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Chapter Text

       Matthias stared  at the drusje in front of him, at the man who had murdered all of his druskelle brothers in one go. Who had stolen the air from their lungs as easy as breathing. Who was about to do the same to Matthias and Trassel. 

      No. No. It couldn't end like this. Matthias could not fall to this drusje's awful magic. 

     A feral scream erupted from Matthias's throat as he charged at the drusje, rifle at the ready. At the same time, a blast of bright light burst from his body, rippled throughout his arms, blinding the drusje and pushing him back a few feet. 

     The light then disappeared, and Matthias could see that the drusje was blinking in confusion, having paused as he did so. But it was only a momentary one, for the drusje then began moving his hands... 

    And suddenly Matthias was unfathomably sleepy, so much so that he just dropped to the ground in exhaustion, and soon there was nothing but darkness. 

****

    When Matthias next awoke, he found himself looking up at a bright blue sky, with the hard, rough ground pressing against his back. An attempt to move his hands revealed they were tightly bound. In a panic, Matthias sat up, and checked for his weapons, utilizing his limited arm movement to do so. Said weapons were, of course, gone. 

    Glancing around, he saw the dying embers of a campfire next to him. Also next to Matthias was his wolf, Trassel, which was a relief. What was not a relief was the drusje in the red coat with black embroidery across from the campfire. The very same drusje who had killed Matthias's druskelle brothers. 

    "Well," the man remarked dryly. "You're up. I'd put you back under, but I'm afraid we're going to have to walk, so..." 

    Matthias let out a sharp laugh. 

   "Walk. Walk where, exactly? And what makes you think I'll go with you?" 

   "Hmm...let me think," the drusje began, tilting his head as if thinking. "One, your fellow druskelle are all dead, so you can't take me back to your Ice Court anyway." 

   "All thanks to you and your unnatural powers," Matthias spat. 

   "Two, all of your weapons are back at your camp, which I made sure is a long way from here," the drusje continued, ignoring Matthias.

   "And I'm sure you were the thief who took those as well." 

   "Three, I'm a Heartrender who could easily kill both you and your pet wolf should the need arise."

   Matthias scoffed.

   "Our isenulf are immune to your unnatural powers. You cannot kill Trassel with them."

   "No, but I can kill you," the drusje said calmly. "And then what would happen to your wolf? He'd be forced to wander alone, abandoned, with no pack to accept him. At least, that's what I've heard." 

    Matthias let out a little gasp of horror. The drusje was right. Should he choose to kill Matthias with his demonic powers, poor Trassel would be all alone. 

    "Not to mention, you're a Grisha as well," the drusje added, standing up and stamping out the fire. "You should be happy to come join the Second Army. Especially since it means you don't have to hide your powers from your fellow druskelle anymore." 

     Matthias gasped in horror. 

     "You think I am one of you? Is that why you spared my life?!" 

     The drusje shrugged. 

     "How do you explain that blast of light you shot at me?" 

    "That was...that was not drusje power," Matthias protested, refusing to let the drusje's words be true. "That was...that was Djel, giving me the power to subdue you so I could avenge my fallen brothers." 

     Yes. It had to be Djel. The alternative was too horrible to contemplate. 

     The drusje burst out laughing. 

    "That's good, kid," he guffawed, slapping his knee as he did. "That's really good. Hilarious!"

     "It's true!" Matthias insisted. "I am not...I am not a drusje. I can't be." 

     "Yeah, sure, you keep telling yourself that," the drusje replied, rolling his eyes. "The proper word is Grisha, by the way. That is, when you're ready to face reality. Anyway, we'd best get going."

      With that, the drusje did some sort of gesture with his hands, and suddenly Matthias felt himself being pulled up to his feet by some unseen force.

      "My name's Ivan, by the way," the drusje added. "Just so I don't have you calling me drusje the whole way to Chernast."

      "Matthias," Matthias replied. "Mine's Matthias Helvar." 

***
      Escaping from the drusje would turn out to be nigh possible. Namely because all it took for Ivan to keep Matthias from running away was a few hand gestures. Those blasted hand gestures of Ivan's had many, many applications in terms of keeping prisoners compliant.

    The obvious was, of course, keeping Matthias kept steadily walking behind Ivan, whether or not he wanted to, when Ivan deemed it time to walk. Horrifyingly enough, Ivan's powers could also keep Matthias from speaking, which prevented him from siccing Trassel on the bastard much of the time. 

    And when Ivan deemed it time to rest, Matthias learned that Ivan could also use his powers to keep Matthias unable from moving, or at least, from getting up off the ground. And, of course, making sure Matthias was asleep throughout the night, so that naturally he could not escape. 

   Thus, naturally, thanks to Ivan essentially turning Matthias into a puppet, they reached the military outpost of Chernast with a relatively uneventful journey. Once there, Ivan announced to the nearest underling that he needed to speak to a "Colonel Raevsky" immediately. Said underling, rather than protest being ordered about by a drusje, simply nodded and led them through the mess of canvas tents and people in the drab olive uniforms of Ravka's regular army, towards the tent which belonged to the Colonel Raevsky in question. 

     "S-sir!" the colonel exclaimed as Ivan and Matthias walked into the tent. "What on earth are you doing with-" 

     "Colonel Raevsky," Ivan interrupted, seeming not to care for whatever the officer's questions might be. Matthias supposed that in this country, drusje must not need to explain themselves to mere mortals, no matter how high-ranking. 

     "I need a message sent to the Darkling. He needs to be informed that I have found a Sun Summoner." 

     Colonel Raevsky blinked in confusion. He glanced briefly up and down 

      "A... Sun Summoner?" 

     "Yes," Ivan said dryly.  "Believe it or not, this druskelle behind me is indeed a Sun Summoner." 

     "No, I am not," Matthias insisted. "The drusje lies. They all lie." 

      Matthias shot a pleading look to the colonel. Ravkan though he might be, he was also not a drusje. Maybe he would sympathize with Matthias over his drusje master. 

      Instead, the colonel merely frowned asked: 

      "And what is a Sun Summoner?" he asked.

      "A Grisha formerly spoken of only in legend, one that can summon light," Ivan explained. "One that might be able to destroy the Fold."

      Wait, what? The Shadow Fold? That horrid mass of darkness created by foul sorcery some centuries ago, with the hideous man-eating monsters?  

     Colonel Raevsky's eyes widened.

      "The Fold?" he gasped.

       Ivan nodded.

      "Say no more," the Colonel declared, immediately grabbing for a quill and piece of paper and handing them to Ivan. "Write whatever message you wish. I shall send it to Kribirsk posthaste."

      "We shall also need an Examiner," Ivan added. "To test our druskelle and confirm that he is indeed a Sun Summoner."

      The colonel then grimaced.

      "Ah, I'm afraid we don't...have any Examiners," he said nervously. "All of the Grisha stationed here are primarily here for...combat purposes. We can send the message, but I'm afraid we don't have anyone to test your young druskelle friend." 

      Which was just as well, Matthias supposed. Even if he really did possess Grisha sorcery, as Ivan insisted, why in Djel's name did these people think unleashing it in the Fold would do anything constructive? Most likely it would only make things worse. 

****

   It had been decided that Ivan would take Matthias and journey to Kribirsk in the morning, so that Matthias could be presented before the Darkling, the leader of Ravka's Grisha. The Darkling, in turn, would 'test' Matthias and judge for himself whether or not Matthias was this 'Sun Summoner'. And after that? Well, Matthias supposed he would be killed-after all, Matthias couldn't very well expect he would be able to deceive the leader of all drusje everywhere that he was one of them. Nor would he want to. 

    And in the meantime, they had locked Matthias in one of the cells for the night, where all the varying soldiers of Ravka's army-both the ones in dull olive, who belonged to what they called the First Army, and the drusje in their varying coats, who belonged to the Second Army-were free to come and gawk. Something which Matthias did not appreciate, because he was trying to sleep. 

    Granted, a good night's sleep was one of those things that had always eluded Matthias, ever since childhood. Barring those times Ivan had enchanted him otherwise, Matthias's nights were usually a bunch of tossing and turning in between fits and starts of sleep.

     "Hey," asked a mousy-haired First Army soldier on the other side of Matthias's cell door. 

      "Are you the druskelle they captured?" 

     "Yes," Matthias snapped. "What about it?" 

     The soldier leaned in and whispered, much to Matthias's shock, the opening words to Fjerda's national anthem. In Fjerdan, no less. 

    The soldier then added, also in Fjerdan: 

    "The Children of Djel are among you."

     "You...you..."

    "Yep. I'm a spy for Fjerda," the soldier admitted in Fjerdan.

    The soldier shrugged.

   "Normally I just send back the latest military plans and shipment routes, but I could try and send a message to Jarl Brum if you want. Tell him they've captured you." 

   "You would?" he gasped. "Thank you." 

   "My pleasure," the soldier replied with a smile. "What else do you want to say?" 

     Matthias hastily detailed the things he wanted the soldier to report to Jarl Brum. The deaths of Matthias's druskelle brothers at Ivan's hands, how Ivan had spared Matthias because he mistakenly believed Matthias was a drusje, that they were taking Matthias to the Darkling. 
    
    And finally: 

     "That no matter what happens, I will always remain loyal to Fjerda and the druskelle. Even in death." 

    When Matthias was done, the soldier nodded and said: 

    "My name's Nils, by the way." 

    "Matthias. Matthias Helvar." 

   

Chapter Text

        In the morning, Matthias was shoved inside a cart, hands still bound, with two First Army soldiers on either side of him, both of whom were equally alert and had their rifles at the ready. Riding alongside them was Ivan, keeping a steady pace with the cart.

       But there was also a bonus-for driving the cart was none other than Nils himself. That same spy, who had indeed sent a message to Jarl Brum as he'd promised. How, exactly, the Fjerdan spy had managed to arrange this, he would never know. But Matthias was grateful all the same. 

      Nils's presence on the journey, alas, was not much good for anything other than silence moral support. Him taking them anywhere other than this Kribirsk would immediately clue the Ravkan officers to the truth of Nils's loyalties. Speaking to him in their native tongue would also raise unnecessary suspicions. 

     Nevertheless, Matthias was grateful. Even if they had to keep up the pretense of being enemies, he was grateful.  

****

    The town of Kribirsk was most disappointing. There was the same cluster of military tents and personnel as there had been before at Chernast, with a variety of taverns and shops surrounding it.   

    But the massive darkness beyond it? The darkness that seemed to stretch into infinity?  A wave of terror went through Matthias upon seeing it. They expected him to destroy that with his nonexistent drusje powers? Not a chance. Not a chance. 

   Matthias sent up a silent prayer to Djel for a swift death at the hands of this Darkling. Better that than being sent into that thing. 

   Eventually the cart pulled up before a truly enormous tent made up of black silk with four pennants flying from its top-purple, blue, red, and black. Matthias's breath hitched. This must be where the drusje live.

    The muzzle of a rifle pressed against Matthias's back told him it was time to get off the cart, and Matthias obeyed, allowing the First Army soldiers, and Ivan, who had stabled his horse somewhere, to lead him into the Second Army tent. 

    Matthias's jaw dropped as he took in the splendor all around him. The walls were made of bronze silk, which caught the candlelight from the sparkling chandeliers above in an enchanting way. Drusje everywhere in their blue, red, or purple coats lounged about on cushions drinking tea, separated into artificial compartments by silk partitions. Small wonder the drusje chose to come and serve this Darkling. Who wouldn't long for luxury like this? 

   The rifle muzzle pushed him further along into the tent, towards a black pavilion on a raised dais. Matthias heard the various drusje murmur among themselves, staring at him as he did. 

   Matthias ignored them, instead choosing to say the words of the druskelle  oath to himself as he walked: I have been made to protect you. Only in death will I be kept from this oath.

   In front of the pavilion, a cluster of men wearing the Ravkan double-eagle symbol stood over a table looking at maps. At the head of the table was an elaborate ebony chair, in which lounged a handsome man in black robes, whom Matthias realized must be the Darkling.

  The leader of all Ravka's drusje was surprisingly handsome, and young too. His pale face was sharp and beautiful, and he had a shock of thick, lustrous black hair, and clear, glimmering, quartz- gray eyes, which seemed to rest on Matthias with a disbelieving curiosity. 

   "Ivan, report," the Darkling ordered, nodding towards Ivan. 

   Ivan straightened beside Matthias and said: 

   "This man before you, Matthias Helvar, and five other druskelle, attacked me in the woods outside Chernast. I managed to defeat the other five easily, and was about to finish this one off as well, when suddenly he charged at me with his rifle-and then there was a searing burst of light from his body which knocked me backwards." 

   A collective gasp emanated from all the drusje present. 

   The Darkling frowned, then turned towards Matthias and asked: 

   "Is this true?" 

   "I suppose," Matthias scoffed. "But it was not your accursed drusje sorcery. It must have been Djel, granting me the power so I could smite this drusje before you and avenge my fallen brothers." 

    Ivan chuckled nervously. 

   "Naturally, that is what he thinks, being a Fjerdan and all. I-I do not know. I managed to subdue him, of course, and brought him to Chernast in the hopes I could find an Examiner to confirm his power. But no such Examiners were present." 

    This was met with an uproar among the drusje, with many claiming that Ivan was a liar, that Ivan was wasting their time, and various other protests. 

    "Quiet," the Darkling ordered softly, and amazingly, this did the trick. All of the drusje present fell silent as the Darkling rose from his chair and walked over towards Matthias. 

    "We shall just have to see for ourselves, then," the Darkling continued, before clapping his hands briefly. Darkness immediately swallowed the tent, blinding everyone including Matthias. 

    "Hold out your arm and push up your sleeve," Ivan ordered beside Matthias.

    Matthias obeyed, gulping as he did. Well. This was it. Everyone would soon know that the power had indeed been temporary, that Djel had likely taken it away in disgust after Matthias's failure. Matthias briefly glanced behind him, trying and failing to spot Nils. He hoped Nils would be able to get word to Jarl Brum, that he would tell the druskelle commander Matthias had died bravely in service to Fjerda. 

     The Darkling's fingers then closed around Matthias's wrist, and much to Matthias's surprise, his fear was gone. In its place was a calm, powerful warmth, one which felt vaguely familiar. Was this Djel? Had Djel come to save him in his hour of need? 

     Then Matthias felt a call of sorts ring through his body, and the warmth rose up to answer it. Matthias hastily shoved it down, knowing if it came out, he would be ruined. 

     "Nothing there?" the Darkling murmured.

      Yes. Nothing there. Nothing there at all. 

      And nothing happened. The darkness remained, and Matthias smiled, utterly flooded with relief. He had failed their test.  Matthias was not a drusje. 

     "Not so fast," the Darkling hissed, and suddenly Matthias felt something cold cut into his skin.

      Blindsided thanks to the shock of the pain, Matthias was helpless as the warmth inside answered the Darkling's call and exploded into bright light. Bright light which shattered the darkness, flooding the tent with light and heat.

     All of the drusje present were gaping with shock, and so were the First Army soldiers who had followed Matthias into the tent. For a moment, the sight, alongside the release of power, filled Matthias with an unknown ecstasy. Then the Darkling released his grip, and said ecstasy, alongside the light, instantly disappeared. 

    Tears were blinking in Matthias's eyes as he sank to his knees in defeat. Well. It was official. Matthias Helvar was now a drusje. Whether or not he had been one before, whether it had been merely Djel's blessing, was irrelevant. The Darkling had, somehow, irreversibly transformed Matthias into a drusje like himself, both in the eyes of his followers and as a matter of fact.

    The Darkling then pulled Matthias up onto his feet, and then handed him over to Ivan. 

    "You are full of surprises, Matthias Helvar," he mused as he handed Matthias over to Ivan. Matthias was too shaky and ashamed to protest. 

    To Ivan, the Darkling ordered: 

    "Go. Take him to my carriage. I want him surrounded by armed guard at all times. Go immediately to the Little Palace; don't stop for anything. And have a Healer see to that cut." 

    Ivan nodded, and then proceeded to drag Matthias away. 

    "Oh, and be gentle," the Darkling called after him. "He is Grisha now." 

     ****

      Matthias quickly wiped the tears from his eyes as Ivan and he and some other red-robed drusje escorted him down to where a black coach awaited him. A fitting color, considering that Matthias was as good as dead. No, worse than dead. Thanks to the Darkling's magic, Matthias was now an aberration, fit only to be burned at the pyre. 

      Numb inside, Matthias got into the coach, followed by Ivan, two more red-robed drusje, and two mysterious guards clad in charcoal gray, some of which Matthias had seen outside the entrance to the tent. Were these drusje as well, or mere mortals? Not that it mattered. Regardless, he was still their prisoner. 

       One of the drusje, a woman whose cuffs were embroidered in gray, switched with one of the gray-clad guards to sit beside Matthias. Matthias stiffened as she went to grab his arm, yanking it out of reach.

     "I will be fine without your sorcery," he snapped.

      Ivan's eyes narrowed.

     "Ignore him," he said to the gray-cuffed drusje. She dutifully obeyed, grabbing Matthias's arm and cleaned the wound. She then passed her hand over his arm, and suddenly it itched and blazed with heat, and also shimmered as the cut began to mend itself. The drusje then dropped his arm, and then Matthias saw to his amazement that there was not so much as a single trace of a scar. 

     "Thank you," he murmured in awe, forgetting him for a bit. 

     The woman shrugged. 

     "I'm a Healer," she said. "It's my job."

     The Healer then stood up and exited the carriage. After which, the crack of a whip sounded, and the carriage immediately started moving, speeding away from Kribirsk. As it did, Matthias glanced out the window at the guards surrounding the carriage, trying to find Nils's face among them. Alas, Matthias could not find the spy. Which was just as well, he supposed. After all, Nils was most likely as disgusted by Matthias now as Matthias was.
    
   "My name is Fedyor," the remaining red-robed drusje, a fair-haired lanky man. "Fedyor Kaminsky." 

    Matthias looked at Fedyor, his attention drawn away from the window to the black embroidery on the man's cuffs. 

   "And do you perform the same sorcery as Ivan does?" Matthias asked.
    Fedyor nodded. 

    "Yes. I too am a Heartrender. And it's not sorcery, by the way. It's the Small Science." 

    Matthias gritted his teeth. 

    "If you say so." 

    After a bit of silence, Fedyor blurted out:

    "How did you hide it? How did you hide your power from the other druskelle?"

     Ivan slapped his forehead and groaned. 

     "Me?" Matthias barked, letting out a laugh of disbelief. "I didn't hide anything! I wasn't a drusje before any of this happened!" 

     Fedyor snorted, his eyes widening in disbelief.  

     "Then how do you explain what happened in the tent back there?" 

    "It was the Darkling, obviously," Matthias snapped. "He did this to me. He's the one who made me a drusje like you!" 
     
    "Of course," Ivan sighed, rolling his eyes. "It was the big, bad Darkling's fault! You can't possibly be a Grisha naturally, no!" 

    "Indeed," Matthias agreed, surprised by Ivan's words. "The druskelle commanders would have known immediately if I already was a drusje!" 

    And since Matthias had been twelve when he joined the druskelle, that meant he would have been dead a long time ago.

    Ivan shook his head and rolled his eyes again. 
    
    "I was being sarcastic," he snapped.

    Turning to Fedyor, he said:

   "They don't test children up in Fjerda, so most likely this fool honestly didn't know. Or has been subconsciously repressing it his whole life." 

   "And the power only came out when he was fighting you? And then when the Darkling touched him?" Fedyor asked. 

   "Aha!" Matthias cried. "So you admit the Darkling did something to me!"

   "No," Ivan snapped. "The Darkling is an amplifier." 

   "An amplifier being-"

   "Something that increases a Grisha's power," Fedyor explained. "Only, the power must be there to begin with. "

    Ivan withdrew what appeared to be a silver chain from his collar, upon which dangled some black bear claws. 

   "Like this," he added. "Only, the Darkling is alive. Unlike the Sheborn bear I took it from." 

   "And it makes you stronger?" Matthias murmured.

   Ivan nodded.  

   "Do all drusje have these?" Matthias asked, curious. "Little bear claws that make their power stronger?" 

   Ivan put the bear claw necklace back within his robes and shook his head. 

   "No. They are rare and difficult to obtain. Only the Darkling's most favored have them." 

    So, Matthias would most likely never get one, then. 

***

     The nights and days passed, and still there was no sign of Nils. The spy had most likely gone back to Chernast, to continue his duties. 

     To Matthias's surprise, they took the main road. This was not because, as Matthias first assumed, the Darkling did not care who knew about Matthias. On the contrary- he cared a great deal. He simply believed that getting Matthias to Os Alta, Ravka's capital, as fast as possible was preferable to attempting stealth. The faster they got there, he believed, the less time rumor of Matthias's new power had to spread. 

    Hearing that, Matthias fought the urge to laugh. Thanks to Nils, the Fjerdans most likely already knew about Matthias's new status. Nils would doubtless have sent a message to Jarl Brum about the powers Matthias had displayed in the tent. All this speed was a fool's effort. Not that Matthias told Fedyor or Ivan that. 

    Something he would be grateful for one particular afternoon when the coach suddenly stopped in the middle of the road.

   "What-" Matthias began, but Ivan clapped a hand over Matthias's mouth, warning him to be quiet. 

    The coach door opened, with a soldier ducking his head in to say: 

    "There's a fallen tree on the road. But it's most likely a trap. Be alert-" 

    Then a shot rang forth and that soldier fell forward, dead. The air was instantly filled with panicked cries and the sound of bullets hitting the coach. 

    "Get down!" yelled one of the guards next to Matthias-oprichniki, they were called-as he pinned Matthias down to the coach floor, shielding Matthias's body with his own. Ivan kicked the dead soldier out of the coach and slammed the door shut. 

    And then, gritting his teeth as he peered through the window, Ivan said something that changed everything:

     "Fjerdans." 

    Fjerdans? Matthias thought, hoping filling his body at the thought. Had his countrymen really come to rescue him? Had Jarl Brum gotten Nils's message in time? 

    Apparently having seen Matthias's hopeful expression, Fedyor made a few hand gestures, and suddenly Matthias was paralyzed again, unable to get up off the floor. Ivan then turned to Fedyor and the oprichnicki on top of Matthias and ordered:

    "Fedyor, go with him. You'll take this side. We'll take the other. At all costs, defend the coach." 

    Ivan then did another hand gesture, and once again, Matthias was also unable to talk, just like for those long stretches on the way to Chernast. With that, the Heartrenders and guards leapt from the coach, slamming the doors behind them as they did. Paralyzed and voiceless, Matthias could hear the sounds of fighting: metal weapons clashing, horses whinnying, bodies dropping to the ground. A body briefly slammed against the door of the coach, smearing blood all over. 

   Matthias winced when he saw it was one of the oprichniki. They, he had learned, were not drusje; just ordinary people chosen to protect the Darkling. Because of this, Matthias had come to be fond of them. 

   The door then flew open, and Matthias instantly came face to face with one of his countrymen, albeit one he didn't recognize. Nevertheless, Matthias smiled and pointed to his druskelle uniform, unable to do much more to confirm his allegiance to them. 

   The Fjerdan soldier then reached for Matthias's legs, yelling out to his fellow soldiers in Fjerdan: 

   "We found the witch!" 

   Matthias sighed and slapped his forehead. He didn't expect them to understand the nuances of his situation any more than Ivan and Fedyor had, but it would have been nice not to immediately be called a witch.

    Nevertheless, Matthias allowed his countrymen to drag him out of the coach and into the wooded glen where all the fighting was going on. And continue to drag him across the ground, much to their frustration; the paralysis had not worn off. Matthias attempted to explain with hand gestures that the Heartrenders had made him unable to walk, but this only resulted in more grumbling.

    Such was the situation as the Fjerdans traveled through the glen, some of the trees on fire thanks to the drusje, trying unsuccessfully to go uphill. At least, until the Darkling arrived. 

