Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had been seven days since the Sand Pest ended.  Exactly one week, and yet, very little had changed for Clara.  She was still out on the streets, still trading needles and hooks for scraps of food, still hiding from suspicious glares.  It wasn’t fair.  She was a Mistress and a miracle worker, she didn’t deserve this!

She sat on a bench and scarfed down the single egg she had managed to trade for.  It shouldn’t have ended this way.  Everyone else was recovering, even those demons that had tried so hard to get in Clara’s way.  The Ripper had his children, the snake had Eve, and the miracle worker had to be alone.

She was so caught up in her moping, she didn’t notice one of those demons headed right for her.

“Ugh, the Changeling,” the Capital snake groaned as he walked up to the bench, “What are you doing here?”

She plastered on her most annoying smile, “Hello Bachelor.  Off to spread more misery?”

“I could say the same of you,” he sneered, “I thought you left with General Block.”

She should have.  It was her greatest regret.  The good general was the only one who hadn’t abandoned her in her time of need.  She should have left with him when she had the chance, become his Joan of Arc, but she had been too cowardly.  The Powers That Be only cared about this town.  If she left it, there was no guarantee that she would continue to exist in their minds, and that would mean death.

“So eager to get rid of me.  I still have followers here that need me,” she lied.  No one needed her.  No one wanted her.

“And you need to look like a homeless urchin to accomplish that?” the big city dandy sniped, “Surely your parents must have given you some decent clothing by now.”

Clara bit her lip.  She had been turned out of her home, replaced with another orphan.  She left the Saburovs willingly to protect them, only to be abandoned as thanks for her good deed.  Her parents had given her nothing, not even a roof over her head.  But the Bachelor was an idiot.  He didn’t remind her of these things to hurt her.  He reopened wounds in ignorance.  He had no idea Clara had been disowned, and she wasn’t about to tell him.

“Silly Bachelor.  One day you’ll learn that deeds and not clothes are what make a man.  Not that I would expect you to understand.”

He frowned down at her.  She expected him to huff and whine a bit before moving on to inconvenience someone else.  But then, he did something truly unexpected.  Instead of responding to her insults, the Bachelor reached down and snatched her wrist, dragging her to her feet and down the path.

“Wha-?  What are you doing?”

“Taking you home,” he said as he marched down the road, “It’s almost winter.  They can’t just let you run about in those torn rags.  You’ll catch pneumonia.”

“You can’t do that!” Clara tried to wrench her arm away, but the Bachelor’s grip was as hard as iron.

“Yes I can.  Honestly, I can’t believe Katerina.  She calls Peter a bad parent and then lets you out in a rat chewed jacket that can’t even button properly.”

She dug her heels in the dirt and redoubled her efforts, pulling hard enough to almost knock the Bachelor off-balance.  “Let me go!”

“Why are you fighting me so much?” he grunted as he pulled back, “You’re not even the one in trouble here.”

“You don’t understand!  Foolish Fop!”  She yanked back, hard enough to hurt, and at last broke free.  She immediately hopped back a few steps to avoid getting recaptured, but the Bachelor made no move towards her.

“Clearly I don’t understand,” the man huffed, “Why are you trying to protect Katerina?  Unless she doesn’t know you’re out here in that poor excuse for a coat.”

“She knows, but you don’t.  You are incapable of understanding anything.”  Clara rubbed her sore wrist absentmindedly.

He threw his hands up in surrender, “Fine, don’t explain yourself.  Maybe I’ll get a straight answer from your mother…”

“No!”  She leapt out and grabbed his arm, a mirror of their previous positions.

He raised a confused eyebrow, “What on earth is wrong with you?  Either explain yourself or I’m going to your mother.”

Cruelly ignorant Bachelor.  He had her trapped.  Why couldn’t he keep his nose out of her business?

“She’s not my mother anymore…” Clara admitted.  The Bachelor just rolled his eyes.

“Spare me the theatrics.  Just because they’re caring for Grace doesn’t mean they stopped caring about you.”

She felt her face grow hot with shame.  “I knew you wouldn’t understand,” she grumbled and sat back down on the bench, “My powers are gone, so they no longer believe I’m going to be a Mistress.  Katerina thinks Grace will be the next.  I’ve been replaced.”

A heavy tension hung in the air.  “You’re telling the truth…aren’t you?” the Bachelor eventually said, “Did they really kick you out?”  

Clara didn’t respond, just curled in on herself.  Damned Bachelor, always asking questions, always causing misery.  

“Well, let’s go then.”  The Bachelor abruptly announced.

“I’m not going back there.”

He shook his head, “No, you’re not going to the Rod.  You’re coming with me to the Stillwater.”

“What?”  He was taking her to his house?

“I’m not leaving you here by yourself.  Come on, let’s go.”  He started marching in the direction of Bridge Square, motioning for her to follow.  She was so flabbergasted that she fell in line behind him without protest or witty complaint.  

The trip was awkward, neither speaking or even looking at the other.  When they finally got to the Stillwater, the Bachelor led her straight to the kitchen.  Her mouth watered when he pulled out a hunk of bread.  She could tell it was fresh by the way it sagged under the knife.  God, she couldn’t remember the last time she had fresh bread.  She greedily snatched up the offered slice, stuffing it into her mouth before the Bachelor could take it back.

“I suppose I don’t need to ask when you last ate?” the Bachelor asked archly as he sat down the rest of the bread.  Clara glared, but continued stuffing her face.  They sat like that for a minute, Clara eating voraciously while the Capital man silently watched.  

When she finished the bread, the Bachelor stood and announced that he was leaving.  “I still have some errands to run.  Don’t leave.”

“What, going to try and lock me away?” Clara challenged, “You have no power over me.”

“I’m not going to lock you in,” the Bachelor replied with a roll of his eyes, “But I will return with supper.  If you want to eat, you’ll be here when I come back.”  Clara huffed but had no comeback.  She wanted more food.  Besides, it was getting colder out, and the Stillwater was nice and warm.  She supposed she could wait here for a bit, just until supper.

The Bachelor left and Clara was free to wander the house.  She explored a few rooms, plucked a few notes on the piano, and generally lazed about.  It was odd that the lady of the house was not around.  She had been hoping to have someone to talk to, and Eva was far better company than the fop.

Hours passed until the Bachelor returned carrying several bags.  He pulled something out of one of them and tossed it at Clara.  She caught the brown bundle and unfurled it.

It was a coat.

It wasn’t hideously fancy like his, just a simple overcoat.  She tried it on and found it to be very warm, if a bit big.  She proceeded to follow the Bachelor into the kitchen and watched him pull out a herring for dinner.

“Why are you being nice to me?  What do you gain from it?” she questioned from the doorway.  He didn’t bother to look up from the fish he was descaling.

“I’m not the cold-hearted demon you accuse me of being, Clara.  I’m not going to leave you on the street.”

So he wouldn’t tell her.  Fine.  She still had some power.  She would just have to make him tell the truth.

“Daniil, oh Daniil, I know of you this:  You’ve fallen in love with Eva!  Will you agr-”

“Is that the gossip around town these days?” the Bachelor interrupted, “I didn’t know you listened to such frivolities.”

“Wait, it’s not true?”  She thought for sure she could hook him with that.  Was it maybe too obvious a secret?

“Of course it’s not true.  Eva is a dear friend who has been kind enough to house me until I find more permanent arrangements.”

Clara pouted.  She realized she actually didn’t know enough about the Bachelor to get her hooks in him.  She had avoided him as much as possible during the Pest, far more willing to work with the terrible Ripper than the cold Capital serpent.

“Where is Eva anyways?” she asked, “The Stillwater is her house.  Shouldn’t you have asked her before you invited me in?”

The Bachelor flinched, a brief but noticeable pause in his knife work, “Eva is with the Kains.  She’ll be there all night.”

She’d struck a nerve.  Perhaps there was something there she could dig into after all.

“Why would she be over there?  Wouldn’t she want to have dinner with the famous Thanatologist from the big city?  You’re a celebrity after all.”

The Bachelor sighed and laid down his knife, “I’m old news now, I’m afraid.  My company is no longer as exciting as the Kains’ plans.”

“But you’re not in love with her?”

He finally glanced up at her, shooting her a small glare, “No.  But I do miss her company.  There was never enough time to talk during the Plague.  Now that it’s all over, she’s lost interest.”

Eva had always given the appearance of a flighty socialite, childish and naive.  Clara thought that made her vulnerable to the Bachelor’s wicked charms, but perhaps it had the opposite effect.  To Eva, a celebrity from the Capital must have been like a new toy to a child, fun at first, but boring once the luster wore away.

“I thought you two were closer.  I suppose you really are a venerable bachelor then.”

“Ha, ha,” he sarcastically laughed as he resumed the work of filleting the fish in front of him, “Like I haven’t heard that one before.  I hope you have no objections to baked fish.”

Clara really would have preferred something else.  Salted fish was one of the few foods she had been surviving on these past few weeks and she was starting to get sick of it.  Of course, she said nothing about that.  Didn’t want to give the Bachelor an excuse to kick her out before she could eat her fill.

Dinner was a quiet and awkward affair.  Clinking silverware and the Bachelor’s occasional comments about table manners were the only sounds around the table.  What was there to talk about anyway?  Clara’s days of just scraping by?  Bachelor’s failed utopia?  No, uncomfortable silence was far preferable to those topics.

When the food was gone and the plates were cleared, the Bachelor led her, not to the door, but to a bedroom on the first floor.  “You can sleep here for the night.  Like I said, Eva won’t be back until tomorrow, so you may use her bed.”

“Why are you doing this?” Clara again asked, “You cannot be doing this out of the kindness of your heart, so what do you get from helping me?  What do you want?”

“I want you to get some rest,” he sighed, “We’ll talk more in the morning.”

“No!” she stomped her foot.  Why was he being so nice?  Why hadn’t he kicked her out yet? “Are you trying to get back in the good graces of the townsfolk by caring for their fallen saint?  Trying to ease your guilt for the lives you took during the Pest?  Or are you so lonely that you’ll even settle for my company?”

The Bachelor looked affronted at first, but then, his expression fell into a pitying frown, “You’re tired, Clara.  Go to sleep.”

No, she had to know why.  If only she could get her hooks in him.  She had been so sure he had fallen for Eva, any normal man would have.  Unless…

It was a long shot, but it was all she had.

“Daniil, oh Daniil, I know of you this:  You love men the way others love women!”  Upon hearing those words, the Bachelor snapped to alertness before slowly melting into a relaxed, mesmerized, posture, “Will you agree to touch me?  To brave the depths?  To answer my questions candidly and without prejudice?”

He blinked slowly, taking a moment to respond, “...What do you want to know?”

Ha!  Now there would be no more hiding.

“Why are you trying to take care of me?” She asked.  The Bachelor’s head lolled off to the side as he stared off into space.

“My parents disowned me too.  I know how much it hurts.”

Clara was startled at how heartbroken he sounded.  She didn’t think he had a heart to break.  And the snobbish dandy had been abandoned?  It didn’t fit with the high and mighty image she had of him in her head.

“What do you hope to gain from this then?”

“Gratitude.  Less hostility.”

That’s it?  Gratitude?  She could hardly believe it.  But…he was unable to lie in this state.

Clara released her hooks and let the Bachelor return to reality.  He looked around, a little dazed as he woke from the spell, but he wouldn’t remember what had just happened.  He bid her goodnight and left Clara alone with her thoughts.

