Winter Fete

"ALINA!"

Nonna had to jog to keep up with the girl as she stormed off. Alina had woken up soon after being tossed aside like a rag doll, and had been a mood ever since. She hadn't even waited for a healer. Just stormed off in a wave of frustration and humiliation.

"Alina! Alina, slow down," Nonna demanded.

"What?" Alina swung around suddenly to glare at Nonna. "You want to laugh at me, too?"

"No!" Even knowing Alina was just lashing out from embarrassment, Nonna still found herself flushed with indignation. It wasn't her fault Alina had gone and challenged one of the best trained grisha they had. "I wanted to heal your concussion."

"I don't have a concussion," Alina protested.

Right. Nonna raised her hands in front of Alina's face, wrist pressed together. She lifted one hand slowly, pinched her fingers together, and lifted it away as if pulling out a pin. Alina face tightened, before relaxing with a sigh. Nonna raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe I had a concussion," Alina grumbled.

"You're impossible," Nonna said with an exasperated sigh. She grinned anyways. "Is it a First Army thing, or does being the sun summoner make you especially prone to damage?"

"Is it a Second Army thing, or does being a healer make you especially prone to nagging?"

Nonna stuck out her tongue, and Alina replied in kind. The two burst into laughter at the stupid face the other had made.

"Come on. You've got lessons with Baghra next, I can show you the way," Nonna insisted, hooking her arm on Alina's and dragging her forwards.

Nonna decided to leave out the part that Alina might prefer staying lost. Baghra...was an interesting character. An old woman who lived at the edge of the Little Place's boarder, Baghra had taken over teaching the children in their basic Grisha powers, before they even entered the first steps of their specialized powers. So Nonna supposed she was Grisha. What order, Nonna didn't know, and if she was honest that might be for the best.

There was very little Nonna knew about Baghra, to be honest. She was a solitary, prickly figure, who seemed to actively avoid people learning anything about her. Nonna...she hated saying she disliked someone she knew so little about, but Baghra might fit that title. What could Nonna say? She didn't like getting hit with a cane.

Even without this knowledge, Alina's expression fell as the walked. Nonna nudged her slightly.

"It'll be okay. Zoya's just like that, you'll find others. Like Genya, you guys seem to get along," Nonna offered.

"I just miss Mal," Alina mumbled. She ran her finger over a thin scar that ran across her opposite palm. "We've done everything together and now..." Alina shrugged. "Now I don't even know when I'll see him again."

They'd arrived at Baghra's hut, and Nonna didn't know what to say. Nothing seemed best. She understood the feeling. When she'd arrived, she at least had Serafima when she arrived in the Little Palace, and even then she spent night after night missing the rest of her family. Sometimes Nonna still did.

There was never something good to say. Everything just felt fake.

Baghra appeared with her typical attitude and the announcement that Alina was late. Nonna regretted handing Alina over to the woman, even as she did it. Hopefully she wasn't too hard on her. Maybe Alina might even come out alive.

☼ ☼ ☼

THEY STOPPED AT AN INN TO REGROUP. It seemed everyone was still mad at Serafima for her suggested goat frying. She was a little indigent. Minke burns their clothes and it's the smartest thing they'd seen in their lives. She suggested the damn useless goat and suddenly she was pure evil. The thing was so fat, it'd burn forever. The only issue was it trying to running out, and they could just block it in. They were all impossible and ungrateful.

But what did Serafima expect? Self important, hoity-toity bastards.

Thankfully, no eyes were on them. A circus troupe was performing in the opposite side. A good troupe, if the gathering crowd was anything to go by. Serafima watched them over her shoulder. Currently, a woman was twirling on a silk string hung from the ceiling. A lot for some bar scum in a dingy inn.

"So..." Jesper said, after a long moment of staring at each other. "That went well."

"The Little Palace Winter Fete," Arken slammed both his glass and the advertisement he'd been staring for the last hour at instead of listening to Jesper. "There's just no way he can find a way to the Sun Summoner without Nina. Especially during this ridiculous party. The place will be crawling with Second Army."

"Second Army and strangers," Serafima pointed out. "Once we get in they won't know whose meant to be there and who isn't, and they won't give a damn whose coming out."

