Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I. Zoya

Zoya Nazyalensky scanned the emerald hell that lay before her with equal measures of appreciation and disdain. The bright rolling hills and dark valley slopes were nothing more than sweet, traitorous bait. If one merely looked on at the steep meadows full of grazing sheep, they could never guess the horrors people have had to endure on this land. She gritted her teeth. 

The horrors Grisha had to endure on this land. 

Even almost a year after first hearing them, Harshaw’s words still sometimes rang in her ears, a tale of a brother being slaughtered and bled like nothing more than livestock. 

She shrugged at her coat’s lapels, ignoring the way the thick material made her miss her kefta and took a breath of the humid air. Zoya scrunched her nose. Everything was so…green. And wet. This country had two types of weather: rain, and preparing to rain. The Wandering Isles reminded her of a petulant child constantly on the verge of tears. And when the dam broke…saints, it broke with inconsolable fervor. Just then, thunder roared in the distance, as if to prove a point. Like a tantrum. Or a warning. 

Storm is still a few hours out , she thought, and glanced at her companion. 

Nikolai Lantsov, the young king of Ravka stood beside her, assessing the scenery with similar interest. He was, of course, disguised, his face and hair changed to resemble that of Sturmhond, a pirate employed by the crown. 

“I don’t like this,” Zoya said after a few moments of silence.

“During our times shared together I’ve come to the realization that the list of things you don’t like are quite long, so I could use some elaboration here, General,” Nikolai replied, amusement clear in his voice. She narrowed her eyes.

“Excuse me for not being ecstatic about putting the only king of my country in unnecessary danger,” she replied, then added “ Moi tsar,” like an afterthought.  

They’ve shed the formalities within the first month or so of working together, leaving titles and flare for teasing private banter and public affairs. Nikolai had insisted from the moment their work began, but Zoya initially refused. She didn’t know what to make of her new king then. Truth be told she didn’t know what to make of the new king now either. His penchant of taking up roles made him quite the cunning diplomat but it didn’t help with settling her early distrust. She wasn’t a fan of these games of masquerade. She was good at them, if need be, true, but she found no enjoyment in faking smiles through palace banquets. Nikolai on the other hand excelled at them and she could never truly pinpoint when one act stopped or another began. 

Yet, despite her best efforts, through long meetings that often continued into nights, shared meals, and visits to various forgotten towns and villages where he insisted on personally distributing aid, her reservations slowly ebbed away. 

And now the sole sovereign of the country she swore an oath to protect and give her life for was just…Nikolai. 

She took a scrutinizing look at his disguise once more. Or Sturmhond, depending on the circumstances.  

“Besides,” she started “why would the pirate Sturmhond be interested in the isles anyway?” 

Nikolai gave an exaggerated sigh. 

“Privateer . And I’m not really Sturmhond right now…it’s just a familiar look and skin. He blends in with the locals, it’s a good cover.” 

Except that neither of them spoke Kaelish. Zoya could only hope no one in their drunken stupor claimed Nikolai to be their long lost cousin who had owed them five sheep and a barrel of gruel. Or whatever passed as valuables around these parts. 

But true enough, with his now rusted orange curls and sharp green eyes Nikolai wouldn’t stand out much. He even left his saintforsaken turquoise coat on board of their ship for which she was incredibly grateful for. 

Zoya adjusted her shawl that loosely hung around her head, obscuring most of her hair. The weather provided a perfect excuse for it. Nikolai would not stand out, but unfortunately she might. She had been here a few weeks prior, collecting Grisha on the run and transporting them to safety. She didn’t want to take the chance of being recognized. 

This mission wasn’t as high profile, it was more of a post operation check-in, really. Assure their contact they were still on the same side, learn as much about current affairs and leave. In and out, quickly, all in a day's worth without anyone taking notice. 

Which is precisely why the rest of their crew stayed on the Volkvoln y, docked a few miles South the coast, keeping a healthy distance from the town’s port. The twins would have made too much of an impression around here, and Nadia and Adrik had little to none undercover field experience, despite the latter insisting to tag along specifically to learn. 

After what happened last time though, Zoya wasn’t keen on letting anyone run around freely for a teaching moment, so Adrik would just have to deal with that for now. 

Nikolai motioned towards her and they slowly made their way deeper into the town and towards the only tavern it housed. Their contact would already be waiting for them inside.

Zoya glanced up at the two storey wooden building. She couldn’t read its name, but the shield shaped sigil on its front was telling enough. It depicted a man cradling a severed head in his arms. Potentially his own, as he seemed to be missing one from his neck. 

She sighed and shook her head slightly as they entered. Weird country.

---

They settled at a table near the far back corners of the tavern, mostly obscured from curious glances. Not that many looked. It was the beginning hours of the evening, and frankly most of the less than distinguished clientele of the establishment was already sloshed, or at the very least enjoying a certain buzz. 

They spoke in Kerch and she made no effort to mitigate her heavy accent. She hated the language nearly as much as its country of origin. It lacked any sort of elegance or rhythm, and its syntax didn’t leave much room for creativity due to its rigid structures either. A language adapted for pre-negotiated terms and conditions. Indentures and contracts. It pained her how much they had to rely on Kerch loans. But Ravka was on the brink of financial destruction. Even before the civil war the royal coffers were stuffed with empty promises more so than vlachi . Now, they had to make due with what they had.  

Nikolai took the lead in catching up with their contact and she happily let him. His Kerch was, unsurprisingly, much better than hers and he enjoyed playing these roles far more anyway. 

The meeting itself didn’t take long, and by now they were simply lounging around so their abrupt departure wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. Their attention was suddenly drawn to the door when a group of young men walked through, seemingly unversed in the art of subtlety. Their stocky builds and shock of near white blonde hair gave away their affiliations quickly, even without uniforms of black and silver. Fjerdans.  

Zoya quickly adjusted her shawl. It wasn’t out of vanity, she was sure there were plenty of dark haired pretty faces roaming each continent, but she still couldn’t take any chances. Not here, and not now, after their… her failure the last time. Nikolai had called it a partial success. But she couldn’t bring herself to do the same. They returned to Ravka with more Grisha than they left with, sure, but the headcount was still missing someone. And she knew the drüskelle were behind it. 

Nikolai’s voice brought her out of her self-deprecating stupor. 

“Why do I have a feeling they are not here to enjoy the local cuisine?” He asked with a mischievous smile. She let out a quiet snort.

“What cuisine? You mean the undercooked meat drenched in blood and thick sauce that tastes like the color brown?” She loathed Kaelish food and was immensely glad they weren’t staying long enough to run out of their rations leaving them to rely on the local…delicacies. 

She took a slow sip from her tankard. She had to admit that on the other hand, the Kaelish’s preference for alcohol, beoir they called it, wasn’t half bad. Maybe once their country wasn’t borrowing money to ward off mass starvation each month they could look into the ins and outs of brewing something similar.

Nikolai grinned at her. Even with Sturmhond’s crooked nose and patchy rust colored stubble anyone with half a working brain should have been able to tell those teeth did not belong on a pirate. Privateer. Whatever. Saints only knew how his disguise had held up for so long. 

“Clearly you prefer salted herring from other people’s plates, right dear ?” 

It snapped her attention back from her musings. He was looking straight at her still, his too-perfect-teeth-for-a-pirate glinting in the sparse light while his eyes sparkled with something akin to a challenge. Right, she almost forgot. They had a cover story to uphold should anyone raise suspicion towards them. A travelling merchant couple conducting business. It wasn’t the first, nor probably the last time they employed such a tactic. It also hadn’t escaped her attention how it was somehow always the two of them that ended up falling into these roles, and she still wasn’t sure what to make of that. But she was good at pretense…and two could play that game. So she put on her most saccharine smile and bat her lashes at him. 

“Only if it's yours, schatje .” For good measure she even snaked her hand down his wrist and settled it on top of his gloved one resting on the table, interlocking their fingers. 

If Nikolai was affected by her display of acting prowess he showed no signs of it. He kept looking at her with the same sparkling eyes as before. Normally, she would have been surprised. Men tended to fold by her feet before she would even speak a word. But by now, she was used to Nikola’s antics, and she had to admit the young tsar could at least give as much as he could take. It certainly made for far less boring meetings and assignments than she was used to. Even if he drove her up the walls sometimes in the process. 

She moved closer then, swiftly depositing herself in his lap, her other hand coming to rest on his chest, as she whispered into his neck still in Kerch. 

“So what do we plan to do about our esteemed Northern neighbours?” 

From a distance they looked nothing more than a young couple, warmed by the alcohol as they enjoyed the cover the dimly lit tavern offered, murmuring about how to continue their outing. 

Nikolai lifted her chin slightly so he could look into her eyes and brushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear as he spoke in a hushed tone. 

“There isn’t much we can do, I’m afraid.” 

Not the answer she wanted to hear, but it hadn’t surprised her either. She didn’t speak Fjerdan, and while Nikolai claimed his was at least passable Zoya sincerely had her doubts. They were definitely here to gather intel. Fjerdans stood out like a sore thumb anywhere other than…well, Fjerda. But they were definitely a questionable sight in a tavern. Or anywhere people could have an iota of fun.

Zoya sighed. Maybe she was worrying for nothing. Their contact assured them that all was quiet in the region since their last pick up of Grisha. Unfortunately, he also couldn’t tell them anything about the young heartrender that went missing during the very same excursion. The Fjerdans, likely, were wasting their time at this rundown damp tavern just as much as they were. 

“So, love …,” the game was back on. “Shall we retreat to somewhere more…private?” Nikolai asked with a slight tilt of his head, playful smirk back in its place. 

She leaned in just a tad bit closer sporting a similar expression.

“Why dear …I thought you’d never ask.” 

Just as they were about to get up, someone from the nearby table raised their voice a little higher.

“... drüshire…”

Zoya and Nikolai locked eyes. Now that, they both understood.

---

Which was how they found themselves following the group late into the night, occasionally playing the part of a lovesick couple who may have had far too much at the local watering hole, leaning on each other and whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears. They eventually exited the town, and they kept following the group of four under the cover of darkness and an acoustic bubble lest they made a sound.

The deeper they creeped along the shoreline, nearing a field surrounded by woods, the more obsolete their bubble became. Zoya glanced at the sky. The storm was approaching faster than anticipated, heavy winds as well as roaring thunder helped them cover their approach. She navigated the air around the two of them, to escape at least the brunt of the storm. The drüskelle camp was located at the far end of the clearing, flanked by a rocky hillside covered in thicket and from their position it looked to be in disarray. The wind was already picking up speed, throwing around everything and anything it could grab a hold of. Tents, cooking utensils, clothes from hanglines, anything that wasn’t secured became part of a chaotic whirlwind, as people shouted around their struggling torchlights. Zoya and Nikolai crept closer to the camp, following the line of rocks and taking refuge in the dark and the bushes, eventually circling behind the camp, finally being able to take a closer look at it.

