WARNING: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence and gore. Please read at your own discretion.
Seven
"Esfir, are you listening to me?" Behrad asked sharply as he snapped closed the tome he held, jarring me out of my reverie.
"Of course," I said quickly and without thinking. Focusing back on the Scholar, I tried to recall what I last remembered him droning on about before I drifted off. Try as I might, I found myself at a complete loss. "You were, uh," I stumbled, "describing the difference between—"
"—I asked you a question," he drawled, unimpressed, "about how your lessons are going. With the Darkling," he pointedly clarified when I didn't answer promptly.
I stared blankly at Behrad for a moment longer, worried he had somehow figured out how to read my mind. "Fine," I breathed to break the awkward silence, all the while trying to keep my face composed despite the girlish blush that rose like fire in my cheeks. "Fine," I repeated when the Scholar's eyes narrowed shrewdly behind his small, circular glasses. "I'm making… Progress," I smiled, lying. "He's an excellent teacher."
By way of response, Behrad glared at me sceptically for a long moment before clearing his throat and opening his book once again. "Now, since I have your attention, let us resume discussing the very important difference between…" Tuning out immediately, I once again lost myself in daydreaming about Sturmhond's—Prince Nikolai's—'welcome home' ball. Not because of Nikolai, mind you, or the shampanskoye, or the food, or the laughably ridiculous parade of flamboyant aristocrats, but because of the Darkling.
Because of Aleksander.
No matter how hard I tried to distract myself, I kept thinking back to that fleeting moment when he and I were standing closer than we'd ever been before. Even though the ballroom had been drowned in music and conversation, I could clearly remember hearing the even rhythm of his breathing. I could still feel the power of his body beneath my fingers, smell the subtle perfume of his skin… But, most of all, I couldn't stop thinking about how I had felt in his mere presence: delicate, trembling, eager. And I hated it. I hated how vulnerable Aleksander made me feel—a sensation I hadn't known since Naum and Kisenya died nearly fifteen years ago.
What was worse, though, was that I found myself wanting to feel that way again.
"Alright," Behrad tsked, frustrated, "I've had quite enough of this."
"Enough of what?" I asked innocently, once again brought violently out of my thoughts.
"You," the Durast replied distinctly, though not meanly. "Something other than the nuances between Grisha and otkazat'sya steel has your attention today."
Well, when you're right… "I'm sorry, Behrad," I apologised earnestly as I folded my hands over my notebook, hiding the fact that the page I had devoted to today's lecture was still as virgin as it had been more than two hours ago.
"No, no," he placated, if not a little grudgingly, "I know this topic is of little interest outside the Fabrikator workspaces. However, it's important that you understa—"
At that moment, the massive doors to the library creaked open, the sound echoing around the largely silent room and cutting Behrad off mid-sentence. Turning in my chair to face the intruder, I saw a young, grey-clad servant walking briskly towards the Scholar and me. Held in his gloved hands was a small silver tray bearing a single, folded piece of parchment. I didn't have to see the sigil on it to know who had sent it. Stopping before Behrad, the nondescript, brown-haired man inclined his head in greeting and extended the missive towards my tutor. As Behrad took the message, I saw that the paper was crisply emblazoned (as I suspected) with a jet black sun in eclipse.
"Hm," Behrad grumbled as he quickly scanned the note once and then twice as if he was making sure he understood the message correctly. "It would seem our lesson is at an end for today," he sighed, defeated, before tucking the missive into what I could only imagine was a hidden pocket in the sleeve of his kefta.
That gave me pause. "What? Why?" I asked, flustered for no reason. What could Aleksander want from me now?
"My presence is requested in the war room," the Scholar explained vaguely, though I could tell by the stiff set of his brow that he, too, was irked by Aleksander's expectation for others to bend to his every whim.
"Oh," I said flatly, unusually disappointed.
"Yes, I too would rather continue my lecture, but it will have to wait," Behrad agreed, mistaking my sudden glumness for commiseration. "That will be all," he dismissed, offhandedly waving the servant still waiting before him away. The young man bowed his head politely before turning to leave the library and the Scholar and me to collect our things. As the servant passed, however, I couldn't help but notice that he had a very distinctive tear in his ear, a large chunk of the helix missing jaggedly missing. It was odd, I thought, as most of the servants I had seen around the Little Palace were impeccable in their appearance, and, indeed, it appeared that he was trying to hide his scar with his hair. Passingly intrigued, I filed the information away for later.
Not wanting to seem like I was staring, I looked back to Behrad, who was stacking up the various books he had been using for his (failed) lecture. "I guess we'll pick this up tomorrow?" I hedged as I scooped up my notebook from the massive table beneath the library's central glass dome.
"I suppose we will," Behrad smiled with a small, more friendly smile and a respectful dip of his head.
Feeling immediately self-conscious—I would never get used to someone my senior treating me as their better through no merit of my own—I smiled awkwardly in return before hurriedly walking away. And although I had become increasingly accustomed to their near-constant presence, I still flinched as my oprichniki guards, who had been lurking nearby, fell quickly into step behind me, their synchronised footsteps echoing cacophonously around the room.
Even though I didn't know where I was going, I moved with purpose as I then blustered through the hallways of the Little Palace, clutching my notebook to my chest like a shield. For some absurd reason, the fact that Aleksander hadn't called on me to go to the war room hurt. In reality, I knew that his summons of Behrad meant nothing beyond what it was: the General of the Second Army requesting (let's be honest, commanding) an audience with one of his subordinates. Nonetheless, I felt spurned, almost as if he had ignored me deliberately.
Bursting out of a side door as I tried to stuff away the burning feeling of rejection that stabbed at my chest, I found myself on the front grounds of the Little Palace. The gravel roadway leading towards the wooded tunnel and, ultimately, the Grand Palace stretched out ahead of me like a white ribbon through the field of lush, green grass, its sparkling brilliance almost beckoning me to follow along it. It would be so easy to leave, I found myself thinking as I stood, hesitating, on that precipice. Once I was out of Os Alta, I could go anywhere from here: back to Kribirsk if I wanted, or perhaps even farther. I could smuggle myself through the Fold to Os Kervo and, if that didn't suit me, I could cross the True Sea to Ketterdam or all the way to the Southern Colonies—anywhere to get away from Aleksander and these mincing feelings.
That's all well and good, but how far would you actually get? My wiser self chastised as I began to daydream of making a name for myself out in the world far across the sea.
