I / Are You Afraid of the Dark?

The Fold is quiet as she stares out to it in the distance. A black pool of death looming on the edge of the camp as the horses draw them closer to it, hurtling after the Darkling's coach in front of theirs and it raises the small hairs on the back of her neck like something foreboding with chills down her spine too early for the relatively mild autumn day.

Taking in a small breath, Vera leans back in her seat, letting herself sinking against the cushion velvet behind her. Only then she notices that Zoya's watching her.

"What?" Vera says and draws up a single eyebrow. She thinks it might be the first time she's spoken at all during the trip. And she certainly doesn't even remember when the last time she spoke to Zoya was.

"Don't tell me you're afraid?" Zoya replies, her voice sounding like a purr at the possibility.

She is.

Despite the fact that she isn't a stranger to the world outside the walls of the Little Palace, unlike Zoya, this is her first trip through the Fold and it is just as terrifying as she imagined it to be. But growing up in the household of a Drüskelle commander, Vera had long ago learned that there were worse things to happen to people like her than the Volcra. At least they made it quick — or, well, quicker than a trial at the Ice Court might.

Besides, she'll be damned if she lets Zoya see it.

And so, Vera just stares back at her with an expressionless sort of look in her eyes before she makes one corner of her lips pull up into a vicious smile that would send most people scurrying away with their tails between their legs. "I'd be more scared if I were you, Zoya. After all fire's so much more helpful in the dark than air."

The fact that Inferni are far more effective against the volcra than any other Grisha Order is about her only consolation right now with the darkness creeping closer with every beat of the horses' hooves. It's certainly not the numbers of ragged looking First Army soldiers they are passing by now, all of them heading towards the same point that inspire any sort of confidence in her. Most of them look like they'll be useful for little more than monster fodder to buy her time if things go wrong during the crossing.

If she's honest, it surprises her that they waited so long to draft her for a crossing through the Fold. She's twenty now — older than most other relatively comparatively skillful Inferni in the Second Army when they first get dragged to Novokribirsk. She knows it's got little to do with the fact that she's older than the other Grisha in just about all things, starting her training, finishing her education, getting drafted and more with the fact that she's one of the Darkling's favored. She's been out with him and his Grisha and the oprichniki before. It meant she'd had more important things to do than do a trip with very high mortality rates.

For example, making sure that, as one of the very few Grisha who knew the inner workings of the Ice Court and the Drüskelle just about as intimately as any young woman might've before she left, the Drüskelle do not kill the head of the Second Army on some trip north.

Still. She'd half expected them to drag her here earlier despite it all.

And yet, deep down, Vera knows the reason — has always know the reason why the Darkling kept her far away from the Fold until now. And it's got little to do with how old she'd been when she first came to the Little Palace.

Really, what should have surprised her is that she's assigned to join the supply runs to the West at all.

Rolling her eyes, Zoya leans forward and sticks her head out of the window between them, her dark hair whipping in the wind. "It'll be fine," she purrs and Vera thinks this must be the longest conversation they've had since... ever. "Maybe if we're in the same skiff I can hold your hand if you like."

I can punch you in the face and wipe that pretty, little smirk off your face, Vera thinks.

But she doesn't say anything. She isn't a particularly fond of conversations. Instead, she watches Zoya, her pale-blue eyes as cold as the North she is from. The stark contrast to her hair the way her fire is to her birth country.

Zoya pointedly ignores her as she watches the soldiers on the road and eventually, Vera lets her eyes wander back past the Squaller's form and outside.

Just in time to witness Zoya nearly salivating at some soldier boy, even going as far as to look after him once they're long past him and the girl he's with.

Before Vera can stop herself, she lets out a snort and Zoya sends her a scathing look over her shoulder in return.

"What?" she snaps, and Vera curls her lips into a mocking smile.

"That was adorable."

With a huff, Zoya settles back into her seat and tosses her dark hair back over her shoulder. "Don't be jealous, Vera. I'm sure you can find someone if you want to," she returns her smile with the same warmth, "You know maybe an errand boy that will take pity on you."

"Alright, Summoners." Someone calls out from Vera's right before she can reply. "We're about to arrive."

For a long moment, the two of them still stare at each other, eyes flashing at each other, before the Squaller to Zoya's right turns to her and asks her something. Vera doesn't bother paying attention.

Instead, she lets her eyes move back to her left and outside the window for another moment.

They had been right — the first signs of Kribirsk were appearing around them by now. Before her sight can stray back to the mass of black death looming above them, she looks away. Letting out a small breath, Vera rests back against the wall of her seat.

She doesn't look back out to the window again.

Following the other Summoners out of the coach, Vera adjusts her kefta as she steps onto the ground. Even in their little corner of Kribirsk, away from the First Army and the rest of the town, secluded like they always are, she can hear the noise coming from the post. The whispers among the Grisha are oddly quiet opposed to that.

