— MOURNING —

time: pre-heist location: ratways open

He withholds a sigh. Perhaps in the next event of escape, their hideout would be better stocked. Having to ration wasn’t a concern, but even in his worst weeks of traveling, where the trail had turned cold and he was left alone in lands unknown, he found time to eat, to drink, even for some semblance of strength.

For a mission like this one, he would’ve hoped there would be something more. But between stale bread and stolen vegetables questionably fresh, they would have to be enough.

He glances at the person across from him, and shrugs. “Come on, then. Might as well eat what we can in what time we have left.”

rituals. in her experience, the most religious had them, clung to them in times of peril and need. nina may have grown up praying to ravkan saints, but she had saved her rites for the times before battle. it never was the end, but when you’re as well acquainted with death as she was, best prepare. 

a good meal. a last laugh. even, on occasion, a final kiss. 

better start with the first, she advised herself, souring in matthias’ absence. staring around at their pitiful food supply, nina wrinkled her nose, shooting yuriy a look as if to say: that’s it? “that’s worse than ravkan army rations.” she whined, voice notching up an octave in complaint. “almost as bad as abandoned whaler rations and bits of seal.” shooting yuriy a glance, nina cocked her head and folded her lips into a honeyed smile. “don’t suppose kaz’s new spider wants to make his way into a poorly guarded merchant’s house?” 

it was hard to believe he was here, in ketterdam, in kaz’s grasp. sometimes, she wondered whether ketterdam was the centre of the universe, destined to swallow everything up whole.

gun up, spin, forward, backward, bullet, hammer, firing pin, ejection, feel/see/sense the bullet lock forward, jam, fireball that causes the metal to warp imperceptibly, faster than they can fix it back, pommel searing hot even as they flinch out of the way, gun clattering from burning fingers. they jam the hand under their arm, raise the second gun.

“ i’d happily kiss mattias as well, please. blonde and taller than me? i’d be jealous if i didn’t have the better catch. “ their voice is still light, if now edged with pain, a touch of frustration, sections off a piece of their mind to keep track of where their gun is. it’s lasted them a decade, continents, they’re not about to loose it now.

the odds are, as always, not in their favour, two grisha vs two on parem, summoners of legend vs half-trained and power-shifted, but jesper has never been one to bet on the popular candidate. they refuse to lose this battle, down a gun and an injured hand. one that they reach out to pull nina up, the other spinning the revolver, resettles, aims into the darkness.

“ who do you think i am? maybe not as many as inej has knives, but - “ trails off, finger tightens, eyes drift close to follow the trajectory, absorb the recoil, use it, lets the revolver spin, motion carried, hears the barrel reslot into place, hears the bullet impact, flesh wound, near the hand, a miss, for him, but startles the summoner long enough.

.

in all the years she’s known jesper, she’s never known them to miss a shot.

when you think jesper fahey, you think: dazzling charm, pearl revolvers, terrible luck. those who know him more intimately can add a fourth: fabrikator. abysmal luck on the tables always translated into good fortune on the battlefield. she’s never known a sharpshooter like him. but they’ve never gone up against two summoners of legend, two summoners with an air of the unnatural around them. there isn’t time to ask them if they’re thinking what she is. somehow in the silence, she knows their thoughts are one, interwoven in memory and panic from the past.

yanked up, nina hears the bullet make contact - and knows it immediately is not enough. most second army trained grisha know how to conjure with one hand now - part of basic training. “remind me to loan him out to you for the day when we make it out of here.” she shoots back, momentarily forgetting she was the one who left matthias in the gloom, heart in his hands. 

"you should ask them to give your bullets back. seems only fair.” jesper had his shot, now she’ll take her turn again.

it could have been anyone – a friend, a stranger, a thief looking to take advantage of the chaos. anyone might have found matthias and laid hands on him, but it was more than touch that guided him to nina. what they shared was bone-deep, thicker than blood and sweeter than marrow. the needle of a compass, spinning and spinning until it found its true north. he would recognize her touch anywhere, the feel of her pressed up against him no more stranger than his own hand. matthias wanted to kiss her, but tasted blood in his mouth. he didn’t even know if it was his. 

“nina,” he gasped, at once a plea and exaltation. clumsy with the last dregs of his adrenaline, matthias’ hands moved from her hips upwards, tracing the shape of her until at last he reached her face. he was going to make a bloody mess of both of them, he knew, and found that he didn’t much care. there would be time to think about the blood and the smoke, of her skin, hot under his hands when he swore she’d been bundled earlier, time for all of it when the ground under their feet didn’t shake with every step.

“i can’t – nina, i can’t see you.” one breath. another. matthias was flirting dangerously with panic. the edge of it ebbed with the sound of nina’s voice and her palm and against his cheek, but it remained a near thing. if he focused he could make out most of her face, but it took the better part of his concentration to remain upright. “do you know where the entrance is?” 

.

the ringing in her ears intensified, unholy bells creating a divide between she and the outside world. it felt like she was being punished. matthias’ mouth opened. she caught one word among a dozen - her name, nina, his frustration, i can’t. panicked, she pretended his speech was music instead, a gentle hymn to bring sanctuary. she was a crashing ship, wrecked on the rocks. he was her lighthouse, guiding her home. 