     He wore black, as usual, and was leading a group of drusje in red and blue, whose hands threw lightning and fire down on his countrymen that were currently fighting the Ravkans. While that happened, the Darkling slid from his mount and made that thunder-like clap with hands again. From his hands ropes of darkness flew through the glen, targeting that band of Matthias's countrymen that was currently with him. When they found the Fjerdans, the ropes of darkness enveloped their heads, blinding them. Matthias was dropped unceremoniously onto the hill as his rescuers attempted to wave the darkness around their faces away. 

  The Ravkans seized their advantage and made quick work of slaughtering the Fjerdan soldiers. Matthias watched with the last of his rescuers-a big man with a wild blond beard- in horror as the bodies of their countrymen quickly littered the glen.

   Matthias pointed at the man, then further down into the glen, then at him. Take me further in.

   Rather than doing that, however, instead the man put his knife to Matthias's throat.

   "You will come no further!" the man bellowed. 

   The Darkling dropped his hands.

   "You are surrounded," he said calmly.

    And he was right; Ravkan soldiers, even as they spoke, were slowly climbing the hill, and all of them had their rifles pointed at Matthias's rescuers. If they were going to kill Matthias, they should get it over with. 

   "Give him to me, and I will let you scurry back to your king," the Darkling continued. 

    No. No. 

    Matthias's eyes darted to his new captor, the one with the knife at his heart. He shook his head violently.

   Don't let them take me, he pleaded silently. 

    "Never!" the man with the knife cried, pressing the knife deeper into Matthias's throat. "You will never take the witch! We cannot let you have this power!" 

    Matthias sighed in relief and closed his eyes. So, it was going to be over, then. 

    Then, all of a sudden, there was a sickening sound, the sound of something being sliced open. Matthias opened his eyes and saw to his horror that his would-be-killer's arm, the one with the knife, had been severed and was now on the ground. Glancing behind him, he saw that the man was now clutching the stump where his arm had been, staring at the Darkling in horror. But not for long, because a thin slice of darkness then came flying at them, or more specifically, at the big man's head. Which promptly fell off the man's body and landed on the ground behind Matthias. 

    Matthias did his best to scoot away from the corpse, the Darkling rushing towards him as he did. 

   "Are you alright?" the Darkling cried, clear worry in his tone as he seized hold of Matthias. "Did they hurt you?" 

   Matthias shook his head.

   The Darkling sighed in relief. 

   "Good," he said. "Now come. Let's get back to camp." 

   Matthias sighed, pointed at the nearest red-robed drusje he could spot, then at his legs, and then shook his head. I was paralyzed so I can't walk. 

  The Darkling groaned and rubbed his temples. 

   "Was it Ivan who made sure you couldn't talk as well?" 

   Matthias nodded. 

   The Darkling then swept Matthias up in his arms without even the slightest bit of effort and started walking towards the coach. Once there, he glared daggers at Ivan, in a way that made Matthias think both Ivan and Fedyor were about to be in a lot of trouble. 

   "Undo what you did to the Sun Summoner, please," the Darkling snapped. "Now. Give him his speech and legs back." 

    Ivan sighed and made a few gestures with his hands, and suddenly Matthias gasped as his voice returned. Another hand gesture and feeling returned to Matthias's legs. Relieved, Matthias slipped out of the Darkling's arms and onto his feet once more.  

   "It was not me who paralyzed him," Ivan grumbled. "That was Fedyor's doing. I only shut him up so he wouldn't give up our position to his countrymen." 
   
    The Darkling's eyes glittered with anger. 

    "You still shouldn't have done it. He is Grisha now. He is one of us."

    "Try telling him that, moi soverenyi, " Ivan scoffed. "If we hadn't done something, he would have helped those blasted Fjerdans!" 

    "Yeah," echoed Fedyor, who had apparently heard his name and had walked up behind Ivan. "He was thrilled when they showed up!"

    "Well, his mind won't change if you treat him like the enemy, will it?" the Darkling retorted. 

     My mind will not change even if you give a thousand krydda, Matthias said silently. You have already made me a drusje, and I have still not abandoned my homeland. 

     "But-" Fedyor began, but the Darkling put up a hand to stop him. 

     "The Sun Summoner will travel with me," the Darkling declared, "That should put to rest any concerns. And rest assured, you will both be punished when we get back to the Little Palace." 

  ***

    Matthias Helvar did indeed travel with the Darkling for the next few days, this time on horseback. And at a truly brutal pace, too-Matthias's entire body ached in a way that it hadn't since the early days of druskelle training. But it was all worth it, Matthias supposed-for the Darkling at least. 

    For at long last, they had reached the city of Os Alta. They'd passed through a massive gate and double walls, and...at first, the city was not very impressive. It was simply a much bigger version of your average market town. But then they crossed the bridge. 

    Matthias's jaw dropped at the grandeur around him. He had not seen anything like this since the Ice Court, or the Grisha tent. The place was a mass of fountains and plazas, lush, green parks, and perfect rows of trees lined all the roads. And of course, grand houses which only got grander the further uphill they rode. And then they came another set of gates, these ones gold and emblazoned with a double-eagle symbol. 

   Through the gates, and another little elegant path, was the most ostentatious building Matthias had ever seen. Three stories of it loomed over marble terraces and fountains of actual gold. All of its terraces were practically made of statues, and it was covered in windows that were most likely gold as well. 

   "Is this where we live?" Matthias asked nervously. 

   The Darkling shook his head violently. 

   "No. This is the Grand Palace, home of the royal family and the court." 

    With that, Matthias followed the Darkling until they reached a thick strand of trees that felt like a small wood, where they rode until at last they came upon the most miraculous creation Matthias had ever seen.

     It was smaller than the Grand Palace, but still enormous. It was also more tasteful, but no less grand; it was all golden domes, and dark wood walls, which, Matthias realized, were covered in intricate carvings. 

    "Welcome to the Little Palace," the Darkling announced. 

   

   

   


     
 

     

Chapter Text

      Matthias was hastily handed off to a gray-colored servant woman, who led him up a staircase that, to his aching body, felt excruciatingly long. After which, they walked down a hallway past several doors until at last, there was one doorway that was open, in which a uniformed maid stood silently and attentively. 

      The room it led into was fit for a princess: it was large, with gold curtains, a beautifully tiled grate behind which was a fire, and a huge, canopied bed. Onto this bed Matthias plopped himself down, reveling in the softness and luxury of it. 

     "Can I get you something to eat, Master Helvar?" the maid asked. 

      Matthias shook his head. All he needed to do was sleep and forget any of this had ever happened to him. 

     The maid nodded and gently closed it behind him. Alone at last, Matthias pulled off his boots and let the exhaustion take him.

***
  
     When Matthias next awoke, a tall, beautiful young woman was standing in his room, looking rather nervous. Her coat was unlike that of any other drusje he'd seen- white with gold embroidery, lined with fox fur. Standing behind her was an assortment of uniformed maids. 

      "So," the young woman said in a small voice, her gold irises wide with fear, "My name is Genya Safin, and I have been ordered by the Darkling to make you presentable for the king. Whom you are about to meet in a couple of hours." 

     The king? The king of Ravka? 

    "To that end," Genya continued, "We are going to start by removing your clothes, if you don't mind. And then, we are going to get you into a bath. Because, no offense, but All Saints, you clearly need one." 

     Immediately, the other maids disappeared into the bathroom, and the two remaining instantly began undressing Matthias. They made short work of it. Soon Matthias's gray druskelle uniform- indeed rather filthy from weeks of travel- was on the floor, and Matthias was extremely, extremely naked, in a room filled with women. 

    Thoroughly embarrassed, Matthias's hands immediately shot to cover his privates. While the druskelle  hadn't exactly been shy with each other, they were also an all-male order. This...this was different. This was straight-up indecent. 

    Genya, for her part, merely rolled her eyes. 

    "You Fjerdans are so prudish," she scoffed, before having the maids usher Matthias into the bathroom. 

    A bathroom which was, now that Matthias was awake enough to appreciate it, jaw-droppingly luxurious. Everything seemed to be made of tiny bronze tiles, and there was a sunken oval tub in the floor made out of beaten copper filled with steaming water that called out to him on a spiritual level.  Not that Matthias had time to gawk; he was only in the bathroom for a split second before one of the maids pushed Matthias into the tub, causing water to briefly splash onto the floor. 

    The water, although almost painfully hot at first, turned out to be just the thing for Matthias's aching body. A soft moan escaped Matthias's lips as he sunk into the water, going limp and languid as the maids scrubbed his hair and body. Matthias might very well have laid there for an hour or two at least, letting the heat melt away the aches and pains. But alas, when the maids were finished washing away the weeks of travel, Matthias was hastily pulled out of the tub and dried off. For their dignity and his, they dressed him in a soft velvet robe, and led Matthias back into the bedroom. 

    Where Genya stood by what appeared to be an elegantly carved wooden table and chair over by the windows. She gestured for Matthias to sit in the chair, saying in a bright-but-still-very-afraid voice:

    "And now I am going to use my unique Grisha abilities to, well...freshen up your face a bit." 

    Matthias blinked in confusion, utterly uncomprehending even as he sat down. 

    "You plan to paint my face?" he said, glancing at the open trunk and the squat glass jars on the table before him. The colored powders appeared like they could be used for that purpose, at least. Matthias was not sure about the berries or the leaves. 

   Genya shook her head. 

   "Not quite. You don't think I was born looking like this, do you?" 

   "I...I-" Matthias stammered, unsure how to respond to that. It had been quite plausible that this Genya woman before him had always had the deep auburn hair, smooth porcelain-colored skin, and beautiful eyes she possessed right now. But now that she'd hinted at the opposite being true, Matthias supposed it might be. All of the drusje Matthias had seen so far in Ravka had been nothing short of radiant, after all. Even the Darkling, who had been commanding Ravka's sorcerers long before Matthias was born, and yet looked barely older than him. How could any of that be natural?

   "You plan to use your drusje sorcery on my face?" Matthias cried, horrified. 

    Genya winced. 

    "Not to change it, per se," she said with a nervous laugh, "It's quite lovely, actually, even with-"

    Genya waved her hand to gesture at Matthias's whole face.

    "Everything. It's just that you look..." 

    "Tired? Sickly?" Matthias sighed. It was what everyone had always said. First in the village, back when his family was alive, and then even more so with the druskelle. 

     "Exactly! And well, you'll need every advantage you can get with the king. It might help...distract him from the fact that you are a-well, used to be a-"

     A druskelle. 

    "And well, the king is quite obsessed with beauty," Genya babbled, "So it wouldn't hurt to, well, enhance your natural features, so to speak." 

     Matthias slumped down in his chair. She had a point. Up until now, Matthias had been considered the enemy to these people. Was still technically the enemy. Whatever distracted the king from that could only be to Matthias's advantage. And besides, thanks to the Darkling, Matthias was a drusje now. And undoubtedly, all drusje did this to their faces. 

    "Very well," he conceded, "Work your drusje sorcery on me." 

    "It's called Tailoring, actually," Genya chuckled as she took hold of Matthias's face and ran her hands all over his face. Matthias's skin prickled as it did, just like it had with that Healer. But then the prickling stopped as Genya took a pale pink rose petal off the table and held it up to Matthias's cheek. The color immediately leached out of the petal, making Matthias nervous. 

    Finally, there came a comb made out of bone and what appeared to be a jar of gold flecks. Genya dumped the gold flecks on the top of Matthias's head and then combed them all throughout Matthias's hair. Genya then tied his hair with ribbon and handed Matthias a gold mirror. 

    "Here, take a look," she said encouragingly. "A proper Sun Summoner, no?" 

    Curious, Matthias obediently looked into the mirror, his breath hitching as he did so. Matthias had always thought himself passable looking at best, but the face in the mirror before him was not merely passable. It was beautiful. 

  His long, dull blond hair was now the color of burnished gold. The dark circles that had always been under Matthias's eyes, ever since he could remember, were not only gone, they looked as if they'd never existed. His pale skin, which had always looked sickly, like he was suffering from a fever, now looked smooth with a rosy blush underneath it. Only his eyes were the same pale blue they'd always been. 

    "Thank you," he breathed, despite himself. 

    "It will only last a few days," Genya told him. "I rarely do anything permanent to a face. Anyway, time to get dressed."

     And then the maids came back in, and Matthias was pushed beyond an ebony screen, where the maids quickly dressed him, puzzlingly enough, in a white shirt, wooly red vest, breeches, and boots. The clothes of a Fjerdan villager. 

    "We couldn't have you dressed as a druskelle, obviously," Genya said with a laugh, apparently sensing Matthias's confusion. "But at the same time, if you appeared in a kefta, the King would think the Darkling's been hiding you."

    "Kefta?" Matthias asked, 

    "These," Genya explained, tugging at her coat. "Our uniforms, our armor." 

    "Ah." 

    "So we settled for Fjerdan peasant clothes," Genya explained. "I...I hope that's not offensive." 

    "No, not at all!" Matthias exclaimed. "It's quite nice, actually." 

    It was more than nice, actually. Matthias had not thought he would ever wear simple villager's clothes ever again, at least, not in the near future. This was a pleasant surprise. 

    "Good. Anyway, time to go down."

     With that, the pair exited the room and began walking down the stairs. Near the end of which, Genya turned around and told him:

    "By the way, if anyone asks, all I did was help you dress. I'm not supposed to work on Grisha normally." 

    Matthias's jaw dropped. 

   "What? But...but I thought..." he sputtered. 

   "Blame the Queen and her ridiculous court," Genya snapped. "She thinks it's not fair."

    "Not...fair?" Matthias said, thoroughly confused. "So, the drusje...we drusje...look like that naturally?"

    Genya nodded, 

    "Yes. Only, please don't call us drusje in front of everyone. Say Grisha, please. It'll go over better." 

    With that, Genya and Matthias entered the huge domed hall at the bottom of the stairs, which was crowded with drusje, sorry, Grisha. All of whom, even the very oldest ones, looked strikingly good-looking. Which, in Matthias's opinion, was only further proof that he was right, and that his situation was the Darkling's fault. After all, if Matthias was naturally a Grisha, like everyone else here, presumably, and Genya was telling the truth about Grisha being naturally beautiful, then he shouldn't have needed Genya's sorcery. He should already be stunningly beautiful. 

    A hush fell over the crowd as the Darkling suddenly entered, striding up to Matthias.

   "It is time," he said softly. 

   And with that, the Grisha began to file themselves into a two-abreast line. First went the ones in the purple keftas, then those in blue, and then finally, the ones in red. 

    "Where do you go?" Matthias whispered to Genya, pointing to the line.

     Genya shook her head sadly. 

    "Nowhere. I... I must attend to the Queen." 

     With that, Genya hastily made her exit. The double doors were then thrown open, and the Grisha began dutifully walking out of the Little Palace and into the outdoors. Matthias and the Darkling were at the end of the line, dead last. 

     As they all walked along the gravel path, the Darkling asked Matthias in a low voice,

    "How do you feel? Better?" 

     Matthias nodded. Surprisingly, he did. Both sleep and the bath had restored him somewhat, given him more energy. 

    "Good. Because the king will be expecting a demonstration." 

     Matthias winced. He had only been turned into a drusje a few days ago! How could he possibly-

     Then it occurred to Matthias. If he failed to showcase his newfound drusje powers before the king of Ravka, nobody would believe the Darkling. He'd be exposed as a fraud. Possibly executed. Granted, so would Matthias, but at least this way Matthias could still die serving Fjerda. 

     Yes. That was why Djel had done this to him. Had allowed Ivan to make the mistake he did, had let the Darkling transform him. So that Matthias could strike a blow at Fjerda's enemies from the heart of their power. And all Matthias had to do was fail.

    Matthias set his jaw in grim determination. He could do this. He could stand in front of Ravka's king and not showcase any drusje powers whatsoever.

    And soon enough, they were at the Grand Palace once more. Then it was one spacious entry hall, a corridor filled with gold and mirrors, and soon Matthias, the Darkling, and the rest of the Grisha were in the throne room. 

    A pale blue carpet ran the length of the room, from the entrance to the raised throne at the entrance. The court was clustered around said throne, the men in white military dress laden with medals and ribbons, the women in splendid gowns with puffed sleeves and rather indecent necklines. The Grisha flanked the carpeted aisle, all grouped by the color of their kefta. 

    All eyes were on Matthias and the Darkling as the pair walked up to the throne, in which sat Ravka's king. Honestly, he didn't look very different from the other noblemen, nor all that impressive to tell the truth. He wore the same style of military dress, with nothing to differentiate him save his throne. He was slender, the king, not at all muscular, around forty or so in age, and his eyes were watery. Upon closer inspection, he could even see that the king had several broken blood vessels in his nose.  

     By the king's side was a man that utterly creeped Matthias out, however. Dressed in brown robes with a double eagle symbol, and he had a long, dark beard. Was this man merely a priest, or another drusje?

   Matthias's thoughts were interrupted by a nudge from the Darkling, and Matthias realized they had stopped before the throne. 

    "Moi tsar," the Darkling announced, his voice loud and clear. "Matthias Helvar, the Sun Summoner."

     Matthias gave a brief bow to the king, one which was interrupted by the king hastily interrupted with: 

    "Come! Come closer! Let me get a look at him." 

    Obediently, Matthias and the Darkling walked up to the base of the dais. 

    Matthias suddenly felt the King's eyes roving all over him, examining him with a mental fine-tooth comb. At last, a half-smile crept across his face. 

    "He's rather pretty, for a druskelle," the king chuckled. "I imagine he'll have broken the hearts of every woman in court in no time." 

    A small peal of laughter rippled through the court, as if in agreement. Matthias flushed red with embarrassment. 

    "I assure you, I would never behave so improperly, Your Majesty," Matthias blurted out. 

    The king waved Matthias's statement away with hand and said: 

    "Well, go on, then. Show me!" 

    Matthias took a deep breath and steeled himself. Here it was-the moment of truth. All Matthias had to do was not use drusje sorcery. An easy task, he hoped; after all, Matthias couldn't expect the Darkling to help him out again, could he? Even if he did, Matthias would not let him. Not even if the Darkling cut him again. Although could one really claim to have powers of sorcery if someone had to cut you in order to get them to work? Matthias didn't know. Maybe these Ravkans would accept it if the Darkling did cut him. They had in Kribirsk. 

    The Darkling clapped his hands, and all was darkness in the throne room. A mass of nervous cries emerged, but Matthias stared straight ahead into the nothingness. After a few minutes in the dark, they would see the error of their ways. 

    Then the Darkling, in a complete reversal of expectations, grabbed Matthias's arm, and to his horror, he could feel the Darkling's call ringing throughout him. But Matthias was determined. He stamped down hard on the warmth inside, refusing to let it answer. No matter what. 

    But then another completely unexpected thing happened: as Matthias pushed down the power, as he resisted, he suddenly started feeling...queasy. Sick. Like he was about to throw up all of his guts and collapse on the floor. An effect which only strengthened the more Matthias resisted.

    And suddenly Matthias realized: he had no choice but to release the warmth. It was either that, or let it tear him apart inside. And even then, Matthias wasn't sure if the power wouldn't still get out. Thus, Matthias stopped resisting. He let the power have its way. 

    And then there was a burst of light that flooded the throne room, clearing up all the darkness in an instant, and also Matthias's sickness. In its place was shimmering light and heat, as well as the sheer ecstasy that had taken over Matthias briefly in Kribirsk. He wanted to dance, to sing, to cry out to Djel in thanks. Thanks for what, he didn't know. Everything. 

   Around him, Matthias heard the court erupt in applause, with people weeping and hugging each other. He soaked it all in, reaching his hands out towards it, as if he could touch. And in the process, slipping out of the Darkling's grip, causing the light, heat and ecstasy to disappear in a flash. 

    "Brilliant! A miracle! Truly a miracle!" the king cried, walking down the steps of the dais and taking Matthias's hand to shake it. "My dear boy. My dear, dear boy." 

    Matthias winced, the king's words causing everything to come crashing down all around him. Matthias had failed, once again. He had retreated where he should have held firm. He should have let the sudden illness take him, not turned to this new power to relieve it. He was a disgrace. 

    Behind him, he heard the king clapping the Darkling on the back. 

    "Miraculous!" the king exclaimed. "Truly miraculous! Our country's savior, plucked from the ranks of its enemy! Come. We need to discuss this." 

    With that, the king escorted the Darkling out of the throne room. As he did, the priest suddenly stepped forward.

    "A miracle indeed," the priest agreed, staring at Matthias with an uncomfortable intensity. Matthias gulped. This man knew the truth, didn't he? That the Darkling had done this to Matthias-turned him into a drusje. That Matthias's powers were not natural-that they were anything but natural. 

     Matthias did not have time to ponder that, however, for suddenly Matthias was surrounded by Ravka's nobility. All of whom were crowding him, attempting to touch his hand or sleeve, as if Matthias was Djel come to walk the earth. Well, no, not Djel, these heathens did not worship him. One of their...Saints, more like. Matthias wanted to laugh from the irony. Anyone could tell you he was the exact opposite of something to worship-he was a demjin, a demon to be exterminated. 

    Then, to his relief, Genya came to his side, insisting that the queen wanted to meet him. Matthias allowed her to shepherd him away from the various worshippers and through a narrow side door, then into a jewel-like sitting room. And it was there that the Queen of Ravka sat, reclining on a divan with a small dog in her arms. 

    The Queen, like Genya, was beautiful and elegant- glossy blond hair in an elaborate bun, her features delicate, albeit cold. But there was something...off about her at the same time. Her hair was...too blond, her eyes too blue. Was this done at Genya's insistence, or the queen's? Matthias honestly could not tell. 

    The Queen was surrounded by women dressed in beautiful gowns with yet more indecent necklines, which Matthias very pointedly chose not to look at. 

    "Moya tsaritsa," Genya said, curtsying before the queen and her entourage. "The Sun Summoner." 

    Matthias executed a small bow beside Genya, then looked up to see the Queen was smiling. 

    "My, you are a proper young man, aren't you?" the Queen said to Matthias, in Fjerdan, of all things. 

    "Yes," Matthias sputtered, also in Fjerdan.  "I... I try to be, Your Majesty." 

    The women surrounding the queen tittered. 

    "Pardon me," Matthias asked, this time in Ravkan, so that everyone could understand. "But how is it that you speak Fjerdan, Your Majesty?" 

     The Queen laughed. 

    "Why, I grew up speaking it, just as you did," she explained. "I was Princess Tatiana of Fjerda before I became Queen Tatiana of Ravka."

    "Oh," Matthias gasped. He suddenly felt a pang of kinship for her. Undoubtedly, she had wanted to be here just as much as Matthias did. Which was to say, not at all.

    The queen sighed.

    "Oh, it is so lovely to see a nice, proper Fjerdan man here at court. This must all seem so strange to you."

    Matthias nodded. 

   "Strange doesn't begin to describe it, moya tsaritsa."

   The honorific felt strange on Matthias's tongue, even after he said it. 

    "I only hope that court life does not corrupt you like it has others," the queen said, her eyes flashing towards Genya for some strange reason. Matthias was dumbfounded by the implication; of all the people here, Genya seemed the least corrupt.

    Genya said nothing to this, so Matthias figured he shouldn't either. It must be a misunderstanding. 

   "I will try not to let it," Matthias promised her. Granted, by virtue of what the Darkling had done, he was already corrupt, but it was best not to say so out loud. 

    They were then dismissed, and Genya escorted Matthias out of the queen's sitting room, murmuring, 

    "Old cow," 

    Underneath her breath as she did so. Clearly, there was bad blood between the two women, which extended beyond the queen's stipulations on Genya's sorcery. But just then the Darkling was there, waiting for them, walking up to them and asking: 

    "How did you fare with the Queen?" 

    "Quite well, actually," Matthias said with a smile. "I did not know she was Fjerdan."

    The Darkling scowled. 