It feels foreboding in a way Vera doesn't like at all.

"Don't you look delightful," a voice from behind her calls out and then an arm wraps around her shoulders just as the first genuine smile tugs at the corner of her lips at the familiar voice.

For a moment all she sees is red cloth as Fedyor pulls her against his side in a one-armed hug before Vera looks up. She hadn't noticed that the other coach, the red one transporting the Corporalki, had stopped as well but she supposes it makes sense. This is their place in the camp to set up their given space in the tent and settle in before the briefings; first a short briefing together in the tent and then another one within the individual Orders.

"I always look delightful." Vera replies dryly as Fedyor loosens his hold around her just enough so she isn't pressed into his side and can somewhat properly walk without stumbling against him like she's drunken too much kvas.

"Well, you are a little pale around the nose," he waves his index finger at her face before tapping on her nose once.

Giving him a scowl, Vera swats his hand away from her face. "Stop that."

Fedyor's grin widens and it's about then that Vera notices that he's only annoying her because he wants to distract her from tomorrow. And it worked.

Her glacier eyes soften a fraction, and she leans against him slightly as they join the other Grisha in making their way to the large tent already set up for them, the four flags above it fluttering in the wind.

"Do you know when your training session is?" Fedyor asks as they reach the tent and walk through the flaps inside. Already, the different sections for their three Orders and tables are being set up and by the looks of it, Vera's fairly certain that it's not gonna take much longer to finish.

They'd probably gotten orders about the Darkling's arrival and had been told to prepare everything before their group got here.

Vera shrugs slightly. "In an hour, I think." She'll have to make sure to check again before that.

Then again, there isn't nearly enough to do other than to sit around, have tea and think about the next day that she'd ever be at a risk to miss training. Especially training.

"Are you even listening to me?" Fedyor gives her an affronted look, but the tone in his voice tells her he's more amused than anything.

Vera returns the look as they reach the section marked to be for the Etherealki. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

Fedyor blinks. "Did you just say sorry?"

For Djel's sake. Vera tries not to shift at the assessment. "So?"

"I don't remember the last time you apologized to anyone." Feydor points out, and even though it's a lie, the meaning is clear as he gives her an inquisitive look and Vera rolls her eyes.

"You do." She points out, but her words have not venom in them. He's still trying his best to keep her mind off the Fold and the trip through it because he knows. He knows she's afraid and he knows that she hates feeling like this. Afraid, helpless. The way she did when she was a little girl discovering she was Grisha. The way she did when she ran from home and was sitting in the snow, freezing to death. The way she did when she realized that everyone at the Little Palace her age was miles ahead of her in their training.

The way tomorrow makes her feel.

And for all her claws and teeth and viciousness she can't bring herself to be angry or annoyed with Fedyor for making her partake in a conversation when all she wants is to be alone.

"I asked if you wanted to eat something before the training." Fedyor points at one of the tables where some food is just being spread out for them and Vera nods. "Sure."

She even gives him a small smile.

Fedyor beams back at her.

It's only when they're sitting at next to each other at the table, eating, that he asks her whether she already knows at what time she'll leave tomorrow. Vera does - it's sometime in the morning, with one of the first skiffs. It's also not the one Fedyor will be one tomorrow. Vera tries not to think about that part too much. That they'll be separated during their crossings. That Fedyor will have to cross to begin with.

At least Zoya isn't on the same skiff as her, either. Which, Vera decides, might just be the only good news about tomorrow.

It'll be fine, she tells herself. Even if the light attracts the volcra, she's still one of the safest people on that skiff with her fire if they attack.

By this time tomorrow she'll be in West Ravka for the first time in her life and Fedyor's skiff might arrived as well. They even might already on their way back to Novokribirsk or back, depending on their schedules. Perhaps, they'll get blackout drunk to celebrate. Or whatever else he's in the mood for — raiding some pastry shop, reading poetry, she really doesn't care.

As long as they will still be able to, it doesn't matter.

———————

Late that night, when Zoya is slipping out of the tent, Vera is still lying awake, watching the tiny flames dance across her palm, her fingertips in the quiet comfort fire always held for her even before she ever came into her powers. Her family's maid always warned her about it, slapping her knuckles whenever she inched too close to it.

It'll eat little, nosy girls like you whole if you do not stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong.

Vera never understood as a child. Now, she does. She knows that fire can be destruction and death. But it's also warmth and it's life and it's been her constant companion all her life. To her, it feels like home.

In the distance, a screeching sounds that sends an icy, dreadful feeling down her bones and raises the hairs on her skin and the flames in her hand extinguish as if the darkness around her is a beast that has opened its jaw and swallowed it whole.

AUTHOR'S NOTE
i'm pretty sure this is the shortest chapter in the entire fic lmao

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