Not far at all, I admitted dismally as I cast a stealthy yet hateful glance over my shoulder at the guards at my back. Although it would be easy for me to slip into the shadows and run from my oprichniki friends before they could even raise their rifles, I knew I wouldn't be able to hide in plain sight forever. Lingering in between the light and the dark for extended periods was exhausting, which was why, on principle, I only ever did it in short bursts—like to slip into a room unnoticed or excuse myself from a sticky situation before it got too out of hand. So with that in mind, I would have to be very lucky to make it to the city's outer wall before I had to phase back into view, and even then, I would be hard-pressed to get much farther. As soon as word spread that I had bolted, every soldier, guard, and Grisha between Os Alta and the Fold would be looking for me. What was worse, though, was that it wouldn't be long before Aleksander would come hunting for me himself—and then I'd be well and truly screwed. There would be nowhere I could hide that he wouldn't be able to find me. And, eventually, he'd cart me off once again to the Little Palace, right back to where I started (and a lot less free to do as I pleased from then on).
Lowering my notebook with a frustrated growl, I turned on my heel and stormed back into the Little Palace, intending to stamp my way up to the Vezda Suite to stew until the late afternoon when I was to train with Botkin. But as I swept violently through the hallways, I was forced to stop when Genya intercepted me in the main foyer.
"Saints, that scowl is terrifying," she observed with a chuckle as I approached.
"Wait until you see me properly angry," I grumbled back.
"What's bothering you?" Genya asked kindly, cutting straight to the point.
"Nothing's bothering me," I denied flatly, trying to sound more agreeable than I felt.
"And I'm a rinca moten," the Tailor replied with a half-smile, clearly not buying my lie. "Spill."
"It's nothing," I repeated obstinately, determined to keep the foolishness of my feelings to myself. "Really," I assured Genya when her burning, ocher eyes narrowed suspiciously, "I just had a… Difficult morning: Behrad's lecture on Grisha steel was utterly pointless."
"Let me be clear: I still don't believe you," she said pointedly, "but if you don't want to talk, I'm not pulling teeth to try and make you. Though, I think David would completely disagree with you about the lecture."
"I'm sure he would if I ever met him," I poked back, happy for the opportunity to change the subject. Although Genya often talked about David (and just as frequently denied being secretly in love with him), I had never met the Durast in person. She'd described him to me once or twice, but I was never really sure how much of the man she had me envisioning was reality and how much was Genya's infatuated perception of him.
A light blush rose in the apples of Genya's perfect cheeks, but otherwise, she remained perfectly composed. "Well, you're in luck," she smiled. "I was just on my way to the Fabrikator workshops; you're welcome to come with me if you like."
"I would, thanks," I agreed, feeling truly a bit more cheerful, "I've never seen the workshops before, either."
"You're in for a treat, then," the Tailor beamed before snatching my notebook away to thrust it at one of the oprichniki standing behind me. "Take this up to Miss Kosilov's rooms," she instructed imperiously.
"But—" The guard sputtered, his voice surprisingly average despite the grunting snarl I always imagined it as. (I'd never heard any of my guards speak before; we never really had much to talk about.)
"—No 'buts'," Genya interrupted with absolute authority. "Just do it, then return to your post," she concluded before linking her arm through mine to lead me away through the Hall of the Golden Dome.
"Where did that come from?" I hissed under my breath in disbelief as we walked. Listening carefully, I could tell that only one set of jackboots was now clomping along behind Genya and me; the other poor bastard must have scurried off down the hall to the Vezda Suite, just as the Tailor had ordered.
"I've always been an expert at bossing people around," she giggled back in a whisper, "though I wasn't sure that would work."
"You're unbelievable," I admonished with a playful shove.
"Tell me something I don't know," she winked as we exited the hexagonal hall and headed in the direction of the library. Moving past the carved, tome-shaped door (which I glared at as we passed), we crossed through a different set of double doors and entered a long, dark hallway. And although we headed left down another branch, a glance over my shoulder to the left revealed a set of two imposing red doors, the lacquer of which reminded me eerily of the wetness of fresh blood.
"What's past those red doors?" I asked Genya as we walked in the opposite direction down a much brighter and less foreboding hallway.
The Tailor shuddered visibly. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice those," she sighed. "They lead to the anatomy rooms. Only Corporalki are allowed inside, and, before you ask, no one outside the order knows what goes on in there."
I closed my mouth, swallowing the question I had been preparing to ask. "Well, that sounds ominous," I replied instead. By the very name, I could imagine what kinds of things the Heartrenders and Healers might get up to within. After all, you had to learn how to fix broken bones or stop the blood flow to someone's head somehow…
"Yes," Genya agreed as we quickened our pace down the remainder of the hallway. Another set of double doors was visible at the end, though these were a far prettier sight to see. Birds and flowers of every shape and size were elegantly carved into the light-coloured wood, their eyes and pistils made of purple and yellow gems, respectively. Two perfectly-sculpted hands served as the door pulls, one of which Genya took hold of to push the door open without hesitation.
The Fabrikator workshops were fascinating. Large windows made up most of the walls, allowing in so much natural light that the working Durasts and Alkemi barely needed any lamps throughout the room. Long and well-used worktables took up most of the space, each heavily burdened with all manner of materials: rolls of fabric; hunks of glass in every colour; spools of copper, silver, and gold wire; lumps of odd-looking rock; jars of what looked like silkworm cocoons; unshaped pieces of steel; precious stones; and vials of liquids of uncountable viscosities. Stacks of vivariums filled one corner of the shop, each small glass box containing some exotic specimen of flower, insect, or reptile that, had I the time, I probably could have lost myself in examining for hours on end. A gentle din of conversation and the sounds of tinkering filled the air, filling me with excitement, even though I knew I would be hopelessly useless in such a setting.
As Genya and I walked through the room, Materialki stopped, here and there, to glance at us over their shoulders. Thankfully, however, they all seemed more interested in their projects than in me, so their scrutiny didn't last long. Eventually, we came to a stop next to a reed-thin man with olive skin, messy black hair, keen brown eyes, and grey embroidery on his kefta. He was bent, hard at work, over several samples of cloth, spools of what looked like steel thread, and a diamond the size of a large fig. He didn't seem to notice us at all.
"Esfir," Genya said after a long pause as the Tailor waited for the Fabrikator to look up from the loupe he was peering through, "this is David Kostyk."
Go figure that someone as gorgeous and fiery as Genya would fall for someone so unassuming and studious… "Nice to meet you," I offered when the Durast remained hunched over, carefully examining one of the many swatches strewn out before him.
