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Aleksander had let things build for too long, sure the Darkling would care as little as the queen did. The general was, after all, not known to be merciful or kind. There were fairly well backed up rumours around the palace that she had once cut off a man’s hand for daring to even touch her. What would she do to somebody wasting her time? He shuddered.
The walk from the Grand Palace to the Little Palace was colder than he had anticipated and, he could swear, longer than usual. He pulled his kefta tighter around himself. He should’ve worn a warmer one. Despite the cold that had sunk into his bones, he hesitated at the entrance to the building.
Was he really going to do this? Maybe he should wait until their next arranged meeting. In a month? He wasn’t waiting another month. Then again, it was late, pitch black outside. What if she was asleep? He certainly didn’t want to disturb her. He could still turn back. And what? Return to the Grand Palace? To the king? No. No, that was not an option. He would walk into the Little Palace, and then through the domed hall, and then he would knock on the pair of large, intimidating doors that led to the Darkling’s office. Right now.
He took a breath, clenched his fists, and forced his legs to move him forward. The palace corridors were nearly deserted, so was the domed hall. Most people were asleep by now. He froze again at the doors to her office with his hand poised to knock. Before he could spiral into another moment of debate, the doors swung open. Ivan and a pair of oprichniki stepped out of the room. Ivan shot him a look somewhere between confusion and hostility. Aleksander slipped through the doors before they closed.
No going back now.
The Darkling stopped in her tracks, halfway from her chair to the door that led to her chambers.
“We aren’t meant to meet again until next month.” She said as she turned, gliding back to her seat, “This must be important.”
He opened his mouth to speak but he felt as if his voice had frozen in his throat.
“Sit.” She offered.
Shadowy tendrils wrapped around the chair to her right and pulled it away from the table. Not helpful to the fear holding his voice hostage. He definitely did not want to be any closer to her than he was, but her expectant gaze forced him to move.
“Well?” She asked as he sat down.
He cleared his throat, tried to sound confident.
“I..”
How was he supposed to start? Where did he begin? He sucked in a breath through his teeth. Just talk.
“The king–”
His voice caught on a lump in his throat. He was not going to cry here. Not in front of someone so important. He cleared his throat again, pulled himself together. He didn’t look at her as he spoke, he kept his eyes on the golden embroidery of his kefta’s sleeves. It was surprisingly easy to get words out after he got started. He only stopped when he felt a sob building in his chest. He was hardly halfway through the explanation, but he stopped anyway. No crying. Not here.
He looked up, hoping the Darkling would be easier to read now than usual. She was – jarringly so. Her fingernails dug into the arm of her chair, but she seemed far from angry.
“I didn’t think–...” she trailed off, “No, I obviously didn’t.”
She ran a hand down her face, “I’m sorry.” she muttered, eyes still closed.
When she opened them, they were shining with barely held back tears. It only served to make them more striking. It was almost eerie to see someone he’d always thought to be unshakeable so emotional. Despite this, he could finally breathe again. Then, his breath caught again, not out of fear, but shock, as he processed that the Darkling had just apologized to him. The Darkling.
“How long has he been–”
“Five years.”
He cursed himself for how small he sounded. Her eyes widened, and for a moment he really did think she was going to cry. She leaned forward in her seat.
“You should have come to me sooner. Infinitely sooner.”
“I didn’t–”
He had no idea where he wanted to go with that sentence so he just stopped.
“No, it’s alright.” She paused, took a breath, some of the tension left her shoulders, “The Kostyks are rotten. Always have been.”
His fear and anger and hurt took a step to the side to make space for curiosity. ‘Always have been.’
“What?”
He wasn’t sure if she heard him
“I know how powerless that can make you feel, but you are so strong.” the Darkling continued.
She kept talking, but he was stuck on her phrasing. ‘I know’. He knew what it meant, but he couldn’t get it through his head. She was so powerful.
“You?”
He didn’t realize he’d said the word out loud until she responded.
“Yes.” was all she said, but that alone shot a hole through his mental picture of her.
“Aleksander,” She had definitely never addressed him by his first name before, it was jarring, to say the least, “I swear to you, you won’t have to endure any more.”
That was a wonderful thought, but impossible. The Sun Summoner didn’t have her amplifier yet. They were only supposed to move once she had it. Once the Darkling had full control of where the fold went, that was when they were supposed to move.
“I’ll move things forward. The Trackers have a lead on the stag, we’ll figure it out.”
She stood up and paced across the room and pulled a key from a pocket on the inside of her kefta to unlock a drawer. From it, she pulled an unlabelled glass bottle. The liquid inside it was so clear it was barely visible. She walked back over and put the small bottle in his hand.
“A few drops into his wine should do the trick.” She said, clasping her hands around his own, which held the bottle – poison, he assumed. Her hands were softer than he’d expected a general’s to be, “As soon as you can.”
She met his eyes and noticed his hesitation – moving everything forward so far would certainly jeopardize their success, he didn’t want to hurt the chance at a better Ravka. She gave him a reassuring nod and then stepped back.
“Goodnight, Mister Morozova.”
She strolled to the double doors that led to her chambers, nodded at him once more, and walked through them, leaving him alone in her office. He stared at the bottle in his hands. A blessing and a burden. He tucked it into the pocket of his kefta and stood up.
As soon as possible.