    "Yes. She married the King as part of one of those flimsy attempts at peace our nations occassionally cook up. A peace, which, as you know, never came to be." 

     Matthias shrugged. How could it? How could Fjerda possibly make peace with a land ruled mostly by witches? 

    "At any rate, welcome to court," the Darkling added. 

    "Thank...you," Matthias said slowly. This was the last place in the whole world he wanted to be. It seemed all overwrought with wealth, wealth that seemed to be at the expense of Ravka's ordinary folk. And ruled by drusje besides. But worst of all, it was a place where Matthias had utterly cemented his treachery. If Kribirsk was where the Darkling had turned him into a drusje, then the court was where he had revealed it to all the world. Had tried to make a last stand for Fjerda, and in the end, only succeeded in entertaining the enemy. 

    "Nobody likes court," the Darkling assured him. "Nobody wise, anyway." 

    "I see," Matthias mused. "So, tell me-who was that man in brown next to the king?" 

    "The Apparat?"

   "Yes. I think. Is he a...a priest? A special kind of...Grisha?" 

    "He's a priest. Of a sort. Some say he's a fraud, others a fanatic. I say he has his uses." 

     Just like Matthias did, no doubt. 

    The Darkling then turned to Genya and said: 

    "I think we've asked enough of Matthias for today. Take him back to his chambers and have him fitted for his kefta. He'll start instruction tomorrow." 

     Genya nodded and began leading Matthias away. Before they went very far, however, the Darkling then added: 

     "Oh, by the way, his kefta will be black."  

     This seemed to startle Genya. Why, he didn't know. Matthias was, after all, the Darkling's creation, even if the others wouldn't admit it, or possibly didn't know. Why shouldn't he dress in the same colors as the Darkling? It was just another symbol of how Matthias was nothing more than an abomination. That Matthias the faithful druskelle had died in Kribirsk; that in his place stood a monster. 

     But then again, Genya probably didn't see it that way. Poor thing. 

     Indeed, as they bumped into some servants in white and gold leaving the Grand Palace, it dawned on Matthias: Genya's kefta was in servants' colors. Meaning, she was not even on equal footing with the other drusje! She was just another servant to them, albeit one with sorcery.  

    The horrible thought stayed with him even after they reached the Little Palace, after they reached Matthias's assigned chambers. Upon doing which, Genya rang for a servant, whom she ordered to find a seamstress and bring up a dinner tray. Just before the servant left, however, Genya nervously turned to Matthias.

    "Perhaps you'd like to wait and dine with the other Grisha later?" she asked nervously.

   So, she had enough power to order the other servants around, but not enough to feel comfortable doing so. 

    "What?!" Matthias cried. "No. I'd much rather eat in here, with you." 

    Genya's mouth flew open. 

    "What?" he said. "Do the others not even let you dine with them?" 

    Genya sighed, her shoulders slumping downwards. 

     "So, you noticed," she said. "Yes. I do...occupy a lesser status among the Grisha."

    Genya's eyes lowered down to the ground.

    "They...they see me as the Queen's pet," she said. "What I do is not considered valuable. They don't see Tailoring as vital to the Second Army, exactly?" 

    "Why not?" Matthias asked. He saw a frightening number of applications for Genya's ability to change people's faces. Most being of a very deceitful nature. 

    Genya threw her hands up in the air. 

    "They just don't," she said. " Look, it's not just me-every Grisha order has their own unique amount of snobbery. Corporalki don't dine with Summoners. Summoners don't dine with Fabrikators. There's a pecking order." 

     "Well, I won't be a part of it," Matthias declared. "You may dine with me, Genya Safin, if it so pleases you." 

    Genya's face brightened. 

     "It does." 

     Thus, dinner for two was ordered, and after that, the seamstress came to occupy Matthias with measuring and fitting before it came. When dinner did come, it was both somewhat extravagant and exotic: sweet pea porridge, quail roasted in honey, and fresh figs.

     Much to Matthias's surprise, he found he was ravenous. He found himself almost inhaling his food, and after that was done, scraping any remaining sauce off his plate with his utensils to lick. When that failed, he just straight-up resorted to licking the plate. 

    "Truly, the druskelle are masters of good manners," Genya remarked upon seeing that particular display. 

    Embarrassed, Matthias put the plate down and gave her a sheepish grin. Ironically enough, the opposite had been true among his druskelle brothers-he had never been hungry, no matter how ragged their instructors had run them. In fact, one of his key methods of making friends had been giving his leftovers to other, hungrier boys. 

    At the end of dinner, Genya offered to come fetch him for breakfast the next morning, claiming the Little Palace was kind of a maze and she didn't want him to get lost. Matthias accepted her offer, then hastily sent her from his room. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin her reputation further by creating material for untoward rumors. When she left, Matthias undressed, folded the peasant clothes on the table Genya had used to tailor him, then found a nightshirt and went to rinse his face. 

    As he did, he observed a curious thing-the Tailoring, counter to Genya's words, seemed to have strengthened, not lessened. Shaking his head in disbelief, Matthias immediately went for the bed and slipped under the covers. 

    ***

     "Psst," a voice whispered at the window in the wee hours of the morning. Matthias turned and saw that it was none other than Nils. Nils, the spy! 

     "Nils!" he gasped, leaping out of bed "How did you-I thought you would have-" 

     "Abandon you in Kribirsk?" Nils finished. "Not a chance. Just because that accursed Darkling turned you into a drusje against your will, that doesn't mean I can turn my back on a fellow Fjerdan." 

     Matthias's jaw dropped. 

     "You...you don't believe I'm a drusje by birth?"  

     "No," he scoffed. "If you were, you would have escaped out of that cell of your own. No, you would never have become a druskelle in the first place. The druskelle would probably have killed you for tormenting some poor village ages ago. Either that, or you would've defected of your own free will and spent your life eating sweets and plotting Fjerda's downfall." 

     Matthias sighed in relief. Someone believed him.

    "Anyway, don't blame yourself for this," Nils insisted. "They might have forced you into being a drusje against your will, but we can fix this. If you can be turned into a drusje, surely you can be cured of it." 

     Matthias's eyes widened. 

    "Yes," he murmured. "There must be." 

    It wouldn't be easy to find, but Matthias would find it all the same. After all, the Darkling had managed to transform him from an ordinary person into a drusje. There must be a way to reverse the process. 

    "And in the meantime, I can help you get letters to Jarl Brum," Nils added, "Letters telling him the truth, about how you remain loyal to Fjerda despite your condition. How you are continuing to fight for it, even like this." 

     Matthias smiled. 

    "Yes. Thank you. Thank you so much." 

    "It would be my honor," Nils breathed, before disappearing back out at the window. 

    Matthias got back into bed and sank down into the softness of it, feeling lighter than he had in a while. He was facing quite a trial ahead, but Djel willing, he would get through it. 
    
    

Chapter Text

     
     Jarl Brum, Matthias began writing the next morning, wondering how exactly to explain it all. 

     In my last letter I told you the enemy had captured me and mistook me for one of their witches. You may have heard since then that I am a witch. That is true, but not in the way you think. You see, the Darkling did something to me when I met him in Kribrisk. He cut me, and all of a sudden, I could summon light where I couldn't before. I swear to you, Jarl Brum, I couldn't. This is an entirely new development; if I had known I was a witch I would have let you kill me the minute we met. 

    I still do not support these Ravkans, my heart, as always, belongs to Fjerda. 

     Matthias paused. How, exactly, was he going to explain the kefta? After all, its existence, as well as the fact that he wore it voluntarily, might contradict that to some people. Matthias could not lie and say he had not been given the beautiful black silk kefta with golden embroidery at the cuffs, especially when most likely any spies other than Nils would say they'd seen him wear it. 

     On the other hand, being honest had its own problems. The kefta, after all, was black-just like a completely different uniform Matthias had aimed to don someday, back when he'd deployed on his first and only mission. The uniform of an official druskelle, granted, was black and silver, not black with gold. But the similarities were still there. 

     Which perhaps he could use to his advantage. 

     You will hear that I have been given a uniform, one that I indeed wear, Matthias continued. Make no mistake, however; I would much rather have the black and silver of our order a thousand times over this one. I am not free here, Commander. I am at best the Darkling's pet, and more truthfully his prisoner. 

    But I will not be for long; I promise you I will do everything to find a cure to my condition, to transform myself back into an ordinary man, one fit to serve the druskelle. And when I do, I will find my way back to Fjerda posthaste. 

   Yours faithfully, 

   Matthias Helvar 

   Matthias folded the letter and walked into the bathroom where Nils was hiding. 

   "I am ready," he said, handing the letter off to Nils. "You can send it whenever you want it." 

  Nils grinned and began climbing out through the window. 

  "I'll send it at my earliest convenience," Nils assured him. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for a holy soldier in need." 

  Before Matthias could reply, Nils was gone. And good thing too; for just then Genya arrived. 

   "You look very nice," she mused, half smiling as she did. "Very nice indeed." 

     "Thank you," Matthias replied, flushing instantly. 

     "Shall we?" 
***

     Breakfast, it turned out, was held in the same place that they'd all gathered before Matthias's introduction to court. Although it was really only the same in terms of location. For now there were divans for drusje to lounge on, ovens to crowd around, and curious little urns which seemed to be used for getting hot tea.

    And in the center there were four tables arranged in a square. Set apart from which was an ebony chair with its own private table-Matthias guessed this must belong to the Darkling. Which in and of itself was a curiosity-Matthias had not thought him the type of commander that ate with his men. 

     "The Grisha who wear red are called Corporalki," Genya began, gesturing at various colors of kefta. "The Heartrenders and Healers. Those in blue are Etherealki, or Summoners. And finally, those in purple are the Materialki, or Fabrikators." 

      "I see," Matthias said, nodding along. This would help greatly in identifying them. Back at the Ice Court, in the druskelle dining hall, there had been a flag made of pieces torn off of kefta. But what the colors signified, exactly, Matthias had never known. He had guessed at one point that they might signify different ranks within the Second Army, but that had been the extent of any explanation. It was not relevant, anyway. 

     Before Genya could say more, two people in the red kefta,  Corporalki as Genya called them, came up to Matthias. One of them was an extremely voluptuous woman, which the kefta not only did not disguise, but actually enhanced somehow, despite keeping everything generally covered. The other had closely cropped russet hair, and whatever their gender was, Matthias was not able to ascertain it. 

     "I'm afraid we weren't introduced," the voluptuous woman said, smiling and batting brilliant green eyes at Matthias. "I'm Nina Zenik."

     Nina gestured to her androgynous companion and added,

     "And this is Hanne. Before you ask, their gender isn't really set in stone, so much as it fluctuates between male and female depending on how they feel. Regardless, just address them as they in conversation. It's how they prefer it."

    "Makes things easier," Hanne added. "I'm usually male, but like Nina said, it fluctuates and sometimes I'm female."

    Matthias nodded. He didn't quite comprehend it but decided he didn't need to. While some lesser men might decide this was a mere drusje affectation, Matthias knew better. Or at least, he thought so. There had been, after all, a woman back in the village-before it had been burned down by foul drusje-a woman who had at one point previously been considered a man. Before she had managed to change her body via Grisha sorcery, that was. Who herself had most decidedly not been a Grisha. 

   This was surely something along those lines. At least, that was Matthias's best guess. 

    "Anyway, would you like to come sit with us?" Nina asked. 

    Matthias turned to Genya, who simply said: 

    "Go. I'll fetch you after breakfast for the tour." 

     At the confused expressions of Nina and Hanne, she added sharply: 

    "Which the Darkling ordered me to give him." 

     Nina and Hanne merely shrugged as Genya then went to one of the urns and poured some liquid for herself out of them.  They then led Matthias to one of the tables, where servants went to pull chairs out for them. 

     "We sit here," Nina explained. "The Etherealki sit over there." 

     Nina gestured at the table opposite theirs, to the right of the large ebony chair, where all the Summoners sat, glowering at the Corporalki. 

     "Make such a big fuss about it, too," Hanne added, their bronze eyes narrowing.  "As if it distracts from them being mere summoners." 

     "No offense," Nina added quickly. 

     Breakfast was not as extravagant as dinner had been last night: mere rye bread and pickled herring. But also sliced plums. As well as tea, which the servants brought over from the urns, and also: 

     "Sugar," Matthias breathed, utterly disbelieving of the indulgence in front of him. 

     Nina blinked in confusion. 

     "What? Is there no sugar in Fjerda?" she asked. 

     "Yeah, but the druskelle aren't allowed any," Hanne quickly interjected. "It is an indulgence, something they are forbidden as holy soldiers of Djel." 

      Hanne said that last bit with a particular venom that unnerved Matthias.

     "And you know this how?" he asked, surprised that a Ravkan would know that about their order. 

     "They're from Fjerda, like you," Nina said with a laugh. "Couldn't you tell?" 

     "And my father is commander of their order," Hanne added, the venom entering their voice again. "The famous Jarl Brum." 

       Matthias gasped. 

      "You are the child of Jarl Brum?" 

      "That's right," Hanne replied through gritted teeth. "Your glorious commander was my father. At least, he was when I first discovered my powers as a child and fled to Ravka. He may have disowned me. I wouldn't know." 

       Matthias shuddered. Poor Brum. The man had been like a mentor to Matthias, and yet he had never spoken of any children. Was this why?

      "Go ahead," Hanne said, gesturing to the sugar bowl, "Put some in your tea. You don't have to deny yourself anymore. " 

     "If you want," Nina added hastily, nervously fiddling with her light brown hair. 

      Matthias stared at the sugar bowl for several seconds, feeling Hanne's eyes boring into his skull as he did. They were judging him, testing him to see how loyal he was to the druskelle order's principles, Matthias just knew it. And also, that any dedication to druskelle principles would be a black mark in their eyes. 

     Slowly, nervously, Matthias reached for the sugar bowl. After all, it wasn't as if Jarl Brum was here to see, right? And Matthias supposed he didn't have to mention this in his letters, either. Thus Matthias guiltily took a spoonful of sugar and stirred it into his tea. After which he took a sip and- 

     "Djel be praised," he murmured. "That tastes so much better." 

     Both Nina and Hanne chuckled. 

     "I know, right?" Hanne agreed, letting out a little chuckle. "I haven't taken mine plain since I was twelve." 

     Matthias immediately began dumping spoonful after spoonful of sugar into his tea, leading to a snort from Hanne. Matthias ignored them and blissfully drank up the now wonderfully sweet beverage. He decided that if all the world was connected through the rivers and waters, and all fed Djel, then that definitely included sugar. No matter what anyone might say, it was most definitely a blessing of Djel. 

    Djel knew, it was going to be difficult to give up if he ever managed to cure himself of being a drusje. 

    A somewhat content silence followed as the three ate breakfast, after which Genya appeared to fetch him. 

    "How was breakfast?" she asked as they walked away from the tables. 

    "Well, I met the...Grisha child of my old commander," Matthias began with a grimace. 

    "Oh, yeah. I can see how that would be awkward," Genya replied, nodding. " Hanne is...very much against the druskelle on principle. Even more so than the rest of us. As well as anything to do with Fjerda, really." 

    That was a polite, if highly accurate, assessment of the Healer. 

   "Anyway," Genya added, gesturing to a set of double doors in front of them, "Those lead to the library and workrooms. Those," 

   Genya pointed to the double doors on the left, 

   "Lead back to the Grand Palace." 

   Genya then pointed to the right and added, 

   "Those lead back to your room. And those-"

    Genya pointed to the double doors behind the Darkling's chair. 

   "Are the Darkling's council chambers and room. Pay attention if those doors open." 

     ***

    The library was a marvel. It was two stories high, with a balcony running around the second story, effectively separating the two levels.  It was also lined wall to wall with books, except for the domed ceiling, which was made entirely of glass, reflecting the morning light. There were clusters of reading chairs with small tables scattered throughout, and in the very center was a large table surrounded by a circular bench. 

    "You'll have to come here for history and theory," Genya told him. 

    "Really?" Matthias breathed.  Holy-they were practically giving him the keys to his liberation! Matthias had initially thought he would have to fight to learn the secrets of the drusje. Or at the very least, do a fair bit of sneaking around. 

     "Yes," Genya replied. "So boring. I finished all that years ago. Haven't looked back since."

    "Boring?" Matthias asked. "How could it possibly be boring?" 

    Genya blinked, seemingly surprised. 

    "That's not something I ever expected you to say." 

     Matthias gulped. He was supposed it was inappropriate for a druskelle to be so interested in things beyond what he needed to know to kill a Grisha. But Matthias was not an ordinary druskelle. Not anymore. 

    "I never needed to know any of this before," he told her with a shrug. "What I did need was simple and straightforward." 

    Genya averted her eyes. 

    "Yes," she said softly. "I suppose it would be." 

    After the library, Genya took him past some red doors which were, she said, the anatomy rooms, where the Corporalki practiced. Mercifully, Genya did not show him how, exactly, people like Ivan learned to manipulate others' bodies like puppets. Instead, she took him to the Fabrikators' workshops, which looked like something straight out of a story. It was bright, for starters, with nearly all the walls being windows. Materialki hovered over large worktables working on a variety of projects-which came with a variety of materials to go with them. For the nonliving materials, there were chunks of glass, bolts of fabric, chunks of rock, and skeins of gold and silver. For the living ones, there were terrariums filled with flowers, insects, and reptiles. 

     Genya attempted to speak with one of the Fabrikators, a gangly boy named David, but he was too engrossed in his work to pay attention to her. That work, apparently, involved glass disks meant for Matthias. After that failed attempt-which clearly bothered Genya more than she was willing to admit- Genya took him outside onto a rolling green lawn. A lawn which led to a lake, on the shore of which were dozens of white pavilions-pavilions meant for the Summoners. 

    "Safest place to practice," Genya told him. "We don't want an Inferni burning down the whole palace." 

    The image of which immediately sent him to another one, the one of his village burning in flames after several Inferni set fire to it. Matthias froze, horrified. 

    "Yes," he agreed hollowly. "That sounds wise." 

    Genya looked at him, her eyes wide with concern. 

    "Are you alright?" 

    Matthias nodded his assent, and then she immediately pushed him further towards the lake, where Matthias next saw a building surrounded by...children. Children in either red, blue, or purple. 

    "Is that a-?" he asked, not wanting to believe his eyes. 

    Genya nodded. 

   "A school, yes. When a Grisha's talent is discovered, the child is sent there to learn. It's where almost all of us learned the...how to harness our gifts." 

   Matthias's eyes widened in horror. They were indoctrinated early, it seemed. 

    "And what happens when they finish? Do they go free?" 

   "They become members of the Second Army. Some go to the great houses; others go serve on the...various fronts. The best are chosen to finish their education and serve the Darkling." 

   So, the Grisha had little choice in their own fates, it seemed. Once they came to the Little Palace, there was no way out. And many likely did not come here of their own free will, either. 

   "Do...do all parents send their Grisha children here?" Matthias asked. "Do some perhaps...withhold them, or-or go to Fjerda?" 

    Genya blinked in confusion. 

   "Why on earth would they go to Fjerda?" she asked. After a brief moment, however, she shook her head and said: 

    "Never mind. Don't answer that. Anyway, a Grisha's family is compensated handsomely. Their families never want. So, if there are any families who don't send their Grisha children here, they must be few and far between."  

    Genya shrugged. 

    "Maybe. I don't know. I haven't seen my parents since I was five. I don't need to. The Little Palace is my home." 

    So... people essentially sold their Grisha children to the Second Army here in Ravka. And might or might not bother to visit. For all the luxury and power they seemed to wield, Matthias suddenly felt a stab of pity. For the Little Palace suddenly seemed not just a palace but also a very luxurious prison. 

    Matthias wordlessly followed Genya  until at last they came to a stone hut within a secluded wood. 

   "In there is Baghra, your tutor. And this is also where I leave you." 

   Matthias nodded and allowed Genya to walk away. When she was gone, he walked up to the hut and knocked on the door. When no answer was forthcoming, he opened the door and was hit with a blast of heat. 

    "You're late," a woman's voice said as Matthias shut the door behind him.

    Looking around, Matthias found the person the voice belonged to, this Baghra. Who was a woman of many contrasts. Her back was straight and her body wiry, but at the same time she also looked skeletally thin from some angles. Her skin was smooth, and her coal-black hair showed no sign of gray, but yet her imperious demeanor was that of a woman who had lived quite a long while. 

    "So," Baghra mused, "You are Matthias Helvar, the Sun Summoner. As well as former druskelle." 

    Matthias nodded. 

    "I suppose so." 

    Baghra stood up, using a silvery wood cane to do so. 

   "Alright then. Let's see what you can do." 
  
***

     The lesson was, to Matthias's pleasant surprise, a disaster. 

    Baghra, it turned out, was an amplifier like the Darkling. When she fastened a bony hand around Matthias's wrist, the same warmth came, and the same sunlight erupted, flooding the hut and bathing it in light. But when Matthias had to call the sunlight without Baghra's hand? He couldn't do it. No matter what Matthias tried, no matter what Baghra did-scolding, pleading, hitting him with her cane-nothing happened. 
 
  “What am I supposed to do with a fool who can’t call his own power?" Baghra snapped. "Even children can do this."

    Children, maybe, who were already Grisha. But apparently an artificial Grisha was useless without an amplifier. Matthias tried hard to school his features into disappointment, to hide his secret delight. He was not a full abomination yet, it seemed. 

    After his failure with Baghra, Matthias spent the rest of the morning in the library. The towering stack of books on Grisha theory and history was discouraging at first, and even intimidating. Especially when it was told it was only a fraction of the reading list. But once he got down to it, it was actually rather fascinating.

     For starters, there had been multiple Darklings, it seemed. The current Darkling was merely one in a whole line of them. And they all descended from the Black Heretic, who was this Darkling's great-great-great grandfather. Said Black Heretic had also been the one whose foul sorcery had created the Fold in the first place out of greed, four hundred years ago. 

   But apparently, the sorcery was of a different kind than regular Grisha sorcery. A kind called merzost, which, as far as Matthias could comprehend, drained the Grisha of their vitality and life. As opposed to regular Grisha sorcery, which nourished a Grisha and kept them healthy. So much so that it even extended a Grisha's life span. They called this regular sorcery the Small Science. 

    While it was interesting, it was also a lot of information. But Matthias eagerly took notes and read with a passion, realizing that he could also send what he learned onto Brum, to better help his druskelle brothers. Although perhaps not yet-it would be better to send something more complete, after all. 

    The bell rang for lunch, where things took a bit of a downturn. 

    Genya was not anywhere to be found, so Matthias ended up sitting with Hanne and Nina once again. Upon doing so, he realized that some among the Etherealki were glowering at him. 

    "Do they want the Darkling to execute me or something?" Matthias whispered to Nina. 

    Nina burst out laughing. 

   "Hardly," she guffawed. "Sure, some might be...intimidated, but mostly they're just mad you're sitting with us. Those wannabes." 

   "Yeah," Hanne agreed. "They probably think you're shunning them, acting like you're too good for them."

   "Anyway," Nina asked, "Tell us about your lessons."

   Matthias decided not to tell them about Baghra-he couldn't feign disappointment all the time. Instead, he chose to talk to them about Grisha theory and history, all that he'd learned so far, how brutal yet delightful it was. 

    "So," Hanne concluded after Matthias finished. "You enjoy learning the truth after years of that Fjerdan propaganda, do you?"

   Matthias's jaw dropped in shock. 

   "What on earth do you mean?"

   Hanne scoffed and rolled their eyes.

  "I mean, I know this is your first day and all, but surely you have to have figured out everything you were taught was a lie, yes?" 

   "No, it-why would you think that?" Matthias cried. You are Jarl Brum's own flesh and blood!" 

   "And that's precisely how I know it's all horseshit," Hanne countered. "Trust me, my father didn't just want to-" 

   "And I think we might want to change topics," Nina cut in with a nervous smile.