Dammit. Zoya cursed under her breath. A quick look at Nikolai confirmed her suspicion that he felt similarly. This camp was not suited to hold anyone captive, much less Grisha. It was far too small, far too unequipped. If anything, it was more of an outpost, and a fairly new one at that too. The drüskelle were still yelling, probably about grabbing whatever they could salvage and move closer inland, further away from the clearing and the rocky shores nearby. 

It was worth a try at least,  Zoya mused, as she and Nikolai turned to leave just as quietly as they arrived. 

“ Ondetjärn !”

The voice came from mere inches behind them and Zoya turned on instinct, stealing the air right out of the accusing body. Not enough to kill, just to silence. Nikolai quickly grabbed hold of the falling man, threw him around his shoulder and bolted out of the camp, caution forgotten, Zoya right on his heels. They didn’t stop until they reached the edge of the clearing, panting and close to being drenched. The rain started sometime in the middle of their escape. Nikolai let out a guff of a laugh, as he put down their accidental acquisition, still unconscious. Zoya watched him procure a short set of ropes from his coat with slight amusement. Of course his pirate (privateer!) persona would keep ropes on him . But she didn’t comment, just watched as he tied the drüskelle’s hand behind his back. He turned back to her. 

“Well, what now?” 

They couldn’t just follow the path back and waltz through town dragging around a guy unconscious and hog tied. Maybe if they were in Ketterdam. But this wasn’t Ketterdam. 

Looking behind them, the camp still seemed to be dealing with their own issues, oblivious of one less soldier trying to save their belongings from water and wind. They still needed to get out of their line of sight. In the end, they opted to go down the shoreline. It was less than ideal, being so out in the open and close to the sea, but at least they had a clear path to where the Volkvolny waited for them, just a mile or two up North. 

Nikolai carried their prisoner as they descended to the shore line and started their walk back to their ship. All in all it could have gone worse. While they didn’t find a camp full of captured Grisha, they weren’t going home empty handed. It was hard to tell if they could extort any information out of him. But there was always the slight possibility that he was the relative of someone important enough to negotiate a prisoner exchange. Zoya shrugged in her soaked coat, feeling a little bit of cold seeping into her, the material being a lot less durable than her kefta normally was. 

Suddenly Nikolai slightly stumbled next to her as the drüskelle was waking up, kicking and screaming before he was unceremoniously dropped into the wet sand. He was furious, that much was clear. What he was saying, less so. 

Zoya looked at Nikolai expectantly. 

“Umm…something, something…Djel…something, witches.” He ‘translated’ shooting a sheepish grin her way. 

“Enlightening,” She deadpanned. “Truly, where would we be without your… passable , was it? Fjerdan knowledge.” 

Nikolai shrugged, “Oh please, it’s not like they talk about much else anyway.” 

She rolled her eyes. Fair enough . 

Nikolai cleared his throat, signalling to the drüskelle to pay attention, who finally shut up, albeit begrudgingly.

“ Pe… ,” She watched dubiously as he started, uncertainty wavering in his voice, “ ...ver… uhm , baerjenger.” 

Now he just looked at them angry and confused. Saints above.  

“No wait. Perjenger! You are our perjenger!” Nikolai turned and grinned at her proudly. Before Zoya could tell him off the guy quickly leapt to his feet, knocked Nikolai over into the sand with his shoulders and took off towards the direction of the raging sea. 

She pulled Nikolai up and they both watched, flabbergasted at the scene in front of them.

“Surely he’s not-”

“I think he is.” 

The drüskelle , now waist deep in the water, hands still bound, took one last look at them, closed his eyes, and plunged himself under the crashing waves. 

Zoya and Nikolai exchanged a horrified look before taking off towards the sea. 

Their prisoner was trying to drown himself.  

---

It took great pains to get him out of the water. Nikolai threw himself into the waves as Zoya tried to carve paths into the sea using air to cover as much ground as they could. Nikolai finally grabbed hold of the drüskelle’s  heavy wool coat and together they dragged him to the shore. 

She wasn’t sure why they did it in the first place. Of course they didn’t want to return empty handed after their efforts, but it wasn’t like they were dragging Jarl Brum himself back to Os Alta. Yet, his action to just take his own life like this shocked both Zoya and Nikolai into immediate action. She wasn’t about to admit that out loud, but Nikolai impressed her. As he sat across her in the damp sand drenched to the bone, face flushed and panting, he didn’t look like a king. Kings didn’t bother to save a dying enemy. Those feats were left for folk heroes. 

She turned to their prisoner ignoring Nikolai’s mumblings about saltwater in veins or some similar nonsense. 

This was the first time she truly looked at the drüskelle , as they had been mostly running through the darkness. But now, as lightning occasionally shone above and reflected off of the water’s surface, it struck her how young their prisoner actually looked. He wasn’t wearing the drüskelle uniform of black lined with silver. His clothes were less sophisticated, made of a thick gray material. While he was stocky in build and at least as tall as her, his face was boyish and round, with not even signs of a stubble on his chin. His reddened cheeks and bright pink lips enunciated his youthful features even more. He was just a kid. 

Younger than Adrik. Younger than Nina. 

And he also wasn’t breathing. 

---

Before Nikolai was king, and Zoya his general, they were both soldiers. 

And they used every ounce of the first aid training they had received, stopping the rhythmic pressure applied to the boy’s chest only for the brief seconds when they switched places. Exhaustion creeped upon them both but a sense of…duty? Pity? Whatever it was, kept them going. 

Until Nikolai called it quits. 

“So, what, we are just giving up?” Zoya huffed, continuing the compressions without fault.

They were both tired, cold, and dripping with water.  

Nikolai locked eyes with her, and he spoke as gently as the sounds of the roaring storm around them allowed. 

“You know I don’t want to, but this isn’t working. He is not coming back.” 

She looked back at the boy under her hands who showed no signs of change. She knew . Of course she knew. It didn’t mean she wanted to admit it. She also knew it wouldn't be very productive to blame themselves. Had they met on the battlefield, it would have amounted to nothing knowing how young he was. His brethren took Grisha and burned them at the pyres. He was learning to do just the same and Zoya had no doubt that given the opportunity he would have done it to her as well. Just as they must have done to Nina. 

Still, it had felt…wrong. And she could see it was weighing on Nikolai as much as it was weighing on her. They had both hoped that the age of child soldiers would be coming to an end soon. How wrong they had been. 

Zoya lifted her hands, finally. She sighed as she watched a particularly bright bolt of lightning cross the clouds above them. They heard a loud boom nearby. It must have connected with something on the ground. 

Her mind started quickly racing with thoughts as she kept glancing between the boy and the sky. 

“What are you thinking about?” She heard Nikolai ask. 

What was she thinking about?

Saints. Tales. Memories. Bits of conversations she had never once stopped to seriously consider before. She didn't pay much mind towards hagiography. The saints, she believed, had abandoned her a long time ago. But with such an abundance of stories, they must have had some basis in truth.

Storms had always terrified people. It was no wonder they were a phenomenon often connected with the saints. Some would ward off heavy rains and hail to protect crops. Some invoked them to aid people in battle with winds…thunder…and

Lightning.

Storms were nothing short of a mystery. Any Grisha well-versed in the Small Science knew they were dependent on pressurizing air the right way. Something any powerful Squaller could learn and achieve. But lightning? It seemed to be a different beast of its own. 

She remembered back in Pachina. Before…way before everything. One of their neighbours, an old widow with a crooked back and a nose that always found itself in everyone’s business, had claimed she met a planétnyky . A demon who dressed as a raggedy old man travelling through the region. He knocked on her door, she said, in the wee hours of the night, asking for fresh milk and some hard boiled eggs for the journey ahead. She refused. In turn, the demon brought forth a bolt of lightning, killing her only cow in an instant. 

Her mother had laughed in the old lady’s face, and sent her away with barbed words about no free charity, while her father sat in deep, quiet contemplation. 

Later, when Zoya went outside with the other kids, there was a boy a year or two older than most that gathered around the bays of hale they had claimed as a playground. There, standing on top of the tallest square of bay, the one where they were all explicitly banned from playing with, he let them in on a secret that the adults wouldn’t dare tell. Planétnyky , he said no doubt using the best conspiratory tone he could muster, couldn’t just kill on whim. They could also make lightning strike the ground right where a person was buried, forcing them to climb to the surface and take their place among the living once more. The boy, whose name she had long forgotten, had enough of a dramatic bone in his body to end the story by jumping down and grabbing one of the girls screaming “ And he’s going to get you too !”. It sent half a dozen kids crying and running home, while the other half dozen engaged in a game of ‘demon tag’. Zoya stayed. She didn’t see the point in getting scared from stories.

But even so, the topic would raise its head again and again in the Little Palace as well. The Corporalki never made it a secret that they believed themselves to be the most superior order amongst Grisha. And few wanted to argue. They do, after all, possess control over the human body. Their conflicts though, were rarely with the Etherialki. They had enough of an incentive to avoid being squalled into a wall, or having their eyebrows charred off “by accident”. Instead, their preferred target was often the Materialki. Zoya recalled the arguments the two groups frequently had around the time she arrived at the Palace. 

The Corporalki taunted the Materialki, claiming that their order would eventually become useless, and their skills replaceable by mere otkazat’sya tradesmen.

In turn, the Materialki talked about theory (as they often did). The knowledge of the human body was still sparse compared to the ways of metals and chemicals. The otkazat’sya could just as easily get ahead of Corporalki by relying on sheer knowledge. For example, one of them said, we know bodies contain surges of energy, which Corporalki can manipulate, directing and redirecting them to where their goals dictate. But what if someone were to harness and store surges of energy outside the body? In that case, even an otkazat’sya could achieve the same results if they knew enough about veins and circulation.

Like stopping a heart. Or restarting it. 

And all one needed was a redirected surge of energy. 

Like the static that accompanied lightning. 

She slowly placed her right hand back onto the boy’s chest and turned to Nikolai. 

“I may have an idea.” 

--- 

“You want to use the lightning?” 

He asked warily, but he seemed just as excited as bewildered. 

Zoya hid her own surprise quickly. Nikolai may not have been a Grisha, but he was educated. More than that, he was curious and intelligent. In his own idiotic ways. Clearly, he was entertaining similar thoughts while observing the flashing lights above them.

She nodded. 

“Have you ever done this before?”

“Seems like as good a time to try as any.” 

If she hadn’t known any better, she would have thought she saw worry glint in his eyes for a second. But she didn’t have time to think about that. They had lost enough of that as is. 

She exhaled. She was going to try and summon lightning. The how…was still a little questionable. She wasn’t entirely sure what lightning was, only what it left behind, but she knew it came with storms. She also knew it didn’t come with just any storm. Each kind was different and she could feel the disparity in the air. 

The same way she could feel it now. She had a theory, at the very least. 

She motioned for Nikolai to get further away from them. She had seen lightning strike trees before and it had a certain…area of effect. She didn’t want him caught up in that. And that was if she succeeded.  

She raised her left hand towards the sky while keeping her right firmly on the boy’s chest, on top of his heart. 

