XXIII / Nothing New

THE NEXT MORNING, Vera and Fedyor are still at the duke's home and Vera isn't entirely sure why. She isn't sure why they're not already on a wagon bound for the port of Os Kervo and then straight on a ship to Novyi Zem or the Wandering Isles - anywhere as far away from this war-riddled continent as possible. Somewhere people won't recognize them and where they can live out the rest of their days away from this and in peace.

Or as close to peace as they could be in hiding, on the run.

At least they'd be safer there than they are here, now.

I'd like to stay, Fedyor had said to her last night. And how can she deny him this?

Vera will follow Nikolai and Alina to Os Alta- for now anyway.

But she's beginning to regret that decision when they near the city, Vera's riding behind Alina's white horse, the twins and Mal around her on animals with the same color. Nikolai had even given Vera a white horse, and she can't help but wonder if it's to put her firmly into one category as the Sun Summoner and her guard.

Everyone in the Little Palace knows she was one of the Darkling's favored. The King knows it, too. They'll see her blue-and-red kefta, see the hair of fire and they'll recognize her long before she'll get close enough for them to make out the features on her face.

They'll know who Vera Alekson is. The Wolf's Bane, the Inferni the Darkling had taken in and kept close at his side.

If they're looking for people to punish on behalf of what the Darkling did to the King, Vera will be the first on the executioner's block.

She doesn't think that a white horse and riding as close to the Sun Summoner and a pince of Ravka will change any of that. But she supposes it's a step in the right direction.

At least, it does send the message that she's one of them.

The closer they get to the Grand Palace, the less distance to the king they have, the more Vera has to force herself not to fidget in her saddle. They should've left when they had the chance. Why in Djel's name did she ever let Fedyor's words convince her otherwise? Now, they'll be dead before night falls.

Vera's heart drops into her stomach, her thoughts coming to a screeching halt when they crest the hill just outside Os Alta and their procession comes to a sudden stop at the sight of hundreds of First Army soldiers between them and the city, arrayed in perfect formation.

They should have left last night. Now, it's too late. Now, whatever happens, their fate is sealed.

She notices the giant horse and the blonde man in an officer's uniform a moment before he breaks out of the line and begins galloping up and down the line, as if this is his way of asserting his dominance, proving that he's in charge. There are only so many blonde men in officer's coats with medals all over it in Ravka and Vera's posture stiffens at the sight of Vasily Lantsov. Like his parents, she's made herself keep a stern habit of avoiding Ravka's Crown Prince as often as she can.

The only Lantsov Vera can stand for longer periods of time is Nikolai, and most times, she's contemplating putting a knife into his body.

But between him and his brother, she knows which prince she prefers.

"Ah," Nikolai lets out a long sigh, watching Vasily. "It seems my brother has come to greet us."

Vera sends him a look that she knows he can't see with their positioning in the procession, but she somehow has a feeling he knows she's giving him. Nikolai knows her well enough to at least guess what's going on in her mind. Then, she sends a look over her shoulder, finding Fedyor in the crowd of Grisha behind them and for a split second, they exchange a look that feels like an eternity. It feels like there's an entire conversation in that look.

At her right, Mila's eyebrows shoot up. "That's Stur- Prince Nikolai's brother?" She hisses in Kerch and Vera needs to stifle a laugh in spite of the situation at the way she says Prince Nikolai. Like it's a miracle she's not making a face at the royal title.

To Mila's right, Yelena is pressing her lips together into a thin line. Vera's pretty sure her shoulders are shaking with the effort to keep the laugh in.

"Yeah," Vera says just loud enough for Mila to hear as their procession continues their way to Os Alta, approaching the line of First Army soldiers. "That's Crown Prince Vasily."

Mila's nose scrunches up a little. "Why's his horse so big?"

"To carry his ego," Yelena mutters under her breath and Mila chokes, trying to keep her laugh down.

Now, it's Vera's turn to press her lips into a thin line, trying not to laugh.

A few meters away, one of the First Army officers gives them a dirty look. Mila only makes more choking noises.

"Behave," Tolya grounds out quietly from in front of them, the Kerch sounding strange, unfamiliar, coming from the Heartrender to Vera's eyes.

The look on Mila's face suggests that it takes a great deal of self-control as she forces her face back into a neutral mask. As Vera turns her attention fully back to the line of soldiers, she notices the conspiratorial look Mila exchanges with Yelena saying this place is totally pompous and over the top.

Whatever reprieve their little conversation has brought Vera dissolves into cold lead in her stomach when Nikolai rides ahead of them, Vasily meeting him halfway before they dismount and give each other a brief embrace. The action looks alien, almost wrong, to her mind.

