Chapter Text
With the darkest nights of winter behind them, everyone in the Little Palace seemed to be counting down the days until spring. The amusement to be found in snowfall had long since passed, and now the Grisha could be heard grumbling about cold feet and damp hair any time they came inside, shaking off their kefta and stamping their boots in the entranceway. Alina and her friends had abandoned their usual seat in their common room, opting instead to sit as close to the fire as possible. Botkin’s training sessions were still held indoors, but sometimes, when he was feeling particularly harsh, he sent them on long runs around the palace grounds. On those days, Alina practically crawled back to her chambers – her strength and stamina had increased significantly since her arrival at the Little Palace, but hours of wading through deep snow while Botkin barked at them to pick up the pace drained every last drop of energy from her body.
“I suppose we need the practice, in case we end up stationed in Fjerda,” Marie grumbled unhappily as they trudged back to their rooms after one especially gruelling session. Alina could not argue with the logic of it, but that didn’t make her enjoy it any more.
Everyone was glad when the snow finally melted. Unfortunately, it was replaced with a downpour of rain which lasted for almost a week without stopping. The gardens and grounds flooded, their normally perfectly maintained hedges and grass turning into one huge mudbath. Botkin surveyed this new landscape with a spark in his eye that had their whole class groaning.
“I still think the snow is worse,” Nadia panted as they jogged around the lake. Alina wasn’t so sure – she’d slipped only a few minutes out the door and was now drenched from head to foot in freezing cold sludge.
Gradually, the weather improved, although heavy rain showers were not infrequent. The view from her bedroom window became greener, lusher, brighter. Some days it felt like spring really was just around the corner – then, inevitably, dark grey clouds would descend from the heavens and a vicious wind would whip the surface of the lake into a frenzy.
The Darkling was called away often, to the Fjerdan and Shu Han borders, and frequently to the camp at Kribirsk. As the largest Second Army base outside of the Little Palace, a great many Grisha soldiers passed through Kribirsk as a matter of procedure. The increased fighting on both of Ravka’s borders meant the Darkling had to hold more regular meetings with his officers, most of whom were almost constantly in the field, and after a few weeks of almost constant travelling back and forth from Os Alta he simply relocated to Kribirsk. Alina barely saw him from the time the snow melted until all the flowers in the palace grounds had bloomed.
Without the Darkling around, somebody else had to suffer the consequences of Alina’s impatience. Fortunately, Baghra was more than capable of handling whatever Alina could throw at her; the two women clashed, frequently and fiercely, during Alina’s summoning lessons.
“I should be stronger than this by now!” Alina shouted in frustration. Baghra had been demanding she make her light hotter, and for several days now Alina had repeatedly been pushing the limits of her power but was still unable to melt the sheet of Grisha steel propped against the stone wall of the hut.
Baghra, unimpressed by her outburst, merely clicked her tongue. “Do you expect to achieve everything on your first try? You have been summoning less than a year, girl. Even the most talented Grisha cannot master their control in such a space of time.”
Alina ground her teeth. “I’m not like other Grisha. Other Grisha don’t have the future of their whole country resting on their shoulders. I need to be stronger.”
“Pah!” Baghra flapped a hand. “You want to be stronger? Strong enough to tear down the Fold? These things don’t happen overnight. It takes patience, and practice. Dedication.”
Baghra jabbed Alina with her cane to emphasise the last word. Alina rounded on her, furious.
“And how have I been anything but dedicated? I practise what you tell me to practise, I read what you tell me to read. I train every day. What more do you want from me?”
Baghra’s dark eyes narrowed to slits. “I want you to stop complaining, girl. I want you to stop acting like a child. If that is too much to ask, then you’re wasting my time. Come back when you’re ready to face your problems like a Grisha.”
Alina clenched her fists, her blood bubbling with anger. Barely suppressing an enraged scream, she turned back to the metal plate and unleashed a searing bolt of sunlight from her palms, so bright that the dim interior of the hut was illuminated in a blinding flash, forcing Baghra to shield her eyes. Alina dropped her hands to her sides, breathing hard. The metal had been reduced to a silvery pool on the floor. Baghra nodded appreciatively.
“Good. Now do it again, without the dramatics.”
Alina’s bad mood followed her from Baghra’s hut. She stomped through the gardens, glaring at the neat rows of flowers, the marble statues and fountains which had recently been scrubbed clean. The air felt milder again today, though still with a lingering dampness from the most recent rainfall.
