Chapter Text
“Sir,” Ivan asks, wary. “What…. What is your face even doing right now?”
Kirigan just smiles wider, faint blush still riding his impeccable cheekbones. “She yelled at me,” he says, sighing almost dreamily. “She told me no .”
Ivan very, very carefully does not look behind him, where he can feel Fedyor’s sudden interest like an inferni’s fireball to the back. “‘No’, sir?”
Kirigan hums. “She told me no, and then yelled at me. It was ... perfect .”
Ivan decides abruptly that he wants nothing more to do with this conversation. His General’s kinks are none of his business. “Very good, sir,” he says. “Beg your pardon, but I have a sudden, pressing need to see to that the rest of our original crew has settled in.”
Kirigan just flaps his hand, still staring into the aether, giddy and starry eyed.
Ivan does not want to know. He books it, grabbing Fedyor’s hand and tugging his too-fascinated looking husband with him.
“No,” he tells his husband. He tries to put as much firmness in his voice as he can.
“But, Vanya,” Fedyor whines. “She’s so cute! And fierce! Look at her, she survived her first assassination attempt and then turns right around and yells at our beloved general!”
He sounds absolutely twitterpated. Ivan groans internally.
“ No ,” he says again. “The General called dibs on any Sun Summoners, remember?”
“I don’t care,” Fedyor says, and Ivan can hear the pout on his face.
He resolutely does not look back.
***
“Vanya,” Fedyor’s lilting voice calls.
Ivan hunkers down, pretending he doesn’t hear him.
“Vanya, darling, we really need to talk about this.”
“No, we really don’t,” Ivan grunts.
“Yes, we do. We can’t let this travesty continue!” Fedyor comes swanning in, looking absolutely crestfallen. “He tried to give her a black kefta! Ivan, the man is so stupid! ”
Ivan privately agrees, but there isn’t much he can do about it. “I told him it wouldn’t go over well, Fedya,” he tries anyway. “But he wouldn’t be dissuaded.”
“See? He’s going to press too hard and she’s going to get creeped out.” Fedyor flings himself like a disgruntled cat across the couch and on Ivan’s lap, so used to doing so that he has the exact trajectory perfectly aligned so that his head lands just so. He looks up at Ivan, his eyes wide and teary. “She’s perfect , Vanya. You should really get to know her. She’s so smart and pretty and just what we were looking for in a third.”
Ivan freezes. “Fedyor, no ,” he tries again.
“Fedyor, yes! ” Fedyor rebuts.
“No, no . He will kill us both!”
Fedyor frowns. “But she’d be so much happier with us.”
Ivan looks down. He shouldn’t have. Fedyor is pouting. His will wavers. “Fedya,” he tries. “She’s in love with that boy of hers in the First Army. And the General -”
Fedyor pouts harder. “The General is an old fuddy-duddy who doesn’t know the first thing about wooing a partner.”
Ivan wavers harder. “But Fedya…!”
“Vanya, just think. We’ll sweep her off her feet, put a little baby in her, and momma will be so happy!”
Momma Kaminsky had been asking about grandchildren. Rather pointedly. For the past decade. Ivan’s iron will crumbles into itty bitty pieces. “I am not taking responsibility for this.”
Fedyor beams.
***
Ivan doesn’t think about it.
No, really, he doesn’t. He sticks to his duties and routines. If he happens to keep an eye and ear out for any further attempts at wooing their General does, well . That’s no one’s business but Fedyor’s, now is it?
Fedyor is the shining personality of their duo. He’s the sweet one, the one everyone turns to for either gossip or commiseration. Which means that Ivan is free to just ...coast along, bitch-facing his way through one disaster after another.
And it is a disaster. Kirigan seems to think that Alina - all of 19 and barely comfortable with her prior identity as a mapmaker let alone the upgraded version of Living Saint - is also a politically savvy, relatively sane, logical individual.
Ivan, thanks to years of exposure to the Kaminsky line, knows better. The girl is completely fucking feral . A little ray of sunshine, sure, but… Look. He’s married to Fedyor . He’s met Fedyor’s mother and calls her momma. He’s had Fedyor’s baby siblings crawling all over him. He knows crazy when he sees it. And Alina? Is not exactly running around with a full barrel.
Fedyor brings her to break her fast with them whenever Genya hasn’t claimed her first - a serious contender in the sudden palace-wide race to woo the girl away from the General before everything goes tits up - and Ivan gets to sit politely and grunt every now and then as the two giggle and share stories. It is… pleasant. Fedyor is right. She is pretty when she isn’t hissing like a hell-cat and trying to jab her pointy little elbows in his face. And she is smart in her own way.