She laid there, swaddled in perfumed sheets, staring at the ceiling.  He really did just want to help her.  How was that possible?  She thought only Block truly cared about her, but he cared because he believed in her holy powers.  The Bachelor didn’t believe, but he saw some sort of kindred spirit in her.  The Saburovs also believed in her power, but in the end that wasn’t enough.  This was a town of miracles, there were other girls with unexplainable powers that could take her place.  Was it for the better then that Dankovsky only saw her as a normal girl?

She tossed and turned, struggling to match the Bachelor she thought she knew with the man who gave her food and shelter.  It took hours, but eventually exhaustion won over the swirling storm in her mind and she sank into a fitful slumber.

Chapter Text

She sat on a bench near the outskirts of town, kicking her feet through the swirling morning fog.  Footsteps approached.  She looked up to see her reflection staring back at her.

“I waited for you in the graveyard,” her sister said, “You never showed.”

Clara had nothing to say to that, so she didn’t, choosing instead to idly pick at a scab on her knee.

“We belong in the graveyard,” her twin continued, “It’s where we were born after all.  Grace has taken your place with the Saburovs.  It’s only right that you take her place.”

“I don’t belong there.” Clara mumbled under her breath.

“Oh, so I’m the only one who belongs there?  You stole my fate and left me buried,” her sister sneered, “But that’s right, you’re with the Bachelor now, aren’t you?  Too good for all of us who toil in the Earth.”

“It’s not like that and you know it.”  Clara tried to turn away but her twin wouldn’t let her escape that easily.

“Have you forgotten his crimes, his murder?  Or are you still trying to play the saint and forgive him?”

“I haven't forgotten.  I-”

“So you’re just using him?” her sister interrupted, “That’s what you do, isn’t it?  You use people.  You take and take and take till there’s nothing left.”

“Stop!”  Clara tried to stand, to get away, but she was pushed back down.

“All those followers.  You were planning to kill them to save yourself.”

“Shut up!” She covered her ears, “Shut up!”

“‘I’ll find a use for everyone here.’  Isn’t that what you said?  They’re all just tools to you.”

“It’s not my fault!”  Icy hands grabbed her wrists, so cold they burned.  They wrenched her hands away from her face, forcing her to face reality.  She tried to look away but she couldn’t.  Her gaze was drawn like a magnet to her sister’s cold, lifeless eyes.  They burned with an unending well of dark, bitter hatred.

“No wonder you keep company with sinners.  You’re a demon yourself!”

She jolted awake, gasping, twisted in a tangled mess of blankets.

A dream.  It was just a dream.

She fell back into bed, wincing at the light pouring in.  The window was positioned almost like it was specifically meant to ensure the maximum amount of light hit her square in the eyes.  Knowing the architecture of the town, it probably was.  Looks like it was time to get up.

Clara got dressed for the day, pulling on her boots and hat, but she hesitated when it came time to grab her jacket.  She had a choice between her old green one, or the newer gift from Dankovsky.  She’d never had to choose what to wear before, never had more than one outfit.

“What do you hope to gain from this?”

“Gratitude.  Less Hostility.”

She grabbed the brown coat and threw it on, heading to the kitchen for breakfast.  Dankovsky was already there, eating a piece of toast.

“Ah, Clara.  You’re awake.  Please, help yourself.”  He gestured to the meager spread of food on the table.  

“Too bad you’re already all dressed up.  I was hoping to see the great Bachelor Dankovsky with bedhead.” She plopped down in the seat across from him and cut herself a generous slice of bread.  

Once again, the two ate in silence, at least for a period of time.  Eventually, however,  Dankovsky cleared his throat to break the awkward tension.

“I wanted to ask you, where have you been staying if not at the Rod?”

“The graveyard.”

Dankovsky sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “They take one girl out of that place only to send another one in.”

“I’m not taking over the Cemetery, I'm just sleeping there.”  She had no intention of taking over Grace’s role.  The simple fact of the matter was that Grace’s bed was empty, and she needed a bed.  “Besides, Grace still goes there every day to care for the dead.”

Dankovsky frowned.  She could tell he was biting his tongue, that he didn’t like Grace tending to the graves and singing to those who were long gone.  Maybe Dankovsky wasn’t as heartless as she initially thought, but he was still a fool.  He didn’t realize that the dead needed love and attention, just as the living did.  Maybe one day he would learn, but not today.

“I was hoping we could talk about your…situation, if that’s alright?” Dankovsky continued, “We should start finding a more permanent solution to your housing problems as soon as possible.”

“Throwing me out already?” Clara tried to joke, but the rejection stung like a poisonous thorn deep in her heart.

“That’s not what I meant,” Dankovsky was quick to clarify, “It’s just…This isn’t even my permanent residence.  I can’t expect Eva to house us indefinitely.  And I know you don’t like me, surely you would want someone else as your caretaker.”

It was true, she didn’t like the fop at all, but who else was there?  After finding out that he truly did want to help, could she really hope that whoever took her in next would also have no ulterior motives.  She tried to think of how to respond, but her thoughts were interrupted by the front door slamming.

A light patter of footsteps raced towards the kitchen.  Eva burst into the room and threw herself into Dankovsky’s arms.  

“Daniil!  Oh Daniil, it's awful!”  Eva cried, burying her face into the crook of his neck.  They looked like a scene straight out of a gothic romance novel.

“Eva, calm down.  Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s the Cathedral!  Saburova is going to destroy it!”

Clara felt her stomach drop and her nerves buzz.  Saburova.  And she was just next door.  A conflicting swirl of emotions warred within her.  She desperately wanted to see her mother again, but she also wanted to flee.

“Why on earth would Katerina want to destroy the Cathedral?” Dankovsky questioned.

Eva sniffed, “She says she wants to revitalize it, turn it into a truly sacred place, but it already is a sacred place!  Oh Daniil, please say you’ll stop her!  She can’t destroy the Cathedral, it’s too important!  No other building in town sings to my soul quite like it does.”

“Eva’s right, you can’t let her damage the Cathedral,” Clara piped in.  They both looked over, Eva only just noticing Clara was there.  “I’m not sure how, but the place makes time.  Changing anything could be catastrophic.  You have to believe that I’m telling the truth.”

“I suppose I’ll have to look into this then.” Dankovsky sighed.  Clara was a little surprised at his willingness to accept her warning.

“You believe me then?”

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose,” he hesitantly agreed, “I don’t believe the place makes time, but I also know that ignoring the superstitious beliefs around here has brought me nothing but misery.  I assume they are still there?”

Eva nodded.  Dankovsky snapped up his ever-present doctor bag and headed out the door, pausing to turn back to Clara.  “You are free to go about as you like.  I plan on being back around six to make dinner.  Hopefully this won’t take all bloody day.”  

And with that, they were gone.

Clara sat at the table, pondering her next move.  Should she see her mother and father?  What would she do if she did see them?  Beg to be taken back?  Curse them?  Deep down, she still loved them, but she was also furious at them.  No, she wasn’t ready for that confrontation.  Let Dankovsky and Eva deal with them for now.  So if she wasn’t going to see her former parents…what was she going to do?

Every day of her life so far had been spent in the service of some task or another.  Cure the Pest, gain converts, follow mother’s orders.  After the Pest, she spent all her time working towards earning her next meal.  Now, with food and shelter already figured out, she had a whole day to herself and found she didn’t know what to do with it.

What did normal people do?  She couldn’t play with other kids, none of them liked her.  They would trade with her, sure, but they all implicitly distrusted her.  Whether that was due to her sister’s previous meddling or due to some inherent flaw in her, Clara didn’t know.  Did she go talk to one of the other Mistresses?  No, she didn’t enjoy the thought of seeing either woman right now.  Maria was terrifying and Capella’s false compassion unsettled her.  So then, what else was there?

Clara started hyperventilating.  Her heart began to pound in her chest as bile threatened to clog her throat.  Why couldn’t she figure out something so basic?  Why was she panicking?  She shot up and raced for the door.  She couldn’t be here anymore.  When she got out the door, she ran.  She ran, and ran, and ran.  No destination, no thoughts, just her feet hitting the dirt.  She ran until her lungs burned and her legs gave out.  Clara fell to her knees, gulping down the cold autumn air like a drowning man.  What was wrong with her?  Why was she doing this?

Eventually, her heart began to slow down as she regained her composure.  It was only then that she noticed where she had run to.

The Cemetery.  The place of her birth and the former home of the only person she considered a friend.  Grace would no doubt be out among the graves by now.  She stood and felt something, some intangible tug at her soul, drawing her in closer.  

She might not be ready to face her parents, but maybe she was ready to see her new sister.

Chapter Text

Dankovsky really would have liked more time to prepare.  He did his best speaking when he could write down his thoughts first, refine them and anticipate counterarguments, and he certainly had quite a few thoughts on the Saburovs.

It can’t be helped, he thought as he marched up to the Cathedral doors.  He flung them open, announcing his presence.  Inside was Alexander and Katrina Saburov along with Yulia.

“Bachelor Dankovsky, what brings you here?” Alexander greeted.

“I heard you had plans to renovate the Cathedral and I came to see.”

“It will no longer be an empty place,” Katerina explained, any authority she might have had being lost in her trembling voice, “It will become a true place of worship.”

“And the Kains allowed this?”

“The Kains no longer have power here,” Alexander announced, “I am the governor and I decide what is allowed.”

Troubling. 

 “I believe your emergency powers ended along with the Plague,” Dankovsky pointed out.

“The Kains have fled across the river, and the Olgimskys have been beheaded with the death of Big Vlad.  I am the only leader that remains.”

What a pompous ass!  The Kains didn’t flee, they simply moved.  He could not let this fledgling tyrant go unchallenged.

“And what a fantastic leader you have been,” he sarcastically remarked, “Why, you barely abused your position of power at all.”

“And what, exactly, are you implying, Bachelor?”

“Just admiring the job you did during the Pest.  Unenforced quarantines, bandits and looters roaming the streets, guards more interested in personal grudges than upholding order.  Truly, you are an exemplary leader.”

Alexander had begun turning red with barely contained rage.  “I’d learn to hold your tongue if I were you, Bachelor ,” his title was spat out as though it was an insult, “The Kains can’t protect you anymore.”

“This coming from the man who needed me, a researcher, to clear out a gang of criminals when you were unable to.”

“Did you come here for a reason other than mockery?” Saburov asked through clenched teeth.

“Yes, actually.  I came to ask about your daughter, Clara.  Do you know where she is?”

Alexander instantly went on the defensive, “She ran away some time ago.  We have no idea where she might be.”

“Ran away?  That’s not what she told me.  She said you abandoned her, replaced her with another.”

Katerina, at least, had the good grace to look ashamed.  Alexander, on the other hand, decided to double down.  “She’s a liar, you should know that.”

“She’s a child who was half-starved and freezing when I found her!”

“I will not be told how to parent from an unmarried dandy from the Capital!”

“I’m not telling you how to parent, I’m telling you–”

“Enough!” Yulia’s voice cut through their row, “Neither of you will reach a satisfying conclusion with all this pointless yelling, not to mention I know that was not the original reason for your coming here.  Eva is here with you and she has previously shown great sentiment for this building.  Due to this, along with several other observations, I predicted that you would come here to try and halt the Cathedral renovation project.”

Dankovsky took a breath and adjusted his cravat.  Yulia was correct, unfortunately.  They would get nowhere in their arguments about Clara.  That was fine.  He wasn’t really trying to argue that Alexander should take Clara back, only that he should feel some guilt for his actions.

“You are correct, as always, Ms. Lyuricheva.  I am here to stop your attempts at redeveloping the Cathedral.”