She had been planning to find her friends in the common room, where she knew they would be studying – or, more likely, gossiping – but she altered her course and headed for the stables instead. It had been a while since she’d been out to the clearing to practise the Cut, and she was in the mood to destroy some trees. She stopped in her tracks when she entered the stableyard, every scrap of rage fleeing from her body at the sight of the black carriage and its team of six black stallions. Stablehands and servants bustled around, paying no attention to Alina as they set about unhitching the horses and unloading the luggage. There was no mistaking it – it was the Darkling’s carriage. Alina turned on her heel and sprinted into the Little Palace.
She screeched to a halt outside the Darkling’s chambers. The oprichniki on guard shot her quietly amused glances as she paused to catch her breath, smoothing down her hair and dusting off her kefta as best she could. Then, before she could think about it too hard, she threw open the doors to the war room.
Aleksander was standing at the map table with Ivan and Fedyor, discussing something undoubtedly very important – a new spy report, perhaps, or planned troop movements. All three men looked up when Alina barged in. Fedyor looked slightly surprised to see her, and Ivan’s expression darkened into his usual scowl, while Aleksander’s face softened with relief as their eyes met. He glanced at the Heartrenders by his side, a silent command, and they inclined their heads before leaving Alina alone with him.
“Alina,” he said. In that single word, she could hear all the strain and the weariness that had built up inside him since they last met.
“I missed you,” she exclaimed, surprised to find that it was true. She had stalled part way between the doors and the map table, taken aback by the strength of emotion that hit her when she saw his face again. Now, she resumed her journey, walking slowly towards Aleksander until they stood an arm’s length apart. He smiled at her, pleased by her confession.
“And I you. Tell me, what excitement has there been since I left?”
He placed one hand, gently, on her shoulder and gestured towards the armchairs by the fireplace. Somebody must have prepared the room for his return, Alina noted, as the flames were blazing in the hearth, and all the surfaces had been swept clean of dust. She settled into one of the chairs thoughtfully.
“No excitement, unless you count Botkin forcing us to run drills in the mud.”
The corners of Aleksander’s mouth twitched. “Botkin does enjoy the rainy season. It makes for better training.”
Alina groaned. “Don’t you start!”
He laughed and settled back in his seat. “And Baghra?”
At the mention of the old woman’s name, Alina’s earlier ire returned to her. She glowered. “You know, I think she’s even worse when you’re not around.”
Aleksander hummed in agreement. “That wouldn’t surprise me. I’ll have a word with her.”
“Saints, no!” Alina gasped, sitting forward urgently. “Don’t do that! It would only make her more insufferable. Besides, I can handle her myself.”
“I can believe that,” he chuckled.
Alina fidgeted with the sleeve of her kefta. “So, what’s been keeping you so busy?”
From the look on his face, he recognised her question for what it really was – a test, to see if he would be honest with her this time. Aleksander eyed her for a moment, his body language still guarded, then slumped backward and rubbed a hand over his face.
“Fjerda and Shu Han are becoming increasingly bold – I suspect because they are threatened by you. They know that your existence strengthens Ravka. Shu raiding parties have for decades been an occasional threat, but now there are reports of raids almost daily. People who live near the border are leaving their homes and travelling north, such is the extent of the murder and pillaging, and now whole villages are lying abandoned. It won’t be long before the Shu claim some of those villages as their own. Meanwhile, in the north, Fjerda have progressed from merely sending drüskelle parties over our border to seek out Grisha and have begun moving whole battalions of troops into Ravka with the intent to wipe out whatever settlements they can find. We have responded, of course, and the invaders have been dealt with – but in doing so we lost many of our own.”
He took a breath, tapping his long fingers on the arm of his chair, then abruptly stood up, turning away from Alina.
“The King is a petulant child, a fool, and a drunk,” Aleksander continued, his voice low and harsh. “I cannot fight a war on two fronts while I must also fight to make our esteemed leader see sense. It has taken weeks to get him to agree to increase First Army presence on the Fjerdan border, to reinforce our defences, and in the meantime, I am forced to use my own people to take the fall for his stupidity. We lost twenty Grisha in the past week alone, trying to stop the Fjerdan advance, before Raevsky managed to convince the King that we needed First Army support.”