I could almost feel Genya cringe next to me. "David tends to get a bit… Focussed," she explained, a light blush rising once again in her perfect cheeks. "It's a shame he's too busy to take a look at your kefta, though," she offered leadingly, her tone conspicuous, "so we'd better go."
While I was at a loss for what my clothes had to do with anything, David dropped his work, spinning around in his chair as though Genya had poked him in the backside with a knife. "Hello," he offered mildly as he looked me up and down, though not in a salacious way. Rather, he was cursorily analysing me as you might a specimen in an experiment.
"Hello, David," Genya replied with the satisfied yet indulgent smile of someone enamoured by another's idiosyncrasies.
"What are you working on?" I asked with genuine curiosity as I motioned to the materials on the table. Sticking to the topic of David's work also seemed like the best way to keep him engaged in human interaction.
David glanced almost longingly at the fabric behind him before looking back at me. "An improved form of corecloth," he said bluntly as he went back to inspecting me, his eyes tracing curiously over the embroidery on my kefta. "How do you like it?" He then inquired unexpectedly.
"Like what?" I asked quizzically, looking to Genya for help only to find her smiling like a cat with a canary.
"Your kefta," David clarified.
"Um, fine, I suppose," I responded slowly, still confused.
"You don't find it too heavy? Or restrictive of your range of motion?" He interrogated further as if collecting data for research notes.
"No, not at all: it wears just like my last one," I said honestly. "Why do you ask?"
"Because it's a prototype," he answered with a hint of pride. "Traditional corecloth is resistant to bullets, but your kefta is special," he went on to explain.
"Meaning…?" I coaxed open-endedly.
"The Darkling recently tasked me with finding a way to extend that resistance to sharp force trauma—specifically knives," he answered again with some self-satisfaction. "I was able to do so, and in quite a short time, I might add, but the process of making this fabric—" here he reached out and plucked at my sleeve "—is too laborious for wide-spread use. I'm still tinkering with the method, of course, to try and simplify its production, but I haven't made any progress as of yet. Though, seeing it in use, I wonder…"
"David is a genius," Genya smiled warmly, her eyes going molten with affection when the Fabrikator trailed off in thought, reaching again for my arm to take it gingerly in his hand and more closely inspect the fabric I wore. "The Darkling relies on him frequently to develop solutions for impossible problems. Did you know that David invented the blue light used on the skiffs to cross the Fold?"
Lost again, I shook my head, allowing the Durast in question to continue looking at my kefta. "I've never crossed the Unsea," I shrugged.
"Really?" Genya asked, genuinely surprised. "I thought you would have, you know, considering that you lived on your own for so long."
"I'd never left Kribirsk until…" I stumbled, not sure if it was common knowledge of how I ended up at the Little Palace. When several other nearby Fabrikators hesitated in their work to better listen, their usually restless hands pausing on their various projects, I knew to continue delicately. "Until the Darkling found me," I finished quickly, eager to change the subject. "What's so special about this 'blue light'?" I asked David deliberately as his hands continued to flit over the final product of his labour.
"It's weak but doesn't emit the same wavelength of light as fire or sunlight," he replied absently, utterly oblivious to the fact that he was perhaps acting a little unorthodox for having just met me.
"And how does that help?" I asked, thinking about the completeness of the darkness within the Fold—something I had dreamed about seeing for myself for so long that I felt I knew it intimately.
"The Volcra aren't attracted to it," David answered distractedly.
"And they're attracted to other light?" I questioned, sounding quite a novice.
"Like moths," Genya shuddered. "No one knows how they can sense it, seeing as those horrible beasts don't have eyes, but lighting a lamp within the Fold is a death sentence. Nine in ten crossing attempts ended in massacre before David figured out a solution."
"And what's the success rate now?" I asked.
"Closer to fifty per cent," the Fabrikator muttered.
I had to suppress a shudder. Zdisek had been lucky to make it to Kribirsk from Os Kervo at all. "Well, that's definitely an improvement."
"I would be happier with a sixty to seventy per cent positive outcome, but I don't have the time to devote to revisiting that project at the moment," the Fabrikator stated frankly as he released my arm and righted himself in his chair. Here, he cast another nervous look over his shoulder at his workstation and the samples of corecloth that waited for him. It wasn't hard to tell that he was more eager to tinker than talk. Looking at Genya, on the other hand, I could see in the gentle set of her eyes that she would have been happy to stand and watch David work all day, regardless of whether he said another word to her or not. I had half a mind to leave her to it, but I suddenly found myself not wanting to be alone. I didn't want to go back to pick at the nagging emotions and thoughts of Aleksander that Genya's presence had chased away.
But just as I was about to suggest that Genya and I go back to my rooms and play more strunnaya igra, wagering the rest of the kvas I had stashed away in my armoire, the doors to the workspace opened. Turning around, I saw the same servant who had delivered Aleksander's missive to Behrad approaching, another silver tray in his hands.
Stopping before me, the young man with the torn ear bowed to me. "For you, miss," he murmured blandly before extending the tray he bore closer to me. Atop it was a curiously plain wooden box, the tiny object smaller than the size of my palm and made of warm, chestnut-brown wood.
I looked at the trinket suspiciously for a moment before casting a questioning glance at Genya, who only shrugged. "Thank you," I replied pleasantly before gingerly taking the box from the tray.
"Will there be anything else, miss?" The young man asked, not meeting my gaze as I quickly looked him over. I may have been imagining it, but I thought I heard a hint of contempt nipping at his voice as he spoke, almost as if he was loathe to be near or talk to me.
I narrowed my eyes at him for a heartbeat before looking down at the box in my hand. It was so plain… What could it be, or be inside it, that it was so important it be brought to me so publicly? "Not at the moment, thanks," I answered courteously, if not a little offhandedly, as I turned the little box over between my fingers, examining it.
"Of course," the young man bowed before immediately turning his back to me and leaving the room. No one other than myself looked up to watch him go.
"Open it," Genya enthused once we were alone again, and the din of Fabrikators hard at work resumed in full.
I glanced sidelong at her before looking back down at the modest little box I held delicately between my hands. "I don't know," I hesitated, turning the container over again to examine it. It was as simple in its construction as in its looks: the lid was held shut with an unadorned, golden sliding clasp and an equally plain hinge at the rear. The tchotchke was expertly put together, and the wood lacquered to a bright sheen, but otherwise, it bore no signature or sign of its maker.
"It must be from the Darkling," Genya pressed, if not a little slyly, her curiosity getting the better of her.
"If it was from A—the Darkling," I caught myself quickly, the distraction the little box caused making my tongue loose, "it would have his insignia on it, or at least have come with a note."