She started lowering the air pressure around them even more, focusing on creating a pathway of low pressurized air connecting from her left hand and ending at fingers of her right. In theory, the bolt would enter her, travel, and then strike into the boy’s chest, jumpstarting his heart. 

She concentrated. Slowly, she could feel the insistent prickle of her skin. Her hair had also started to fizz and stand on edge. She took a deep breath. Through the sounds of the raging storm around them she could vaguely make out Nikolai yelling towards her.

“Zoya wait! Are you su-” 

She saw a flash. Just before she was blinded by searing white light. She felt herself thrown, her legs leaving the ground. And there was a crash. Followed by intense heat. The blood under her skin boiled and spread, as if trying to escape. Rapid jabs and stings of pins and needles. Until that was all the feeling that remained. 

---

The ants holding court in her veins finally came to a slow adjournment and a different, more familiar feeling took their place; the thumping sounds of her heart as blood pumped through its chambers. Had it always had this rhythm? It felt…wrong, Out of place. 

Other than that, there were no sounds. A brief memory flashed before her eyes about their final stand against the Darkling and their trick to remain quiet. Perhaps she was in an acoustic anomaly again. That made sense. The air around her was fizzing, signs of the pressure being meddled with. A quick fix- really. 

Except…no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to take control of her arms to raise them, or drum her fingers. Come to think of it, she couldn’t even…feel her limbs. They were attached, and they gave out an occasional burst of movement, that much she could see, but they might as well have been illusions. Phantoms and shadows of a time past playing a cruel joke on her. 

She had a sinking feeling she should probably be more concerned. Afraid, even. This was obviously unnatural…something must have happened. But what? And when? It felt as if all she had ever known was nothing. 

The air around her was…thick..and warm. Like standing near a bog in stifling heat that only ever visited Ravka in the height of summer. When even peasants ceased their work for a couple of days to retire into their cold rammed earth wall houses, or find similar relief in a nearby lake. 

Was she near a lake now too? The air felt like it carried its currents nearby. It felt significant somehow but she couldn’t pinpoint why. Was she in the water? Was that why everything was so…muted? The colors, the sounds, the movements…like swimming sluggishly through something. Someone was drowning. Was she drowning ? For the first time since…she didn’t know how long ago this unscheduled journey into nothingness started, but she suddenly felt a surge of panic grip her throat. 

She tried inhaling. 

Regret hit her faster than a bullet leaving the rifle of a First Army soldier in their moments of desperation. 

The pain that came with air expanding her lungs was near indescribable. As if someone threw her into a mortar and tried to grind her bones with a pester until only fine powder remained. But her bones wouldn’t give, and only the suffocating and searing pressure remained. A heavy weight settled on her chest that made each intake of breath harder than the last. 

Darkness slowly seeped into her eyes from all sides, obstructing her vision, even though she knew they were still open. She saw a burst of color, blurs of various shades of red above her. And then the sweet embrace of nothing took her again. 

Chapter Text

II. Nikolai

Nikolai still remembered his army days. The memories didn’t pervade his everydays like they used to, but he had a feeling they would never completely disappear either. Some of them briefly came to him with certain sounds. Small explosions from David’s laboratory would have his eyes dart towards potential cover from incoming artillery. Certain flavors too, like too bitter tea made him stop mid-sip to look for the remaining members of his battalion eating breakfast with him around the camp fire. 

The strongest, and worst, memories however, always came with none other than smells. 

War by its very nature carried with it a disgusting stench. That was something every soldier eventually got used to. Nikolai did too. But something in particular still never failed to make his stomach churn in ways that made him afraid of emptying its contents: the smell of burning flesh.  

The images of the battlefield hit him just the same as he was looking down at the smoking body of the Fjerdan boy next to him. It was a gruesome mess. His clothes burned to a char at the point where Zoya’s hand connected him to the lightning bolt. Underneath he could make out some of the boy’s skin, angry red bordering on black with boils spreading up the line of his throat. His mouth seemed filled with congealed blood. The surge possibly shook his body enough that his teeth must have bit through his tongue, as his body was cooked from the inside out. 

His open, empty eyes filled with accusation to the brim, and Nikolai had to force himself to turn away from the sight and keep himself from throwing up. 

He frantically looked around until he saw her. He noticed the movement, rather. It looked like she was wrestling with something. He ran to her and he was grateful that it seemed the spasms stopped by the time he reached her. He had a feeling that it wouldn’t have done either of them any good if he touched her while it was still going. Not that touching her did anything good now either. He shook her slightly, called to her, but nothing seemed to elicit a reaction. He tried to find her pulse point on her neck. There was a pulse, thankfully, but it seemed…wrong. Too fast. 

He looked towards the neverending darkness of the shore line in the direction that hid their ship, supposedly a mile or so up ahead. He did the only thing that came to his mind.

He took her into his arms. And ran. 

—

He had no idea how long he had been running, but he doubled his efforts when he recognized the familiar sails of the Volkvolny in the distance. They docked far enough from curious eyes that the crew left the gangway down making it possible to climb up to the deck. 

“Halt!” he heard a familiar voice yell over the sound of the storm. “Who goes there?!” 

“Tamar!” he panted. He was out of breath and it took great effort to speak. 

“Nikolai?! We thought you were waiting out the storm in town. Is that-?” 

He collapsed to his knees still holding on to Zoya tightly. 

“You’ve got to help, please,” he huffed out. It was getting increasingly harder to breath and he could tell the black spots appearing in his vision were a bad sign as well. 

“Saints, what happened?” she asked crouching down next to him.

“Lightning,” was all he could muster.

“What?” she asked bewildered, but understood there wasn’t much time to think about it. “Get her inside your cabin.” 

“What’s going on?” he heard as he started pushing himself to his feet once more. It sounded like Nadia. He guessed she must have heard Tamar’s voice. 

“Nadia, get my brother here fast, please!" 

“Is that- Zoya?” 

“Dearest, now!” He heard footsteps getting further, then Tamar was next to him, kicking the door of the captain’s cabin open. 

He almost forgot what it was like to not be battered by harsh cold rain as he entered the room. He put Zoya down as gracefully as his own condition allowed, and then quickly pushed himself back until he hit the wall and let Tamar start working. He saw Tolya appear in the doorway a few seconds after. Now, watching them work, as he slowly slid down the cabin wall into a half sitting position, everything came crashing over him. He fought it, at first. But it was a losing battle. 

He passed out.  

—

When he came to again, it was daytime. He could hear the birds outside, and the gentle sound of the waves under the moving ship. The storm had passed, and his crew started the journey back. 

Someone had removed his wet clothes, and now he was wearing a simple shirt, and some thin linen trousers. He was lying on a makeshift cot, not far from where he collapsed near the door. 

As he looked at the bed, his bed, technically, at the opposite wall of the small cabin, he could vaguely make out a shape lying under a set of heavy duvets. He rose to stand and take a closer look when he heard a voice from his right. 

“Care to talk about what happened?” Tamar. He hadn’t noticed her. 

“It’s a long story,” he choked out. 

She wasn’t deterred. “We have a long journey. Especially now that the most powerful Squaller we have on board is probably not going to be up for a while.” 

In the end it turned out to be a good thing to bring Adrik along. While he and Zoya were nowhere on the same level in neither power nor experience, at least he could help Nadia out a bit. They would have to remain on sea instead of taking to the air though, making a journey a bit longer.

Nikolai brushed his hair out of his eyes, taking note that they were still a dirty orange color instead of his dark blond. He took a deep breath, and told Tamar everything that happened the previous night. From meeting their contact at the tavern, to their misery on the shore. 

“Were you both out of your minds? How did you even think of doing something so stupid?” 

“I don’t know how Zoya did but it’s really not that far-fetched,” she looked at him like he had grown two heads. “Really! While I was in Ketterdam I read literature about this…there were professors debating it at the university. There are theories,” he continued defensively.  

He wasn’t lying. When he saw how Zoya’s eyes darted between the boy and the sky he was thinking back to his own youth and the things he’d learned while he used to study in Ketterdam. 

The first thing that came to his mind was far from scientific though. He remembered a story he came across at the library while studying for an exam or another. It was a Kerch translation of a supposedly famous Fjerdan children’s story. He remembered being amused by the simplicity of the title: The Evil Grisha. 

The story was, to his best recollection, something like this:

Long ago, there was a young Grisha who was so mad that even the Black Heretic wished to get rid of him. The Grisha, however, survived the ambush of his brethren and disappeared into a vengeance fuelled exile. He vowed to create a creature that would serve him and only him, one that would bring the entire world to its knees. He travelled around each and every continent, and from every place he visited he gathered a piece of a human body from desecrated graves. If he couldn’t find any, he wasn’t above creating a fresh corpse for himself. His plan was to sew a monster together using his abominable powers, and bring it to life. But he made the mistake of taking the creature’s heart from the grave of a Fjerdan warrior who served Djel well and true. And so when finally, during a heavy storm surrounded by thunder and lightning, the Grisha awoke the monster through unspeakable means, the most unexpected thing happened. The monster, knowing in his heart that this was no honorable deed and it did not serve Djel well, tore the Grisha apart on the spot, stopping his madness once and for all. The monster then made the journey back to Fjerda where under an ash tree, he tore his own heart out. The animals of the forest dug a hole and buried the heart so that it could return to Djel. His other parts, however, made up of every other nation, like his Ravkan head and Shu limbs, were left to rot, and were eventually ravished by scavengers. 

It was a fable that served a Fjerdan narrative, undoubtedly, but it had a fascinating core concept: reanimating the dead. 

But that wasn’t all. He also remembered an academic lecture he once attended. Professor Lodewijk Mussen had a bit of a reputation of being, well, unorthodox. So Nikolai and his friends sneaked into his lecture to see for themselves. ‘Unorthodox’ was right, as in the middle of the lecture hall they were greeted with a series of skinned frogs on display. The professor proposed that bodies moved and worked through energy surges and that these energy surges could be reproduced even on beings whose hearts had stopped beating. He used something that looked like a large round seal used to officiate documents and a plate.

First, he rubbed fur on the plate, and then placed the seal on top. He had taken a metal rod, and pushed one end of it into the musculature of one of the frogs. Finally, he connected the rod with the top of the seal. Nikolai had sat wide eyed and mouth agape as the skinned frog jumped .

It was unbelievable. And hard to understand. He was familiar with engineering, contraptions, some metallurgy even, but the human body had always evaded him before. He understood very little of what was said, only remembering some parts. The professor explained that he had created an energy surge with his little device, in other words: static. This static was the same kind of energy that came whenever lightning cracked the sky. 

He proposed his theory, that if such small instances of surges could make legs move, then a larger surge would surely be able to make a larger body move as well. Imagine, he said, what it could do to a person, whose heart had long stopped. 

That, was a mistake. Nikolai winced at the memory even now. The auditorium had exploded with angry yells and comments. The professor’s true intentions weren’t spoken out loud but his meaning was clear: he wanted to subject a dead body to a lightning strike. But this was not the place to reveal such a proposal.

