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(aka the Genya and Alina raised-together-alternate-timeline no one asked for.)
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It is a gray morning when the oprichnik calls her from her Physik class, bleak and dreary. The girl had opted to wear a sweater under her kefta with the common sense most children her age did not have, hating the biting chill in the early hours still. Her hair was black today, as it had been yesterday, and probably yet tomorrow. Hair color was easier and easier every week to change. Her Altering teacher had given her onyx to experiment this time, and it had given her soft and dark hair she coveted dearly, even knowing it would fade in the next few days. Genya liked Altering much better than Physick, which came less easily and also bored her.
There were just so many diagrams, and studying! And weird names for body parts. If it was a wrist, why couldn’t they just call it a wrist? Instead of a carpus ? Changing the look and appearance of people was much more fun than healing, but the Second Army did not have much use for a youngling Tailor (as of yet). So they were trying to see how much healing they could browbeat into her. She had thought it would be fun to leave home and become a Grisha, but mostly it was just work.
So, Genya did not mourn the early dismissal from the healer’s class. She stubbornly practiced with the older students, but knew she would never enjoy it, nor would it ever come easily. She knew this as a girl who had been strong in her gifts since she had learned to speak well, and likely even before that. The Little Palace had not taught her overly much other than martial training, which she also liked, except when the boys got rowdy and started sitting on each other. She guessed it was useful to know how human bodies were put together, and the how or why she could change them in certain ways. Bruises and small wounds were easier and more her scope. She could stubbornly practice until she was blue in the face, but it was squeezing blood from a stone to push her power to knit wounds larger than a finger length.
The guard led her to the front drive of the Little Palace, and Genya fell into a quiet posture when she saw the General ahead, waiting for-her?..or someone else? She fluffed the black hair before folding her hands primly in front of her, standing at attention as much as a 10-year-old could. “Good morning, sir.” She did not think he noticed her hair, but she refused to pout. He was very busy, and she was lucky he had even called for her to do...whatever he needed her to do.
Black eyes glanced sidelong at her, obviously distracted. “Good morning Miss Safin. You may go, Demetri.” The oprichnik nods and about faces as some of the young ones still did, fearful and respectful in equal measure.
Genya stood behind the General, eyes set to the end of the drive, curious but quiet. She knew in her long months here that the Grisha leader would speak his piece in time, and it was not for her to question his requests. Well...orders, but she liked to think she was not so least in his eyes that she may not have been permitted the choice. (She would be cured of that hopeful expectation, in time.)
Her unasked question is answered when a ruined carriage rattles up the long drive, riddled with bullet holes, and blood spattered on the four massive horses. The Inferni at the rear post looks as if she had not slept in many days, and Genya’s fingers twitched to ease over the dark circles under her bloodshot eyes. But she does not move. The Darkling would not have called her for an Inferni, probably. She folded her hands and waited. Her time here had taught her nothing if not patience.
A Corporalki gets down from the driver’s seat, moving stiffly but quick as he was able. Another Heartrender descended the small steps after the carriage door opened, and Genya only knew he was a render by his red kefta-which was at that moment bundled around a skinny girl, hair mousy and eyes wide as he set her down before himself.
“What happened?” the General demanded fiercely, pulling the young Tailor from her watchfulness.
It's the kefta-less render who answers, “Fjerdans, One of the duke’s house servants must have gossiped in town-they caught up to us despite our haste. We left within hours of testing her.”
He ushers the tiny girl before the black pillar of their leader, she balking in the silent resistance. Genya can see one of the hands on her shoulder has a small curved wound on it.
Kirigan waits until she raised her scared eyes up to him, then held out a gloveless hand.
The girl looks back to her caretaker whose cloth armor she wears, clearly unsure. He nods, tilting his head toward the General. Hesitantly, and clearly disliking her lack of choice in the matter, she offers it to him. Her tiny hand is instantly dwarfed in his, but the effect is all the same. The girl blazes up like an oil drenched torch, courtyard lit into white and gray relief. Genya covers her eyes despite her fascination, startled. It's like looking at the sun to the point of pain, and her eyes water even when she blocks it out.
When the light fades, General Kirigan nods, seemingly pleased. To the newly returned Grisha he says, “Go, I will see that she is placed.” They each sag in relief, exhausted.
Realizing they mean to leave her, the girl turns in a quick panic to the heartrender, reaching for him desperately, “Pavel!”
