KEEP A PENCIL IN YOUR HAND, OR SOMEONE WILL PUT A RIFLE IN IT.
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Lysander Karamazov couldn't count the number of times Ana Kuya had said that to the likes of her and Alina Starkov. Not that they'd ever consider putting one in her hand, knowing she'd die on the spot. But everyone had to help in the war — that's just the way things were.
So, it didn't matter if Lysander wasn't the best with a pencil. She was still a right dab hand better than with a rifle. Besides, it helped with Alina constantly helping her out, improving her mediocre maps and letting her claim credit for them in order to avoid getting into trouble.
No, the fighting was left to Mal even though he wasn't nearly as tough as he seemed. More times than not, it was Alina defending him and Lysander to older boys at the orphanage that liked to pick on them.
Mal and Alina had always been different from the others — even from Lysander, who was a year younger than them. And Alina always told Lysander they just picked on her because she was pretty, though it didn't feel that way to the girl growing up. And even if that was true, she'd never give them the time of day because of how cruel they were to Alina and Mal.
No, she'd spend her days practicing her horrible shading while waiting in the meadow with Mal and Alina, wasting their days away. All they needed was each other.
The three were as thick as thieves growing up, but no amount of Mal's constant presence could ever break the particular bond between Lysander and Alina. Where one went, the other followed. When one moved, the other did to, the pair so in tune with each other that it was eery at times to those that didn't know them. Sometimes they didn't even need to speak to communicate what the other was thinking, which was a rather good thing, as Lysander was a shy thing, too timid to open her mouth and speak up for herself in most situations.
Her shyness wasn't the only reason Lysander kept her mouth shut. She was too afraid of saying the wrong thing — of letting the world know what she was truly capable of. Something unheard of. Something she only practiced in the safety of her room when no one was around. Something she'd never even entrusted with Alina.
Since the age of four, Lysander had been able to call forth shadows and banish them with sunlight in the same way. At least, she could when she was really, really focused. As it turned out, summoning wasn't nearly as effortless as the few Grisha she'd seen made it seem.
But even still, if anyone found out, Lysander knew she'd been taken away. Be taken away from Alina and Mal, so she kept it as a secret, caring more about them than some shiny life in a palace with a general to teach her how to grow stronger.
That was the real reason she liked to keep her mouth shut.
But she didn't need to speak anyway, not when she trusted Alina to do it for her.
If only the quiet blonde wasn't so oblivious to the world around her. Maybe then, she'd see how plainly in love with her Alina had been since they were children.
And maybe if Alina were a little braver, she'd have done something about it.
But she was content to spend her days with her best friend in the same cartographer's unit, helping her draw mountains and making jokes that made her smile. Saints, Lysander had a smile that made Alina's stomach twist and turn uncomfortably — yet she craved it despite the discomfort.
Content. Content was good and safe. Content meant no rejection. It meant she'd never lose Lysander.
Mal watched his friend pine away, making jokes here and there but hating that Alina couldn't buck up and make a move, knowing that Lysander loved Alina too even if she was a bit naive when it came to romance. The tracker was just longing for the day when Alina realized she deserved more than contentness — she needed to realize she deserved happiness.
And one day, when the girl finally summoned the sun, she did.