“i can’t hear you.” she thought the words and heard the faint muffle of her mouth manifesting her visualisation. the clung harder to each other, cocooning each other from the chaos. part of her wondered if they could stay there forever, limbs tangled together, a shield for each other. she willed time to bend to her whims, to slow down just enough for them to muddle through the mayhem. 

another impossibility stacked on top of a pile of others.

over matthias’ shoulder, she glimpsed a soldier, staggering backwards; weapon limp in his hand. the danger had not passed. nina zenik might wish for a few moments more in her manufactured heaven, but the corpsewitch knew better than to place them both in peril. she dug her nails into matthias’ palm, binding them together. “listen for me. i - “ she frantically searched for the piercing blue in his eyes. his gaze was clotted, ruby red. “- i will see for you.” 

hand in hand, she tugged them backwards, towards salvation, towards something better.

we leave together, or not at all. that made aleni pause, stop her frantic searching to look up at nina with confusion marked in her expression. she barely knew nina, had only just met her recently. yet, this zowa was ready to tie her life to aleni’s without a second thought, stopping among the fast-encroaching flames to attempt helping her. perhaps nina was eager to see aleni live because she wanted an amplifier. that had to be it, otherwise what could motivate her do this? not selflessness or heroics– there was none of that to spare in ketterdam. aleni herself would’ve brushed past nina to save her own skin without a second thought. better to be a ‘selfish prick’ than to burn for nothing.

still, aleni wasn’t entirely callous; she couldn’t force nina to wait for her, and the zowa was right about needing to get out of there. her mind went to the photograph, to her father, to what he’d want her to do right now. if the photo was lost, aleni would never see him again except in her memory. but he was gone; she wasn’t. not yet.

“fine. let’s go.” aleni began moving toward the door, clutching the satchel of things she had managed to gather close to her body. but before they could reach the doorway to the hall of the slat, there was a creaking sound from above and a crash of rubble through the roof, bringing flames with it that danced up in front of them and blocked their path.

.

relieved that sense had won out over sentimentality, nina ushered the amplifier forward, keen to avoid any unnecessary contact that might startle aleni into flight. she didn’t know her well enough to predict any sort of rhythm - and she seemed just as likely to change her mind and smoulder in pride than trust nina to help save her life. indecision had eaten up precious seconds of their escape, nina helplessly trying to waft away smoke. one glance at the rubble told her what she already knew in her heart: they needed another way out.

There’s a deep crease in her forehead from her frown. Once, a lifetime ago, she thought that she would go to Ravka, fight in the Second Army – but those were a child’s ideas, and the idea of fighting someone else’s wars lost its allure a long time ago. Now, she only fights the wars she choses – but there’s that familiar thrill of fear. Fjerda. Shu Han. A soldier of Ravka she was not, but in the end, those were still her enemies. 

“But…” she pauses, gathering her thoughts. She’d seen the tail end of the Ravkan civil war, masquerading as a merchant’s aide in Os Kervo to gather the money to return to Ketterdam; seen the prayers to the Sun Summoner, come to destroy the Shadow Fold. “The Sankta died. And when she died, other Sun Summoners appeared, yes?” Though it’s an understanding woven together from patchwork stories of other Grisha, at its core, she doesn’t doubt the veracity of it. “And the Sankta killed the Shadow Summoner – the Darkling? So when he died, would there not be other Shadow Summoners, like the Sun Summoners? I’d imagine they’d be in Ravka, but it seems strange that this is the first we hear of it.” 

“You’re right, though. Best not let them suffer under the Fjerdans. For their health, and for our own. Did you ever see the work of the Sankta or the Darkling?” She pauses, unsure of how to formulate the question. “… Were they that powerful too?” 

.

she couldn’t help but feel like they were tangling themselves up with something divine, a topic far out of her wheelhouse. she was a soldier and then a spy, never a scholar. she served ravka using her body, her voice, her actions - not her mind. fast paced, impatient, impulsive - nina zenik hadn’t been made for classrooms. zoya had scolded her as much. she sighed at the thought, wishing someone older and wiser was here to guide them. instead, she and the dregs were all alone.

nina shrugged. “that’s saint’s stuff. i hardly consider myself religious. all i know is that sankta alina died alongside the darkling. her last miracle was to bestow her power on ordinary people - just like she was. i didn’t think they handed out miracles to corrupt hedonistic generals.” but who am i to guess the whims of saints? she supposed it was just as likely the darkling could have created an echo of his own, a shadow army to take over after his demise. “i heard rumours.” she admitted. “from other grisha - about a shadow summoner. i tried to find them...” she had been afraid of the answer, but didn’t want to admit such weakness in front of valdis. “better late than never.”

was that true? time would tell, she supposed.

MANU.

As it turned out, there was such a thing as too tall, too blond, too much. Manu felt it in the ill-fitting clothes he had stolen, in the way he was poised like a tower over Inej and Nina, and in the care he took to seem unphased as his brain screamed: cut feet on sand, fjerdan feet viciously cut by fjerdan blades angrily covered in sand. The worst combination he knew. Shit. There wasn’t one single inconspicuous thread in his entire body. He was loud and wild and exhausted. Sore, hungry and uncomfortable. One look at Inej and Manu couldn’t help but mentally curse the entirety of this supply run. Even Nina, who wasn’t the famous wraith, was doing a better job, – though she was, in her own way, anything but inconspicuous.

