CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
❛ 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶𝙰𝙻𝙴 𝙰𝙽𝙳
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚃𝙾𝙾-𝙲𝙻𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝙵𝙾𝚇 ❜

MARYA IS NOT ONE TO ADVERTISE HER BAD DECISIONS. Being a Captain means being the one to steer the ship. It means making the right calls— it means understanding that her word is currency. One sentence from her is a command, an order to be followed without question. She's the one meant to fix the mistakes members of her crew may commit.

Marya has donned the title for years already. It has sharpened her edges, hardened her resolve. She has long since learned that a pirate crew is only as strong as its Captain. Deckhands are allowed to stumble— Captains are meant to be unmovable, unshakable. Carved from the toughest steel.

Marya's first real stumble was a few months ago. Her brother was taken, her son was left on his own, and her whole world seemed to rattle in violent waves. She tried to fix it— tried to make it a one time incident. After all, she was a renown Captain— a pirate feared all across two continents.

Months have come to pass. Days that bled into nights, oceans that shifted into forests and palaces. Time is drying up. And Marya has yet to find her footing.

Mistake, after mistake. Stumble after stumble. Marya fears the taste of dirt in her mouth is growing too familiar for comfort. And as she looks at her reflection in a gilded mirror, a stranger stares back at her. She used to be someone who knew the path ahead. That understood what was to come. She used to shout commands and make the tough calls without a blink. But now she finds herself at a crossroads. Too many options, far too many outcomes.

As the sun rises and Marya strides across palace grounds, she finds herself going back to the same question that's been pestering her for days. What happens now? What is she meant to do?

Return to the Repentance. Stay in the Palace. Venture beyond. Go back to Kerch. Scour Fjerda. Continue the search in Ravka. But the results are far too damning for her to choose. Far too precious. It keeps her frozen, weak. Bones that become ice, limbs that grow covered with a gnawing frost. She's ran the scenarios in her head long enough to know there are only to outcomes.

Find Karim. Lose him forever.

And Marya, Captain Marya of the Repentance, Killer of men, Demon of the waters, feared on land and sea, cannot fathom facing a world where she makes the wrong call.

"You're here."

Marya turns towards the voice. "Don't sound so surprised, Starkov," she starts, "I had a moment of free time."

The lie sounds so blatant in her own ears. You're stalling for time. Time to think. Time to dig herself into a deeper hole. She has a few of Nikolai's documents— documents she's not even certain are in direct correlation to Karim. She hasn't started to make sense of them yet —she needs Neyar's help for that— but the Prince knows she has them. So, what comes next for her? Does she grab Neyar and run? Does she wait for him to fulfill his promise?

Marya flexes her hands, forcing her focus to lie elsewhere. Distraction— that's what she needs to clear her mind. Even if that distraction is joining Little Palace Grisha for a training session.

Still, Alina looks grateful. Her eyes crinkle and her lips are pulled up, as if she's trying to stifle any wider sign of relief. "Thank you," she says. "It means more than you can imagine— having your support."

Marya wonders if she should correct her. That her support means nothing inside Palace walls. She wonders if she should tell her the truth. There's guilt pooling at her gut— expanding at the thought that, while she's using this as a distraction, it clearly means more to Alina.

Marya clicks her tongue. "Look, Alina—"
But the Sun Summoner is already moving along towards the center of the training field, beckoned forward by an older Shu man.

As soon as Alina is out of reach, Marya drops her shoulders. What have you gotten yourself into? How has her simple, easy life gotten so tangled up, so unbelievably messy?

"Stop that," she mutters to no one in particular. Second-guessing herself is a tiresome way to sign her death warrant— and she already has enough of those.

"Summoning light doesn't make one qualified to run a military campaign." The voice makes Marya straighten and turn. A few paces behind her, a dark-haired Etherealnik is talking to a few others. "She's been a Grisha for less than a year."

"Grisha are born, not made," someone protests.

"So, you won't following her, Zoya?"