The Kerch didn’t have reservations because of religious or spiritual beliefs, or fear of desecration. They usually couldn’t care less about any of that. No, the Kerch had a very pragmatic reason to avoid disturbing the dead.

They feared corpses. And merely a couple years after the Lady Queen’s plague, the idea of bringing in a cadaver into the illustrious halls of the university amongst its wealthy and brilliant students was most outrageous. That was the last lecture Professor Lodewijk Mussen had ever held in Ketterdam. And that was the last Nikolai had heard of him as well. 

“So you’re telling me one of the most important members of your council nearly died because you both wanted to test a theory?” Tamar’s question snapped him back into the present. She looked at him incredulously. 

Nikolai looked up at her. “Neither of us knew it would end this way.”

“Clearly,” Tamar scoffed. “Why even do it? You, I understand, but Zoya is not exactly the sentimental type.” 

Her words were harsh but not unkind, and Nikolai could see that behind her look of surprise and anger, there was also fear and worry. He knew that in the past year their group hadn’t really warmed up to each other in the exact same ways. It was a process of learning not just how to work with one another, but learning to know each other as well. That wasn’t always easy. Regardless, he also knew that the twins had an amiable relationship with Zoya and they spent time outside of his company as well. If her recent grumblings about never trusting Tamar’s taste in alcohol ever again were any indication. 

Nikolai sighed. “He was so…young. Perhaps 13. 14 at best. We didn’t know…couldn’t really look at his face until we pulled him out of the water.”

He swallowed. “If we hadn’t taken him then-” 

“Then he would have died on the battlefield. Or froze on his way back to Fjerda. Or choked on his dinner the next day. There is not much point in thinking hypotheticals,” she shrugged. “I understand that it’s hard, and I’m not telling you not to feel guilty. Your feelings are your own to deal with. But consider this: at least he died on his own terms. Gave his life for something he believed in.”

“He barely had a life to give-”

“But that’s not yours to decide,” her eyes caught his glinting with defiance, head held high “I would do the same. No one would ever take me alive.” 

Nikolai nodded, there was nothing left for argument there. He turned to look at the figure in the bed. 

“How bad is it?” he asked, mournfully. 

Now it was Tamar’s turn to let out a deep sigh. “I’m not going to lie, it’s pretty bad. She’s lucky both Tolya and I were aboard and even so…,” she shook her head. “We are not healers Nikolai, but it should suffice until we reach Os Kervo.” 

He nodded, a bit of hope returning to him. 

Tamar continued, “I’ve had to correct her heartbeat twice, we are keeping her under until it can stay regularized on its own. Her eardrums burst, but we could repair that. Other than that there are quite a few burn marks…some are quite strange. Tolya and I will have to dampen her pain every now and again, but that’s most of it.” 

“Strange how?” he asked.

“Well, I’ve never seen anything like this before. It’s like the lightning left a pattern on her skin. But from the inside.” 

He felt an immense slap of guilt at how interesting he found the notion. He couldn’t help but feel that this was ultimately his fault. Tamar was right. Zoya, his general, one of his closest friends that he had come to trust and rely on this past year was suffering because of an idea. A hunch. A theory. One he encouraged. He was genuinely excited when she suggested using lightning. Now? Now he was just ashamed. 

He buried his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes. 

“Thank you Tamar.” 

“There is no need to thank me. Although…I’m sure Tolya would appreciate some treats from his majesty for disturbing his beauty sleep.” 

He smiled. “He can have all the honeyed walnuts Ravka can offer.” 

“Ha, we both know there’s not much Ravka can offer,” she snorted, and slowly stood up. “Well, I’m going back to my wife,” she said grinning. It had been a few weeks since her and Nadia’s wedding and she took every opportunity to remind everyone around her of that fact. 

“You should get some sleep too Nikolai. We are still a couple days out, there’s time.” 

He promised he would and watched her leave. 

But he knew sleep wouldn’t come around for him again for a while. 

Chapter Text

III. Zoya

Consciousness returned to her in the forms of waves. Whenever she thought she could just break through the surface, another one pulled her under. But even amidst a thick sea of oblivion, her senses slowly came back to her as well. She could feel she was lying on something soft. That by itself was a surprise, as such comforts usually only graced her at her home in the Little Palace. But she was not at the Little Palace. The sounds were different. There were the occasional shrieks of gulls that hardly ever reached Os Alta. The air too was different, it felt clearer, with notes of wax and wood. She could almost taste the salt on her tongue. She was near the sea. 

She took a deep experimental breath. There was a dull ache but nothing compared to the pain she felt before. When that was, she wasn’t sure. The memory of those agonizing moments were both fresh and distant at the same time. But someone, since then, had clearly alleviated her discomfort. 

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, and even that took greater effort than it should have. She was surrounded by walls of wooden planks, light only penetrating the room through the few small windows situated close to the ceiling. And while she was lying still, she could feel a gentle rocking movement under her. She wasn’t just near the sea, she realized, she was on a ship. After a few seconds of taking in the familiarity of the place, she relaxed, realizing it was the Volkvolny . 

There was a slight numbness in her limbs, but she could feel the material of the thick blanket under her fingertips. She experimentally flexed them, turning them around so she could look at her palm and close her fist. That was when she noticed the scarring. It was a peculiar thing. They looked like branching fern leaves protruding from the other side of her skin, and a vibrant pink color. She brought her other arm in front of her; same pattern. 

“They looked much worse,” a voice murmured. She shifted her eyes at the source and saw…well, she wasn’t sure what she saw at first. The figure sat on a makeshift bed on the opposite side of the room. The light hadn’t quite reached that portion of the cabin, obscuring his features. He was leaning forward, with hands folded under his chin. He continued, “They’ve faded a lot these past two days.”

Something wasn’t right about the colors and the shapes but he sounded like…

“Nikolai?” 

He looked up slowly, but the glint that usually sat in his eyes was muted, and it was accompanied by a rueful smile. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked. 

“Like I fell off one of your airships over the Sikurzoi,” she huffed out. 

“I would imagine that’s apt,” he said, sporting the same tone and expression. “How…how much do you remember?” 

She narrowed her eyes, but the memories at first only came in bits and pieces. 

“Rain...I remember a lot of rain. And the cold.” Another flash. “A camp…people shouting…Fjerdans, I think?” he nodded. She blinked a few times. “Someone…a kid? Drowning…we pull him out.” A blinding flash of white. Lightning. Dark. And then everything fell into place. 

“We tried to bring him back.” It was a painful revelation, but a part of her wasn’t exactly surprised. Like her subconscious had already done the groundwork. She gave a slow and long exhale. “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess it didn’t work.” Nikolai’s expression was still relentlessly the same. 

An unusual silence set between them. 

“You know your face looks like it’s melting, right?” That made him finally snap his attention to her. Now, she could see what exactly felt wrong. He was still disguised as Sturmhond, but clearly the tailoring was in some serious need of a touch-up. It was never meant to hold for long, but the seams where Nikolai ended and Sturmhond began were hanging on by a thread. His blond hair was taking over the roots of his rusty red curls, the skin on his nose loose and at an angle even though the organ wasn’t supposed to look broken anymore. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she imagined it was an aggressive battle between splotches of green and brown until they found the right hue. He looked like a torn canvas. He looked like hell. 

Nikolai self-consciously brushed a hand over his face, before realizing what Zoya had meant. His non-expression returned. 

“I figured Tolya and Tamar had more important things to do, than fix my face. However handsome it may be.” Ah . Right. It was almost easy to forget. 

“So…what happened after I blacked out?” He visibly tensed. 

“I took you and ran back to the ship. The twins-” 

“You ran ? We were at least a mile out-”

“I was very motivated.” His voice was clipped. He didn’t snap at her exactly, but his tone was void of his usual candor. Detached.

“And…the kid?” she asked, tentatively. 

“We had to leave him on the beach…we would have risked giving ourselves away. Besides, the crew had already raised the sails by the time I woke up…I may have passed out as well.” She held back a snort. What a pair they made. The King of Ravka and the General of his Second Army. Both face first in the mud. 

“But what happened to him when I-”

“It didn’t work.” This was becoming increasingly frustrating. Nikolai was usually impossible to shut up. Now, it was like pulling teeth.

“Clearly,” she started slowly. “But you know that’s not what I’m asking.” 

Zoya appreciated diplomacy as a tool. It was an exciting game of strategy where the parties, the manipulator and the manipulated, could easily switch places any time without even realizing it. But outside of ballrooms, council meetings, and trade agreements, Zoya was a woman who relished in raw honesty. Something she knew Nikolai understood about her. And after casting her a quick look, he relented. He let out a sigh, and described the gruesome aftermath in great detail. 

“...I think,” he said, slightly choked as he reached the end of his recollection, “that the lightning burned him up from the inside.” 

She nodded, and blinked away some of the moisture that made its way into her eyes. She mentally berated herself for this momentary weakness. She also hated how bothered she was by Nikolai’s distance from her. As if somehow his mere presence being nearer could have softened the blows. Why was he at such a distance anyway? Was he injured as well? 

“There’s still something you’re not telling me.” She could see him wince.

“It’s just that…I’m so sorry.” She blinked. 

“Oh, right…I...understand that. I can’t help but feel guilty as well.” 

He looked up. “That’s not what I meant, you- I,” he sighed. “I’m sorry to you . I’m apologizing to you.” She shot him a quizzical look. 

“You…you nearly died and it’s because I didn’t stop you. I shouldn’t have told you to do it.” 

She just kept looking at him. Baffled. What an idiot. A kind hearted one, but an idiot none the less. 

“I’m not going to forgive you Nikolai-”

“I understand-”

“No, you don’t!” she shook her head and sighed. “Saints...I’m not going to forgive you, because there’s nothing to forgive.” 

“But-”

“Just, shut up for a second?” He did. “Thank you.” 

She let a bit of silence linger between them. 

“You didn’t tell me to do anything. Not like you could , mind you,” she added, chin held just slightly higher. “Everything I did, I did on my own accord. It…seemed like a good idea at the time. But clearly it was stupid-”

“It wasn’t stupid.”

She shot him a look for interrupting her. Nikolai keeping quiet can truly only last for seconds, when he actually wants to talk, she supposed. 

“Sorry-, but it wasn’t stupid. I’ve seen research about this…and there are also the stories of-”

“Grisha using the storm and lightning to kill…or make things live again.” 

“Yes!” Some color returned to his cheeks but that along with his small smile only lasted for a split second. “I truly thought it would work. Still…You created lightning, that’s unbelievable.”

She hummed. “Well, I didn’t really..create it, I don’t think. It was more like..guiding it? But it seems that it did more harm than good,” she added, mournfully. 

“I..wouldn’t say that. It was an impossible situation but…you tried your best,” he said, and she hated the tone that oozed from his words. It felt too close to pity.  

She scoffed. “Yes, and I failed.” 

“Maybe it would help if you look at it like an experiment,” he suggested. 

