Twelve

In the week that followed, I barely saw Aleksander. We existed in the same space like spectres, our presence each felt by the other but never near enough to know for sure if it was truly real. I'd catch a glimpse of him passing through a door, hear the rumble of his voice through the wall, smell the lingering scent of him in the hallway… But never enough to convince me that he was actually there—that he wasn't just a figment of my imagination.

My days went by quickly and routinely. After a late breakfast alone, I went out to the Summoner's Pavillions to practise and stayed there until midday when the other Etherealki would finish their morning lessons with Botkin. Chased away from the lakeside, I would then go pester said Shu-expat myself until he agreed to kick my ass and call it 'training'. And only once I was thoroughly exhausted an hour or three later, I'd sequester myself in the library until my rumbling stomach demanded dinner.

But that was when time would start to drag—when I had no distractions left to keep my mind from wandering in Aleksander's direction.

I spent most evenings sequestered in my room, away from where I knew Aleksander would be in the sitting room as he worked late into the night. So, with few places else to be, I'd pass the hours laying in bed, trying to read or sleep or otherwise entertain myself, and doing nothing successfully. Instead, I would get lost in the feeling of Aleksander's power and presence tugging at me from a distance, like a string tied at the centre of my chest, urging me—the part of me that was him—to be nearer to him.

To feel the sense of utter wholeness I only knew when his skin touched mine.

And all I could think as I lay there, night after night, pretending to function, was: did he feel it too? Did he feel every fibre of his being yearning to be nearer to me as my body did to be with him? Did he feel the pull on his bones that I felt when we were too far removed from each other's gravity? Did he feel the comforting sense of sameness that we now somehow shared?

Did he feel it, too… Or was it just me?

The question would circle through me over and over until I fell asleep. And when I woke up the following day, I would run away from answering it all over again.

So it came as a surprise when, early one night, I was curled up atop my bed, pretending to read the same paragraph of A Complete History of the Wandering Isle for the hundredth time, and a knock came at my door.

"Who is it?" I called out, sitting up with a bit of a start.

"Svetlin, Miss Kosilov," Aleksander's manservant replied crisply from without, his voice muffled by the heavy wood of the doors.

"Oh," I sighed, needlessly disappointed. "Come in."

As the double doors opened a moment later, I noted my place in my book and closed the heavy, emerald-green cover. My bookmark hadn't moved in three days. "Good evening, miss," Svetlin said with his usual decorum.

"What can I do for you?" I asked as kindly as possible, despite the sudden and overwhelming exhaustion that landed on my shoulders like a yoke. Svetlin and I had come to some sort of silent arrangement of cordiality over the past little while, and I didn't want him to think that I was annoyed with him for interrupting me.

"Nothing, miss," the valet said with a dip of his head. "I did, however, wish to inform you that Miss Safin has sent yet another present for you."

"Of course she has," I chuckled with an indulgent roll of my eyes. She'd sent me something from the Grand Palace bakers nearly every day since I ran to her to spill my heart out after… After what had happened between Aleksander and me. Naturally, I didn't tell her anything about the fact that he had quite literally given a piece of himself to me (that didn't seem like something to advertise). Still, I got enough of the situation across for her to understand why I needed the comfort of a friend.

And, boy, had she come through.

"If it pleases you, miss," Svetlin continued in his unaffected way, regardless of the smile that twinkled in his blue eyes, "I've taken the liberty of arranging some tea for you as well. The service is waiting in the sitting room."

Dread washed over me like ice water. "Oh, um," I hesitated awkwardly, my mind racing a hundred steps ahead and down the hall, "thanks, but that wasn't necessary—"

"—The Darkling is currently away," he interjected with another polite nod. "I've also added fresh wood to the hearth. Shall I bring your book for you?"

Unable to refuse the promise of a cosy seat by the fireplace, a hot cup of tea, and a delicious, sweet treat, I buckled. "I know you don't believe me," I admonished playfully as I hefted the thick, gold-embossed tome into Svetlin's gloved hands, "but I am capable of carrying my own things."

"The pleasure's all mine, miss," he said dryly in return as he tucked the volume under his arm and then motioned for me to exit.

Neglecting to put on my slippers, I obliged him and padded down the hallway to the (thankfully vacant) sitting room. And, true to his word, I found the hearth glowing brightly and a small tea service set out beside a heaping plate of Kerch-style stroopwafels on the table before the couch. "You spoil me," I said over my shoulder when Svetlin buttled in after me.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," he replied, hovering politely behind me, waiting.

"And I'm a sildroher," I sassed as I curled up on the near end of the couch. The warmth from the fire washing over me made me purr with contentment.

"That would explain a lot, miss," Svetlin chipped back as he handed me my book, which I set beside me on the couch. "If you need anything, please ring," he finished, gesturing to a small bell made of carved, black crystal on the table.

"Thank you, Svetlin," I answered, knowing he was waiting to be dismissed. Without another word, the silver-haired valet bowed and left the room, closing the doors behind him with a gentle click.

