This Isn't About Reya

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Svetlana could not bring herself to open the door to her house on the upper level when she arrived.

Instead, she dropped onto the doorstep and sat there, hugging her knees to her chest. The nightly snows were about to begin; she could feel the changes in the wind. It froze the tears on her cheeks, and she produced no more.

She wondered if her mother was inside. If she was preparing dinner. 

"It doesn't matter," she reminded herself. "I'm not hungry anyway."

Her eyes wandered across the street. Intricate metalwork wove its way, like forged ivy, up and around the houses of the upper echelon. Lights shone brilliantly everywhere, some the hard, white light of electricity and others the shimmering diamond glow of hardlight and softlight. Well-dressed men and women strolled down the street, their hooded robes wafting in the wind that slithered between the buildings and into the city. Some parked levitating pods on the curb, and as they set down on the street, their drivers stepped out and quickly pulled their hoods over their heads. There was a soft hum to the street, a quiet vibration as the day came to a close and Dragotsennost' returned home to sleep. 

The lights were beautiful. The street lights, the illumination of softlight power, flowing like water through the superstructure of the city, the warm glow of the lights from the houses permeating through curtained windows - 

And in the spaces between the lights, in the freezing shadows that not even the Russians could reveal, Svetlana saw only Azrael.

Rippling muscle, sinew, clean white bone, tendons and a mane of black hair. Mandibles like scythes, strained and flexed like a wolf baring its teeth. Hands with talons that could have split her down the middle.

And that face.

Expressionless. Unblinking. Bare and inhuman.

And yet it looked so like a boy. Beautiful, brilliant blue eyes.

Svetlana shuddered, but she could no longer feel the wind.

What could she possibly do?

She thought about her father, suddenly. He would be home, soon. The Tower of Victory was not far, and it was late. His pod was not yet parked outside their house.

"He'll find me sitting out here." She wondered what he would say. What are you doing out here? Come on, let's go inside. It's getting cold.

A bitter smirk worked its way onto her face. No, it would be something like, Have you finished your drills tonight? We need to work on your history, get it up to par with your strategic maneuvering.

Always concerned with performance. With the position she would one day fill.

"You have to live up to your lineage," she recited. "Jekate and Ivan and Anton."

And of course, Svetlar.

When she took control of the Soviet metel' one day - the entire might of the most powerful military force in the spread of human space - would she live up to them? Would she be a coward then, too? Would she be this indecisive? Would they know about how she fled an Icelandic girl and a shadow in the woods?

Would they know how afraid she'd been?

"What would Father say?" She turned her eyes upwards. The stars were covered; all she saw was the light pollution of the city burning against the rolling blanket of gray in the sky. "What is the honorable course of action?"

Did it even matter anymore?

What could she possibly do?

If she told her father, he would either berate her and think of her as a silly little girl who sees things where nothing is there and is bullied by a lesser... or he might take her seriously and send a detachment to the woods.