Cresana was losing sleep, rapidly. It wasn't a question of being tired – in fact, she felt more weary and exhausted now then she'd ever felt at The Institute. Each time she used her powers, although it was exhilarating while the light poured out from her, it left her feeling impossibly drained afterwards. It was also becoming harder to stop her powers once they'd begun.
This was a particularly concerning development for Cresana. Even though her powers had thus far proven immune to refinement on any level, she had at least retained the ability to turn them on and off at will. Her grasp on that was slipping, though. Each time she used her powers, she felt a bit of herself – her old self – splinter away and disintegrate. She was starting to feel numb unless she was summoning light.
It didn't help that Kirigan was becoming an increasingly impatient tutor. She could hardly blame him, as she fully realized how disappointing her lack of control over her powers had proven, but she also couldn't help feeling intensely resentful of his rebukes. Their training sessions were becoming fewer, but each was longer, and Cresana could feel Kirigan pushing her to the edges of her abilities each time. She had the sneaking suspicion that he was trying to prove her uselessness – to her or him, Cresana wasn't sure. So far, though, he'd been very successful on that point.
One unanticipated development, and not an unpleasant one, was the thawing tension between Cresana and Ivan. Cresana knew that Ivan's newfound kindness towards her was one borne out of pity, but she didn't mind too much. She felt the sting of falling out of favor with the General keenly, both in her pride but also in the lack of niceties she'd grown used to since arriving at the Little Palace. Her chamber remained bare, and although Cresana had once appreciated the sparseness she now found it suffocating and oppressive. Her meals had grown less appealing, to the point where she now found herself eating gruel and mealy apples most days. Her bathwater had become cold as well, and she no longer had the prying eyes of multiple servants trying to tidy her bedsheets or comb through her hair. At first, Cresana had relished the privacy – especially given her all-too-obvious status as Kirigan's discarded disappointment, even if the servants didn't know why – but now she felt surprisingly lonely.
One of the few bright spots of her day was when Ivan came to check on her. It had started as an errand for Kirigan; Ivan was sent to Cresana's chambers mid-afternoon to ensure she'd eaten and provide her instructions on when and where to meet him for training that evening. As Kirigan's training sessions became less frequent, though, Ivan's visits did not. He didn't say much, and although Cresana thought it might be easy to interpret Ivan's silence as fear or stupidity, she quickly realized it was a shrewd move to keep one's mouth closed around Kirigan.
The first time he'd brought something to Cresana, she'd been completely blindsided.
"Brought you this," Ivan announced gruffly, handing Cresana what was obviously a book wrapped in grimy burlap. She was perplexed but also intensely intrigued. Thus far, all Ivan had said to her were perfunctory data gathering questions: have you eaten, any progress with your powers, how do you feel. Cresana knew she was being monitored closely for signs that the transition hadn't worked, or was going sour. Thankfully, that did not seem to be the case. It had been nearly ten full weeks since she'd finished the terrible tincture regimen, and although her powers had proven intractable in response to training, they hadn't gotten any less powerful.
Cresana raised one eyebrow in questioning at Ivan, the book in her arms.
He shrugged nonchalantly. "You need something to do," he commented offhandedly, as if he were doing her a favor. Cresana chuckled slightly to realize that, in fact, he was doing her a favor. She did need something to do.
Cresana unwrapped the book, curiosity fully piqued. It was a heavy tome, and obviously quite old judging by the faded cover. It was a simple book for the Little Palace standards: no gold gilding or elaborate hand-painted scenery on the front. Along the front read the words "History and Traditions of the Order of the Blades"; at the bottom, the author's signature – barely visible with age and wear – read "Jarkon Militova, Blade to Squaller Edvard Raygon".
Cresana smiled up at Ivan, genuine gratitude spreading over her face. She knew her family tree well. Jarkon was her great-great-great-grandfather, and he had been a well-respected Royal Historian in addition to his duties as a Blade. She had no idea he had created this compendium, however.
As if able to read her mind, Ivan stated "it's the only copy. Part of Kirigan's personal collection. He won't miss it."
"Ivan, thank you," Cresana said humbly, and she meant it.
The book had kept her occupied – pleasantly so - for weeks. Although she had initially not expected to learn anything new given her comprehensive schooling in Blade history at The Institute, she was surprised to learn that there was much about her Order that she hadn't been taught.
Like, for example, that the very earliest Blades had actually been spouses of the Grisha who devoted their lives to trying to protect their hunted and persecuted partners. (Cresana was equally amused to learn that this practice quickly died out after The Institute was created under the pretense that mixing love with duty was a recipe for poor judgment.)
Or that there had been a several generation-long span of time shortly after The Unsea's creation where so few families had volunteered their children for Blade training that there had actually been conscriptions into The Institute, mostly from the island of Kerch.