Genya and David shared a look before turning their focus back on me. "Maybe there's a note inside," the Durast offered reasonably, his interest also piqued.
I considered David's statement, the logic of it almost infallible. "Perhaps," I allowed, turning the box over again in my fingers, feeling every inch of it for hidden switches or compartments. I found none. Something about it still didn't sit right with me, though.
"Come on, Esfir: open it," Genya insisted again before bumping me with her shoulder. "My mother always used to say: the best things come in small packages."
"Like what?" I asked pointedly.
"Like jewellery," she retorted as if I should have realised such a thing. "Have you ever seen a diamond ring come in a great, clunky box?"
No, in fact, I hadn't. Letting out a little sigh, I ran my fingers once again over the box's clasp, my heart suddenly thudding in my chest. What if there was something precious inside, like a ring or some other token from Aleksander? Not that I would have expected something like that from him in the first place, but he was full of surprises of his own, it seemed… And, besides, he'd given me gifts before, so it wasn't a stretch to think he might again. Though for what reason he would decide to do so now, I had no idea.
Casting a nervous glance at Genya, who only nodded in encouragement, I resolved myself to open it, writing off the unease that roiled in my stomach as excitement at the surprise. Hopefully, there would be a note inside to explain who the gift was from. Foolishly, I hoped it would end up being from Aleksander.
Holding it carefully with my left hand, I loosed the golden clasp with my right, the sound of metal moving against metal sending a shiver through me. Letting out a small anxious huff of air, I carefully opened the lid only to find myself blasted in the face with a small but violent puff of gritty, acrid dust. Reflexively inhaling a gasp of shock, I dropped the box and reeled as my nose, my throat, my lungs began to burn and itch as if they were being bitten and stung from within by a million angry wasps.
"What was that!?" Genya nearly screeched as I began to cough, and cough, and cough, the Fabrikator workshops now eerily quiet except for the sound of my struggling breaths.
"I don't know," I managed to gasp out.
David shot out of his chair and stooped to my feet, scooping up the box I had dropped to examine it. "It's empty," he observed, the usual clincality in his voice replaced by something edging towards concern.
"I'm sure I'll be fine," I sputtered again, my coughs becoming more racking by the second. Every breath I took in stung as though I was inhaling shards of glass.
"You don't sound alright," Genya fussed, her hands fluttering over me as if trying to find some way to help. "Perhaps I should take you to the infirmary."
"No," I refused before falling into a particularly violent coughing fit, the once dry sound of my lungs struggling for air turning horribly wet. Clamping a hand over my mouth to try and stifle the awful sound, I felt a sudden wetness on my palm that made my body run cold.
"What's wrong?" David demanded as he tucked the small box into a pocket of his purple kefta and took a step closer to me.
Without answering, I pulled my hand away from my face, and I found it coated with a thick splattering of fresh blood.
I was coughing up blood.
"Saints," Genya gasped, panic lighting in her eyes when I looked to her in distress.
"Get her to a Healer," David demanded as the world around me began to spin. I tried to protest but instead dissolved into another wretched fit of coughs. Blood sprayed everywhere despite the hand I clamped down over my mouth to try and contain the mess, staining the front of poor Genya's cream-coloured kefta a garish red. "NOW!" The Durast roared before clamping his hands over my shoulders and forcing me forward.
Vaguely, I was aware of a sudden flurry of activity: the other Fabrikators were now standing all around us, craning for a better look at the action, while Genya, David, and I rushed towards the exit of the workshop. The beautiful, carved doors flung open when Genya shoulder-checked them in her haste, and we burst out into the hallway beyond, our footsteps echoing all around as we ran. I tried to keep up, David's hands forcing me forward as I continued to cough up more and more blood, leaving a trail behind us as we went.
"We're not going to make it to the infirmary," I heard Genya hiss over the roaring that lighted in my ears. Where was she? I wondered as I tried to look around and find the Tailor's face, only to stumble over the sudden weakness in my legs. Thankfully, I didn't fall—thanks to David.
"There's no time," David confirmed, his voice vaguely registering my head as his hands tightened on my shoulders to keep me upright, "we're going to have to—"
"—We can't," Genya insisted frantically.
"Do you want her to die?" David barked. "She can't breathe, Genya!"
The only sound that came next was another gurgling round of my coughs as we careened down the hallway, taking a sudden turn towards those terrible red doors I had spied earlier. I tried to protest, echoing Genya's thoughts that we weren't allowed beyond, but all I could do was cough some more, spraying forth more blood.
"Hurry!" I heard Genya cry. Her voice was strained as we careened towards those doors.
I thought, for a moment, as we neared closer and closer to that wall of what looked like glistening, flayed flesh, that we might break upon them like waves on the shore. But, hazily, I registered instead that we paused, barely a foot before the threshold, and David released me to extend his hands towards that impenetrable barrier. With a mere flick of his wrists, a lock deep within sprang audibly open, and the doors themselves parted wide—much to the apparent surprise of those within. Loud cries of disapproval rang in my ears as we lurched into the anatomy rooms, the Heartrenders and Healers at practice there unwelcoming at best. Dimly, I registered the clinically spartan room and the single massive skylight overhead, casting daylight over the examination slabs, floor drains, and worktables that filled the space.
"You can't be in here!" A familiar voice—Ivan's voice—bellowed over the outraged cries of his fellow Corporalki as we stopped just inside the space. At that moment, another round of coughs threatened to explode out of me, but, to my credit, I managed to keep them locked in my chest.
"Please, we need a Healer!" Genya insisted, her voice several octaves higher than usual.
"Go to the infirmary!" Some unfamiliar person shouted frostily.
"She won't make it," David snapped forcefully, sounding very unlike the mild-mannered man I had met just a short while ago.
"Go to the infirmary," Ivan echoed, motioning to shoo us out of the room as he approached. "You're not supposed—"
"—Please," I rasped out, hanging limply onto both David and Genya as they struggled to support the dead weight of me.
"Get out," Ivan hissed directly at me, his answering glare swimming before my eyes as I looked up at him.
I could barely suck enough air into my lungs to speak. "Please," I repeated, releasing the stranglehold I had on Genya's shoulder to clamp my hand over my mouth once again. An intense wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm me, rocking up through my entire frame like the eruption of a volcano.
"Get out," Ivan snapped furiously, motioning to wrench me up from my slouch. But before he could grab hold of me, I collapsed to my knees before him and spilt my guts out onto the floor. The twisting of my stomach was as painful as a knife wound.