The room was getting darker with every word that he spoke. By his side, Aleksander’s hands clenched into fists, and tendrils of shadow writhed around his body. Alina recognised this emotion as the same one that had driven her to lash out at Baghra earlier that day – the sense of impatient helplessness, the knowledge that she had the power to stop all this suffering but could not yet use it to do any good. Alina had been grappling with this for months and it was sending her insane. For Aleksander, it had been centuries.
She stood up and walked to his side, softly, letting a faint glow emanate from her body to break through the intensifying blackness that rolled off him in waves. He looked down when she stopped next to him, the despair on his face evaporating at the sight of her. Aleksander sighed and shook his head.
“Forgive me my moroseness, Alina. It has been a... trying month.”
“Will you be back long?” she asked quietly, and Aleksander sighed again.
“I’m not sure. I hope I won’t have to rush away immediately, but it’s possible that situation may arise.”
She tried to stamp down on the melancholy that rose up within her, but it refused to be quelled. Everything was just easier with him here – despite their constant dancing around one another, the game of truth truth lie they played in every conversation, Alina felt more confident in herself when the Darkling was nearby. She needed that confidence, for the days when she doubted her capacity to change anything for the better.
He read her uncertainty in her face and laid the back of his hand on her cheek, letting a soothing sense of reassurance flow through their connected skin. Alina tried not to lean into his touch.
“There is so much weighing on you,” he murmured. “So much hope and expectation. I wish I could do something to ease that burden.”
Alina almost snorted with amusement. She couldn’t help but think that her burden would be eased considerably if not for the Darkling’s possessive, murderous, and occasionally psychotic disposition. She wondered what his response would be if she said as much.
Instead, she tilted her head up so that his hand dropped down to rest on her collarbone.
“You have more than enough burdens of your own,” Alina said. His fingers curled around her shoulder, drawing her towards him gently but insistently.
There was a sharp knock at the door. The Darkling released his grip on Alina and took a step away from her, his face settling back into its customary impassive mask as he turned expectantly towards the door. Fedyor appeared in the threshold, his posture stiff, his expression carefully neutral. He looked as if he were bearing bad news, and he was.
“Moi soverenyi,” Fedyor said. “I apologise for the interruption, but the King has demanded to meet with you.”
The Darkling gave him a nod. “Thank you, Fedyor. I’ll be there momentarily.”
The door closed again and the Darkling clenched his jaw, whirling around angrily. The shadows reared up around his body, flexing and snapping, until he managed to get control of himself.
“He summons me like I am his hound, trained to heel,” the Darkling snarled. “And, like his hound, he expects me to do all his hunting for him. He calls me to meetings to seek my advice, but does he listen to what I have to say?”
He scoffed with derision. Alina watched in silence, unmoved by his outburst. Aleksander let out a long breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, before meeting her eyes apologetically.
“I must see what our witless King wants of me now. I am sorry, Alina, I haven’t been very good company today.”
She nodded her understanding. He straightened his kefta and swept towards the doorway, pausing before he left the room.
“If I am called away again, I will find you before I go.”
Alina wasn’t sure what to make of that, but he was already gone. She stood alone in the middle of the war room, her thoughts scattered like ash in the wind, for several more minutes until the dinner bell rang.
She was subdued that evening, only half listening to whatever new rumour had caught Nadia and Marie’s attention. Alina was so distracted that she didn’t even notice when Nadia turned to her after the meal.
“Alina?” the Squaller repeated, a little louder, and Alina jumped.
“What? Oh, sorry, Nadia. I’m not quite with it this evening,” she said guiltily.
“Late nights?” Nadia asked, her mouth curving into a wicked smile.
Marie leaned forward eagerly. “Anything we should know about? Or, rather, anyone?”
Alina waved them off. “Unless you count my Grisha theory textbook, I’m afraid not.”
“Speaking of which,” Nadia said with a laugh. “I was just saying we’re going back to the common room to finish our assignments for Nilima. Do you want to come?”
“I don’t know if I have it in me – I’ve got a lot on my mind,” Alina confessed. “But you guys go ahead, I’ll see you tomorrow!”
She bid her friends goodnight and returned to her chambers. The stormy clouds of unease that had been swirling around her since her earlier interaction with the Darkling dissipated the moment she flung open her bedroom door to see Genya waiting there for her.
“Genya!” Alina gasped in delight, catching her friend in a tight hug. Genya laughed and returned the embrace.