“Like a failed experiment?” 

“Right! Because in science every failure is in fact a success. Do you know why?” He didn't wait for an answer. “Because you just learned something you needed to eliminate from the equation to achieve success. Every failure brings you closer to the solution.”

“Except here, failure means someone dies.” 

“Not necessarily,” he continued. “Your ‘failure’ if you truly want to call it that, didn’t cause his death. Death was the original outcome you simply couldn’t rectify with your working theory.” 

He sighed. “Plain and simple, it didn’t have any effect on the outcome.” 

Well, that’s not entirely true is it , she mused, thinking back to Nikolai’s description of the scene. And her sorry state. There was an effect. Just not one they’d hoped for. 

“Is this your roundabout way of telling me not to blame myself?” 

“Ah, nothing gets past you Nazyalensky,” he gave a rueful smile. She, once again, considered his state in front of her. His usual near perfect posture was broken, strong broad shoulders dropped as if his veins were laced with lead. The scarce moments he would allow her to look into his eyes showed a pair of deep dark circles atop of sunken cheeks. Even amidst the tailored glamour it was obvious how much of the past days’ events had taken their toll on him.

He cared so much, the foolish man. And she felt an even bigger fool for suddenly being glad that he was her king. 

But there were bigger things at stake here than their self-pity. That would pass. But whatever it was looming on the horizon they needed to deal with fast.

“Nikolai?” He let their eyes meet. “We are at war, aren’t we?” 

He let out a deep sigh. “Officially? No, but…,” he trailed on, directing his eyes toward the desk in the corner of the room, no doubt filled to the brim with reports from across the country and the borders.

“Yes, I believe we are. Fjerda is organizing their troops and it’s clear they are planning something. And who knows, maybe even Shu Han is doing the same, they could just be better at hiding it. I hate to say it…but we’re a weak country.” 

“Understatement of the century,” she huffed lightly. “This…this could give us an advantage. If I could figure it out…they would never expect us to use something like this.” 

He snapped his attention back to her. “It would also put you at risk each time.”

She shrugged. “What is it they say, ‘the bigger the risk, the bigger the reward’?” 

“Now you just sound like a Kerch banker,” he said, some amusement returning to him. 

“Just so you know, If I wasn’t about to pass out again, I would skin you alive for this comment.” 

“Duly noted,” he smiled, briefly, before continuing. “And…you’re not wrong. It would certainly give us an edge on the battlefield. But we’ll have to make sure whatever risk you’re taking is a well-calculated one.” 

“ We ?” she raised a brow. 

“Why my dear, of course. We are in this together now.” She shook her head. She really was close to letting sleep take her again. 

“Great…but, Nikolai, do me a favor?” 

“Anything.” 

“Next time I wake up, I don’t want to see Sturmhond’s stupid stubble again.” 

He let out what sounded like a genuine laugh. If she were to guess, the first one in many days.

“As you wish.” 

— 

It took another day for them to reach Os Kervo. She hated to admit that there was still a lingering soreness about her body, or how even getting out of the bed and pulling her kefta over her chemise had caused her to lose her breath. Her annoyance with her condition only grew when Nikolai, now actually looking like Nikolai, had sneaked his left arm around her waist, and let his shoulders fall beneath her right the second her feet left the ship.

“I don’t need help,” she grumbled quietly to him.

“Who said anything about helping you?” She turned her head slightly at him. “I’m exhausted . So, be a dutiful General and help your tired king reach the palace, yes?” Zoya rolled her eyes. But she appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

She wasn’t that appreciative when he essentially deposited her amongst a swarm of Healers, and vacated the premises before her ire could reach him. It took much longer than she would have liked, but the difference was palpable. And soon even her new, although steadily fading scars on her arms were no more. She’d considered keeping them, as a reminder, but they were too noticeable. They would have raised too many questions. It felt good to be able to breathe again without feeling the weight of a mountain crushing her chest. 

When the last Healer left, Nikolai was already standing in the doorway, knocking on the inside of the frame. Zoya motioned him to come in. 

“Feeling any better?” he asked, though still much more reserved than he usually was, his mood had lifted since the previous day. 

She shrugged, “I suppose. Though I didn’t enjoy being thrown to the wolves-”

“They are healers-”

“Unimportant. Where were you anyway?”

“Ah!” he raised his finger signalling he needed just a second and went back to the door, opening it wider. He called outside, “This way, please!” 

A few of the palace servants started rolling in carts. Heavy carts. Full of printed books and manuscripts. All of various sizes, and ages. She could see sketches peaking out of folders at times. When they were done Nikolai thanked the servants for their help, and went to close the doors behind them. 

“What is all this, Nikolai?” 

“ That , is research. Whatever I could find at the library at least,” he said as he started rummaging through a pile. “Lives of saints, legends, folk stories, whatever I could find about weather phenomena. Though I will have to send for some journals from the Ketterdam library as well. The academic selection here was pitiful…barely anything from the last 10 or so years,” he mused.   

She looked at him slightly surprised. “You were serious…” 

He shot back a grin her way, “Did you doubt me?” 

“Hm, well, I would say yes but that might constitute treason.” 

He scoffed and waved his hand, “Ah, well, amnesty granted then.”

She gave a slight mock bow. “Your loyal subject is most grateful.” It was said in jest, but she could see a slight wince he gave. He hated that word. 

She started browsing through the piles, slowly immersing herself in the titles and old dusted covers when she heard her name. 

“Zoya?” 

She hummed, not taking her eyes off the books. 

“If we are doing this, I want to make something clear.” Now she snapped her attention back to him. “I want you to know that you don’t have to go through with it. That you can quit anytime.” She wanted to find this amusing, but his stern look indicated that was serious about it. 

“I thought I’ve told  you can’t make me do anything I don't want to do.”

“I know, but I also know you. And I don’t want you to lose focus on things that really matter just so we can win this.”

She scoffed. “Ravka matters-”

“And so do you.” She would dwell on why that stunned her into silence. Later.

He continued. 

“Lightning would be useful in our arsenal, true, but you are not a weapon. So if any lines were to be crossed, I hope you will stop. And if you won’t…well, I know I can’t really stop you myself but I’ll do my damndest to try.”

“You do realise you just ordered me to defy orders, right? It’s very counterproductive.” she said with a slight smile. His concern was unnecessary, but touching. 

He huffed out a laugh. “It sounds silly when you phrase it that way.” 

She tossed her hair to the side and shrugged. “Because it is.” 

She glanced at the heap of literature surrounding them. “And Nikolai?” 

He hummed and she turned to look at him again.

“I do want to do this.” 

“But if it ever gets too much-”

“We quit,” she nodded. 

He let out a relieved laugh. Then quickly cleared his throat. 

“Right, good. That’s great,” his happy smile though, slowly morphed into an embarrassed one. “So uhm. Any idea on how to get all of this to Os Alta?” 

Chapter Text

IV. Zoya

It was almost laughable how easily they fell into working on their…project. Nikolai had called it their “dirty little secret” but she refused to entertain him on that. Besides, it wasn’t just the two of them working on it. 

Although they had spent significantly more time together in private. Which was impressive given that it already felt like they were together most of the day. Still, it was…easy. Zoya might have even gone as far as to say it was…enjoyable. Though not to Nikolai’s face. He didn’t need to know that.  

Once their duties were done for the day, they would sit amongst the scattered books and manuscripts of the library, nursing a cup of tea. Or something stronger, depending on what they had dealt with during the day. They would enjoy the warmth it provided, and talk. 

He told her about the things he had learned in Ketterdam. About a strange professor and his even stranger experiments. About a ridiculous children's story made to plant the seeds of hatred in the Fjerdans.

And then he talked about all the other things he did in Ketterdam. It was in absolutely no way necessary to their endeavours but it was…nice. She had to admit he was a good storyteller. The way he talked about his youth, the way he was discussing his mistakes and regrets with the same openness and fervor as he did with his passions and fields of interests was surprisingly honest. 

It almost made her want to confide in him about her youth. About Pachina. About stolen peaches. About an old church and the even older sins she had witnessed there.

Almost. 

Instead she talked about the folk stories she heard as a child. At first, she felt somewhat embarrassed, sharing stories about disguised demons who killed cows with lightning…it sounded so silly speaking them out loud. But Nikolai was attentive and curious, taking her words as seriously as he would his university professors’ lectures, even asking questions at some points. He was very hung up on the demon’s choice of food items. 

She also told him about the things she learned at the Little Palace, about the arguments between Corporalki and Materialki. Then a few memories about the friends that didn’t make it out of the civil war.

She wasn’t ready to talk about Pachina but this felt like an acceptable compromise. 

As they were sitting in their usual seats, she nursed her small glass of konyak. It was one of those days. Nikolai had quietly stood up and opened a bottle of Kerch Brandewijn the moment they reached the end of the day’s report. Another border skirmish. Lack of resources. Lost personnel. 

She hummed over her drink and watched Nikolai immerse himself in yet another manuscript. Everytime he found something of interest his face would break out in the goofiest of grins. An expression unfit for a prince, and positively improper on a king. And she found herself looking forward to seeing it every time.   

She took a slow sip. Yes, the research she did with Nikolai was…pleasant. 

The other portions…less so. She sighed just thinking back on them.

—

Zoya knew she should have phrased her question differently the moment she registered the sparks lighting up Tolya’s eyes. 

“The inner workings of the heart?” He hummed and cleared his throat. “The heart knows the silent secret of day and n-”

“Absolutely not.” 

They reached an understanding. Eventually. Or rather, Tolya reluctantly agreed to keep his explanations grounded in polite mundanity, void of soul searching verses and rhymes. 

“The body is a natural system. And nature governs it the same way it does everything. It has rules.” Tolya told her as they walked together in the gardens. 

Zoya nodded, that much was easy to digest. 

“Right, but how does it work?” She bit down the feeling of shame creeping up on her. Out of all the orders, the Etherialki were the less…theory oriented. Nina had complained to her plenty about the dry material Corporalki had to learn before they were even allowed to test their powers in action. She had seen the diagrams of human forms with colorful lines running across organs and limbs, but she never paid special attention to them before. She knew a few things.

People needed air, they needed blood to stay inside, and the heart to keep beating.

So far, that knowledge served her more than enough. But now…  

“The heart moves on its own accord. When I concentrate on someone’s heartbeat I can feel it…a perpetual force residing within.” 

“Until it stops, you mean.”

“True,” he replied with a slight smile. “So this force, this beating, it contracts and relaxes, sending the blood away and waiting for it to return. Like a circle. Following the same rhythm from birth ‘till death,” he gave her a look. “Or it should.” 

A brief memory invaded her at that. “You are saying I’m lucky to be alive.” 

Tolya sighed. “I’m saying you are playing a dangerous game. And I would hate to see you lose.” 

She shuddered. “Believe me, I don’t intend to,” she said with defiance in her eyes. “So…tell me more about this…force.”

He smiled sadly and they continued their conversation. 

