Ileska doesn't allow herself to sleep. Not that slumber has ever come easily to her; a complacent cat is a dead cat, king of the forest or not. Still, adding the action of the previous days to a full day and night riding without rest makes for a delirious mind. The plan, the plan. Crimson licks against her thighs where the harsh leather of the saddle had decided to nibble on her flesh; a veritable banquet of chafing skin. She knows she is close, the forest tells her so and why would she not believe them? The girl is no tracker, neither can she commune with animals, however, her command over bone and death allows for a special symbiosis with nature. It acts as guardian and spy both; Ileska has never worked out whether the gods of greenery help out of fear or friendship, but it ultimately makes no difference.
A cord leeches off of her heart, a parasite that begs to be returned to its master: Darkling. The man had always taught her as a little girl - like calls to like - but no, this could not be a direct result of any bond between them. Vieder would rather shear her own skin off than willingly let him claim a piece of her soul. Yet, something is causing the disturbance which does not bode well if it prospires to be malignant. Only great power can claim the attention of another Grisha in this way.
It makes sense for the stag - Morozova's stag - to be the cause of such a scene; as a slave to death, merzost has always founded a particular draw in the Fjerdan - a call home. But Kirigan's approach is an inevitability, she can taste his presence on the tip of her tongue; a lingering miasma curdles the air into soured milk and rotting fungi.
The stag complicates the plan: allowing herself to be captured. She barks a seething laugh, unable to believe that the brilliant plan of the oh so feared Panther is to allow herself to be enclosed in the same confines of the man she fears most. Yes, fear. How shameful to admit that she still holds that yellow emotion after all she has done to beat its foul stench out of her. An animal heart still has animal fears. The thought holds no comfort, but this is the only way she can get close to Zoya (and likely Alina, if the girl has the sense to get to the stag first) without suspicion. For, despite all his wisdom and experience, Aleksander is still a man. Thus, when he believes himself to be in control - to have subdued and conquered effectively - he lets his guards down. Given the escape of Alina, it truly seems the shadow summoner has learned nothing in her sabbatical; Grisha girls have a habit of escaping his clutches. How I wish I could have seen his face when she left.
She rides on as dusk slowly bleeds into dawn; the sun god Helios surpasses his sister Selene and raises the torch to Eos as he has and always will do. Such is the life of the eternals.
While she rides - correction, while she conserves energy by giving the horse its head - the girl is forced to contemplate on just how she might get out of this mess alive. Though, if she does not play a central piece in the demise of the shadow King, she knows the shame will be too much to allow lungs to continue breathing.
Aleksander had not taught her all she could be capable of, partly due to her kind being unprecedented and partly because of her earlier than planned exit. Yet, the biggest motivator must surely have been strategic; the pupil comes to learn the weaknesses of her mentor. Heaven forbid the Black general give fuel to a fire that might kill him, better to suppress and deceive - no matter the age or state of the victim. Baghra did not share the same qualms - what good are your gifts if you cannot use them, silly girl - but she did caution against doing so much so young. It was a common theory that the younger you are exposed to merzost - even when not directly using it, only in association with it - the more chance it has of controlling you rather than vice versa. The manner in which she was able to command the small science was all well and good against Otkazat'sya and less powerful Grisha but she would have to hope that adrenaline and danger provoked an outburst of power from her beastly contents. After all, Ileska cannot control Death because Death has no master. To compare a physical and mental state of being (not-being if you will), to a human concept is folly pure and simple. Death does as they wish. All she can do is listen and channel its intentions; Ileska could use Death as a tool, could encourage her and mould her but never control her. Their relationship is one of exchange, Ileska senses the rot and decay of those heading towards Charon's river, she sources those reaching beyond their prime and prunes them. Instead of servitude, the two have a mutual alliance; she feeds the hungry maw of the lifeless and they (in turn), bequeath her with guardianship. Everywhere the Fjerdan goes, Death follows. She can smell it by now, not the cloying sweetness of decomposition - no - but the iron tinged air and purple hues that touch those not long for their world. Again, despite all this, Ileska has never fought her cruel mentor before, that monolith of cool ebony slinking in moonlit millenia, and she fears that Death cannot claim a man who commands the shadows.