Over and over, I retched, my eyes watering with the effort and pain. When I finally stopped heaving long enough to catch my breath, I opened my eyes to look at the floor before me, and dread hit me like a punch to the gut. A massive pool of blood and bile stretched out before me, lapping at my pallid hands and Ivan's boots like some small lake.
Silence—the eerie silence that comes with pure shock—filled the anatomy rooms then, the completeness of it so still that you could have heard a pin drop. Looking up from the redness staining my ghastly-white hands, I found Ivan still staring at me, his usually shrewd eyes now wide with horror.
That was the last thing I saw before I collapsed, face first, into the puddle of my own waste.
o-o-o-o
I stayed hidden in the shadows under my bed for hours.
The house had gone eerily silent a long time ago, but I didn't dare move—not until Naum or Kseniya came to fetch me.
… But neither of them ever did.
o-o-o-o
Vaguely, I was aware of the feeling of being hoisted through the air like a doll, then laid out prone on some hard, unpleasant surface.
Voices shouted all around me, their words a muddle.
Hands were at my wrists, my throat, my face—delicately prodding, poking, searching… For what I didn't know. I tried to fight them off, but my arms were so weak. So, so weak…
I could barely breathe, each rasping inhale a challenge, as though there was a weight on my chest and water in my lungs.
Someone shouted again, closer this time, their voice tight with panic.
I tried to ask what was wrong, but the words wouldn't come out. It was too hard to speak—it took too much air, too much effort to force my leaden tongue to work.
Mercifully, blackness overtook me.
o-o-o-o
Eventually, my fear overwhelmed my better judgement.
Crawling out from under my tiny, single bed, I quietly crept my way through the house.
Everything was still—like a graveyard.
The table where we had been sharing our meal was overturned, the food and earthenware smashed across the floor. Chairs were upended and broken. The sitting area by our fireplace—the fireplace that had been warm and alive and welcoming—was dark and in ruins. And there was no sign of my family.
Afraid to make a sound, I searched the rest of the house for them. But Kseniya and Naum were nowhere to be found: not in their ruined bedroom, with their shared double bed, nor in the ravaged storage closet at the back of our little home.
I had heard the strange men Kseniya had hidden me from, who Naum had been arguing with, as they had pillaged our farmhouse. They had nearly found me when they ripped the straw mattress off of my bed, shredding it as though someone or something might be hiding inside. One of them had even looked under my bed, making my little heart stop in my chest from terror. No one can see you if you don't want to be found, I told myself over and over again. And, as always, his searching, beady eyes had bored through me without seeing.
o-o-o-o
More shouting broke through the darkness behind my eyes, dragging me out of the quiet.
So many voices were overlapping all around me, their words a frantic, unintelligible buzzing in my ears.
Then, a hand, soft and cool, lighted on my cheek, the touch gentle. Tender.
I tried so hard to open my eyes, to look up at whoever was caressing my face, their voice a glassy current beneath the tumult that surrounded. The words were calm but urgent and spoken so quietly that I wasn't sure the sound was real.
Exhausted, I fell back beneath the blackness and slept.
o-o-o-o
"Naum?" I called quietly as I walked back through our ruined home, towards the front door which had been wrenched off its hinges. "Kseniya?" I tried again, my eyes burning with tears.
The yard outside was as deathly quiet as the house.
Ice slid down my spine as I cautiously walked out into the night, my eyes unhindered by the darkness. The barn doors were cast wide, but no sounds came from within. The oxen weren't lowing. The pigs weren't snuffling. The horses weren't nickering. The chickens weren't cackling. Nothing.
Not a sound.
I paused just outside the towering double doors, the silence lingering within that yawning, black opening more terrifying than the sounds of screaming and destruction that had assaulted me throughout the night.
o-o-o-o
The feeling of weightlessness.
The absence of the hardness against my back.
Then falling, falling…
Into softness.
Into nothingness.
o-o-o-o
It felt like forever before I worked up the courage to go inside the barn.
But I quickly wished I hadn't.
Through the blackness, I could see that the floor was a river of red. All of our animals—the gentle souls that Naum had cared for so—had been slaughtered where they stood. The smell of excrement and blood filled the air like a tangible cloud, choking out the scream that was building in my chest.
For, hanging by their necks, side by side in the rafters, were the only parents I had ever known.
Their eyes had been gouged from their heads, the gaping, black holes left behind weeping steady, thick tears of blood. Their limbs were broken to odd angles. Their skin, where it wasn't flayed from their bodies, was grey in the single beam of moonlight that dared pierce the hellscape contained within the barn.
Naum. Kseniya. Dead.
They were dead because they had hidden me.
They were dead because of me.
o-o-o-o
"Pass me the broth—she's conscious enough for it now," a familiar voice murmured before a strong hand gently wrapped around the back of my neck, lifting me upright as though I were a child.
Something warm then pressed against my mouth, parting my lips. Liquid rushed in to fill the void; I swallowed it limply. Once, then twice, then three times.
Then the hand—the strength of that arm—lowered me back into softness.
Sleep rushed over me, dragging me back into dreams.
o-o-o-o
"There you are, girlie," an unfamiliar voice rasped from behind me.
Whirling, I found myself faced with the beady-eyed man who had stared through me as I hid under my bed.
I tried to scream, but I was frozen.
o-o-o-o
"I need to break her fever, but unless—"
"—Put her farther under."
"But if I do that, she could die. She's been under for so long that I'm afraid—"
"—Do it."
"Yes, moi soverenyi."
o-o-o-o
He chased me through the wheat fields, overtaking me quickly.
Tears poured down my face as he dragged me by my ankle, kicking and screaming, back towards the barn.
And when he raised his knife to gut me like a fish, I raised my arms to shield myself, praying by some miracle that he would stop—that I could stop him.
Power seemed to erupt from me, dark and familiar, in a tangible, deadly arch. And then the world went quiet.
Wrenching open my eyes, I saw the man who loomed over me like some monster from a fairytale. His blade arm was raised to strike, but his eyes were glazed, his face weeping blood in a fine line that ran from one ear to the other, right across his nose.
An eternity passed before he shuddered, the squelching sound that issued from him enough to make my skin run cold. Then slowly—so slowly—he fell apart; his arm, his torso, the top of his head, toppling away from each other like the bricks of a poorly-made house.
Blood and entrails washed over me in a tide, spilling forth to cover me in a sticky, steaming warmth so foul that I instantly vomited.
Then, finally, I found my lungs and screamed.
o-o-o-o
The smell of night—of cutting, winter winds; of bare, slumbering trees; of gentle, soothing silence—roused me. Slowly opening my eyes, I found myself nestled comfortably into a bed of dark silk in a strange room.