Still crazy though, but Ivan doesn’t mind that. He married Fedyor, after all.
***
Fedyor eventually lands just enough pointed elbows of his own that Ivan takes the time to apologize sincerely to the girl for what he said at her first dinner.
Alina blinks up at him, surprised. She looks at Fedyor, who is beaming proudly at Ivan, then looks back at him. She nods slowly, eyes still wide.
Ivan nods back.
He pretends he isn’t preening at the slowly developing blush crossing her face.
***
Ivan hears the laughter before he sees them - Genya and Alina clutching each other as they howl. Alina is gasping for breath between giggles, while Genya is practically crying.
He studies the pair, noting the deepening blush on Marie and Nadia’s faces where they are standing.
“It’s not that funny!” Marie protests lightly.
There’s a snort behind them, and Ivan peers around to see Polina leaning against the wall with Pavel, watching Alina and Genya with contemplative eyes as she slowly peels an orange. “Tell me exactly how you managed to set the Black General’s ass on fire again?”
Marie’s face is bright red and she stutters, meanwhile Genya and Alina start howling again.
Ivan decides that he doesn’t want to know.
***
Fedyor comes in grumpy one night. “I’m being reassigned,” he mutters after flopping down on their bed.
Ivan glances up from their paperwork. “Where to?”
“Ketterdam.”
Ivan considers his husband. Puts down his pen. “Did Kirigan catch you flirting with Alina again?” he asks.
Fedyor groans. “I don’t think so? Nina went missing apparently.”
Ivan considers this too. “Nina is …” he trails off, not sure how to word it without offending Fedyor. Fedyor likes the little waffle thief .
“Capable of fending for herself?” Fedyor mutters. “Yes, I know.” He pulls his head out of his pillow and frowns at Ivan. “You must up your game in my absence. Do not let Genya win this.”
Ivan sniffs.
“No, I’m serious!” Fedyor exclaims. “Genya’s good . OH!” he exclaims, snapping his fingers. “Watch out for Zoya while I’m gone, too.”
At this Ivan’s back tenses. “Zoya?” he says carefully.
“Yes. She’s due back from Tsibeya this week, and once she finds out about, well, everything, you know she is going to be all over that.”
Ivan growls. Zoya is an opportunistic bitch at the best of times. But she was clever . The damage she could do with the Sun Summoner’s influence in her pocket would be devastating . Not to mention the consequences of Alina falling for the chit and then finding out about Zoya’s pathological inability to commit. He thinks carefully and then stands, moving over to a chest at the corner of their room.
Ivan smiles to himself. Fedyor is watching him, curious, like Ivan doesn’t know Fedyor has nosed his way through every nook and cranny. He pulls out the little safe from under the spare keftas, pulls out a key and unlocks it. Rummages around for a second before pulling out a small black leather pouch. He pauses for a long moment. He still isn’t completely sold on bringing Alina into their relationship, but… he isn’t completely opposed to it either. Sighing, he relocks the safe and packs it away.
Fedyor is watching him with wide eyes when he turns back around. “ Vanya ,” he breathes out softly.
“Think this will work?” Ivan asks, handing over the pouch.
Fedyor takes it carefully, and it warms something in Ivan to see it. He opens it and lets a fine gold chain fall out onto his waiting hand. At the end of the chain is a small gold locket with a small black pearl in the center. The locket is a simple oval locket, but it’s engraved with a fine filigree scrollwork, delicate and lovely.
Fedyor’s eyes are soft and warm when he looks back up. “Vanya, are you sure? This was your mother’s. I know I’ve been pressing the issue, but…” he swallows. “If you’re not sold on her, don’t do this just for me.”
Ivan thinks he loves Fedyor more than ever. “Fedya, if it were left to me I wouldn’t even have you.” He crosses the room and sits next to his husband. Tilts over and presses his forehead against Fedyor’s. “I love you. And I don’t dislike her. If she’s the one you want, then she’s the one you get.”
Fedyor smiles at him, kisses him sweetly. “Then woo our girl well while I’m gone. I’m counting on you.”
Ivan grins. He’s never let his husband down. He doesn’t plan on starting now.
