#helnik ff

The condensation on the grimy windowpane drips slowly onto the scarred wooden sill, the Ketterdam winter light slants like iron and frost from the high garret windows, and as she sits on the bed and watches Matthias wrestle with the embers in the dirty fireplace, Nina wonders timidly if she should get up and help him. Not that he needs it, not in the least. Aside from the general ferocious competence, she can't fathom how anyone could grow up in the frozen boneyard of Fjerda and not know how to make a decent fire. Of course, it's not as if Ravkan winters are a basket of roses, but Fjerda has always seemed much colder to her, in any number of ways. Yet it's the principle of the thing, one of the thousand tiny struggles and questions she's been left with ever since their fraught reunion and Matthias's eventful extraction from Hellgate. Does he want her help, or would it seem patronizing, pointless, stupid?

Uncharacteristically paralyzed with indecision, Nina doesn't move until Matthias utters a sound of triumph and gets to his feet, regarding the restored fire in the hearth with satisfaction. Saints, this is excruciating. They've been shut up in the attic for two days, waiting out the aftermath of the prison break, and Nina has a feeling it will either repair their bond in a surprising fashion or sunder it for good. Kaz probably also wants to see if they're going to kill each other before he really commits to anything, or a further employment of their services. For which it's hard to blame him, but --

"There," Matthias says. He doesn't turn around, but his voice is likewise somewhat less cold than before. "That's better."

"Yes," Nina says, after a fraught pause. She watches the glow limn the fine blond hairs on his arms, the scruff of his beard, the back of his neck, the roughness and the scars that she doesn't remember from before, which must be another poisoned gift of Hellgate. She doesn't want to ask too closely, even though she should. They've spent much of the time so far like this, in lapses and pauses, walking on eggshells and flashes of guilt and anger alike. He knows he should be grateful to her and the Crows for getting him out, but when it seems like just another manipulation, another necessity, using him worse than Jarl Brum ever did and not even having the decency to admit it --

"Matthias," Nina says convulsively. His name tastes odd in her mouth, sharp and dry, and he looks up with a bit of a start. Do you hate me, will you hate me forever -- the only question she wants to ask, the only one that seems to matter, but she can't get her tongue around it. Instead, as he looks at her expectantly and her words fail, she gropes for an acceptable, less-world-ending alternative. "It's almost the Winter Fete," she says, as if what either of them really have on their mind is the holidays. "Is there -- do you want to do anything for it?"

Matthias's mouth twitches in something almost like amusement, but he duly ponders the question, more than it deserves. She can't fathom what a celebration might be like in Fjerda, or even if they allow such things; it seems like it must entail hours of prayers on cold stone floors and the penitential consumption of lutefisk. Or maybe there are parties for the common people, but not for the drüskelle. Not for an orphan boy raised in the Ice Court, a child soldier just like -- well, just like her. Back in Os Alta, Nina might have had the benefit of a lavish party in the Little Palace, feast and merriment and festivity, but it would all be under the watchful eyes of Tsar Pyotr (well, Tsar Nikolai now) and General Kirigan (well, before Alina Starkov killed him) weighing them up and deciding where to send them into the field, as soon as the winter snows melted enough to start the spring campaign. Nina can't remember any time when that awareness didn't shape her entire existence, and how little she thought of it, at least until she did. Until she decided that it was profoundly wrong for Grisha to be bound in lifetime service to anyone, and took the job as a freelance intelligence agent. It gave her the illusion of freedom, that way. The illusion of choice. And with Matthias, for such a short time, the illusion of love. But that's the thing about illusions. They're not real. They never were.

"We... didn't do much," Matthias says at last, half to himself. "Prayers, mostly. The winter solstice is a moment of great importance for Djel. Was," he corrects himself, as if he too doesn't know what's next, what he believes in, any of it. "What about you?"

"I don't know." Nina looks down, twists the worn quilt between her fingers, forces herself to speak. "Well, we did have a party, in -- in Os Alta, but I don't think either of us would be up for it now. The old traditions all seem a bit... empty."