"Because who'd be sneaking out?" Minke added. "Hit them where they don't expect it."

"Kaz's specialty," Serafima finished.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear — Kaz arrived just as Arken began to protest. Serafima raised an eyebrow, daring him to complain with Kaz present. It seem3x to be all the man was good for anymore. Complain, complain, complain, trying to convince them to leave but never quite turning around himself. It was suspicious.

"We're in luck," Kaz announced. "There's a good chance we can crack on. Now that we're three days travel from the capital, the play is finding a way inside the Little Palace.   It turns out the Kribirsk archives house the Little Palace blueprints. But...they're kept under lock and key. Far from the prying eyes of the masses."

Serafima scoffed. Of course.

"Yes!" Jesper cheered.

"What does that mean?" Arken asked.

"Time for a heist," Jesper slapped the man's shoulder.

And so, the goat was left with the nearest barmaid they could find, while Arken was tasked with 'making friend' (and Minke with watching Arken and his increasingly suspicious behavior.) Serafima would have been relieved. Would have, if Jesper stopped crying about the damn goat.

☼ ☼ ☼

STEP ONE, PHASE ONE: IVANOVSKI.

A coach rattled into place at noon. Outstepped two atrociously dressed people. One a man with a cane and an arm full of papers rolled up to look like schematics. He promptly, and without warning, dumped them into the arms of the woman next to him. An assistant, if you will, to the great sculptor Ivanovski, who no one had so much as heard of before despite this greatness.

Serafima balanced the rolls under one arm and used her free hand to tug at her collar. It dug into her jaw. The high collared dress, wildly feathered hat, and various overcoats were gaudy as they came and no where close to typical Ravkan wear, but Kaz insisted it fit with their characters.

"Good day to you, sir," Kaz said to the man at the front desk, with uncharacteristic cheer. He bounced his cane into his hand as soon as he was close enough to the counter the man couldn't see him limp. "My name is E-van-ovsky—"

"Ivanovski," Serafima hissed under her breath.

"Ivanovski," Kaz corrected. The man barely noticed, and if he did, he'd probably just called this Ivanoski eccentric. Ravkans where naive like that. "The sculptor, yes. And this is my assistant, Eva. She's new here, so be nice."

Serafima batted her eyes and offered a smile. She must have looked so stupid. It made her want to chew her tongue out. But the man ate it up anyways.

"I am in desperate need of your assistance. I am working on a real showstopper for the winter fete. And I need the dimensions to the Little Palace entrances. Eva has warned that the grand price may be...too grand to fit through the doorframe," Kaz chuckled. "The king will have my head if his statuary must be parked in the courtyard."

"Damned fete," the man muttered to himself. Still, he started around the counter anyways. "I have to pull the blueprints every day. Wait here."

"With bated breath," Kaz replied.

"We really to appreciate your kindness," Serafima said. As if he wasn't just doing his job.

Which put them into step two. Phosphorus.

Now, Inej was known as the Wraith for a reason. She'd be able to get in and out without any issue. But how would she know which drawer held the Little Palace records? He answer was simple. Phosphorus on the man's shoe, leaving prints all the way to their target. It would be invisible until the lights went out and everyone was gone, and was likely to be washed away when the floor was clean the next day. No one would know.

Kaz's original plan was a small, red disk that would stick to the bottom of the man's shoes. But the first plan was often the worst, and Kaz Brekker was only the exception half of the time. It required a good deal of precision for something that only had one chance.

Instead, they mixed phosphorus and water and stuck it in a container. A container that now hung at Serafima's waist, hidden among folds of dress fabric.

With a twist of her hand, Serafima raised the water from the container and turned it into mist. It settled right in the man's path. He stepped through it without a care. They just had to wait. The man returned with a paper, dimensions listened apron it.

Phase two was Jesper and Inej's job. All Kaz and Serafima did was stand in the front, dressed as the guards. Serafima watched as the entire section dimmed. As expected. Jesper was meant to turn the lights off two hours before midnight, and he'd done just that.

Until the lights came back on.

Serafima tensed. From her point of view, she should have, with some effort, been able to see Inej on the roof. Jesper should have left by now. Yet neither appeared, and the lights were on.