When they parted once the sun went down and first bouts of cold air hit them, Zoya was doubtful if she understood everything. If she even could understand everything. But now she had an idea at the very least. She was getting closer to a solution. And the next day, she decided, she would pay a visit to the labs. 

—

When they had first arrived back in Os Alta Genya called them out on the spot. Despite the interference of the Healers, she could somehow tell that something was off. Zoya still remembered the bizarre scene with slight amusement. 

“Stop!” They had, and turned around to look at her quizzically. “What happened to you?” 

Zoya was slightly taken aback. “What do you mean?” 

Genya narrowed her eyes. “You look good.”

“I always look good,” Zoya huffed. 

“No,” Genya had said, raising an accusatory finger. “Normally, you look great, downright radiant even, and you,” she said, turning to Nikolai. “You look like crap.” He had cheerfully thanked her. 

Zoya shrugged at the memory, she had received stranger compliments, she supposed. Ultimately they had agreed to let Genya in on their project as well. After all, they had decided early on to  include David, so it would have only been a matter of time before word reached her anyway. 

She still wasn’t entirely sure about her relationship with the Triumvirate. They didn’t exactly choose to work together. Their kinship was formed out of need and lack of options, and, at the behest of a martyred, yet living, saint. 

In the beginning her relationship with Genya was…non-existant at worst, strained at best. The ice wall between them was slowly melting away, but it was still easy to get cut on the freshly chipped pieces.  

And David…well, she considered as she had been sitting on an uncomfortable chair for far too many hours in his lab.

He was David. 

“So…to summarize. Lightning wants to reach the ground as fast as possible, so it chooses the path of least resistance. Correct?” 

“Well, no.”

Zoya looked at David, annoyed. “But you said-”

“Lightning is incapable of making choices,” he added helpfully. “It’s not a living entity.” 

From the corner of her eyes she could see Nikolai hide his smile behind his hand. She was seriously considering asking David how he could possibly know that when she caught Genya’s pleading gaze from the other end of the room. Zoya sighed. 

“I…see. I will…consider that. Thank you, David.” 

“You are most welcome,” he replied with a slight but proud smile. She cleared her throat. 

“So, um, anthropomorphic allusions aside, at its core it’s…,” she raised her fingers to count the steps, “lightning in the sky, to lightning in the ground and through the fastest way possible.” 

“Well, if we wish to employ such rudimentary terminology-”

“We do.”

“Then…yes. I suppose that would be correct.”  

Zoya rubbed her eyes. Being a Squaller meant her education at the Little Palace covered the basis of weather phenomena. Air, currents, wind, and everything they influenced was present as both theory and practice. Storms they were thought about in theory, but summoning them wasn’t exactly encouraged. Lowering the air pressure on such a massive scale required not only the kind of concentration most young students were incapable of practising, but also a sheer amount of raw power. And the potential for utterly destroying the palace gardens. 

Regardless, Zoya understood why and how storms would form. 

Lightning though, not to mention its apparent connection to metals was an entirely different field of understanding. Following the Darkling’s betrayal they had expanded physical training to the Materialki. She briefly considered that perhaps they should also expand the Materialki’s theoretical studies to the other branches as well.

Maybe only the basics, she thought as she noticed David starting to mentally solve the equations written on his board out of sheer boredom. 

She locked eyes with Nikolai who shot her a sympathetic smile. Zoya nodded at him in confirmation. 

She had heard enough of hypotheticals for now.

It was time for action. 

—

Lazlayon was a gleaming eye-sore. 

Casting her eyes over the dark lake with seemingly no end and the thick mist that surrounded the premises Zoya understood the nickname it received; the Gilded Bog. Of course the people living near Count Kirigin’s grand estate couldn’t have known that it was all on purpose. A theatre stage created to entertain the masses while the main event remained hidden behind the curtains. Or a circus more like, Zoya thought as Count Kirigin emerged from his estate to meet them, dressed in gratuitous hues of pinks and greens, complete with cobalt blue accents. A unique sight for sure.

“Ah, my favorite King and General! Welcome to my humble abode!” He greeted them with his usual pomp and flare. 

“Emil!” Nikolai answered back, holding out his hand to shake, which Kirigin took immediately. “I do hope I’m not just your favorite but your only king, friend,” he said teasingly. 

“Of course, of course, Moi Tsar,” Kirigin answered good naturedly and with a slight bow and moved to kiss Zoya’s hand. “General,” he nodded. 

“Count Kirigin.”

“Emil, please,” he said with a smile and Zoya tried her best to not roll her eyes. 

“I assume everything is prepared?” Nikolai cut in. 

“Why, yes, absolutely, follow me please.” 

Kirigin had led them to the edge of a clearing where their work could begin without prying eyes or people in the way. 

It was a quiet night, perfect for practising. Only her and Nikolai remained in place. She had tried to send him away, but he wouldn’t budge. She didn’t like it, but realistically he should be fine. They were a good distance away from her target. 

So she closed eyes and began. She focused on the gathering storm. As the pressure lowered she could feel the prickle in her skin. Then the smell of the air changed ever so slowly. When she opened her eyes dark clouds were already settled on the horizon. Rain began to fall, drip by drip, as thunder sounded in the distance. Soon they could see light run across the sky.

There. She raised her hands and used the movement to help visualize where she wanted the surge to go. She wasn’t trying to draw it in her this time, merely guiding it…somewhere else. Hopefully far away from them. 

She concentrated, drawing a mental line from the skyline to her intended target. She kept up the connection when a sudden flash of light appeared in their line of sight, followed by a deafening clap. 

The large oak tree that must have been part of the landscape for over half a century gave a loud crack, as a light surge ran through its branches and continued deep inside its trunk. The barks gave way in violent waves, as the pressure from the inside must have split the tree’s core into chunks. They could see smoke billow and rise from the freshly formed cracks and a faint orange glow indicated that a fire had started from within.

“Wow,” Nikolai huffed out next to her, seemingly unbothered by the rain that was now pouring on them both. “That was impressive.” 

“I didn’t hit my target,” she replied in a dry tone. And sure enough, standing a few feet from the oak tree, there stood a row of hay figures, looking like cheap imitations of men. They stood completely unharmed. Mocking her. 

They left the tree to the Tidemakers that were usually in charge of the perpetual mist that surrounded the premises. They would make sure the fire didn’t spread. 

They said their goodbyes to Kirigin. Somewhat embarrassed she did apologize for burning down his tree. 

“Nonsense General! In fact, I thank you. That tree? Horrible. A blight on the premises! No, no, you did me a favor. If there’s any way I can show you my gratitude then just say so-”

She sighed. Maybe she should have just kept quiet.  

—

“You know he’s head over heels in love with you right?” Nikolai asked with amusement evident in his tone. They were almost back to the Palace, having just left their horses in their stalls.

“Who? Kirigin? Please,” she huffed. “He’s not in love, he has a crush. Like boys do…it will pass.” Truthfully Kirigin wasn’t bad looking, she may have called him handsome even. Minus his taste in clothing that made him look like a preening peacock on any given day. There would have been a time when she may have taken him up on his offers. Not seriously. Just to play. Unwind. But things were different now. And maybe she was too. 

“And what if it doesn’t?” Nikolai continued. “What shall I tell the dear Count when he asks for permission to court you?”

“You are the one with the flare for dramatics, I don’t know, make something up! Tell him that I eat my lovers for breakfast. That I’ll chew him up and lick his bones clean.” 

He grimaced. “You know, I would, but I fear that would just motivate him even more.” 

She gave a chuckle and was about to retort when they met a frantic Genya on the way. 

“Oh good, you’re back,” she said, the worry evident on her face. 

“What’s wrong?” Zoya asked.

“Conflict at the border. Closer to the camp this time.” 

Zoya and Nikolai exchanged glances. The attacks were getting more and more frequent. 

“Perhaps a visit is in order?” Nikolai asked and she nodded in answer. 

—

By the time they arrived at Arkesk, the dying rays of the sun had already started painting the town and its port in streaks of vibrant orange hues. In many ways, it was the only bright color amidst the muted greens and browns of nature and the olive drabs of First Army soldiers, moving around in waves just like the sea nearby. 

At least it was until a turquoise long coat and a splotch of red greeted them at the entrance of the camp. 

“Captain Sturmhond!” Nikolai yelled with the enthusiasm of a person who knows too much and hides too little.

“Moi tsar,” Sturmhond bowed, with far too much reverence and humility for someone who was used to governing a vessel like a sole ruler of a land. 

Zoya shook her head at the scene slightly, once again baffled by the fact that this little game of charade had held up for so long. Especially when Nikolai pulled him into a hug and patted his shoulders like long lost brothers reunited. When they parted, Sturmhond addressed them once more. 

“Your Majesty, General, please allow me to escort you to my quarters where we can continue more comfortably, perhaps with some nice hot grog to accompany us?” 

“Sounds good to me old friend, lead the way,” replied Nikolai. 

“Well, aren't you two chummy?” Zoya whispered to Nikolai once they had been out of ear shot of the mass of people. Most had gathered around the entrance, to greet the king, but also to deal with the fresh supplies brought. They had left Tolya and Tamar to organize and distribute. The deeper they went into the outpost and towards the docks, bypassing the various junk scattered around the beach from both past and present, the less people they came across. 

He turned to her with his usual amusement. “I've known Privyet for years and he had kept Sturmhond's secret just as long. Even after my ascension to the throne he has been nothing but trustworthy. He's a loyal man, and a good friend.” 

Zoya eyed him skeptically. She had no particular reason to dislike Privyet, not really. In fact, he had always been respectful to her as well, obeying the chain of command even when it was just the two of them. Nikolai was right, he was a soldier dedicated to the cause, and the crown. But even so, putting faith in a man whose job was to pretend to be someone else seemed…unwise. It was the same problem with spies. They either guarded your secrets to the very end…or right until they received a better offer. And the way things were standing now, anyone could give a better offer than Ravka. 

They reached the cabin, and as soon as the key turned in the lock, their work began. There would be no drinks or pleasant conversations. They were there to talk war. 

Standing around the table, topped with various maps and miniature statues, Nikolai dropped his smile and posed a question he had been dreading to ask all day.

“Be honest, how bad is it?” 

“We are absolutely screwed.”

Nikolai groaned and ran his hand down his face. “I was hoping you wouldn't say that.”

Privyet shrugged. “You asked for honesty. There is no point in sugarcoating this.” Now that, Zoya could appreciate. 

“The ships are intimidating, no doubt,” Privyet continued. “Rest assured it's a working strategy for now. But if our enemies were to take a closer look they could easily find holes in the net. We wouldn't hold out long in a genuine assault.” 

Fearing the advance of Fjerda, Nikolai had stationed Sturmhond's fleet near the Northern border. It wasn't an official blockade by any means, not yet, but the message was clear to everyone involved. It was an intimidation tactic, which seemed to have worked so far, but in reality it was nothing more than a smokescreen. People saw the rows of canons mounted on the ships. 

But no one could tell their ammunition wouldn't even last them a day in a serious fight. 