Matthias considers that for a long moment, unhurried and remote, implacable as a glacier, tall and solid as stone -- still there, still unbroken, still him, even after everything, and it closes Nina's throat. Then at last, he moves over and sits on the bed next to her, not too close, but just enough for their fingers to brush. The silence aches, all the space and all the hurt between them, the way they fell into each other's arms and then fell out almost as quickly -- Ravkan and Fjerdan, Grisha and drüskelle, ancient enemies by right and yet just two scarred lonely children who just didn't care about that, not really, when they were desperate to take hands and walk together. Nina aches with her whole being to take his hand again now, but she doesn't. After what she did, she has no right to presume.

"Well," Matthias says at last. He gets up, digs around in the wardrobe, and finds a pair of candles, which he sets on the mantel. Gets a taper and lights them -- a small flame, especially compared to that in the hearth, but still a beacon of simple and quiet hope, a moment of truce, the first one they've really had. "We'll have to start somewhere with making new ones, won't we?"

Whoo! #20 from this list is DONE!

&&&

“Weddings are supposed to be romantic, Matthias, but you’re wearing your tie wrong—”

“Nina, it’s fine. Jesper can fix it.”

“Jesper is the groom. Well, one of the grooms.”

Matthias kisses the top of her head. “He’ll help me if it’s bothering him or Wylan.”

“We also knocked over the cake.”

“A waste of cake, but it’s not the end of the world.”

Nina buries her face in her hands, groaning. “I also made a joke about how loud their fucking is in my toast. And I said ‘fuck.’”

"I don't care how traditional it is in Fjerda," Nina says warningly, putting her hands on her hips. "I am not eating lutefisk."

Matthias gives her a slightly hurt look, as if they're finally reunited (well, mostly) and working on actually reconciling, and the first thing she does is go and slander his country's terrible, terrible food. The winter solstice is an observation of particular significance to Djel -- something about the renewal of the year, the holy light returning to the fallen world after an eternity of darkness, and so forth -- and Nina would think there would be more joy and cheer to it, but of course, Fjerdans are suspicious of anything that looks too much like fun. There are other traditional foods, to be sure, some of which she might even voluntarily consume. But when it comes to lutefisk, no. She is putting her foot down.

"Fine, then," Matthias huffs. "What do they do in Ravka, then?"

"We have lots of things," Nina informs him, "that people actually like to eat. Babka, kalach, sochivo, peljmeni, tvorozhniki, just to name a few. I'd cook some for you and we could have a contest, but that might throw you into terrible religious disfavor."

Matthias throws a sour look at her, as if to point out that by virtue of deserting his homeland and his calling, his military training, his order of humorless witch-hunters and all the rest, and taking up in carnal cohabitation with a Grisha demoness, that pretty much does for any scrap of his religious favor anyway. Nina laughs, then bites her cheek, feeling slightly guilty, and pads over to put her hands on his chest. "I can, if you want," she adds. "And I'm even willing to take a stab at some Fjerdan food, but no lutefisk. What else?"

He thinks about it. "Pinnekjøtt," he says, after a moment. "It's a special rack of lamb. Same with juleribbe. And there's rice pudding with sugar and cinnamon, risengrynsgrøt. Marzipan, apples, almonds, hot spiced wine." He pauses, eyes going briefly distant. "My mother used to make marzipan candy. A long time ago. It was one of my favorite things about Yule."

"Well, then," Nina says briskly. "We'll just have to find Fjerdan marzipan somewhere in Ketterdam. If we did make a whole dinner, do you think Kaz, Jesper, and Wylan would want to come?"

Matthias snorts. His opinion of their new cohorts remains unavoidably low, though there's a grudging and very unspoken respect between him and Kaz. Jesper is always up for any party anywhere, of course, and Wylan will perforce tag along. Nina's up for eating most things, and even despite her intransigence on the issue of lutefisk, she does want to do something to make the holidays special for Matthias. They're not quite as tentative around each other as they used to be, but after how long he spent rotting in the guts of Hellgate -- it's the least she can do, that's all.

"What else?" she says. "Is there a service? Do you have to go prostrate yourself for hours in front of some frozen ash tree, or -- ?"

"Some of us," Matthias says with considerable asperity, "do still take the gods seriously. What about you?"

