TWO
He brought her to a dark, underground place, where an old woman took one look at her and shook her head.
"Where did you find her?" she asked.
"The Fold."
He set her down on a nearby chair, still swaddled in his cloak. The dead wood was cold and hard underneath her, but she didn't notice. The Unsea was infinitely colder and harder.
At least the cavern was dim. But not dim enough. There were small tendrils of candlelight scattered around, casting a lambent glow here and there. She did not know what candlelight was, but she knew she didn't like it.
In many places, the stone walls bent and dipped, as if someone had walked on them a long time ago and left behind footprints of different shapes and sizes. The footprints caught threads of light and wove them into something brighter. Something that made her fidget uncomfortably.
At her discontent, concentrated wisps of shadow gathered around the cause and snuffed out the candles. The cavern darkened immediately. She quietened down and pulled the cape up and over her head, only leaving her face to peep out so she could keep a wary eye on her new surroundings.
"Some measure of control," the old woman observed. Her eyes were assessing.
"You never favoured distress," he said mildly.
"Better to be angry than upset." She raised an eyebrow. "What did I teach you? Anger may be honed. Ruin and rising. What is upset?" She waved a hand, unfavourable. "Siege and storm."
He ignored her. "Winter is almost upon us. I've recalled the army," he informed her. "I will see to her studies myself."
Every word out of their small mouths was gibberish to her. She peered at them suspiciously. The old woman was slightly better proportioned than the others, but her hair seemed as though it was made of light, which made her worse than everyone else put together.
Darkness pooled unhappily around her. If the woman started to glow, she would feed her to the shadow.
His mouth quirked. He watched her even as he exchanged words with the old hag, as if waiting to see what she would do next.
"Does your pet have a name?" she asked with a sniff.
"None that she knows," he answered, sounding unbothered.
The old woman did not look impressed. "Children need names."
"She'll have mine," he said, and paid no mind to the sigh that followed.
After a moment, he lowered himself down to the cavern floor in front of her, one knee bearing his weight. She met his gaze curiously. On top of the chair, she was propped up high enough that she was close to eye level with him.
His gaze was calm and steady. He laid a hand over his chest, a gesture she had never seen before. There were many things she had never seen before.
He gave his name to her. "Aleksander."
Not that she understood what he was saying. All words sounded the same to her, and the sound was all nonsensical to her ears.