Hexagonal in shape, like the Hall of the Golden Dome, the dark wood walls were carved with layers of trees, giving the impression that I was resting in a clearing of a crowded forest. The bed itself was a massive four-poster carved of ebony, each corner fashioned like a twisting pillar of vines studded with leaves. Sheer, inky-coloured curtains hung along the sides, though delicate silver sashes currently pulled them back. Overhead, the ceiling was a domed, obsidian field, studded with false opalescent stars, arranged in the familiar shapes of night sky constellations. Nightstands flanked the bedsides, each bearing a single lamp—both of which were lit, for there were no windows to be seen.
I pushed myself to sit, my arms snarling a little with the effort, and looked out towards the floor-to-ceiling ebony doors across the room. Two crescent-shaped handles, as thin and luminous as slivers of bone in moonlight, straddled the divide between the doors, forming a perfect circle over the carved relief of a familiar sigil: the sun in eclipse.
I was in Aleksander's bedroom.
… Or, at least, a room in his quarters. I hoped.
Frantic for not knowing when or how I had wound up in such a place, I bound out of bed, only to find my legs weak and unable to bear my weight. Collapsing to my knees, I struggled to stand again, using the bed linens as handholds. But before I could make it back to standing, the only doors in or out of the room burst open. The sound of my tumble must have been louder than I thought.
Looking over in a mix of embarrassment and frustration, I found myself staring at Aleksander. "What are you doing out of bed?" He demanded, billowing into the room after shutting the doors behind himself. In a few quick, graceful strides, he closed the distance between us and hauled me to my feet, his hands firm but surprisingly gentle on my arms.
Gaping at him, I struggled against the rising blush in my cheeks. "Where am I?" I barked, the unexpected stumble I took back to sit on the edge of the mattress making my voice rise with an undignified squeak.
Aleksander observed me coolly, if not a little curiously, before seating himself in a plush armchair that had been set nearby against the wall. Somehow, looking at the piece of furniture against the rest of the space, I knew this wasn't its usual home. "You're in my chambers," he said calmly, almost as though he was intentionally trying not to startle me again.
What a specific choice of words, I baulked internally. This was definitely Aleksander's bedroom. His bed. "Why am I here?" I asked, still a little frantic, but now for a different reason.
"You don't remember?" He asked back, intrigued, instead of answering me directly.
"No," I admitted after a long pause, my mind working in hurried circles to figure out what he meant. Try as I might, the last thing I could recall was meeting David in the Fabrikator workshop. Anything after that was a complete blank. "What happened?"
"You were poisoned," Aleksander replied evenly, the expertly contained rage honing the glassy tone of his voice to a knife's edge.
"What?" I breathed, my hands going clammy as I tightly gripped the comforter beneath me to steady myself.
"No one's claimed responsibility yet, but I have my suspicions about who's behind such a brazen attack—as I'm sure you do as well," he mused, his usual aloofness somehow strained.
The Apparat, I cursed internally. It had to be him: no one else held such a vendetta against me.
"The Apparat," Aleksander drawled icily, seeming to have read my furrowed expression, "inquired after your health this morning during my bi-weekly briefing with the King. He became quite testy when I told him you were well and that I'd pass along his regards."
"How badly?" Was all I could ask, my voice taut with a mix of fury and fear.
Aleksander looked at me for a heartbeat, his clear, grey eyes piercing through to my soul. "You nearly died. Twice."
I felt the colour drain from my face.
"It's a credit to David," he continued almost conversationally, looking away to pick some speck of dirt out from under one of his immaculate nails as I sat, lost for words, "for thinking quickly and breaking into the anatomy rooms to get immediate help. Jasna is certain you wouldn't have survived the trip across the palace to the infirmary."
Jasna was one of the head Corporalki instructors and an extremely skilled Healer. I was told, after the fact, that she had been the one to put me back together after the Apparat's first assassin had attempted to carve me up. Clearly, she had also been instrumental in my recovery after the (apparent) second attempt on my life if she and Aleksander had talked at any length about the situation.
I couldn't stop myself from letting out a heavy sigh. Looking down at my lap, I found my rings had been removed at some point… Except for one. I ran my finger over the phases of the moon for reassurance. "Are David and Genya okay?" I finally asked, my heart racing away with worry. Although I couldn't remember what had happened, I knew that if my life had been in danger, then there was a strong possibility that they might have been hurt, too.
"They're fine," Aleksander replied with a hint of kindness in his voice.
I sighed again, this time from pure relief. "Tell me how this happened," I said definitively, looking back up at the man across from me.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he returned my stare. "I've had my best Durasts and Alekmi look over every square inch of this," he began as he briefly glanced away to produce something from a hidden pocket in his kefta—a wooden box, unpretentious in both appearance and size. "It's almost ingenious in its simplicity," he allowed as I took the object from him, holding it in the palm of my hand with room to spare.
I glared at the polished, honey-brown box for a moment, angry with both it and myself. Then, slowly, I began to turn the inconsequential-looking thing over and over in my sensitive fingers, scanning every inch of it for anomalies. All the while, Aleksander sat in silence, his eyes intently following my every move.
When I satisfied my curiosity and decided that the box was, in fact, just a box, I went to open it. The delicate gold clasp slid undone with minimal effort, and when I gently tilted back the lid… A sharp, startling click made me flinch. Inside the box was a little mechanism, primed by a spring to release only when the lid was opened. A tiny, clawed dish was at the centre of the delicate, back-bent arm taking up the cavity, like a miniature catapult.
"Releasing the clasp punctures the ampule cradled inside," Aleksander explained gravely when I flicked my eyes up to meet his once again, "then the arm propels the contents into the air when the lid opens."
A memory stung through me at his words: a surprised gasp of air, the feeling of grit in my lungs and mouth, then pain. So much pain. "What kind of poison?" I asked, my hands trembling at the recollection.
"Something we've never seen before," Aleksander admitted bitterly. "As I said, my best Alkemi are working on it."
"And this thing," I hissed, closing the lid of the box with a harsh snap. "Is it—"
"—No Grisha made that," he reassured me.
Not that I would have cared if it was, I tried to convince myself. "Take it," I said as I held the horrible little weapon away from myself, bridging the gap between where I perched on the bed and Aleksander's wing-chair-turned-throne.
He smoothly collected the unassuming box from me without a word, tucking it back into that hidden pocket of his jet-black kefta. After watching him do so, I looked down at myself to realise that I was dressed in nothing but some nightclothes—the shirt and pant style pyjamas that the infirmary Healers made patients wear. I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment as I closed my arms across my chest, trying to hide my suddenly very naked-feeling body.