“We haven't posted a lot of Grisha here but maybe we could arrange a few extra Etherialki on rotation,” Zoya added. 

Privyet suddenly seemed uneasy. “I won’t deny we could use the extra manpower, but…with all due respect I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Zoya narrowed her eyes. Even after everything, did they really have to deal with such conflicts within their own armies? Privyet must have sensed the unfortunate implications of his words, as he quickly continued. 

“And don’t take this the wrong way. It would be for their own protection to stay away.”

“Explain,” Zoya commanded, with practiced patience, making her tone lack its usual bite. Privyet’s words had been cryptic, but his mannerism suggested genuine concern rather than a wounded pride. So she decided to reserve her judgment and ire until she knew more. 

“We’ve had some…skirmishes, along the coast, some in the forest. Right there on the border. Fjerdans, without a doubt but they are not wearing any insignia or uniform so we can’t exactly claim proof of their allegiance.” Zoya and Nikolai nodded. They’ve read the reports. 

“We have managed to push them back so far but…we have received word from smaller settlements nearby that anytime there was open conflict with the Fjerdans, Grisha had gone missing.”

“We haven’t heard anything about that,” Zoya said, surprised. No such news reached the Little Palace and she felt a bout of anger creep up on her. She was the General of the Second Army, and while these Grisha may not have been soldiers, she felt responsible for them all the same. 

“Yes…well the locals only told us recently, even though it’s been going on for weeks. They’ve seen us around long enough, but it’s hard to earn anyone’s trust these days,” he replied sympathetically. She nodded. Ravkans being paranoid or hiding their problems was hardly news. The worst part was, she couldn’t even blame them for it. The country had been an open wound even before the civil war. Healing it was going to take time. If it was, at all, possible. 

She mentally weighed their options and sighed. “We won’t do any mandatory assignments then, but I will ask for volunteers. If anyone wants to help the efforts here, we’ll send them your way. They won’t be wearing their keftas to blend in better and will only use their powers if it’s crucial to the task.” 

“Much appreciated but I’m afraid that’s not all…You see…,” he looked nervous again. “There are these…rumors,” Privyet finished in a low voice. Like he was letting them in on a secret. 

“What rumors?” “Rumors?” Zoya and Nikolai asked simultaneously.  

A deep, resonating boom shook them to their core. Immediately after they heard the yells. Something was happening outside and it wasn’t good.

After exchanging quick looks the three of them jumped into action. 

“Where do you think you’re going?!” Zoya yelled as she quickly grabbed hold of Nikolai’s wrist. The one that wasn’t attached to the hand already holding the door handle. He looked back at her, frantic.

“Our people need help!” 

“They do! And you know what else they need? Their king alive! So don’t be an idiot.”

Nikolai let out a deep sigh and turned to Privyet with a sad smile.

“I assume you won’t back me up this time either, huh?”

Privyet shook his head slightly. “The General is right. I will lock you in here myself, if necessary. Sir.” 

Zoya nodded at him in thanks. Though she felt a pang of annoyance at the fact that he was ever so slowly starting to grow on her. 

Defeated, Nikolai stepped away from the door with his hands in mock surrender.

“There is no need for that,” he said. “Just…don’t leave me hanging?” 

“We’ll let you know of the situation as soon as possible.” Privyet answered. 

Another boom sounded in the air. This time, closer. They had to leave.  

Zoya took one last glance at Nikolai. He seemed utterly unhappy, but fortunately he saw reason. She understood his frustration, but there was no helping it. He wasn’t there as reckless pirate turned privateer Sturmhond. Someone else was playing that role. No, he was there as Nikolai Lantsov. King of Ravka, and currently, the sole heir to the throne. 

Whatever the commotion was outside, they wouldn’t benefit from throwing him out in the open. 

She and Privyet ran out the cabin and left the deck in a haste.

—

The air was thick with smoke mixed with the fog of the cool night air. The sun had left its bright streaks behind though the sky still hadn’t turned completely dark yet. But with the deep gray veil that covered everything it was getting increasingly harder to see each minute. 

The sound of screaming was occasionally broken by the echoes of gunfire. Looking around them Zoya could only see chaos and mud. Trying to make sense of the scene she was caught off guard when Privyet suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her behind some wooden debris left there Saints know when. 

Before she could berate him, he whispered as pointed at something.

“Look.”   

She narrowed her eyes, trying to decipher what exactly she was supposed to be looking at. Amongst the foot soldiers running amok, she could see two familiar shapes. They looked like…keftas. One deep red, while the other a brilliant blue. Or they used to be, once. Now, in various places they showed signs of tear and damage, the colors dulled and dreary.

Just like their bearers. It was hard to make out the faces of the figures but even from such a distance Zoya could see their ashen complexion and lifeless dispositions. Their thin, sinewed bodies looked like they crawled out of their own graves just to march to the battlefield.

And it seemed they marched with purpose.

People were dropping like flies around the one in red, a Heartrender surely, and the one in blue conjured up a ball of flame that glowed in a greenish hue leaving even the ground burning behind his steps. 

Zoya looked back at Privyet, doing her best to mask her worry.

“Just what is this!?” she asked, with gritted teeth and a hushed tone.

“The rumors,” he answered simply, voice solemn.  

She shook her head in disbelief. Those two were Grisha. Moreover, judging by their uniform they used to be a part of the Second Army. She swallowed the burst of guilt coming over her for not recognizing either of them. Although the distance between them and the condition they were in didn’t help either.

But something still didn’t add up. Zoya tried thinking back to the trainees of the Little Palace from the past year. While she wasn’t as good with names and faces as Nikolai, she could usually tell their Grisha apart from the way they summoned their powers. It was like…walking. The movements and stances were essentially the same, but everyone was unique enough to be recognizable. Not to mention that in the past year or so, more often than not it was her that taught them those stances to begin with.

But the way those two used the Small Science wasn’t just unfamiliar. It seemed…unnatural. 

And why, for the love of the Saints, were they attacking a Ravkan outpost?!  

“DRÜSJE!” 

She sidestepped the very last second pushing a heavy gust of wind towards the voice. The man, following the all too familiar sounds of a fractured neck, crumpled around the broken ship part Zoya squalled him into. She didn’t need to look at him to guess he was blond and blue eyed, wearing nondescript brown clothing. The Fjerdans weren’t satisfied enough with the border squirmishes anymore, they came straight to the source. Well, it was either that, or they received word the king would be visiting, which was a scenario Zoya chose to entertain only later. 

While this answered one question, the Grisha’s presence and their apparent allegiance with the Fjerdans were still a mystery. And it was a mystery they needed to solve fast, as they were rapidly advancing towards them. 

Zoya took a deep breath and looked at the sky. What was the use of all that research if she was scared to try? They could use a bit of help from above. 

She concentrated and started lowering the air pressure.

Dark clouds gathered around them as the storm started to form. 

“Are you doing this?” Privyet asked, sounding slightly worried. 

“I called it here…but I can’t exactly tell it what to do,” she answered honestly and he nodded. If he had any questions he was keeping them to himself. 

As she watched the streaks of light appear up in the sky and the first droplets of rain started to fall she continued.

“Captain? Some advice…,” she said, peering out of their hiding space.  

“General?” 

She looked at him, noting the pair of Zemeni firearms on his hip. They weren’t as flashy as Nikolai's but they looked quality made. 

“If your gun starts humming…drop it, and run!” He seemed confused but nodded again and readied his pistols. 

They didn’t need to discuss a plan. Ambushing the Inferni first once his flames were out, and then moving under cover towards the Heartrender to do the same was their only viable option. 

Except the fire wasn’t going out. Even with the healthy downpour of rain the fires, still in their strange greenish glow, kept burning around him as he was getting closer and closer to their hiding spot. 

Zoya cursed under her breath. She had never seen fire that could withstand this much water. Much less an Inferni creating it seemingly out of thin air. She was scanning her eyes around the area when Privyet pointed to a nearby ship’s floating cargo. The soldiers’ work was clearly interrupted by the Fjerdan attack as they were loading the new supplies onto the ship. Now, it was dangerously hanging from a rope that had seen better days next to the ship’s hull. 

Zoya nodded and signalled him to get ready. 

The second she stepped out from behind their cover, she had to dodge a ball of fire coming her way. She quickly scrambled towards a mess of what must have been a tent at some point, the heat of the attack lingering on her face. 

She let out a breath, shocked at not just how quick but how accurate the Inferni had been. He was still a good distance away but the moment he saw her he attacked. She was lucky the camp was still overrun by regular soldiers from each side, dividing their focus. The Grisha could have leveled the entire place in minutes especially given the element of surprise, but it seemed they were there first and foremost to assist the Fjerdans. Like they were following their orders. Zoya tried to settle her confusion.

It made absolutely no sense. Treason was the unwanted child birthed alongside every nation but these two looked more like prisoners rather than traitors. Well, they looked dead more than anything. Either way, they were walking around on their own with access to their powers…so why were they helping the enemy? Were they being blackmailed?

Were they being controlled?

Was such a thing even possible? She shook her head. She didn’t have time to think about all of that. She needed to focus on her task. 

She moved alongside rubble and debris, making her position known a few times to lure the Inferni closer as well. Thunder was starting to accompany the sounds of yells and the occasional gunfire. The wind and the rain was picking up and she was betting on using that to her advantage. 

She leaned out of her cover slightly, and immediately careening back just barely missing another burst of flame. She let out a huff of air. Good, she thought, he’s near. She closed her eyes and started gathering the wind around her. Zoya concentrated on focusing her hearing, clearing an acoustic channel to hear his footsteps. They were slight, but there. A low crunch of combat boots meeting grains of wet sand. Just a bit closer. There.   

She opened her eyes, taking one last breath and jumped into action, pushing a gust of air towards the Inferni and the hanging cargo hanging just above him. Zoya watched with great satisfaction as the rope gave way and the crates and barrels started their heavy free fall. 

Her smile was frozen in place however, as the Inferni simply raised a hand and let a steady green blaze erupt from his palm, incinerating the offending objects in mere seconds. She jumped back but they were still only a few feet away from each other and Zoya tried to not let the sudden panic overwhelm her. The charred remains of the various wooden boxes and whatever they used to contain gave an illuminating green glow even amidst the heavy downpour of rain and gust of wind. It illuminated the Inferni as well and for the first time Zoya had a chance to truly look at his face. It was hard to decipher his features but he was most likely a similar age to her, maybe slightly older. His skin and eyes were dull, colorless, as if someone had sucked the life out of him. His kefta apart from being a mess of fabric and wear just didn’t seem to sit on him right. He must have lost a significant amount of weight recently, for sure, but even that wouldn’t explain why the sleeves were too long, or why the material was brushing his calf when it should have ended at knee’s height. Keftas were uniform, but they were tailor made. 

Zoya didn’t know this man. He didn’t grow up in the Little Palace, and he didn’t serve under her in the Second Army either. Whoever he was, those Etherialki blues did not belong to him.

