Chapter Text
The thick shadows that at first follow her everywhere as she grows are disconcerting.
It is a small thing, though, and for the most part, she's content, at least when she forgets they are there.
Life at the Little Palace had taken some getting used to, still, she was comfortable with it now—mostly.
At least she wasn’t as scared as she’d been the day she’d arrived, gaping at the world around her, suddenly so much bigger, brighter, more colourful than she'd ever imagined possible, Mal’s grubby hand clutched tightly in hers.
(He hadn’t been as scared as she but he had been 9 then, two whole years older than she, so it had made sense.)
‘Keramzin’s Little Mouse’ they called her, then and (at times) now, and the incessant mocking on the part of the other children, especially the older ones, only increased after the Black Heretic had sent for her immediately upon his hastened return to Ravka's capital from abroad - had demanded to see her at once.
Still, her tormentors had found other amusements after Mal’d stepped forward in protection (much like the older brother he'd always been) and especially after the older Grisha had made their displeasure of their actions clear.
She continued to report to the Darkling weekly, but even that terror had faded with routine.
It wasn’t as if she saw him after all.
He’s as much of a mystery to her now as he’d been that day she’d first stood before him, her small legs shaking with nerves and trepidation. The shadows that follow her everywhere as she goes are the same which cloak his office as she presents herself before him each week at the appointed time—where she stood for a few minutes waiting for him to wave her away. It seems a seemingly pointless endeavour, but as her presence is required, she attends to stand before him as directed.
Some days, she thinks maybe he just wants to make sure she’s still around, still there, still an extra responsibility for which he must worry. Some days, she's sure he's forgotten her existence until she arrives at his office - the question of her future must seem so small after all, in the grand scheme of things that occupy his life.
At least he never seems annoyed with the disobedient sunbeams that follow her everywhere and which so often mess up the quiet reassuring dark of his office.
(Anyway, she’s much better at controlling them now. Last week, she thinks she was almost able to make them dance.)
He’s barely even scary to her now, her Shadow Man—their last meeting, she’s sure he laughed at her vain attempts to have him do so.
(It’s possible it was a cough. Still, she likes to think she heard a soft chuckle buried within it.)
Yes, some days she’s comfortable here at the Little Palace—with her friends and Mal and the sunbeams and food (mostly delicious and certainly plentiful) she never has to fight for.
With the shadows always present to keep them all safe.