“Why?” Katerina asked, “The place is barren.  God is not here, nor his worshippers.  Why should we not fix a derelict building?”

“It’s not empty, it’s perfect,” Eva interjected, “You just don’t see how beautiful it is.  Anything you do will only damage its artistry.”

Alexander scoffed, “It is a failed monument of Victor’s experiments.  There is nothing beautiful about it.”

“I wonder how you plan on executing your construction plans,” Dankovsky pondered, “It was my understanding that the Stamatins were indisposed.  Even if they were available, I doubt they would work with you.”

The Stamatins.  His heart went out to them.  Peter had fallen into a deep, all-encompassing depression after the fall of the Polyhedron while Andrey lashed out at anyone who came too close.  Dankovsky himself had shared in their misery, spending more time as a weepy-eyed drunk alongside them then he’d cared to admit.  He would probably still be with them in the Broken Heart, had it not been for Burakh, physically dragging him out and forcing him to help with recovery efforts.  It was exactly what he needed, necessary and distracting work.  What he would do once everything settled down and the work dried up…

Well…he’d rather not think about that right now.

“There are plenty of other laborers looking for work,” Alexander said, “ They are more than happy to work for us.”

“Construction workers are not architects,” Dankovksy countered, “Without someone with proper training, you cannot guarantee the safety of the structure.”

“You will not dissuade us, Bachelor.”

The two of them had a staredown.  “Fine, but perhaps someone else will.  I have a feeling the Kains don’t actually know what you’re doing here.”  He stormed out, Eva following close behind.

He was ready to head straight to Victor or Maria when Eva tugged on his sleeve.  “Is it true what you said?  About Clara?”

“Unfortunately,” he sighed, “I offered to let her stay at the Stillwater, just for a time.  I hope that’s alright.”  Eva smiled warmly.

“Oh Daniil.  That’s so sweet of you.  Of course she can stay.  But I have to ask, why for only a time?  Is someone else going to help her?”

“Eventually I’m going to have to find someone who will adopt her.  It’s not like I can care for her indefinitely.”

Eva cocked her head to the side, “Why not?”

Dankovsky almost laughed at her innocent naivete, “Why?  Because she needs stability.  She needs someone with a permanent residence and a career.”

Eva looked puzzled, “But…you have a house.  You live with me.”

“For now, yes, but I can’t expect you to house me forever.”

“Why not?  And why would you need a job?  I have plenty of money to share.”

She was childlike in her kindness and generosity.  How could he explain that he needed his own place, to make his own way in the world.  He needed to rebuild his ruined life on his own.  He couldn’t spend his life leeching off of her, willing though she may be.

“Even so, Clara needs a proper parent, and that’s not me.”  Eva smiled again, a little sadder this time and reached out to caress his cheek.

“Daniil.  You’re so smart.  But sometimes, I think you think too much.  I believe you’d make a wonderful father.”

It was a terribly sweet thing to say.  Too sweet for someone like him.

“I have to go.”  He told her brusquely as he turned and fled.  Coward.  Failure.  He couldn’t give her what she wanted.  No one deserved to be shackled to him.  Not Eva, and not Clara.

It took some time to make it across the river.  Ever since the Termitary opened, all of the Kin moved away to Shekhen, including the boatman who used to ferry people about town.  He spotted Victor amongst construction materials at a lone drafting table, looking over blueprints.

“Victor Kain, a moment, if you please.”

He glanced at him briefly before returning his eyes to the blueprints, “Ah, Dankovsky.  To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Business with the Saburovs, I’m afraid.  Were you aware that they’re planning on renovating the Cathedral?”

Victor frowned, “I had heard some such rumors.  It is troubling that Alexander is abusing his power, though not entirely surprising..”

“I’ve heard that some people believe the Cathedral makes time.  Will this cause unrest?”

“It is not a matter of belief,” Victor said, “The Cathedral does indeed make time.  It then distributes that time through clocks around the town.  Surely, you’ve noticed how time moves differently here?”

“The perception of time passing, maybe, but not time itself.”

Kain shook his head, “No, Bachelor.  It is time itself.  The Cathedral was our greatest achievement before the Polyhedron.  Not only can it create time, a select few can control it.”  He pulled something out of his pocket.  It looked like a pocket watch, but far more complex and ornate.  Dankovsky was struck with a bizarre feeling, like deja vu but…more.  A feeling that in another life, or another reality, he had used that very device to control time.

He shook himself from the thought.  “So the Saburovs’ plans pose a threat to the town then?”

“Perhaps,” Victor took a moment to think, “You see, we may have commissioned the Cathedral, but we were not the ones who designed it.  I know very little about how it functions, only that it does.  Perhaps the alterations will harm nothing, perhaps it will be catastrophic.  You will need to speak to the architect to find out more.”

“To the Stamatins then, I suppose.”  Why did he always need to run around to get anything done in this town?  If he hurried, he could still get back in time to cook dinner.  He turned to leave, but Victor stopped him.

“The Stamatins did not design the Cathedral.”

What?  “I was under the assumption that the twins built all the major buildings here.”

Victor sighed wistfully, “No, there was a third architect.  Farkhad.  He was a genius in his own right, the only one who could match Peter’s mind.  They used to be the best of friends.”

A falling out then.  Explains why he’d never heard of the man.  “Where can I find him then?”

“The Cemetery.  He was murdered some years ago.  It was a tragedy.  We never found out who did it.”

Another dead man.  Great, just perfect!  This was like Simon Kain all over again!  “And what, exactly, do you expect me to do?  Solve his murder?  Dig up his grave?”

“No need for all that, Bachelor.  However, you may find further information from the Cemetery’s caretaker, Grace.  Though I doubt the Saburovs will make seeing their new daughter easy.”

Dankovsky rubbed his temples.  He could feel a headache coming on, “Nothing in this town is ever easy.”

Chapter Text

Grace stood near the back of the Cemetery, staring off into the Steppe.  She looked to be lost in her thoughts, but Clara knew better.  She approached Grace, her feet softly crunching in the tall grass, breaking the silence.  She stood next to Grace and watched the horizon with her.  They stood like that for maybe 15 minutes before Grace finally spoke up.

“I’ll need to create a new graveyard soon.  There isn’t enough room here.”

“Will you build it close by?”

Grace tilted her gaze down at the dirt, “I’m not sure.  The Earth doesn’t like to be dug up.  You have to listen very carefully to know where to dig, but lately it’s been so hard to hear.  I’m worried there’s something wrong.”

The Earth was gone, sacrificed along with the children’s impossible tower.  She could have saved it, if the Ripper and the Snake—

No.  She shouldn’t think of them that way.  Not anymore.

“I think the Earth is resting, like everyone else underground.” Clara said.  Grace nodded solemnly.  Dead did not mean gone, they knew that better than anyone else.

The wind blew and Clara pulled up her collar to block the chill.

“How is it…at the Rod?”

Grace sat down and Clara joined her.  She had such sorrowful eyes, much like their mother’s.  But Katerina’s eyes were darkened with her own demons, while Grace’s eyes were filled with the woes of others.

“It’s hard.  I’m not used to caring for the living yet.  I’m not sure what they need, but they need so much.”

“Do they take care of you?”

Grace nodded slowly, “Yes.  They bring me food, and they’re teaching me my numbers and letters, but…”

“But?”

“But they won’t let me see Peter anymore,” Grace sighed, “I know he was sometimes forgetful about when to feed me…but his home was so warm, and the Rod can be so cold.”  Clara nodded in agreement pulling her new coat tight around her. She knew first-hand how frigid that household could be.   “But they let me come to the Cemetery.  Father tells me to count the dead and mother says it’s important to cultivate my power, that it will be important for when I become Mistress.”

“Do you want to become a Mistress?”  Clara asked hesitantly.  She never would be.  Clara was Mistress of the Earth.

“I don’t know,” Grace admitted.  She plucked a blade of grass and twirled it around in her fingers, “It sounds unbearably stifling.  Yet, the dead could use a Mistress.  There are so many of them now.”

Clara placed a comforting hand on Grace’s shoulder, “They don’t need a Mistress, they need you.  You’ve done so much for them, you’re their angel.”

Grace smiled.  It was a small, shy thing.  It might have been the first time Clara ever saw her smile.  “Thank you.  That’s very kind of you to say.”

Clara spent the rest of her day at the Cemetery, idly watching Grace clean the headstones and sing lullabies to their occupants.  It was the most relaxed Clara had been in a long time, perhaps the most relaxed she’d ever been.  But eventually, Gace had to go back to the Rod and Clara had to go back to the Stillwater.

As they said their goodbyes, Grace clasped Clara’s hands in hers, “I want you to know, you’re always welcome here.”

“Thank you Grace.  You don’t know how much that means, having someone to turn to.”  Grace was a truly saintly and kind soul.  She deserved to have parents who loved and cherished her.

It’s just that Clara didn’t think the Saburovs were those parents.

Chapter Text

Dankovsky returned home frustrated and with a pounding headache.  Why did the town’s so-called leaders have to make things so difficult?  They were never driven to action, even when presented with dire evidence of an incoming calamity.  No, they would rather sit around, ignoring reality and demanding the impossible before anything would get done.  Now they would have him chase a ghost before stopping the Cathedral’s destruction.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  Why was he fighting so hard for a building that only held bad memories for him?  For Eva’s sake, certainly, but perhaps for Clara as well.  He had no doubt she only gave him that warning about the Cathedral just to throw a wrench in her former parents’ plans.  He couldn’t exactly blame her, he understood the sentiment well.  After all, how many times had he done things simply to spite his parents?

What were they doing, he wondered.  They must have heard the news by now, both about Thanatica and his supposed death.  It was laughably easy to get his name put on the official death toll.  He didn’t even have to bribe anyone to do it.  Would his parents be saddened at the news?  Probably not.  His father was most likely in his armchair, smoking his pipe, spouting some nonsense about how ‘it was bound to happen’ or ‘I tried to warn him’ all while his mother meekly nodded in agreement.  They wouldn’t even have to pretend to mourn him due to the shameful nature of Thanatica’s destruction.  His father must be feeling pretty proud of himself right now.

Perhaps that was a little unfair.  Surely they would grieve for him somewhat.  At the very least, his father would mourn for the end of the Dankovsky lineage, though that would have ended with Daniil regardless, whether his father knew it or not.

He shook himself from his thoughts.  There was no use feeling sorry for himself.  He had dinner to make.

He heard Clara enter when he was still chopping the meager vegetables he found at the store.  The trains had started returning, but fresh produce was still hard to come by this far from the Capital.

“What are you making?” Clara asked as she popped her head around the corner.

“Fish stew.”  She made an understandably disappointed face in response.  He had done what he could with the limited ingredients, but he doubted it smelled or tasted pleasant.  If only he could get ahold of some thyme or parsley, but if vegetables were hard to find, then spices were impossible.  God, what he wouldn’t give for an herb that wasn’t twyre.

“I guess it’ll be a while before the Bull Enterprise starts working again, huh.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

Clara shrugged, “I mean, it’ll be a while before they start making meat again.  Until then…it’s just fish.”

“Having a craving then, are we?”  He finished chopping the potato and added it to the pot, wincing internally as he thought about how much he paid for it.  He had to trade a grubby looking child three marbles and a peanut, just for a single potato!

“No,” she sat down and kicked her legs back and forth, “Just tired of fish.  It’s almost as if fish and eggs are the only food here.  Well, that and bread, I guess.”

“Believe me, I share the sentiment.  I never realized how little variety towns like this had before I came here.”  To think he hadn’t seen a single beetroot since arriving.  Who ever heard of a Russian town that didn’t have beets?