Without meaning to, Marya joins the circle of kefta-clad Grisha. Standing opposite to her, a beautiful girl with dark locks of hair purses her lips. "I am here, aren't I?" Zoya asks with a wave of her hand. "Although I won't stand and pretend there's much of a choice. If we don't act, we'll be lumped in with Kirigan and reviled as traitors." Darkness crosses her gaze. "And I'd rather like to see him fail."

Marya stares at her for a moment too long. The other Grisha around her scarcely seem to notice her intrusion into their circle, too busy arguing amongst themselves.

"What is this business of bringing Fabrikators out of their workshops, anyway?"

"Probably the same thing that beckoned her to make us sit with Heartrenders."

"They're all the more irritable since Starkov started calling the shots."

But Marya isn't listening. "Zasto smo ovdje?" she asks Zoya, the words slipping out before she can think better of them.

Zoya's lip curls, cold eyes zeroing in on her. "What?"

Marya hesitates. She could've sworn— "Nothing." You're seeing familiarity where there is none. "My mistake."

Zoya narrows her gaze. Her lashes cast shadows over her cheeks. "And who are you?"

"Marya."

"Marya, what?" The other Etherealki seem to quiet down at the sound of Zoya's voice.

Her cheek twitches. "Just Marya."

         Zoya turns to face her fully, and Marya sees the familiarity of her again. It's not blatant— it never is. But live long enough in search for it, and it becomes easy to tell.

"You look lost, Just Marya," Zoya sneers. "Are you quite certain you're in the right place?"

Her brown eyes meet Zoya's in a blink. "I know where I'm meant to be." Marya smiles, but it feels disingenuous on her lips. "But by all means, don't let me stand in your way, sora."

Something cloudy flickers in Zoya's gaze as she turns her head, jaw tense. She looks appalled— as if on the recieving end of an insult. But just when Zoya's lips part to reply, she ends up raising her chin, and without sparing Marya another glance, she leads the group of Etherealki towards a gathering sea of keftas.

Footsteps settle besides Marya with a familiar weight and stride. Much like herself, there are no palace silks adorning Neyar's frame. Only their matching white and brown loose-fitting blouses, with the addition of a tangerine-colored sash tied around her waist as a makeshift belt. Neyar's hand rests on the hilt of her sword when she asks, "What was that all about?"

Marya relaxes her shoulders. "Nothing important." She opens her mouth to add something else, before coming to the realization. She quirks a brow. "What are you doing here?"

Neyar tilts her head, unimpressed. "I didn't think this was a private meeting."

"You know what I mean."

The navigator sighs. "Tamar invited me." Her gaze remains on the sea of blue, red and specks of purple. "She also said you'd be joining— which you conveniently neglected to mention."

"I wasn't sure I'd show up," Marya answers honestly.

"Really?" Neyar clicks her tongue twice, making Marya turn her head forward. Tolya and Tamar stand by a corner with another man. The latter gestures for them to come closer. As they do, Neyar quickly adds, "Well, she seemed pretty certain."

"Marya, Neyar," Tamar beckons. "This is Botkin— Grisha teacher."

The older man bows his head, lips curled into an inviting smile. "It is always a delight to cross paths with other daichin." Warriors, if she isn't mistaken, although she gets the sense there's something lost in translation there. "Different techniques always welcome." Dark eyes make a quick scan of the two, before focusing on Marya. "Durast, yes?"

"In theory."

"And you," he turns to Neyar. "What order?"

"Ni we Grisha," she replies in Shu.

Botkin raises his brows, as if intrigued. He says something else Marya doesn't quite manage to catch. Then, he asks: "Shenme sheng?"

Neyar straightens, shoulders pulled back. "Khitan. South of Bhez Ju."

"Khitan," Botkin repeats. He shares a look with Tamar before his lips break into a grin. "Chi tansag ayalgatai."

         Neyar scoffs, but there's a smile on her face.

"Do not let it fool you," Tolya adds from behind them, reaching for a dagger from the weapons stand. There's a half-smirk on his lips. "She may speak elegantly, but she still fights like a thief."

Neyar makes a sound of disagreement, and Botkin laughs loudly. He smacks her shoulder, beckoning her to join as they continue in Shu.

