Saints, grant me the to make it through this, Valeriya thought as she pinned her hair in Zoya's room, trying to make herself presentable for the King's court.

None of the keftas in David's workshop fit her, but she had managed to steal a kefta from one of the other Heartrenders who was close to her size. It fit, technically, but it was just tight enough to be irritating. It made her miss her own even more, though she had no one to blame but herself for its current state.

Zoya had arrived in Os Alta early that morning, along with a slew of other Grisha, all preparing to stand before the King in yet another grand display of the Second Army's power. The court loved its pageantry.

Valeriya hated it.

She hated the King.

She would never dare to voice that opinion—well, to anyone except Nikolai, who shared her sentiments without hesitation.

"Vale?"

Zoya's voice pulled her from her thoughts, making her jump slightly. She'd been in the middle of twisting her hair into a half-up style in the mirror, too lost in her own head. That had been happening more often lately.

"Yes, Zoya?" she muttered, trying to refocus.

Zoya stepped behind her and plucked the pins from her hands, finishing the style with a precision Valeriya lacked. When she was done, she rested her chin atop Valeriya's head and pinched her cheeks.

Valeriya scoffed and swatted her hand away.

Zoya smirked. "Time to go."

♕

The Grisha gathered in the grand hall, the three orders mingling in loose clusters while they waited to be called forward. Once before the King, they would separate—Corporalki to one side, Summoners to the other, Fabrikators scattered somewhere in between.

"Can I stand by you?"

Valeriya turned to see David hovering beside her and Zoya, looking painfully out of place in the crowd.

"Of course, darling. I could never say no to you," Valeriya said with a teasing smile.

David gave a small nod and stood a little closer, clearly grateful.

The crowd of Grisha shifted, parting as Alina Starkov entered, flanked by General Kirigan and his Oprichniki. Valeriya had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from wincing at the sight of Alina's so-called "uniform." The poor girl had been stuffed into a drab, ill-fitting First Army coat, topped off with a truly dreadful golden veil.

The Darkling moved through the room like a storm cloud given form, his personal guards keeping him and Alina separated from the main group.

"Second Army, form your ranks," he ordered, his voice cutting through the murmurs.

The Grisha snapped into formation with well-trained efficiency, the only stragglers being the Fabrikators who had been dragged from their workshops and looked vaguely lost.

Zoya, always one to avoid the spotlight at court functions, had taken a place near the back. Valeriya, on the other hand, found herself near the front, beside a Heartrender named Natalia, who was a pleasant enough girl. She was also close enough to Ivan to know she'd be scolded later if she wasn't standing exactly where she was supposed to be.

David remained glued to her side.

Honestly, Valeriya was impressed that anyone had managed to pry him from his work. She certainly never could. Saints knew she'd tried.

She shifted uncomfortably in the borrowed kefta. It wasn't awful, but it wasn't hers. And it was supposed to be indestructible. So why did she keep managing to destroy them?

The grand procession began, led by the Darkling and his guards. The Oprichniki moved in such a way that David was conveniently shielded from sight, while Valeriya was left in full view.

Completely inconvenient, considering she had spent the past several years trying to avoid anything to do with the royal family.

Her hand drifted to the thick-chained necklace around her neck, fingers curling around the familiar weight of the pendant hidden beneath her shirt. She always wore two necklaces—one, a delicate chain from Zoya with a golden sun charm. You are the sunshine everyone needs in their life, Zoya had told her.

The other was the one Zoya told her to leave at home. The one Valeriya could never part with, no matter how much she knew she should. The one that bore an emerald ring, engraved with the Lantsov double eagle crest.

As they descended the grand staircase into the throne room, Valeriya kept her gaze forward, ignoring the whispered commentary from the nobles lining the hall.

She didn't waver under the weight of their judgment.

Didn't let her eyes linger too long on the King or Queen.

Didn't react to the Queen's thinly veiled insults toward Alina.

But she did glance toward Vasily.

His attention was notably not on the Sun Summoner.

And still, he wasn't nearly as attractive as Nikolai.