“I bet you ate all sorts of fancy food, huh?” Clara questioned with a mischievous smile on her face, “Things like caviar or one of those roasted pigs with an apple in its mouth.”

He chuckled, “Hardly.  That cuisine was only for the truly elite, the kind of people I would hound for grant money.”

“I bet you still ate stuff like that at some of those big fancy parties you went to.”

He smiled as he ladled out the soup into two bowls, “Maybe.  Once or twice.”

They sat down to eat their disappointing dinner.  It was bland, just as he feared.  Clara didn’t seem to mind as she happily slurped down the simple soup.  It was quite a mood shift compared to the suspicion and screaming from last night.  Something good must have happened.

“So…how was your day?”  He asked and immediately cringed.  What, was he making awkward small talk with a colleague?

“It was good.  I spent the day with Grace.”

Dankovsky almost choked in surprise.  “And that was…okay?”

Clara shrugged, “She didn’t want to be adopted, so it’s not her fault.  She’d rather stay with Peter.”

Ah, Peter.  Katerina was unfortunately correct in her assertions that Peter was not fit to be a parent, loathe as Dankovsky was to admit it, but that didn’t give her the right to forbid Grace from seeing the man.

“What about you?” she questioned, “Did you manage to stop the Cathedral plans?”

He groaned, “I’ve hit a wall, unfortunately.  Alexander wants me to investigate Farkhad, the one who built the Cathedral, the only problem being that the man is long dead.”

“Then you should talk to Grace.  You should know that she listens to the dead.  She may know this architect you’re looking for.”

“Do you expect me to believe that drivel?”

Clara glowered at him, “What happened to not ignoring our superstitions?”

“This is different.  Death is something I am an expert on.  I have spent my entire career studying it.  I have seen hundreds of so-called psychics and mystics and none of them have ever produced reliable results.”  The first few years that Thanatica had been opened, hoards of charlatans and snake-oil salesmen were practically knocking his door down, eager to scam idealistic scientists out of their money.  They were all turned away, not a single kopeck richer.  “Trust me when I tell you, you cannot talk to the dead.”

“Just because you haven’t seen it, does not mean it is impossible,” Clara argued.

“Just because you believe it does not make it true,” Dankovsky countered.

“For a supposedly intelligent man, you can be awfully dumb.  You know this is a land of miracles, so how can you still doubt?  Are you afraid of being proven wrong?”

Now this was the side of Clara he had been prepared to deal with.  A child preaching on things she had little knowledge of and insisting she was right.  “I’m only afraid I’d be wasting my time.  Grace is a lonely girl who was so desperate for company that she pretended the dead could talk to her.”

“How dare you!?” she gasped, affronted.  That…probably wasn’t the kindest way to talk about the poor girl, but it was still true.  “Do you look down on her so much?  Why not just go to Grace?  What have you got to lose?”

“I still have my dignity and my professional pride.  I will not attend some séance just because you tell me to.”

“You would have doomed the whole town for that idiotic pride!”  

There was a sudden silence as the accusation hung heavy in the air.  His skin felt clammy, being hit with such a sudden and tremendous wash of shame.  Guilt, anger, and regret all coalesced into a stone that sat heavy at the bottom of his stomach.  How could he respond to that?  She was right, after all.  If he’d had his way, this town would be nothing more than a scorched pile of rubble.  Any defense he could give would be a bold-faced lie.

Dankovsky stood, his chair screeching horrendously loud in the quiet kitchen.  Without a word or a glance, he left for his room up the stairs, locking the door shut behind him.  Fleeing again.  Coward.

He paced around, not knowing what to do with himself.  He felt both listless and full of nervous energy all at once.  His fingers twitched, nerves sparking, begging for something to do.  Paperwork.  Burakh had given him a stack of patient files to organize.  That’s what he needed.  He went to his desk and lit a candle preparing to lose himself in the mind-numbing, methodical work.  Sort by district, then last name.  Start with the Backbone.  Afonin, Alaev, Andreev, Antonovich, Belinsky, Belov…

A tap on the shoulder had him nearly jumping out of his skin.  Grabbing the nearest weapon (a pen) he whipped around only to find a melancholic looking Clara.

“Good God girl!  You nearly gave me a heart attack!  How did you get in here?”

“I picked the lock.”  Of course.  Who didn’t know how to work a lockpick around here?  No wonder no one bothered to lock their doors.  “I knocked before, but you didn’t answer.  I thought something might have happened…”

“No, I’m fine.  Just…working.”  He glanced over at the clock.  Almost midnight.  Had he really been working that long?

“You never finished eating.”

“I’m not–” not hungry?  It still felt like a sin to waste food.  “You’re right.  I’ll go eat soon.”

Clara stood there, staring at the floor.  Was she…upset?  Nervous?

“You know, you don’t have to believe in order to go to Grace.”

“What are you talking about?” Dankovsky questioned.  Where was she going with this?

“You need to talk to this dead architect to stop Katerina, right?  That means Katerina’s the only one who needs to believe the séance worked.”

“I see.”  That…that could work actually.  He had no doubt that Katerina believed in Grace’s powers; it was most likely the sole reason she adopted the girl.  “And we would hold the ritual to contact the dead so that Grace would corroborate our story.”

“So you agree?  We should ask Grace for help?”

“Yes, first thing tomorrow morning.”  Clara smiled and left.  He turned back to his desk.  He really should go to bed, but he was so close to finishing all the files for the Flank.  Before he could return to his work, however, Clara re-entered, placing a bowl of soup on the desk.

“Eat.”  She commanded.  He took a spoonful and found that it was warm.  She must have heated it on the stove for him.  He turned to thank her, but she was already gone.  Tsk, stubborn girl.  Just as stubborn as he was.  He finished the soup and got ready for bed, the files forgotten.  He had an early morning planned after all.

Chapter Text

There were a few errands to run before heading to the Cemetery.  They needed bread and milk from the grocer and freshly picked wildflowers from the Steppe.

“Why are we bothering with this?” Dankovsky asked as he checked his pocket watch for the third time in as many minutes, “I have an appointment to keep with Burakh and I was hoping to get this done within the hour.”

“The dead need offerings,” Clara explained, scanning the field for more flowers.  She had already picked a bundle of blossoms, but a few more couldn’t hurt.  She bent over to pick a reddish-orange looking one to add to her collection of scarlet and crimson blooms.  Instinctually, she knew they would need these flowers in particular.  “And Grace is more likely to help us if we come with gifts.”

Dankovsky grumbled, but otherwise let her continue.  Flowers in hand, they headed down towards the Earth Quarter.  As they approached the Cemetery, they saw Grace exiting the keeper’s lodge.  Clara jogged down the worn path to meet her.

“My friend, it’s so good to see you again,” Grace said in her usual muted tone.  Her face dropped when she saw Dankovsky approach as well, “You’ve brought a strange guest.”

“He needs your help.”  Clara motioned to Dankovsky to come closer.

“Yes.  I need to speak to a man named Farkhad,” he explained, “I’ve been told that you can assist me in this matter?”

Grace perked up at this, “Oh, Farkhad.  No one’s ever come to visit him before.”

“Clara also insisted we pick these up for you.”  Dankovsky pulled out the bread and milk from his back and handed them over.

“Oh yes, how wonderful.  There are so many newcomers to the Cemetery, I haven’t had the time to get them anything.”

“Newcomers?  You mean the corpses?  No my dear, those are for y–”  Clara elbowed the Bachelor hard in the side before he had a chance to make a fool of himself.

“Of course.  And we thought the architect might like these flowers.  If we could talk to him…?”

She handed the flowers as well.  “Oh, he’ll love these.  Red is his favorite color.  Come, follow me.” 

She led them through the graveyard, up to a headstone that stood out among the rest.  It was made of five tall stone pillars, the middle one painted a dark red with a realistic eye drawn on it.  A flat slab covered the grave itself.  On it was an engraving:

Here lies Farkhad, the most unshakable architect.  We assembled this monument on the beautiful foundation.  From inconsolable brothers in arms P. et A.  Gemini.

“It’s so strange,” Grace mused, “Someone must have paid a great deal to have such a monument built, but no one ever comes to visit him.”

“It certainly is a beautiful headstone,” Dankovsky agreed, “So how do we…?”

“It can’t be you,” Grace told him, “It has to be someone who’s willing to listen.”  

Dankovsky sputtered in indignation, but Clara volunteered before he could argue.  “I’ll do it.”

“Good.”  Grace kneeled on the stone slab and held her hands out.  “Touch my hands.  Open yourself and hear their voice.”

Clara did as she was told, kneeling across from Grace.  She closed her eyes, focusing on every sound around her, the bugs buzzing in the air, the breeze weaving through the grass, Dankovsky’s impatient foot tapping in the dirt.  She listened, harder and harder until, suddenly, all the noise dropped out.  She opened her eyes and found herself sitting in a misty black void.  Dankovsky and Grace were gone.  There was only her, and a strange man facing away from her.

The man had curly black hair, olive skin, and a red silk robe, the same shade as the headstone.  The robe hung salaciously off one shoulder and a single gold earring dangled off his ear, twinkling in the pitch black.  She craned her neck, trying to see his profile, but he twisted his head away from her prying eyes.

“That’s not how this works, child.”

“You’re Farkhad.  You’re the one who made the Cathedral.”  Who else could it be?

“Ah yes,” he sighed wistfully,  “My crowning achievement.  Simon was so thrilled with my work.  He spent decades at a time there.”

“Decades?”

She could hear the smirk in his voice when he answered.  “Well, decades to him.  How else could he be older than his twin?”

“It controls time.  Can you tell me how?” Clara asked, “Please, it’s important.”

Farkhad shook his head, “I doubt you would understand.  I doubt any of you simple folk would understand.  It took me years to figure it out, and I am an unmatched genius.”

“Then at least tell me if it’s dangerous.  The Saburovs plan to turn it into a mundane church.  Would this affect the flow of time?”

“Oh, that could be disastrous.  No one was meant to remain inside the Cathedral.  No one but Simon.  All those people going in and out, it could permanently speed up time for the whole town.”

Shit!  “How do we stop it?”

Farkhad shrugged, “Don’t let the Saburovs build, easy as that.  But, if you want to truly protect it, you would have to finish the Cathedral.”

“Finish it?”

“Yes,” he sighed and slouched a little, “My magnum opus, I never managed to complete it.  If only they had murdered me inside the Cathedral, I would have much preferred that.”

“Who are ‘they’?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Farkhad said in a melancholic tone, “They have long since succeeded in hiding their crime.  I doubt testimony from a dead man would hold up in court, even in a town as bizarre as ours.”  A story she would very much like to know more about, but now wasn’t the time.

“Fine, then what did you mean you would have preferred to die in the Cathedral?”

“Because it is a Focus.  For it to be truly stable, it needs a soul.”

“You made it a Focus?” She didn’t understand what Focus was, not really, but she did know the Polyhedron was supposed to be one, and that it had held Simon’s Spirit.

“Yes, I did.  Peter may have perfected the technique, but I invented it.”

“So someone has to die in the Cathedral.”  Another sacrifice.  It always came down to a sacrifice.

He nodded, “I’m surprised no one has died in it yet.”

Clara narrowed her eyes suspiciously, “What do you mean?”

“It is an empty vessel, a vacuum.  It longs to be filled, especially in times of strife.  No doubt it has tried to call out to someone.”

The memory of Eva begging for help flooded her mind.  

She can’t destroy the Cathedral, it’s too important!  No other building in town sings to my soul quite like it does.

Oh no.