Marya steps back, watching her navigator for a moment. She sees the way Neyar's face twists in disagreement, arguing heartily with both twins. Botkin adds a comment every so often, making their debate spark again.

The world seems to stop there for a second. There's are no lingering doubts, no rattling waves in Marya's heart. She watches Neyar looking almost... happy. At ease. And Marya has seen Neyar's many faces. She's seen her grief. Her anger. Her bitterness. She's seen her argue, and kill, and steal, and save her Captain's life more than once.

Marya has seen her at her lowest. But it's been long since she last saw her smile like that.

And Neyar— fearless, stubborn, relentless Neyar has never been anything but the best navigator she could've ever asked for. Marya has learned to make the sea her home. She cherishes it, misses it, yearns for it— Neyar does too. But that doesn't take away from the fact that, even then, she feels Neyar still has some loose ends left to tie up. Closure she hasn't yet gotten. And Ravka won't give her that closure— but being around Tolya, around Tamar, maybe even around Botkin... they all seem to thread that open wounds a little tighter. Not closure, not really— but something similar to it.

Marya doesn't ask. She has never needed explanations from anyone in her crew. Safe passage. Safe haven. That's what she offers. But, even then, that doesn't mean she can't piece a thing or two together. And even when she forces herself to think otherwise, to leave the past as the past, Marya can't help but recalling memories of the night she and Emerens first met Neyar.

Tattered clothes and disheveled hair. Twin bejeweled pins on her head. Blood staining expensive silk garments. Her precious sword tucked under her arm— the very same sword Emerens tried to swindle from her.

Even then, without so much as knowing her name, it had been evident to both that Neyar had been running away from something. From someplace. From someone. But the moment she had set foot on their newly stolen ship —not the Repentance, not yet— none of them ever looked back.

Or, at least Marya believed so.

A bell rings, and the sea of colors shifts as Grisha gather around.

Botkin gives Alina a nod. "We will begin by—"

"All due respect, Saintess," one Heartrender interrupts. There's a choice she doesn't miss. He calls her Saintess, as opposed to General. "You trained in the Little Palace for less than a year. You do not understand the systems at work. There is a reason Materialki stay in workshops— why they do not train to fight."

Marya casts one look across the Little Palace Grisha around her. This would all be easier if the Fabrikators wanted to fight. But the purple keftas in the training grounds are already scarce, and none of them seem particularly thrilled to be here.

Alina isn't deterred by the ploy against her. Instead, she simply tilts her head, and Marya gets the strangest sense of deja vu, of watching as a mask slides into place. "And in countries like Fjerda, women do not train to fight either— but we know that to be a mistake." She raises her hand, and surprisingly enough, the Heartrender doesn't interrupt. "It looks to me like there's been some misunderstanding. No one is asking you to forgo your workshops," Alina says, addressing the Materialki, all of whom shift uneasily.

By the front, a younger girl in a purple kefta folds her arms over her chest, as if to hide herself. "Why are we here?"

"To learn."

An older Fabrikator scoffs, shaking his head. "From you?"

Alina doesn't answer. And when the seconds draw out, Marya turns her focus back to the Sun Summoner— only to find Alina already looking at her. There's something encouraging in her eyes, and Marya only then realizes just how deep a hole she's dug for herself.

She knows what Alina wants her to say. She inhales deeply. Exhales. Her voice is crisp as ocean air when she speaks,

"Give a boy a knife, teach him to hunt, and he will never go hungry." The words are not hers, not really. Then again, Karim had always been more of a poet than her. "Give a boy a hammer, teach him to build, and he will create a roof over his head and never go cold." There are eyes on her, faces both familiar and unfamiliar, some she has seen in passing, others she's never stumbled upon before. Either way, judgement or not, they do the one thing she needs them to— they listen. "Talent is limited by circumstance."

It feels off-putting, holding their attention like this. Like some twisted version of her crew back on the Repentance. A distorted image, a distant dream. "As your General said, no one is here to force you out of your workshops. But the boundaries of a Fabrikator's power extends far beyond weapon-making and tinkering." She addresses the handful of men and women in purple keftas. "It'd be a loss to see all that potential go to waste."