"Ravkans go to church, usually. Kneel in front of the icons of the saints and ask for their blessings." Nina hasn't been religious for as long as she can remember, and frankly, after what she saw the so-called Sankta Alina do in the Fold, the way she used black merzost to bring back her defunct otkazat'sya lover, she's especially suspicious of anyone or anything proclaiming to be pure and holy as sunlight. "I don't think I'll be doing that this year, though," Nina adds, half to herself. "I've never really wanted to."

Matthias briefly looks as if he is about to deliver a stern sermon on her lack of pious sentiment (truly, why does she like this man so much?) but then sighs and gives in. "All right," he says -- and look at that, the big bad druskelle, actually making compromises. Maybe there is hope for them after all. "As long as we get the food."

Everyone says New York is big. The songs, the movies, the popular culture, the overall zeitgeist -- that's what it is all about, the size of it, whether mentally or physically. The skyscrapers, the subways, the noise, the people, the way you can travel all over the world within the span of a few blocks, give as mathematically incalculable amount of a shit as possible and have the oddly comforting realization that everyone else will do the same. And sure, yes, it is big. Nina got lost three times on her first day attempting to navigate it alone, and while she can read English just fine, the insistence of New Yorkers on speaking a thousand miles a minute often leaves her trying to ask if they could just repeat themselves please, slower. Since the one thing the Big Apple hates is having to go slower, or realizing that the entire world does not run at the same manic pace they do, they usually sigh or roll their eyes or otherwise grumble about it. Thanks, guys. Helpful.

It could be worse, though. At least Nina has a place to stay, even if that is renting a tiny apartment with three other Russian girls -- Genya, Alina, and Marie -- in a recently privatized project on the Lower West Side that proudly flogs itself as "the next generation of affordable housing for New York City." (Is it really? Maybe, if you squint.) She stayed with Ivan and Fedyor down in Brighton Beach when she first landed at JFK with not much more than her backpack and the clothes she was wearing, but it's an hour-plus on the subway to get into midtown, and she wanted to get out of the Russian enclave, stretch herself, meet more American people. And maybe not be reminded every day about having to flee for her life, and not being sure if she can ever go back to her homeland. That would be nice too.

In any event, Nina has managed to get a job at a small cafe in Hell's Kitchen, tucked somewhere among the eighty thousand Irish pubs and coffeehouses, and she's working about thirty hours a week, trying to save enough for her share of the rent and figure out what the hell she's doing next. It's a nice place, homey, with an old Italian espresso machine and mismatched wooden tables, full of light in the morning, the kind of place where people come with laptops and books and settle in for the long haul, periodically buying another flat white or muffin to pay rent on their space. Nina served her time as a barista in the trenches of Skuratov Coffee back in Russia, as a student, and it's comfortingly familiar. Easy. Comfortable.

Of course, if it wasn't for Matthias fucking Helvar.

This tall blond paragon of paramount irritation turned up on her third day working there, and even more to her annoyance, he's a regular, so she can't get rid of him. She isn't sure what he does when he's not driving her crazy -- she knows something about a graduate program in international development at NYU, because he never fucking shuts up about that, but half of her thinks that he might be making it up just to sound like all the other pretentious hipster dipshits pounding the keys in midtown Manhattan. He does have a stack of books vaguely on this theme, and a Norway flag pin stuck to his backpack. Those clean blond athletic good looks make sense, then. Of course he's Scandinavian. Probably planning to Run Out And Save The World TM.

At any rate, it's a snowy evening in February, and Nina's working the late shift, the white fairy lights glowing behind the bar. There are only a few people in the cafe, and one of them, of course, is Matthias. Evidently considering that what this otherwise-pleasant situation really needs is his input, he gets up and makes toward her, handing over his empty cup for another refill of the house blend. "And make sure it's hot, please," he adds bossily. "Last time it was barely lukewarm."

Nina grits her teeth. "I just brewed the new pot," she informs him, charitably neglecting to add that she is happy to dump it over his head to check that it is warm enough for Mr. Perfect's tastes. That would definitely get her fired, and she needs this job. As if he doesn't know, she adds, "That will be a dollar fifty, please."