   "Horseshit?" Matthias exclaimed.  "You dare call the order's sacred purpose horseshit?"

    Hanne shrugged. 

    "There are better ways to put it, yes, but that's one of the more polite ones." 

    "Our-the druskelle's sacred calling, given by Djel, is not horseshit!" 

    "Look, I'm not saying Djel doesn't exist. I just don't think he's all that into mindlessly slaughtering Grisha." 

    "It is not-" 

    "Oh, look," Nina interjected, "It's time for combat training." 

    Matthias looked down at his schedule and saw that he did indeed have combat training on it. Matthias briefly wondered how he was going to get around his lack of power if this was where they learned to use their powers in combat. 

    But as it turned out, that was unnecessary. Using Grisha power was forbidden in the combat rooms, which were near the stables. Even better, Botkin, a Shu mercenary, was not Grisha; merely exceptionally skilled at violence. The drills allowed Matthias to work off his anger at Hanne's words, which was enough to get him through the first half of the lesson. But eventually his body's limits came back, as they always had. And so, at the back half of sparring practice, Matthias found himself struggling to keep up, as usual. 

   Which earned a scornful chuckle from Botkin, as well as a variety of amused comments on how the famed druskelle apparently weren't so tough after all. By the end of it, when walking back to the Little Palace, Matthias was not only tired, but he was also seriously wondering if maybe it wouldn't be worth it to escape after all. But he was distracted from this thought by a sudden realization he was being watched. 
  
    Hidden in a low strand of trees was the Apparat, staring at Matthias with a feverish, unhealthy intensity. 

   The man definitely knew something. Unless it was the custom of Ravkan priests to stalk witches on their way to lessons-which Matthias highly doubted. Even in this topsy-turvy country, that was too improbable. 

     When Matthias got back to the dormitories he did not bother going down for dinner. Not if Hanne was going to spew such blasphemy, anyway. So instead, he sank into the bath and fully indulged in its warmth. After which, he ate dinner in silence while starting and abandoning another letter to Jarl Brum. 

    But then Ivan arrived, with a summons from the Darkling no less. Matthias obeyed, allowing Ivan to take him to the Darkling's chambers. Perhaps Baghra had told him of how Matthias couldn't do this 'Small Science' without an amplifier. Maybe he was reconsidering keeping Matthias alive. 

   Matthias was led beyond the ebony doors to what was clearly the war room, with, instead of windows, maps of Ravka on the walls. The Darkling sat at the head of a table reading papers.

   "Matthias," he said, looking up and smiling as he gestured to the chair beside him. "Come, sit." 

   Matthias obediently sat down where the Darkling gestured, still not sure what happened next. 

   "How was your first day?" the Darkling asked calmly. "Is Grisha life all you expected it to be?" 

   Matthias let out a breath. Baghra must not have told her superior about Matthias's dismal failures. 

   "Better, actually, in a way," Matthias confessed. "But also, in some ways worse." 

   The Darkling's eyebrows shot up. 

   "Oh? Do tell." 

  "Well," Matthias admitted, " I never would have thought I'd enjoy learning about the intricate workings of the Grisha sor-Small Science. But I do."

   "Ah. It seems you're more scholarly than I first presumed." 

   Matthias shrugged. 

   "Not really. Reading all those books is quite the challenge. But it's a nice challenge." 

   "What about Baghra? I hear she can be a bit of a trial." 

   Matthias laughed out loud. 

   "She is a strict and demanding tutor, but I've dealt with worse. Druskelle training is not for the faint of heart." 

    The Darkling looked downward. 

    "No," he said in a low, disappointed voice. "I suppose it would not be." 

    Damn it. He had offended the Darkling. He was definitely going to die now. 

    But then the Darkling looked up and said, 

    "I've heard you have a pet wolf, an...isenulf, that accompanied you to Chernast." 

     Panic shot through Matthias. They'd left Trassel behind at Chernast when they took Matthias to Kribirsk, either out of practicality or because they didn't want Matthias to sic him on the Darkling, possibly. It didn't matter. Trassel was now all alone, wasn't he? Wandering all alone, at best. Or dead, at worst, possibly. 

    "I have sent word to Chernast, telling them to bring this wolf of yours to the Little Palace," the Darkling continued. "I am sure you must miss him terribly." 

     Matthias gasped, unable to believe what he just heard.

     "Really? You've brought Trassel to the Little Palace?!" he cried. 

    "I am bringing this Trassel to the Little Palace, yes," the Darkling corrected. "I expect the wolf will be here in a couple of weeks."

    "Thank you," Matthias breathed, tears forming in his eyes. It was as if a huge weight had just been lifted off of him. 

    "That is all I wanted to tell you," the Darkling said. "You may go now."

   Matthias obeyed, going back to his dormitory with a lightness in his heart.  Sure, it was rough, but maybe Nils was right. Matthias could get through this-maybe without ever having to perform any Grisha sorcery at all. If not, at the very least, Trassel would be with him for the forseeable future. 
 




   

Chapter Text

            Grisha training was awful. At least, for Matthias, it was. He wasn't sure about the other Grisha, but for him, it was a horrid rhythm of breakfast, going to Baghra's hut, studying Grisha theory and history, lunch, go to combat training, eat dinner, going to bed. Altogether it ended up as an endless loop of frustration. 

            In Baghra's hut, Matthias would end up having the exact same amount of success as he had on the first day-none. Baghra would try many things to have him call the power-various books, breathing exercises, bizarre calisthenics, teas, and beatings with her stick. None worked. At the end of each lesson, she would then frustratingly call out suggestions/threats of violence, which would frighten Matthias if they didn't all turn out to be toothless. 

            The initial happiness Matthias had felt about it had long since disappeared. Yes, Matthias was the Darkling's own personal abomination, but if he was going to be an abomination for the time being, he should at least be half-decent at it, right?

            Especially since it was clear the cure was not coming any time soon. At least, Matthias couldn’t discover it from the books he had currently been given. Which made sense, considering the Grishas' arrogance: in Ravka they literally called ordinary people otkazat'sya, which meant "the abandoned" or "orphan". If there was something containing the cure, it would either be for the advanced classes, or perhaps in the Darkling's library.

            But at least Matthias could take comfort in what the books did teach him. It would all be a lovely addition to the order's collective knowledge, should Matthias ever escape. 
            For example, according to the books, everything in the world could be broken into very tiny little parts. Grisha sorcery, they claimed, was them manipulating these tiny parts, matter at the most fundamental level. How this made it what they called "the Small Science" and not sorcery, Matthias didn't understand.  Nor did he quite get the book's seemingly favorite phrase, “like calls to like”, which they claimed was the guiding principle of the Small Science.
           But two terms, at least, were clear to Matthias. The first was odinakovost, a property of things which made them like everything else, connected them. The second was etovost, the property which made things different from other things. Odinakovost, the books claimed, connected the Grisha to the world. Etovost was what gave them their affinity for fire, air, water, blood, or what have you.
            Matthias supposed that this etovost must have been what the Darkling had changed about him with that knife. What and how, however, eluded Matthias still.

           Combat lessons, at least, Matthias had thought would be easy, since he had already survived several years of druskelle training. He was dead wrong. Matthias had to hand it to the Grisha: they didn't just rely on their sorcery alone. Botkin, the non-Grisha instructor from Shu Han, set a brutal enough pace to rival the daily running and sparring the druskelle did.

           For the first half, Matthias was eager for it-it was an excellent release from the frustration that built up during the day. But then Matthias’s limits would show themselves, and Botkin would grumble to himself. Mostly about how Matthias was too weak, too skinny. How the potential was there, if only Matthias could eat something.

          "You eat food in Fjerda, yes?" Botkin would demand. "It is not a foreign concept up there, with the ice and snow?"

            Of course not, but Matthias was just never hungry. The mysterious bout of appetite that he’d had upon arrival had disappeared. Sleep evaded him as well as food, despite his absurdly soft bed. With them left the temporary beauty Genya had given him; Matthias’s true thin, sickly appearance came back.
            Baghra believed all this was connected to Matthias being unable to call his power-as in she believed that was the cause of it all. Which had merit, since it seemed to echo the books’ claim that the ‘Small Science’ nourished Grisha. Except…Matthias had been sickly and miserable all his life. His mother, when she was alive, had fretted over it a great deal, in her overprotective way.  Matthias half suspected she would never have left Matthias leave the house if it weren’t for his father’s intervention. The druskelle training had improved Matthias’s health significantly, but even so, Jarl Brum had been puzzled by Matthias’s continued sickliness.
            And besides, it wasn’t as if Matthias wasn’t trying to call the power. It just refused to answer.

            All throughout this, the Apparat continued to stalk Matthias, watching him like a hawk. The priest did not say anything to him, or try to initiate conversation, or do anything besides watch. But it set Matthias on edge. What did this priest want? What did he know about Matthias that necessitated his every move being observed? 

          After a while, Matthias had had enough. One evening after combat training, Matthias went into the Grand Palace and searched for the Apparat’s chambers. He did not find them, but a nervous servant helpfully told him where to find the chapel-since apparently that was where the Apparat was.
          The chapel was different than what Matthias was used to, given that it was indoors and all. Nevertheless, it maintained an aura of sanctity, albeit of a different sort. Paintings of various unfamiliar people adorned the walls, whom Matthias guessed must be the Ravkan saints. The room was lined with a variety of luxurious wooden benches, divided in the middle by a single aisle up to the altar. The Apparat knelt in front of said altar, seemingly absorbed in prayer. Yet he turned instantly to Matthias, clearly having heard his footsteps.
            “Greetings, my child,” the Apparat said, smiling at Matthias with too many yellow teeth in his mouth. “I did not think you would come this soon for spiritual gui-”
            “You know something, don’t you?” Matthias demanded, not caring for pleasantries. “About what the Darkling did to me in Kribirsk.”
            The Apparat blinked in confusion.
            “I…I do not know what you mean. Are you, perhaps, referring to his discovery? Your glorious discovery?”
            Matthias glared at the Apparat.
            “You know it was much more than that,” he snapped. “Don’t lie to me. You know what really happened.”
            The Apparat threw back his head and laughed.
            “Yes, Matthias Helvar, I believe I do.”
            The Apparat’s dark eyes bored into Matthias, alight with the same certainty and intensity as before.
            “For four hundred years,” he breathed, “We have suffered, been cut off from the world, from each other, all thanks to that hideous, consuming, monster-ridden darkness that splits Ravka in two. The people starve, and good men and women die every day crossing the Fold, consumed by monsters.”
            “I-I suppose-”  
            “But all that is going to change, thanks to you,” the Apparat continued, grabbing Matthias’s wrists and holding them tightly.  “At last, the Saints have sent you to us, Matthias Helvar. They brought you to Ivan, who brought you to the Darkling, who brought you here."
            Matthias grimaced. 
            "To the Little Palace. Where all the-" 
             The Apparat frowned. 
             "I do not know why they placed you among the Fjerdans to begin with. Nevertheless, what's done is done. And it is high time you had a proper education. Not just with your powers, though."                 

             Before Matthias could speak further, the Apparat released him, raising one hand to stop him, and with the other removed from the folds of his robes a book bound by red leather. He handed this book to Matthias, and Matthias could see the title embossed in gold: Istorii Sankt'ya. 
             "The Lives of Saints," the Apparat explained. "Saints like you. It used to be every Grisha child had this book when they first came to the Little Palace. But now...anyway, it will teach you enough. About those that came before you, who you will eventually become." 
            "Thank you," Matthias said curtly, before immediately turning on his heels and exiting the chapel. 
            Matthias had been wrong. The Apparat believed what everyone else believed, it seemed-that Matthias was a natural-born drusje who would liberate Ravka from the Shadow Fold. Or, if the Apparat did know what the Darkling had done, he approved of it. The Apparat had never mentioned that he wanted the Saints to send a natural drusje, did he? 

            "These are all clearly Grisha," Matthias exclaimed as he leafed through the book with Genya later that night while they ate dinner in his room. 

            "Yes, it would seem so, wouldn't it?" Genya agreed, her eyes resting on the illustration of Sankta Lizabeta drawn and quartered in a field of roses. "Lizabeta could easily have been a  Materialki of sorts, couldn't she?"

            "And Sankt Grigori is clearly a Corporalki, with his healing powers," Matthias added. "Sankt Petyr may be a regular person, but he seems to be the only one in this book who is. Your religion seems to be literally built on worshipping dead Grisha." 

            "Dead Grisha who everyone pretends weren't Grisha," Genya mused, taking a bite of porridge. "You're right. It is a bit weird, isn't it?" 

           "And the Apparat seems to think I'll be one of these people!" Matthias exclaimed. "Can you believe it? Me! One of your Saints!" 

            Genya shrugged. 

           "Well, he's not the only one. You are the Sun Summoner, after all. You can literally summon light. It's a power that naturally lends itself to Sainthood." 

            But I can only do it if an amplifier touches me, Matthias thought darkly to himself. 

***
     Occasionally, Queen Tatiana would summon Matthias to her jewel-like sitting room, where they would talk together in Fjerdan. Mostly about their childhoods-hers in the Ice Court before she married King Alexander III, his in the village before it had been burned down by the Second Army. Sometimes, her friends were there to witness it, to stare quizzically while they embroidered. But the other half of the time it was just the two of them talking over tea. 

   Curiously enough, she never introduced him to any of her friends, or encouraged him to talk to any of them. Nor did her friends attempt to talk to Matthias, either. Instead, they merely spectated. Matthias didn't understand it, but he didn't question it, either. 

    But the queen's seeming reliance on and hatred of Genya, that was a different matter. Without fail, every time Matthias and the queen talked, she would summon Genya to perform her Tailoring to erase a wrinkle, make her hair blonder-and in general fix whatever flaw the queen believed she possessed that day. But yet, the minute Genya disappeared, the Tailor's mere existence seemed to put a sour existence in her mouth. 

     "You do not need her sorcery, moya tsaritsa," Matthias would protest. "You are beautiful enough without it."

    To which the queen would always smile sadly and say:

    "Thank you, Sun Summoner. But not everyone is as generous as you."

    "Well then, if you must rely on her, you could at least be nicer to her," Matthias would insist. "If there is something that bothers you about her, talk to her about it." 

     To which the queen would shake her head and say:

    "It goes beyond talking, my poor sweet Sun Summoner." 

***
     It started innocuously enough. A group of unfamiliar Grisha had walked into the domed hall during breakfast time, stopping to briefly point at Matthias and whisper amongst themselves before dispersing. A common enough occurrence that Matthias would've ignored it were it not for one member of the group, a raven-haired girl in blue with silver embroidered cuffs, marched directly up to Matthias, glowering at him all the while as she did. 

    "Oh, Zoya," Nina said nervously, pretending to ignore "You're back. How was the Fold?"

    "Never mind the Fold," Zoya snapped, clearly not in a mood for conversation. "Who is that sitting with you?" 

    "Oh, the Sun Summoner, yeah," Hanne murmured, not even bothering to look up, their mouth half full of bread and herring. "Yeah, he's Fjerdan. Ex-druskelle. Total buzzkill, I know." 

    At that, Zoya scowled and punched Matthias in the face.  

    "Ah!" Matthias cried, stunned by the sudden attack. "What-?" 

    "There is no way," Zoya snarled, her blue eyes filled with hatred, "There is no way, not in this world or the next, that our Sun Summoner is a druskelle. It's impossible."

    "Uh, yeah, it's bad," Hanne agreed, their bronze-colored eyes wide with fear, "But, seriously-" 

    "Oh, is that a new amplifier?" Nina exclaimed suddenly, pointing to a silver bracelet on one of Zoya's wrists. Looking closely, Matthias could indeed see bits of bone in the bracelet, suggesting it might very well be. But it was clear Zoya did not care for Nina's clumsy attempt to change the topic. Indeed, for the next thing Matthias knew, Zoya's arm slashed through the air, and suddenly his chair was sliding across the room, pushed by a steady but angry gust of wind, until some kind Grisha relaxing near a samovar caught it with his hands. B

    By the time Matthias got up he could see that Zoya was rushing at him, aided by another gust of wind. She hit Matthias again with another jab, but when she went for a third hit, Matthias managed to grab her arm-and although he did not realize at the the time, he would vividly remember later that it was the one with the bracelet. Undeterred, Zoya tried again with the other fist, but Matthias blocked that one as well...

     And a burst of light shot out of his hand, directly into Zoya's eyes. Zoya stumbled backwards, her arms slipping out of his grip as she did so. Matthias took a step to confront her, but two Grisha grabbed his arms before he could do anything. Immediately he saw two other Grisha grab Zoya as well, and Matthias realized as he looked around that everyone in the room had turned to gawp at the fight. 

    Then the doors to the Darkling's rooms burst open, and in walked a truly furious Darkling, oprichniki following close behind. 

     "What is the meaning of this?!" he roared, glaring at Zoya.

     "He...she," Nina began, rising from her seat in order to try and pacify the Darkling. "We were eating breakfast, moi soverenyi, and Zoya just...well, she just attacked him."

     If the Darkling heard Nina however, he did not show it. Instead, all of his attention was focused on Zoya, who, upon seeing him, immediately winced. 

    "Forgive me, moi soverenyi," she babbled nervously. "I..when I heard a druskelle was the Sun Summoner, I thought it must be some trick of the Fjerdans. I...I had no idea he could really summon light, I-"

    "Enough," the Darkling barked. Then he turned to Matthias, his eyes suddenly softening and filling with concern. 

    "Are you alright?" he asked. 

    Matthias nodded. 

    "I'm fine," he assured the Darkling. "I've suffered much worse."

    "I can fix him up if you wish it, moi soverenyi," Hanne offered, standing up from their chair and walking over to Matthias. 

    The Darkling nodded, and Hanne put their hands on Matthias's injuries, and Matthias felt the familiar prickling sensation again as the injuries Zoya had given him started healing. When Hanne was done, they bowed to Matthias and the Darkling, and sat down once more. After which the Darkling then turned back to Zoya, still angry but much more composed. 

    "Now," he insisted, "Given that Matthias Helvar is relatively unharmed, you will not be demoted. But I will be taking your amplifier for the time being."

    Zoya nodded weakly, tears brimming in her eyes as she held out her wrist. The Darkling wordlessly took off the bracelet and put it within his robes. Zoya then walked away, wiping her eyes as she did. Matthias suddenly felt a stab of pity. He could not fault the witch's logic, not really. If he were her, he too, would probably assume there must be some other explanation.  And yet she was wrong and being punished in front of everyone for what was essentially being misguidedly loyal. 

     He did not have time to think about this much, however, for the Darkling then suddenly said: 

    "Come. I have a surprise for you." 

   Matthias wordlessly obeyed, following the Darkling into his chambers. Where, much to Matthias's delight, was a cage containing none other than...

   "Trassel!" Matthias cried, rushing towards the white wolf as one of the servants standing near the cage nervously opened the cage's door. Trassel immediately rushed towards Matthias, standing on two legs as if to hug him when the two at last met. 

    "Oh, sweet boy," Matthias crooned as he affectionately rubbed the wolf's fur, oblivious to everything else. "Were they mean to you? Did those nasty Ravkans hurt you at all?" 

   "As if we'd get near a bloody wolf," the servant grumbled underneath his breath. "Damn thing would've bitten us all if it weren't for the sleeping draughts." 
 
   This got a laugh out of the Darkling.

   "Clearly, you two have a lot to catch up on," he said, smiling as he looked at Matthias and Trassel. "Just remember who reunited you two." 

   That was a good point, Matthias realized, finally thinking of something other than Trassel. 

   "Thank you," Matthias breathed, turning to the Darkling as he realized there were tears in his eyes. "Thank you so much." 

   "Anything to make you feel more at home," the Darkling replied with a shrug. 

***            

   When Matthias looked up from his desk that night, he saw that Nils was glaring at him. True to his word, the spy was here most nights, ready to receive any letters Matthias might have for Jarl Brum. No matter how utterly banal they ended up being. And they were very banal: Matthias's letters almost always ended up containing the exact same assurances about how he was unable to use his new powers, the lack of a cure, and promises to share everything he'd learned with the druskelle when he returned. 

    And despite that, this was the first time he had seen Nils be mad at him so far. 

   "What's wrong?" Matthias asked as he folded up the letter. "Did-" 

   "You used sorcery," Nils said. "Without help. Without Baghra or any of the others."

   "Yes, well," Matthias began, trying to find an explanation. "She was wearing an amplifier when I did it. I was touching her arm, the arm with the bracelet-" 

   "Except that the books clearly state that no drusje can use an amplifier that belongs to another drusje," Nils countered bitterly. "Which you yourself told me." 

   Indeed, he had, Matthias realized.  The Grisha claims the amplifier, but the amplifier claims the Grisha, as well, said a book that Matthias had read out loud to Nils one night. Once it is
done, there can be no other. Like calls to like, and the bond is made. 

  "Well, I guess then," Matthias sputtered, "The books must be wrong." 

   "So, all the Ravkan drusje that came before you just happen to be wrong, and you just happen to be right," Nils scoffed. "A likely story." 

   "I don't know!" Matthias confessed. "It's the only explanation!" 

   Nils went up to the desk and snatched the letter, seething in frustration. 

   "Somehow I don't think so," he snapped, before disappearing through the window into the night. 

***

    "It is curious," Baghra mused, at the end of their lesson. "Not once have you managed to call the power on your own in our time together. Including today. And yet...when that Zoya Nazyalenzky attacked you, you managed to do it." 

    Matthias groaned. 

   "You're not suggesting-" 

   "No," Baghra declared. "We cannot have you relying on fear as a crutch. But there is clearly something preventing you from using your power besides mere stubbornness. Something that can only be removed, it seems, when you are under attack."

   "But I've been training with the druskelle since I was twelve!" Matthias protested. "And I never used any kind of sorcery until now!" 

   Baghra slapped Matthias's hand with her cane. 

   "The Small Science," she reprimanded. "It's called the Small Science." 

   "Sorry," Matthias muttered. 

    Baghra frowned at him, clearly unsatisfied with his apology. But then her eyes lit up. 

   "Actually, I think your Fjerdan superstitions might to be blame," she said. "At least in part. Why would you use your powers amongst the druskelle? That would have been a death sentence."

    Matthias winced. She had a point. Damn her, but she had a very good point.

   "But when your life is in danger, and the Small Science can't get you killed, then you use it," Baghra continued. "Somewhere deep in that thick skull of yours, some part of you must decide when it's safe to use your power. This part clearly does not communicate with the rest of you, but it's there." 

   No, Matthias insisted to himself. The Darkling did this to me. He changed my etovost somehow, with that knife of his. I don't know how, but I'll find out soon enough. 

***

  "I am so sorry," Zoya cajoled as she stood in front of Matthias, holding a mysterious tray covered with cloth. "I had no idea you were genuine. I really, honestly, thought you were an imposter." 

  Beside him, Hanne scoffed and rolled their eyes. 

  "Wow. Didn't even take her a full day to change her mind," they scoffed. "She attacked him at breakfast yesterday. It's currently lunch right now." 

   "I personally never thought I'd see the day this happened, either," Nina agreed, smiling.  "Zoya actually groveling before another Grisha. Groveling." 

    Nina turned to Matthias and chuckled,

    "Enjoy this while you can, Matthias. It will never happen again." 

   Zoya's expression soured as she briefly glanced at Nina. But when she turned back to Matthias, her expression looked sad, and what was more, genuinely repentant, once more. 

    "If I knew for a fact that you really could summon light," Zoya continued, eyes downcast. "I never would have attacked you. I figure it must have been...hard, trying to hide your powers from those...from those Fjerdan soldiers." 

    "Oh, he couldn't dump spoonful upon spoonful of sugar in his tea," Hanne snarked, "But otherwise I think our Sun Summoner liked it perfectly fine. He constantly says as much." 

    "Stop it," Nina said reproachfully. "There's nothing wrong with liking your tea sweet. After all, you know perfectly well I'd subsist on nothing but waffles if I could." 