Yet, there he was, summoning a fire of a kind she had never seen before, raising his other hand towards her, ready to burn her into a pile of ashes like it was child’s play. 

A sudden crack and flash of light broke her out of her fatalistic reverie. 

The Inferni stumbled, and raised a hand to the back of his head. Then just as slowly, he fell forward, wide, empty eyes remaining open.

Zoya panted,and sniffled, ignoring the way her hair was starting to stick to her face due to the mix of sweat and rain. She let out a huff of a laugh as she recognized Privyet stepping forward, pistols in hand. He sent a quick mock salute her way, and a slight cocky grin. 

Just as she was about to thank him his expression changed to one of shock and pain. He dropped his weapons and started clutching at his chest, fingers desperately trying to reach inside and stop whatever was happening to him. 

Zoya’s eyes widened as realization hit her. They were so preoccupied with the Inferni that she momentarily forgot.

There was another. 

She quickly scrambled behind some cover once more.  She could feel anger rise within her as from the corner of her eyes she saw Privyet falling to his knees and fighting to get air into his lungs. Zoya was also angry at herself, hiding behind one rubble pile after another. She felt more like a desperate mole rather than a proud soldier. But there was no helping it. Heartrenders needed to see their target. At least, she hoped it was still true. She was still far from learning as to why, but it was clear that these Grisha were not ordinary. 

She listened once more, waiting for approaching footsteps. The Heartrender was still far away. In fact, she shouldn’t have been able to deal with Privyet from such a distance, especially under such circumstances. Nina had told her enough about the limitations of their powers. For the millionth time that day, Zoya concluded that nothing made sense. 

Still she needed to come up with a plan. The Grisha had better sight than they should have, but they still couldn’t see through everything. Otherwise Zoya would have already been dead. She hoped Privyet was simply immobilised, but she also knew better than to harbor false hope. If Heartrenders wanted to kill, they had a plethora of ways to choose from. 

On the other hand, most of them relied on the distance too heavily, neglecting to keep up their physical training. And from what Zoya had seen, this one in particular seemed to be in just as bad of a shape as the Inferni.

It wasn’t a perfect strategy, but at least she had one. She would obscure the Heartrender’s view, and strike from up-close. She waited for her to come closer, relying on her hearing once more. SHe leaned back her cover and lowered the air pressure even more. The storm was turning into a raging tempest. Next to the footsteps she was listening for she could hear the Fjerdan soldier yelling and running from the camp. She had no idea what they were saying but she did catch a few swear words and Djel. It seemed they weren’t happy with the storm getting stronger.

Amidst the retreating footsteps she finally heard the one approaching. Closing in. Aided by the natural winds she added her own gusts to fray, kicking up the sand around the camp. It formed a thick wall of dust, suffocating and gritty to go through. Zoya placed an arm in front of her mouth and nose but it still pricked at her eyes, and she could feel the grains leaving light scratches on her face. 

But it was near impossible to see. 

She followed sound and as she got closer she could see a slight outline of her enemy. Thinking quickly she raised her fist and struck.

The figure stepped aside before her fist could connect. 

Dumbfounded Zoya could only watch as the Heartrender’s silhouette turned towards her. Then she felt her throat closing up.

She struggled to breathe as the figure stepped closer and closer to her, right until they were standing face to face. Much like the Inferni before, she too was an unfamiliar sight to Zoya. 

Spots danced around her vision as the lack of air was getting to her.

As a last ditch effort she used whatever remaining strength she had and directed the circling sand around them into a concentrated blast towards the Heartrender. 

Zoya watched with satisfaction as it pushed her backwards, but it wasn’t until the chokehold on her loosened that she knew she got very lucky. Coughing slightly she released the winds, letting the currents around them calm. 

It was truly dark now. The Inferni’s fires finally burned out. It must have been the sand but she couldn’t be sure. It took her eyes a bit to adjust but she found the Grisha merely a few steps away. She was skewered on a sharp piece of broken..mast? Perhaps. Something broken and wooden she guessed. It pierced right through her heart. She wanted to inspect her further but she heard a familiar voice.

“Privyet!” 

She sharply turned towards Nikolai and ran to where he was, kneeling next to his fallen friend. 

“I told you to stay inside!” 

“I saw the storm pick up, I figured it was your doing,” he replied while checking Privyet’s vitals. “He’s not breathing, but I can’t find any injuries-” 

“It was a Heartrender,” she cut him off. “But we may be lucky. I don’t see any blood, if she had crushed his heart that would have left a mark.” She said, examining his body as well. Saints, she was hoping for more time.

“A Heartrender? But-” 

“Later!” she yelled, she needed Nikolai to focus. She locked her gaze onto his frantic eyes. “You know what we have to do. Are you with me?”

He nodded quickly. And they set to work. 

She quickly rid herself of her kefta and rolled up her sleeves. The less material in the way the better. Similarly, Nikolai set to free Privyet’s, Sturmhond’s, chest from his clothes. 

She motioned for Nikolai to move back before she brought her hands together and let out a deep breath. 

“Wait!” She shot him an annoyed look, but quickly changed her expression when she realised what he meant. Nikolai had taken some bundled up cloth and placed it in Privyet’s mouth. She nodded in thanks as he retreated again. 

She began rubbing her hands together. She needed the friction. Like in those experiments Nikolai had told her about. She wouldn’t channel an entire lightning bolt this time, she simply needed the static harvested from one on her finger tips. Easy enough to say, she grumbled slightly. 

Soon she started to feel the buzz on her palms. She didn’t have a lot of time to think about her next step. She hoped she was placing her hands where she wanted them. Her conversations with Tolya still rang in her ears. The force he had told her about seemed to be the same force that came with lightning.

An energy surge.

To restart the process of contraction and ease and let the blood pump from one place to another. She also needed to avoid direct contact with his heart to avoid burning it. Like last time. She still shuddered at the thought. 

With one final rub of her hands, she separated them and put both, one for in, one for out, on Privyet’s chest. Trying to recall those colorful diagrams, she simultaneously placed one hand on the upper right side of his torso, and the other on his left side, just below the heart, finding the correct points of circulation.  

The shock upon her touch was instantaneous and she felt it ripple through her as well as Privyet’s body jumped. She released him immediately after and leaned back slightly. She experienced the jolt, but it wasn’t like last time, it was…tamer. Though she was still panting with effort as they waited, Nikolai being just as still as her. 

Suddenly and with a great gasp Privyet sat up, eyes blearing and confused. He was probably even more confused when Nikolai started laughing like a madman and giving him a hug and pats on the back. 

Zoya watched the scene in front of her. She was glad as well, truly she wanted to get up and laugh too. But her limbs were heavy, her eyes and face stinging. Her throat burned still. The battle, though short it may have been, was catching up to her body despite her mind’s insistence on the contrary. She tried to rise from her knees, but she swayed with the effort. 

“Zoya?” she heard Nikolai ask, as her back hit the wet sand.

— 

When she came to, she was dry. And warm. Those were both surprises. But her awakening was gentle. Unlike last time she wasn’t weighed down by the additional discomfort. 

She opened her eyes slowly. The dark of the cabin told her that probably only a few hours had elapsed before their…what that was on the shore. 

“We really need to stop meeting like this,” a cheerful voice told her from the darkness. 

“You are telling me,” she groaned slightly. She heard the sound of a match scraping and saw Nikolai light a candlestick and approach. 

“Sorry,” he said as he noticed her scrunch her eyes at the sudden light. “Figured it would be easier. It’s the middle of the night, you know. We are staying in Arkesk until the morning.” 

She was about to speak when he cut her off. “Yes, I’ve sent word to the Little Palace. No, we can’t go right now,” he said grinning as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. His grin even wider when she immediately tried to playfully shove him off. 

“Fine,” she grumbled, but there was no bite to her tone. She pulled herself into a sitting position. “At least give me an update then.” 

“Well, I would gladly do that if I actually knew anything. Tamar thinks we have a leak,” she nodded. She was considering the same thing. “Well it’s either that or it was a hell of a coincidence the Fjerdans attacked with their newest…friends, while we were here.” 

“They weren’t from the Second Army,” she answered his questioning gaze. “And I don’t think they went into this battle willingly either.” 

He nodded, solemn. “We gathered the bodies. The twins encountered another one near the entrance. We haven’t had the chance to take a closer look but they seemed…sick. Or like it wasn’t the first time they had died.” 

“Yeah…but, Nikolai, believe me these were no ordinary Grisha. Despite their condition they were incredibly strong. And fast. The Inferni,” she stopped briefly to recall the fights, “he was throwing around fire that shouldn’t even exist! It was green, and no matter how much rain fell on it it wouldn’t go out.” 

“Green fire?” he hummed. “I may have heard of such a thing but never about a Grisha making it.” 

“I can tell you no one at the Little Palace would have heard of it…and the Heartrender. Saints, she nearly had me,” she shuddered and instinctively raised a hand towards her throat. She decidedly ignored the concern that flashed in Nikolai’s eyes. “She saw me even when she wasn’t supposed to,” she said, shaking her head, still in disbelief.

A Heartrender without limitations was a scary thought. A Heartrender without limitations as an enemy, was downright terrifying.  

“I really wish we didn’t have to kill them,” Zoya said, quietly, breaking the silence that sat over them.

“I’m sorry,” Nikolai replied, and she knew he meant it. 

“Me too…” She really tried not to dwell on it too much. It was a battle, and it was either kill or be killed. The Heartrender nearly choked her to death, and the Inferni…the Inferni would have burned her to a crisp on the spot if it wasn’t for…

“How’s Privyet?” she asked, a sudden gripping fear engulfing her that maybe something had gone wrong after she blacked out, or she remembered wrong. Nikolai’s immediate smile quickly reassured her though. 

“Perfectly fine. All things considered. I think he might be drinking himself into a stupor right about now, celebrating a grand victory as Sturmhond would.” 

“A healer should still keep an eye on him-” 

“They will,” he confirmed to her. Then he added, “And on you as well.” 

“I’m fin-” 

“I know, the twins checked you out, minor scrapes is all…but still, when you collapsed,” he sighed deeply. “I feared the worst.” 

She tried not to read too much into his tone. One of his most endearing traits was how much he cared. About everyone. 

“I did feel the shock,” she admitted, but quickly added, “but it was nothing like the last time. It was more like an uncomfortable pinch rather than having a ship fall on top of me.” She gave him a small smile which he returned.

“Besides,” she continued, “we now know that it can work.”

Nikolai let out a small chuckle. “Indeed! In fact you may have been the first person to have ever done such a feat. How does it feel, General, being the pioneer of modern science?” He asked with a teasing grin. 

“Tiring,” she said honestly. She was having a hard time keeping her eyes open. 

“Then I shan’t keep you up any longer,” he said, slowly rising. “I have to say though, what you did…it was quite amazing.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m amazing,” she murmured, shuffling to lie down. 

“I’m inclined to agree with that,” she heard him say before blowing out the candle, coating the room in darkness. 

She let herself fall asleep with a smile.