He smiles at her, patting her head and crouching for a moment. “Don’t worry malen’kiy , I will see you later.” She glares after him when he departs, but does not chase. Knows better already than to fight overmuch.
Genya remembers that moment for herself, when her parents had taken the Grisha’s stipend and she had been taken from her home. She was the youngest of five, and ate the most out of her siblings already, as she practiced her gifts easily even then. They would fare better minus one mouth to feed. There had still been tears.
That is when the general motions for her to step forward, stepping to the side so that the girls may finally see each other properly. “This is Alina Starkov. She will need to be assisted with cleaning up from her travels, and show her to her new room. She will be pesented to the King in the afternoon audience, at the third bell.”
Genya instantly feels pity for the girl that she would be moved swiftly from her old life to this one, but quells it. She had lived through that too, though she was of lesser importance, clearly. The Darkling had not greeted her personally on first arrival. “Yessir.” She knows instructions when she hears them, nodding into a bow as she had seen the adults do towards him. This was a chance to prove her skills to him.
The other girl watches keenly like Genya does-eyes studying, but thoughts not showing on her face. It was a good habit to have here, especially if she had to spend time at court. Genya still wondered if she might like the Grand Palace if she had the chance to go, thinking wistfully of the sweeping gowns and sharp suits previously only seen at a distance. She pushes that to the back of her mind, taking the first step towards her newest fellow, offering her hand, “Hi, I’m Genya. Nice to meet you.”
Unsurprisingly, the smaller girl doesn’t take it, eyeing her suspiciously. If the strange man had made her shine like a newborn star, what would this second handshake do? Better to not. Genya shrugged, turning to follow the Darkling as he swept past them back to the entrance. Ten paces ahead she hears the gravel behind her start crunching underfoot as the girl decides to follow them.
Genya does not actually have to do much other than stand witness as maids bathe and dress the quiet girl, then sees her settled in the Vezka room before she goes to see about lunch. She thinks the Darkling had meant for her to be a companion more than a lady’s maid, and the girl is not so much younger than her that she couldn’t dress herself. It might be just that she felt too upended with shock to resist any further, and Genya could have at least helped then if it came to tears. It's still better than Physik class, so obviously still she would not complain.
A kitchen maid had met her halfway on her journey to the same place, laden with a large tray. Genya leads the way back to the suite. It's a much nicer room than hers, but her own room was still the size of her entire family's shabby home-and that was with her sharing a bed with her two sisters until they had found and brought her to Os Alta. Here she does feel a little spoiled, but knows better than to relish it.
Anything can be taken.
She does the maid the kindness of opening and holding the door, then blinks to find her charge in an upset heap on the bed, hiccuping and gulping in gasps, eyes strained and red from scrunching her face. The girl pauses and whips around when she sees the strange maid (to avoid further scrutiny), likely either embarrassed or simply scared. Genya remembers her first week without her parents, even if she doesn’t miss them much now. She had cried her share too.
“Will you leave us, please?” she asked the maid, “I will call when we are finished.”
The maid does as she is bid, even being older. That was another lesson Genya had had to get used to. Here the Grisha were cherished, not abused and scorned as she had known in her previous life. Even maids listened to little girls here. Genya pushes the tray to the back of the table, then turns to the grand bed. “Miss Starkov, are you hungry?”
There is a snuffle, then an (assumingly snotty) nose wiped on a dressing sleeve, before the girl turns around. Her eyes are puffy and pink. Genya tuts at her, pity reborn. “Come now, you’ll give yourself a headache if you keep on like this,” she chides, taking a leaf from her teacher’s lecture on bedside manner. “I can make the swelling go away if you stop. I know you must be hungry. Those horses don’t look like they stopped since-well, wherever you came from.” She waits for a response, trying to keep her face expectant but not impatient.
“Keramzin,” comes the soft reply, and the small voice is hoarse with the raw action of weeping. The girl’s lower lip trembles, but she holds steady then. Genya hadn’t heard the harsh crying from outside, but again, understood. The younger girl clumsily wipes her face again with both sleeves, trying to collect herself further. “We-we only stopped twice in three days. To change horses. Pavel-” she hesitates, biting her chapped lips, “He had to stay in the carriage with me- after I tried to run away the first time. They made me sleep the last two, and during the fight. He said sorry every time, even when I bit him.”
She can’t help herself. Genya laughs, high and delighted, covering her mouth almost as soon as it starts, having startled herself. She can’t remember the last time there had been something to laugh about like that in her long months here.