Fuck.

But not a disappointment so heartfelt that food wouldn’t fix his problem. Or the great opportunity to get out of that hole and breath real air, for that matter. Manu couldn’t help the bitterness in his silent chuckle. The day Ketterdam, of all places, would be the definition of real air for him was a miserable one indeed. Djel help them all. “We get in, grab every single piece of delicious food we can possibly carry, and we get out,” Manu recited, anxiety mixed with hunger and uncertainty as he said: “Right?”, it wouldn’t hurt to get the specifics, though.

“I just wanna eat, and I swear on Djel that if so much as a staadwatch get between us and that fucking food, I’ll drown them,” he sighed, all the energy invested on that threat focused on his eyes, as his voice was already hoarse from the night before. “So I hope you two know how to swim, because this is Ketterdam in a very, very shitty day.”

.

Inej gave a quick nod, almost perfunctory. Her mind was trained on the sources of movement inside the lid, attuned to the weight and cadence of the guards’ steps. Three in the parlor. Two on a higher floor. Could be any number of them in the root cellar. When the squaller’s words reached her at last, her laughter got trapped between a huff and a croak. Hunger does make the man, it seemed. “No drowning. No straying from the plan.” She flinched at how that sounded—the Brekker slice of her voice in the air. Saints, she was glad her face was half inside her cowl. She tugged it lower, speaking in the crook of its shadow. “It’ll be fine. You two clear the first room in. I’ll go in through the air vent. If that’s rusted over, I can always break through the balcony and in Ghezen’s hand be the cost.” She squeezed Manu’s shoulder in reasusrance.

As they headed closer, she could just barely hear Nina’s planning voice. It carried that subtle slip into a general’s posture, second army to the last. She had missed it; she had missed this, collaboration for the sake of it, tasks and abilities latching in place like complementary clockwork. She didn’t bother voicing the thought. Just raised her hand to Nina, fingers tipping off three, then two. Her fist dropped to her dagger. If there’s any grisha, she mouthed, tell them we can share.

Her eyes scaled the upper slope of the building. Shoddy work on that blasted roof. It was tight enough to jump over, if she was running her wraith tracks, but the flat angle made it hard to climb. Markedly harder if she had to do so without scattering debris in her wake. Unless everyone in the bakery had their ears stuffed with dough, it would be a dead giveaway. She’d have to take a wider route across. She crouched down by the sturdiest drainpipe, ready to leap. Her gaze shot back to the others. A smile flickered inside. “For the pastry, comrades.”

Then she was over the iron rods and on to the first row of tiles.

.

nina sent inej off with muted saint’s blessings and prayers, although she knew the pleas of a half-believer carried only half as much weight as inej’s own. the saints knew their followers. the saints could peer into your soul and undress everything you sought to cloak. the saints knew inej was one of their own, willowy witch practicing miracles few could master. the saints would keep her in the crook of their arms, safe. just a few guards, she told herself, steely. but after today...just a few felt almost impossible.

with inej off to the wind, nina focused her attention on the tidemaker at her side. “there’s time to say a quick prayer to djel you know.” she teased, a faint pang of guilt ricocheting through her at her exploitation of the situation. pulling down her corset to reveal the curve of her chest, she paused at the entrance, just out of sight. “inej said there are three in the parlour. bet you ten kruge i can take down my guard faster than you. winner gets to take down the third. and bragging rights, of course.” hand on the door, she shot a final glance back at manu. “please don’t pick out anything stale.” her nose wrinkled at the thought. nina winked. “we’ve suffered enough today.”

playing to her strengths, nina threw open the door and bustled in, expression the picture of pain. “oh thank ghezen!” she exclaimed in kaelish, knowing it was a language manu had picked up fragments of. switching to stilted kerch, nina pressed on.“i was swindled by some awful criminals down in the...” she pretended to search for the word. “barrel, is it? i’ve been looking for some honest men to give me sanctuary and a bite to eat. i’ve lost everything.” without waiting for an invitation, nina hitched up her skirts and approached the man behind the counter, laying a pleading arm on theirs. “you’re my hero.” she crooned, angelic smile lighting up her face.

he didn’t notice when the bone dart slid under her sleeve and into his chest, sending him crumbling to the floor.

the  deafening  blast  was  singular  in  volume,  quickening  feet  to  the  entrance  of  the  slat,  a  variety  of  mismatched  weaponry  clenched  betwixt  fists  or  strapped  across  bodies.  consciousness,  dulled  by  a  persistent  lethargy,  clears  as  she  shouldered  through  the  amassing  crowd  with  a  panicked  stubbornness,  needing  to  get  closer  to  a  trusted  face  that  would  not  sell  her  out  or  toss  her  to  the  wolves  for  a  better  chance  at  life.  a  voice  hissed  for  her  to  be  still,  to  remain  hidden  where  she  stood,  diminutive  stature  all  but  swallowed  by  the  crows  ─  unable  to  get  a  clearer  view  over  the  figures  that  loomed  ahead,  she  is  resigned  to  pick  apart  conversations,  guilt  churning  within  the  belly  at  the  thought  of  her  new  companions  suffering  for  the  sake  of  her  safety.  (  for  what  else  could  von  der  leyen  senior  be  referring  to  but  the  grisha  that  had  escaped  his  grasp,  burning  his  daughter  and  his  warship  in  her  flight  ?  )

