Witching Hour, Nikolai Lantsov

V

V / It Goes Like This

Vera decided to take it as a small kindness from the universe when she woke up the next morning and did no find a schedule waiting for her. If she did not receive any schedule or job during her stay other than to look after Alina, this was basically a vacation.

She thought of the Grisha tent in Kribirsk, of the Fold. Of the last time she'd went south with the Darkling towards the border to Shu Han. This was definitely a vacation by Vera's standards.

At least, that had been her opinion until the third day, and she got word that Baghra was awaiting her.

Vera had been sitting in the library, reading through a book on the history of the Tavgharad. Considering the nature of the force, the book was fairly thin, which Vera found an immensely unfortunate. Maybe it was that she'd grown up in a country where the rights of women were so limited, but she'd always been fascinated with the Shu Han crown and their elite female warriors.

It was a little like gazing through a looking glass. Like imagining what her life would've been like if Fjerda was different.

If even just the inheritance in Fjerda would've been different, if woman were able to inherit at all, she didn't think she would be here now. She would be in Djerholm among the court, eating and chatting. That is, if she hadn't been put to trial and death for being Grisha or had been married off.

Vera didn't like to let her thoughts stray to that other life.

With a sigh, she shuts the book. "Did she say what she wanted?" She asks the servant as she rises from her seat and moves to one of the shelves, putting the book back into its place.

"No." The servant says slowly, and she can basically hear him shift uncomfortably. Vera can't really blame him. She wouldn't want to keep Baghra waiting either, if the old crone had given her a task.

Which is precisely why when she has dismissed the boy, who looked to be just a handful years younger than her, and he had scurried off in relief, she made her way to Baghra's hut without risking further delay.

Now, she was standing in front of the structure, scowling at it.

Vera had spent many a hour in here throughout her six years at the Little Palace. In fact, she'd not only spend most of them in solitary lessons, but also had been made to take them for far longer than most others. Her last lesson had only been a handful of months ago when most Grisha her age had long been drafted into the Second Army and most of the younger students had moved on from learning with Baghra to more specialized and advanced lessons.

Lessons Vera had not needed, at least for the most part. She'd made up of her utter lack of any semblance of control over her Inferni gifts in the fact that she'd spend all her life learning culture, and languages, and other things. So, while her the other Grisha in her class had gone on to study Shu or Kerch or Suli, Vera had gone to Baghra's hut.

And, she had to admit, that she was grateful for that. When she'd arrived here, she had put countless of objects on fire. She also distinctively remembers one or two incidents where someone had to be tossed into the lake or doused by a load of Tidemaker water because she'd accidentally set them on fire. It had been the reason she'd taken the risk to flee to Ravka in the first place. Considering that she set a good part of her family house on fire with a mere nightmare.

Not that she'd ever say anything of that out loud to that cynical, hateful crone.

Taking in a deep breath, Vera knocks twice before bracing herself for the onslaught of heat that dearly made her miss the freezing cold of the Fjerdan north and opened the door.