"It's easy to make promises and paint pretty pictures." Her voice is thunderstorm— clear, carried by the winds. Zoya's mere stare feels deadly. "What could a Fabrikator do in the battlefield to best a Heartrender? An Inferni?" Her lips curl upwards as she raises her chin. "A Squaller?"

The challenge has been laid. Marya only wonders whether Zoya is trying to fish for a fight, or if this is simply Little Palace politics. If there's a choice there, she'd much rather go for the fight.

         Alina is the one to respond first. "Off the top of my head?" She stands closer to Marya, making their allegiance evident. Saint and Captain. Sun Summoner and Fabrikator. "Twist guns, redirect bullets... Am I mistaken, or didn't you once use a kefta to make one of the Darkling's allies kneel?"

The comment brings a smile to Marya's lips. "You are not. It's funny, how much metal goes into military tailoring." None of this is new information. Marya is far from the first Materialnik to take note of it. But it's as she said before— talent is limited by circumstance. "Keftas, medals, armor... And that's only metal. What about wood? What about glass?" She thinks of Emerens. "What about poisons?"

"Enough chatter," Botkin declares. Grisha don't hesitate to fall in line at his word.

Alina and Marya share a look. Brief, minuscule. Alina smiles.

"Let's commence."

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WHEN THE TWO PIRATES GET BACK TO MARYA'S QUARTERS, the smell of roasted food greets them as soon as they open the door.

"I didn't know they did lunch deliveries here," says Neyar. She strides towards the center of the room, where there is a silver platter awaiting them both. "Certainly beats the rest of the food in this place."

Marya closes the door behind her. "That's not mine."

"It's in your room, isn't it?" Neyar plucks something from the platter and pops it into her mouth. The warm scent of honey wafts in the air.

Marya looks down at the food with furrowed brows. It's been plated by a professional— some palace chef, that's for sure. It's prepared differently than what she's used to; it's why it takes her so long to realize what it is. Honey-roasted figs. Her mouth waters— it's one of her favorite foods. Neyar goes to reach for another bite.

Marya swats Neyar's wrist away. "Don't touch that."

"Why?" she swallows, the taste of honey probably still on her tongue. She glances back at the plate. "Think it's poisoned?"

"No." Her voice is hard. She lets go of Neyar's wrist, lips twisting into a sneer. "I know who sent this."

         Is this how he thinks he can earn her favor back? With food? It's insulting. She'd rather starve.

         Marya reaches for the platter, the sweet smell of figs tinged with honey and orange overwhelming her senses. She walks up to her window, twisting the latch open.

         Or maybe this is just payback from him. A way to tell her that he can just as easily get into her quarters as she could. Maybe he came to take back the documents she stole. Or maybe he was never here at all— and this pitiful excuse for a peace offering was delivered by one of the hundreds of servants in the palace.

         Marya throws the silver tray out her window, not bothering to look down when she hears it collide against the ground. The clatter is loud. A gunshot, a thunder strike.

         "What a waste. I could've eaten that."

         Marya closes the window with more force than she should. "I'm not giving him the satisfaction."

         "Ah."

         "I want you to take a look at something for me," says Marya, finalizing the issue. Neyar nods, and refrains from commenting further.

         "Show me."

         Marya reaches for one leather-bound book from the towering bookshelf opposite to her. There's nothing special about it, nothing particularly remarkable. As Marya flips through its yellow-tinged pages, a different paper slips onto her hand. She returns the book to its place and hands the loose paper to Neyar.

         "What am I looking at?" asks Neyar, before her brow twitches. Her eyes scan the lines traced onto the page, reads the text scribbled below. "Where did you find this?"

         "I stole it," says Marya.

         "From whom?" As soon as she asks the question, the answer feels obvious. "Ah. Does he know you have it?"

         "He said there were more precious things to be stolen."

         Neyar rolls her eyes. "Hate to say that he has a point." She kisses her teeth, slumping onto Marya's obnoxiously large bed. "Trade routes will only lead us so far. Same goes for travel logs. We should be narrowing the search first."