an  unnatural  heat  blossoms.  brighter  than  the  overcast  rays  of  sunlight  that  sliver  through  the  clouds  over  the  barrel,  it  beckons  for  her  to  step  forward,  promising  sweet  devouring  and  unthinking,  one  foot  steps  forward,  hindered  only  by  a  hand  upon  her  shoulder.  before  she  has  much  time  to  consider,  a  shadow  spreads  from  the  scorching  heat  ─  like  on  the  ports  of  bhez  ju,  darkness  envelopes  with  familiarity,  extinguishing  all  light  and  she  shivers,  not  out  of  fear  but  out  of  comfort  and  a  simmering  anger.  the  sentiment  only  grows  stronger  as  chaos  builds,  a  bombardment  of  ammunition  that  sends  her  falling  to  the  floor  instinctively,  only  drawn  back  up  when  the  familiar  tickle  of  fire  calls  out,  phantom  fingers  dragging  across  her  exposed  arms.

(  there  we  are.  )

mindless  with  compulsion,  she  nears  the  spreading  inferno,  licking  flames  jumping  from  the  walls  in  response  to  her  presence.  (  hello  there,  it  seems  to  say,  dancing  across  her  flesh.  )  a  bullet  flies  past,  a  whistle  in  the  air,  enough  to  shatter  the  fantasy  ─  she  was  not  alone  and  she  owed  kaz  brekker  and  his  crows.  a  life  for  a  life,  payment  was  due  and  she  had  a  shadow  summoner  to  chase.  swallowing  down  a  mouthful  of  smoke,  allowing  it  to  fester  alongside  sadness  and  wrath  within  the  chest,  she  pushes  forward,  hands  outstretched.  (  recede,  she  commands,  and  the  flames  flicker  for  a  moment  before  flaring  back  up.  stubborn.  )  another  barrage  of  bullets  and  her  brows  knit,  irritated,  head  throbbing.  (  recede,  damn  you.  to  the  others,  outside.  )  

through  the  shattered  windows,  she  attempts  to  redirect  the  flames  that  consume  the  gateway,  allowing  for  a  few  crows  to  slip  past  as  the  fire  lights  and  bites  at  her  fingers,  kittenish  nips  with  foot - long  teeth  ─  a  common  game  between  the  twins,  tossing  balls  of  fire  to  each  other,  there  is  a  natural  ease  to  her  movements,  a  concentrated  peace  upon  her  features.  the  cool  air  licks  at  her  flesh,  a  sign  of  momentary  success  in  dousing  the  fire  after  an  eternal  struggle,  sweat  dripping  down  her  brow  but  concentration  is  broken  when  a  sharp  pain  shoots  across  her  cheek,  mouth  dropping  into  a  harsh  gasp  as  a  flying  bullet  grazes  against  her  skin.  fingers  flinch  away  from  the  flaring  flames  to  cradle  at  the  smarting  wound,  feet  stumbling  through  the  burning  entrance  only  to  be  grabbed  around  the  wrist,  attention  pulled  away  from  the  surprising  hit  and  her  initial  hunt  for  the  summoners. 

❝  …  nina  ?  ❞  dazed,  as  though  she  had  just  woken  from  a  dream,  she  glances  up  at  the  building  ─  an  unfortunate  victim  to  the  fires  that  had  spread  throughout  the  slat.  she  does  not  realize  the  pressing  matter  at  hand,  worried  more  for  nina,  amidst  the  barrage  of  bullets,  all  while  other  grisha  strides  purposefully  to  the  crumbling  home.  closer  now,  she  can  hear  the  screams  for  help  and  it  stabs  at  the  chest,  reminiscent  of  the  cries  that  had  haunted  her  dreams  of  the  verglas  and  it’s  crew,  reduced  to  ashes.  ❝  i  can’t  …  nina,  i  can’t  …  i  can  only  make  it  worst  !  ❞  but  what  other  choice  did  she  have  ?  to  do  nothing  would  make  her  a  coward  ─  she  was  a  destructive  force  but  she  never  meant  to  be  a  heartless  killer.  ❝  help  me  …  tell  me  what  to  do.  ❞

.

fjerdans had a habit of making soldiers out of people who should have remained girls. glimpsing at altan, battered and bruised, with blood smeared across her skin, hopelessly out of her depth - but continuing to tread water - nina was suddenly seized by the impulse to grab her hand and run. to the ratway. to the harbour. to noyvi zem. to ravka. to peace. she deserved more than war - and nina wanted to be the one to give it to her.

maybe they could even voyage to shu han. that was the place where people would expect her the least. they could doze in the sun, snack on salted candies and treat the present as if it were a distant nightmare inflicted upon someone else. 

nina had sailed to ketterdam in search of an inferni. nina had sailed to ketterdam to save an inferni. here was her opportunity to do both, slip away in the heat of battle and avoid kaz brekker’s trip wires.

it was altan’s war wounds that stopped her in the end. if she was hurt, then that meant she had fought. she could have chosen to cower. instead, she chose courage. 

they stayed.

