Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
THE SUBTLE ART OF ALLYSHIP
ANYA VINOGRADEV WAS MANY THINGS. Skilled in battle, blessed with power, educated in foreign languages, all those potentially useful virtues she could take pride in. Unfortunately for her acquiantances, patience wasn't among those qualities.
And sharing breakfast with the twins and Yakow, with a copy of the day's newspaper spread before Yakow as he laughed histerically, was testing what little composure she had.
Thank goodness all the other tables were empty at such an early hour, or innocent bystanders would have had to bear witness to her irritation.
"I swear I'll stab you to death with the butter knife," she muttered, eating another slice of her apple.
"Wait, wait–!" Yakow exclaimed, turning away in his seat when Tolya tried to take the paper away from him for the sake of peace. The Shu boy sighed and gave up after a moment, turning to Anya with an apologetic expression. Yakow continued marvelling over the text. "Oh, this bit is just incredible. I might get it framed."
"Here he goes again," said Tamar, spreading jam on her fourth piece of bread.
"Upon returning from years of hiding," Yakow read, "Anya Vinogradev, previously ill-remembered as a traitor of the crown and, most importantly, presumed dead, fell to her knees in the throne room, claiming that the Saints showed her the way back to Os Alta. Eye witnesses have claimed that the woman cried for hours and threatened to end her own life if our merciful King didn't let her join the army of the double eagle. Despite her being cursed with the fate of Blogosloven Siloy, the King, in his divine benevolence―"
"Enough," Tolya interrupted, finally taking the paper away from him. "This is ridiculous."
"Oh, come on! I'm only laughing because it's ridiculous, you know that right?" he asked, turning to Anya to mess up her hair. "Of course you'd sooner end your own life than pretend to be regretful."
"I'm about to end somebody's life, alright," Anya replied, pushing his arm away with an annoyed shove.
"I wonder if they'll make you a Saint now, too," Tamar joked. "Though it would be very difficult, considering your personality."
"I have a very fine personality," Anya responded. "Besides, they'd never pushed a narrative like that. It had to seem like I repented, so Ravka wouldn't be sent into a collective panic."
For the past years, she'd been considered what could be called the polar opposite of a Saint. A cursed one. Some despised her as if she was the incarnation of evil itself, as if her mere presence was a sign of awaiting doom. A long time had passed, but most still remembered the fear ridden months after finding out a Blogosloven Siloy had not only been discovered, but that she'd also almost destroyed something Ravka loved. Anya doubted the newspaper's propaganda was enough to make the people forgive her. They'd have to go completely mad to consider her a Saint.
