I woke up to a flurry of activity surrounding me. As I got up, I couldn't help but wonder how I had ended up in bed the previous day. The tent was larger than I had initially thought, its high ceiling illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns hanging from cross beams.
Servants moved with quiet efficiency, their hands full with trays of food, folded linens, and steaming basins of water. A seamstress bustled around with bolts of fabric draped over one arm, and two healers hovered nearby, murmuring to one another as they assessed my condition. Everyone seemed to have a purpose, their movements seamless, as though they had rehearsed this scene a hundred times before.
"Excuse me," I said, my voice hoarse from disuse, but no one acknowledged me.
I shifted to the edge of the bed, my bare feet brushing the cool ground as I tried again. "What's going on?"
Still, no answer. It was as though I wasn't a person to them, just a task to complete. A dusty antique to be cleaned and repaired because someone else had plans for it.
Is this what my life is going to be like now? Did I give up all agency over my own life when I left Fjerda?
A healer's voice cut through the din. "Prepare a quick bath for her and ensure she's clean. And check—"
"Excuse me," I interrupted, louder this time, my frustration slipping into my tone. "Can someone please tell me what is happening? What is all this?"
The healer, a stern-looking woman with streaks of gray in her braided hair, glanced at me briefly, her sharp eyes narrowing. "And check if she's eaten something," she continued, as if I hadn't spoken at all.
My patience snapped.
"I am not a puppet to be moved about without explanation," I asserted, my words louder than intended. "Tell me what is going on!"
She sighed in exaggerated annoyance, but I could see a flicker of empathy in her face. Finally, she spoke, her words dripping with condescension as if she were addressing a difficult child. "Hello, my name is Svetlana, and the General asked me to make sure that you are ready to depart in less than an hour. Shall we get started?" She continued before I could say anything.
"Depart?" I echoed, my confusion deepening. "Depart where?"
She ignored my question entirely, continuing briskly. "The bath is ready. Bathe, eat, and dress. You can borrow this." She handed me a crimson kefta without ceremony. "It will suffice for now. And please hurry," she added before spinning on her heel and leaving me amidst the bustling servants.
I stared at the kefta in my hands, the rich fabric heavy between my fingers. Depart. Depart… where? Were they taking me to find the Druskelle base?
For the next hour, I had no say in my own life. They ushered me into the bath, washing me with mechanical efficiency before guiding me back to the bed to dress. They laced the kefta tightly at the waist, their hands deft and impersonal. By the time they brought a tray of food, I half-expected them to lift the spoon to my mouth themselves.
I didn't want to be unkind to them; they were only doing their jobs. But my frustration simmered beneath the surface. I prepared a mental speech for when Svetlana returned. I wouldn't allow myself to be treated this way. Nobody could—
"Good, you're ready," Svetlana said, her voice breaking my thoughts. She stood at the door, gesturing impatiently for me to follow her.
"Wait, I wanted to—"
"Nobody keeps him waiting," she said curtly, cutting me off as she ushered me outside.
The bright light of the day stung my eyes after the dim interior of the tent. I blinked rapidly, adjusting to the sudden change. The Darkling, donned in his black kefta, stood a short distance away, waiting in front of his coach. A dozen Grisha on horseback surrounded the vehicle, their crimson and cobalt keftas vivid against the muted greens of the surrounding forest.
Svetlana nudged me forward, and I felt a rush of helplessness that left me unsteady. I spent most of my life alone in a constant struggle to have any say in what would happen in my own life. It wasn't easy for a woman in Fjerda, and I had to make many sacrifices, but I have never felt as helpless as I felt at this moment. Where is he taking me? And why are we travelling in his coach? Every Fjerdan knows what it looks like; we will be such an easy target!
"Good morning, Miss Solberg," he interrupted my thoughts, offering his hand to help me into the coach. "How do you feel?" he continued as he settled in opposite me. The coach began moving before I had a chance to respond, so I stayed silent. I had too much on my mind to engage in small talk anyway.
We travelled in silence, yet I couldn't help but steal occasional glances at the Darkling, his presence filling the small space between us. How can he not see this is a terrible idea? Whenever we are going, Druskelle are all around us and they won't miss a chance to get to me.
"Go on," he broke the silence. "I can sense there's something on your mind. Anything you'd like to ask me?"
"A thousand things," I sighed.
"Then choose the most pressing one."