clutching the grisha by her shoulders - careful to avoid her injuries - nina shook her head furiously. “you’re an inferni.” the fjerdans had made a grave mistake in unleashing their sun summoner. they had counted on fragility, not ferocity. this was altan’s playground. she held the advantage here. “the fire belongs to you.” you only have to want it enough.

in truth, nina was skipping a lesson or two. every novice grisha knew that summoning was easier than control. a squaller might call upon a gust of wind, but were just as likely to let it carry their friends away. a heartrender might slow a beating heart, but were prone to putting their subject into a deep coma. summoning came first, control came letter. but there were no time for classrooms or books. altan would need to operate on instinct alone.

pointing at the building, the coffin in making, nina encouraged the inferni to follow her line of vision. “clear a path for them. start with the room.” grisha’s abilities came with their understanding to see the making of the world - and reinterpret it for their own use. “tell me what you see. yes - fire. but where is the fire? what is it touching? where is it strongest? tell me what you see. tell me what you see and summon. but don’t manifest more fire - instead, tell that fire - the fire you see - to move.”

There’s a rage of a different kind in her. First, it was primal, territorial, a constant stream of how dare you who do you think you are how dare you – Now, however, her initial fury has been forced below the surface, turned into a vicious undertow displaced by something else: anger at herself.

A voice breaks through the silence, and her negative mood is temporarily broken, a grin flicking across her face. “Nice to see you too.” Half walking, half staggering over to Nina, she seats herself on the floor carefully instead of flopping down as usual. It’s an echo of the past – and briefly, she wonders how much things have changed for Nina in the years.

“Nothing,” she grits out in response, and it is as painful as an admission as the ache of the exit wound. She purses her lips together, and rests her head on her propped up hand, a picture of defeat. “Didn’t hear shit. Everyone was on about the new emperor in Shu Han. That there were Sun Summoners now, yeah – that the Fjerdans had one of them and a Shadow Summoner? No. Is this – this is not the same one as Ravka had, right?”

.

nina bites her lip, turning valdis’ words over in her head, as if repeating them might make the answers clearer. a new emperor in shu han. fjerda gearing up for war. sun summoners. shadow summoners. sometimes it felt like the world was pulling apart at the seams, that was it was determined to break and inflict as much pain upon its people as possible. she wanted to be an optimist, but sometimes, she forgot how.

“hard to say.” she willed the word no from her lips, halting at the last moment. to deceive the squaller was a step too far. they were grisha who had endured ketterdam’s teeth - they could survive one more brutal truth. better that than a soft lie. “i only ever thought there was one shadow summoner.” and i thought he had been destroyed. her training had been strange. overnight they went from the darkling’s soldiers to his targets, evacuated to sanctuary before they could be used as pawns.

if it was the darkling, did he deserve to be punished by fjerdans? nina wasn’t sure. she was only thankful that she was a girl, not a god - and never need pass a sentence. let that be for kings and queens, she thought, i’m just a soldier.

The voice that calls her name carries as quietly as a fading echo. So softly it weaves through the air that, for a moment Sigyn thinks it to be nothing at all, or something so far off and unseen that it could be easily dismissed. Which, in her desperation for a moment of solitude, was a course that suited her just fine.

It was the heartbeat that approaches, lingering just behind the words spoken, that finally prompt her eyes to blink open, and glance upwards at the girl standing there against the wall ━━ that slow, loping rhythm, synonymous with pain, it’s labored drive to keep upright. To survive. To find relief, in whatever form it came.

Nina Zenik; Sigyn knew who she was, though they’d never spoken, her face having become a familiar one lately since her return to ketterdam, her legacy a patchwork of half-heard stories and rumor. The bones, too, had whisperings about her ━━ vague, though they were, they indicated there re was something distinctly.. wrong about her. 

It’s this puzzle that moves Sigyn to stand, to dust off her knees, and approach. 

“Yes, you’re right. None of it’s good,” she agrees unnecessarily, nodding as she looks her over, her mind strategizing where to begin. “Sit with me,” she directs in agreement to help ( to figure out for herself what feels so off ), offering her arm to ease the process, “it’ll take some doing, brains hate to be rattled.”

.

the pain is a distinct hum now, a rhythm written into her bones. there are all sorts of melodies contained within her now, why not add another? how many harmonies become an orchestra? and how long before an orchestra becomes her demise? she always wondered if healers could sense death before it approached. always wondered, but never asked. when you’re a soldier, some things are better left unsaid.

the smile nina offers is more a grimace, joy constrained by the pang in her ear and the heat on her chest. “always reassuring when your healer agrees with you.” still, she doesn’t take the hand. nina is proud, too proud, some might say. most days, she would agree with them. but not today. today, pride counts for something.

taking the offered seat, nina slides the remnants of her sleeve down her arm, offering the healer a full canvas to paint. “in my experience, it’s only the strong ones that fight back. i think most people in pain want to be coaxed into docility.” she remembers her days in the white rose, the desperate merchants and mourners who would seek her services, seeking relief. it’s good to remember, it’s good to talk - keeps her from focusing on the other issue at hand, the pain that sigyn cannot heal.

the summoners were dosed on parem. she’d stake her life on it. she doesn’t have proof, doesn’t have anything but her own instincts, fighting every urge not to surrender herself to the fjerdans for another dose. it seems she cannot shake the past, no matter how hard she may try.