     "Ignore them," Matthias said to Zoya, waving "I forgive you. For a-Grisha, it was a valid concern. Jarl Brum is a very innovative commander, after all." 

     Although to be honest, Matthias was not sure where Jarl Brum would get anyone brave enough to fake being a Grisha, or how they'd accomplish it if he could. 

     Zoya shook her head. 

    "No, it was a stupid worry. The Darkling would never be fooled by an impostor or let one in the Little Palace. But anyway, speaking of...your apparent love for sugar, I brought you these." 

     Zoya lifted the fabric covering just enough so that Matthias and by extension, Nina and Hanne, could see what lay underneath. Which turned out to be pastries. Several delicate, delicious looking pastries. 

     "I...thank you," Matthias replied, sneaking one of them out from the fabric. "Your peace offering is greatly appreciated. And don't worry. I forgive you regardless." 

    With that, Zoya put the tray on the table and hastily walked over to the Summoners' table. Matthias guiltily took a bite of one of the pastries, and found its sweet, flaky taste to be delightful. Tasting it, he wanted to eat the whole tray, even if Matthias knew it would be a struggle to keep one or two down. 

    "Come," he said to Nina and Hanne. "Help me eat these, please."
            
***
       "She gave you pastries?" Genya cried. "And you didn't save me any?" 

      Matthias shrugged. 

     "You already get them from the cook thanks to the fact that you cured her daughter's blemishes. And besides, you weren't there." 

      Genya sighed as she took more food from Matthias's plate. 

      "That's true," she replied. "The court talks about you, you know. You and the queen." 

      Matthias's jaw dropped. 

     "What, they think we are...having inappropriate relations? But that's nonsense! Ask any one of her friends-they will gladly confirm I have done no such thing with the queen." 

     Genya rolled her eyes. 

     "I believe you, but I guarantee you at least one of her friends is helping spread the rumor behind the Queen's back." 

     "But they know it's a lie!" Matthias said, thoroughly confused. "Why would they-" 

     "Because the court is a nest of vipers," Genya told him. "I'd tell you to have as little to do with as possible, but it's already too late, I fear." 

     Genya's expression turned sad all of a sudden, as she stared out the window. Matthias's heart sank. If he ever did find a cure, he shouldn't just keep it for himself. Genya deserved it as well-she was too good and kind to be mistreated by everyone this way. And then, maybe he would take her to Fjerda with him afterwards. 

     "And besides, it's not like it's implausible on her part," she added, taking a deep breath. "She has been unfaithful to the king at least once. There are rumors circulating that her second son, Prince Nikolai, is not the king's son." 

    "I doubt those are true," Matthias scoffed. "She does not seem the type." 

    Genya burst out laughing. 

    "You just like her because she's Fjerdan like you." 

Chapter Text

      "I have a question, if I may ask it," Nina asked after ladling herself some more herring at breakfast. 

     "Go on," Matthias replied, looking moodily down into his

     "I've heard that druskelle are supposed to have beards," Nina continued, taking a brief bite of herring. "But yet...you are so very clean-shaven, Matthias Helvar." 

     Nina then smiled and added, 
 
     "Not that it doesn't look good on you, but-why is that?" 

     Flushing from Nina's compliment, Matthias nervously got out. 

     "Ah, only the full druskelle are allowed beards. I...I was only on my first mission when I was captured. So, I never earned the right to one."

     And I may very well never. 

     "Yes, our Sun Summoner was only a trainee Grisha killer," Hanne interjected sharply. "As you could probably tell if you saw the gray uniform he arrived in. The full druskelle get the nice black and silver ones after they kill a Grisha." 

     Hanne shrugged and continued, 

    "Of course, he probably still had to go talk to the tree. The sacred tree on the White Island, to be specific."

     "We do not talk to the tree," Matthias cried,. "We sneak onto the White Island as part of our initiation and listen for the voice of Djel at the base of the sacred ash tree." 

    Hanne rolled their eyes.

   "No, you don't. A druskelle brother tells you how to get to the secret bridge and then you go to the tree." 

    Admittedly, this was indeed true. Matthias, like every other druskelle, had been shown the wolf engraving on the druskelle sector wall by a senior brother and then walked the secret glass bridge to the tree, covering himself in chalk to avoid detection. But there was no reason to be telling these Grisha that. Or making light of the most sacred space in all Fjerda. 

    Matthias scowled at the Healer. 

    "Enough already, I get it, " he snapped. "You hate everything about our homeland and wish you could burn it all to the ground!

    "Wrong! " Hanne cried, "I love my homeland just as much as you do!"
 
    "Oh, really?" Matthias scoffed. "Name one thing you like about Fjerda!" 

    "Hringkalla," Hanne replied, their voice and expression softening. "Not the druskelle bits, but the festival. Guests from around the world coming to Djerholm, the wolf-shaped pepper cookies, decorating the trees. The snow, when it falls down for the first time. The forests, the tundra. The royal hunt, the one that occurs during Vinetkalla, after Maidenswalk."

     Hanne laughed bitterly and added,

   "Djel above me, Vinetkälla. The feast, the presents." 

    Hanne sighed. 

   "Ravka has something similar around that time, the Feast of Saint Nikolai, they call it. But it's not the same."

   "No, there are no parties for young women to go and snatch themselves a handsome man," Nina giggled.

    Matthias blinked briefly in confusion at that. Or at least, he did until Hanne buried their face their hands and groaned:  

   "How many times do I have to tell you? The Heartwood is a marriage festival. Not a sexual free-for-all!" 

    Matthias gaped at Nina in horror. 

   "She-you think that-the Maidenswalk is-" he sputtered. 

   "No, but it sounds like it should be," Nina replied with a wink. "At least, from the way Hanne talks about it." 

    Matthias thought about the implications, about all those young women who presented themselves before the court. Those same young women, attending parties, going out with men to-

    "No!" Matthias cried. "Absolutely not. No good Fjerdan woman should be-agh!"

    Hanne rolled their eyes at Matthias's clear discomfort, then sighed. 

   "And that is why I am here," they interrupted, turning briefly back to Nina.  "As opposed to being in Djerholm with my family." 

    "Not the simple fact that you're a Grisha?" Nina said, her mouth full of herring, eyes wide with puzzlement. 

    "No," Hanne admitted, a long sigh coming out of their body. "Even if I weren't a Grisha, Fjerda is filled with backwards attitudes like the ones Matthias just showed. And the ones regarding women are the least of Fjerda's problems." 

    Hanne turned to Matthias and gave him a fixed stare. 

   "What gender do you suppose I was before I left?"

    "Uh..." Matthias stalled. The name Hanne was a woman's, but that was no indication. They might very well have picked that name out after they left Fjerda. Astrid, the woman with the changed body had done that, after all-her original name had been Erik before the change. 

    And judging by the way Astrid would glare daggers at any who would call her Erik, even by accident, Matthias had assumed that Hanne would act the same to any questions about whether they were a man or a woman back in Fjerda. 

    "I don't know," he confessed. "I never thought I would-that you would ever be willing to-" 

    "How unexpectedly good of you," Hanne mused. "I would've thought you'd be more curious about it, at least on some level. But I have to give you credit; you've never asked about it once. Most of our countrymen would insist on an answer one way or the other."

    Matthias shrugged. 

    "It was not a worthwhile question." 

   Not worth the risk of Hanne turning him into a meat puppet, anyway. 

   "Well, I was born a girl, for the record. Much to my father's disappointment. And my mother expected me to be a girl, all the time."

   Hanne's voice was distant, sad. They stared aimlessly out into the hall, as if suddenly recalling very unpleasant memories. 

   "That sounds unbelievably cruel," Matthias said softly.

    It did. After all, Matthias supposed if he had been trapped in the body of a girl, he would resent being forced to act like a girl all the time. No matter what anyone else said about it. 

   "It is," Hanne agreed. "And it's what we do to everyone we assume is a girl in Fjerda, whether they want to be girls or not. And our ideas of girlhood, of womanhood, are significantly worse than everyone else's. Or at the very least, more confining." 

       "Tell me, Matthias Helvar," Baghra asked sharply as Matthias closed the door of the hut behind him. "Why, exactly, is it bad to be a Grisha?" 

      Matthias blinked in stunned surprise. That kind of question was rather unlike Baghra. Berating Matthias, yes, that was like her. Being dismissive of him, yes. But this...this was different. 

    "Huh?" 

    "You heard me boy, why is it so bad to be a Grisha?" 

   "I, well, it is wicked," Matthias answered. "We are wicked. We are demonic, unnatural. Our presence is an insult to Djel." 

   "But why do your countrymen feel that way?" Baghra pressed. "What about the Small Science is unnatural to them? How, exactly, does it insult this Djel of yours?" 

    Matthias frowned. He then thought for a minute, only to find he had no answer. 

   "I don't know," he admitted. "That's just how it is." 

   Baghra scowled.

   "But is everything not connected to your Djel?" she demanded. "Through the rivers and waters of the world? Is what I have read about your little religion not true?"

   "It is," Matthias said weakly. "All the world is connected-through the streams and ice and rivers and seas. All feed Djel, and are fed by him." 

    Baghra's lips curled into a sneer, her hands tightening around her cane. 

   "And yet somehow this does not include us Grisha." 

   Matthias nodded. 

   Baghra sighed and slumped downward in her chair.

   "I should have known," she snapped. "There is never a logical reason for prejudice. There wasn't back in my day. Why should there be one in Fjerda?"

   Back in her day? There was a time before Ravka was ruled by Grisha? 

   "Wait, what do you mean in your day?" Matthias asked, thoroughly intrigued.

    Rather than answer, Baghra instead waved a hand towards the door. 

  "You may go, foolish boy," she said wearily. 

  Matthias glanced at the door, then back at her. 

  "What? But...but don't we have-" 

  "You are not going to summon the sun today. Nor will you summon it in the near future; not with that attitude anyway. Why pretend like you will?" 

   Baghra had a very good point. So, Matthias obeyed and exited her hut, upon doing which, he realized this was a prime opportunity to try and see if he could get into the Darkling's chambers.

   Matthias thus immediately made his way towards the Little Palace proper, trying to act as if he wasn't leaving Baghra's hut early, that this was perfectly normal. He was not sure he succeeded.

   Once inside the domed hall proper, Matthias saw that it was empty, much to his relief. After looking around twice to see that no one was watching, Matthias carefully opened the oak doors to the Darkling's rooms and slipped into the council chamber...

   Only to find the Darkling there, staring down at the map on the table.

   "Oh, Matthias," the Darkling said casually, not at all disturbed by the sudden intrusion. "You're here earlier than I expected."

    Earlier then-?

    "Would you care to go riding with me?" the Darkling asked, pointing to his boots, which Matthias realized were riding boots.

    Matthias nodded, unsure of how else to distract from his true purpose. That was how he ended up following the Darkling to the stables, where the Darkling chose a black mare for himself and a gray for Matthias. And then they were off, riding across the grounds of the Little Palace, until they reached the little wood beyond the domed hall, the one Matthias knew led out into the Grand Palace proper. 


    "Tell me," the Darkling asked, "Would you really have let those Fjerdans kill you if I hadn't showed up?" 

    Matthias blinked. He had almost forgotten about that incident on the road to Os Alta, if only because other things had overtaken it in importance. But clearly, the Darkling hadn't. What to say to that? The truth would only-

    "It's alright," the Darkling assured him, softly gazing at Matthias. "You don't have to lie to me." 

    "Yes," Matthias admitted with a sigh. "I would have." 

    The Darkling lowered his gaze. His voice broke a little as he said: 

    "Being a Grisha really is the worst thing for you, isn't it?"

    In that moment, Matthias felt a stab of pity for the Darkling. After all, it wasn't as if he had created the Fold. And it was understandable, actually, for a de facto Grisha king to resort to whatever means possible to destroy a horrid abomination of sorcery that brought nothing but suffering to his nation. Would Matthias be different, if the Fold was in Fjerda and he was in the Darkling's place? More to the point, would he want Jarl Brum or King Bjorn to be? 

    "It's not that bad," Matthias replied with a smile, desperate to assuage the Darkling's feelings. "At least I'm not an Inferni."

    The Darkling laughed bitterly, clearly not reassured. 

    "Why the Inferni in particular? Is it because of the tree?"

     Matthias shook his head.

    "No, no, it's got nothing to do with Djel. It's just that...before I was a Grisha, before I was a druskelle...my family's village was burned down to a crisp by the Second Army."

     The Darkling grimaced. 

     "Oh," he murmured, eyes wide with realization. 

     "My entire family was killed," Matthias added. "Along with everyone I ever knew. Jarl Brum...he was there for me when it happened. He redirected my rage, gave it a purpose." 

     Matthias still remembered that day vividly. Twelve years old, standing among the smoke and smoldering ruins of home, a burning heat pooling inside of him. The burning heat of that need to reverse what those bastards had done back onto them, to cut into their uniforms and see them burn as well. 
.
    "That...that explains a great deal," The Darkling murmured. "No wonder you became a druskelle." 

    "To be honest, I don't know where I'd be without him," Matthias admitted. "He was...he saved me from myself. Took me under his wing." 

     And Matthias could really do with that again, to be honest. True, Jarl Brum couldn't very well write back to Matthias; even if such a laughable proposition were possible, Jarl Brum would be signing Matthias's death warrant by doing it. 

     "I see," the Darkling murmured. He then turned his horse around and started riding back to the Little Palace. Matthias did likewise, and as they rode out of the wood, the Darkling said: 

     "From now on, you take lessons with me instead of Baghra."

      "Uh, I-" 

     "You will call the power eventually, Matthias. Don't worry." 

     And with that, they rode in silence until they were back in the stables. After which it was time for Matthias to go to the library for Grisha theory and history. 

Chapter Text

       For the next few days, the Darkling did indeed take over Baghra's role. Unlike Baghra, however, he did not hit or berate Matthias even once. And he was surprisingly patient with Matthias's inability to summon the light unaided. 

      Oh, he would have Matthias try to do so when the lesson started. But after he failed, the Darkling would simply shrug and say:

     "Better luck next time."

     Then came the next part of the lesson, where he would grab Matthias's hands, and in that way, he would teach Matthias how to control the light. How to focus it into a glowing orb, then into two at once. How to make the glowing expanse that came out of Matthias contract or expand. Matthias was good at the former, but never managed to do the latter.

      Matthias had mixed feelings about this method. On the one hand, it reminded Matthias of what a failure he was on his own as a Grisha. Not to mention, it called into question how useful his unnatural powers would even be in destroying the Fold.

      It was impossible, of course, to be against the destruction of that monstrosity, it was just that Matthias doubted he personally could do so. He had never believed he could do so in the first place, and the more time he spent in the Little Palace, Matthias became increasingly convinced he couldn't. 

     On the other hand, it enabled Matthias to do more than flounder fruitlessly. It also had the curious side effect of making Matthias...stronger. And hungrier. Whenever it was time for a meal Matthias's stomach was always somehow...empty. Matthias hated to admit it, but it seemed Baghra and the books were right. Using the Grisha powers seemed to give him a sort of vitality, a health he had never experienced before.  The thought of which greatly disturbed him. 

     "How old are you?" Matthias asked the Darkling after a lesson one day. 

     At the Darkling's puzzled expression, Matthias hastily added: 

    "It's just that...you look barely older than me, yet you have been commanding the Grisha since before I was born. And Genya told me she does not do her Tailoring on Grisha."

    "One hundred and twenty," the Darkling answered calmly, apparently not at all offended by the question. 

    Matthias's jaw dropped. 

    "One hundred and twenty?" 

    "Most Grisha live long lives," the Darkling said with a smug smile. "Didn't you know?" 

    "Yes," Matthias conceded, "But they are not beautiful young men at a hundred and twenty." 

    The Darkling smirked in a way that made it clear to Matthias he had said the wrong thing.

   "Oh, you think I'm beautiful, do you?"  

   "You...you know you are beautiful," Matthias sputtered, flushing beet red. "And the point is..." 

    The Darkling let out a breath. 

    "Yes, I know what the point is," the Darkling chuckled. "And yes. Cases like me are indeed the exception, even among Grisha. The length of a Grisha's life is proportional to their power. The greater the power, longer the life. And when that power is amplified..." 

    And the Darkling was an amplifier. 

    "How...how long do you think I could live?" Matthias asked, his voice small at the possibility. "Is there a-?" 

    "Could you be like me and live to be youthful at a hundred and twenty?" the Darkling finished. "It's possible. Who knows?" 

    So, the Darkling had not just gifted him Grisha power, but what essentially might be a functional sort of immortality too. Matthias was not sure how comfortable he was with that.
   

      Matthias awoke to Genya walking into his room with a pile of brown clothing in her hands.

     "The Darkling has cancelled your lessons for today," she announced. "He plans for the two of you to take a day trip into Os Alta."

     What? Why? The Darkling had always been very, very insistent on Matthias staying within the confines of the Little Palace, and to an extent, the Grand Palace, in case of assassination attempts. And given the presence of Nils within the Little Palace grounds, Matthias could not argue with that logic. And besides, Matthias had no business escaping just yet. 

     Still, Matthias obediently changed into the clothes, which, upon further examination, he guessed must belong to a member of the Ravkan peasantry, or at the least one of the common folk. Something which only made him more curious; was the Darkling trying to sneak out of his own palace? 

      Matthias followed Genya down into the domed hall, where the Darkling stood, dressed not in his usual colors, but in brown clothing similar to Matthias's own. 

     "Matthias, I see you're here," the Darkling said. "Come. Let us be off. We will get breakfast in the city."

     And with that, Matthias and the Darkling walked out of the domed hall, through the little wood, and then past the Grand Palace itself. Soon they were walking past the various grand houses of Ravka's elite. 

     "Rest assured," the Darkling told him as they approached the bridge, "I have still brought along guards in case anything goes wrong. They are just hidden, is all." 

     Ah. That made sense.

   Matthias nodded in understanding, and with that, they crossed the bridge into the market town area. The Darkling then led Matthias over to a bakery, where he bought them both a pair of dark brown bread rolls. As they were walking away, however, a pair of First Army soldiers who had been behind them then walked up to the middle-aged woman tending the counter and handed her a piece of paper. Matthias couldn't hear what they said to her, but whatever it was, the woman immediately gasped in horror, then bent over double and started sobbing. The soldiers, for their part, bowed solemnly and walked away. 

    "What happened?" Matthias asked as he walked back over to the woman. 

    "My son," the woman choked. "He's been killed in action." 

    "Fighting the Fjerdans?" Matthias gasped, hoping it wasn't true. That it was the Shu Han instead, and not his countrymen. 

    The woman gave a brief nod before collapsing. Matthias managed to catch her before she hit the floor and held her as she began to sob into his chest. 

      "What am I going to do?" she moaned, tears streaming down her face. "I'm going to have go down to Sankt Feliks Street and tell poor Natsya she's a widow, aren't I?"  

     "You will," Matthias said softly, tentatively rubbing the woman's graying brown hair. "And you will have to be there for each other. You won't be able to do it alone, that's for certain." 

     "Damn right," the woman agreed, picking herself up a bit. "And I suppose it wouldn't do to let her raise the baby alone, now, would it?" 

     The woman pulled herself away from Matthias and wiped her eyes. 

     "Thank you, you beautiful Fjerdan fool," she said, taking a deep breath in. "I'll go tell her right now, as soon as you're both out."

     Realizing that there was his cue to leave, Matthias bid the woman good day and exited the bakery, the Darkling following suit. After they were both out, the woman exited as well, locking the door behind her and flipping the sign on it to the "CLOSED" sign. 

      As she walked away from them, Matthias turned to the Darkling and asked:

     "Can she really tell that-?" 

    The Darkling gestured to Matthias vaguely and said, 

    "The eyes, the hair, the accent-what's not to tell?" 

     As they walked away from the bakery, Matthias declared:

    "I shall have to talk to the queen. See if she can resume peace talks. She is King Bjorn's sister, maybe she can-"

    "Many have tried the same, for similar reasons," the Darkling replied grimly, staring down at the cobbled streets. "But the war persists." 

    The Darkling then led Matthias down several streets, Matthias not sure where they were going, until at last they came to what had to be an enormous circular black stone statue of a ship. Upon the circular base of the statue which were several tiny white lines. Crowds of mournful-looking people stood near it, touching the white lines and looking at each other. Some were crying. There were also, Matthias observed, candles and flowers and tiny paintings of saints at the bottom of the statue. 

     As they got closer, however, Matthias quickly realized that all those white lines were names. 

     "A memorial to those who died crossing the Fold," the Darkling explained. "At least, a memorial to those we can confirm are dead."

     With that, the Darkling began walking around the circular wall, and the more Matthias looked at it, the more he realized to his horror that there was barely a single inch of it that was not absolutely covered in little white names. There had been a small section of blank black stone at the very bottom when they'd first come to the memorial, but that section was the only one lacking in names. 

    "There are other memorials in the cities surrounding the Fold itself," the Darkling said. "This is just the one that exists here in Os Alta."

     The thought of more memorials like this, equally filled with little white names belonging to dead people, caused Matthias to stumble backwards, almost falling before the Darkling caught him. 

    "It's a lot, I know, " the Darkling murmured softly. "There's no Fold in Fjerda. Or at least, there's only a little bit of the Fold. Most of it's here in Ravka." 

    And it was then that Matthias realized that technically, the fold extended into Fjerda too. As well as into Shu Han. It was not Ravka's problem alone, even it was mostly Ravka's problem. 

     They began walking away from the memorial, back towards where they'd come back. About halfway back to the bakery, Matthias saw a woman crying as she sat on the stoop of one of the buildings, surrounded by suitcases. Bewildered, Matthias walked over and asked:

    "Is there something wrong?"

    "I imagine she's been evicted," the Darkling told him. 

   The woman glanced up at Matthias and the Darkling and replied: 

   "Yes. The landlord kicked me about a few minutes ago. My husband died crossing the Fold, so I have no way of paying the rent. And if I can't pay the rent, well..." 

   The woman gestured towards the building in back of her and slumped forward, groaning as she did. 

    "Does your landlord have no compassion for a recent widow?" Matthias cried. 

     The woman shook her head. 

     "No," she said bitterly. "He said my husband knew the risks when he went onto that sandskiff. If he didn't want to leave me behind, he shouldn't have gotten on it." 

     Mouth ajar, Matthias turned to the Darkling and pulled him aside. He then whispered:

    "You send money to the families of Grisha, yes? Or at least, the ones who send you their Grisha?" 

     The Darkling raised an eyebrow.

     "Yes. And-?" 

     "Treat her as my family," Matthias begged him. "Send her what you would have sent to my family if they were Ravkan."

     The Darkling's eyes widened in surprise.

     "Are you...sure?"

     Matthias nodded. 

    "I'm sure." 

    Matthias's father would not have abided a recent widow being treated like this. His mother would have been even more scandalized, saying that the community should work together to support the least among it. And besides, even if they had somehow survived, his family had still lived in Fjerda. How could the Darkling have sent a stipend to the enemy? 

    "All right then," the Darkling agreed, "We will send her your stipend."

     The Darkling then turned to the woman and,

    "Do not fear. This young man is a Grisha, and he has agreed to give you the stipend that would have gone to his family." 

     The woman's brown eyes widened.

    "Really? You would do that for me?" she gasped.

    "My family is dead," Matthias told her with a nod, "Have been for years. And this way you get to keep your home."

    "Thank you," the woman breathed. "Thank you so much." "You would do that for me?" the woman gasped. 

     "Your name, please, for identification," the Darkling said to the woman.

     But even as the Darkling took down her name on paper,  Matthias knew it was not enough. Matthias could donate a dozen stipends, and it would still not be enough. The only real thing Matthias could do to help these suffering Ravkan people was if he could use his sorcery-his Small Science- to destroy the Fold. 

     And was that perhaps not a worthy use of sorcery? To destroy another sorcerous abomination that ruined the lives of countless people? 

