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before
The girl sat up in her bed suddenly, sleep still lingering in her mind as she glanced doubly at the clock on her desk. It was past the middle of the night, well after curfew, and yet someone was incessantly knocking at her door.
For a second, the noise stopped, and she imagined that the whole ordeal had already ended, that whoever had been so needy to see her had thought better of it and left – then the assault on her door restarted, the fist falling heavier against the wood of her door. As if the Little Palace was on fire.
She reached blindly for her thick robe, wrapping it around herself and praying to the Saints that she hadn't been awakened by a lost maid or some misguided soul, "I'm coming!"
When she unlocked the door, the girl looked up in surprise. It was not a maid in the hall, or a lovesick boy with no sense of direction, but her teacher.
Professor Vilnetkho was a tall and narrow man who spent as much time in the church as he did in the classroom. He was a nervous individual, but a talented Squaller and a good, patient teacher, and he'd been the one who had discovered Katya's talent.
She had been only 8 when they realized she had a talent for summoning both air and water and usually, that only made Professor Vilnethko appear as more of a stumbling mess. This time, however, the teacher's brow was set, his expression determined.
"Miss Aleksandrovna," he bowed, "I'm afraid I need your assistance with something outside. Please, put on your kefta quickly, and follow me." The glare of the candlelight was harsh against the teacher's long face, making him appear even older and yellower than he was.
Katarina nodded, groggy and confused, but complying. Drawing the door closed, she quickly exchanged the winter robe for her Squaller's kefta – she'd had a new set done for her twelfth birthday that autumn, and the embroidery glittered even more beautifully in the moonlight than it did in the sun.
She walked out of the room, hands still busy with pulling her black hair into a braid, "Alright, Professor, what is the issue?" And what did it have to do with her, anyways? She was barely twelve years old, a student with no influence, not even any friends, and definitely no influence.
Vilnetkho's eyes fell to her for a fraction of a second, before his head turned to the right, "Now."
Hands falling from her hair, Katya half-turned with a frown, as the feeling that something was wrong seized her. It was not the bad feeling pressing in her chest, though, but a Corporalki's power. She didn't manage to see the markings of her order, only the silhouette of a beautiful face as the woman slowed her heart, sending Katya into a deep, unending sleep.
When they stirred her awake again, she came to with a gasp. The dim lighting of the halls had been replaced by darkness, the steadiness of her feet with the rhythmic rocking of a horse-drawn coach. Once again, the Corporalki's face came into vision, her eyes examining Katya's face carefully.