I looked down at my hands, clasped together tightly, fidgeting with them as I began to speak. I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes. "I don't mean to question you, but… I'm quite sure the Druskelle will be after me. They are probably all around us right now… Wouldn't it be safer to use a little… less inscopious way of travel?"
"Are you frightened?" His calmness frustrated me.
"I would be foolish not to be. And this just seems so… risky."
He looked at me for a long time before he spoke again. "Perhaps you should have a little faith in me," he uttered.
"Faith?" I repeated with a bitter edge, the anger, fear, and frustration welling up inside me. "Over the past week, I've lost everything I knew, and I barely escaped the holy soldiers who tortured me for days. And from what I remember, I killed at least a dozen of them during my escape. I am also likely the only enemy who ever managed to flee their secret base and that can lead you right to it… So call me paranoid, but I believe they might not feel particularly friendly towards me." I scowled and shook my head.
"Nobody bothered to inform me of what is happening! I didn't go through hell and back to become a mere spectator in my own life." I continued. "The whole morning, I played an obedient little puppet in the hands of your servants, not knowing what the hell is going on or where are you taking me!"I could hear my voice rising with my frustration.
"And now I'm driving Saints know where in a coach that is etched into the memories of every single Fjerdan child as the embodiment of evil! It's essentially screaming 'come and get me!' and you ask me to have faith in you? Faith?" I scoffed, turning to look out the window, trying to calm myself by focusing on the passing landscape.
"With all due respect, General, I don't know you. I heard a lot about you growing up, but you can't ask me to have faith in you when you practically put a beacon over my head." I found his eyes, his gaze unwavering.
"Do I not deserve to know what is going to happen to me? Where are you taking me? And why like this? Please!" I quickly wiped my eyes before they could get any more watery.
"And I know you're incredibly powerful, and of course, you're also absolutely petrifying," I went on, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "So I'm sure the Druskelle are very, very frightened of you, but they're also bloodthirsty zealots ready to die for their twisted cause. So forgive me if I'm still slightly worried."
The Darkling watched me throughout my rant, his expression impassive. But near the end, something shifted—a flicker of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. That almost-smile only made my anger flare brighter. For a moment, I considered apologizing, but I shoved the thought away. Let him punish me if he wants to.
"You don't seem particularly petrified by me," he said finally, his tone maddeningly calm.
"Oh, I am," I shot back, the heat in my voice still lingering. "But right now, there's nothing that scares me more than being caught by them."
Is that really true? You just screamed at a man you've been taught to fear your whole life. I always felt a connection to him in a way because we shared the same power, but he did terrify me.
Oh Saints, what has gotten into me?! I could feel his dark eyes studying my face. Jumping out of the coach and running straight into the arms of the Druskelle didn't feel like such a terrible idea all of a sudden. I mustered up the courage to meet his gaze.
"Let's start from the beginning, shall we?" he said, his voice measured, calm. "I'm taking you to the Little Palace—the safest place in Ravka. And believe it or not, Miss Solberg, I've considered the risks of using my coach." His tone turned matter-of-fact, though his words carried an edge that made me shiver. "You're correct that you've made quite an impression on your Fjerdan friends. They are determined to get rid of you."
I swallowed hard at the thought of what would happen if I got caught again.
"The forests are swarming with them," he continued. "They've sent everyone they could spare, and more are on their way. Avoiding them completely is impossible, whether in a coach or on horseback. And my Healers were concerned that you wouldn't endure such a journey on horseback in your condition."
"I'm not a fragile little girl!" I snapped, though the heat in my voice felt misplaced now.
His gaze hardened, silencing me before I could say more. "The main reason I chose the coach," he went on, his voice as firm as his expression, "is its predictability. They can anticipate our route, which means we can anticipate theirs. Avoiding an attack is not an option, but a planned one is preferable to a chaotic ambush."
I blinked, his words sinking in slowly.
"As I said, they will attack us. But I would rather control where and when that happens. This route allows us to make the necessary preparations. And I would prefer you hidden inside the coach rather than exposed, within reach of their guns."
I opened my mouth to respond, but his gaze pinned me in place.
"And," he added, his voice softening just slightly, "I'm sorry to hear how difficult you're finding it to have faith in the one person who's trying to save your life. But let me remind you that it was you who came to me. You asked for my help. So, I'm afraid, you'll have to try."
