Time Can Heal (But This Won't) A Darkling Series

Chapter Four: The Little Palace

There is nothing left to do except to complete the journey. You're on the outskirts of Os Alta, barely a day's ride until you reach the capital. As you draw closer to the city, you can't help but feel yourself slip beneath a wave of nostalgia. This is the road you walked with the Darkling many centuries ago. That dense forest of trees was once a waiflike stand of stems, barely tall enough to be considered saplings. This is where you stood, where you smiled, where you walked with him. It is strange to look over at him now, to know that you're returning with him.

You can't help but wonder if he ever thinks of you. The old you, that is, the Hecari of the stories and the Hellenid from his heart and hands. What did he think when you left? Does he look at that crumbling house and think of the newly built scaffolding that had sprung up when you were there, the ruins that had been brand new when he was all you trusted? Does he even remember you at all?

At last, you're forced to turn away from thoughts of the past and recenter yourself on the present- you've arrived at the wall surrounding the city, and the gate opens with a rumble. The canter of horseshoes on cobblestones echoes around you, and you watch with a faint smile as Alina's eyes go wide at the sight of the approaching twin palaces. She's an orphan of Keramzin, you remind yourself, she's never seen Os Alta in the way that you have.

Still, you can't deny the effect that the city has on you. You were here for its birth, its rise from rubble to gleaming spires, but it's still impressive. You let your eyes trace over the distant silhouette of the Grand Palace on the horizon. There's the spire the Lantsovs of long ago used to admire, that's the wide balcony passing merchants would meet on for business deals so important they had to be witnessed from a distance. Some things are new- more gold trim on the windows, more marble carvings and columns that hadn't been quite so intricate when you had last seen them.

The path diverges from the Grand Palace, plunging deeper into arches of trees to progress to the Little Palace. With each step you take, you feel like you're coming home. It's funny- the Grand Palace may have changed, but the Darkling has obviously tried his utmost to make everything seem the exact same as it was when it was first built. The trees still block out the sun in the same places, the grounds look identical to the centuries past. It feels like you barely left at all.

You're almost reluctant to dismount from your horse, to stop your wide-eyed view of the grounds and face the truth- you're no Grisha, you don't quite belong here. Not to them. Not to him. But Alina hurries over to you, walking side by side and looping her arms around her. "This place is amazing." You can't help but let out a quiet laugh at her astonishment. "It is, isn't it?" You round a bend and feel your breath catch in your throat as you see the Little Palace, suddenly only yards away.

The Grand Palace may have been impressive, but the Little Palace was so much more to you than that. The dark wood paneling looks the same, the carvings just as intricate. As you step closer, you can't help but feel your heart squeeze in your chest, as if a particularly vicious Heartrender was practicing their art from behind you. Some of the carvings in the doors and walls are of the Saints, of Ravka's history. Others look more familiar- they're not of Grisha or Ravka, they're from Hellas. They're from you, from what you told the Darkling of your people.

Your steps slow as your gaze tracks every detail. There, in that corner, is the Hydra, long-ago beast slain by the famous hero Heracles. Twin gods Artemis and Apollo stand on opposite sides of the doors, arrows pointed towards the heavens, their spheres of the moon and sun carefully portrayed in the dark wood. You see triremes and warships with painted eyes, the ground cracking to pieces underneath a youthful spring goddess to reveal the god waiting for her below at the Underworld. These are your stories, your history. All depicted here for any to see, although there's only one man who would know them for what they are.