      Matthias looked back at the Darkling, and in that moment, all resentment he had towards the man was gone. It was selfish to, Matthias thought, when you thought of all the damage the Fold did to Ravka. To the world. 

      "I will help you," Matthias vowed to the Darkling. "I will help you destroy the Fold. And then, I will go back to Fjerda." 

      The Darkling nodded in understanding. 

     "You agreed to help him?" Nils shouted, glaring at Matthias as the latter sat down and pulled off his boots. 

     "The people of Ravka are suffering," Matthias pointed out. "Regardless of what the Darkling did, if my sorcery can help stop that in any way, it would be a noble thing to do." 

     "Ravka is the enemy," Nils insisted. "If the Fold-" 

     "The people of Ravka are just like the people back in Fjerda," Matthias interjected. "Those that aren't Grisha, anyway. It would be wrong to let them suffer because of one man's greed four hundred years ago." 

     "One trip into the city, and already you're a traitor," Nils scoffed. 

     "I am not a traitor," Matthias "The Darkling and I have an understanding. After I destroy it, he will undo what he did to me, and I will go back to Fjerda." 

     After curing Genya as well, of course. And maybe Nina, if she'd agree to it. Hanne would never agree, that Matthias knew. 

     "And start hunting drusje again?" Nils scoffed. 

     "Yes," Matthias replied, although it did sound silly once it left his mouth. 

     "Maybe...maybe he will give me the cure to being a drusje," Matthias corrected, "And I will give it to any who wants it."

     "And maybe the clouds will start raining gold," Nils snapped, turning towards the window and climbing out of Matthias's room. 

Chapter Text

        Much to Matthias's disappointment, he still couldn't call the light on his own. The Darkling did not mind, but Matthias did. He could not very well expect to destroy the Fold if he had to cling to the Darkling the entire time. And if he could not destroy the Fold, well, then, what was he still doing in Ravka? Matthias might as well escape with Genya and surrender himself to Jarl Brum's blade. After all, none of the books on his reading list mentioned a cure, and the Darkling had not once talked about how he'd managed to make Matthias a Grisha. Not even in private, which, Matthias admitted, was strange.

       Then, one morning, Matthias found Baghra of all people, in the Darkling's rooms, arguing with the Darkling. 

       "It is a foolish idea, and you know it, boy," Baghra snapped. 

       "How?" the Darkling countered, his jaw tight with tension.  "If he needs one, he should get one."

       "Get what, exactly?" Matthias asked, still trying to process the shock of someone referring to the Darkling as 'boy'.

        Baghra rolled her eyes.

        "The boy thinks to get you an amplifier," she explained, seething in frustration. "What do you think of that, druskelle?"

       "Don't call him that," the Darkling barked. "He is a Grisha." 

       "A Grisha in denial! A Grisha that cannot summon his powers!" 

       "But still a Grisha." 

       "Bah!" Baghra huffed. "It still doesn't answer my question. What do you think of an amplifier?" 

       "I..." Matthias began, "I suppose it could help, for the purpose of destroying the Fold." 

       Yes, it certainly would. But Matthias knew that an amplifier meant more than that. Once a Grisha claimed an amplifier, there was no going back. The books had made that clear. At least, none of them had ever mentioned a Grisha that tried to put aside their amplifier. It was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it would make Matthias a Grisha. But on the other hand, well...it would also make Matthias a Grisha. If Matthias accepted an amplifier, he might as well permanently turn his back on the cure forever. 

       "What a dutiful answer," Baghra tutted. "But clearly he'd rather-" 

       "Have you ever heard of Morozova's herd, Matthias?" the Darkling asked, sounding very, very desperate to change the topic. 

        Matthias glanced around the council chamber, trying to figure out if he had. 

       "Uh...I've heard of a Morozova, from the books," he said slowly. 

       "Of course not, boy," Baghra said mockingly. "He's Fjerdan. He wouldn't have heard those particular children's stories growing up." 

       Anger flashed briefly across the Darkling's face as he demanded sharply: 

       "Out! Now!" 

       Baghra rose from her chair and walked towards the door. 

       "Fine. I will leave you alone with your Sun Summoner." 

        With that, Baghra exited the Darkling's rooms. As she did, the Darkling ran his hands through his dark hair and sighed. 

       "That woman," he grumbled. 

       "She is a formidable creature, I agree," Matthias said. "She would make a wonderful drill instructor for the druskelle, if she wasn't Grisha."

       The Darkling laughed at that. 

      "Is that how you deal with her? By pretending she's a druskelle instructor?" 

      Matthias thought about the possibility for a minute, of the irate Baghra shaking her cane at trainee druskelle as they ran or did their sparring. A picture which lasted all of five seconds before he wondered what Jarl Brum's face would look like at that. 

      "No. Jarl Brum would never allow an old woman to boss around his boys. But she fills the same role, for sure."

      The Darkling chuckled again.

     "She's right, though," Matthias pointed out. "I haven't heard of Morozova having a herd of any kind." 

      The Darkling breathed in for a minute, then said: 

     "They're a herd of ancient, powerful white deer. Kings and Darklings have been searching for them for centuries. My hunters claim to have seen signs of them."

      "And you believe that one of them might get me an amplifier?" Matthias asked, deciding that magical deer were par for the course when it came to Ravka. 

      The Darkling nodded. 

     "If we could get Morozova's stage, we could create a powerful amplifier with its antlers." 

     The Darkling then reached for Matthias's collarbone and touched, and suddenly a jolt of electricity and surety shot through Matthias. 

      "A necklace?" 

     "Yes. It would be the most powerful amplifier ever known." 

     "And you want to give to me?" Matthias scoffed. "The ex-druskelle failure of a Grisha?" 

      "I want to give to you," the Darkling corrected. "My Sun Summoner." 

      "Well, what about that bear?" Matthias suggested. "The one Ivan got his from. Wouldn't it be easier to just get another amplifier from it?"

     The Darkling shook his head. 

    "That bear is already dead. And besides, if we are to destroy the Fold, we need the stag's power."

     Matthias decided to leave it at that. The Darkling was, after all, the commander of all Ravka's Grisha. 

       "Are you sure you want to give an amplifier to him, moi soverenyi ?" Matthias heard Hanne's voice pleading to the Darkling on the other side of the doors to the Darkling's chambers.

       It was lunch time, and he had been about to sit down when he saw that Hanne was absent. Curious, he had decided to look for her-especially since Nina had not given any clues as to where they were. 

       "It will help him destroy the Fold, so yes," the Darkling said matter-of-factly.  "I don't see why you object to it."

       "This is not about the Fold," Hanne insisted. "It's about the fact that he is extremely cooperative for an ex-druskelle."

       "Yes, I know," the Darkling said airily. "You've voiced that suspicion before." 

       "He has not once tried to escape, or kill himself, and goes to all his lessons willingly," they said stridently.  "He has even started calling the other Grisha Grisha. Instead, of you know, drusje, or foul witch. For a dedicated druskelle trained to kill us, that is very suspicious. He has to be up to something, even if it's only in his mind." 

      Matthias's jaw dropped, and he had to clap a hand over his mouth just to avoid crying out. Damn them, but they were right. Very, very right. And speaking of which, it was equally odd how the Grisha had decided to just trust him now. They hadn't initially; maybe it had started after the fight with Zoya. 

       "I will admit," the Darkling continued, "There is validity to your suspicions. A lot of validity." 

      "That's not how I would describe a Fjerdan spy in the Little Palace," Hanne said acidly. "At least, I would put it in stronger terms." 

      Oh, shit. They had caught Nils. They had caught Nils, and they were going to execute him. And Matthias too, possibility. 

      "If you're talking about the one in the laundry room, we already dealt with that one," the Darkling replied. "And we are grateful for your assistance in that matter. Your loyalty does you credit, Hanne Brum. 

     Matthias sighed in relief and walked away. Nils did not work in the laundry room; his cover was that he worked in the kitchens. But still, he would have to warn Nils later. 

    With that, he walked towards Zoya, who was sitting and eating by herself in one of the corners. She tended to that a lot at mealtimes, when she couldn't take meals in her room. Matthias more than understood the impulse, at least when it came. But Zoya, he was told, had been popular before the fight. And one of the Darkling's favorites, too. 

     "I don't understand," Matthias admitted to Zoya as he sat next to her. "I thought your punishment was over. You have your amplifier back, don't you?" 

     Zoya nodded, her eyes downcast. 

     "Yes, but the shame continues," she sighed. "I should have known better. And that will never change." 

      Matthias raised an eyebrow. 

     "How could you have known better?" 

      Zoya grimaced. 

      "Well, as Hanne so loves to remind me, it's not easy being a Fjerdan Grisha. Even if you know what you are, you have two choices: hide it or run away to Ravka. And there are only two ways of hiding it: don't use the Small Science, and waste away, or use the Small Science in secret, and hopefully don't get caught."

      "Because if you get caught, the brothers will find and kill you," Matthias finished. 

     Zoya nodded. 

     "And the other option, coming here, is no picnic either. You have to leave behind all your friends and family, sneak across the border, or sail here through the True Sea and the Fold. All without being caught by druskelle." 

     Matthias winced. He had never thought about how, exactly, a Fjerdan Grisha would go about the process of defecting to Ravka. Hearing about it now, it sounded awful. 

     "And then there's the undercurrent of shame that runs through you all the while, shame because of what you are." 

    Matthias nodded. 

   "I've certainly experienced that," he admitted, thinking about the trip from Kribirsk to Os Alta, how he had felt after the Darkling had cut him and released the power. How it was only the promise of a cure, a way to be normal again, that made the idea of being Grisha bearable. 

     "Of course you have," Zoya scoffed. "You didn't know what you were. Or at least, so Hanne tells me. And remember, I was talking about those that know. For those who don't...well, according to Hanne, it's utter torture. You waste away without figuring out why, you become isolated, with no one to turn to." 

      Matthias stilled in horror. That sounded eerily close to his life before the druskelle. Well, he wasn't isolated in the village, but after that, if he hadn't been found by the druskelle...he shuddered. That might very well have been his fate-to waste away alone. 

      You are not a Grisha by nature, Matthias reminded himself. The Darkling turned you into one. 

     Zoya snorted. 

    "Did I hit a little too close to home?" she asked with a laugh. "But yes, given all that, Hanne and the rest of the Fjerdan defectors haven't exactly been too pleased with me. They were very, very offended at my accusation that you were faking it." 

   Matthias was not sure what to say. All he managed was: 

    "But I forgave you." 

    "You may have forgiven me, but Hanne, Stigg...all the other Fjerdan defectors most certainly haven't. They've been giving me nasty looks ever since I attacked you." 

    "I can tell them to stop," Matthias offered. 

    Zoya shook her head. 

   "No," she told him. "Their anger is valid. Hanne only managed to escape thanks to the Hringsa, after all. If it weren't for them-" 

    Matthias's eyebrows shot up. That meant "tree of life". What did Djel's sacred tree have to do with this?

    "The Hringsa?"

   "They're a network of spies in Fjerda," Zoya said. "They help Grisha escape and get to the Little Palace. They're responsible for bringing many of the Fjerdan defectors get here."   

    "Oh." 

    "I just wish they'd helped you," Zoya sighed. "Maybe then you wouldn't have joined the druskelle." 

    Matthias doubted it. He would've had to be Grisha before coming to Ravka. 
       

         Matthias heard the sounds of Nils climbing in the window, but he paid them no mind. True, Nils usually didn't show up until after dinner, but this was a perfect time to warn him. With that, Matthias slid off his kefta and boots, and turned to Nils.

          "Oh, Nils, I have to warn you," Matthias began, but stopped as soon as he saw Nils's expression of silent hatred. Nils's face was impassive, his jaw locked in a puzzling determination.

            “Nils?” Matthias asked, unnerved. “Are you alright?”
            Rather than reply, Nils instead chose to pull a knife from within the folds of his servant's uniform. Pointing it directly at Matthias, Nils said solemnly:
            “I have been made to protect you. Only in death will I be kept from this oath.

               Oh, shit. That was the druskelle oath. 
            Matthias stood up and backed away as Nils charged at him. But Trassel, having sensed that Matthias in danger, rushed forth and tackled Nils down to the floor, biting his leg for good measure.

            “I will kill you,” Nils insisted, gritting his teeth as he tried to get out from under Trassel. “Djel commands it!”

            Matthias continued backing away, and frantically looked around for something he could use as a weapon. There was his shaving kit, he supposed, but that was locked in the vanity table, which was behind Nils. Maybe if he got into the bathroom, he could take the soap and…

            Nils then got free of Trassel, Trassel barking like mad as he did so. But just as Nils prepared to charge again, the doors to Matthias’s room burst open, and in rushed Nina, her hands outstretched, with Hanne and Ivan close behind.

            Before Nils could react, Nina immediately performed a very familiar set of hand gestures, and all of a sudden, Nils froze, seemingly unable to move. At the same time, he trembled violently, eyes filled with rage. A position Matthias recognized; he’d been it himself on the journey to Chernast.
            “You foul- you will not stop me from my duty!” Nils shrieked as Ivan came forth and bound the would-be assassin’s hands in manacles.
            Ivan, for his part, simply forced the knife out of Nils’s hand and then called over to Nina:
            “You can release him now-I’m going to take him to the dungeons.”
            Nina obediently performed a different hand gesture, and Nils’s body slumped forward, apparently capable of movement again. After which, with heavy prodding from Ivan, Nils walked out into the corridor.  
            “Thank you,” Matthias breathed. “You saved my life.”
            “Oh, it’s no trouble, sweetheart,” Nina said airily with a wink and a smile, “I could take on a dozen wannabe druskelle if needed.”
            “But…” Matthias gasped, glancing around “How did you know I was in danger?”
            “Oh, we’ve long suspected that something like this would happen,” Hanne told him, “Especially after the Darkling suggested getting you an amplifier.”
            “Uh…how?”
            Nina looked at him pityingly.
            “They know about your arrangement with Nils, love,” she said. “They’ve known for quite a while.”
            Matthias’s jaw dropped.
            “What?” he sputtered. “But…but I thought you'd caught a different spy-"
            "Yes, but we also caught Nils, too," Hanne informed him. "We just didn't make it clear to him. Anyway, it's time to confer with the Darkling."
          With that, Nina and Matthias followed Hanne out of the dormitory down into the hall, and eventually into the Darkling’s chambers. The Darkling and Baghra were sitting down, chatting over tea, along with a nervous Genya. Their eyes grew wide when Matthias and company walked in, clearly not expecting the intrusion.
            “I was right, moi soverenyi,” Hanne announced, their expression grim. “Nils wasted no time in attempting to kill Helvar, as I predicted.”
          “Ivan is taking the spy to the dungeons as we speak,” Nina added.
          “And the Sun Summoner is unharmed, I see,” Baghra mused.  “Excellent work, Hanne Brum. You really ought to be promoted.”
            “They may very well be on their way to an amplifier,” the Darkling agreed. “Well done.”
            Hanne beamed at the praise and mention of receiving an amplifier. Why not? Amplifiers were a high honor here-no wonder they were happy.

           Baghra scowled.

          "I still think we should have arrested the spy earlier," she said. "If we'd done it when Hanne reported his existence..." 

          "But then we wouldn't have proof," the Darkling "Let alone so much proof." 

          "Proof?" Matthias cried. "But how can you-?" 

          Nina put an arm on Matthias's shoulder.

          "Hanne tracked him down, sweetie," she told him, her green eyes filled with sympathy. 

       "I was suspicious after your first day here," Hanne explained, their face the peak of confidence. "How could a druskelle be so well-behaved, after learning they were Grisha? And having to work for the enemy, no less? So, one night, I listened outside your bedroom door." 

       "And heard you talking to Nils, apparently," Genya said with a grimace. "Heard you talking about sending letters to Jarl Brum." 

        Genya's eyes were full of horror as she said that, and Matthias's heart sank at the sight.  

        "I never sent anything treasonous!" Matthias protested, desperate to reassure poor Genya. "Nothing about battle plans or Grisha secrets!" 

        "No, he most certainly didn't," Hanne agreed, pulling a pile of papers from within their kefta. They placed the pile the table and triumphantly added:

       “These are all the letters you thought you were sending to my father. The ones I intercepted." 

        Nina shot Hanne a dirty look. 

       "Well, had an oprichniki intercept," Hanne corrected, seeing Nina's expression. "But still." 

       Nina's green eyes told Matthias that had not been what she desired Hanne to do. 

       "What was this fool sending the druskelle commander," Baghra demanded, "If not treason?" 

      Hanne gestured toward the pile. 

      "Go ahead. Read them." 

      Both Baghra and the Darkling took one of the letters from the pile and began reading. As they did, their mouths dropped in what was clearly shock, the Darkling's especially. And why not? These letters had Ravka's only hope swearing fealty to its enemy, as well as revealed how much he resented the Darkling for making him said hope in the first place. These letters, Matthias realized, were essentially a stab in the back.

      "Of course I objected to being made a Grisha!" Matthias tried to reassure them, although more the Darkling than Baghra.  "What honest druskelle wouldn't? But my promise still stands, I swear! So long as you change me back, I will destroy the Fold for you!" 

       The Darkling's eyes widened in sheer disbelief. As if he had never considered the possibility before.

       "WHAT?!" the Darkling cried. "You can think I can do WHAT?" 

      Hanne burst into laughter. 

    “Oh, yes,” they said, still chuckling. “Did you not know? Your precious Sun Summoner honestly believes that you turned him into a Grisha."
            “When would I have turned him into a Grisha?” the Darkling exclaimed, shrugging as if he did not know precisely when. But he did. He had been the one to do it. 

            “In Kribirsk!” Matthias cried, slamming his hands on the table.  “Do you not remember? When you cut me and summoned my drusje power for the first time!”
            The Darkling’s face was a mask of confusion.
            “You did something to me with that knife,” Matthias pleaded. “Or maybe just used your powers as an amplifier or something to do it. I don’t know! I’ve been researching, but-”
            Both Baghra and the Darkling blinked in amazement, as if Matthias had said the most ridiculous thing imaginable.
            Hanne shook their head. 
         “Oh, yes, he has been researching. I told you- he’s been so dedicated to his studies of Grisha theory and history because he believes that the ‘cure’ to being Grisha must lie within!”
            “Because it must!” Matthias insisted. “True, it’s not been readily available, because most drusje here probably don’t care about that, but they’re also born naturally.  But it you can turn someone into a drusje, surely you must also be able to-”
            Baghra shook her head sadly.
            “Oh, you poor, confused, fool,” she sighed. “All that Fjerdan propaganda really has taken its toll on you, hasn’t it?”
            “That’s exactly what I’ve been saying this whole time,” Hanne replied, nodding sagely.
            “It is not propaganda!” Matthias protested. “We are a plague on Djel, an insult to him. We-”
            Nina squeezed Matthias’s shoulder affectionately.
            “Sweetie,” she said softly, “Stop proving their point for them.”
           “I’m not proving anything! It’s they who are-”
            Hanne tutted and said:
            “Like I’ve been saying: one does not overcome a lifetime of conditioning overnight.”
            Baghra and the Darkling nodded sadly, clearly agreeing with Hanne’s assessment.

          "I would have thought you'd learned in theory by now," Genya murmured, eyes still wide. "It's impossible to turn an ordinary person into a Grisha." 

         Baghra grimaced. 

         "No amount of theory is going to convince a fool committed to denying the facts." 

         "But it has to be!" Matthias cried, sinking to his knees. "I wasn't a Grisha before all this! I wasn't!" 

         "But then," the Darkling asked him softly, "How do you explain what happened with Ivan outside Chernast?" 

         "That was..." Matthias began, but then he stopped himself. 

        That was Djel, Matthias had been about to say. But why should it have been Djel? Matthias and his druskelle brothers had been all the way in Ravka when it happened. Yes, everything was connected through the ice and waters of the world, but why should Matthias have been blessed with temporary power to defeat one Grisha when no others ever had?  At least, not that Matthias had heard of. 

        "But if...if you all knew that Matthias was conspiring w-with a Fjerdan spy," Genya exclaimed, "Then why did you wait until now to do something? Why did you bring me down here and ask if I had anything to do with this?" 

        "We had to be sure," Baghra told her. "We had to be sure you weren't assisting them." 

       "That, and it also enabled us to get these as well," Hanne continued, withdrawing another pile of papers from their kefta and placing it on the table next to Matthias's letters. "You see, Nils wasn't just a go-between for Matthias and my father.  He was also conspiring with my father to kill our Sun Summoner."

       You lie, Matthias wanted to say. Nils was my friend.  But even now Matthias realized how stupid that was. Their friendship had been steadily deteriorating the longer the both of them stayed here. And a few minutes ago, Nils had tried to kill him. Why shouldn't Nils have been conspiring with Jarl Brum behind Matthias's back? Indeed, Matthias had to commend Nils-it couldn't have been easy to do so while surviving in a Grisha stronghold and pretending to be friends with his target. The spy could have been an excellent druskelle, in his own way. 

      "See for yourself if you don't believe me," Hanne said, passing the pile to Matthias. "The Darkling has already seen them." 

      Out of a bizarre mixture of self-loathing and curiosity, Matthias picked up the first paper, which read: 

          Jarl Brum,
            Everything Helvar has written, to my knowledge, is true. However, if what the Darkling did to him is permanent, we need to come up with an alternate plan. I have every confidence that Helvar will succeed, but we need to be prepared if he doesn’t.
         -Nils

      Matthias flipped the paper over, and on the other side, for some reason, was Jarl Brum's reply: 

           Nils,
            The “alternate plan” is the same thing we do to every drusje. Kill them. If Matthias cannot “cure himself” of what he has become, you slit his throat. And then burn the body.

            -Jarl Brum
            It was Jarl Brum’s handwriting, to be sure. But Matthias couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it. It was one thing for Nils to reject him, but Jarl Brum was...he was the man who had rescued Matthias when he was nothing but a scrawny orphan. Surely, he had to believe Matthias could save himself.

     Matthias put the letter down and picked up the next one: 

      Jarl Brum,
            What Matthias has reported to you so far has been true-he cannot do sorcery without help. Except, that is, for today, when one of the other witches attacked him in the dining hall. During the ensuing fight, he managed to use his unique sorcery to defend himself. Aside from this, he cannot and has not done so outside of this one incident, but still, I worry.
            -Nils

   The exasperated message on the other side read: 

     Nils,

            Of course he could do sorcery unassisted. We have been over this before. Helvar has been lying to you. He has not been failing in his lessons with the elderly witch. He has been learning how to use his sorcery. Learning so that he can destroy that other abomination of sorcery, the Shadow Fold.
            Something which I have told you must not happen. If these witches were to succeed, the Ravkans would be able to access the sea.
 Any claim otherwise, by him or the others, is a lie. He has been lying to you. That is what drusje do. Kill him and have done with it.
            -Jarl Brum

     Kill him and have done with it. Jarl Brum hadn’t believed him. He hadn’t believed Matthias was genuinely trying to cure himself. Instead, Jarl Brum had written him off as a lost cause.
 
    “He didn’t believe me,” Matthias gasped, shaking as he put the page back on the table.  “He didn’t believe I could do it. Jarl Brum just…wrote me off.”

     And why shouldn't he? Not even the Darkling seemed to think a cure was possible. Or if it was, the Darkling didn't want to attempt it. Either way, it had all been for nothing. All Matthias had managed to do was get caught, narrowly avoid getting killed by Nils, and turn Genya against him. 

           “I’m a traitor,” Matthias groaned, burying his face in hands. “A traitor to Ravka, a traitor to Fjerda.  Just…execute me quickly, please.”
            “No, you are a confused little boy,” Baghra countered sharply. “And we can’t very well execute the only Sun Summoner we know of, can we?” 

          Matthias supposed not. Although he would argue he was not good enough of a Sun Summoner to be worth sparing. 