Cresana had been particularly delighted to see her own surname – Militova – peppered throughout the storied Blade traditions frequently. She was familiar with the shining achievements of her bloodline, but was equally proud to learn about a distant relative, Aremia Militova, who sacrificed herself to save a particularly powerful Tidemaker during the Battle of Bhez Ju. That Tidemaker had gone on to become an important advisor to the Ravkan King, and was credited with turning the tide of oppression away from Grisha, ushering in an era of relative peace and prosperity for practitioners of the Small Science. Cresana silently vowed to visit the shrine to Aremia that had been erected by the Tidemaker at the end of his life on the site of the Battle of Bhez Ju.
Most interestingly of all, Cresana learned that her family home in the Sikurzoi foothills had actually been considered for the site of The Institute when it had first been erected almost 300 years ago.
At first, Cresana had delighted privately in the facts she gleaned from the pages of Jarkon's historical texts. Thus, it surprised her when Ivan asked about her reading.
"Have you finished it yet?" he asked one day, motioning to the book on her bedside table.
"Almost," Cresana replied.
"What do you want next?" Ivan inquired. He took a bite of the pear he'd come into her chamber with, and Cresana had the distinct impression he was trying to act casual.
"Next...?" she ventured. She truly hadn't realized that Ivan meant to position himself as her book supplier, and she hoped she hadn't misunderstood his question. The thought of another book to occupy her time and weary mind was exciting.
"Sure," he shrugged. "Can't have our favorite Sun Summoner getting bored to death."
They had shared a laugh together, starting out cautious but blossoming into authentic amusement, and from that day on Ivan had proven to be Cresana's only ally. Although he remained relatively stoic during their visits, he had indulged her requests for books on botany, potion-making, Novyi Zem poetry (Cresana had almost been too embarrassed to ask for this, but ultimately relented, although had to endure a good bit of teasing from Ivan on that account), and flora and fauna of her home near the Sikurzoi Mountains.
After several months of continued reading – and continued failure in her training with Kirigan – Cresana ventured a taller request of Ivan.
At first, Ivan had thought her joking. He laughed loudly and unabashedly for a moment until he saw the serious tone in her eyes. He quickly became somber upon realizing she had been completely serious.
"Your swords?" he asked incredulously.
Cresana nodded hopefully. She'd been ruminating on this request for weeks, unsure if their friendship had earned her a modicum of loyalty from Ivan or whether he even had access to her weapons. She hadn't seen her Scythe Swords in months – not since her transition – and although she remained tired from her continued Grisha training with Kirigan, she felt an intense ache to return to Blade fighting. If she couldn't use her given power, she reasoned to herself, then she sure as hell wasn't about to lose her Blade training.
"That's a tall ask, Militova," Ivan replied darkly. He stood up, fixing his gaze on something outside her window, hands clasped behind his back. It took every ounce of self-control Cresana had not to drop to her knees and begin pleading with Ivan. Instead, she sat in silence while he contemplated it, chewing on his bottom lip.
"General gave strict orders you're not to have access to weapons," Ivan reminded her. Cresana nodded. She knew that already. Although she still wasn't entirely sure why, Kirigan had informed her several weeks ago that she could no longer use steel in any of her training drills.
Begrudgingly, Kirigan had agreed to allow Cresana to use some throwing knives and spar with several of the Grisha instructors once or twice a month earlier in the summer. The Grisha's skills were well below what Cresana was used to from her Evaluators at The Institute, but she was content to make do with what she had available to her. Even though Kirigan had steadily restricted these opportunities over time, Cresana had come to relish them so dearly that she dared not ask for more, lest he take them away entirely. Cresana hadn't been granted permission to do physical combat training in almost a month now, and she was beginning to realize that Kirigan meant to remove that privilege from her entirely. It was this realization that prompted her desperate request to Ivan.
Ivan turned to Cresana, still deep in thought. She waited, almost forgetting to breathe in the process.
"Let me see what I can do," Ivan told her simply.
Without thinking, Cresana launched herself up off the edge of her bed where she'd been sitting and embraced Ivan in a hug. The outpouring of emotion surprised both of them, but Ivan returned her hug after a stunned moment.
"Thank you, Ivan," Cresana told him sincerely, breaking the hug.
Ivan nodded, granting her a small half-smile and a grunt.
"It's not a promise, Blade," he told her somewhat gruffly, but Cresana detected a genuine hint of hope in his voice.
"I know. The gesture alone is appreciated. Thank you," she repeated.
Ivan nodded once more and left.
Three days later, Cresana awoke to find her Scythe Swords wrapped in the same grimy burlap Ivan always delivered her book requests in at the foot of her bed, along with a note written in impeccably neat, small pen: 'Keep these hidden – I'.
Cresana smiled. Ivan had done it. She wasn't sure how, but she didn't care much. As the familiar weight of her weapons settled in her palms again, Cresana felt a spark of life surge through her, the first in months. She sighed contentedly, mind racing ahead to see when she could first use them for training.
"I will," she whispered in response to re-reading Ivan's note.