“you’re fjerdan, aren’t you?” phrased as a question, but she already knows the answer. it’s written across the blonde like an ancient tapestry, it’s in her name and in her manner, in her windswept features and chilling ices. she’s fjerdan, but also grisha. “today must have been a fun trip down memory lane.”

he’s barely been on the pavement for more than a few minutes when the sky itself caves in, darkness that swallows, nothingness and questions that expand around them instead. a price, a trade, and jesper has never since asked directly for more information than what he’s been given but the loss is felt sharply, cleanly, knife to the throat and whirling confusion.

zowa, gifted, cursed, the sun and night and parem and it’s every nightmare wrapped in one. power and amplification and threat to him and his and his feet surge forwards and his guns are spinning in his hands, and it takes a second before he realises he’s fallen into step with nina, arms outstretched.

should he fabrikate instead? take the cobbles under hidden hosts, traps their hands from sending another fucking fireball at his home. no, that’s secondary, latter, the guns too comfortable in his grasp, even as he runs, raises, fires unseeing. recoil, spin, settle, he stops next to the heartrender, the corpsewitch, his friend, his ally, his attention split between here and the bullet, feels/hears/knows it settles deep into the bone of the shoulder, split attention, and like the sun through a sheet of glass, heat sears past his bicep, chars the jacket, blistering heat that now bleeds through the graze on his arm.

second arm up, fire, recoil, spin, settle, but the bullet goes wide, the summoner has moved, and jesper’s attention splits again, through the ground, hears/feels/senses the ground shift beneath feet, molecules that vibrate at ready attention. the sun returns, lights up the gap between himself and zenik. “ you do your thing love. i’d give you a kiss for luck if i wasn’t busy! “

.

staring at the sun summoner is like glimpsing a piece of divinity. she’s never considered herself religious, but nearly every ravkan was raised on the same legends she was. a sun summoner to free them from the fold. alina starkov came and alina starkov delivered. alina starkov scattered fragments of her power into a dozen individuals who might one day become as powerful as her. and here she was, trying to destroy one. no, a stubborn voice cried, trying to save one. destruction. salvation. two sides of the same coin.

for a moment, nina hesitates - thinks to place a hand on jesper’s barrel and call out to this not-quite-stranger. if she spoke in ravkan, would it make a difference? would it free them from this fjerdan cell? she knows it would not. and thus, the soldier doesn’t try - but waits, a spectator to jesper’s sport. better them, she thinks, unable to shake the sensation that taking up arms against them is committing some kind of unholy sin.

the bullet misses - and nina swears, the soldat sol doesn’t even wince.

she hears jesper’s call, but chances a look at him first. “are you alright?” her eyes take in their presence. coat: ruined - but is that such a hardship? voice: light - cracking jokes. they’ll live. matching his tone, nina stands up tall, calling upon the depths she draws her power from. “if you kiss me, you’d have to kiss matthias too. it’s only fair.”

nina sends no prayers. nina calls upon the dead, willing them to rise. fjerdan soldiers, blood still warm, wait to answer her call. they are close...closer...and then there is the sunlight. it narrowly misses her chest, strikes to the side, cloak catching alight. nina disards it before the fire can catch, grits her teeth in pain. slowly, she registers the ringing in her ear. great. she’ll deal with that later.

​location: alley near an entrance to the ratway, hours after the attack status: for @cxrpscwitch​​

like oil on the ocean, smoke poured from the smoldering remains of the slat and into the street. the already darkened windows stained deeper, as if kissed by shadow, and doors were sensibly shut. matthias coughed and struggled to stay upright. smog aside, his vision was blurring badly, a side effect of the blood running into his eyes. he assumed it was blood; his hands felt wet to the touch and trying to clear his sight only obscured it more. he cut a path by touch instead, fingers jumping over the stones set into canals.  

he thought he heard his name and snapped to attention, but if it had been called by someone close the stale wind quickly stole it and the drowsy shapes of taverns tossed it between them.  but there it was, again. matthias. matthias! there was something wrong with the sound of it, the way it bounced of the glass, swallowed by the chaos around him and spat back out. he swung a hand around, searching, but only met air.

“nina!” his voice was rough, rubbed raw with smoke and hacking. if there was a reply, he couldn’t hear it. “nina!” he tried again, hoping. praying. what god might answer, he didn’t know. “nina,” he reached, blindly. “nina –” 

.

the world unfolded strangely without sound. she watched the birds call to each other, but did not hear their song. she witnessed ordinary people shout for safety, hurl curses at soldiers from the top of their lungs, but was left to guess at what words their venom might contain. the world was different without a sense, as if she were a child, learning to walk again. there was newfound hesitancy to her every action. she hated this feeling, of fragility, like a waif who could be blown away at any moment.

zenik, a voice snapped. it sounded like gravel. no time for self pity. you’re as solid as solid gets. flesh and bone. the voice brought her some comfort.

as did he.

she found him on a hail mary, her voice distant to herself even as she put the weight of the world into it, every anguish, every hurt and every right and every wrong. everything she had ever felt - into that one name. because she needed to find him, needed to touch him, needed to know they could consume each other again. needed to know his nightmares had not caught up to him. 

and then she found him, or maybe he found her - or maybe they just found each other, that was usually how it went. she was in his arms at once, guiding his hands to her waist, wrapping her own around his face and nuzzling his forehead with hers. “i’m here.” the words were ghostly to her, all she could hear was the ringing. her forehead came away sticky, marked with his blood. “let’s leave this hellish place.”

fire had come for her again, and this time, aleni might be well and truly trapped. she knew her window to get out of the slat was closing, but she rushed around her bedroom anyway, stuffing various possessions into the satchel around her shoulder. it was stupid to linger this long, she knew that much, but aleni cared too much for her things. they were all that brought her comfort in this wretched life in the barrel. of course, nothing she’d grabbed so far mattered as much as the one thing she couldn’t find: an old photograph of herself and her father on his fishing boat, his smile lined and hers gap-toothed. she wouldn’t lose that last piece of him to the flames. she refused.