It's easy to forget that Nikolai is related to Vasily, to the King and Queen of Ravka. She knows it, but they feel like two separate worlds. It's so easy to forget that they're his family. That there has to be love between them, of whatever capacity.

Vasily turns away from Nikolai, his eyes wandering over their group. They linger on Vera for a moment longer than the rest, something akin to familiarity crossing his features at her kefta, her bright red hair and unease trickles down her spine as their eyes meet before he turns his attention to Alina.

"So this is the girl you claim is the Sun Summoner?" He asks, somehow managing to sneer down on them even from his place lower in the hill than they are.

"It's a claim easy enough to prove," Nikolai points out, giving Alina a meaningful nod.

She raises her hands and blazing light that's as unnecessarily over-the-top and for show as the white horses and the sunbursts sewn into the flags and their attire, fills Vera's line of sight for a moment before it fades away again and Vasily sniffs, turning back to Nikolai. "You've been busy, little brother."

"You have no idea, Vasya," Vasily purses his lips a little at the nickname and Vera gets a surprising amount of joy and satisfaction from the sight, "I'm surprised to find you in Os Alta. I through you'd be in Caryeva for the races."

"I was. My blue roan had an excellent showing. But when I heard you were returning home, I wanted to be here to greet you."

Because he'd heard that Nikolai was travelling with Alina, that they'd gained a lot of traction throughout the length of their journey. There was a good chance he'd also heard the titles Alina had been given by the people in the towns and cities- among them Sol Koroleva.

Nikolai's return had posed a threat to Vasily and he'd decided the best course of action to meet it was to get himself right in the middle of it to make sure his younger brother didn't get any ideas.

Like usurping Vasily's position as next King of Ravka.

"Kind of you to go to all of this trouble." Nikolai knows it, too. But politics were all about appearances and little plays being put on for the whole world to see.

"The return of a royal prince is no small thing. Even a younger son."

Vera's nostrils flare just a little. It's the only outer sign that she's affected by the last sentence, the jab.

At her right, Mila's fingers grip the reigns so tight, the color bleeds out of her knuckles.

Nikolai smiles, looking serene for all the world, and it only makes Vera see red more. "We younger sons learn to appreciate what we can get." Then, he turns to one of the soldiers in the line. "Sergeant Pechkin, I remember you from the Halmhend campaign. Leg must've healed well if you're able to stand there like a slab of stone."

The soldier blinks, surprise registering in his face. "Da, moi tsarevich."

"Sir will do, sergeant. I'm an officer when I wear this uniform, not a prince."

Vera knows what he's doing. It's a clever game and he's playing it well. Like her, Nikolai has been raised playing the game of courts and politics like others might an instrument.

It does very little to relax the tension in her.

"Yes, sir. Only bothers me when it rains."

"Then I imagine the Fjerdans pray daily for storms. You put quite a few of them out of their misery, if I recall."

"I seem to remember you doing the same, sir." Pechkin grins at Nikolai.

Vera's throat moves up, then down. Just the smallest movement. Her jaw tenses.

Nikolai turns back to Vasily. "Brother, let's get to the palace so we can dispense with out greetings. I have a case of Kerch whiskey that needs drinking, and I'd like to get your advice on a foal I spotted in Ketterdam. They tell me Dagrenner is his sire, but I have my doubts."

Interest glitters in Vasily's eyes. "Dagrenner? Did they have papers?"

"Come have a look."

After exchanging a few words with one of the other officers, Vasily and Nikolai mount their horses again and their procession begins to move into the direction of Os Alta once more and Vera knows this should make her breathe a sigh of relief. It's the first hurdle that they've managed to tackle.

It only feels like they're digging themselves their own grave further.

"Neatly done," Mal mutters from his place in from of her, next to Alina. "Nikolai's no fool."

"I hope not," Alina replies softly. "For both of our sakes."

"He isn't." Vera says from her spot. And she means it. But she also knows that doesn't also mean he won't consider changing his tactics towards them if his plans or situation changes.

Nikolai Lantsov is a good man.

But he's also an ambitious one, too.

━━━━━

Vera is pretty sure that they've been standing outside like idiots, stewing in the sun while Mal and Alina joined Nikolai in his welcome in the throne room of the Grand Palace. She knows she should be grateful- chances are that King Alexander III might not execute Mal but after what happened with the Darkling, what Vera's position used to be within his ranks, her blind loyalty to him... chances are he might just as easily execute her.

