fₒᵣ ᵢ ₐₘ bₑcₒₘₑ dₑₐₜₕ, dₑₛₜᵣₒyₑᵣ ₒf wₒᵣₗdₛ
Anastasia Morozova is a kinslayer. Anya Varamyr is a murderer. Anastasia is a decorated soldier. Anya is a backstreet cutthroat. Anastasia would die for her country. Anya would die for her friends.
Anastasi...
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Anya held Kaz's limp gloved hand in hers all the way past the two main checkpoints, trying to channel her lifeforce out to him with the barest wisp of a shadow. She knew as much about Kaz Brekker's life before the Dregs as he did about hers, but she was observant enough to understand that there was something about touch - about skin - that sent him reeling. It was for that reason that she'd been so surprised when he'd gripped her wrist so tightly.
"Kaz," she whispered softly and squeezed his fingers. "Kaz! Kaz, wake up."
Something in him shifted and he sharply drew his hand back to his side, moving as close to the door as he physically could. If it had been anyone else she would been incredibly offended, but this was Kaz Brekker - and there was no one else quite like him. "Anya," he rasped quietly, almost as if he'd realized where he was and who she was. "What is - what is this?"
Realizing he meant the dark shadow crawling over his arm, she panicked. "Shit, sorry - that's me. I can stop?"
"No," he muttered after a long pause. "No. How - how are you- "
"I'll explain everything later," she hummed, happily threading tendrils of darkness in-between his fingers. "We're passing through the prison gate. We've already passed the two check points."
Kaz shifted uncomfortably again, feet shuffling against the floor. "No one touched us," she mentioned, as if it were a passing thought. "I was listening."
Kaz relaxed ever so slightly, and she smiled under a hood.
Both tensed right back up when the wagon came to a halt. Her shadows silently slipped from around Kaz's wrist as he was wrenched away from beside her - harsh hands soon came to unlock her collar and drag her out of the wagon too. Her soul screamed as she was hauled out onto a ramp. When her hood was torn off of her head, she shook the shadows out of her eyes and stared up at the hellhole that was the Ice Court - and well, it was beautiful,
"If this isn't Fabrikator craft, then I'm the Queen of wood sprites," she heard Nina mutter from behind her and she had to bite her lip as a guard shouted at her to shut up. Nina was right; for all the anti Grisha talk the Fjerdans liked to preach, the glowing blue walls of the Court were far too elegant; far too perfect to have been built by meagre bricks and stones. But then she looked up and winced.