         It's not what she wanted to hear. "I should've taken his whole desk," Marya mutters. She runs a ringed hand across her face. "Just read it to me."

         "There's not much. Trading ports. Names of ships. Lists of crewmen onboard." Neyar's eyes skim over the worn, well-read documents. Her brow twitches. "That's odd."

         "What does it say?"

         The navigator straightens off the bed, re-reading the papers. The confusion in her face deepens. "It's... It's not so much about what it says, but more about what it doesn't." She flips the pages with newfound purpose. "There's a few routes from West Ravka to Shriftport and Red Harbor. But there's nothing recorded about jurda imports."

         Marya repeats the words in her head. "So?"

         "So, why's a Ravkan ship, flying the double-eagle flag, making regular journeys to Novyi Zem ports, but bringing no cargo back?" Neyar meets her Captain's gaze. She can see the gears turning in her head. "No jurda, no coffee beans, no wheat."

         "Kerch ships do that," Marya says, snapping her fingers once. "They— They don't register people as cargo. They don't like leaving paper trail."

         "Except that... that doesn't make sense." Neyar blinks, shoulders dropping as her confusion deepens. "Ravka doesn't deal in slave trade or indentures."

         And Neyar has a point there. But empty Ravkan ships? It's not as if the journey between the two continents is a short, pleasant one. Marya knows this country is no stranger to sending ships off to find deserters— except Karim wasn't a deserter, because he was neither an soldier nor Ravkan.

         There's knock at her door.

"Expecting someone?"

Marya's brow furrow. "No."

"More food, then?"

Marya opens the door, only to find a young woman in palace uniform with a cart and a silver platter laid on top of it.

         The woman offers a stilted smile. "A gift."

         Marya blinks. "I'm good." She closes the door in front of her, only to find that the cart has been pushed to block it. Marya raises a brow as the woman pushes past her.

         "I really must insist."

         Neyar throws her legs over the bed. Despite the silver dome hiding the food inside it, the sweet smell of apricots and peaches wafts in the room. Besides the silverware, the woman sets a golden samovar with matching porcelain cups.

         Marya must look too affronted, because Neyar pipes up, "Don't you see, Captain? She insists." The navigator waits for the woman to reveal the food hidden underneath the silver plating with an eager expression.

         Marya doesn't bother looking at the pastries. Instead, she gives Neyar a pointed look. "He's trying to buy me."

         "So?" Neyar shrugs, dismissing the woman with a wave of her hand. "Works fine for me."

         "Neyar."

         "Captain, I've been eating herring and porridge for however long we've been staying here." Neyar plucks a pastry from the tray, peach marmalade leaving a sugary trail. "There's only so much tasteless food I can stomach."

         "Fine." Marya reaches for the papers stolen from Nikolai's room. She searches the scribbles by the margins and the messily written lines. She drops it with a sigh. Stare at it long enough, and then even the words that seem familiar twist into something unreadable.

         Marya wanders towards the bookshelves that stand on the opposite end of the room. Her fingers trace the pristine spines—books that have probably never been read before. Wasteful.

         Her fingers stop, the idea coming to her with startling clarity. She turns towards Neyar, who is digging into another peach pastry. "Read to me."

         Neyar meets her gaze, eyebrows shooting up. Then, a hint of a smile. "So, when Maksim is not around, I'm the first option?"

         "You're the only option here." Neyar scoffs a laugh, shaking her head. Marya finds the tiniest of smiles curling onto her lips. It's not a closely guarded secret— just information she doesn't divulge. But most people aboard the Repentance know of Marya's struggle when it comes to reading.

         She can read— but it's a slow process of patiently stringing syllables together until she can come to the word. It's not particularly unusual, given her heritage and history. After all, Suli is not a written language, and she was never taught to properly read Ravkan.

         Neyar, however, is a different story. Her trusted navigator, who's been capable of making sense of maps since long before she ever joined them. Neyar, who's fluent in most languages— fluent in a way so starkly different to the way Marya is.