She slammed back to reality, gasping for air while Grace collapsed in a heap in front of her.  

Dankovsky was on her in an instant, taking her pulse and checking for fever.  “What’s wrong?  How are you feeling?”

Grace moaned in pain as she came to.  “It hurts, connecting with the dead like that.

Clara looked down at Grace in concern.  She had always been pale, but now Grace was as white as a corpse.  Sweat beaded on her forehead and her eyes rolled around, dazed and unfocused.  Clara reached out to help her, but the second her fingers brushed against Grace’s, she could sense what was wrong.

“You’re dying,” Clara realized, “Everytime you touch them, it kills you a little.”  

It killed her.  Dankovsky didn’t want to do this, but Clara had insisted, and it could have killed her.

Dankovky helped Grace to sit up.  “Your pulse is weak and irregular.  It could be anemia, or possibly dehydration.  I’m taking you to Burakh to make sure it’s nothing more serious.”

She had to tell him.  “Dankovsky, wait.  Farkhad said–”

“Not now, Clara.  Grace needs medical attention.  You can tell me later.”  He helped Grace stand, letting her lean heavily on his shoulder.

“No, this is important!  Farkhad–”

“No Clara, this is important,” he said before turning to Grace.  “Come along pumpkin, Burakh’s house isn’t far.”

“Idiot!  Fine, I’ll fix this myself!”  She bolted, running past them both and out of the Cemetery.  She heard Dankovsky calling for her, but she kept running.  He would thank her later, providing she wasn’t already too late.

Chapter Text

Her heart pounded as she raced through the streets, weaving past confused townsfolk.  Some of them yelled at her and even more of them shot her dirty looks, but none of that mattered.  She had to reach the Stillwater.  She could feel that Eva was still alive, it wasn’t too late!  While she ran, she could hear her sister’s treacherous voice whispering in her ear.

Why stop her?  She is a perfect and willing lamb, ready to cut herself open for you.  Let Eve fall from God’s grace to fill the Cathedral with life.  She so eagerly wants to create a miracle.  Let her.

Fuck that.  Clara was tired of death, tired of sacrifices.  She failed to save all of her Bound during the Sand Pest, but she could still save Eva.

She burst into the Stillwater and rushed to the central room which startled Eva, who gasped and clutched the note she was writing to her chest.

“Oh!  Clara, what are you in such a hurry for?”

“I…had to…find you,” she spoke between gasps.

“Oh?  Well I was just writing a letter to Daniil.  Perhaps you can give it to him the next time you see him?”

“No.”

Eva looked confused, “No?  Did something happen between you two?  I thought you–”

“I know what you’re planning to do,” Clara said as she managed to catch her breath, “I won’t let you.”

Realization and shock painted Eva’s face before she looked down, dejected, “You must really be a Mistress then.”

“You don’t deny it?”

“Why deny anything to a Mistress,” Eva sniffed, her eyes beginning to fill with tears, “Yes, I’m going to jump from the very top of the Cathedral.  It wouldn’t be a painful way to go.  I imagine it would be like flying for a bit, before the end.  And this is the only way to fill the Cathedral with grace.  That will show the Savurovs how beautiful it is.”

“Foolish girl!  Don’t you trust your ‘dear Daniil’ to save the day?”

“Oh Daniil!” she was fully sobbing now, “He needs this miracle, more than he knows.  It’s for the best that I’m gone!”

“What are you talking about?  Dankovsky is your friend, he speaks highly of you.”  Where did she get the idea that Dankovsky wanted her dead?  Why must the utopians all be so dramatic?

“He’s looking to leave.  He told me he needs a house and money if he were to raise you,” Eva gave a watery smile, “If I died, I could leave this house and all my possessions to him.  You two would have a comfortable life”  

“Idiot!” she snatched the letter, or rather the suicide note, from Eva’s hands, “Dankovsky hates death!  It’s his mortal enemy!  Do you really think he would be happy to hear that you handed yourself over to that specter willingly?”

“He would understand.  Maybe not right away, but he would, eventually.”

“You’re all idiots,” Clara sighed, “Dankovsky misses you.  Did you know that?  You spend so much time with the Kains, he thought you had forgotten about him.”

“Oh, my poor Daniil!” she didn’t think it was possible, but Eva began to cry even harder, “I’ve neglected him so terribly!  But you said that he misses me?  Truly?”

“Yes.  He called you his dear friend and has nothing but kind things to say about you.”

Eva wiped her eyes, “Tell me then, please, if he cares for me.  If you are a Mistress you must know.”

“I just told you, he said–”

“No,” Eva shook her head and stared gravely at Clara, “I know we are friends.  Does he care for me?  Does he love me?”

Oh, how Clara wished she could lie.

“No.  He doesn’t”

Eva’s face crumpled as tears began to flow once more.  She didn’t sob out loud as she had before, however.  No, she sat silently, unable to stem the flow of anguish that spilled from her eyes.  Clara got the sense that this was not news to Eva, only a confirmation of what she had known all along.

“I’m sorry.”  A cold platitude, but it was all Clara could think to give in the moment.

“That’s fine.  It’s not like it changes anything.”

Absurd!  Was she seriously still considering this?  “You can’t possibly be thinking of throwing your life away just because some man does not love you!  You haven’t even known him that long.”

“I knew I loved him, the moment his boots touched our roads,” Eva solemnly mused, “You do not know the pain that comes with loving someone who will not love you back.  But no, I’m not doing this just for him.  Whether he loved me or not, it would have always come to this.”

“But you have other things in your life.  I know you have been working with the Kains, and I know you are friendly with Yulia.  What about them?  What will they do when you are gone?”

“If the Cathedral is damaged, they will all suffer for it,” Eva stood, a determined look in her eye,  “You told me once that I would never see a miracle because I felt I was entitled to them.  Well now I am not sitting back and expecting miracles to happen.  I am going to become a miracle, even though it may cost me my life.”

Nothing seemed to be working, she wasn’t getting through to her.  “This isn’t you, Eva.  This is the Cathedral pulling you in.  It can sense that it’s in danger and it is trying to trick you into sacrificing yourself for it.”

“All the more reason to follow its call.”  She tried to push past Clara to leave, but the Changeling wedged herself into the doorway, blocking passage.

“I won’t let you go.”

Eva just smiled, in that kindly patronizing way adults sometimes smile down at children, “You’ll look after Daniil when I’m gone, won’t you?  Could you stay here with him, make sure he understands?”

“No!”  In a fit of desperation, Clara shoved Eva, who went tumbling backwards.  She let out a sharp bark of pain and clutched at her stomach while Clara blinked over her in confusion.  It wasn’t that hard of a push, it shouldn’t have hurt much less sent the poor woman flying, unless…

She looked down at her hands in slowly dawning horror.  Her damn unreliable powers.  Of course, she had lost the ability to heal, but she retained the power to hurt.

That’s all you ever do. Her sister’s cruel voice whispered.

She kneeled down to check on Eva who was too preoccupied with her pain to pay her any mind.  There was no obvious wound, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something wrong internally.  She tried laying hands on Eva, perhaps she could still heal, or at least sense what was wrong, but she could feel nothing.

“Please,” Eva gasped, “You have to take me to the Cathedral.  It won’t work unless I die in the Cathedral.”

“You’re not dying!” Clara shouted, though she had no way of knowing if that was true.  What to do, what to do?  She couldn’t run and get help, Eva would only use that time to finish herself off.  Oh, why couldn’t Dankovsky just listen to her?  Then none of this would have happened!

Eva spasmed and vomited out a bloody red mess.  Shit shit shitshitshitSHIT!  They had to get to Burakh’s!  She hoisted Eva’s arm over her shoulder and struggled to get them both standing.  “We have to move, come on!”  They wobbled out the door.  Eva struggled to break off towards the Cathedral, but Clara yanked her back towards the bridge out of the district.  There was no way she was going to be able to carry Eva all the way across town, especially not with her struggling.  Thankfully, they soon came across a man walking the streets.

“Please, you have to help us!”  Clara begged the man, “She’s injured!  She has to get to Burakh’s clinic!”

Eva moaned, “No, I have to get to the Cathedral.  Please sir.”

“Silence!” Clara commanded, praying she still had some power to curse others into muteness.  She turned back to the man, “Please, help us get to the Factory district.”

The man, a rich dandy type, looked at the pair of them dubiously.  “I thought you were a faith healer.  Why can’t you just wave your hands and make her better?” he asked mockingly.

“This is an emergency, please!  You can insult me all you want later, but right now, Eva needs help!”  He rolled his eyes, but relented and supported her other side.  Together, the three of them made slow but steady progress to the clinic.

Chapter Text

He got Grace to the Clinic without much issue.  When he described the situation to Burakh, the man was surprisingly familiar with her issue.  It must have been a pre-existing condition.  The good news was that Grace  would be fine after some rest, so long as she “never did that again, like we promised,” whatever that meant.

“I take it this is why you were late?” Burakh asked once Grace was tucked safely in one of the patient beds.

“Yes,” Dankovsky admitted, “Victor tasked me with investigating the former architect of the Cathedral.  Since the man has since passed on, Clara was convinced Grace could talk to him, or some such nonsense.”

“Clara, the Changeling?  I thought she left with the army.”

“I did as well, up until a few days ago.”

Burakh was a bit taken aback, “How did she manage to rope you into her schemes?  I thought you would be the last person to fall for her talk of ‘miracles’.”  He rolled his eyes dismissively at the word ‘miracles’.  Odd, he thought Burakh believed in magic and miracles, given his style of medicine.  Maybe he just didn’t believe in Clara’s miracles.

“Normally, yes.  But she has been living with me for the past few days.

Burakh raised an eyebrow at that, “Really?  Why?”

“It’s only temporary, I assure you.  Just until I find her better parents.”  Honestly, he’d be hard pressed to find any worse than her previous pair.  “Did you know that the Saburovs abandoned her on the streets?  And during the Plague, no less!  I know I don’t understand this town’s customs but surely that is crossing a line.”

“I wouldn’t call what Alexander did part of town custom.”

Small mercies.  “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone looking to adopt, would you?”

Burakh shook his head, “If I did, they would have adopted several by now.  The Pest made plenty of orphans.”  Several thousand orphans no doubt, if the death tolls were accurate.  The Plague was not always kind enough to take whole families.

Dankovsky sighed.  Well, it had been a long-shot.  He had been hoping Lara Ravel would have some space in her shelter but it appeared this was not to be.  He should probably ask that social worker woman at town hall.  She had dealt with babies found in plague houses.  Surely she must know how adoption services worked around here.  Now, what was her name again?  Something to do with birds…

“Why can’t you keep her?” Burakh questioned, abruptly shaking Dankovsky out of his thoughts, “She lives with you already.  Why not just let her stay?”

He let out another, more dramatic sigh, “Again with this.  I already explained it to Eva, she needs a stable home environment with parents who can provide for her.”

“And that’s not you because…”

“Because I do not have gainful employment, among a myriad of other reasons.”  Honestly, why did it seem like he was the only one who saw sense here?

“You work here.” Burakh flatly stated, staring at Dankovsky like he was an idiot.

“Temporarily!  Once things settle down, you won’t need me anymore.”

Briefly, there was silence.  Dankovsky thought that meant the conversation was over and he had been proven right once again, but then Burakh mused, “You know, I was planning on opening up a clinic.  A real one, with equipment and wards, not just something I run of my father’s house.  Now, I don’t know the first thing about opening up an institution…but you do.”

He threw his hands up in frustration, “Yes, fine.  I would be happy to help you set everything up, but what about after that?  Hmm?”