Her outburst makes the younger girl smile blearily, eyes swollen but tears now halted. “I’m Alina,” she offers, her own hand outstretched this time, the dressing gown falling to almost cover her fingertips.
Genya smiles warmly in return, taking the small hand in hers. “Hi, Alina. Let me fix your eyes, then we can eat.”
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The Darkling comes to the door himself when the bell is quarter till. He knocks, but waits for no answer before entering. Genya knows that is very like him. He does not ask, he expects .
They were given a rough red tunic to dress Alina in, and a simple linen underdress, and new black boots. Humble origins, Kirigan had insisted. Genya had even braided her hair into twin tails, so she looked a bit younger than her professed eight-and-a-half, maybe seven. They had started a tentative friendship during lunch and while preparing after, Genya answering what questions she could as they came to the girl’s mind. You could hardly tell the youngest Grisha had been weeping barely an hour before.
Alina fidgeted beneath his inscrutable gaze, while Genya waited for the general’s judgement more anxiously than the other girl does. She knows his standards for his people. Alina will learn. Genya suspects she will be the one to teach her.
“Good. Well done, Genya,” he finally says, turning and motioning for them to follow.
Inwardly, she preened, but only answered, “Thank you, sir.”
He leads them out of the Little Palace to the Grand one. Genya had scarcely retrieved her own kefta, and only had moments to brush her hair once Alina had been prepared. This was not her moment, after all, but she wanted to look decent, if not her best.
Dozens of Grisha were waiting ahead at the entrance to the large palace entryway, openly peering around the general to Alina. They turned to watch her as the two girls were led past, most of them adults. Genya knew most of her agemates would still be in classes, and she felt another prideful tickle that she was allowed to attend. Had been trusted with this task.
She is pulled again from her revelry by a clammy hand fastening to hers, and Genya stares at it a moment, then at the other girl. The gold veil over Alina’s face is hard to see through, but...it waves as rapid breath passes from within it, and the hand clinging to hers is trembling. Genya tightens her fingers and squeezes back gently, making a show of tossing her hair and lifting her chin as the Grisha part before them. Most of them (once the general passed) smiled at her little show. Likely, (after they were told the new child summoner could call the sun), they had been told that she was very young.
Out of the corner of her eye, Genya can see Baghra lingering behind them all, her face grim rather than welcoming. Almost scowling, and she had her eyes on Alina. She had no time to wonder about that before the great hall swallowed the entire crowd of them inside.
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Genya is ready for the starburst of light the second time, and only needed to squint since she was expecting it. The general holds Alina’s small hand engulfed in his own, holding it aloft as high as he could go without lifting the girl. She thinks Alina had been badly startled by his shadows that had enveloped the room in swiftness, but had wisely not cried out. The young summoner was going to be fine here, Genya thought. Everybody got used to it.
She had.
The fading glow allowed her to admire the sparkling effect on the queen’s gown, shimmering whenever she moved, almost prisming off her necklace and tiara. Genya sighed at the sight, only briefly considering the king and crown prince. The prince was not much older than her, but was at the worst stage of adolescence, face pocked and gangly in his fine court suit. He looked miserable. The king was too old to hold her attention, and she barely heard his speech. She was transfixed by the pageantry until the Darkling bowed.
“When will she be ready?” the king had asked lastly, speaking about Alina as if she wasn’t even there.
The general straightened, frowning. “She is very young, Majesty. There is much training to be done. It will be, at the least, several years.” His tone is fact, not a guess. He will not allow it before then.
Genya can tell this is not what the King wanted to hear, but he finishes a speech about hope and reunification lamely, then dismisses the Darkling with a wave. Only the Darkling would risk leaving the king in any mood other than perfect satisfaction.
The general turns them back to the rear of the hall, where his crowd of Grisha wait. This time the community of them all get to shake Alina’s hands, some even wrinkling their noses goofily, trying to ease her welcome. They had all been the youngest or the newest acquisition before, they understood. The young Tailor waited for them to thin out, and then finally darts in when Alina starts to cast her eyes about, looking overwhelmed. This time she reaches out and they join hands easily, not quite running from the hall, but for Alina she can tell it's definitely an escape.
“I have to take you to your kefta fitting in the morning,” she explains as they meander to the Little Palace. “Do you like blue?”
They walk hand in hand the whole way back.
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