"I like how Maksim reads," she starts, "but I like how you sound, too." Marya feels her shoulders relax as she traces the dark blue spine of one book.

A pause. "How do I sound?"

"Calm. Steady. Makes it easy to concentrate." She shrugs her shoulders. "Plus, you read Ravkan very well." It's a tiny fact— one that Marya has always found to be rather interesting. The fact that Neyar reads so well, so gracefully— better, even, than some of the Second Army deserters in her crew. "I've never asked— how'd you learn?"

"We had a tutor, back when I was younger." Neyar glances at her sword, carefully placed over the nightstand. "We were required to learn both Kerch and Ravkan—neighboring countries and all." Marya doesn't ask who 'we' refers to. "I guess... I guess it stuck with me."

"Why?"

"Not sure." Neyar shrugs nonchalantly. "It's not like this lot has better stories, either. I fear my people beat Ravkans in that regard." She clicks her tongue. "Which book?"

Marya pulls the blue-leather book, tossing it over to her navigator. Neyar scans the cover. "The Language of Thorns," she reads. "Isn't this a children's storybook?"

"It's a classic," Marya says simply. "It's been a long time since I've heard it, too."

Neyar weighs it in her hand, as if considering it. Marya slumps her body onto the bed, next to Neyar. "Suit yourself."

         Marya looks up at the white ceiling, waiting patiently. She feels Neyar glance at her before opening the book, fingers delicately skimming through the pages. She clears her throat.

         "The first trap the fox escaped was his mother's jaws."

Marya closes her eyes, breathing in deeply. She knows from experience that pirates tend to have scratchy, hoarse voices— creaking weapons rusted by sea air. And yet, Neyar has always had a softer one—deceivingly so. With her eyes closed and Neyar's silk-like voice reading to her, it could've been easy to forget just how dangerous she was. A killer. They both were, and yet, in the quiet of the palace room, it was easy to forget. Easy to forget the worries that laid beyond marble walls.

The rest of the world seemed so distant with just the two of them here.

"A lesser creature might have closed his eyes and prayed for nothing more than a quick death," she reads, pages fluttering. "But if Koja had words, then he had hope."

Neyar has that effect. Even back on the Repentance or Zemeni coasts. A voice that could take you everywhere and anywhere.

"...he said. Freedom is a burden, but you will learn to bear it."

Neyar's voice grows more distant now, as Marya's eyelids start to feel heavier and heavier. The words come back to her in waves, feeling as she slowly sinks into a peaceful watery abyss. Her chest rises and falls evenly.

Intangible outlines take form behind closed eyes. Swirls of color and blurs of voices. Purple skies and nights beneath the stars. The tangerines and yellows of Zemeni fields. The blues and greens of the open sea.

"It is always the same trap," Neyar continues, distantly. "You longed for conversation. The bears craved jokes. The gray wolf missed music. The boar just wanted someone to tell her troubles to."

The earth is solid beneath her. It is jurda fields and warm winds. It is the creaking floorboards of a ship. It is a wire— and the ground is so, so far away.

"The trap is loneliness, and none of us escapes it. Not even me."

The voice feels different now. Familiar, yet unplaceable. Her mother. Her sister. Her brother. It is a chorus of familiarity and strangeness.

"In the wood, even songbirds must be survivors."

Marya's eyes flutter open, and the room around her seems to materialize all at once. The heavy silk curtains. The shelves of unread books. The four poster bed.

"The fox and the nightingale made a quiet life together," Neyar reads besides her. "A lesser creature might have held Koja's mistakes against him, might have mocked him for his pride." Neyar turns to the last page. "But Lula was not only clever. She was wise."

Neyar looks down at Marya. The Suli girl finds herself smiling. No teeth, no bite. "I really do like how you sound."

Neyar closes the book carefully, mirroring her expression. "Thanks, Captain."

The comfortable quiet is short-lived, when another knock echoes from the door— this time heavier than the one from earlier. Neyar and Marya share a look.

"Ignore it," Neyar sighs. Marya closes her eyes again, resting her head against one of the goose-feather pillows.

Another knock.

