☼☼☼☼☼☼

HER EYES WATCHED THE FLAMES flicker back and forth, wondering how much of it was Vadoma's doing and how much of it was natural. 

Her classmate still hadn't mastered her control over the volatile matter and sat just a few feet away from the fireplace, the orange flames licking her face, illuminating Vadoma's bronze skin as she ran a hand through her ebony locks. They were much darker than Reyka's own, having spent most of her time in the Inferni's personal training room where little damage could occur. Reyka was always out with the Tidemakers, using the lake as a spot of rejuvenation and isolation when it got too stressful at the Little Palace.

As a result the ends of her glossy brown hair bleached themselves naturally in the sunlight, giving the Suli girl even more of a glow than she usually had.

"What saint are you praying to this time?" Reyka deadpanned, pulling her exhausted friend from her stupor, her kefta nearly catching on fire from how close she'd been to the flames, ink blots on her nose.

Vadoma let out a sigh and faced her, leaning against the wall, her back cracking as she did so. Reyka arched a brow. Vadoma shut her eyes in annoyance. "I'll see a Heartrender about that tomorrow," She sighed, wiping the ink away.

Reyka shook her head, "A Heartrender can hardly fix bad posture. I'm afraid you'll have creaky bones forever."

A pillow flew through the air and Reyka skillfully dodged it, her laughter puncturing the air before sending one sailing back, landing squarely in Vadoma's face. The younger girl let out an 'oomph' before blowing the lone strands of hair obscuring her vision away with a sigh.

"Kamren thinks there's a chance I could earn an amplifier." Vadoma explained, tossing the book she'd been studying close to the ornate bed railing. "She's having me search possible places we can go."

Reyka plopped down on the floor, pulling the book closer to her. It was a list of places Inferni had visited for amplifiers before. She recognized a few of them, bristling when she caught sight of the village near the edge of Os Alta. The same one she'd been taken from before. Reyka arched a brow. "These all look pretty isolated, are you sure about this?"

Vadoma sighed and took the book back, propping it up on her knees, "No, but I have no other choice. If I can't control the damn flames..." She didn't need to finish the sentence. Reyka had seen firsthand what happened to Grisha that couldn't control their abilities. All of Ravka had.

It sat in the middle of the continent, an ugly black scar that not even the most talented of Inferni could pass through.

"Besides," Vadoma continued, peering at the book once again, "It's not like I had Mayakovsky to foster my talents."

Reyka groaned at the obvious dig. It was all she'd been hearing since she'd taught herself the Cut to slice down a particularly annoying tree when she was sixteen.

Talented.

A prodigy.

She would give it all up for the chance to see her parents again. To eat the delicious candies her Aunt would bring home from her trips overseas. To hear the wizened old priest tell stories of Sankta Sarai and soak in the desert sun once again.

To be free again.

Her gaze drifted to Vadoma. She'd never known the comforts of growing up in ones clan, having lost hers long before she'd been stolen and dropped off at the Little Palace. To fight for the King and Queen of the people who'd murdered her clan in the first place.

Every time Reyka brought up her displeasure with the government and their treatment of anyone who wasn't a born Ravkan, all she got were weird looks and rescinded party invitations.

Apparently she was a 'mood killer' which she didn't mind at all. It was better than what they usually called her.

Talented. Astonishing.

Those words made her insides curl up, pumping hot blood through her veins until all she saw was red. Students who called her that usually ended up frozen to their bed or suffering from a chill the next day.

Nobody except Vadoma understood why. And she intended to keep it that way.

A knock on her door pulled Reyka out of her thoughts, both women furrowing their brows at the noise.

It was silent.

Knockknockknockknockknockknock!

Reyka flinched at the sound and pushed herself upward, not hiding her groan as she answered the call, the wood creaking slightly from age.

The imposing figure waited for her.

Reyka could only stare.

"Last minute lesson, Kovacs," Anya Mayakovsky snarled, her perpetual frown deeper than it had been that morning. "Follow."

Reyka had long learned not to ask questions, so she did as Mayakovsky instructed. The woman's once bright blonde locks held grey streaks as they were pulled back into the severe bun she usually wore. Her crimson kefta trailing behind her.

"Where is it?" Anya asked, her steps stopping, the sound replaced with her recognizable rasp. Reyka sent her a look of confusion, although Anya couldn't see it.

"Where's what?" 

Anya's shoulders straightened and her steely blue sidelong glance sent shivers up Reyka's spine.

"Your kefta."

Reyka shrugged, pretending to be ignorant. She knew it wouldn't work but it was worth a try.

"Go get it."

A moment passed between them and Reyka crossed her arms, staring her mentor down with a gaze she hoped was just as hard. When Anya refused to turn around, she knew she'd lost.

"Fine" She groaned, dragging out the syllable to ensure that Anya knew how much she disliked it. Reyka trudged back to her room and ignored the surprised look on Vadoma's face, the two girls sharing a silent nod of frustration as Reyka reached into her closet and pulled out a wool one at random.

She was halfway down the hallway, her boots soft against the blue rug before a rasp stopped her in her tracks.