The finality in his tone left no room for argument. I stared down at my hands, twisting my fingers together, as shame settled over me. I stared at my hands for a long time before I dared to steal another glimpse of his face.
"Yes?" he asked, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.
"I'm sorry," I murmured. "I didn't mean to be ungrateful. I just couldn't bear it if they captured me again." I paused, gathering my courage. "Do you… do you genuinely expect an attack?"
"I'm certain of it," he replied without hesitation. "But they won't harm you."
His words should have reassured me, but they left a knot of unease in my chest. It took me a moment to collect my thoughts, the reality of our situation settling heavily in my mind.
"So we're not avoiding the confrontation," I said finally, my voice quieter. "We're preparing for it."
"Exactly."
I let out a shaky breath. "What is the plan?"
His stern expression relaxed, and a faint smile ran across his face. "We anticipate the attack to happen approximately 30 miles before Kyrsk," he explained. "The road narrows there, with large rocks offering the Druskelle a tactical advantage," he reached for his kefta and took out a black pocket watch with the eclipse carved on the top. "We should reach that point in three hours. Some of my Heartrenders are already positioned there, eliminating the enemy discreetly to minimize their advantage. Another unit is traveling not far behind us. There will be difficulties, but we have the odds in our favor. When the attack comes, I want you to stay in the coach and wait for us. It will be the most protected place," he stated firmly, sensing my impending objection. The Darkling silenced me before I had a chance to protest. "There will be no discussion on that matter," he declared. "You will be safe; you have my promise. There will be a struggle, no reason to deny it, but you will be safe," he said, his eyes never leaving mine. "This is the safest way to get you out of here."
I wanted to ask for more details. I needed to know exactly what was going to happen. But I was grateful he had shared this much already. It was clear this level of disclosure wasn't his usual approach, and I didn't want to push my luck. Maybe I'd try again later.
"Is everything clear?" he asked when I remained silent for a long time.
"Yes, sir!" I replied, my tone dripping with playful irony, hoping to lift the mood.
His expression shifted, the faintest flicker of amusement softening the sharpness in his gaze. "You are surprisingly impudent for a Fjerdan woman," he remarked, the corner of his mouth curving into a sudden, almost mischievous smile.
"From what I've heard," he continued, his voice laced with dry humor, "Fjerdan women are supposed to serve their husbands faithfully, tend to their children, and keep their opinions to themselves, especially in the presence of men."
"Or better yet, not have opinions at all," I countered, meeting his gaze with a raised brow.
His smile lingered, his tone turning teasing. "So what went wrong with you?"
I smiled back, grateful for the distraction. Outside the coach, the scenery blurred past—tall trees lining the dirt road, their branches forming a canopy that dappled the ground with light and shadow.
"I suppose my parents didn't do a very good job of raising an obedient little girl," I shrugged lightly. "My father taught me to fight, and my mother, being Ravkan, wasn't exactly the ideal role model for a humble Fjerdan woman."
"That explains your lack of a Fjerdan accent," the Darkling said thoughtfully, nodding in understanding.
"Why did your mother leave Ravka?"
"Because of my father," I replied, my voice dropping slightly. "They both lived near the border, met, and fell in love. And… they both despised Grisha, making Fjerda the perfect refuge for them."
There was a moment of silence between us, save for the rhythmic creak of the coach wheels and the occasional call of a bird in the forest.
"And how long have you known," he asked after a pause, "that you embody what your parents despised?"
"I think I somehow always knew," I admitted, the words tasting bitter. "But when my powers first manifested, I was old enough to understand the importance of keeping them hidden."
"Was it them who reported you as Grisha?"
"No." I shook my head, looking down at my hands. "They never found out. They died after a small outbreak of firepox, seventeen years ago."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
I chuckled. "Even though I couldn't use my powers because of them?"
"Did you never use them?"
"Oh, I did," I admitted, a small smile creeping across my face. "A lot, actually. It felt as natural as breathing, and my abilities sort of developed along with me… But I could only use them at night." I glanced out the window, watching the trees pass by. "As I'm sure you know," I added, my tone lighter now, "one of the advantages of being a shadow summoner is that you can be quite inconspicuous, especially in the dark." The Darkling returned my smile.
"Are you skilled?" he asked, one brow arching slightly.