***
Ivan does his best to keep their morning routine of breaking their fast together in Fedyor’s absence. It is awkward, at first, without Fedyor’s presence, but Alina gamely does her best to try and talk to him, feeling him out with slow and careful words for topics on which they can both converse should he feel up to talking that morning. The mornings that he doesn’t, she learns over time that he doesn’t mind if she talks, that it in fact can be somewhat soothing.
They both miss Fedyor though.
Alina hands him a small, slim book one day. “I’m sorry,” she says, flushing. Her voice goes high and somewhat breathless as she rushes out the words: “I know Fedyor got reassigned because of me. And he’s been so sweet to me and I know he is the reason the other grisha have been so welcoming and I don’t have anything to repay his kindness or the way he took me under his wing or the way you look out for me because of him. But -” she gestures at the book he holds, “I just wanted to thank you both? I hope you’ll like it. I tried my best.”
And then she turns and flees down the corridor.
Ivan stares after her, mind picking apart the rush of words slowly and carefully. Unless he is in a battle situation, he doesn’t react quickly to most things, preferring to analyze before he takes any further steps. However, in this, he has the strange feeling that he has misstepped somewhere, but is not quite sure where. He misses Fedyor. Fedyor got people. Fedyor would know what Ivan has missed and how to fix it. Looking down, he opens the slim book, and freezes.
Fedyor smiles out at him, lovingly rendered in black ink. Ivan leans against the closest wall he can find, staring. The likeness is uncanny. Alina even managed to capture the mischievous sparkle in his eye. He flips slowly through the book. Some are just quick sketches, clearly rushed little studies of Ivan and Fedyor both. Others are beautifully detailed drawings, with a level of detail that Ivan didn’t know a simple - and self-admittedly mediocre - mapmaker could capture.
I tried my best. As if her skills were in some way inferior.
(Ivan saw that absolutely horrible portrait of Kirigan that Baghra had been sneaking into the palace catacombs for some odd reason. That portrait had been done by a so-called professional only a few months before Alina had been discovered, and Kirigan had thrown it away almost immediately. What Baghra had it for, or why she felt the need to stash it in with the rest of the junk that had accumulated down there was anyone’s guess, but the point is that while Ivan couldn’t draw a straight line if someone paid him, he knows talent when he sees it.)
He frowns. They’ll need to work on her self-confidence, clearly. He makes a mental note to talk to Fedyor and Genya both about it. He also makes a note to watch Kirigan more closely, before his otherwise astute General happens to catch on and take advantage.
***
It is, of course, easier said than done. Ivan has many duties that he cannot just throw off. And there is also the fact that despite what Fedyor thinks, Kirigan is most definitely onto them all. Ivan ignores Kirigan’s suspicious stares as he goes about said duties. It is moments like these that he thanks the Making that he was made with a generally stoic face - it is hard for others to read his moods on the best of days.
Genya is suddenly far busier than she’s ever been, with Kirigan curiously no longer pulling her away from her responsibilities in the Grand Palace for random errands. Genya looks pissed any time Ivan happens across her, and he wisely keeps his head down, his mouth shut, and his expression stoic whenever she happens to glower suspiciously at him.
Zoya does come back, sadly in one piece, but Kirigan immediately assigns her to the nurseries to “learn how to control her temper around those less experienced than her” with a bloodthirsty little smile on his face. That is just cruel and unusual punishment, especially for Zoya, who cannot stand children. Ivan makes sure to smile at her as she storms off. Good luck wooing a Sun Summoner while on fire and covered in vomit.
Pavel and Polina, minor contenders in the palace-wide project to avert the outright disaster that is their General’s idea of courting, are abruptly being sent out to Kribirsk on a fool’s errand. Nadia and Marie have already bowed out, making damn sure never to be caught alone with Alina in anything less than a group of at least random 6 grisha within spitting distance of each other. (They are all a little free with their romances, but not even Kirigan would believe that Alina would consent to a massive orgy in public spaces. That cold logic does not take the suspicious look off his face, but it does restrict him from assigning commitments that everyone and their mother knows is punishment for looking at his Sun Summoner.)
In the game of winning the Sun Summoner’s heart, Ivan alone remains in the Little Palace. Well. Ivan and Kirigan.
But Kirigan doesn’t count. Because Kirigan is stupid. So fucking stupid .
He’s lucky he’s pretty , is all Ivan can think when he finds his commander cornering the girl in the Library of all places, telling her yet again about how “they were going to change the world.”
Ivan looks at Alina’s awkward little smile as her eyes desperately look for any way out, and sighs. He reaches out and knocks, walking forward and immediately dropping his gaze down to the reports in his hand. “General, I have those reports -” trails off as he raises his eyes and acts as if he had not realized he was interrupting. “My apologies, sir.”