“Hello, sunshine,” she giggled. Alina unwound her arms from Genya’s shoulders, staring at her beloved face.
“Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” Alina babbled. “It’s been weeks since we spoke properly. I missed you!”
“I know, Alina, I’m sorry. The Queen has been even more demanding than usual. I’ve barely had a minute to myself,” Genya explained, leading Alina to the chairs by the fireplace. There was a tea set already laid out on the little table.
“So you decided to spend your evening off catching me up on all the hottest Grand Palace gossip?” Alina asked with a grin, gratefully accepting the cup of tea that Genya passed her.
“In exchange for Little Palace gossip, of course,” the Tailor replied.
They sipped their tea and chatted, avidly exchanging stories until the sky beyond the window had darkened to inky blue, and one of the maids came in to light all the lamps. Genya idly watched her progress around the room, her eyes far away, her fingers tapping a restless rhythm on her china cup. The maid left with a curtsy and their conversation ebbed into silence. Alina was trying to think of something else to talk about when she noticed Genya struggling to hold in a yawn.
“I’m fine!” she exclaimed at Alina’s motherly expression.
“Genya, you don’t need to tire yourself out for my sake. It seems like you could do with getting an early night,” Alina said sternly.
Genya smiled weakly and shook her head. “I just needed to see a friendly face. The Queen is a harridan, and her ladies are like a clutch of giggling schoolgirls. I thought I might lose my mind if I had to spend one more minute in their company.”
“Has it been bad, lately?” Alina asked, her voice sympathetic.
“You have no idea. These past weeks have been exhausting – Her Royal Bossiness, Tatiana, has absolutely no regard for my need to sleep. She’s been waking before dawn, every day, demanding I touch up her face.”
Genya sighed, her grip tightening on her teacup.
“I don’t mind, actually,” she continued in a quiet voice. “It tends to shift the King’s gaze in her direction. At least until nightfall.”
Alina’s heart broke for her friend. “Genya...”
Genya was studiously avoiding her gaze. “The King has his way with lots of servants,” she said dully, with a half-hearted shrug. “At least I got a few jewels out of it.”
Alina’s hands curled into fists. She wanted to march over to the Grand Palace right there and tear the whole monstrosity to the ground. Genya was normally so good at hiding the horrors she experienced, of covering it all up with a blithe smile and an air of confidence. Even as she had grown older, as she had begun the long process of healing, there was only so much that she ever let Alina see.
Looking at Genya now, a pale ghost of her usual self, Alina was struck with the full weight of what had been done to her.
“The General should have done something,” she growled. “He should never have handed you over to them in the first place. He should have protected you.”
“He has, Alina,” Genya sighed. “More than you know. But General Kirigan is as much a slave to the whims of the King as the rest of us are.”
Alina shook her head. She wasn’t going to stand for this, to hear Genya defend him. “He could easily have you reassigned. You shouldn’t have to suffer this, Genya.”
“I won’t have to suffer it much longer,” Genya bit back, her smile sharp. “Please, Alina, let this one go. Promise me you won’t go meddling in things.”
Alina sat back and crossed her arms but said nothing. Genya raised an expectant eyebrow. After a moment of silence, Alina nodded reluctantly.
“Now, let’s not dwell on depressing thoughts,” Genya said, reaching forward and catching hold of Alina’s hands in her own. “It’s my night off! Let’s do something fun.”
In the end, they went down to the Materialki workshops – it wasn’t really Alina’s idea of ‘fun’, but it made Genya happy. They perched at David’s bench and watched as he tinkered with an array of complicated-looking objects, explaining quietly what they were all for. His words went completely over Alina’s head and, from the look on her face, Genya’s too, but her friend watched David work with a kind of fascination, nonetheless. Alina leaned into Genya’s side, resting her head on a soft, cream-clad shoulder, and wished that she could keep Genya safe in this moment forever.
It wasn’t long before Genya was yawning again, her eyelids fluttering closed as she tried to pay attention to what David was saying, and Alina hauled her friend to her feet.
“Go to bed, Genya,” she said firmly. Genya’s answering smile was sheepish. They waved a goodnight to David, who mumbled the same in response, and left the workshops. Alina wrapped Genya in a tight hug as they parted ways.
“You know you can tell me anything,” Alina said in a low voice. “If you ever need to talk, or distract yourself, or scream and break things, I’ll be there.”