"Well, that's hard to say," I said, feigning a nonchalant shrug. "I've never encountered another Grisha, let alone another shadow summoner, so I have no basis for comparison. But if I may say so myself…" I met his gaze directly, holding it with deliberate confidence. "I'm exceptionally good."
A soft chuckle escaped him, his voice carrying a faintly menacing edge that sent a shiver down my spine. "Then I can't wait to duel with you."
I exhaled slowly, willing my heartbeat to steady. Something about him made it impossible to fully relax. He was undoubtedly the strongest Grisha I had ever encountered, his power palpable in every movement, every word. And yet, what unsettled me most wasn't his strength, his influence, or even his dark reputation. It was the way he seemed to draw me in. I forced myself to look away, turning my attention back to the passing forest.
"Can you access your powers at will now? Or do you still struggle to reach them?" He interrupted my thoughts.
"I... don't know," I admitted. "With everything happening so fast this morning, I didn't really have a chance to figure that out."
"Well," he said, gesturing toward me, his dark gaze steady. "This might be the perfect time to do so."
I hesitated. The thought of summoning my powers in such a confined space, with him so close, made my pulse quicken. What if I failed? Or worse, what if I couldn't control them? But the memory of my helplessness in Fjerda and the looming threat of the Druskelle pushed me forward. I needed to know if I could defend myself.
Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes. The creak of the coach wheels and the steady rhythm of the horses' hooves faded away, leaving only the sound of my heartbeat. I let myself drift, blocking out the Darkling's piercing gaze and the weight of his presence.
And then I felt it—the shadows, faint and fragile, like a wounded creature just out of reach. Relief washed over me as I connected with them, but something was wrong. They were weak, trembling under my grasp.
I opened my eyes, raising my hand, palm up. A thin, hesitant cloud of shadow hovered above it, flickering like a dying ember.
"I can reach them," I said quietly, frowning as I studied the feeble wisp. "But they're weak… like they're injured. Fragile. I don't understand."
Without a word, the Darkling reached across the narrow space, his hand enveloping warmth of his touch sent a jolt through me, and I felt a rush of power surge into my shadows. They grew stronger, more vibrant, their movements fluid and alive. But along with the shadows came something else—a pull toward him, stronger than before.I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. His presence filled the coach, all-consuming, and for a moment, I felt… safe.
You have to stop this. You can't get this comfortable around him; that will only make you vulnerable! A voice in my head warned, recalling words I had read in a book once. The problem with wanting is that it makes us weak.
I couldn't afford to be weak, especially not around someone as powerful as him. We sat there, our eyes locked together, and despite every part of me urging me to do so, I couldn't bring myself to look away, to break the moment.
"They look fine to me," he said softly, pointing to my shadows as they danced around us once more. "And it seems like they like me," he smirked, his gaze shifting down to our intertwined hands.
Following his gaze, I saw what he meant. My shadows had spilled from my hand, wrapping around his arm like living tentacles, curling all the way up to his bicep.
"Faen!" I cursed, quickly pulling my hand back, causing the shadows to dissolve.
"Well, that is not a nice word," the Darkling chuckled, looking at me with a lifted eyebrow and a mischievous smile.
He knows. He knows exactly what he is doing to me. Perhaps he has this effect on everyone.
I clenched my fists, forcing myself to look away, out the window at the trees racing past. The thought unsettled me—how easily he could affect me. I'd never wanted anyone before. Not like this. Desire, I'd always thought, was a weakness, a lever to control others.
I knew how easy it was to control someone who wanted me. I wasn't what you would call a typically beautiful woman, but I had my charms, and I was well aware of them, granting me a power that no one had ever held over me, and I really didn't want that to change. And yet, with him, I felt as though the ground had shifted beneath my feet.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked suddenly, his voice pulling me back. His head tilted slightly, his expression curious.
I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could speak, he lifted a finger, his gaze snapping to the window.
A faint noise reached us—a distant rustling, almost imperceptible over the steady rhythm of the coach wheels.
"We're nearly there," he said gravely, his tone all business now. He rapped his knuckles against the roof, and the coach began to slow.
Peering out, he nodded toward a Heartrender riding beside us. The rider exchanged a sharp glance with him, then signaled to the others. The procession came to a halt, and the tense silence that followed was palpable.
I clutched my hands together in my lap, the faint imprint of his touch still lingering on my skin.
The Darkling turned to me, his expression unreadable. "Stay here," he commanded, his voice firm.