as good as a knife in my heart. "Not yet," I finally managed to reply, unable to stop a measure of regret from seeping into what I intended to be a noncommittal reply.
"Then I suppose I'll just have to be patient," the Darkling conceded, the calm confidence in his voice as forced as the way he was holding himself at bay.
I was just about to open my mouth to say something—anything, maybe even apologise—when one of the great doors across the room swung open, interrupting me. In an instant, the intimacy that had occupied the short distance between us vanished, leaving me feeling horribly empty.
Without delay, a grey-clad servant sprinted unceremoniously into the room and made a beeline for the Darkling, stopping before him with an air of urgency. I could tell by the red in his cheeks and the sloppiness of his small excusatory bow that he had been running for a long time to find his master. "Sir," the young man huffed as he tried to remain as composed as possible, "an invitation for you—from the King." Here he more formally presented the small silver tray he clutched, showcasing a piece of fine parchment bearing the Ravkan double eagle in gold foil and an intricately carved obsidian letter opener.
The Darkling glared sceptically at the folded missive before taking it, along with the letter knife. "Thank you," he muttered offhandedly before deftly splitting open the pale-blue wax seal on the back of the parchment and replacing the stone dagger on the servant's tray. A moment of quiet passed, the Darkling's expression unreadable, before he discarded the letter. "Hmph," he grunted, the nearly imperceptible sound conveying the true depth of his sudden annoyance, "it appears we will be required to make another trip to the Grand Palace."
"'We'?" I repeated dubiously. There had to be some mistake: the King and Queen (not to mention that leech, the Apparat) had made it quite clear that I wasn't particularly welcome in their presence.
"That will be all," the Darkling said brusquely, dismissing the servant away with a wave before turning back to me. "Yes, 'we'," he repeated as he met my quizzical stare. "Our obligations at court are exhausting, but they are a necessary evil."
"I already put on a dog and pony show for those pompous toffs," I hissed treasonously once I was sure the servant was out of earshot, "and I have no intention of doing it again."
"You won't have to," he assured me. "This won't be that kind of occasion."
"Then why am I needed?" I asked, still completely lost. "You're the Darkling. I'm just… Me."
"Because we are the face of the Second Army," he explained pointedly. "And the two most powerful Grisha in the world need to be present to welcome the King's second son home."