"The white one" Anya ordered, never turning around. Reyka groaned, loud and echoing through the halls of the Little Palace, sounding every bit like the angsty teen she once had been. The rebellious child she'd never grown out of.

Reyka shook her head, "You told me to get a kefta, you never said which one."

Anya whirled around and marched the rest of the way. Her posture was perfectly straight, nary a hair out of place, gaze icy as she gripped her student by the collar. "I have dealt with your insolence for fifteen long years girl, but tonight you will obey and listen." The smell of kvas lingered on her breath, washing over Reyka like the tide. She crinkled her nose as Anya pulled her closer. "This is no time for games, now go. get. your. white. kefta."

The words were spoken through gritted teeth, a chill passing through Reyka's bones, making her hair stand up on end.

Her stomach knotted itself up as she made her way back to her room once more. That kefta was usually only worn for special occasions. To denote her status when summoned by the King and Queen, however rare that was.

Anya had it commissioned for her the moment she joined, and as she grew, the kefta grew with her, more and more white embroidery added as she grew in her skills. Reyka reached into the air around her, moisture wrapping around her fingers as a small sheet of frost coated her fingertips.

The same trick she'd done all those years ago in that tiny cabin. When she'd been a young girl forced to dance to supply her parents with money. When she'd been loved.

Sometimes she swore she could hear their voices. Her father singing soft lullabies in her ear, her mother's touch on her bare shoulder.

It was faint. But it was there.

Reyka wondered if it was the only touch she would ever receive.

The ice burned against her skin and it dissolved into tiny water droplets, trickling down her skin in a map of criss-crossing rivers. Reyka glanced at the moonlight shining down through the open windows. Beautiful and silvery, it called to her. She ignored it.

She emerged from her room once again, this time clothed in the blue and white kefta, the heavy wool already making her sweat as she made her way toward the staircase, where Anya had taken residence.

Her slate eyes narrowed in approval and the pair continued on their way. Reyka wondered why they were headed toward the coaches, stopping in her tracks as a glossy black one slowed down to meet them.

"Anya," Reyka swallowed, the knot in her stomach growing tighter as the air around them grew colder. "What is going on?"

The woman didn't even look at her, nodding at the oprichniki that opened the noiseless door, carrying the eclipse on its side. Anya steeled her gaze, "In."

Reyka didn't even bother to object this time and climbed in opposite her mentor. A moment of silence passed between them and Reyka felt the air grow thick around her, steeling herself as she recognized what was happening. But a thud outside the coach made her realize that Reyka wasn't the target. The oprichniki were. Anya's hand remained closed in a fist, something urgent dancing behind her usually competent gaze. Her frown lines deepened even more, and Reyka's spine erupted into shivers.

The knot turned to cement and weighed down her stomach. Whatever had Anya worried couldn't be good.

"He's requested your presence." She uttered, nearly breathless.

Reyka's eyes widened. She was in his coach. She was being escorted by his guard. Why didn't she put it together sooner?

"What? Why? I'm nobody, I'm--"

Anya gripped Reyka's hands in hers, fingernails digging into her palms. "You know what you are. Thankfully he does not. Make sure it stays that way."

Reyka swallowed the lump in her throat, but it bobbed back up almost immediately. "That doesn't answer my question. Why is he asking for me?"

A flash of regret passed over Anya's face and she was taken aback. Reyka had never known her mentor to feel anything other than displeasure and approval. Yet here she was.

"Why does he do anything?"

Reyka's lips pursed themselves into a frown, shoulders collapsing, "For power."

Anya nodded, "And that is the lesson I pulled you out here tonight for," her fingernails dug deeper, "He wants you as a general. Like Ivan. Nothing more, nothing less. Do you understand?"

Reyka nodded. Here among the Little Palace she was safe. But with him...

Nobody was ever safe when he was around.

She didn't fear him. Not in the same way others did. He was the descendant of whatever horrible entity had created the Shadow Fold, but that did not make him feared.

He was just like her.

Talented and Astonishing.

And that was why he'd sought her out. He wanted talent on his side. He wanted power on his side. As soon as she understood that, she understood exactly what she was meant to do.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

☼☼☼☼☼☼

THE ROAD TO KRIBIRSK WAS LONG and bland, the same snowy trees passing by her window, occasionally a deer or rabbit frolicking along once in a while and distracting her. Her mind was too focused on other matters to pay attention to the same scenery over and over again.

He'd called her.

He'd requested her.

Not as if she was unused to it, saints know how many times the Queen had requested her presence in the court to create fantastical ice sculptures and magnificent displays for her son's birthdays and the many balls she'd put on.

The Darkling was just another man who wanted to use her skills to his advantage. The carriage slowed to a stop and the door flew open, a brisk wind slinking through her bones. Her kefta sheltered her from the howling air, footsteps marching in sync with one another as the First Army passed her in their olive military uniforms, a few soldiers eyeing her and her kefta as she passed through the camp. She kept her head held high, refusing to let the opinions of a few soldiers weigh her down.

Her boots punched the dirt, freshly pressed footprints marking a trail even the weakest of trackers could follow, that was before a group of Squallers began to practice on the dummies in the training yard, Zoya leading them.