I had to get out of here. I had to get away from Aleksander—from foolish feelings that once again threatened in my chest, my heart.
"You still look wan; you should rest," Aleksander said suddenly, his voice filled with enough firmness to tell me he wasn't making a suggestion.
"I'm not tired," I denied quickly, blatantly ignoring his attempt to order me around. But as soon as the words escaped me, I knew they weren't true: my body was weary, as though I had run for miles during combat training with Botkin instead of sitting at the edge of a plush mattress. "How long have I been out?" I asked sharply, daring to look directly in Aleksander's gem-like eyes once more.
A mistake. My heart stuttered to see the pain lingering there, barely hidden behind his usual mask of composure.
"A week," he answered just as crisply, his stare flicking towards the mountain of pillows behind me as if he could still see me lying there, incapacitated.
Saints, I really had been in bad shape… "Then I need to get up and back to the Vezda Suite," I stated resolutely as I tried—and failed—to stand up again.
Quick as lightning, Aleksander swept to catch me, his iron-like arms wrapping (if not a little painfully this time) around my shoulders. "You'll be staying here from now on," he said just as definitively as he deposited me back on the bed.
"I most certainly will not," I bridled, my heart both thrilling and freezing at the idea of sharing such intimate space with Aleksander.
"There's nowhere safer in the Little Palace," he countered dryly, looming over me for a moment as if to reinforce his authority before sitting back down in the armchair. "And since the Apparat has made it abundantly clear that he is intent on killing you one way or another, I'd prefer it if you were somewhere where I—where my guards can better protect you."
"And I'd prefer some space and privacy," I snapped to try and conceal the jolt of heat that coursed through me as I glanced inconspicuously around the room. Although the idea of having rooms to myself was still a relatively new concept to me, I couldn't stop asking myself where the hell I was supposed to stay in such a small space. If this was all there was to Aleksander's bedroom, there wouldn't be much room for me to draw up a cot… And it wasn't like we could cosy up and share a bed like children. No, I shuddered internally, shoving away the excitement that threatened to overwhelm me; I'd sooner sleep on the floor like a dog or, better yet, be back in my rooms—far, far away from here.
"Which you'll have plenty of," he assured me with surprisingly formality, his chin lifting as if to reassure himself of his morality.
"Right," I laughed bitingly to hide the girlish fluttering of my stupid heart and to decisively quash any sense of closeness that might have once blossom between us after Nikolai's ball. "So, am I to sleep at the foot of the bed or will you allow me to curl up in that armchair?"
Aleksander's eyes flashed at the insult carried by my barbed implications. "You'll be sleeping here, in the bedroom," he stressed, "until I can convert my study into more proper accommodations."
"What study?" I challenged, gesturing around the room to make my point clear.
"Outside and down the hall to the left," Aleksander nearly growled.
"And where will you be sleeping?"
"In the sitting room, as I have been."
"Don't be ridiculous," I scoffed, trying to push him farther away. "Just let me go back to the Vezda Suite. I'll be fine on my own." And it'll be easier for everyone (myself especially) if we're not intentionally making ourselves so comfortable together.
"The Apparat has tried to end you twice," Aleksander seethed, standing up from his chair to tower over me once again. I couldn't keep myself from shrinking back onto the bed under the sheer magnitude of his presence. "You will stay here, where my guards and my retinue of trusted servants can ensure your safety. I won't take any more chances with your life," he concluded determinedly before taking a step back, both literally and figuratively.
I gaped at him, trying to stuff down the sense of gratefulness that threatened to overtake my indignation at being managed like some sort of inmate. "My life isn't yours to protect," I breathed back callously.
"You are Grisha," Aleksander said just as intentionally. "We take care of our own."
Those words… I hated how they kept coming back to haunt me. "I can take care of myself," I growled defiantly.
"Fine, then," he answered curtly before striding towards the double doors across the room and wrenching them open to stand in the void between. "If you don't need my help, wriggle your way out of this." And with that, he lazily flicked a hand, drawing up an impenetrable barrier of shadow before himself to completely block the doorway.
"You ass," I screeched, springing off of the bed towards the exit, only to stumble halfway across the room and fall to my hands and knees. Although Aleksander looked down at me, his eyes blazing momentarily with the unshielded desire to reach out and help me back up, he stood firm. As I glowered at him, he seemed to compose his expression back into the mask of unfeeling composure I knew all too well.
"Bring down the barrier, and you are free to go where you wish," he instructed frostily before retreating and closing the doors behind himself.
Growling like the caged beast I was, I half-crawled-half-stumbled the rest of the way across the room to attack the wall of darkness. I slammed into it with every ounce of power I could muster, but it barely reacted to the blows I landed with my fists. The shadows flexed and bent around me, like inky water, but didn't dissipate in the slightest. "Aleksander!" I bellowed, so furious I was seeing red. "Let me out of here. Now!"
When I was met with silence, I screamed unintelligibly out of pure rage.
o-o-o-o
I railed against the barrier Aleksander had summoned until my arms felt like lead and my legs buckled beneath me.
Betrayed by my own, already weak body, I had splayed out on the floor, chest heaving, unable even to muster up the will to crawl back to the bed. As I lay where I had collapsed, I stared (let's be honest, glared) up at the ceiling and tried to still the swirling tangle of thoughts that had roared to life in my head with every strike I had landed on the impenetrable wall.
Aleksander had no right to keep me locked up, full stop. Even if he did think it was for my benefit in some twisted sense of the word, I wasn't some criminal under house arrest. Well, I was technically a career criminal, but that was beside the point: I hadn't done anything wrong (this time). The Apparat had tried to kill me, not the other way around. And being the innocent party in this mess, I should be able to convalesce where I liked—namely alone and anywhere but Aleksander's chambers. Even if they were supposedly the 'safest place' in the entire Little Palace, I didn't want to be here—couldn't be here—in his rooms. The very idea of being forced to sleep in Aleksander's bed, occupy his space, and feel his inescapable presence in everything from the scent of the sheets to the pattern of the rug on which I lay made my chest ache. It put us too close. So close that the silly, stupid, soft girl in me threatened to resurface and ruin me.
I had to get out of here.
Gritting my teeth, I raised my head and took stock of the writhing veil of darkness that now obscured the doors. Aleksander had said that if I could dispel his handiwork, I was free to go wherever I wanted. Simple enough, I supposed. Manipulating shadows to form where I wanted was one of the easier tasks Baghra had taught me during our initial lessons together, and I had grasped the concept enough to be able to pool darkness in my hand. Getting the blackness to form a defined sphere remained a mystery to me, but that was neither here nor there. I just had to get Aleksander's shadows out of my way. And then I could go hide to lick my wounds in peace.
