#starlsssankt

NIKOLAI IS very good at ignoring things that don't suit him . or , at least, he's good at pretending to ignore them , and sometimes that works just as well . for instance , the king is fairly sure he is DYING and he's almost certain it's the darkling's fault . well , that's harsh . it's not like the man is trying to kill him ( THIS TIME ) . it's the tree , the one impaled on the grisha's heart , taking its pound of flesh from nikolai too , feeding on the connection he still has with aleksander .

there is only one reason the demon king knows this , and it's the reason why he hasn't really told anyone other than zoya and genya because he knows it makes him sound like a raving mad man . nikolai knows that his connection with aleksander is killing him . . . because of the DREAMS . they started sporadic and vague , waking him in sweat and with a lingering ache in his chest , dull and throbbing . as his health has weakened, so too have the dreams become stronger and more vivid , more painful . and there's only one face that haunts them all , one presence he feels every time : ALEKSANDER .

this time , this night , sweat coats nikolai's sallow skin - and his breath comes quick and thin . his mind is not quiet with sleep , but instead he sees before him a tree . an imposing thing , with twisted branches and wicked thorns . as nikolai makes his slow approach , it opens , like a dark maw , gaping and hungry , until it reveals -

Alina considered the coins in her pocket as she looked upon the bolts of fabric. Marina seemed to be in need of new clothing faster than she could keep up with. These would last through the summer, yet another batch would be needed for the winter.

Each coin earned from taking in washing was saved for her daughter's upkeep. Alina's pregnancy with Marina had been fully unexpected- realized after she'd crossed the Fold weeks after the Winter Fete- yet she couldn't imagine her life without her daughter. The little girl hadn't shown any signs of being Grisha just yet, which allowed for the mother and daughter to remain in their West Ravkan home for a while longer. Alina knew it was only a matter of time however, what with the girl's lineage to speak of.

She parted with some of her coins in favor of a measure of blue calico and a brown cotton that she hoped would withstand the wear and tear of a four year old. Said four year old was not too interested with her mother's selections and was instead taken with the spools of ribbon on display at the next stall.

Alina paused her conversation with the elderly woman behind the counter at the gentle tugging of her daughter on her hand.

"Do you want a ribbon, malyshka?" she asked, supposing that another coin could be spared for the trifle. Ever since laying eyes on her daughter, red-faced and wriggling in her arms after being born, Alina strove to do whatever possible for her. If a ribbon for her hair would bring a smile to the little girl's face, then Alina would do so gladly.

She spoke with the woman about trivial town gossip for a few moments while Marina chose her ribbon. Alina eventually turned to the display, intending to hurry Marina along, when she noticed the lack of a four year old by the ribbons. Icy panic flooded her upon not spotting her daughter.

"Marina?!" she called, wildly scanning the area. She dropped the yards of fabric on the stall counter as her daughter's name once more formed on her lips.

Relief flooded her upon spotting Marina in the midst of an animated conversation a few stalls over, unknowing of her mother's panic. The momentary relief was quickly eclipsed by utter horror as Alina recognized who it was that was talking to her daughter.

Her breath came short and fast while her body temperature dropped. She'd been so careful to avoid notice or attention these past few years. This town knew her as Irina, while the last had called her Darya. Alina had even limited her use of the Small Science, just summoning enough light every few weeks to keep herself healthy.

How had this happened?

"Marina!" she called sharply as she darted toward her daughter. She grabbed the girl and hefted her into her arms, not carrying that her hands were no longer free if needed to summon, as having her daughter close was all that she could focus on.

Of course she refused when Baghra asked to meet her. Jayn had left the Morozova Crime Family in the 1800s after faking her death (with the help of a witch friend). She left Europe for the US & made a home there, easily sliding into the modern age (gosh, computers were nice), where she worked as a high-school Zemeni teacher. Even though Jayn's home was warded, Baghra had managed to send one of her thralls to her former employee, explaining that the old woman wanted to meet. Jayn thought it was a trap, so the Morozovas could tie up a loose end. Then Baghra came in person, saying that Aleks had been taken to Fjerda after a meeting to discuss a possible ceasefire had turned into an ambush. Jayn couldn't fathom how someone as powerful as Aleksander could have been taken, until Baghra described the sudden burst of light, which had scalded the vampires hidden in the surrounding area. Clearly, the Fjerdans who called the undead & all magic-users "unnatural" had done something hypocritical.

Tendrils of shadow had been following behind her for a while now. She couldn't recall when they appeared, but they kept to themselves, and she wasn't afraid. How could she? She wasn't alone.

She sighed inwardly as she walked along the rural dirt road. Ravka still stood under the Lantsov regime and even celebrated three years of bliss.

Not all celebrated, there were still Grisha that needed to be saved; to be protected and while the crown seemed more inclined to safeguard Grisha, Lark had a distinct feeling it was only for the benefit of the nobility.

The mere idea of servitude to another bratty prince left a bad taste in Lark's mouth. Frowning, she sidestepped into the grass to allow a merchant's cart to pass by. She took the time to readjust her dark cloak. It was furred at the collar and warm. A lucky find.

She ran a hand through her thick coppery waves, as she tried to make sense of where she was going.

❛ It is another five miles or so to the next town. We'll stay the night and continue forward. I need rest. ❜ Her voice echoed through the ambiance of her mind, and she was sure that he would hear it.

The reluctant guest. General Kirigan, or as it is spoken in infamy; Aleksander Morozova--The Darkling.

How he came to reside in her head was still a mystery. The chaos of the battle in the fold left more questions than answers and when she had fled, she hadn't fled alone.

Her stomach growled then, and a sickening ache began to settle within it; knotting up her insides. She needed rest, and more importantly...food.

❛ This is terrible. ❜ she grumbled into her mind. She ate more, got exhausted quicker, and was all around miserable. Yet, she was fortunate that she managed to escape; A Ravkan dungeon was not a place she wanted to be. If she would make it to the cells under the palace; she probably would've been killed outright if Zoya Nazyalensky had her way.

❛ I need a bath. ❜

Someone mad.  Or desperate.

Victor wasn't sure what time it was, or how long he'd been pushing through the snow.  His feet had long since gone frozen and numb, the wet from the snow seeping through his boots.  He had no direction in mind-- just forward.  Onward.

If he stopped, the exhaustion and the cold would rush up to greet him, and Victor refused to be a frozen meal for the wolves in the woods.  He could hear them sometimes, off in the distance, their otherworldly howls competing with the lashing wind.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed forward, gathering his cloak around him more tightly.  He had to keep moving...

And then he saw it. Just ahead.

It was a small hunter's shack, tucked back into the trees. It looked abandoned, probably for the winter, but it was solid-- and it was shelter from the snow.

Half frozen, Victor shouldered open the door and stumbled inside, his knees almost buckling with relief.