          “Enough,” the Darkling commanded. "Since it is apparent that Helvar is mostly guilty of self-loathing, Nina and Genya, you will take him back to his chamber and have dinner brought to him. Hanne, you will confer with me about Nils." 

        "Yes, moi soverenyi," Nina, Hanne, and Genya all said in unison. And with that, Nina helped Matthias up, slinging him over her shoulder, and after a few moments he felt Genya's presence as well. The two of them then half-carried, half walked Matthias out of the Darkling's rooms and eventually back to his own. 

Chapter Text

            Nina and Genya deposited Matthias on his bed, Genya letting go of him and stepping back as they did.
            “So,” she said, her amber eyes narrowed, “you never really cared about us at all, did you?”
            “Genya!” Nina chided, rubbing circles into Matthias’s back. “Don’t be like that! You know that Fjerda isn’t like Ravka. Being a Grisha isn’t-“
            “Yes, it’s very rough,” Genya scoffed, “But he still got me in trouble with the Darkling.”

            “Baghra and the Darkling spent an hour asking you questions,” Nina said reproachfully. “Asking how much you knew about Nils. And even that was just confirmation of your innocence.”
            Relatively gentle as far as interrogations went, but an interrogation nonetheless. One Genya never should have had to go through.
            "I'm so sorry," Matthias moaned, turning to Genya, inwardly praying with the world that there was some way she could forgive him. "I never meant to get you in trouble. I...I wanted to help you. To share the cure with you, and take you to Fjerda afterward, so that you would never have to Tailor the queen's face again. Please-"

      Rather than be angrier, or do the impossible and forgive him, Genya instead chose to go slack jawed.

      "You wanted to do...what?" she exclaimed, her eyebrows shooting up.

       "You're miserable performing your Tailoring on the queen!" Matthias pleaded. "And you deserve to be happy. I thought...I thought sharing it would..."

       It was clear that Genya desperately wanted to have an answer to that, except that speech was too difficult was now. But she did not need to form one just yet, for Nina would come to her aid.

            "You know," she joked, "I'm a little bit offended that you didn't include me in your insane 'cure the Grisha' plan, Matthias. What, are the rest of us not good enough for you?" 

      "I..." Matthias struggled, realizing that it was indeed a bit of an oversight. "I didn't think you would consent to it. And Hanne...Hanne would never-" 

     "So, it's consensual then," Genya swallowed, having regained the ability to speak.  "Good to know." 

      "I could never force you, Genya," Matthias sighed. "You are too good for such a thing." 

       Genya winced and looked down at the floor. 

           “Well, then, I…I’m flattered,” she began. “But…I don’t need you to cure me, Matthias, even if that were possible.”
            “But-”
            “I don’t hate what I do because I hate being Grisha,” Genya clarified. “I hate it because nobody respects me. I do appreciate you thinking of my happiness, though, in your…own twisted way.”
            “I understand,” Matthias conceded, suddenly exhausted. “I suppose I should not have expected you to accept a cure.”
            Especially considering not even the Darkling seemed to know how to do so, or if he did, was willing to try. A logical perspective, Matthias supposed, for the leader of all Grisha in Ravka.   

            “As for the Fjerda bit…”
            Genya’s voice trailed off there, seemingly not knowing how to continue.
            “Yeah, I hate to tell you this, Matthias,” Nina chimed in, “But Genya’s been head over heels in love with David for a while now. Since long before you showed up.”
            Matthias knit his brow in concentration. David…there had been a David, in the Fabrikators’ rooms, working on glass.
            “You are a very good friend, Matthias,” Genya said, clearly trying for an assuring tone, “Well, except for the letters to Nils. And the…cure bit. But-”
            “Okay, that’s enough,” Nina declared. “The poor boy’s just barely avoided a charge of treason, survived an assassination attempt, and had all his hopes dashed. Bizarre, unhealthy hopes, but still. You can reject him another day.”
            Genya shrugged.
            “I suppose,” she agreed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Matthias.”
            With that, Genya left. Nina rang for dinner, and, when it came, ate it with him in silence. 

          "Will you be okay if I leave? " Nina asked when they'd finished, her eyes filled with worry.

          "As okay as I can be," he murmured, stacking his plates on Nina's tray. 

         Nina frowned at that, humming to herself as she got up. She then walked over to the vanity and pulled out what appeared to be Matthias's shaving kit.

          "I'll just be taking this, then," she explained. "Only for the night. Don't want you hurting yourself out of some sort of misguided sense of druskelle honor." 

         Matthias did not protest; she had a point. The notion of being Grisha forever did make death look rather appealing. With that, Nina took other various things she decided Matthias might try and kill himself with. Upon seeing her leave, Matthias was impressed by the arsenal of potential improvised weapons she took with her. 

     After she was gone, Matthias collapsed on his bed and buried his face in the covers. He had failed. No, he had not just failed. He had misunderstood everything, right from the beginning.
            Genya was not some victim of her own power, hating Grisha life as much as Matthias. Whatever was wrong with her life, it was the fault of the other Grisha and the royal court. Genya did not want or need to be rescued from her power; she wanted to be like everyone else. And in that way, she was.
            Nils had not sympathized with Matthias based on a shared love of their homeland, or a desire to do right by it. His sympathy had come because he assumed Matthias had been an ordinary man transformed into a monster against his will. And, by extension, because Nils had been horrified that anyone, including him, could be made a drusje artificially. When it had seemed-even by accident- that Matthias was enjoying life as a monster, however, that had changed.

           And worse, the Darkling, while undoubtedly a powerful Grisha, was not so much the master of it that he could make Grisha out of ordinary men. Or if he could, he was not willing or able to reverse the process. Why, Matthias didn’t know, but the point was, he had vastly overestimated the Darkling.

            Worse, the Darkling had a point: after Kribirsk, Matthias could claim that any and all sorcery he’d performed had been a result of the Darkling transforming him. At least, he could if he hadn’t performed anything like it before then.

            Except that wasn’t true-Matthias had used the light before, in his fight with Ivan. Before he’d ever so much as met the Darkling, Matthias had used the light to defend himself against Ivan. And while Matthias could say that was the temporary blessing of Djel, it was equally plausible it was true Grisha power. No, more plausible. There was no precedent ever, in any of the annals of druskelle history, of Djel blessing anyone with the ability to summon light. Let alone for the purpose of merely killing one Grisha. In fact, while Djel may have anointed the first druskelle, there were no stories of him ever granting the druskelle any sort of miraculous powers. Visions from Djel, yes. Powers? No.

       And had Matthias received any visions that day with Ivan? No, he had not. 

      The facts were all against him, Matthias realized. He was a Grisha-he had been a Grisha all along. Just like everyone insisted. The Darkling had not done anything to Matthias in Kribirsk. Other than expose that fact to the entire world, that was. 

      And that had horrified Matthias, not because it wasn’t true, but because it was. A Grisha was a monster, after all. An insult to Djel. Grisha powers were evil, demonic. If there was a choice, it was better not to be a Grisha, wasn’t it?

      That nagging dislike of druskelle training in the early days, that inability to fit in with the others-it was not discomfort at the training's rigors. Most likely, it was because part of Matthias knew.  Knew that he shared a kinship of sorts with the people who had destroyed the village. Mingled with a rational fear that Jarl Brum would reject him if he found out. A rational fear which had all too recently come true. 

     That burning desire twelve-year-old Matthias had had, standing among the ruins of his village, to reverse the fire of those Grisha back onto them. It was not an impossible wish born of rage, as he'd told himself. No, that was what he'd said to stop himself from doing it. To resist using the heat pooling inside against the enemy. Because deep down, deeper down that Matthias believed was possible, he knew, and feared that using sorcery against them would make him one of them. Would make him a drusje like them. 

    That heated argument his parents had had when Mother was pregnant with little Gerda, with Father insisting they needed to leave for Ravka. Insisting that they would be safer there. That both of their families had produced Grisha in the past, however much they liked to deny it. Would his father have even brought up the prospect, of defecting, if he did not suspect, on some level, that Matthias's sickly nature was not natural, but caused by repressed Grisha power? And Mother's steadfast denial, her overprotectiveness. Perhaps she, on some level, knew too, but did not want to admit it?

    Before Gerda, before anything, back when Matthias had been truly young, and listening at the feet of the village storyteller along with the other children.  The storyteller who'd spun, among his other tales, stories of fearsome Grisha and the honorable druskelle who slew them. Matthias, like the other children, had always been terrified of those stories. The village mothers would complain, saying that such stories were not for children. 

     But unlike those children, Matthias had not been terrified of the Grisha. No, it dawned on him, Matthias had been terrified because he feared he could be one. That the mysterious energy inside was Grisha magic, that Matthias was an abomination fit only for being slaughtered by druskelle. In response, Matthias had begun squashing down the energy, in the hopes it would make him worthy of living. 

    All his life, Matthias saw, he had been driven by the fear of being a monster, an abomination. And had been doing his best to pretend he wasn't. And Matthias had continued to do so here in the Little Palace. He thought he'd been calling the power, but he hadn't. Deep down, he'd still been suppressing it, so that he could tell himself this was the Darkling's fault. That before Kribirsk, he'd been ordinary, good, worthy. Ordinary and worthy for the people of his village, for Jarl Brum.

     But the people of his village were dead, had been for years. And Jarl Brum had rejected him the minute he learned what Matthias was. There was no point in being good for any of them. Matthias needed to let go.

     Tears began pooling from his eyes, sliding down his face at the thought, staining the covers as they did. Matthias's whole body was suddenly filled with an overpowering grief, one he had not felt since the night after his village's destruction. Grief, Matthias supposed, for Matthias Helvar the honest peasant, Matthias the honorable druskelle. The people he had tried and wanted to be. The people who, in the end, were nothing but an illusion. 
       Matthias closed his eyes and reached deep within, searching the darkness for the warmth. To his surprise, he found it-and it was not just a warmth. It was a luminescent pool of golden light, stuck in a pit, trying its best to climb out with its faint rays.
            I’m sorry, he said to it. I’m sorry I pretended you didn’t exist. I’m sorry I pretended you were the Darkling’s curse.
            Will you forgive me? Will you come out now?
            The light answered, bursting out of Matthias, rushing towards him from every direction. Matthias slowly opened his hands, and a ball of light formed between them, one about as big as a cabbage. He expanded his hands further and further, and the light did so as well, bathing every facet of his room in golden light and heat.
            Wordlessly Matthias put his hands together, the light disappearing as he did. A bubble of laughter escaped his throat as he did. He couldn’t believe it! He’d summoned the light on his own!
            Matthias burst out of his room, down the stairs, into the domed hall, then ran, ecstatic, all the way past the Summoners’ pavilions to Baghra’s hut. He then pushed the door inwards and cried:
            “Baghra! Look!”
            Giving the woman no pause, Matthias once again opened his hands, and formed the ball of light, then expanded it so it could illuminate the hut and the grounds beyond.
            “Finally” Baghra grunted, “Now we can begin.”

Chapter Text

        Indeed, it did. To Matthias's disappointment, being able to summon on his own meant Baghra was once again his instructor. But that disappointment was short-lived, even if she did relish putting him through his paces. 

       Baghra had all kinds of drills for him. She'd make him focus the light in short bursts, piercing hot beams, and long cascades. She had Matthias summoning again and again and again, until it was second nature. And yet Matthias didn't mind. To his surprise, he loved it. He could summon light all day, any day, for anyone who asked. And they did. All the time. 

      The other Etherealki would have him summon cascades of light over the lake, which would reflect off of the waves the Tidemakers conjured.  Often, at dinner, a Corporalki or Materialki would demand he summon light, and Matthias would obey, summoning and shaping light to the delight and applause of his fellow Grisha. Matthias happily basked in it all, both the light and praise. 

     Matthias had wondered before, why the other Grisha seemed so content to use their power, why they had no desire to become normal. Now he realized he'd been a fool to do so. Every time Matthias summoned the light, it felt like the divine love of Djel was flowing through him. No, like he was made up of nothing but Djel's love. The world around him when he summoned the light was paradise, and it was all Matthias could do sometimes not to dance around in the glory of it all. 

    Who on earth would want to give that up? Matthias didn't. Not anymore. 

    "I was wrong," he admitted happily to Hanne one night, grinning from ear to ear as he fell onto one of the divans next to them. 

    "About what?" Hanne chuckled, not doing a good job of hiding their smirk inside their teacup. 

    "The druskelle purpose," Matthias told them. "It is horseshit." 

    Hanne snorted, their eyes widening in surprise as they inadvertently spat tea back into their cup. 

    "Really? What clued you into that?" 

    "They say we are an abomination," Matthias began, "An insult to Djel. And I believed that, like everyone else. But...but when I call the light, I don't feel like an abomination. I feel like it's the best thing I should be doing, what Djel wants me to be doing." 

    "It feels too right to be wrong?" 

     Matthias frowned. 

     "Yes, but it's...more than that. When I summon light, I feel...I feel like it's what Djel created me to do, if you get my meaning." 

     Realizing the unorthodoxy of what he'd just said, Matthias hastily sat up on the divan and added, 

     "At least, that's how it feels in the moment. I...I-" 

      A smile was creeping across Hanne's face, lighting up their eyes in the process. 

     "I think I finally have something in common with you, Matthias," they said. 

     Matthias blinked in confusion. 

     "And what's that?" 

     Hanne drank some of their tea and then set it down on the small table between the two of them. 

     "When I first discovered my powers as a child," Hanne explained, "I felt disgusted by them. Disgusted that I could do such things to and with the human body." 

      Matthias winced. The idea of discovering one's Corporalki talents as a child- in Fjerda, no less-the horror of it suddenly dawned on him. 

     "But then I turned twelve, and met Olga," Hanne continued, the smile on their face gaining a seemingly fond warmth. "The Hringsa agent who would end up rescuing me. She was the first person to tell me it was okay to be what I was. In all senses. With her my power was a gift, and I didn't have to be a girl all the time if I didn't want to." 

     "Was she like you?" Matthias asked "Like us?" 

     Hanne shook their head. 

     "No. She was otkazat'sya. But she was like me in the sense that people wanted her to be a boy when she was young. But she didn't need for us to be alike to fake my death and smuggle me out." 

     Matthias let out a gasp. He couldn't imagine deceiving his own parents in such a fashion. Matthias didn't want to think about whether it would have been necessary, if he'd been in less denial of it all. If his family would have fled to Ravka with him, or if some Hringsa agent would have indeed ended up faking Matthias's death. 

    "I didn't want to do it either, at first," Hanne said softly, "But my mother would never have been accepting of any of it. She was already ashamed that I didn't act enough like a girl. Jarl Brum only tolerated my tomboyish habits because he wanted a son and never got one. If they knew I was Grisha, they'd have burned me on the pyre in a second."
     
    Matthias nodded. 

    "Naturally. It would have been his...duty." 

    The idea of it, of describing a father murdering his own child left a foul taste in Matthias's mouth. 

    "Our homeland is fucked up in so many ways," Hanne agreed grimly. "And I'll admit, it took me some time to see that as well. Even after Olga brought me to the Little Palace." 

    Hanne let out a bitter laugh.

    "Granted, I didn't have your truly fantastic excuse, but I wasn't much better just because I acknowledged reality. In many ways, my self-loathing was worse."

    "What changed your mind?" Matthias breathed.

    Hanne pulled at their gray-embroidered cuffs, the marks of a Corporalki Healer, and held them out for Matthias to see. 

   "The realization that I could heal people with my gifts. That just as I could take a life, I could save or improve one, too. That I could make things better. I decided that if there is a Djel, then this is what he made me to do."

     Matthias decided not to comment on the if there is a Djel bit. Even if he hadn't already given up on Hanne not being inherently blasphemous with every word, he couldn't blame them for it now. Not after everything. 

    Summoning the light was not Matthias's only pleasure; far from it. It felt like the whole world had opened up for him, where previously it was closed. 

    While Matthias had been getting slightly healthier thanks to the Darkling coaxing the power out of him, that was nothing to what was happening to him now. Each night, he sunk deeply into sleep, and awoke in the morning with the foreign but lovely feeling of new energy. Gone were the nights of tossing and turning, of fits and starts, and Matthias did not miss them. 

    Training with the Darkling had given Matthias hunger, yes. Eating was no longer a chore endured to fill a barely-there need, but a flavorful revelation. There were things, always had been things, other than sugar that tasted good. Fruit had a sweet juiciness to it that Matthias had never noticed; butter and cream had somehow always been soft and fatty. Meat, too, had a juice to it, but a savory one, and also a satisfying solidness of texture. Even vegetables were interesting in their denseness and flavor.

  These two things, combined together, had another, more interesting effect: the heavy weight of exhaustion that had always been Matthias's constant companion had all but disappeared. It was no longer a struggle to do things like climbing staircases. Or even to get through Botkin's training exercises. 

   Indeed, he was beginning to see them in a whole new light. No longer were they a strange combination of punishment combined with the chance to relieve pent-up anger. Now they were a chance to push his body to further and further limits, to hone his combat skills, to move for the joy of movement. All of which was a strange concept, to be sure. 

   With the druskelle, combat lessons had been a necessary evil, something Matthias had had to suffer through in order to stay with his new brothers and Brum. And before that, back in the village, Matthias had not really done much in the way of movement that wasn't strictly necessary. The exuberant play-pretend at being warriors the other boys had engaged in was not for Matthias. A fact which his father had not liked, but Matthias's limitations and his mother tended to win out. 

    But those were all in the past, and now Matthias was the strong, healthy son his father had always hoped Matthias could be. That Matthias and his mother had never dreamed possible. That he could have been all along, if it weren't for the druskelle. 

    It was like Matthias had somehow had a vise around his neck this whole time, and now he was finally, for the first time, able to breathe.


        One of the first people to remark on the change was none other than the queen. 

       "You look so well all of a sudden," Queen Tatiana told him. "So healthy." 

       "Well, moya tsaritsa," Matthias replied with a laugh. "They do say that the Small Science nourishes the Grisha who use it." 

       "And happy, too. I am glad that you are so happy," Queen Tatiana said with a happy sigh. "That you have a found a home in the Little Palace at last." 

       "I could never have done so without you," Matthias assured her. "You were one of the first people to make me feel at home here. One of my first friends." 

       The queen's eyes widened at that, although Matthias was not sure why. 

       "Really?" she gasped, her voice small. 

       "Yes. It was comforting to have you here. An ordinary Fjerdan woman. It made me feel less alone, in the early days."
 
       Especially since unlike Nils, Queen Tatiana had stayed Matthias's friend regardless of how he felt about his powers.

       "You've done the same for me," Queen Tatiana confessed, reaching a hand towards Matthias. "It must sound ridiculous, I know, given all the women you've seen around me, and my husband, and my sons. Well, one son-the younger is off somewhere, serving in the army." 

       "No," Matthias exclaimed, "No, it doesn't. Not at all. It's...none of them are Fjerdan, yes? They're all Ravkan, everyone at court." 

       Or in Matthias's case, some of them were Fjerdan, but they were either too afraid of him or disagreed wildly with everything Matthias believed. At least, before now. 

        The queen nodded. 

        "But you're not," she whispered, holding his hand in hers. "You're a simple, honest Fjerdan boy. Not corrupted by anything. But yet...part of me wishes you were a little corrupt." 

       Matthias blinked in confusion. 

       "Um, moya tsaritsa," Matthias asked nervously, grimacing a bit, "Why would you wish for me to be corrupt?" 
        
      "Because then I could do much more than hold hands with you. Much more."

        More?   More, as in-

        "How much more?" Matthias gasped, jerking his hand away.

         At this the queen winced.

       "A great deal more," she confessed, lowering her gaze to the floor. "Maybe even enough that, if we're careless, I'd wind up with child." 

          Oh, dear. Genya had been right. Queen Tatiana was very much the type to have affairs. Or at the very least, she was the type to have affairs with Matthias. 

        "Moya tsaritsa," Matthias began, switching briefly back to Ravkan before continuing in Fjerdan, "You are a married woman. You are married to the king. For us to-that would be the height of impropriety."

          He spoke as gently as he could, not wanting to upset her any more than she already was. 

        Queen Tatiana sighed and withdrew her hand, putting it back in her lap. 

        "Of course. You wouldn't be you if you were willing to sleep with a married woman. And would I have fallen for you if you were?" 

         A sad groan escaped her lips as she picked up her sewing.

         "This was just a dream, wasn't it? A beautiful, silly dream. Still, I thank you for it all the same, Sun Summoner." 

         "I'm sorry-"

         "No, you have nothing to be sorry for," the queen interrupted. "This is all my doing." 

        The queen then turned to attentively focus on her sewing, or at least appear to, before adding; 

         "Don't take this to mean that I hate you, Sun Summoner, but...I think it would be best if we don't see each other for a while, yes?" 

         "That makes sense," Matthias agreed with a nod. "I...I will take my leave." 

     "This all feels like a story sometimes, " Matthias admitted as he sat with Nina and Hanne around one of the ovens in the hall one evening. "The kind village storytellers tell young children. A palace of wonders, Grisha, even a Darkling. No star maidens, though."

    Nina blinked in confusion. 

    "Star maiden?" 

    "What, you've never heard The Star Maiden and the Darkling?" Matthias said with a chuckle. "Do they not tell it in Ravka?"  

     Hanne groaned. 

     "I hate that story." 

      Matthias merely shrugged. 

     "Yes, the heroic druskelle who saves the hapless star maiden is a bit off-putting, in retrospect," he acknowledged. "And that's probably why Nina hasn't heard it." 

     "How is the girl a star exactly?" Nina asked, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Is it figurative or-?" 

    "No, she is actually a star," Hanne informed her. "As in, from the sky. Astronomy be damned." 

    "And how does this star-maiden get down to earth, exactly?" Nina asked. 

     Hanne sighed and threw up their hands. 

     "You tell her," they insisted, looking directly at Matthias. "I do not have the energy to try and recount this bullshit." 

     Matthias took a deep breath. 

    "Long ago," he began. "There lived an evil sorcerer with power over metals and rocks and plants and wood and other things from the earth."

    Realizing what he had just said, Matthias grinned sheepishly and added:

   "So, what we would call a Materialki. Or a Fabrikator. An evil Fabrikator."

    Nina giggled at that.

    "What does he have to do with anything, though?" she asked. "I thought this was about a Darkling."

    "Well," Matthias continued, "The evil Fabrikator sought to increase his power by using the energy of the moon and the stars-the stars being her daughters. And so, he devised a ritual to contact them one night."

    "And this is how the star maiden comes down to earth," Nina said, the confusion seeming to lessen. 

    "Yes. There is one young star maiden, who, curious about life down below, answers the Fabrikator's summons. Despite, of course, the warnings from her mother and sisters." 

   "Because even the moon and stars know that Grisha are evil," Hanne sighed taking a steep drink of kvas. 

   "This Fabrikator was," Matthias added, "Because as soon as the star maiden comes down, he claps her in chains and immediately tries to harvest her energy for his own." 

    Nina frowned as she took a sip of kvas. 

   "But she's a person," Nina pointed out. "Not a-his powers should have no effect!" 

   "He's not really a Fabrikator, Nina," Hanne groaned.  "He's an evil sorcerer. His powers are whatever they need to be. And at any rate, he doesn't succeed." 

   "No, the moon punishes him in anger," Matthias continued. "Killing him with a great burst of light for daring to hurt her daughter. After which, she tries to bring the star maiden back, but she can't. The star maiden is trapped on earth, thanks to the sorcerer's evil spell." 

   "She wanders the earth, friendless and alone. But since she glows from within and doesn't sleep-and can also heal the sick- people figure out what she is. At least, they see she isn't an ordinary human woman. And so, the star maiden becomes famous-even the Darkling hears of her. And when she wanders into Ravka..."

   "The Darkling sends men to capture her, put her in irons like the Fabrikator?" Nina concluded.

   Matthias shook his head. 