Matthias digs in his jeans pocket (she does not notice that they fit him rather well, absolutely not) and comes up with the exact change, as usual. He's like if IKEA made a person. Nina snatches it out of his hand and puts it through the register, takes his cup, and fills it up. She knows not to leave room for cream (too fattening) or sugar (the large-scale cultivation of processed sugar is responsible for many of the geopolitical evils in world history). Is Matthias here all the time because he's a horribly boring square who doesn't have any other friends to hang out with? That would explain a lot.

For half a moment, Nina finds herself teetering on the verge of sympathy. She knows, after all, what it's like to be alone in this city, floating along on the human tide, wondering if you're ever going to put down roots, or stand your ground, or matter. Then she shakes it off, vastly annoyed with herself. The reason that Matthias doesn't have any friends is because he sucks. Case closed.

"Here," she says curtly, handing his cup back. "It's hot."

"Thank you." Matthias's hand brushes her as he takes it, and for a moment, his eyes meet hers a little too long, a little too meaningfully. (He really is distractingly tall.) "I'm... sorry," he adds belatedly. "I'm just a little stressed. I have this big exam coming up at -- "

"NYU, yes, I know." Nina rolls her eyes. "We've heard. You are the Tesla owner of NYU attendees, Matthias."

He blinks. A little pink comes into his cheeks. "Oh," he says, almost shyly. "You know my name?"

"You come in here five days a week. How could I not?"

"Oh." He considers that, then smiles crookedly, and it does something absolutely awful to her insides, which they will never speak of ever again. "Thank you. Nina."

Nina is relieved when he retreats to his table, and picks up the rag to wipe down the self-service bar, even though it doesn't entirely need it. Just for a moment. Just to catch her breath. No reason at all.

40. "Hard cash is a girl's best friend."

42. "You live to annoy me, don't you?"

69. "You do know that we're in public, right?"

Nina Zenik-Helvar is a woman who is, it cannot be denied, used to getting what she wants at all costs. It is either a serious character flaw or her chief strength, depending on how you look at it, and she is certainly prepared to admit that it has gotten her into plenty of trouble in the past. This, however, is not a matter of life and death. Not really. That doesn't make it any less irritating that Matthias, as is also his wont, is being unreasonably, stupidly stubborn about it. God forbid anyone make an unscheduled luxury purchase and live a little. His boring, sensible Scandinavian brain might actually explode.

"No," Matthias says again, for emphasis. "We need to pay the berthing fees -- there are also daily docking charges, we need to fill up the gas tank, and get some food before the storm hits. If it's bad, we won't be able to get on shore again for several days at least, and then -- "

"Matthias," Nina interrupts. "Darling."

He glowers at her. "What?"

"May I remind you that this is my own money that I am proposing to spend, and kindly ask what, exactly, you are contributing to the effort?"

Matthias harrumphs in patent disapproval. They are currently living on a houseboat in Bridgetown, Barbados, their most recent stop since leaving Norway and bopping itinerantly around the world, and while Nina is still working for the Crows from afar, Matthias's own employment options have been far more limited. He is mostly stuck with working day jobs for under-the-table cash payment; he is tall, he is strong, and he can carry heavy things without complaint, so there is that. Their budget can definitely get fairly harrowing at times, and it's not like Nina has forgotten about everything else they need to pay -- most of which will also come from her, as the chief breadwinner -- but still. She picks up the necklace again, letting the luminous black pearls trickle through her fingers, then turns to the stall owner, adopting a tone of no-nonsense brass tacks. "How much?"

He names a figure that Nina absolutely does not intend to pay, so she spends the next ten minutes haggling him down to a more reasonable number. While Matthias stands nearby with a resigned look, they finally reach agreement, Nina peels off several colorful Barbadian dollars, and takes the necklace, fastening it around her throat. "There," she says to Matthias. "What do you think?"

He sighs deeply. "It's nice, but if we can't pay the berthing fees and get thrown out in the middle of the night, I'm blaming you. Besides, where did you get all that cash? Aren't you usually paid virtually?"

"Hard cash is a girl's best friend." Nina flutters her eyelashes and takes her husband's arm. He sighs again, but doesn't say anything else, and they stroll down the cobbled street, under the waving palms and market awnings, the island breeze laden with the damp scent of the incoming storm. "Besides, I think it's your turn to buy the groceries for once. And a pair of barbecue tongs."