“After that?  Well, you help me run the clinic of course.  It can’t just be Sticky and me running the place.  I can use all the help I can get after…everything,”

After Stakh left, he meant.  It had been a shock to both of them.  The fool had told no one his plans, leaving with the army in the dark of night out of some misplaced sense of guilt.  Only a note left in his empty apartment let anyone know what had happened.  Idiot.  As if the army could absolve anyone of their sins.

“You can’t expect me to work at your clinic forever.  I’m not a doctor, I’m a scientist.”

“I know, but it would help you get back on your feet.  A step towards bigger and better things.”

Dankovsky let out a small chuckle, “You’d really be okay with me thinking of your clinic as just a stepping stone?”

“I’m honestly surprised you don’t already,” Burakh grinned, “Look, I know that this is a lot.  Jumping into parenthood is a big thing, believe me, but honestly, I think it would be good for both of you.  It certainly helped me.  Having kids puts things into perspective, keeps you going, if only for their sake, and they give you something to look forward to at the end of the day.  I know I sure didn’t see myself becoming a father, but now I have two kids and I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“Your situation is different,” Dankovsky protested, “You’re good with children, they like you.”

Burakh laughed, warm and bright, “And you’re not?  You know kids talk, right?  I hear them spouting off about ‘Uncle Bachelor this’ and ‘Uncle Bachelor that’.  They always talk about how you speak to them like equals, not just children, or how you always pay extra in trades.”

“So I don’t understand their bizarre economy.  That’s not exactly the compliment you think it is.  And they don’t all like me.  I’m sure that gang in the warehouses would have something else to say about me.”

“Notkin’s gang?” Burakh questioned,  “Alright, maybe not them.  You did make a pretty bad first impression with them.”  Dankovsky gave him a deadpan glare.  “Okay, you made an absolutely terrible first impression.  But look, we got off on the wrong foot as well.  You threatened to shoot me at first and look at us now.”  Burakh gave him a friendly pat on the back to reinforce the idea that there was no bad blood between them.

“I’m not a parent, Burakh.  I don’t–” he groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, “I’m not cut out for it.  I’m not caring or nurturing.  I know what people say when they think I’m not listening.  The heartless Bachelor, the Capital snake, the monster who locked away their loved ones and wouldn’t even give them the decency of a proper burial.”  He was beginning to spiral, he could tell, but he couldn’t stop the words pouring out of his mouth,  “They say that I stole their water and medicine, just to give it to the ruling families, that I would have let them all die if only it would further my career.  And you know what?  I almost did!  I can’t be trusted to look after anybody, much less a child!  Why can’t anyone else see that?!”

He only realized he had been screaming once he heard his voice rattling back against the stifling small workroom walls.  His face flushed with humiliation.  He had revealed far too much in that break of composure.  Shameful.  Burakh, of course, was by his side in an instant, ready to offer comfort.  He slowly reached out towards him, as though Dankovsky was a frightened, injured animal.  Dankovsky, trying to regain some pride, slapped the offending hand away, but regretted it immediately.

“I’m sorry, I just–”

“I know,” Burakh reassured him.  He was perhaps the only person in the world who did.  “We all did things we regretted then.  But those actions don’t define us.  Not to mention you did plenty to save lives, more than most people did.” 

“You don’t understand, I’ve always been like this, even before the Pest.  You think people didn’t call me heartless back in the Capital as well?  That they didn’t call me a demon?  I was chased here because they didn’t want me.  I’m wicked, corrupt.  I only hurt people.”  

That had been the whole reason he went into research.  He was bad with people, he didn’t get them.  Sure, he could put on a convincing mask, charm those around him into getting what he wanted, but eventually that facade would crumble, leaving only the abrasive asshole beneath it.  He thought it would all be fine, in the long run.  He would cure death, and that heroic act would be so monumental that it would cancel out all the misery he had caused along the way.  But now, with Thanatica reduced to a pile of ash, he wouldn’t get to wipe away any of that pain.

He hugged his arms across his stomach tight, as though he could squeeze the anxiety out of himself if only he tried hard enough.  Worthless.

“The fact that you're even concerned about hurting her proves you're not heartless.”  Burakh tried to approach him again.  This time, Dankovsky let him.  At first it was just a light touch on the shoulder, but when Dankovsky didn’t fight him, he inched closer, slowly but surely, until he had him enveloped in a comforting hug.  Daniil, the pathetic worm that he was, leaned into it, resting his head on Burakh’s strong, sturdy shoulder.

“Look, I know you don’t believe it yet, but I think you’d make a good dad.”  He could feel Burakh’s voice rumble against his chest as much as he could hear it.  “You’ve already done more for her than anyone else.  In time, you’ll see.  You’re not the villain you make yourself out to be.”

He wanted to believe Burakh.  God, he wanted to believe him.  He wanted to stay like this forever, safe in the arms of someone who couldn’t see how irredeemable he was, but life wasn’t that kind.

Sticky burst into the room, causing the two men to jerk away from each other.  “You guys gotta come downstairs!  That lady from the Stillwater, Ms. Yan is here.  There’s something wrong with her!”

Eva!  Heart in his throat, Dankovsky flew down the stairs with Burakh close behind.  At the front door he saw Clara, trying to keep a struggling Ms. Yan who was desperately reaching for the exit.  A worrying smear of blood stained her chin.

“What happened?” he demanded.  The two girls froze and stared at him like startled deer.

“It was an accident!  It wasn’t my fault!” Clara exclaimed.

“What was an accident?  What happened?”  He moved to closer examine Eva, tilting her head to check for injuries.

“It was my powers!  They accidently hit Eva and she threw up blood!”

Burakh mumbled something under his breath and bundled Eva further inside, leaving Dankovsky behind to interrogate Clara.

“What do you mean your powers hit her?” he demanded.  He was too worried and frazzled to bother with niceties, “Spare me your bullshit, for once, and just plainly explain to me what happened before Eva started vomiting?”

“She was trying to get to the Cathedral, she was going to kill herself!”

“Stop lying!  Eva has no reason to want to harm herself.”

“You don’t understand, the Cathedral is a Focus.”  His traitorous heart leapt at hearing the word ‘Focus’.  “It wants a soul to hold inside itself.  It’s whispering to her, trying to trick her into sacrificing herself!”

“Where did you even hear that?  Don’t tell me it was your ‘powers’ again.”

“No, it was the séance!” Clara insisted, “I talked to Farkhad, he told me everything!”

“That’s enough!” he shouted, “I told you to stop lying.  You can’t even come up with a believable story!  I don’t know why you attacked Eva, but–”

“I didn’t attack her!  You can see for yourself.”  She searched her pockets for something, growing increasingly distressed when she couldn’t find whatever it was.  “The letter, I know I took it from her–but where…?”

“So you stole from her as well?”

“No!  I–”  She was cut off by the sound of Eva shrieking upstairs.  

Dankovsky rushed up to help, taking the steps two at a time.  As he ran, he called out, “We’re not done with this conversation Clara!”

Inside the clinic, he saw Eva, pushing away Burakh who was trying to feed her one of his tinctures.

“Get away!  Ripper!”

Dankovsky was at her bedside in an instant, “Eva please, calm down.”

She stopped struggling and turned to face him, her face blotchy and tear stained, “Daniil!  You have to keep him away.  Those potions of his are probably poison.”

“It’s a tincture and it helps with blood clotting,” Burakh explained, exasperated, “You’re suffering from internal trauma, a cut inside your stomach.  I’m hoping this will stop the bleeding so I won’t have to perform surgery.”

Eva’s hand shot out and latched onto Daniil’s wrist, hard enough to hurt.  “Please, keep him away.  He looks so brutish, he scares me.” Burakh huffed at this, annoyed, but Eva paid him no mind.  “I promise I’m fine, just let me go home.”

“Eva, you were recently attacked, you are certainly not fine.  And Burakh is a doctor, you can trust him.”

Reluctantly, she released him and took the tincture, grimacing at the taste.  She whined, “I just want to go home.  Please let me go home.”

It was very strange behavior.  Vomiting blood would cause most people to race to the doctor, especially while the Sand Pest was still fresh in everyone’s minds.  She shouldn’t be that afraid of Burakh that she would avoid treatment for such a dramatic looking condition.  Doubt nipped at the back of his mind.  Had Clara been telling the truth?

“Could we have a moment alone?”  Burakh nodded and left, leaving just Dankovsky, Eva, and Grace, who had somehow managed to remain sleeping despite all chaos happening around her.  He sat on Eva’s bed, resting a hand on her delicate shoulder.  “Clara told me something, and I just want to make sure, you’re not planning on…hurting yourself…are you?”

The silence was deafening.

“Eva, you’re not going to hurt yourself, are you?”  She wouldn’t even look him in the eyes.  She twisted her fingers into the blanket and chewed her lip.  “Eva!”

“It would be a miracle.”  Her voice was so small he might not have heard it had he not been leaning in so close.  “We need one of those, to solve all your problems.”

“It wouldn’t be a miracle, it would be a tragedy!  What are you talking about!?”

“I wouldn’t really be dead,” she said as her gaze floated up to the ceiling, “I would live on in the Cathedral, maybe forever.  It would be like the Polyherdron.”

His heart plummeted and shattered on the floor.  “No, no no!  It would be nothing like the Polyhedron!  You would just die!”  He could feel the sting of panicked tears prickling up in his eyes.  

“But I would live,” she finally turned to face him.  She was so beautiful, but there was no beauty in her sadness. She took his hands in hers, softly weeping as she spoke, “It’s a focus.  My soul would live on inside for as long as the Cathedral stood.  I could bring the place to life, fill it with grace and love.”

“Suicide is not the way to fill the Cathedral with grace!” his voice cracked, nearly breaking into a sob, “It’s nothing like the Polyhedron.  You wouldn’t be able to leave, to talk, to do anything.  That’s not a life worth living!  Please tell me you understand that, Eva!”

She gently slipped her hand out of his.  “So you think so too?  I’m still unsure.”

He wanted to scream at her, shake her, even hit her.  Anything to force her to give up on these awful plans.  This was his fault.  If he had not championed the Polyhedron, Eva would never believe these horrible delusions.

He had to do something.  Abruptly, he stood and turned for the door.  Eva called out as he went, “You’re leaving me?  Where are you going?”

“I’m telling Burakh to put you on suicide watch.  You are not to be left alone until I solve this issue with the Cathedral.”

Eva flung the blankets off and shot up, only to be forced back down by the pain.  Confined to her bed, she begged him, “You won’t destroy it, will you?  Please, promise me you won’t.”

“I will only promise if you can promise me that you will stay far away from the Cathedral and that you won’t do something as stupid as taking your own life!”

They briefly stared each other down, a silent battle of wills that Eva had no hope of winning.  Her head lowered like a scolded child.  “Fine, I promise.”

As soon as he informed Burakh, he would be heading straight to Victor.  This time, he would not be sent on another wild goose chase.  He would reach a resolution.  He had to.

Chapter Text

Clara stood before the ominous gates to the Rod.  Fear and apprehension sang through her bones, but they could not dissuade her from her mission.  There was no way the Bachelor was going to let her back in after what had happened.  She had burned her last bridge, but if she was going to be alone again, she would at least make things right before she left.  She was the only one who could.

The door opened easily to her.  It did not matter what barriers they put up, be it gate or hate, she would topple them all like the walls of Jericho.

Inside, her mother’s room was dark with only a single lamp on the bedside table struggling to illuminate the room.  It was hard to see in such dim light, but it looked like the place was in disarray, cabinet drawers left open, picture frames hung askew, and a table toppled over.  Katerina laid on the bed, blissfully unaware of her intruder.  Her eyes were glazed over, staring blankly at the ceiling, lost in a morphine dream.