Kirigan’s back is tense, and his hands are twitching at his sides, but Alina shoots Ivan the most grateful look he’s seen from her yet.
“I’ll just ...go,” the girl squeaks out, slipping by Kirigan as quickly as she can. “I’m late to my lesson with Baghra, it wouldn’t do to keep her waiting!” She gives a nervous little laugh and practically runs away.
Kirigan turns slowly. “Ivan.”
“Sir.” Ivan considers his General seriously. He hands over the reports that, to be fair, Kirigan did ask for. He debates with himself about what he is about to do, but… the look that had been on Alina’s face moves him into speaking. “I mean no disrespect, but please take my advice. When a girl is that desperate to skip out of a room, she is not interested.”
Black eyes narrow. “Alina is-”
“Not a thing to be owned,” Ivan interrupts firmly, watches as the General blinks, startled. Ivan never interrupts him. Never . But this cannot go on much longer. “She is a girl , General, a human being and your underling besides. We have all listened to the way you speak to her. We all see the way you look at her. You are obsessed with an idea in your head. It is highly inappropriate on many levels, at the very least because of the power imbalance of your respective stations. You do not see Alina Starkova. You see the Sun Summoner.”
“She is the Sun Summoner.”
“And she is also Alina Starkova. Tell me, sir, what are her dreams of the future? Where does she see herself in the next 10 years?” Ivan folds his arms across his chest. “Do you even know her favorite color or flower?”
At this, Kirigan looks lost. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Studies Ivan. After a long, painful moment of silence, he shakes his head. “Get out,” he says.
Ivan doesn’t hesitate.
He closes the doors behind him, turns, and nearly runs into Alina. He backs up a step, but she follows, something determined in the set of her jaw, the tilt of her face. She doesn’t say anything at first, simply stands on her tip-toes, braces herself against his chest, and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek.
“Thank you,” she says softly, quietly, obviously not wanting the General to overhear that she was not, in fact, on her way to Baghra’s hut.
And then she turns and flees down the hallway, blue kefta fluttering behind her.
Ivan presses a hand to his cheek. Thinks about the little leather pouch burning a hole in his pocket.
***
Genya slaps him the next time she sees him. But then she laughs, and hands him a letter from Fedyor. “You’re a fucking cheat, Ivan,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you did it, but Alina can’t stop blushing any time your name is brought up. Zoya is having a cow right now she’s so pissed, and it’s the most entertaining thing I’ve ever seen.”
Ivan simply stares at her.
Genya rolls her eyes and huffs before stalking off, grumbling.
Only when he is sure she is gone does he smile.
Good.
***
The entire Little Palace is on their tip-toes.
Ivan alone knows the reason.
Kirigan, thankfully, has taken some of Ivan’s advice and has backed off. Well. To a degree.
It could be better, because his version of backing off is lurking around any corner Alina might happen to be, watching her. It has gotten to the point where both the palace maids and the oprichniki are running interference, sneaking the girl out through the servants corridors and switching up her schedules with no prior notice.
This in turn makes Kirigan irritable. And the more irritable he gets, the less control he seems to have over his powers, which in turn means everyone is reminded of the biggest open secret of the Little Palace: Kirigan is the Black Heretic and they are all, literally, playing a very, very dangerous game.
Some might be surprised that they all know. Ivan would call those people stupid. In a palace full of corporalki, who can hear a lie a mile off, how could they not know? Everytime he introduces himself, his heart stutters over the lie. Every time he comes back after a 2-3 decade long absence, claiming to be his own son, his heart stutters. Every time he proclaims his loyalty to the Tsar, his heart stutters. Every time he claims to want to destroy the fold - well, one gets the idea.
And, of course, grisha are notorious gossips. Ivan does not typically partake, but he is an inside source, and feeding Fedyor the best pieces of news is always a good way to get kisses. Right now, according to Genya, the rumour mill is going haywire. She whispers the most pressing rumours to Ivan - the ones where Alina is concerned - and does her best to do damage control.
Because everyone has noticed that Kirigan is slowly and rather quietly losing his mind, and as a result, even Baghra has been seen outside of her hut, squinting suspiciously at the General.
Anything that can make that onerous old bat leave her sweltering fire-hazard of a hut cannot be good.