"This is getting ridiculous," Marya huffs. She decides to not open the door at all. Let them leave whatever food Nikolai has decided to send her now waste away in the hallway until he gets the message. They knock again, insistent. "They'll get tired eventually."

Knuckles rap against wood, and Marya's jaw twitches.

"Doesn't seem that way."

"Unbelievable," she mutters. She runs a hand through her curls, yanking the door open with a glare. "What?"

It's a different woman this time. "His Highness wishes to present you with a personally-commissioned gift."

"Tell His Highness that unless it is a chest stuffed with gold, I'm not interested."

She presses her lips into a thin line, jaw clenching as she stares at Marya. "He insists you wear it."

"Of course he in—" The rest of the sentence dies in her throat. Confusion bubbles up her gut. "Wear it?" she repeats. "Wear what?"

"His gift." She pushes a large box onto Marya's hands, before spinning on her heel and leaving the way she came from. Marya blinks down at the box, closing the door with her foot. It's too much— too gaudy, too garish. Gold cloth lines the outside along with what looks like small rhinestones. Marya wrinkles her nose.

"So, he's sending you gemstones, now?" Neyar asks, standing up from the bed.

"If this is a dress, I'm feeding it to his horses." Marya opens the box, dropping the lid besides it. Her jaw drops as she takes in the neatly folded cloth.

She has half the mind not to tear it at the seams.

"Of course," she laughs, and her anger is boiling water, hissing at her flesh.

First it was hiding who she was on the whaler— taking away her Captain's frock and relegating her to a Second. That, she understood. Then it was giving her a First Army uniform to hide who she was— to conceal the pirate among his entourage. Hide the alliance between pirate and prince for his own benefit. But this?

The purple kefta glimmers with a metallic reflection underneath the sunlight. Marya's thumb brushes against the red embroidery on the front, and her hand trembles. She throws it onto the ground.

It's a kefta for an Alkemi.

It's not even the right colors, she realizes, staring at the garment laid strewn across the floor. Her anger—the anger she had manages to settle, the one that had only just been laid to sleep, bubbles up her throat.

This is an insult. A targeted one.

"What is he playing at?" Neyar questions.

Marya knows she is fuming. She knows the last thing she should be doing is leaving this room. That taking her anger elsewhere will yield no reward. But her skin is aflame, and her hand is dragging the purple kefta off the floor.

"Stay here."

"Where are you going?" asks Neyar

He should know better than to insult her like this. He should know better than to test her temper. But perhaps the prince has grown too complacent. Perhaps it is time she shows him just how deep she can bite.

"To find him."

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A/N.

this chapter was so painful to write it's actually the reason it took FIVE MONTHS to get it out (ow) but!!! at last!!!!!!! the next chapter is gonna be basically the explosion of all these accumulated tensions between nikolai and marya :) necks will snap and heads will roll

also this is a good moment to announce that i had been eyeing zain iqbal who plays ravi singh in agggtm as a possible faceclaim for karim and!!!!! yes he is karim :) just fits the image i have of him in my head so perfectly & now that the show is out it just confirmed it for me <3

i wanna add also that i wanna make it crystal clear!!!! the whole zoya/marya interaction is NOT gonna devolve into a zoya and marya fight over nikolai thing or zoya is the bad guy to marya's story!!!!!!!!!! i love my girl zoya nazyalensky with my whole heart & so it feels like a disservice to her character to have her and marya IMMEDIATELY become best friends and warm up to each other. them not hitting it off immediately is not some play on my part to vilify her or anything i PROMISE.

also!!!!! big announcement to those of you that didn't know!!!! i've been posting bonus content of seven devils over on my misc book "pomegranate seeds". so far, it's been all about the backstories of certain repentance crew members but!!! i am planning to make a few additions of bonus scenes featuring neyar & the twins, emerens & ravi on the repentance, karim & ravi in novyi zem, etc etc. it's gonna be some pretty neat stuff so be sure to check it out ;)

[ Started: Mar 5th, 2024 ]
[ Posted: Jul 8th, 2024 ]

( word count: 5.5k )