The bell struck midnight. Seconds later, Kaz slammed his cane into the ground. Serafima turned to see Inej behind them, knife raised.

"Bit slow on the draw there," Inej said.

Kaz turned to face her. "Or just in time."

Which was how they ended up back at the same inn as before, pouring over a copy of the Little Palace blue prints. Serafima was impressed. Everything was there, with only some slight fading in spots Inej hadn't been able to press as well. No smears. No gaping holes. Nothing.

Unfortunately, their planning consisted of pointing at areas without much order. There were plenty of places they could get in. At which point Serafima was tasted with pointing out ant and every threat they would face. Of which there were many. Guard towers, hallways guards, random Grisha wondering about, giant openings that left them exposed to everything.

"There's no way in," Inej realized.

"And no way out," Kaz added.

"Well, I thought this plan might not work," Arken muttered.

Seconds later, a shout came from behind them. They turned in time to see the acrobat Serafima had noticed before fall from her lace. She landed on the ground with a harsh thud. A gasp ran through the crowd. Serafima shook her head. Seemed they weren't the only ones having a bad day.

☼ ☼ ☼

"GOT ANY PLANS UP YOUR SLEEVE?"

Everyone turned to Kaz. He was the idea guy, after all. He didn't say anything. Serafima blew out a sigh.

"If we get in contact with Jip, they could tailor us and we could get in as guests. But..." Serafima shook her head. "Tailoring takes a long time, and we'd need to find and take out six guests."

"Can't you just get us in? Since you're Grisha and all?" Minke asked.

"I can't exactly waltz in and announce I'm Grisha," Serafima snapped. "For one, they'd only take me and any Grisha with me, of which we are lacking in, and second they'd likely just hang me for desertion. I didn't just leave the Little Palace, I left the Second Army, as well."

"Which I still don't get, by the way. You just decide one day, you know what? I don't want to live in the big, fancy palace, I'm going to Ketterdam," Minke mocked.

Serafima scowled at him. It was more than the big facy palace. She hadn't asked to be taken there. The Grisha testers had just shown up, forced the reveal of her powers, and the hauled her off to be one of their little child soldiers. They couldn't leave. They were under constant supervision, either by royalty or their General. A cage was a cage, no matter how pretty they made it.

But what did she expect? Barrel rats like Minke grew up lucky if they even had food for a day. The Little Palace sounded like heaven.

The worst part? It was by design. They played on Grisha's fear, offering them a safe haven then threatening to take it away as soon as they didn't obey. Look at everything we've done for you, they'd tell young children with no choice but them, don't you want to repay us? Don't you want to protect your home?

But the Little Palace wasn't her home. Some times, as the boarder ebbed and flowed, when Fjerda conquered their little border town for a few months, Ravka wasn't even her home. Serafima's home was a nameless village. One Ravka couldn't be bothered to protect half the time.

"I mean, Kirbirsk isn't the worst. We can open up a bar. Brew East Ravkan beer for the Westerners?" Jesper suggested.

"Shut up, Jesper," Kaz and Inej muttered in sync.

"Do you even know how to brew beer?" Minke asked.

"No, but I could learn," Jesper insisted. He sighed. "I miss Milo."

"Who?" Serafima asked.

"The goat," Jesper glared at her, "You know, the one you cruelly tried to murder."

"Are we seriously on this again?"

"You wanted to burn him alive!"

"He's a damn goat, Jesper, he's probably been made into a sandwich by now!"

Jasper gasped in horror.

"Friends," Arken interrupted, wedging himself between the two before Jesper could die of betrayal.

Kaz glared at the man. "What are you so cheery about?"

"This is Marko," Arken said. He motioned to a man who stepped up next to him. "Marko is the leader of the traveling troupe known as the Pomdrakon Players. They have been invited to preform in this year's winter fete."

"A lifelong dream," Marko said.

"Cheers to that," Minke said. Marko beamed at him.

"Yes, yes. A chance to get inside the Little Palace. But they lost their star preformed due to an unfortunate freak accident." Arken patted Marko's shoulder sympathetically. Serafima raised an eyebrow. She suspected the accident was neither as unfortunate or accidental as Arken implied. "They are in desperate need of someone with the skills to replace their star performer, and as Ketterdam's premier talent manager, I had an idea."

