✵ SWEETER THAN HONEY ― nikolai lantsov ✵

Yi

Are we not all things?

The words of a madman. Or maybe the words of a man gone mad.

I open my eyes and blink away the raindrops on my eyelashes. In truth, trivial things as these have never really concerned me. But sometimes pondering a question bigger than life makes you feel good for a while, makes you forget about your worries.

I think of Nikolai, that gleam in his hazel eyes, those golden eyelashes.

I like fixing things, he told me once as we walked by the lake. One day I'll fix Ravka.

I wanted to tell him that I needed fixing too, and I would let him fix me for an eternity if it meant staying with him, but those words never left my lips and I only told him he'd make a better king than his father, setting the standard low and eliciting a laugh from him.

My ability calls to me like the howl of an animal in my chest, but I let it chase me like I used to chase it all this time.

You've grown soft, Yi.

Or maybe I always was.

I flex my fingers, feeling my knuckles sting.

I look out at the grass fields drowning in rain and hold up my arms, searching deep into the soil, sensing the minerals hidden beneath the ground, the tiny scraps of old ruins buried beneath years of suffering, the occasional tiny, worthless crystal here and there.

I call to it all.

And I feel it rise like a monster emerging.

My eyes widen as a statue begins to appear from the mud, the rain splattering onto it in splashes and rinsing it off as the structure forms. I let my arms rise, urging it to take shape of something, anything, and I don't know what I'm making until it's already finished.

A fox.

"Oh," I whisper, my voice breathy.

The statue is formed by stone darkened with rain, vines sprouting dried and yellowed flowers, latching onto the fox's tail like barnacles on a ship. The canine's eyes glisten with salt that glimmers like crystals, and there are chunks of jewels in its stone-formed fur.

Nikolai Lantsov, the too-clever fox.

And suddenly it feels like the weight bearing down on my chest has lifted like a feather, because I know that even if I can't save him, this statue will be remembered, and though its meaning will remain unknown to anyone else, I'll know, and I'll mourn the fox trapped in the very cage he freed me from.

I turn back around, furrowing my eyebrows as I hear an argument break out from beneath the pines. When I re-enter the shade of the trees, I shake off the water on me and listen to Alina as she speaks.

"The Darkling has an army. He has allies. We have. . ." She trails off, pursing her lips.

"Thanks," Zoya deadpans sourly.

"She has a point," Harshaw concedes, leaning against a tree with Oncat resting on his shoulder. "I'm not really feeling up for much."

"I didn't mean that," Alina protests.

"It'll be enough," Mal states firmly. "We'll find the firebird. You'll face the Darkling. We'll fight him, and we'll win."

"And then what?" Alina asks quietly, staring at the ground. "Even if we beat the Darkling and I destroy the Fold, Ravka will be vulnerable."

"There's the Apparat," Tolya offers. "The priest may not be trustworthy, but your followers are."

"And David and I might be able to find a cure for Nikolai," I add, one of my damp curls dripping a steady stream onto the tip of my nose.