“nina?!” aleni called out, confused and squinting against the smoke. had nina been staying at the slat? “one moment, i just need– i have to find something. go on ahead, i’m right behind you!” aleni turned the contents of a shelf out on the floor. still nothing.

.

i’m right behind you. she knew enough about theatre to recognise dramatic irony when it was in the making. people who uttered those words never made it out of sticky situations, ended up being engulfed by whatever peril they had landed themselves in. nina wasn’t about to let aleni become the latest tragedy in the slat. they stuck together. they made it out alive. they lived to fight another day. 

The   tailor’s   room   was   nestled   in   the   far   back   where   many   few   Dregs   ever   took   the   effort   to   venture.   At   the   end   of   one   of   the   more   narrow   corridors   lies   her   black   painted   door,   a   golden   door   knob   with   a   lock   upon   its   handle   kept   the   door   almost   always   shut.   In   the   slanted   base   of   the   Dregs,   the   perfectly   painted   door   looked   out   of   place;   a   feat   of   Anya’s   own   tailorings   were   the   only   thing   keeping   it   upon   its   false   golden   hinges.   Inside   the   room   it   was   small   and   cramped,   a   simple   square   with   a   large   vanity   that   faced   opposite   the   door.   Cupboards   and   shelves   littered   the   room,   all   painted   in   either   shades   of   black,   gold   or   violet;   hiding   within   them   every   little   thing   that   completed   Anya’s   service   as   a   tailor.   As   if   the   storage   space   hadn’t   been   enough,   glasses   and   jars   of   aromatic   flowers   and   spices   littered   the   floor   and   the   vanity,   some   even   suspended   from   chains   in   the   air   like   lanterns.   The   room   looked   more   like   a   delicate   antique   store   than   it   did   a   room,   especially   with   the   lack   of   anything   remotely   alluding   to   liveability.   The   room   lacked   a   bed   or   any   sheets,   nor   did   it   hold   a   single   trace   of   a   wardrobe   or   clothing   trunk.   The   only   furniture   besides   the   array   of   apothecary   cabinets   and   the   decorated   drawers   of   the   vanity   was   a   single   large   mirror   that   was   framed   above   it,   its   edges   painted   in   a   sparkling   gold.   The   mirror   itself   was   shrouded   by   a   sheet   of   emerald   cloth,   obscuring   the   glass   from   peering   through.   Seated   before   the   covered   mirror   was   the   tailor   herself,   a   fine   toothed   comb   brushing   through   her   ebony   locks.      

Anya’s   back   remained   turned   from   the   door   as   she   heard   it   twist   open,   the   familiar   click   of   the   doorknob   alerting   her   to   the   presence   of   another   in   her   room.   She   did   not   turn   her   face   to   meet   the   eyes   of   the   intruder,   continuing   to   brush   the   comb   through   her   hair   idly,   whilst   her   free   hand   splayed   across   the   vanity,   toying   with   sheets   of   golden   foil   until   their   wound   tightly   into   gilded   coils.   Upon   hearing   the   first   words   slip   from   Nina’s   mouth,   Anya   let   out   a   sigh   of   annoyance.   She   did   not   recognise   this   foreign   voice   and   it   was   surely   one   she   had   never   heard   circulating   around   the   Slat.   “You’re   looking   for   a   tailor’s   service?   Well   it   seems   like   you’ve   come   to   the   wrong   place.   I   don’t   do   things   out-of-house.   I’m   not   some   freelance   beautician,”   she   scoffed.   It   was   not   the   first   time   that   at   her   door,   an   insecure   girl   appeared   in   search   of   someone   to   embellish   her   face;   in   this   instance   Anya   thought   no   different   of   the   one   who   appeared   at   her   door.   “You’re   only   wasting   my   time.   Tell   whoever   sent   you   here   that   my   services   aren’t   open   for   taking,”   Anya   says,   her   hand   now   going   to   massage   her   temple   in   annoyance.   She   swears   that   the   next   girl   walking   into   her   room   like   she   owned   the   place   would   get   it   far   worse   than   a   rejection   of   her   aid.