The group turned to look at Inej.

"As a friend once said, 'If I can't crack this, none of us are going anywhere'," Inej said.

Inej handed Kaz her knife, they headed to the stage. They gathered around to watch. Inej did well. As expected. The crowd cheered as she gave a bow. Serafima could see tears welling up in Marko's eyes.

"The Saints must have sent you. Yes. The show will go on," Marko turned and snapped his fingers. An assistant arrived with an uniform, which he passed to Inej. "Can you...fit into this?"

Inej started to hesitate, at which point Jesper shoved in next to her. "Of course she can. Those are her colors, but the thing is, Inej...comes as part of a package deal."

"No free rides," Marko said.

"I'm sorry?" Serafima stepped forwards. She easily glowered down at the man who, having missed her before, took a step back. "Do you think we'll let you take our friend galavanting off to Saints knows where?"

"We're going to the Little Palace, you know that," Marko protested.

"The Little Palace we can't go to. How do we know you're honest?" Serafima didn't care that they only needed to get Inej in. That once she was, she could let them in easy. She wasn't about to let this strange man walk off with her.

"Are you implying I'm a slaver?" Marko started to bristle.

"I'm sorry, she's just protective," Minke said as he squeezed himself between the two, which did little for Marko's confidence given Minke was even taller and more prone to looming still. "Inej is very important to us. Like a sister, really. It isn't about free rides, you see, we just want her safe."

Marko hmphed and studied the group. Finally, he asked, "What are your talents?"

Jesper went first.

A mirror in one hand and a gun in the other, Jesper sat in front of the crowd. Inej hung behind him in the silks. She held a card between her teeth and spun in lazy circles. Jesper cocked is gun and laid it over his shoulder. Studying the view in the mirror, he waited.

Jesper shot. The bullet sliced the card in half. Inej twirled free and Jesper turned to face her with a grin. Marko chuckled and pulled Jesper in for a hug. He turned to the others expectantly.

"Serafima?" She turned to find Minke watching her, hands pressed tightly in front of him. Saints, she knew exactly what he was thinking. "Can we do it? Please, please please?"

"No, it is so stupid," Serafima hissed, trying to avoid anyone over hearing them.

"Please?" Minke pleaded. "Pretty please? Please?"

"I am not getting up on that stage."

"Please? I'll buy you kvas? I'll get you sweets for a week? I'll never talk to you again?"

Serafima sighed. Unfortunately, it was both unlikely and impractical for Minke to never talk to her again. She agreed. Not because she'd been rather mean to Minke and she was starting to feel bad for it. No. Never. But because they needed to get into the Little Palace — she needed to get into the Little Palace — and she didn't have anything better.

Minke squealed — he literally squealed, Serafima was going to die — and bound up onto the stage. Serafima regretted this already.

At her prompting, one of the assistants brought forwards a bucket of water. Serafima took it and followed Minke on stage. She placed it by her feet. Then took a deep breath. A crowd of people, all eyes on her. And she was going to use her abilities. In front of them. In the open. In a crowd. Serafima clenched her fists. She was going to kill Minke.

Once upon a time, Minke had memorized the entirety of the Lives of Saints. He then began to memorize other stories. Soon after he convinced himself that, with enough effort, he could make a story telling troupe to rival the Komedie Brute. It didn't work. Obviously, the Komedie Brute routinely through out money, but there was no Komedie Brute in Ravka.

Serafima's job was to add effects. Form water into figures or make a mist for dramatic effect.

They ran through a few different stories. To Serafima's surprise, the crowd actually seemed interested. They ooed and ahhed when intended. When Serafima formed a mist version of the Fold and sent it weaving through the crowd, the entire crowd leapt backwards.

Despite knowing better, Serafima found herself beaming as they finished. Her skin buzzed with energy. She swallowed and pretended it was from using her powers, as with any Grisha, even as the cheers of the crowd rung in the back of her head. Serafima yelped as Minke grabbed her from behind, laughing and spinning her into a hug. Serafima might have hugged him back.

Might.

I know, I know, the lack of Nonna is criminal. But the Crows had a lot of plot to get through, I'm sorry.