the winter after

one

[{PART ONE}]

I had been feeling it for weeks now. A prickle on the back of my neck, a shadow a step out of place, a noise when all should be silent. I wasn't a paranoid girl, but it slowly started to wear on me. Ravka was months into its bone-chilling winter, and I was left alone in the middle of a wooded forest.

Mal and I decided to take a break a few months prior. So it was me, alone with a cabin, trekking around in the snow and collecting firewood. When the sun slipped behind the trees, I settled by my small fireplace and warmed my throat with kvas. For every meal it was biscuits and jerky and liquor.

The ritual was almost the same every day, but I didn't hate it. It was a welcome change to the constant bustle of war camps and the annoying pomp of Ravka court. Now that my role as sun summoner was done, I had nothing but time on my hands. And it was mine. Mine.

That was an issue that Mal and I had⎯ I wasn't allowed to be me. Have my own time. He was constantly worried about my habits, and would hesitate to let me do even the smallest of tasks on my own. That was another issue: he wouldn't let me do things. So when we couldn't work it out, we split, and agreed that one day, we'd try again.

He left this past autumn, with a bag in one hand and the reigns of our horse in another. I was sad to see him go. But with him, the past felt like a vise around my neck. It was choking me, and I needed to move on. That didn't mean it didn't hurt. Sometimes it hurt so much that the pain took over completely.

I stared into the fire and sloshed the remains of my kvas. I craved another glass of the bitter drink, but my supply was not infinite, and it would be some time before I felt comfortable enough to leave for the closest market. Winter in Ravka was nearly as bad as winter in Fjerda, and I did not want to be snowed out of my own home.

I downed the dregs, and felt that familiar prickle along the hairs of my neck. I stilled. It was not him⎯I knew that much⎯but still I turned to survey the large room that was my home. In one corner rested my bed, and beside it my nightstand. A desk and bookshelves lined the opposite wall, filled with tomes and candles gifted to me by the newest tsar of Ravka. Nothing moved but the orange flickering of firelight. Shrugging it off, I returned to watching the flames dance.

And so it goes. For days, it was variations of the same thing. I would get an odd feeling, survey the area, and find nothing. Nikolai once told me about times when he was alone and imagined people calling for him. I supposed this was no different. Isolation did weird things to people, and I was very, very isolated.

Maybe that was why I saw it.

A few mornings afterward, I was pulling a sled of fallen branches along with me into the forest. From behind, I heard a crunch in the snow. It was quiet enough to ignore. Sounds were common in the woods. But something in my gut felt off, and after a moment of hesitation, I turned to see what the disruption was. Black flashed across the white landscape, there and gone in a blink. I didn't move for a long second, debating possible causes of the small shadow, none of which made sense. Forcing my adrenaline down, I dropped the handle of the sled and approached the spot it appeared. I was half convinced it was a rabbit until I bent to inspect the snow. There were no tracks. Cursing under my breath, I returned to the sled and pushed what had happened to the back of my mind. Fear and hysteria were not nice things to succumb to when alone, and I was not going to let myself fall into that trap.

Sitting at the fire that night, I figured that the unnerving experiences I had were some sort of subconscious joke. I left Os Alta a year ago, and still I thought of the boy with black hair. I didn't like to think of his name⎯ any of his names⎯ because I wasn't fond of the feelings they brought. Out here in the wild cold, I'd hoped I could face those demons. But emotions were more complicated than that, and if I let my mind dwell too long on the past, my anger would dissolve into something less merciful.

I filed the Darkling away. The shadows and sounds and other tricks that my head played on me went into that cabinet too, and pushed out of reach.

⎯⎯⎯

A week passed. Every so often, shadows flickered in the corners of my vision, and I worked my hardest to ignore them.

But this was different.

I started. "What the hell?"

A chill like no other spread up my back. It felt like someone pressed their fingers to the base of my spine and ran them upward to my neck. The pressure wasn't gentle, and forgetting the task at hand, I jumped and pulled a knife from my belt. I was outside again, collecting wood. The squirrel I caught bumped against my leg as I did a quick whirl.

"What do you want?"  I growled. But nothing answered. Completely on edge, I peered through the snowy foliage. There was no sound except my breathing. I needed to close my eyes and take a deep breath, but I was too afraid of what might creep up on me if I let my guard down.

That night I double checked my lock. Before I crawled into bed, I made sure to triple check.

⎯⎯⎯

The next day, my nichevo'ya bite gave the smallest twinge.

I did not like to think about what that meant.

⎯⎯⎯

At night, silver eyes and pale hands plagued my dreams. During the day, moving shadows followed me as I hunted. The pain in my scar did not go away.

I was almost unsurprised the next morning.

Almost.