Genya smiled warmly and squeezed Alina’s arms. “I know, darling.”
She dropped a delicate kiss on Alina’s cheek and turned down the path to the Grand Palace with a wave. Alina watched her go, feeling her sorrow and rage build up again at the sight of Genya’s lonely, spectral figure vanishing into the night.
Alina stormed through the Little Palace, throwing open the doors to the Darkling’s war room. He was seated at his desk, sorting through stacks of papers, and barely looked up as she marched across the room.
“How long have you known about what the King does to Genya?” she demanded. He paused, setting down the file he had been rifling through, and met her eyes warily.
“Alina...” he began, and she slammed her hands on the desk.
“How long?” she said again, louder this time.
He leaned back in his chair with a quiet sigh. “It was brought to my attention, I believe, about two years ago.”
“Then why is she still there?” Alina hissed. Her anger was spinning wildly out of control, flickers of bright light leaking across the ground where she stood, coiling down her fingers and leaving little scorch marks on the wood of the Darkling’s desk.
“Alina, you need to calm down,” he said, his voice infuriatingly steady, as he sent a wave of shadows washing over the desktop, extinguishing her light. Alina yanked her hands back and glared at him.
“Don’t tell me to calm down. Answer me!”
Irritation showed on the Darkling’s face for the first time. He stood up to match her, leaning across the desk.
“Tell me, Alina, do you know anything, anything at all, about how I select my undercover agents?”
She curled her lip but shook her head.
“In that case, I shall illuminate you on the subject,” the Darkling said. “My spies are incredibly valuable to me. They collect information which has, on multiple occasions, saved countless lives. They uncover weak spots in our enemies’ strategy which we can then exploit. They are also in constant danger – if their true identity is ever discovered, they may very well lose their lives – and in order to keep their cover, they may be forced to commit atrocities or suffer them. All of our agents are vetted extensively before their assignment, and they are briefed on every aspect of their cover, including the risks.”
The Darkling let his words sink in, watching Alina’s reaction closely; when she didn’t say anything, he continued.
“I know you think me heartless, Alina, but I would never send one of my soldiers into a situation they have not been suitably prepared for. It is crucial that they understand the dangers associated with their position, that they do not confront anything unexpected which may cause them to lose their grip on their cover.”
“Genya wasn’t a soldier when you gave her to the Queen,” Alina hissed. “She was a child.”
“She was a child, but she was also a soldier,” the Darkling said. “Genya was vetted and briefed as every other agent is. Once a year, every year, I meet with her so that she can bring to me any concerns and I can make the suitable adjustments to her assignment.”
“You’re trying to tell me she knew what she was getting herself into?” Alina asked, her anger rising again.
The Darkling hesitated momentarily. “No. I briefed Genya on the risks of her undercover position, but I was... short-sighted. I knew of the King’s proclivities, of course, but I also knew how he resents and distrusts Grisha. I thought, therefore, that he would not look twice at Genya. It was my mistake.”
Alina stared at him. The Darkling rarely admitted to making mistakes. She wondered if he felt genuinely sorry for this one – his devotion to his Grisha was one of the only genuine things about him – or if it was all for show.
He passed a hand over his face and sighed. “As soon as word reached me, I called Genya back here and I gave her the choice to leave her post. I had failed to brief her properly, and if she felt unable or unwilling to continue in the face of this new... ordeal, I could have her reassigned immediately. But she refused. Every year, when we debrief, I ask her the same question, and she always gives the same answer.”
“Did you really give her the choice, or did you spin her some tale about how she is a soldier – your soldier – and how she is strong enough to endure this torment for your sake?”
“I told her the truth. I told her that she is the most capable spy I have ever trained. I told her that if she were to remain in her post, to keep up her cover, then she would one day be granted the revenge she deserves.”
Alina threw up her hands with a cry of exasperation. “Do you not see how that would influence her decision? You’re her superior officer – in telling her this, you’ve put her in an impossible situation.”
The Darkling shook his head at her. “Genya knows that if she ever feels out of her depth, if it ever gets too much, I would have her out of the Grand Palace and far from Os Alta in a heartbeat. Her decisions are her own.”
“If you truly believe that, you’re more of a fool than I thought,” Alina spat. The Darkling bridled.
“And have you actually asked Genya about this?” he said, his voice quiet but with an edge to it.
Alina had nothing to say to that. She vibrated with silent rage as he cocked an eyebrow triumphantly.