Reyka smiled.

She'd briefly shared a few classes with the beautiful Squaller, and they both wished it had been more. Zoya had taught her several unique Squaller techniques that helped Reyka better gain control of the tides while Reyka had helped Zoya hone her focus more.

Aren't we all things?

Mayakovsky's voice rang in her head, a teaching unlike any of the other mentors Reyka had encountered. No one knew how long Mayakovsky had been alive, but the few students she chose to focus on had become generals or high ranking officials.

The Darkling seemed to be the only exception.

"Halt," His personal guards crossed their rifles over the front flap of the tent bearing the Shadow Summoner's symbol. Reyka arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms.

"You wanna tell him you're holding his new general up or should I?"

The oprichniki shared apprehensive looks with one another before letting her through. The tent was wide and extravagant, much bigger than the standard military tents, and behind a wooden table sat the man she was supposed to meet, flanked by two men in red.

Ivan, she recognized. Reyka's teeth ground themselves together at the sight of the Heartrender. She hated most Corporalki on principle, but Ivan was the worst of them.

"Well," Ivan smirked, pissing her off as soon as he opened his mouth. It was admirable really, how quickly the red hot rage spread through her veins at the sound of his voice, "If it isn't the Ice Princess."

Reyka kept her face still, refusing to give Ivan the time of day, "Nice to see you too, you pimple faced twat."

She watched as the blood drained from his face, a small smirk tingling on the edge of her lips as his hands moved to his face. He'd made her life a living hell at the Little Palace and she was gonna return the favor. Reyka moved her gaze to the central figure, his slate gaze narrowing in her direction.

She swore she saw something twinkle in his gaze. His eyebrow was raised and he refused to move from his position, a curious curl to his lips. One hand dangled lazily across the table, fingers tapping out a repetitive pattern.

"You must be the Ice Summoner." His voice was silky smooth and if she were a weaker woman her knees would have buckled.

Reyka cocked her hip, her violet eyes staring into his slate ones, "I am. The Darkling, I presume?"

The slate grey hardened into steel at the casual way she'd thrown out his name. Wood scraped against wood as he descended from his pedestal, his black kefta almost resembling the cape of a king.

There was no curl to his lips, instead they'd tightened at her insolence as he grew closer, the hard steel melting as he caught her gaze once again. "Mayakovsky speaks highly of you. And I happen to need a Tidemaker on my side."

Reyka smirked, a scoff passing her lips, "What? Did the first one leave once they caught a glimpse of the True Sea?"

The Darkling said nothing, his eyes drifting toward the impassable wall of shadow just a few lengths away from them. The lump in Reyka's throat returned. 

"Tidemakers of your skill are rare," His nose was nearly touching hers, "Tidemakers under the training of Mayakovsky are even rarer."

Reyka stiffened. Her skin crawled at the sound of his voice, deep and rumbling and washing over her like fresh water. "I'm sure you've heard it all." He began to circle her as if she was an art piece on display instead of a future soldier, "Talented, Accomplished. Remarkable..." He hovered over her shoulder, hot breath tickling her neck. She could practically feel the smirk he was giving her, "Miraculous."

His whisper sent shivers up her spine.

The hair stood on the back of her neck and for a moment she wondered if Mayakovsky was wrong. If he did know what she was and what she was capable of. Her neck snapped to meet his gaze, never backing down from it. She wouldn't shrink away from him just because he'd touched a nerve.

"Everyone who's called me that has ended up in a position they've regretted," She muttered, unable to believe the words coming out of her mouth. The Darkling's eyes widened slightly before his reserved facade fell over him again.

"What a relief I'm only parroting those words then," He spoke, moving to stand in front of her again. "I have a Heartrender, a Squaller, and a Fabrikator. Now I need a Tidemaker." He spoke plainly, leaning against the wooden table, tilting his head down as he examined her again, waiting for her response. When she said nothing he continued, "I did not choose you for your talents Reyka." The sound of her name in his mouth startled her, "I chose you because I need you. The same way I need him." His head bobbed at Ivan, whose previous look of insecurity had been replaced with one of smug pride. 

Reyka narrowed her gaze at the commander of the second army. She knew that every word that he'd just spoken was a lie. If he wanted a Tidemaker he could've had anyone at the palace. But he chose her for the same reason the Queen chose her. The same reason Mayakovsky chose her. The same reason she'd been stolen away.

But this was a game, and she needed to play along. He'd have her either way. 

Her footsteps were slow and sure, the guards staring at her as she approached the Darkling, her face betraying nothing. She felt Ivan's gaze on her, not believing that she could be this bold.

Nobody approached the Darkling like this.

Nobody talked to the Darkling like this.

She leaned her hand against the wooden table, facing him and plastering a thoughtful expression on her face, opening her mouth as if to say something. She could almost see his facade break, she could almost see the ice crack. The way he waited for her answer.

The Darkling waited for no one.

Violet hues stared through black lashes, cocking her head as the words formed on her tongue,

"When do we start?"

The Darkling pressed closer, his fingers playing with the colorful fabric she wore around her neck.

He smiled.