Where her thoughts grow, her small science follows. The next travellers who stumbled across the runaway's path would be bemused, no - horrified, to see a visceral wake of bone. Little rabbit caricatures reaching out of silken beds of grass, talons pointing up towards the sky in an immortalised, white cast. The debris of the wilderness listens to the innermost wishes of its heartbeat and responds; skulls dance in tune to swaying fingers that point without conscious intention and flowers tip their heads to the ground from the weight of corrupting mould. The trees whisper to themselves, unheard by the Panther who is too engrossed in the practicalities of staying alive, as the girl thunders past on air itself. There she goes, do you see her? Over there - the girl with the animal heart is angry. She calls for Death. Be careful sisters, brothers; the wolf is coming.
The journey North is a tense one. Zoya has rarely ever seen her general so angry. No, not angry - or at least not just angry - the Darkling is incandescent. A wheel of misfortune; Kirigan swings between rage at losing his precious prize, the next his face is lit with knowledge they near both Alina and the stag. Zoya cannot truthfully say she believes in the existence of the famed white stag with ethereal gifts; a tale to tell to frightful Grisha children, that is all it can be. Yet the Darkling has not lead her wrong before, she cannot doubt him now. But you do doubt. Since meeting that wretched thief, she cannot deny the traitorous worm that burrows deeper and deeper as the days pass.
"Zoya." She tenses just slightly at the presence of her name on the lips of the man she has just been contemplating. Would he have my head if he knew what I was thinking? More treachery.
"Yes, moi Soverenyi?" The title slips out like an apology and she hastily reclaims her usual unaffected air.
"You are oddly quiet Miss Nazyalensky." Though not posed as a question, the young woman knows it is a question all the same.
"Sorry, General. I miss my family that is all, I look forward to seeing them soon."
He appraises her with a muted look in his jewel eyes, considering. It is known that she still remains close with her mother's sister and visits when she can, but he is not so easily fooled.
"You know you can talk to me if you have any doubts. I appreciate your advice."
The Nazyalensky scoffs silently, like you appreciated my advice on Alina? But she only smiles gratefully, "I know General. Long carriage rides do not agree with me, as you know."
The useless tidbit of information is enough to make the man lose interest, cool gaze returning to the tundra outside. Ivan offers a stony smile, the only smile she suspects he can offer (Fedyor excluded.)
But their ride is not destined to be a seamless one, or at lesst what counts as seamless in the permafrost.
One of the Oprichniki situated outside of the carriage leans through the dividing window, voice gruff but alert. "There is movement in the trees Moi Soverenyi. Bigger than an animal. It seems someone is following us."
Who could be stupid enough to ride through the Ravkan icelands in pursuit of a man who wields shadow like knife?
Kirigan bangs on the roof of the carriage, indicating them to stop. He exits while the wheels still seek friction in the smooth snow.
The rider can be seen in fragments through the disordered trees, a hint of black peaking out from verdant tree limbs. Horse a panting fury, rider weaving between stump and canopy in some sort of highly attuned dance. Zoya is not close enough to identify the pursuer, especially not when they move so quick. Kirigan, however, does. The smile that curls up his lip is sardonic, verging on cruel and she is glad not to be on the receiving end. And yet the words he utters next are a bolt within her hard-given heart.
"My little Bone Dancer has found me."
Her thief. She wishes to groan, though she knows such an action would look suspicious, given the girl broke her hands. That fucking idiot. I hope you know what you are doing Ana of many names.
Only metres away, almost as if she could hear the squaller's thoughts, Ileska Vieder's expression hardens. She forces the doubt out of her body and tunes into the flora and fauna coating her instead, familiarising herself with the buried skeletons beneath the ground and hidden in bushes. These will be her weapons; she does not plan to win but it needs to be a convincing show. I hope you're worth this Zoya Nazyalensky.
A/N
Another update!! This was hard to write, I wasn't sure how to get them closer together again and I didn't want to wait until the stag scene. I hope you enjoy, things are hotting up now!
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Better The Devil You Know (Zoya Nazyalensky)
Fanfiction"Isn't it funny. I'm enjoying my hatred so much more than I ever enjoyed love...hatred, now that's something you can use." - White Oleander, Janet Finch If Kaz Brekker was a demon, then she was the Devil incarnate. On that, all of Kerch agreed. Il...