“I can’t stand the thought of that man laying a hand on her,” Alina seethed. “I want to get her out of there.”
“I am working on it, Alina,” he said firmly. “Do you trust me that much?”
“I do not trust you at all,” she muttered, but it was a lie, and he could tell.
“Ask me a question, then,” he said, pulling up the sleeve of his kefta and offering her his hand. Alina stared at him for several seconds then shook her head slowly.
“Another time,” she said, backing away from the desk. He looked disappointed but nodded anyway. She left the room quickly, her mind wheeling, her emotions in turmoil. Everything was too close to the skin – she couldn’t trust herself to be near him without it all spilling out.
The following evening, Genya visited her again. Alina trudged into her chambers after a brief, unproductive study session with Nadia and Marie to find Genya holding one of Alina’s black kefta against her body and admiring herself.
“I do suit black,” Genya mused aloud, catching Alina’s eye in the mirror. “It’s a shame only you and he wear it.”
“I don’t even wear it,” Alina said with a scowl. Genya laughed and made her way back to the wardrobe, replacing the black kefta and drawing out one of the blue ones instead.
“What do you think?” Genya asked, splaying the skirt of the kefta and spinning around. “Would I make a good Summoner?”
“Did General Kirigan really offer to have you removed from the Grand Palace?” Alina blurted out. Genya froze, her face going very still.
“Alina,” she said quietly. “I asked you not to meddle.”
“I’m not meddling. I just need to know. I need to understand why you wouldn’t get out of there, if you had the choice.”
Genya slowly returned the blue kefta to the wardrobe and sat down on the edge of Alina’s bed with a sigh.
“What do you think would happen, if I did leave?” she asked Alina carefully. “The King won’t stop – it would just be some other poor serving girl who has to suffer him. Nothing would change, not really.”
She stopped talking, taking a few deep breaths. Alina came to sit on the bed next to her, gently wrapping Genya’s cold fingers in her own, but said nothing.
“I considered it,” Genya continued. “When the General found out – I was so ashamed that this had happened to me, and worse, that he knew – but he didn’t react how I expected. He didn’t treat me like some fragile little thing, which I would have hated, he just told me very plainly that he would reassign me immediately if it’s what I wanted. He gave me time to think about it. I came close to giving up completely and having him send me away.”
“What made you change your mind?” Alina asked, barely a whisper. Genya straightened her back almost imperceptibly.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about the girls who the King would turn on after I left,” she said firmly. “I am a soldier. If I have to go through hell to fight for a better future, where no girls have to suffer what I’ve suffered at his hands, then that’s what I’ll do. I can endure it – I will endure it – for them.”
“Those are his words,” Alina said slowly. “Those are the General’s words.”
Genya sighed in irritation. “Do you not believe I can know my own mind?” she snapped. “Give me more credit than that, Alina.”
Alina bit her lip and squeezed Genya’s hand in apology. The Tailor sighed again, softer this time, her shoulders slumping a little.
“The General has a few spies in the Grand Palace, but none so close to the royal family as I am. I stayed because – because right now, there is no way to hold the King accountable for what he has done, to me and so many others. But what we can do is remove him from a position where he has that power – we can make the whole Lantsov dynasty pay for the harm they have caused. And if I stay, if I keep gathering information from the heart of the royal household, I can make sure they fall much harder and much sooner than they would if I leave. So I’m going to stay, Alina, and I’m going to have a front row seat when they finally get what’s coming to them.”
Genya’s gaze was fixed stonily on some point in the distance. She lapsed into silence, her skin pallid, her hands trembling. Alina longed to wrap her friend in her arms, to hold her until everything else went away.
“I swore I’d do whatever I can to get you out of the white kefta,” Alina said. “And I meant it. I want to help, Genya – what can I do?”
Genya shot her a small smile, now. “So keen to mire yourself in treason, Alina?”
Alina smiled a little in return. “It’s not much of a leap from where I stand already.”
“General Kirigan has plans for us all,” Genya said, twining an errant lock of Alina’s hair in her fingers, leaving it perfectly curled. “You should speak to him, if you want to know what he has planned for you.”
“Do you trust him?” Alina dared to ask. Genya’s hands stilled.
“I trust him to finish what we’ve started,” was all that she said.
“That’s not what I asked.”
Genya smiled and withdrew her hands. “I know.”