***
Ivan wakes one night to a light knocking. He opens his door and doesn’t hesitate to let Alina in when he sees her face, drawn tight with fear and a somewhat sad resignation. He gets her settled on the couch, quietly alarmed by the way she is shaking, stokes the fire a little higher, and makes her a cup of tea - plain with no sweetener.
(Fedyor doesn’t know how she can stand to drink it that way, but Alina always laughs at his not-so-sly attempts at doctoring her drinks. Ivan doesn't have the heart to tell him that Alina probably doesn’t even like the taste of sugar, having not had much access to it most of her life. Fedyor is not ignorant, but sometimes he forgets that not everyone had access to a loving family of comfortable means.)
Alina sips her tea, and slowly, steadily, relaxes. Ivan sits next to her once he has his own cup. He sips and waits.
“I woke up and my room - my bed - was covered in Shadows,” she finally whispers, as if speaking too loud will draw attention. She pauses for a long moment, before asking, sadly, “He’s not going to let this, me , go, is he?”
Ivan’s jaw clenches. He carefully sets down his tea before he crushes the delicate cup. Fedyor would kill him if he ruined his mother’s china. He debates with himself for only a hot second before he realizes that Fedyor would have already stalked out of the room in search of their General.
(It may surprise people to learn, but Fedyor has always been the more bloodthirsty of them. Ivan can kill an entire room full of people without blinking an eye, but Fedyor can do the same with a smile on his face while making them all scream for non-existent mercy. In a fight between Fedyor and Kirigan, Ivan would be hard-pressed to place a bet. It would largely depend on who got the drop on who.)
He doesn’t get a chance to say or do much of anything in reaction before Alina sets down her tea beside her. She turns to him and puts her head against his chest and starts to cry. He freezes for a long moment, but then he draws her closer, wrapping his arms around her, holding her tightly. He holds her until she cries herself to sleep, then carefully picks her up and settles her in the bed, tucking her in securely.
He sits back down on the couch and stares into the fire, thinking.
It is a long night.
***
“Ivan, what is this?” Doe eyes look up at him through inky lashes, the beginnings of a blush crossing her face. In her gentle hands rests his mother’s locket.
Ivan is a man of few words. He prefers actions and always has. “It’s a gift,” he tells her. He gently takes the locket back and undoes the clasp. “Let me put it on?”
She turns and pulls up her hair, baring her little neck. Ivan carefully settles the necklace just so, and spends a long moment just staring at the size comparison of his hands against her. He could break her. She’s so tiny .
Alina’s heart is thundering in his ears, but when she turns to face him her jaw is set. “I’m going to do something very stupid,” she announces.
Ivan raises a brow, curious. “Oh?”
“Yes,” she says firmly. With absolutely no warning, she leans over and presses her lips against his own.
And - oh . He relaxes into it, pressing back with just enough intent that when they separate, Alina is glowing faintly and smiling.
“Not stupid,” he says and has the pleasure of watching her entire face light up in delight.
***
Ivan gets the news that Fedyor will return in time for the mayhem that the annual Winter Fete involves.
Ivan is grateful.
It is getting difficult resisting the urge to punch their General in the face. Fedyor will not help him restrain the urge, but Ivan feels much more comfortable about his chances of survival with Fedyor at his side.
***
Ivan isn’t surprised when Alina knocks gently on their door later in the week. She smiles up at him when he opens the door, rising up on her tip-toes to give him her now-customary kiss on the cheek before she slips into the room. He watches as she moves over to the bed, pulling back the covers and climbing in.
Ivan dims the lanterns and stokes the fire, listening as her heart slows and her breathing settles. He settles on the couch, preparing for another long sleepless night.
She doesn’t stay with him every night. She can’t. Kirigan would notice if she was suddenly no longer sleeping in the Vezda suite, but at least one night a week he can make sure she gets a full night of sleep without worrying.
The hour is late when their door opens and Fedyor comes slinking in, quietly shutting the door behind him. Ivan is already halfway across the room by the time his husband turns back around.
“Vanya? What are you doing aw-” Fedyor starts, too loud.
“ Shh ,” Ivan shushes him even as he pulls his husband into a hug. He clings, breathing in his husband’s scent. He doesn’t care that Fedyor smells like sweat and horse and brackish water. It is enough that he is here and in his arms again.
“ Vanya ,” Fedyor sighs. “Not that I don’t appreciate the welcome, but why are you still up?”
Ivan pulls back and hushes him again, gesturing over to the bed. “Keep your voice down,” he whispers. “She doesn’t get much sleep as it is.”
