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" Time turns flames to embers
You'll have new Septembers,
Every one of us has messed up "
―SINCE IT ISN'T safe to approach Kribirsk from this side of the Fold, we have to work out how we'll do the crossing. In the end, since Nadia and Zoya can't carry the extra amount of passengers on the Bittern, Tolya agrees to bring the Soldat Sol to the eastern shore of the Fold and wait there while we make the crossing. After we have camp set up, Alina will loop back around to get the rest of our troops. As we board the Bittern, I can't help but be reminded of the first time I was on the Hummingbird, that long-gone fear I felt, completely paralyzed.
As we rise and enter the Fold, I force myself to stand my the railing, my palms slick with sweat as I look down at how far above the ground we are.
If only Nikolai were here.
I take comfort in knowing that everything aboard this ship has been crafted and designed by him, like a gift left behind, and it's almost as though he haunts these decks, the polished planks and gilded railings a perfect reflection of who he was.
I take a heavy breath of relief the moment we exit the darkness of the Shadow Fold, the light making me squint for a few long seconds before taking in West Ravka. The territory has mostly been abandoned, vacant villages and houses lacking the speckled shadows of humans beneath us.
We land in an apple farm southwest of what's left of Novokrisbirsk named Tomikyana, the name emblazoned into the cannery. The orchards are thick with rich fruit that no one will ever harvest or see and it almost feels like time has gone still due to the absence of remotely anyone.
It's eerie, but peaceful too.
The owner's house is beautiful, maintained perfectly, the roof a white cupola that reminds me of the White Cathedral. At least there's no need to break anything, as I flex my fingers and easily scope out the lock. It clicks satisfyingly and the door slides open without a single creak, flawlessly oiled.
"New money," Zoya remarks as we make our way through the overly furnished rooms, porcelain figurines and fragile vases lining the walls and tables.
Genya studies a ceramic pig. "Vile."
"I like it here," Adrik argues passionately. "It's nice."
Zoya retches. "Maybe taste will come with age."
"I'm only three years younger than you."
"Then maybe you're doomed to be tacky."
Despite Zoya's remarks, I run a hand over one of the pieces of furniture covered by a tarp, the sight of the entire place instilling a yearning inside me. I imagine owning such a place with Nikolai, waking up to the sweet scent of orchards, fighting over who has to take care of the farm animals, ostentatiously decorating the home for the fun of it, going to bed each night content, carefree, relaxed, and most of all, in love.