Mila blows out a long sigh before she groans. "How much longer I this gonna go on?" She looks at Vera as she asks, apparently deciding that since she's the only one who's actually lived in this city, she'll be the one who's most likely to know the answer.

With a shrug, Vera gives the young Squaller a brief look. "How should I know?"

"Well..." Mila trails off. "You grew up here, didn't you?"

"I've lived here for the last six years, yes."

"Huh." Mila says, frowning a little. "I thought you and Nikolai knew each other longer."

Yelena draws up one eyebrow at Mila. "You've known him for less time," she points out in Kerch.

Mila looks a little affronted. "But we lived on a ship together for years," she argues, the two switching from Ravkan to Kerch as easy as breathing.

She has a point, Vera thinks but stays silent. She doesn't think telling some fourteen-year-old that it feels like she can look into Nikolai's mind if she bothers to put herself into his shoes, like he knows her without ever even trying, is a good thing. She doesn't think telling some fourteen-year-old that it feels like she knows Nikolai Lantsov like she knows her own heart is all that good of an idea.

Especially if chances are, entirely wrong about it all. Chances are Nikolai knows how to read her and she's a giant, stupid fool.

"Why aren't you in there with the other's anyway?" Mila eyes her curiously.

"Mila," Yelena makes, sounding a little exasperated, but her sister ignores her.

"Because it wouldn't be a good idea if I were." Vera says simply and Mila's face scrunches up a little, confusion in her eyes.

"Why?" She sounds genuinely puzzled at Vera's words.

"Because it'd probably do more harm than good."

"Because you don't know how to shift like Nikolai does," Mila states like it's a fact and Vera draws up one eyebrow at her silently. Seeing her expression, Mila adds, "You don't shift your personality to suit the people in the room or talk in politics like he does."

Vera snorts. "I know how to act around others and to adapt to all sort of political situations." She points out because it's true. Like any good, little Fjerdan girl above a certain rank it's ingrained into her being. "I just have no interest in doing it."

Mila eyes her skeptically. "Huh."

Vera stares back at her with a flat look, not deigning that comment with a reply.

"So what I'm hearing from this is that you fully consciously choose to be a prickly asshole," Tamar says from her position near the steps leading up to the door Mal and Alina had disappeared through with the Lantsov princes, giving Vera a grin.

Vera's lips twist into a small smile in response. It's not a nice smile. "Exactly."

Tamar snickers.

━━━━━

By the time they're approaching the Little Palace, Vera feels wrought out despite the fact that it's barely noon, the sun still high above them. But she supposes that the weeks upon endless week on the wailer, then on the Volkvolny and finally on horseback at last demanded a toll of her body. She can only push herself so far with pure will, and by the way her body, her focus has been waning the past hour, she knows she's at her limit soon. She'll probably have to sleep as soon as she gets to her room.

But first, they'll have to deal with the Grisha.

At least they finished up the paper detailing all relevant info for the war council beforehand, Vera decides. She's fairly certain she doesn't have it in herself to do anything productive today anymore.

When the Little Palace comes into sight in front of them, her body relaxed and tenses all at once at the familiar sight. The place that was home, and not quite. Sanctuary, and no entirely. She's always had a strange sort of relationship with the Little Palace- like she belongs and does not at the same time. For all her time in Ravka, she has never been able to unify the warring parts of her, has never been able to completely settle here.

"Something wrong?" Alina asks from near Vera as they approach and alarm spikes through her, her head whipping to the Sun Summoner. Then, Vera notices the way Alina is mustering Tolya, who in turn is staring at the Little Palace like it's a lethal thing poised to strike.

"It smells like weakness here. Like people getting soft." Tolya says after a long moment and Vera's eyebrows rise up, trying really hard not to be insulted by the words.

"Vera's been here for years and she's not soft," Mal points out quietly like it's the most ridiculous idea he's ever heard.

"Well, Vera's different," Mila says matter-of-factly, looking proud for some reason as she does, and it soothes Vera a little. Very little.

"Vera's a menace," Fedyor chimes in from behind them. "You can't use her as a standard."

Vera sends him a withering glare that would make grown officers duck and run for cover. Fedyor only shrugs.

Alina's lips twist a little in amusement at the exchange before she turns back to Tolya, "Everyone is soft compared to you, Tolya."

Tamar frowns slightly, unusually serious about her bother's musings as she says, "He's right. This place feels like it's dying."

Vera's nose wrinkles and she presses her lips together, trying to keep her temper in. She's not even sure why this is affecting her so much- did she not think many a night that she didn't quite belong? That that the edges, the ugly thing inside her didn't belong into the at time pampered and snobby lifestyle the Grisha had adapted in between the lessons and the training and the wars? That there was always something that did not belong here, in the ornate rooms?