Easy, I told myself again as I slowly forced myself up to sit.
The shadows seemed to meet my gaze—staring back, taunting me.
Undeterred, I reached out to the kernel of shifting, black power that lived deep down in my soul and, with perhaps a little more ease than I cared to admit to, I held it within myself. As I brushed up against that dark beast coiled within me, the barrier across the room seemed to come alive. Energy slammed into my body from without, blasting me with an intense wave of brutal but familiar cold. I blenched slightly at the intensity of it, the sheer, raw power more than anything I had ever encountered so far away from the Fold. Tentatively, I reached my hand towards the wall of shadows and immediately shuddered when the sensation of the darkness coursing through me doubled.
This was Aleksander's power, I realised as my heart plummeted toward the floor. This was how strong he was. And the longer I allowed the endless depths of that energy to break against me, the more I understood that this simple barrier was just a fraction of what he could do.
… Perhaps this would be a little more complicated than I thought.
Steeling myself, I took a deep breath and tried to manipulate the barrier. As I stared into the shifting, inky wall, I turned my outstretched palm skyward and willed the darkness to come to me. I pictured it moving from where it loomed to instead coalesce in my hand, diminishing in size and strength until it was little more than a useless puddle.
Like calls to like, I repeated over and over in my head as my hand began to shake. The effort it took to both hold my already weak arm aloft and concentrate on bending Aleksander's power to my will was immense. For a long moment, nothing seemed to happen. But as sweat began to bead on my brow and my teeth gritted with the strain, my heart also started to sing in my chest, filling my entire body with a thrumming sensation I had never felt before. Every inch of me seemed to vibrate, crying out to the darkness ahead of me as though, instead of simply moving it, I could instead absorb it into myself to become one with my very soul—
—And then the door to the hallway opened wide, breaking my concentration and sending me collapsing in a fresh heap on the floor.
"What are you doing?" Genya asked me quizzically, her fiery hair ruffling gently around her face as she passed effortlessly through the shadows.
"Trying to leave," I grumbled as I picked myself up, my breath now coming in heavy pants. "Help me up?" I asked lamely after trying (and failing) to stand.
"You really shouldn't have gotten out of bed in the first place," Genya tutted as she grabbed my weakly extended hand and hoisted me to my feet. When I nearly teetered over again, she forcefully wrapped her arm around my waist and steered me back to the bed.
I couldn't help but let out a pitiful grunt as I plunked down into the softness of the mattress. "Easy for you to say," I groused as I nestled into the mountain of pillows against the polished ebony headboard sending a fresh wave of Aleksander's scent rising from the linens to wind itself through my nose, "you're not the one being kept under house arrest."
Genya shifted nervously in her seat on the armchair beside me. "It's for your own good," she insisted with a small frown.
"I'd be happy to go recover in the Vezda Suite," I grumbled pointedly.
"The Darkling says that it's not safe for you there," the Tailor countered.
"He just ordered new Fabrikator-made locks installed on all the windows," I said flatly. "How is that not safe?"
"Because it's so isolated."
"It's not that far from the main hall."
"Do you have any idea how long it took for Healers to get to your rooms from the dormitories the last time you were hurt?"
"Geir and Ivan managed fine. I lived."
"Barely!" Genya exploded, her ochre eyes burning with a mixture of distress and frustration. "And the only reason you lived this time was because David disregarded about a million rules and broke into the anatomy rooms. If it was anyone else's life on the line, all three of us would have been arrested on the spot—or worse!"
So Aleksander said, though he conveniently left out that last bit… "I don't need you mother-henning over me, too," I frowned, unable to refute her point.
"Well, someone has to," she sighed resolutely, sensing she was gaining ground, "because you're clearly not taking this very seriously."
"It wasn't that bad," I tried to begin, only to have Genya cut me off with a murderous glare.
"You nearly died. Twice," she explained with a chilly sort of calm, as though she was reliving a memory. "You lost so much blood that the Healers had to use experimental transfusion methods to keep you from suffering brain damage."
"What?" I murmured, shocked.
"Yes," Genya huffed, her eyes still troubled. "You still look pale, even seven days later. Not as bad as you were when… Before you were stable enough for the Darkling to bring you here, but I can still see it in your face, your eyes. You look terrible," she laughed weakly, obviously trying to be more friendly and change the subject.
That was why I felt so fragile. "So, is that why you're here?" I teased back. "To freshen me up, so the Darkling doesn't have to look at a walking corpse?"
"No, I came to see you. But, since I'm here, it wouldn't hurt if you let me do just a few things," Genya smiled, her eyes softening as they darted down to my lips and then up to my hair.
"And here I thought you were going to take care of me," I grinned impishly, settling back into the comfort of the pillows.
"Saints, no," Genya baulked playfully. "I'm no nursemaid."
"Are you implying that I'm childish?" I fired back, taking mock offence.
"No, just that you're difficult," the Tailor deadpanned, causing us both to laugh out loud.
o-o-o-o
Genya kept me company until late in the evening, which wasn't saying much as I had only awoken in the mid-afternoon. But, regardless, she sat at my bedside until well after I had choked down a meagre few mouthfuls of rabbit stew and was beginning to doze against my will, what little energy I had completely drained.
"You need to get some rest," the Tailor insisted as she took my tray of half-eaten food and placed it on one of the nightstands to deal with later.
"I'm fine," I insisted, somewhat lamely, as I tried to sit up a little straighter in bed.
"Rest," Genya demanded as she gently but firmly forced me backwards by my shoulders, pressing me into the pillows. "You've done more today than Jasna wanted; she'll turn as red as her kefta when I tell her I caught you out of bed."
I rolled my eyes. "This is ridiculous," I hissed, though I didn't try to sit up again. "I'm fine."
"You can barely keep your eyes open," Genya clucked as she stood and picked up the tray she had previously set down. "Get some rest; I'll come by tomorrow when I can."
"That's not necessary," I mumbled under my breath, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
"Even if I didn't like spending time with you, I'd take any excuse to get away from the Queen," she said with a wink.
"Thanks, Genya," I smiled earnestly, my eyelids once again heavy.
"Anything for a friend," she replied kindly before walking towards the barrier, passing through it without hesitation. The door closed behind her a moment later with barely a click, leaving the shifting wall of shadow Aleksander had created the only thing left to keep me company through the night.