Well, these cookies aren't going to eat themselves, I bubbled inwardly, snuggling deeper into the black velvet of my housecoat after snatching one of the golden-brown discs away from its mates. The wafer-and-caramel sandwiches were as big as my palm, as thin as stacked pieces of glass, and wonderfully crunchy. I could have downed the whole plate in a flash, but I forced myself to savour each bite… At least for the moment.

In an attempt to pace myself before grabbing another treat after gobbling down the first, I poured myself a drink and pulled my book into my lap. Cracking the spine back open to where I had last left off, I sipped lazily on the piping-hot black tea as I went back to reading—for real, this time. And an hour or so later, I had made it through a whole chapter (and perhaps another cookie or five) when I faintly registered the sound of doors opening and closing from across the room. Entirely wrapped up in the passage I was reading about the Third Battle of Leflin, I murmured without looking up from my lap, "I'm finished with the tea, Svetlin. Thank you."

"I'll be sure to let him know," Aleksander replied, making me jump out of my skin.

"Saints shitting on a sand skiff!" I cursed as I bolted to my feet, nearly dumping my book onto the tea table and upending the silverware and china. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Aleksander cocked an eyebrow at me as he took off his cloak and tossed the fur-collared garment unceremoniously over the back of a nearby chair. I couldn't stop myself from admiring the easy sense of grace he exuded as he leaned against the large, central table. Reflexively, I clutched my book to my chest like a shield to fend off his… Charm. "Perhaps you've forgotten," he drawled, "but these are my chambers."

"Don't be ridiculous: of course, I haven't forgotten," I said quickly, annoyed at being caught off guard and for letting my mind wander. "I meant, what are you doing here now? Svetlin said you were 'away'."

"I was in a meeting," Aleksander replied, his eyes lingering (far too long to be casual) on where the exposed vee neckline of my nightgown disappeared behind my book. "It finished sooner than expected," he said quickly when he finally met my stare again.

"I see. Okay. Well, goodnight," I said awkwardly, unable to think of any more small talk to make in light of the fact that we had been avoiding each other all week.

"No follow-up questions?" Aleksander asked quickly as I turned to leave (or, rather, run away).

Against my better judgement, I stopped and looked over my shoulder at him as I hovered between the exit and the couch. "Oh, plenty—but I know better than to ask," I replied teasingly, the unintentional truth of the jab turning back on me like a thorn in my chest.

Hurt flinched through Aleksander's eyes. "I was speaking with the Captain of the Royal Guard as well as other high-ranking members of the castle-guard at the Grand Palace," he offered blasély—an olive branch, I realised—before walking past me to his makeshift desk at the opposite end of the table.

I considered Aleksander's words. The significance of this glimpse into his life as General of the Second Army was not lost on me. He was trying to apologise—or at least I hoped he was. "Then I can understand why you wanted to end your commitments early," I cringed, trying to keep things airy, even though I still felt like I needed to hide.

Aleksander let out a huff of a laugh as he busied himself with looking through a stack of papers. "They don't tolerate my presence very well either, which always makes our interactions brief."

"I bet," I smiled, watching him work. Something about how he was standing—unusually stiff, back half turned to me, head slightly bowed with feigned concentration—made me wonder if he felt as awkward as I did. "Why torture yourselves, then?" I asked tentatively after a pause. Bracing for rejection, I clutched my book a little tighter.

Even though my tone was delicate, Aleksander turned to look at me as if I had screamed at him, shock flitting across his usually composed features as he processed what I'd said. He looked almost boyishly flustered for a heartbeat before he reined in his expression, took one last disinterested look at the stack of reports in his hand, and set them down. "Normally, I don't discuss the details of my meetings with high-ranking members of the First Army," he began, sending my heart falling to my feet despite my best efforts to pin it in place with A Complete History of the Wandering Isle. "But," he verbally shrugged without missing a beat, "since the conversation revolved around you, I suppose I could make an exception."

"Well," I sighed, buoyed, "aren't you in a magnanimous mood tonight?"

"Just between you and me, I am more often than not," Aleksander quipped back.

"I see," I replied slyly, the familiar playfulness of our banter a balm for my unease. "In that case, you should know my silence has a price."

"And here I thought we were friends," he smiled as he sifted lazily on his feet and perched himself on the arm of the carved ebony throne behind him.

"I don't discriminate," I shrugged as I leaned against the back of the couch and lowered my paper shield, holding it idly before myself. "Old, young. Rich, very rich. Friend, foe… Makes no difference to me. Money's money."

"So it's money you want?"

"Not necessarily: I'm always open to negotiation."

"I see."

"Yes, and you'll find I'm very reasonable."

"Good to know," Aleksander smirked, his usually icy gaze melting toward something feral that made my breath catch.

"That being said," I said quickly to keep myself from blushing, "I'll need to hear what you have to say before I can determine my initial asking price."

"Naturally," he nodded, the fire in his eyes dimming to a simmering, molten sort of happiness. "I was interrogating the guard Captains about the Palace servants—new faces, changes in rotations, sudden leaves of absence—to see if there was any connection to the last attempt on your life."