Her eyebrows draw together in a small frown at the thought as servants hurry forward to take over the reins of their horses and she takes in a shallow breath, steadying herself, before she swings off her horse in a motion that's more muscle memory than actual thought at this point.

Then, she follows Alina inside the familiar building.

Inside the Hall of the Golden Dome, Grisha were smattered across the space in clusters, the sight so familiar it feels like stepping through time for a split second before the differences register. There are so many fewer Grisha now. Gone are the full tables, the loud and insistent buzzing of conversations that seemed to be too much, too loud, too vibrant to Vera most times. There are mostly younger Grisha in the room, and even though Vera had expected not only most Grisha to seek refuge with the Darkling, but also a good amount of the older, more experienced ones to be among them, it's still disheartening.

"They do love their pretty colors," Tolya grumbles and Alina gives him a side-look.

"Don't give me any ideas. Maybe I'll decide my personal guard should wear bright yellow pantaloons."

Tolya looks horrified at Alina's words and under any other circumstances, Vera would've laughed at the expression on the Heartrender's face.

In front of them, most Grisha rise from their seats as they approach and the tension creeps back into Vera's bones as the weight of their gazes settles on their group. Her eyes narrow when she watches Sergei step forward, making a show of looking important. "Alina Starkov," he says, looking not at all delighted by their arrival but as if a group of petulant children he'd have to take care of had arrived. It makes Vera's fingers itch for her blades. "I'm pleased to welcome you back to the Little Palace."

"Thank you, Sergei," Alina replies, missing only a single beat of what Vera knows is uncertainty before her face smooths over. "I'm glad to be here."

"There have been rumors of your return." He pauses before adding, "And just as many as of your death."

Vera gives him a flat look at that last part, trying not to scowl considering Alina was right there, very much alive.

"As you can see, I'm alive and as well as can be expected after weeks of travel on the Vy."

"It's said that you arrived in the company of the King's second song."

"That's right. He aided in my battle with the Darkling."

A beat of unease trickles through the Grisha in the room, tension coiling around them like a living thing at the news.

"On the Fold?" Sergei asks, looking slightly perplexed.

"On the True Sea," Alina corrects him and the murmurs grow louder in the crowd. Vera's lips twitch in satisfaction as she watches Alina raise a hand and the Grisha fall silent again, so used to the gesture and the command with it, there was only little hesitation until the room went entirely still. "I have plenty of stories to tell and information to impart. But it can wait. I have returned to Os Alta with a purpose."

"People are talking of a wedding," Sergei chimes in and Vera's eyes flash for a split second, her teeth grinding together as her gaze zeroes in on the Heartrender.

"I didn't come back here to be a bride. I've returned for a single reason." Alina takes in a breath. "I've returned to lead the second army."

There's a beat of silence, then everyone begins arguing all at once before the noise began quieting down again enough for Sergei to say, "We've expected as much."

Of course they had. It'd been to be expected. And even if Alina hadn't come to lead the Grisha, who'd been taught and conditioned that power should lead, they'd expected her to take up a key figure in the near future, with both the Grand Palace and the efforts to be put in place against the Darkling as his direct counterpart in Summoner powers.

"The King has agreed that I will hold command," Alina says but they all know it won't make much of a difference to the Grisha. You won't have to convince the King of Ravka, you'll have to convince the Grisha to follow you, Vera had told Alina not soon after that first night in the tent after Nikolai had talked to Alina as a prince and not a sailor for the first time.

After he'd proposed to her.

Vera tries not to think much about that part of it.

"Alina, you are the Sun Summoner, and we are grateful for your safe return," Sergei says slowly, and Vera knows the flattery is just to soothe Alina before the rejection even before he continues. "But you aren't qualified to lead the Second Army."

In terms of experience, Vera knows he has a point. That doesn't mean most of the Grisha in front of her will do nearly as good a job at it as Alina will. Because most of them wouldn't. Sergei included.

But this is Alina's battle and she can't fight it for her. Not this one.

"Qualified or not, I have the king's blessing," Alina points out again.

"Then we'll petition the king. The Corporalki are the highest-ranking Grisha and should lead the second army," Sergei begins and Vera's eyes narrow on him. Now she really is about to say something, but Zoya beats her to it.

"According to you, Bloodletter." The Squaller says as she makes her way away from a group of Summoners and towards them. "I speak for the Etherealki, and we will follow the Sun Summoner."