Clara strode over to the bed.  “Hello mother.  I’ve returned.”  Katerina’s head lolled to the side, finally recognizing her prodigal daughter.  She let out a high whine of terror, helpless in her drugged state.

“I know all about your plans with the Cathedral, mother.  I’m here to put a stop to it.”

“Have you come to take your revenge?” Katerina asked, her voice trembling.

Clara shook her head, “This is more than just revenge.  Your scheming has caused untold suffering.  I had hoped the Plague would have humbled you, taught you a lesson in humility, but you just don’t learn.  If anything, you’ve grown even worse.”

Katerina said nothing in her defense.  She merely laid on the bed crying silent tears.  It was a shameful and pathetic sight.  Why had she ever been afraid of this woman?

Clara slowly stalked around to the other side of the bed, like a wolf circling its prey.  “The Cathedral is no ordinary building.  It is a place of power.  The kind of power someone like you has no right meddling in.”

“A false Mistress, you mean.”

“A false prophet,” Clara sneered, “You preached to me about the Law, the faith of humility, but you never believed in that, not truly.  You did not follow the Law, you assumed yourselves to be the Law.”  She paused to send down an icy glare, “You claim to be humble, but you expect everyone to blindly follow you.  You’re no better than the Kains and their utopia.”

“We were the bones of the town,” Katerina cried, “Someone had to be.”

“And what grand supports you were.  When things got hard, you crumbled, sold your heir out to an angry mob!  Even now you tremble, made defenseless by your own vices, yet you think you have the divine right to rule?”  

This time, Katerina did scream.  Next door, she could hear Alexander’s heavy steps stomping over.  He threw the door open with a resounding slam, shouting, “Who dares–”

The words died in his throat when he saw her.  “Hello father.  Come to join our discussion?”

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” he warned her.  His tone may have been dire, but his steps were hesitant, betraying his fear.

“Was this not my home as well?” Clara questioned with a tilt of her head, “Did you not welcome me in, once upon a time?  Oh, but that’s right, you kicked me out, abandoned me to the streets to starve.  Does it scare you, coming face to face with your sin?”

Alexander protested, “We didn’t–we just didn’t know where you were.”

“You never looked.”

“What do you want?” he growled, all pretenses of innocence dropped.

“I want you to leave the Cathedral alone.  It has a mind of its own, did you know that?  It knows it’s in danger and it's lashing out at those closest.  Just today, it almost took the life of Eva Yan.”

“We’ve heard nothing about that–But fine,” Alexander capitulated, “If there is danger, then we will cease construction.  Now, if you will please—”

“No!” Clara interrupted, “I don’t trust you.  You both have lied to me too much for me to take you at your word.”

Alexander looked flummoxed, “We have never lied to you!  You were the one who deceived us, you–”

“Enough!”  She was tired of this.  “Alexander, oh Alexander, I know of you this: you never loved me as anything more than a tool,” she turned to once again glare at her ‘mother’, “Neither of you did.”

Alexander sputtered, “I…We didn’t…”  She hadn’t said the whole spell, so it wasn’t enough to fully hypnotise him, but it would be enough to force him to be a little more honest with her.

“Why do you want to change the Cathedral?”

“We wanted to scrub the Kains’ influences from the town and I had wished to prove that my wife still had power, that she could be trusted.  We thought the rumors about it controlling time were just that, rumors.  We had no idea…”

A power play, as expected.  How predictable.  “You know, mother once gave me a list of sinners during the Pest.  There were some names you may recognize on that list, father.  Anna Angel, Grigory Filin, Aspity.  All people you were investigating, but mother told me to protect them, specifically from you.  Do you know why I was supposed to protect them, father?”

Alexander looked down at Katerina in shock and horror who sobbed and rolled on her side so she wouldn’t have to face him.

“They were to be my sacrifices.  Saved from the jaws of the lion only to be cut open at the altar.  It would have cured everyone, had the Pest not taken some of them early.  I thought, with the Plague’s defeat, that the time for sacrifices was over, but I was wrong.  There is something that still requires a sacrifice.”

“The Cathedral,” Katerina whimpered into her pillow.

“Yes.  It’s a Focus.  It longs for a soul to be complete.  I’ll give it two.”

“No!” Alexander snapped out of his stupor, “I refuse!”

Clara tilted her head and asked in a purposely childish tone, “Someone has to die.  Why not give it the life of a sinner?  And you two are the most black-hearted sinners I know, so why not you two?”

“We already gave you our word, the Cathedral is safe!  No one has to–”

“I’ll go,” Katerina announced, sluggishly sitting up.

Alexander reeled back like she had just slapped him, “What?  No!  Dear, you can’t!”

“It is only right that I go.  People look to the Mistresses for guidance in times of strife.  I told them to give up on medicine and instead to search their hearts as only the righteous would be safe.  My false prophecies, how many did they kill?  How many mothers can no longer hold their children because of my advice?”  Katerina held her head in her hands and wept.

It was all very…disappointing.  It left Clara with a strange, hollow feeling in her chest.  She had wanted them both to rant and rave, to further deny their wrongdoings or grovel and beg for mercy, something to make all her pent up rage feel justified.  She wanted to rightfully smite the wicked, but this was just kicking a sad woman.

“You’re not playing right!” she screamed, “You’re supposed to be mad!”

Katerina looked up at her, eyes red-rimmed and contracted to pinpricks.  She was a sad, wet thing, a shadow of a person, “I am mad.  A mad old woman, tricked by an even madder rat.  At least  now, my death will have some meaning.”

“You can’t,” Alexander shoved Clara out of the way and ran to his wife, kneeling at her bedside and taking her hands in his, “You cannot leave me, I need you.  I will be all alone in the world if you are gone.”  Alexander was a strong man, the head of the town.  He was the kind of man who would rather die than show any sort of weakness, but in that moment, with his wife, he let a single tear roll down his cheek.

Katerina wiped the tear away with her thumb, lovingly stroking his face.  “You will still have the town.  And we both knew my time was coming, maybe not quite like this, but still.  I have been sick for so long, maybe for as long as I’ve lived here.  You should be used to the thought of me dying.”

He leaned heavily into her hand, “But you don’t have to die now.  You don’t have to listen to her.  Stay!  Please.”  He said the word please so tenderly, like saying a thousand ‘I love you’s’ all wrapped into one word.

The scene playing out before her made Clara sick.  Her insides writhed with guilt and rage.  How dare they make her question her decision, how dare they ruin her revenge!  Katerina kissed her husband’s forehead before hobbling up to her feet and turning to Clara.  “I’m ready.”  The two women wordlessly headed for the door, but not before Alexander called out to them.

“You can’t do this!” he petulantly shouted, still on his knees, “If you take her, I’ll have you jailed and executed.  Nowhere will be safe!”

Clara didn’t bother to turn around to give her response, “I’ve never felt safe here.”  The door closed, and they were gone.

Chapter Text

Dankovksy marched confidently up to the Rod.  He had finally gotten Victor’s blessing to halt the Cathedral project after much badgering.  He had been more than a little disturbed that news of Eva’s planned suicide hadn’t moved Kain into immediate action, but at least he had gotten there in the end.

The place was oddly quiet when he entered and only a single light was on.  Were they not home?

“Hello?” he called out into the darkness, “Saburov?  I come bearing an order from the Kains.”

“You’re too late.”  He whipped around to find Alexander slumped in a chair behind him.  The man looked despondent, like his whole world had collapsed.

Dankovsky cleared his throat and continued, “Like I said, I have come bearing an order from the Kains.  You are to stop any and all construction done on the Cathedral immediately.”

“And I said you’re too late,” Saburov’s voice sounded hoarse and rough, as though he’d been screaming, “I’ve already lost.  The Cathedral means nothing to me anymore.”

“What do you mean?”  Dankovsky asked, a creeping feeling of dread worming its way into his bones.

“Clara has taken my wife.  She will be sacrificed to the same Cathedral I tried to tame.”

“What!?” Dankovsky exclaimed, “And you just let her?!”

Alexander kept his eyes glued to the floor, “Clara is a Mistress, one of Earth and the Law.  She is judgement manifest.  Only a fool would deny her power.”

Dankovsky grabbed his collar and wrenched him to his feet.  “Idiot!  She’s just a girl, not a god!  When did they leave?”

“Does it matter?”

Dankovsky sneered and roughly shoved Alexander back into his chair.  “Useless!”  He turned on his heel and ran.  Maybe he could still make it, he could still catch them.

He burst out of the Rod and ran like the Pest itself was nipping at his heels.  He ignored everything around him, sights and sounds around him all coalescing into an unimportant blur.  The only thing worth focusing on was putting one foot in front of the other, on getting to the Cathedral and stopping Clara from making the greatest mistake of her life.  He made a very similar one, at the end of the Plague, and it nearly destroyed him.  He couldn’t let Clara go through the same.

He crashed into the building’s giant uncaring iron doors, just as the bells tolled the hour.  “Clara!” he shouted as he ran inside, his voice echoing against the cold, empty walls.  “Clara!”

He clambered up the spiraling stairs, coughing and gasping, fighting for air, but he couldn’t stop yet.  He was so close, just a few flights of stairs.  Just a bit further and he could stop them.

Dankovsky was practically crawling on his hands and knees by the time he made it to the top.  The floor was arranged in a ring, with chest-high walls protecting any visitors from falling three stories onto the ground below.  He saw Katerina, standing where the stone walls gave way to allow the giant pendulum space to swing.  Next to her stood Clara, her eyes hard and brimming with spite.  She gave a nod and Katerina walked forward into open nothingness.

“Stop!”  His screaming startled Katerina into taking a step back onto solid ground, but she was still far too close to the precipice for Dankovsky’s comfort.

“You’re always getting in my way,” Clara spat before turning back to Katerina, “This is your fault.  If you hadn’t moved so slow, we would have been done by now.”  The woman looked down, ashamed and terrified of further punishment, their parental roles now reversed.

Dankovsky collapsed against the wall separating him from a deadly fall, all his strength spent on the trip over.  “Please…Clara…” he gasped, calling out across the gap, “Don’t…don’t do this.”

“Why are you even here?”  Clara’s voice was pure venom, “Do you even understand what I’m doing?  I’m trying to help you!  Do you even understand what will happen if this place is damaged?  If people came here?  Time would speed up throughout the town.  Hours would pass in minutes, days in hours.  We would all die of old age by the end of the year!”

“You don’t have to do this.  I already spoke with the Kains and Saburov.  They won’t touch the Cathedral anymore.

“And what will happen when someone else comes along to take over the Cathedral?  Someone like the Inquisitor?  No, we won’t be safe until the place is completed.”  She glanced over at Katerina who trembled under her harsh gaze.

“No!  Clara don’t!”

She turned her back to Dankovsky and monologued, “You know, this was always going to happen.  I was sent here to choose who to sacrifice for the greater good, to make the tough decisions no one else wants to make.  My mother was fated to die at my command.  I tried to run from that truth, but I can’t run from it anymore.”

“Fate isn’t real, you don’t have to do this.”  That was the wrong thing to say.  Clara whipped around in a fury.

“You don’t believe me.  But you don’t believe in anything, do you?  Too cold and logical.  You don’t believe in miracles, in god, you don’t even believe me!”

“I’m sorry, Clara.  I should have believed you, but I didn’t.  I’m sorry.”

Clara chuckled darkly, “Sorry?  Sorry doesn’t fix this, but I can, just let me.”

