The Sun Blade

Like Mother, Like Son

Cresana's mind raced as she followed Ivan through the Little Palace halls. She took passive note of the route they wove through the Palace, slowly building a mental map of the interior and merging it with what she had been able to ascertain from her balcony view. Although it was broad daylight, the Palace was eerily silent. Cresana noted that there were no guards, Grisha, or servants milling around as she would have expected. It seemed that it was just her and the Heartrender Ivan. Their footsteps echoed ominously off the lavishly ornate wood carved walls and marble floors.

Ivan didn't say a word to her, nor did he look back to her. He walked purposefully and without hesitation. He obviously knew his way around, and he seemed driven by urgency. Cresana wondered who the 'she' was that was waiting for her at the other end of this summons.

Much to her surprise, Cresana found herself following Ivan outside of the Little Palace doors and into the grounds. They had exited the building on the southwest corner, the exact opposite end from where Cresana's chambers were. She found that the forest was much closer on this side of the Palace. The brush was wild and overgrown, and there was a threatening edge to the shadows cast by the tall trees. Ivan continued to stride confidently into the forest, following a slender trail not much wider than a deer path. Cresana's feet – bare without her usual fighting slippers – felt the slight chill of the ground beneath her. A sure sign of autumn approaching.

After a few minutes, Ivan stopped abruptly outside a small, unpretentious hut nestled in the woods. A faint curl of smoke wound its way up through the trees, betraying the presence of someone inside. Cresana could make out the faint smell of rabbit stew. Her stomach growled slightly. The heaps of biscuits and tea that the servants brought to her chambers daily were not her usual fare. She longed for the gamey meats and chewy rolls The Institute had served her daily for the past eight years.

Ivan jerked his head towards the hut's entrance, indicating Cresana was to enter it. Cresana didn't hesitate, glad to be rid of Ivan's surly presence. She stepped forward and into the darkened doorway of the hut.

A strong smell of incense assailed Cresana's nose. As her eyes adjusted to the gloomy interior, her eyes came to rest on an older woman, sitting calmly in front of a low burning fire at the opposite end of the hut. There was something familiar about the woman's face, although Cresana was sure she had never met her before.

"Welcome, Cresana." The woman's voice was neither welcoming nor hostile. Cresana was surprised to hear her given name spoken aloud. She had not been referred to as 'Cresana' in many years. The Institute knew her as Militova or Blade. Even Evrity rarely used her name.

"Call me Baghra," the woman continued. Cresana didn't recognize the name, nor did she expect to.

"I understand my son has told you about your Trial." Cresana's mind worked quickly, trying to place the word 'son'. It took her only a moment to know where she recognized Baghra: General Kirigan had the same impenetrable gaze and air of supremacy. Like mother, like son.

Cresana nodded.

"Are you mute, girl?" Baghra demanded. For the third time that day, Cresana bit back the urge to bristle at the condescending tone others used to address her.

"No, I'm not." Cresana was glad to see that her cheeky reply angered the old woman.

"That's a shame," Baghra continued. She was quick to recover from the momentary irritation Cresana's reply had fueled. The sharpness with which she returned Cresana's sarcasm was amusing, and Cresana felt a spark of admiration for the woman.

"Why did you summon me?" As pleasant as it would have been to exchange quips, the restlessness in Cresana's mind wouldn't allow her to sink to baser pleasures.