Saints, Valeriya scolded herself. Did I really just go there?

A hand grasped hers, pulling her from her spiraling thoughts.

David.

His grip was firm but slightly clammy, his discomfort evident. He was overwhelmed, looking for something solid to anchor himself.

She squeezed his hand in return.

"She will change the future," the Darkling's voice rang through the hall, commanding attention.

Alina turned to him, startled.

The veil was gone.

"Starting now," he finished, ever the dramatist.

He raised his hand, and a deep rumbling filled the room.

Shadows poured from every crevice, smothering the space in darkness.

Valeriya stiffened.

She wasn't afraid of the dark, but this wasn't just darkness—it was Fold darkness. It carried the same heavy, suffocating weight, the same unnatural chill. It enveloped you and consumed you into its nothingness.

Then, a light burst from Alina, swallowing the darkness and illuminating the room. Everyone quickly shielded their eyes to avoid going blind from the magnificent display of power. Only a moment passed before the light died down, restoring the room to its original state.

A stunned silence settled over the throne room, thick and oppressive. Then—laughter.

The King's laughter rang out, sharp and unexpected, slicing through the tension like a blade. The sound sent a ripple through the gathered nobles, silk rustling as they shifted, adjusting cuffs, glancing at one another as though trying to decide what, exactly, they had just witnessed.

Awe? Fear? Valeriya could feel both hanging in the air, pressing against her skin like a second layer.

Alina swallowed hard, still standing at the center of it all, hands trembling slightly with the aftershock of power. Whatever she had just done, it had been big. Vast. Unshakable.

"Well," the King mused, his laughter settling into something sharper, something dangerously close to possessive. "A miracle indeed."

He leaned forward in his gilded throne, studying Alina now—not like a girl, not even like a soldier, but like something valuable. Something his.

"And you are certain?" he asked, though his gaze flicked to Kirigan, his expression skeptical—not of the power itself, but of her.

Kirigan stepped forward, his tone even, his presence as steady as ever. "There is no doubt, Your Majesty."

A beat of silence. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, the King turned to the court, addressing them all at once. "Then let it be known: the Sun Summoner has been found."

Another murmur swept through the room, voices hushed and fevered. Some carried the weight of reverence, others an edge of something more dangerous—uncertainty, ambition. Opportunity.

Power like this wasn't simply accepted. It was fought for. Controlled.

The Queen's eyes had not left Alina. She didn't speak, didn't move, but Valeriya saw the way her lips parted slightly before she smoothed her expression into something unreadable.

Vasily, for his part, barely reacted. His lazy smirk was already in place as he offered a half-hearted clap before leaning back in his seat, utterly unimpressed.

But Valeriya wasn't looking at the royals. She was looking at the Grisha.

They had stood still during the display, disciplined and unmoving, their keftas untouched by the flickering uncertainty of the nobles. But now? Now Valeriya saw it—the barely concealed glances exchanged between them, the flicker of something dangerously close to hope.

An Inferni woman studied Alina with sharp, calculating eyes. A Squaller near the back barely masked his intrigue behind a carefully neutral expression. Even the Heartrenders—trained to reveal nothing—were watching with a weight that made Valeriya's stomach turn.

They were measuring her. Weighing her.

Kirigan turned to Alina then, his voice quiet but absolute. "You will train at the Little Palace," he said, finality in his tone. "You will learn to harness your power."

Alina didn't move. Didn't speak.

Valeriya could see it in her face—her world had just shifted beneath her feet, and there was no catching her balance now.

The King gave another absentminded wave of his hand, already losing interest. "Yes, yes. Do what you must." Then, with a grin that looked more like ownership than approval, he added, "This changes everything."

Valeriya wasn't sure whether that was meant to be a promise or a threat.

The heavy doors creaked open once more, and Kirigan gestured for Alina to follow.

Alina hesitated—just for a fraction of a second. She cast one last glance at the room, at the faces watching her—some expectant, some wary, some already calculating what this meant for them.

Then she stepped forward, and the doors slammed shut behind her.

There was no turning back.