“No, Clara, please listen to me.  You were right, about everything.  You were right about Farkhad, about Eva.  I’m sorry, but you don’t have to do this!”

She smiled, but it felt wrong.  There was no joy in it, only teeth.  “You must be really desperate if you’re admitting you were wrong.  Does it kill you, revealing that you’re not all-knowing?  That you’re not perfect?”

“This isn’t like you.”

She stomped, enraged, “How would you know?  You don’t know a thing about me!”

“But I’m trying to.”  He said as he started inching around the wall, sliding ever closer to Clara, “Please, if we could just go home–”

“I don’t have a home!” she let out a scream that broke into a ragged sob, “I don’t have a home.”  That terrifying monster that had so arrested the Saburovs was washed away by the fat tears rolling down her cheeks.  She furiously scrubbed them away with her sleeves, but it was too late.  The fearsome Mistress of the Earth was gone, leaving a scared, lonely child in her place.

“Pumpkin, you live with me, at the Stillwater.”  He inched even closer, reaching out across the empty space that still separated them.

“No I don’t.  You don’t want me, you said it yourself.”

“I was wrong,” Dankovsky tried physically swallowing down his nerves.  Clara was showing her hand, time to show his.  She deserved to know.  “I wanted to find you new parents because…” the words clung to his throat, desperate to remain hidden, “Because you wouldn’t want to be chained down to me.  I’m not a good person, I never was.  I can be thoughtless and uncaring.  I thought I was tainted, that anyone would be a better choice for a parent than me.  I thought the only thing I knew how to do was hurt people.  I know you know the feeling.”

Clara looked down at the floor ever so slightly nodding her head.

“But it’s not true.  We can change, together.  I know I won’t be a perfect caregiver, I’ll screw up and you may end up hating me, but I can be there for you.  We can be there for each other, if you would be willing to give me a chance.”

Clara sniffed and looked him over, eyes still brimming with tears, suspicion and hope warring for dominance on her expression.  She turned towards Katerina, who had remained passively silent, still standing on the edge, waiting for the command to jump.  Every muscle in Dankovsky’s body tensed.  He was too far away, he wouldn’t be able to stop her.  He had done everything he could, but in the end, it was Clara’s decision.

“I forgive you, Katerina.  You can go home.”

Dankovsky almost couldn’t believe it.  Just like that, it was over.  The tension fled from the room like a gust of wind and his knees almost buckled out of sheer relief.  Katerina whimpered out a tearful ‘thank you’ and reached out to Clara, seeking an embrace, but she was stopped cold.

“I forgive you, but that forgiveness does not repair our bonds.  Please, just leave.”

Katerina frowned, but nodded, “I understand.  For what it’s worth, I am truly sorry for what I did to you.”  She then turned and hurried past Dankovsky and down the stairs

“That was very big of you, Clara.  You did the right–” his words were cut off when Clara ran into him, wrapping her arms around him in a desperate hug, her face buried into his shoulder as she struggled to not break down into sobs.  Hesitantly, he returned the hug, unsure of how best to comfort her.  He patted her back, letting her cry as long as she needed to.

“Can we go home?” She asked, her voice still muffled by Dankovsky’s coat.

“Of course, Pumpkin.  Of course.”

Chapter Text

The walk over to the Stillwater may have been short, but Clara was exhausted by the time they got inside.  She felt wrung out, tired, and empty.  She must have looked worn as she felt as well, since Dankovsky asked if she wanted a nap.

“It’s barely past four.  It’s too early to sleep,” she protested.

“You’ve been through a lot, some rest would do you good.”  Dankovsky took her jacket and hung it up on the coat rack.  “There have been some preliminary studies suggesting that emotional turmoil can tire the body out just as much as physical strain.  It wouldn’t surprise me if this theory ended up being true considering how much energy the brain–”

“Yeah, yeah.  I got it.  No need for your medical babble,” she cut him off before he could fully ramble off on his tangent.  “I guess I could sleep a little.  Just for an hour.”

“Would you like me to tuck you in?”

She laughed a little at the absurdity of such a question, “I’m not a baby.  I don’t need to be put to bed.”

“I know that!” Dankovsky said flustered and clearly embarrassed, “I just thought…after everything…it would be comforting.”

A wave of some emotion Clara couldn’t identify washed over her.  “You know what, yeah.  Actually, that would be nice.” He was trying to care, clumsy and inept, but he was trying.

They went to Eva’s bedroom, although maybe it was her bedroom now.  She kicked her boots off into a corner and laid down on the bed.  As Dankovsky was dutifully tucking her in, she had to ask, “What happened to Eva?  Is she okay?”

“When I left, she was in stable physical condition and being looked after by Burakh.  You didn’t do any permanent damage.  She’ll be fine.”

“That’s good.”  Her eyes were already starting to slip closed.  They felt so heavy from crying, almost swollen.

“Would you like me to stay here?  Until you fall asleep?”

She almost berated him again.  That was something parents did for small children who were afraid of the dark, but she found she didn’t like the thought of being alone.

“Just until I fall asleep,” she mumbled, already well on her way under.  Dankovsky wouldn’t have to wait long before she was comfortably slumbering.

Clara dreamed she was back in the Rod with her sister.  There, they watched Alexander standing at a blackboard with Grace kneeling attentively in front of it, shakily copying the letters written in her notebook.  Alexander was getting increasingly frustrated at Grace’s slow pace, but there was nothing Clara or her sister could do to help.  She knew they were both invisible, in that strange way you just know things in dreams.

“She’s going to have it rough,” her sister commented, “They don’t understand children, especially not one as special as Grace.”

“I’ll be there to help her,” Clara replied back, “I can’t do much else until I become Mistress.”

“Will that be enough?”  Her sister eyed her doubtfully.

“I hope so.”  They both continued to watch until Alexander stomped out of the room, yelling unintelligible gibberish.  Katerina walked in, taking her husband’s place.  She patted poor Grace’s head, but it did little to comfort the girl.

“You should have sacrificed them both.  Grace would be better off for it.”

She could not deny the truth in her sister’s words.  “Maybe.  But I have chosen to reject that part of my role.”

Her sister scoffed, “You stole your fate and you won’t even use it?  Do you even realize what a slap in the face that is to me?”  her sister’s voice became more enraged the more she spoke, “I was forced to take on your role as plague bringer in your absence.  The least you could do is fulfill your new role as the cleansing saint.  Or was that too hard for you?” 

She was trying to bait her into a fight, but Clara wouldn’t rise to it this time, “I did what I had to in order to survive.  Those times are over, I no longer need to be that person.”

“Well how nice that you survived.  What about everyone you left behind in your wake?  What about me?”

Clara refused to look at her sister, keeping her eyes glued to the semi-domestic scene in front of her.  “The Pest is gone, and that means you had to change roles in order to survive as well.  I recognize now that you’re my grief, my trauma.”

She heard her sister’s annoyed huff next to her.  “You may have figured me out, but you haven’t solved anything.  I’ll still be here, every time you close your eyes.  I’ll be waiting.”

The dream dissolved as Clara was drawn awake by a delicious smell wafting in from the kitchen.  It smelt savory, meaty.  Groggily, she stretched and climbed out of bed.  She ambled her way into the kitchen to see what Dankovsky was cooking.

Dankovsky was stirring something in a large pot.  Hearing her enter, he glanced over his shoulder, “Ah, Clara.  Perfect timing.  I was just about to wake you.  Supper will be finished in a moment.”

“What is it?” She asked.

“Dumplings,” he fished a few out and plopped them on a plate, “Simple, just ground beef and some cheese.  I couldn’t really find much else.”

“You got beef?” she stared in wide eyed amazement before taking the plate he handed to her,“I thought the Bull Works were still closed.”

Dankovsky turned back to the pot, making his own plate.  “Yes, well, I called in a favor from Burakh.  As a Menkhu, the Kin regard him highly and regularly pay him in cuts of beef.  I knew you said you were tired of fish, so I asked if he had some to spare.”

Clara looked down at her food.  The dumplings were inexpertly folded, hand-made by someone unfamiliar with working in a kitchen.  “You remembered that?” she whispered, more to herself than Dankovsky.  Her eyes stung as a fresh wave of tears flowed down her cheeks.

Dankovsky turned and noticed her silent crying.  “What’s wrong?  What did I do?” he asked, worried, “Normally I know when I’m being an ass, but I’m not sure what I did this time.”

She sniffed and wiped her eyes, “No, you didn’t do anything wrong.  This was just…really nice.  Thank you.” 

She didn’t really know why she was crying, but her explanation was enough to calm Dankovsky.  She took a bite of her dumpling.  It was too hot and burned her mouth, and it was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted.

While she thoroughly enjoyed the food, she couldn’t shake the worries that nipped in the back of her mind.  “What are we going to do about the Cathedral?”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Dankovsky responded nonchalantly, “I doubt the Saburovs will be in a hurry to meddle any further with their construction projects.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said it would still be a danger,” Clara insisted, “I may have bought us some time, but the Cathedral will be threatened again.”

“Don’t worry,” he reassured her, “I do believe that this is serious, but please, let the adults figure this out.  This town puts too much emphasis on children trying to solve problems they have no business worrying about.”

“What about Eva?  She’s fine now, but what if she tries again?”

Dankovsky put down his fork and frowned, “Yes, that is a concern of mine as well.  I plan on talking to Victor, have him focus on housing first so she can move across the river sooner rather than later.  Until then, she’ll have to live with someone else, perhaps Andrey, or maybe Yulia would be a better choice.  Somewhere far away from Bridge Square to minimize the temptation.”

“That’s a good plan,” she nodded, “The farther she is from the Cathedral, the less she’ll hear its call.”

She turned her attention back to her food when a thought struck her.  This was their first meal together as a family.  Were they officially family?  “What do I call you?”

The question puzzled Dankovsky for a moment, before he caught on to what she was really asking, “You don’t have to call me dad or father.  Honestly, I still can’t see myself as a father figure.  Perhaps uncle?  The other children call me that, anyway, or you could just call me Dankovsky.”

“Uncle Dankovsky then?  Not uncle Daniil?” Clara teased.

He smirked along with her, “Watch your cheek.  It’s Dankovsky, I’m still older than you after all.”

“Ugh, does that mean my last name is Dankovskaya now?”  He laughed, a little more than he should.  It wasn’t really that funny.  She quirked an eyebrow, silently questioning him.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, “It’s just that, my father had always harped on me to find a wife and have a family to ‘pass on the Dankovsky name, if nothing else’.  I would always tell him that would never happen, that it would take an act of God himself for me to settle down and have a child.  I suppose, now it has, in a manner of speaking.”

Clara raised her glass of water in a mocking toast, “How proud he must be then, to have a miracle making Mistress share his name, then.”

“Not a Mistress,” Daniil corrected, “Not yet.  I’ve said many times, right now, you’re just a child.  You shouldn’t have to worry about such things yet.”

She wasn’t sure she knew how to be ‘just a child’.  All she ever knew was how to be a saint, a miracle worker, a savior.  She was born into a disaster, made to be a leader.  She thought back to when Daniil first took her in, how he was the only one who refused to believe in her power, yet still cared for her.  Maybe she didn’t have to be the Saburovs’ Mistress, or Block’s Joan of Arc.  She didn’t have to solve everything on her own.

She didn’t know how to be a regular kid, but she could learn.

“A toast then, to carrying on the Dankovsky name.”

Daniil smiled, soft and warm, “Very well, cheers.” He clinked his glass against hers and they finished their meal together.  Their first of many as a family.