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Zoya was terrified of what was coming, but a combination of the bitter wind and the bitter look from the Heartrender who’d retrieved her from her tent, practically shoved her inside the tent. The last few hours had been a whirlwind of pain and angry faces, and now she was in the Darkling’s tent and she had no idea why. Probably for her punishment, but if they were going to throw her out of the Second Army they wouldn’t have forged the tiger’s teeth into a fetter for her would they?
She fingered the teeth locked around her wrist. The Fabrikator who had made the fetter had not been at all pleased to be fastening such a powerful amplifier around the wrist of a thirteen-year-old Squaller and he had not been gentle. Her wrist still smarted and the extra burst of power from the amplifier was unfamiliar and made her feel like she was floating a couple feet above her body. She was sure she would get used to it eventually, and she refused to seem uncomfortable, especially now that everyone was looking at her and judging her worthiness.
“Zoya Nazyalensky?” The tent had two rooms, a public one with a large table which Zoya was currently standing in and another, presumably private one where the voice had come from.
Zoya jumped and immediately cursed herself. This was not the time to look like a frightened child. “Yes?” she asked, trying to sound confident.
“Come here.”
Zoya crossed the first room and pushed through the curtain into the other. She found herself in a room much larger than the tent she was sharing with the other young Grisha. There was a bed and a small table and chairs set before a fire. The Darkling was sitting in one of the chairs, fully dressed in his ink-black kefta despite the late hour, watching her.
Zoya’s breath caught. She’d been watching the Darkling for a long time, collecting glimpses of him whenever their paths crossed, but this was the first time she’d ever been alone with him. This was the first time he had ever looked at her. He was even more beautiful up close than he was from a distance. His gray eyes were both piercing and little eerie. Zoya drew herself up and wished she wasn’t here for these reasons. She’d been dreaming about the Darkling noticing her for a long time, but she had never thought it would be because she was in trouble.
“So, Zoya,” the Darkling said smoothly, there was no emotion to his voice. No way to tell how angry he was. “You freed the tiger cubs. You did the selfless thing. And yet somehow you are the one who has finished the day with greater power. More than any of your betters who have patiently waited their turn. What do you say to that?”
Zoya ducked her head in shame. He was disappointed; she’d blown it. She was never going to be able to impress him now. She would forever be the stupid little girl who couldn’t wait her turn. He was probably going to send her away. She would have to go back to Pachina and marry an old man. It was all over before it had really begun. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. It was probably what he wanted to hear. It was the only thing she could think of that might save her.
The Darkling didn’t say anything for a moment. “Is that really what you wish to say?” he asked.
There was some tone to his voice now, something curious or prodding. That gave her enough bravery to be bold. She thought of the way the older Grisha had looked at her, with jealousy and anger because they felt they deserved the amplifier more. She was not sorry she had taken the amplifier from them; she would be sorry to be forced to leave the Little Palace, but she was not sorry for what she had done. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, “They can all hang,” she said. “It was my blood in the snow.”
The Darkling’s lips twisted into a smile. She’d amused him! Maybe, he wasn’t going to send her away after all! Hope began to grow inside her. “An apt response,” he rose to his feet slowly, not in a way that suggested he was tired or cold or sore--though if he was a normal person there was probably reason to be all three given that it was late and cold and that they’d been riding hard for days to get here--but in a way that suggested he was deliberately reminding her that she and everyone else would wait as long as he felt like they should. He crossed the room to stand over her. He was so much taller than she was that she had to tilt her head back to look him in the face.
“It was a job well done,” he said after a moment. “Not many thirteen-year-olds could kill a white tiger, let alone with the relatively minor injuries you sustained. You’ve earned your amplifier tonight; it will just take the others time to realize it.”
Zoya’s heart soared at the compliment. “Thank you, moi soverenyi ,” she breathed.
He looked down at her. “The Healers said you refused to let them heal your wounds.”
That was true, Zoya’s back was bound with thick bandages like an orkazat’sya and the Healers had gotten even more sour than they had originally been when she’d told them that she didn’t want them to fix her. “I did,” she said and struggled to figure out how to explain why she felt it was so important that she keep the scars which would come from the tiger’s claws. “I thought that-”
“I understand,” the Darkling said, and he reached out and took her chin, holding her head steady as he studied her. His fingers were cold--so he did get cold!--and when he touched her Zoya exploded with a feeling of surety and power far beyond anything she’d ever felt before, even with her new amplifier. The feeling was intoxicating. She wanted to feel like this forever.
“You’re a pretty little girl,” the Darkling said, sounding contemplative, “and you’re sure to grow to be a very beautiful woman. I imagine that is already causing problems for you. How do your parents feel about you becoming a soldier?”
If he had not been touching her she probably would not have been so bold, but the Darkling was an amplifier and she was buoyed up by the power and surety his touch lent to her. “What my parents feel doesn’t matter. What anyone feels doesn’t matter” she growled. “I am Grisha; I’m powerful and I’m going to be the best.”
His lips twisted into something that at first she thought was a smile, but then became another, darker emotion she couldn’t place. He bent down so he was looking straight into her eyes. “Beware of power, Zoya,” he said, like he was gifting her with a fundamental truth of the universe. “There is no amount of it that can make them love you.”
Then he straightened up, let go of her chin and stepped away. All the power he’d been lending to her drained away in an instant and Zoya found herself leaning after him in a subconscious attempt to get it back. Even with her tiger amplifier, she still felt like she’d lost something. She tried not to let the emptiness show on her face.
The Darkling returned to his chair by the fire and settled down again. “You can return to your tent and rest,” he said. “We return to Os Alta in the morning; I expect you not to let your back slow us down.”
“It won’t,” Zoya vowed.
“Good,” the Darkling said. She was just beginning to wonder if that was her dismissal when he said, “Also, you should know that because those cubs have your scent on them, their mother won’t raise them. She’ll leave them to die in the snow. You doomed them as surely as if you’d taken a knife to their throats yourself.” He leaned back in his chair. “You may go.”
She bowed and fled before he could see her cry.