It   wasn’t   until   she   heard   the   girl   boldly   enter   her   room,   regardless   of   warning   and   state   her   allegiance   to   the   Dregs,   that   Anya   turned   her   head.   She   was   prepared   to   issue   a   half-hearted   apology   for   her   rash-conclusions,   one   that   she   really   didn’t   care   for;   but   upon   meeting   the   ice-cold   eyes   of   the   girl   before   her,   she   froze.   The   girl’s   features   where   so   startlingly   Fjerdan   that   it   left   a   bad   taste   in   Anya’s   mouth.   Her   red   painted   lips   pulled   down   in   a   grimace,   one   that   could   have   made   anyone   but   Anya   look   utterly   ridiculous.   In   less   than   a   second   her   features   resettled   into   an   impeccable   smile,   just   as   charming   and   graceful   as   she   had   always   been   notable   for.   Anya’s   softened   gaze   held   back   upon   her   uncertainty   against   this   Fjerdan   stranger   at   her   door,   watching   in   fascination   as   a   hand   was   extended   to   her.   Anya   did   not   accept   it   when   upon   the   girl’s   wrist,   she   saw   no   trace   of   the   Dreg’s   signature   tattoo.   “Ah,   a   Dreg   you   say?   I’ve   never   seen   your   face   around   here   before.”   she   utters,   caution   lacing   her   tone.   “And   I   can   assure   you,   I   never   forget   a   face,   especially   not   a   Fjerdan   one”   she   mused,   her   slightly   shaking   hands   curling   unconsciously   around   the   sharpened   handle   of   the   ivory   hair   comb,   its   razor-sharp   point   somehow   managing   to   capture   the   artificial   light   from   above   her,   something   that   seemed   near   impossible   in   dimly   lit,   windowless   room.   She   knew   instantly   not   to   trust   a   word   coming   from   this   girl’s   mouth,   especially   knowing   of   the   name   she   claimed   for   herself.   Anya   only   knew   of   one   Nina   to   have   belonged   to   the   Dregs,   at   least   in   the   time   she   had   been   there   and   the   icy-eyed   girl   standing   before   her   was   nothing   like   the   Ravkan   heartrender   had   been   rumoured   to   resemble.

.

a pang of nostalgia hit nina as she entered the room. the innate softness, the assortment of random flowers and spices, this place bore all the markings of a tailor’s craft room. it reminded her of genya’s studio. for a moment, nina wanted to close her eyes, dip into the fondest of memories and the temporary relief they provided. it would be beautiful, to be made small in the kindest of ways. 

the tailor’s tone shook the sentimentality out of nina, a harsh reminder of exactly where her feet lay. in ketterdam. in the slat. in the room of a stranger, asking to be remade. this tailor had none of genya’s kindness, or her familiarity. this one put up was a castle, impenetrable, surrounded by a moat. rational, nina told herself, smart. best have your wits about you in times like these. still, she couldn’t quite shake the note of irritation in her tone. 

“tell him yourself.” nina said, the words stilted coming through gritted teeth. “although - “ she added, softening slightly, a fleck of amusement entering her voice, “- kaz brekker does seem like the type to shoot messengers.” the semantics of who exactly sent her here were irrelevant. kaz had welcomed her back to ketterdam, hosted her a damn party at the docks. as far as she was concerned, that gave her a free pass to the grisha he had collected in her absence. 

“you should know - better than most - that appearances can be deceptive.” not waiting for an invitation, nina stepped inside, slowly closing the door behind her. her eyes flickered to the brunette’s hand, curled around a knife. a history of brutality or gut reaction? perhaps they were one and the same. saints only knew, kaz seemed to attract those who had been tossed around more than most. “i’m no more fjerdan than i am kaelish.” although i’ve pretended to be both. after so much time in service to ravka, in service to grisha, had her disguises begun to blend? how far until one person ran into another? how much of her was nina - and how much of her were the people nina had pretended to be?

if the drüskelle and summoners had done their damn best to tear her apart, then nina zenik was slowly repiecing herself. bit by bit, breath by breath, she healed. in her head, she imagined her muscle fibres restitching themselves, her skin hardening - only to eventually soften. it was slow. too slow. not for the first time that evening, she bitterly resented the loss of her abilities. she had never been a healer, but she had done a passable imitation of one, when the situation was dire. 

sensing that even if the battle was done, the war was not, nina gathered herself, put down her pride and shuffled over to a blonde girl hunched in the corner. she knew her by sight and name, if not in person. sigyn. saint sent, added a voice, leaning against the wall. “sigyn?” she called softly, hesitantly, framing her name as if it were a question. “do you think you could make me right as rain again?”

under ideal circumstances, nina would have preferred a ravkan trained, born-of-the-second-army healer, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

“it’s the burns.” she explained, pointing to her chest. “and the smoke inhalation. and i suppose the ringing in my ear isn’t an ideal sign.”

the crowd did not see it, but trespassers walked among them. a captain, a tidemaker and a corpsewitch swelled their ranks, heads down as they blended in, melting into the city. well, nina thought, with a wry glance over her shoulder at her companions, some were blending better than others. she stuck out like a sore thumb, the brightest object in every room. mustering the humility to dampen her spirits, nina hitched her bodice up a few inches and dutifully followed inej. perhaps she’d lower it later on, when inej needed her to stand out, where distractions were meant to be made.

their objective was simple enough. slip into a bakery and fill their coffers with ontbijtkoek, poffert and krentenbollen. absentmindedly licking her lips, nina felt a pang of hunger ache through her. drüskelle hunting was strenuous work. tapping both companions on the shoulder as the approached an alleyway, she ushered them into the dug out. “normally i’m not a big stickler to plans, but given today...an easy in and out would be much appreciated. are we all clear on what to do?”