"You think that's how the Apparat has been spying on us: through the staff," I concluded, the statement landing like a rock, squashing the tension that had been building between us.

"It would be the easiest way for him to get eyes and ears into the Little Palace," Aleksander confirmed, his mood cooling into his usual seriousness. "They go through the least vetting and have a high turnover rate, especially in the more undesirable positions."

"That tracks: when I was hired to run a long job, I wormed my way into places that way, too," I agreed.

"Meaning…?" He drawled, brown knitting with scrutiny—as if he'd honestly forgotten the sordid substance of my life before he spirited me away from Kribirsk.

"People who don't do honest work run one of two kinds of jobs: short jobs or long jobs." Aleksander eyed me curiously after I finished speaking, as if he were trying to puzzle out a solution to some impossible problem, but he didn't say anything. So, I continued to explain myself. "Short jobs are always stealing things—you know, a grab-and-dash affair: sneak into somewhere, find a specific item, leave, and get paid. On the other hand, long jobs are way more trouble than they are ever worth and usually always involve stealing knowledge—or, more specifically, secrets.

"To steal someone's secrets, you have to do much more than just get in and get out of a place. You have to belong somewhere: people have to be comfortable with your presence but not notice it. See you around, but forget you as soon as you leave a room. They have to be complacent enough to speak candidly around you but not care enough about you to think you'll be paying attention to what they say. Sound like anyone you know?" I asked deliberately.

"Unfortunately, yes," Aleksander grumbled broodingly.

"Now, I only ever ran a handful of long jobs," I admitted, adjusting the weight of my book where it rested on my thighs, "but I always went about them the same way: become a low-ranking but visible member of the staff, work like I cared, learn what I wanted, leave, snitch, and get paid. Worked every time."

"Could you have killed your marks if you wanted to?" He asked, looking away from me to stare into the dying fire.

"Easily, but I never took that kind of work," I murmured.

A beat of heavy silence filled the pause in the conversation before Aleksander said, as if to change the subject, "The Captains gave a few names to look into further."

"Good," I smiled, albeit a little awkwardly. "At least that's something for us to start with."

When Aleksander looked back at me, I could see a refusal building in his expression—by the way his brow darkened, his eyes flashed cold, and his mouth narrowed. But, by some miracle, that was as far as it got. Instead of letting that vehement 'no' fly, he considered me again and sighed deeply through his nose. "We'll interview them the day after next," he nodded.

"Why not tomorrow?" I asked back, perplexed.

"Because you have other commitments," he reluctantly admitted as he produced a small note from one of the hidden pockets of his kefta. Standing up to bridge the distance between us, he extended the sealed piece of parchment toward me, its pale blue wax seal immediately visible.

After quickly placing my book on the couch to free my hands, I gingerly took the missive. "Thanks," I murmured as I snapped the seal in half and unfolded the paper. It read:

"My dearest friend, Ms Kosilov;

I would be most honoured if you would join me for a ride tomorrow through Os Alta and the surrounding countryside.

After breakfast, arrive at the Grand Palace stables. If you don't yet have your own horse, I'm sure my lovely older brother has one you can borrow—or perhaps keep. He has far too many as it is, and I'm sure my mother would be overjoyed for you to take one off of his hands.

Suffering eternally in the absence of your radiant personality,

Prince Nikolai."

I couldn't help but let out a pained groan as I read and re-read Nikolai's letter. "Insufferable bastard," I finally muttered under my breath.

"Good news, I take it," Aleksander offered mildly, drawing my attention. He was watching me with feigned disinterest, but I could tell by the tiny knot between his brows that he was upset about the contents of Nikolai's message.

"As if you don't already know what it says," I retorted flatly.

"Not the specifics, but His Royal Highness did ask after your… Availability," he bit out, the memory of that conversation apparently grating.

"Next time, lie and say I'm busy," I drawled as I read the note one last time before crumpling it up and lobbing it into the fireplace.

"Unfortunately, that's not how things work," Aleksander replied, some levity returning to his eyes when I turned back to face him.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," I grumbled futilely. "But, in any event, I need to borrow one of your horses—the mare, if that's alright? Prince Nikolai wants to go for a ride tomorrow and has threatened to give me a horse if I don't show up on one."

"No," Aleksander said firmly as he stood up and strolled toward the doors leading deeper into his chambers.

"'No'? What do you mean, 'no'?" I baulked, causing him to pause, hand on the door handle, and look over his shoulder at me.

"I mean 'no'," Aleksander repeated, his gaze inexplicably softening as he took in my bewildered expression.

"So you want Prince Nikolai to give me a horse?" I asked, incredulous.

"Of course not."

"So I can borrow the mare, then?"

"No."

I gaped at him for a long moment. "Fine," I eventually scoffed, exasperated and confused. "But at least tell me why you're being so ridiculous so I can explain this insanity to the Prince."

"Because you don't need my permission to borrow what's already yours," Aleksander explained, the smile playing on his lips blooming in full, before he disappeared through the hallway doors.