"No all of us," Marie says quietly and Zoya lets out a humorless laugh.

"Yes, we know you support Sergei in all his endeavors, Marie. But this isn't a late-night tryst by the banya. We're talking about the future of the Grisha and all of Ravka." She retorts and a chorus of quiet snickers echo through the Domed Hall, Marie turning bright red.

"That's enough, Zoya," Sergei snaps like he has any power over the Squaller.

"Marie is right, Zoya," one of the Inferni says from his place by the other Summoners. "You don't speak for all Grisha. I'd prefer to see an Etheralnik at the head of the Second Army, but it shouldn't be her. She wasn't even raised here."

"That's right! She's been a Grisha for less than a year!" A Corporalnik cries out.

"Grisha are born, not made," comes Tolya's voice, sounding thoroughly pissed off for his standards.

"And who are you?" Sergei asks, turning to Tolya with an arrogant look on his face.

"I am Tolya Yul-Bataar. I was raised far from this corpse of a palace, and I'd be happy to prove that I can stop your heart."

"You're Grisha?" The way Sergei says it, it sounds absolutely unfathomable like there are actually Grisha above the age of childhood running around in the world that aren't in the little palace. Like it's some sort of sacrilegious sin against their saints, or something.

"As much as you are." Tamar says, a challenge in her eyes as Mila gives them a wild sort of grin.

"And what about you?" Sergei asks, his eyes narrowing on Mal.

Mal takes a step toward Alina. "I'm just a soldier. Her soldier."

"As are we all," Fedyor says, making his way to Vera's side, trying to navigate the conversation to a more settled sort of setting. "We returned to Os Alta to serve the Sun Summoner, not some posturing boy."

One of the Corporalki gets up to his feet, his attention on Fedyor. "You're just one more coward who fled when the Darkling fell. You have no right to come here and insult us."

Vera goes still. So still.

Her glacier eyes, flashing with ice-cold fury, turn onto the Corporalnik. "What did you just say?" She asks, her voice lethal.

The Corporalnik has the good sense to look unsettled as her whole attention hones in on him.

Vera is sure there are other things being shouted, being thrown around, but there is a roaring in her ears, drowning out everything else with a violence that's a living, breathing thing demanding payment in blood. And Vera will gladly give it its fill in that Corporalnik's blood until she is drowning in it.

She takes a single step forward before fingertips close around her upper arm and someone pulls her against a tall body. It must be Fedyor, it has to be Fedyor, his presence so familiar to her she'd know it in her sleep. She'd know him in this world and the next under thousands. But she can't take her eyes off that one Grisha.

She will make him pay for that.

"Vera," Fedyor says softly against her ear, tugging her closer into the crook of his body. A warning and a plea all at once. "Vera."

She hears him, she listens to him. And his words dissolve like a drop of paint in the lakes outside.

A bright blade arches through the room and with a loud crash, the hall of the dome cracks open and Vera's body flinches, her attention snapping to her surroundings in alarm, in shock.

It takes her an unusually long moment to register that Alina just used the cut on the roof- shutting up everyone in one action. Vera blinks, once, twice, slowly re-organizing her hazy thoughts.

"You think the Darkling is powerful?" Alina grounds out in a surprisingly good imitation of Vera's ice-cold voice. "You have no idea what he is capable of. Only I have seen what he can do. Only I have faced him and lived to tell about it. I don't care if you think I'm a saint or a fool or the Darkling's whore. If you want to remain at the Little Palace, you will follow me. And if you don't like it, you will be gone by midnight or I will have you in chains. I am a soldier. I am the Sun Summoner. And I am the only chance you have."

She doesn't wait for anyone else to reply, marching over to the doors leading to the Darkling's private rooms, throwing them open and disappearing inside.

Vera still feels a little dazed when Mal follows her, then the twins and finally, Yelena and Mila. Fedyor gives her a gentle nudge into the side. "You should go too," he says. Before she gets violent and draws blood, he means. She turns her eyes to him and Fedyor gives her another nudge. "I'll make sure they don't do anything stupid."

She doesn't say anything. She's not sure she can say anything that wouldn't be like lighting a match and tossing it into the gasoline poured out in this room. So, Vera one gives the Corporalnik across the room a final, lingering look before she turns and follows Alina.

AUTHOR'S NOTE
i love my lil group of wayward grisha & a tracker 🥺🥺💖

yes i was struggling with a chapter name yes this was brought to you by my insomia this week finally catching up with me making me exhausted post midnight and deciding to just put it up as it is also this was supposed to be more of a filler HOW DID WE GET TO ALMOST 5k WORDS