The Sun Blade

Play Thing

"I understand you've met my mother."

General Kirigan sat relaxed and loose limbed on Cresana's balcony, watching her face for her reaction. It had been almost four weeks since Cresana had seen him last, and the weather was beginning to change. The crisp bite in the air this early morning betrayed the coming of autumn.

Cresana nodded. "I did."

Kirigan waited for her to continue. Cresana felt the pressure of his gaze, and she knew it would be unwise to play a battle of wills with this man. At least, not this early in the morning.

"She told me some interesting stories of your Grisha traditions," Cresana continued. She assumed Kirigan knew the extent of what Baghra had revealed to Cresana; no doubt Ivan had divulged this information, as he was the only other person who could have possibly told Kirigan that Cresana met his mother.

Kirigan nodded, a wry smile playing across his face. "She is a storyteller, that one," he commented. "What else did she tell you? More about Grisha lore? Or about my plans for you?"

Cresana was intrigued as her previous interaction with the Black General had much more coy. There was a directness in his mannerisms today and in his line of questioning. Cresana found it refreshing; she was tired of playing games.

"She told me that you are my Directive."

Kirigan nodded, the smile on his face widening.

"I doubt you were surprised," he ventured. Cresana shook her head.

"Not surprised. Honored, but not surprised," she agreed.

"What else did she tell you, then? Surely that cannot be all." Kirigan's eyes bored expectantly into Cresana's.

"She told me that you plan to make me into a Sun Summoner." It was the first time Cresana had actually acknowledged the possibility of becoming a Grisha out loud, and she found a small thrill run up her spine at even the hint of such power. She took a deep breath and swallowed, trying to stuff that prideful part back down into submission. Pride was a foolish trait, especially for a Blade.

"Ah, I see." Kirigan's smile vanished. He broke eye contact and gazed off over the gardens into the distance. There was a cloud of mist rising up over the roof of the Little Palace, and the sunlight was the color of champagne as it filtered through the vapors. It was a beautiful morning, breathtaking truly, but Cresana found the view tiresome compared to the interesting man sitting across from her.

Kirigan had been notably absent in the days following Cresana's visit with Baghra. When he had finally knocked on Cresana's chambers this morning at sunrise, Cresana had felt a sense of relief. She hoped the waiting would be over. There were many questions she had, loose ends that needed answering. She had decided after some deliberation that, if Baghra was correct and Kirigan did plan to make her a Grisha, she would accept. The nagging suspicion that his plan would proceed with or without her consent was a bit troubling, but she tried to push that from her mind as she felt perfectly capable of making her preference known to him, by violence if necessary.

Cresana had, at first, resolved to leave the Little Palace after she learned of Kirigan's plans. She had even gone so far as to ready her belongings, such as they were, and plot her exit route off the balcony and onto the roof by cover of darkness. As Cresana had sat on the threshold of her balcony waiting for the light to fade from the sky that night, she had felt a strong inner conflict about her decision to leave.

Part of her – the Blade – wanted to distance herself from this palace and from the General as quickly as possible. Blades were not political operatives, nor were they to be used by their Directives for their own purposes. Blades did not obey the commands of their Directives; in fact, many of the most successful Blades had directly violated the wishes of their Directives in the interests of protecting them. That was a Blade's role – protect and preserve.