   "Not quite. He finds her personally, befriends her, offers her shelter and kindness. And since it's winter and bitter cold, the star maiden goes with him willingly to his castle. There he pampers her and makes her unbelievably happy." 

  "Because he needs her that way if he wants to be immortal," Hanne added with a grimace. 

   Nina shook her head, letting out a little laugh as she did so. 

   "Darklings already live a long time. Just like other powerful Grisha. Why-" 

    Hanne snorted. 

   "Same reason the Fabrikator has Corporalki powers," Hanne interjected with a dismissive sniff. "Because whoever made it up never spoke to a real Grisha."

  "That, or maybe power doesn't get rid of the fear of death," Matthias countered. "Anyway, this Darkling has learned through books that if he harvests the energy of a star shining to her fullest with happiness, he can gain immortality. So, he pampers her and shows her the wonders of his palace, in order to prepare her for the ritual." 

   "I believe this is the point where a handsome druskelle comes into play, yes?" Nina asked playfully, tracing her fingers up Matthias's arm. Hanne scowled and turned away, taking a deep drink of kvas as they did so. 

  "Indeed, this is the part Hanne has been dreading," Matthias replied with a laugh. 

  "I've been dreading every bit of it," Hanne grunted, still not looking at either of them. 

   "The moon, unable to destroy the Darkling herself, enlists the help of a noble young druskelle nearby," Matthias said.  "She tells him the star maiden's story and the Darkling's plans for her. And then gives him a blade forged by sunlight, the only thing that can kill a Darkling." 

   "And the handsome druskelle sneaks into the castle, just as the Darkling has tied up the star maiden, about to perform the ritual," Hanne finished acidly. "He rushes up and plunges the sword into the Darkling's chest, causing him to melt into a puddle of darkness. Then the druskelle frees the star maiden and they live happily after ever." 

    Nina went over and leaned on Hanne's shoulder. 

    "Well, I can see why you don't like it. It's got everything you hate." 

    Hanne let out a small harrumph. 

    "Glorifying the druskelle, painting Grisha as the bad guys, the fact that the star maiden is still trapped on earth after she marries the druskelle, but no one cares...what's there to like?" 

    "Me, I just think it's filled with holes," Nina said with a contented sigh. "But that's true of lots of folk stories." 

   Hanne merely grunted again.

   "My point was," Matthias sighed, "That the Little Palace feels like a dream. A wonderful, beautiful dream. But more than that, it feels like...well, why would I ever want to leave?" 

   Matthias frowned. 

   "I know I have to leave to close the Fold, but still, it's..." 

   "Like home?" Nina guessed. 

    "Yes," Matthias realized, sinking into the divan. "It does." 
    

Chapter Text

     Life was not all happiness and very literal sunshine, however. The Apparat, for one thing, was still obsessed with Matthias. The priest continued to stalk Matthias, much to his frustration. And he didn't even limit himself to that. 

       Matthias was walking back to the Little Palace from Baghra's hut when it happened. Just as he was about to reach the Little Palace, he found the Apparat blocking his path, smiling smugly as he did so. Matthias attempted to walk around the priest, but the priest blocked that by stepping where Matthias stepped, and eventually Matthias gave up. 

        "What is it, priest?" Matthias asked, exasperated. 

        The Apparat's smile widened. 

     "Do you know, Sun Summoner, that in the border villages they make altars to you?"

       Matthias's jaw dropped.

     "No," he cried, utterly horrified by such blasphemy.  "No, I did not. The Second Army hasn't been encouraging this, have they?" 

      Matthias briefly glanced behind him at the grounds filled with Etheralki behind him, silently praying that that wasn't the case. 

     The Apparat chuckled.

     "Oh, the Grisha have nothing to do with it-they do not need to. Everything is already there." 

     Everything was-oh no. 

    "They do know that I'm a Grisha, yes?" Matthias gulped. "These Ravkans who live in border villages that make altars to me?"

    "It is not just the simple villagers, Sun Summoner. The icon painters have been doing brisk business, painting your likeness."

      Icon painters. In his time here in Ravka, Matthias had learned that the paintings of the Saints in the chapel were called icons. As well as that an icon painting was not like a regular painting-icons were only for Saints, created expressly for religious worship. 

     "Get them to stop," Matthias insisted. "Tell them that these altars and icons are blasphemy, that-" 

    The Apparat shook his head, grinning evilly. 

     "You cannot stop them, Sun Summoner. Grisha power, mighty as it is, is nothing next to faith. To the people, you are a living Saint."

     Matthias gritted his teeth. 

    "I am no such thing," he snapped. "I am a good Fjerdan who-" 

    "You do not see yourself that way," the Apparat mused. "That is fine. Understandable, even admirable. But it does not change what the people believe, does not change what you will do, what  you will become." 

    With that, the Apparat turned on his heel and walked away. 

     Frustrated, Matthias didn't bother going into lunch. Instead, he went straight for the Darkling's rooms. 

    "The border villages are worshipping me as one of your saints," Matthias informed the Darkling, his voice frantic. "This cannot be allowed to continue!"

     The Darkling looked at Matthias softly. 

    "As a worshipper of Djel, it must be quite unnerving," the Darkling acknowledged.

    "It is more than that," Matthias insisted, gritting his teeth. "It is blasphemy!"

    "From your perspective, yes," the Darkling said. "But think about it from theirs. As you know, the Fold has taken countless lives, and cut Ravka off from the outside world. For four hundred years, the people have had to accept this as a fact of life." 

     A fact of life, just like the war with Fjerda, and, Matthias had learned, Shu Han. 

     "But now, someone has arrived," the Darkling continued, "Someone with the ability to destroy the Fold. That ancient, menacing darkness that has taken so much from them, that they have just had to accept." 

      A feeling of shame welled up inside Matthias. He knew, of course, that the Fold was a horrifying abomination that needed to be stopped. That had widowed thousands like that woman he was giving his stipend to, quite likely. But that was just it: he'd been thinking of it as an abomination. The way a Fjerdan would.

      He hadn't realized that the Ravkans considered said abomination normal. As an evil thing, yes, but an evil thing along the lines of cancer or tuberculosis; cruel, yes, but unbeatable.

     "Is it any wonder," the Darkling concluded, "That the average Ravkan peasant would come to worship that person? To view him, regardless of who he was before, as a saint?"

      Matthias nodded solemnly. 

      "No," he admitted, feeling very ashamed. "It isn't." 

      And it wasn't as if the Ravkans worshipped Djel anyway. They worshipped thirteen Saints, all of whom were miracle-workers, and most of whom were pretty obviously Grisha but not called that. Destroying the Fold, if Matthias could manage it, would definitely be considered a miracle. By that logic, Matthias certainly qualified. 

      "That doesn't mean I'm okay with it," Matthias added. 

      "But of course," the Darkling assured him. 

   At the same time as all this, a much less momentous thing happened: autumn came to a close. Winter arrived, and with it, a blanket of snow across the grounds of the Little Palace.

    Something which had not really changed his routine all that much; his lesson schedule remained the same, as well as mealtimes. Outside of those, however, it was a different story. 

    To Matthias's delight, Ravka's Grisha were not at all that different than Fjerdans when it came to winter fun. The Grisha children liked to build snowmen just as Fjerdan ones did, and Grisha of all ages liked to go sledding and skating. And a lovely consequence of Matthias's powers was that he could actually join in. 

     Back in his home village, Matthias's "sickly" nature meant that he generally spent the winters bundled up in blankets by the fireplace. Exceptions were made, of course, for the Vinetkälla festival, chores, and meals. And of course, Matthias's father sometimes insisted that Matthias go out sledding with the other children, 'for his health'. However, Matthias's limitations had meant that he didn't go sledding for very long. Skating was, of course, forbidden-Matthias's promises of good behavior and his father's strident argument be damned.

    Skating had not been forbidden in the Ice Court, but Matthias had never taken part regardless. Training almost always took too much out of him. 

    But here, in the Little Palace, it was different. Matthias tried his hand frequently at gliding across the frozen lake, but mostly he slipped and fell, and the other Grisha howled in good-natured amusement. He competed in sledding races all across the palace grounds, during which the sleds were often propelled by Squallers using the Small Science. 

     Matthias was not, alas, allowed to go any of the weekend sleigh rides people frequently invited him to join. The reason being, of course, that it provided the druskelle with opportunities to kidnap him. Since Matthias no longer harbored the secret desire to rejoin the druskelle (or to let them kill him), he had no choice but to remain on the Little Palace grounds.

     Something which struck Matthias as ironic. Before, when Matthias had genuinely wanted to 'escape' from the Little Palace at some point, his not-so-secret, not-really-a-plan had so consumed him he'd barely noticed the restriction. Now that Matthias wanted to stay, the limits as to where he could go were glaringly obvious.

     As was, apparently, the need for a new kefta. To be exact, a warmer kefta than Matthias already had. And thus, Matthias found himself having his measurements being taken again.

      "Your current kefta," Genya said as the seamstress held her measuring tape up to various parts of Matthias's body, "Was designed for someone significantly more..." 

      "Scrawny?" Matthias finished with a shrug, briefly glancing at his kefta as it lay flat on his bed. The black silk coat with gold embroidery was a work of art; just having one felt like an extravagance. Owning two felt beyond him. 

      Genya frowned.

     "I would have preferred underfed. Not that it matters."

      Genya briefly examined the shirtless Matthias before adding:

     "Neither is an apt descriptor anymore."

     Matthias's brow furrowed in confusion.

    "What do you mean?" he asked nervously, suddenly feeling even more self-conscious than he had already. Which Matthias had thought impossible, considering that he had to strip to his trousers for this. 

    Apparently sensing this apprehension, Genya put her hands up in a placating gesture. 

    "You've grown, is what I mean," she explained. "You're more...muscular. Your shoulders are broader." 

     Matthias blinked in confusion, utterly thrown aback. 

     "I...I do? I am?" 

     Never had Matthias expected anyone to describe him as either of those things. He had long since gotten used to the idea of being sickly, pale and scrawny forever. After all, if druskelle training couldn't make him strong, what would? 

     Genya let out a laugh of disbelief. 

     "You haven't noticed?" 

    "No," Matthias replied, still surprised. "I...I hadn't."

    Genya sighed.

    "I'm going to have to get you a proper mirror some time," she said, glancing at the small mirror on the table behind her. "I suspect it will clear up many things." 

    Matthias was not sure what was wrong with his own mirror, or what a "better" one would do. But he did agree there were things that could stand to be cleared up. 

    For example, the way Nina smiled at Matthias sometimes, in that coquettish way of hers. And how, whenever she did, Hanne would send the most reproachful glare Nina's way. It was baffling. With a different woman-alright, a Fjerdan woman-Matthias might be appalled by such behavior. But Nina had never been a modest Fjerdan woman, reserved and polite with her affections. She was lively, vivacious, and yes, very, very forward. 

    But why would Hanne be upset about that? If anything, Hanne should probably hate the concept of modesty. So why did Nina's lack of it bother them all of a sudden? 

    Moreover, why did Nina make little snickers every time Hanne gave Matthias a compliment? Grudging compliments, to be sure, that clearly pained Hanne to divulge. What was so funny about that? 

       Matthias's social life was no longer confined to just Hanne, Nina, and Genya, however. In fact, his social circle had expanded a fair amount throughout the winter days.

     Zoya now sat with him at mealtimes, for starters. Matthias had insisted on inviting her, not being able to bear how isolated she had become from the other Grisha. And from there, it had expanded-he had persuaded the Fjerdan defectors to make peace with Zoya. 

     "She was wrong to belittle your-our experiences," Matthias insisted, putting his hands in a placating gesture as Stigg, who was seemingly the defectors' leader, scowled at him. "But you must understand. I was a druskelle. I continued to be a druskelle, mentally, for quite a while after I came here. If I were her, I would have attacked me too." 

      "And you think you're the only one?" Stigg growled. "The only Grisha to join the druskelle out of a misguided sense of patriotism? You're not." 

      "Yes," one of the female defectors piped up from behind Stigg. "My brother Lars tried to join. Only, he didn't try to hide it. Lars believed he could use his powers to help them. He got killed by a firing squad for his trouble." 

     The Fjerdan defectors nodded solemnly in unison. 

     Matthias groaned and rubbed his temples.

     "Yes, but I actively plotted to return to Fjerda," he pointed out. "Nearly let myself get killed by my comrades. And desperately searched for a cure. Not just for myself, but others." 

     Stigg burst out laughing. 

      "So did I," he scoffed, nearly bent double with laughter. "So did a lot of us. Who hasn't downed some nasty herbal concoction in the hopes of being normal?"

       A full half of the defectors nodded and chuckled.

      "I wrote to-" Matthias began, but Stigg cut him off. 

      "Yes, Hanne told us all about it. Doesn't matter. Your self-hatred does not justify what Zoya did. If anything, it makes it worse." 

      Matthias sighed. 

      "Okay. She was wrong. I know that. But she did it to protect her fellow Grisha. And she apologized afterwards. She was misguided. But surely, we can forgive that. After all, we've just admitted to being misguided ourselves." 

      This did not convince Stigg or the rest of the defectors. Not immediately. But eventually, they came around and grudgingly forgave Zoya. Which Zoya received with eagerness, and now the defectors now sat in a cluster around Matthias as he, Hanne, Nina, and Zoya lounged on the divans at mealtimes. And surrounded by them all, with their variety of keftas, Matthias couldn't help but feel content. 

     The rigid hierarchy still existed, as evident at the tables, which remained segregated by order and color of kefta. But his new circle offered a lovely respite from all that, and Matthias knew he was not the only one who appreciated it.

     But Matthias was not the only thing that disrupted Grisha hierarchies. The feast of Saint Nikolai, it seemed, did so as well. 

       Contrary to the meat, fish, and pastries that marked Vinetkälla back home, the food for Sankt Nikolai's feast was seemingly humbler. They had dumpling soup and something called kutya, which seemed to be boiled grains with honey and poppy seeds. But both were delicious. 

      And everyone enjoyed it lounging on the divans, gorging themselves on sweets after. Grisha in purple, blue, and red keftas all intermingled freely, putting aside their rigid groups for one day. 

      There were also presents. Presents that were sent to Grisha by their families, presents that Grisha gave to each other. The latter of which would end up causing a big problem. 

      It started off innocently enough, with Nina and Hanne exchanging gifts.

     "A...comb?" Nina asked, staring at the delicate rose-shaped comb made out of a silvery metal. 

    Hanne nodded.

    "For the Winter Fete," they explained. "To put up your hair with. I had one of the Fabrikators make it for you in exchange for a favor." 

    "You're so sweet," Nina crooned, a fond look coming into her eyes as she handed Hanne a parcel. "Here. From me." 

    Hanne opened the parcel, and discovered two small bead earrings made of gold. 

    "For when you feel female," Nina explained. "It doesn't happen often, yes, but when it does, I know you prefer subtler distinctions to more obvious ones."

    Hanne's lips parted in a wry smile. 

     "We've both been bribing the Fabrikators, it seems." 

     Nina merely nodded and laughed. 

     "No. I don't have a family to gift my stipend to," she explained. "So I spend it on my friends when I can." 

    Then Matthias gave both of them gifts he had made.  For Hanne, a flat wood carving of Djel's sacred tree, representative more of the Hringsa than the tree itself. For Nina, a trinket made of ribbons and the closet thing Matthias could find to part of an ash bough. 

     "It's a trinket," Matthias explained to a puzzled Nina, "One that women will give to riders participating in the royal hunt. Since you were so interested in the Maidenswalk." 

     At this Nina burst out laughing. 

    "Oh, I see," she joked. "Because I can't attend the Maidenswalk in person?" 

    "Because you would be kicked out for impropriety," Matthias replied, with a half smile. "Or chased out by a host of lovesick suitors right on your heels."

   At the latter thought, of Nina running around the Ice Court pursued by several obsessed Fjerdan boys, Matthias couldn't help but laugh. And then everyone was laughing. 

     Then, with a suddenly nervous expression, Nina handed Matthias a parcel. 

     "I, uh..." she stammered, appearing at a loss for words. "This is for you."

     Taken aback by Nina's sudden nervousness, Matthias took the parcel, opened it...

     And found that it was a silver necklace with a tree-shaped pendant. 

      "Since you don't worship the Saints," Nina babbled, "And you can't exactly dress like a...not that you would want to...I thought it would be-" 

     "Something to symbolize my faith in Djel?" Matthias finished, half smiling as he put it around his neck.

     "That's...that's very thoughtful of you, Nina. Thank you." 

    Hanne, for whatever reason, was glaring daggers at Nina. 

    "Yes. Very thoughtful." they said acidly. 

    "Oh, you're one to talk," Nina snarled, pointing to a square parcel behind Hanne. "Didn't you make that just for him?"

    Hanne briefly glanced at the parcel and swallowed.

    "No, no, I didn't," they insisted, looking very, very embarrassed, as they attempted to kick it underneath one of the divans. Nina merely rolled her eyes as she stopped the parcel in its tracks. 

    "Oh, come now," she spat. "You didn't spend all that effort in order to not give it to him."

    Nina snatched the parcel and shoved it into Matthias's hands.

    "Go on," she demanded, "Open it, Matthias. It's from Hanne." 

    Utterly confused, Matthias carefully opened the parcel. Upon doing so, he saw that it was a book. But not one bound by conventional means; rather, it appeared to be a bunch of parchment sheets collected between two canvas covers, all tied together on one side by a beautiful black ribbon winding its way through several small holes. And it was labeled, in Fjerdan, no less-

   "The Star Maiden," Matthias breathed, even more confused. "A Fjerdan folk tale." 

   "Yes," Nina snapped, her eyes narrowed with anger. "A folk tale that Hanne loathes. And yet they spent so much time writing it, binding it into a little book for you." 

    "I...I appreciate both of your gifts," Matthias said carefully, putting his hands in an appeasing gesture. "You have both been...better friends to me than I deserve." 

    Whatever the source of friction between them, Matthias didn't want to stoke it further. And since it was related to the gifts...

    "I think I will be taking them to my room, now," Matthias finished, snatching the book and leaving for his chambers. Hanne and Nina continued to glower at each other, unmindful of Matthias's departure. 

        Of course, Matthias was still not allowed to forget his purpose. Far from it. 

        It started innocently enough at one of the new nighttime lessons that Baghra had decided on having Matthias attend. She had been demanding, urging him to make the circle of light bigger, expand it further and further, until it encompassed the entire lake and even the children's school. Unfortunately, that was where Matthias's powers generally hit their limit. As Baghra cried for more, suddenly Matthias could no longer take it. The circle of light wavered and disappeared in a flash.  

      Matthias sighed in frustration. But before he could say anything, the Darkling's voice suddenly said behind him: 

     "It's not enough." 

     Mirroring Matthias's thoughts exactly. The Fold was bigger than one lake, after all. 

     "It might be," Baghra countered. "That was without my help. Imagine what the boy could do with an amplifier." 

     "He'll have one," the Darkling insisted. "In the stag." 

      Baghra shook her head.

     "You're a fool," she scoffed. "You must reconsider."

     "Must?" the Darkling hissed. "I don't take orders from you, old woman."

     Rather than respond or join in, Matthias merely began walking back towards the Little Palace. An action which seemed to end the argument, as Baghra then called out: 

     "Wait! Where are you going?" 

     Matthias turned to face them and shrugged sheepishly. 

    "The lesson's over. As far as I can see. And besides, I don't think it's my place to interrupt." 

     After all, what did Matthias know about amplifiers or Morozova's stag? And assuming he knew more than Baghra or the Darkling was something best left in the past. 

     The Darkling then turned to Baghra and commanded: 

     "Leave us." 

     Baghra obediently turned and began walking towards her hut, muttering something to herself Matthias couldn't here. When the door to her hut closed behind her, the Darkling turned to Matthias and observed: 

    "You look well."

     Matthias flushed.

    "I'm told it's the result of using the Small Science," Matthias replied, "All the books say so, at any rate." 

    "Come. Let's walk to the Little Palace together." 

     Rather than disobey, Matthias allowed the Darkling to join him on the way back, the two of them strolling along the lake in an awkward silence. When they reached the children's school, Matthias broke it by asking: 

     "Have there been any signs of this stag?" 

    It seemed unlikely, but then again, everything that had happened since Matthias's failed first outing as a druskelle had been unlikely. Many would say Matthias's entire existence was unlikely. 

     "No," the Darkling informed him, "The herd may have moved into Fjerda." 

     "Oh."

     If that was the case, they'd never find it. The sole consolation was that the druskelle likely had no idea the stag even existed. Otherwise, they'd have locked it up or killed it themselves.

     "You have impressed me," the Darkling confessed. "You've come far from we first met." 

      Matthias sighed. A truthful statement, admittedly. When they'd first met, Matthias had been a druskelle in denial who could not care less about the Fold. Compared to that, Matthias was infinitely more useful to the Darkling and to everyone. At the same time, the Fold was far, far bigger than the grounds of the Little Palace.

     "But I still can't destroy the Fold," he pointed out. "At least, not all of it." 

      Maybe he could get rid of parts of it one at a time. But all the maps, and what Matthias had seen of that monstrosity with his own eyes, told him that would be a lengthy process. 

     "Don't worry," the Darkling said, his voice soft and assuring as he leaned his face into Matthias's. "You will have my help."

       And then the Darkling kissed Matthias on the lips.

       Maybe, no, almost certainly, if it had been a different man, the press of the Darkling's lips on his would have greatly alarmed Matthias. Not just because of its sudden, unprompted nature-although that was certainly a large part of it. But also in the utter lack of revulsion Matthias felt at having a man's lips on his. No, not just that-but the actual pleasure it brought, too. 

     Instead, in that moment, Matthias simply felt that same sense of surety, that same warmth, throughout his body, that happened whenever the Darkling touched him.

     But it was just that; only a moment. One that ended not long after it began. And when the Darkling took his lips off of Matthias and stepped back, the delayed shock and confusion hit him with full force. 

      Why did he-?  Matthias thought. Never mind, why did I-? Why didn't I...hate it? 

      Fortunately, Ivan came to rescue Matthias and the Darkling, albeit unintentionally, from what had occurred. A mention of the Apparat's apparent impatience-about what-sent a grumbling Darkling to follow Ivan away from Matthias. Thus saving Matthias from having to talk about it to the Darkling. 

      But not from having to debate it in his mind for the rest of the evening. 

     In Fjerda, this never would have been tolerated. Not back in the village, and certainly not in the Ice Court. If Jarl Brum had been here to witness it, he would undoubtedly turn his back on Matthias even if Matthias wasn't Grisha as well. The druskelle commander had made it very clear how he felt about men doing things with other men. 

     "You shall not profane this sacred order by doing unnatural acts with each other," Jarl Brum had once told Matthias, along with his fellow druskelle recruits, "By lying with a man as you would with a woman. To do so is a crime against Djel." 

       Being a boy of fourteen at the time, Matthias had not even known such a thing was possible. Jarl Brum had refused to explain it further-and had been very angry when another boy asked for clarification. So Matthias and the others had simply nodded and agreed. 

      Of course, Matthias was not a druskelle anymore. He was a Grisha. But did that change things? For all he knew, the Little Palace might not approve of it any more than Jarl Brum did. Well...Hanne definitely would, if they knew how what Jarl Brum said. Knowing Hanne, they'd probably encourage Matthias to do every conceivable sexual act with the Darkling that he could. But whether that was to spite their father or...

     Well, Hanne's gender wasn't 'set in stone', as Nina had put it. If Hanne was female sometimes but male at others, any relationship of theirs could be homosexual at any given time. Thus, Hanne was probably incapable of disapproving. 

    But did Matthias even want that with the Darkling? He hadn't...hated the kiss, he'd even liked it. And part of Matthias wanted more, more kisses, more...something. But at the same time, he had not asked for the kiss. It had come completely unexpectedly. 
    
    A question that Matthias would not have an answer for, not even when he reached his bedchamber. So he simply undressed and went to bed.