Matthias blinks at her, utterly baffled. "Barbecue tongs? Why?"

"You know," Nina says sweetly. "To pull out that stick that is still, somehow, stuck all the way up your ass."

Matthias groans. "You live to annoy me, don't you?"

"Maybe." Nina grins angelically, snuggling closer. He's so damn tall that she has to reef him in like a sailboat, pull him down to get close enough to kiss, and she does so, until she's good and ready to stop. Matthias squeaks, performs an aborted attempt at a struggle, looks around furtively, and then gives up and kisses her back. His hair has turned very blond in the tropical sun, and he smells like male sweat, ocean salt, and big dumb boy. Nina loves him so very much.

"You do know," Matthias says prissily, once they pull back, "that we're in public, right?"

"No, I totally didn't notice." Nina rolls her eyes. "Come on, you moron. Let's go find some dinner. And you are paying for it."

Matthias eyes her up and down. Despite all his protestations, he is clearly imagining how she will look while wearing nothing but the necklace. "All right," he says, and offers her his arm again. "I hope you're in the mood, yet again, for fish."

Matthias and Nina: Currently living on a houseboat in the Caribbean. (They spent some time in New Zealand, Argentina, and South Africa beforehand.) They had just gotten to the Caribbean when COVID hit, so they ended up staying, bought an old boat and fixed it up, and are living their best digital nomad lives. Nina works as a contractor for a private cybersecurity firm and teaches social activists how to hide their data from Big Brother. Matthias has remote-work jobs for Norwegian firms. They are semi-sort-of planning to move back to Norway permanently and finally apply for Nina’s settlement visa when the borders reopen, but they’re also not in a hurry to leave where they are. They have talked once or twice about whether they want to start trying for children, but that’s still a way in the future.

Kaz and Inej: Actually kind of really together, and not even if you squint. It’s been three careful years, but they’re working on it and doing better in lots of ways. Inej has finally been home to London to see her parents, though they’ve also had to deal with quarantine hassle and closed borders. Kaz still works as a hacker, but the Crows are trying (slowly) to get out of the crime business, at least sometimes. They’re always down for taking out assholes. They still mostly live in Amsterdam, but they’ve bought a new house in the Dutch countryside that they’re working on fixing up together.

Jesper and Wylan: Got engaged just before everything went to hell in 2020 and have been desperately trying to arrange a wedding in the Age of COVID ever since. It’s turned into a running joke, since every time they get something booked, it gets canceled, a new restriction comes up, or they realize that their friends will not be able to get into the country to attend. Travel circumstances permitting, they currently split their time between Ireland and Amsterdam. Jesper is still close to Kaz and Inej, though he’s vainly attempting to “go straight -- no, not that kind of straight” in preparation for his life as a married man. It remains debatable how well this is actually working.

Ivan and Fedyor: Have in fact gotten a cat, whose name is Rasputin. They adopted him from a Brooklyn animal shelter and yes, it was Fedyor’s idea, and yes, Ivan complained the whole time, then immediately fell in love. They’ve had a bit of a rough time; Ivan, as an essential worker, got COVID in March 2020 and was knocked on his ass by it. It took him several months to recover and it’s been generally stressful. They’re also disappointed that Fedyor’s parents had FINALLY just agreed to come out from Russia and visit them in Brighton Beach when the plague hit, so that is once again indefinitely delayed. Ivan, once he got better, quit his job with the repair company and started his own home renovation business, which is becoming unexpectedly a hot ticket among Williamsburg hipsters. He hates this deeply, but there you have it. [NAME REDACTED] looks forward to performing again when the clubs reopen.

Nikolai and Zoya: Got married in a lavish destination-wedding bash in Bali in 2019, which was the last big international trip everyone got to have before you-know-what. Zoya then got offered a prestigious job in Los Angeles, but Nikolai didn’t want to leave his job in Manhattan, so they spend most of their weeks on opposite coasts and get together on the weekends. However, for obvious reasons, this isn’t going to work out long-term, so they’re having intent discussions about whether they’re both going to move to California or what. Nikolai still holds that if Nina and Zoya ever run off together, he is more than willing to comfort Matthias. If you know what he means.

Poppy: Still living their best and most fabulous life, though they left the red-light district in Amsterdam and went to school with the money they had saved. They semi-dated Matthias’ friend Christian for a few months, then separated amiably. They now live in London, are pursuing a master’s degree in social work at King’s College, and work for a trans/queer mental health charity. They spend a lot of time annihilating J.K. Rowling and Piers Morgan on Twitter.

26. Love Beyond Death

Nina is dreaming again, and as ever, she does not want to wake up.

She doesn't know where they are. Nowhere they have ever been in life, at least. Matthias never set foot in Ravka, and if this is Fjerda, it's far from the Ice Court and the spartan cells of the witch hunters and Jarl Brum's pitiless cold eyes. She doesn't think so, though. They wanted to run away somewhere entirely new, and maybe this is that place. It's a garden, the sunlight is clear and strong, and whenever she finds herself walking the hedge-paths toward the fountain at the center, her heart leaps. She knows he will be waiting, and he is.

"Nina," he murmurs, and she can feel it, feel his voice rumbling in his chest, after she's run to him and thrown her arms around his neck, as he holds her close and nothing, no fiber in her, can possibly believe that he is not alive. Because he is alive, he is here, tall and blond and stubborn and stupid as usual, smiling down at her, as if this is some strange halfway-between place where they can still meet. Maybe it is. Nina is the Corpsewitch, after all; the one who can command the dead to do her bidding, and she has never let go of Matthias, not for a day. Not really, not truly, not in her memories or in her dreams or her love. Why shouldn't she be able to bring him here, and see him again?

They stand together, hugging silently, Matthias's chin resting on her tumbled hair. After a while, he says softly, "How are you?"

"Not.... not that good." Nina snorts unsteadily. She wants to ask the same of him, but what can the answer be except dead? Unfairly, unjustly, long before his time, and she has never quite relinquished the idea of doing something about it, reversing the course of fate, figuring out the darkest Grisha arts if need be. She knows that he doesn't want that for her, to lose herself in pursuit of a hopeless dream, but it's not hopeless, that's the thing. His body is still perfectly preserved beneath the ice, and her power has fundamentally changed. If she was able to restore life to what has died, why not him? Why not them? Why?

"Matthias." She looks up at him. "What if I could find a way to do -- to do it? To bring you back? Would you... want that?"

Her voice cracks on the end, just because she's afraid that he will refuse, that he will whisper it again -- Little red bird, let me go -- and her selfish heart won't be able to stand it, even if she has to abide by his wishes. He frowns, looking at her worriedly, and says in a bossy voice, "Nina, don't do anything foolish."

She chokes. This has to be him, unless her memory is conjuring him with truly faultless accuracy, because nobody else can master that knack of simultaneously concerned and patronizing. "You let me worry about foolish, drüskelle."

"Well," Matthias says slowly. "Obviously, yes, I want to be alive again. I want to be -- to be with you. But your life will have changed, gone on, and it wouldn't be the same. I don't -- I couldn't bear if it you were unhappy as a result."

"Unhappy?" Nina laughs, breaking perilously close to tears. "Unhappy? You think I've been anything but unhappy since it -- since you -- since everything? It wasn't fair, Matthias. It wasn't right. Some stupid random drüskelle kills you and my own power can't be used to save you? I don't accept it. I'll do it, I'll find a way. But only if you want. If you want to stay here -- if you want to be at peace -- I'll understand."

It rips her heart out to say, but she does, and waits in unbearable silence. Matthias's eyes crinkle up at the edges, soft and wanting, and he touches her chin. "Oh, Nina," he says. "You're still the bravest person I have ever known."

"Thanks." She sniffs undignifiedly. "So...?"

"If you can find a way to do it and keep your soul," Matthias says, "you have my blessing to try. I can't stand it either, you know. If I came back and you... weren't you."

"Okay," Nina whispers, stretching herself toward him, and they kiss for what might be the very last or the very first time, the end of their lives together or just the beginning; when she wakes up, it is up to her to determine which. "Okay. Okay. Okay."