Fedyor stares at the sight of Alina Starkova in their bed and turns wide eyes back to Ivan. “Vanya. Milaya . I know I told you to woo the girl, but I didn’t exactly expect to come home to her in our bed.”
Ivan shakes his head. “That’s not -” he breaks off before frowning. “Wait. Were you not serious about pursuing her? Did I misunderstand?”
Fedyor shakes his head. “No, you didn’t, but I didn’t expect to come home to her in our bed either.” Something flickers across his face. It’s not quite jealousy, but it isn’t exactly pleasant either. “Did you -”
“No!” Ivan hisses. “No, Fedya, it’s not even like that.” He pulls back fully and gestures over towards the couch, which has a small mound of blankets on it, clearly showing where he was while Alina is in their bed. “We need to talk, Fedya. Kirigan has lost what little marbles he has. And I don’t know what to do about it.”
Fedyor looks at Ivan. He looks over at Alina. Looks back at him. “Ivan. What is going on?”
Ivan sighs and just says it. “She keeps waking up in a bed crawling with his Shadows.”
Fedyor goes pale. He gapes at Ivan as if waiting for Ivan to break out into a smile and tell him he’s joking. Ivan just stares at him.
Ivan has the briefest moment where he wonders if he broke his husband. And then Fedyor’s expression goes absolutely murderous . Without saying a word, Fedyor turns and stalks back out the door.
Ivan blinks.
And then reality smacks him in the face and he races out of the room after his husband. “No, Fedya, you can’t kill him!” he shouts.
“Why not?” Fedyor snarls out.
“Despite everything he’s the only safety net most grisha have!”
Fedyor spins around, stalking towards Ivan now. “That is no excuse!” he hisses. “We cannot let this kind of behavior go, Ivan! Right now it’s just shadows in her bed. What happens when she wakes up to find him in her bed?”
Ivan holds his hands up. “I’m not saying that we need to let it go, I’m just saying we can’t just run in and murder him in cold blood.”
Fedyor studies him for a long moment, furious and bristling like a particularly pissed off alley cat. Finally he smiles, cold and cruel. “Oh, Vanya,” he purrs. “I’m not going to kill him.”
“You’re not?”
Fedyor’s smile widens. “No. I’m going to go home and fetch my mother. ”
Ivan pales. “Fedya… Can we revisit the murder plan?”
***
They do not, in fact, revisit the murder plan.
***
See, Momma Kaminsky is a lot like the ocean. On the surface, for the most part, she is calm and vibrant, awash with color and teaming with life. A lot of Fedyor’s friendly, at-ease demeanor was learned at her knee. However, the deeper one dives, the more one realizes that monsters lurk below. And every now and then, a storm hits and well .
As Ivan waits on the front steps of the Little Palace, Alina standing beside him looking alternatively worried and excited, Ivan can’t help but recall the last time Momma Kaminsky had arrived at the Little Palace, and the utter chaos she left behind.
Ivan clears his throat. “Alina.”
“Yes?”
“If you see Baghra anywhere near Momma, run .”
Alina’s eyes grow wide. “Is…. Is Mrs. Kaminsky like Baghra?”
Ivan shakes his head minutely. “She’s worse .”
***
The line of wagons that pull up to the Little Palace should be concerning. Ivan, however, is sighing in relief. There are only five wagons. It means that Momma Kaminsky is by herself and is only planning on a short visit. Ivan cheers up immeasurably. He loves Fedyor’s mother, he does , but he really doesn’t need the added stress right now. It’s bad enough that he’s constantly on the lookout for further escalation from his General, he doesn’t need the all-out war that is Baghra and Momma butting heads over their respective rearing methods of baby grisha.
Momma hops down out of the lead wagon before it even stops, already marching towards where Ivan stands with Alina tucked behind him. Fedyor follows sedately, smiling smugly with a very noticeable glint in his eye that says he’s eagerly anticipating the coming bloodbath.
“Well, come on out child, I won’t bite,” Momma says as she gets within hearing distance. She has a welcoming smile on her face, but Ivan notes her eyes are ...not exactly cold per se, but definitely not as warm as they could be either.
He hears Alina take a deep breath, and then she steps out from behind him, head tilted in that stubborn way of hers. He can’t see her face, but he knows she has her own version of Fedyor’s smile, the sunshine-y one she uses when she is vastly uncomfortable and trying to hide it.
They stare at each other for a long moment.
“What even are they feeding you, child?” Momma suddenly blurts out, grabbing Alina by the chin and turning her face side to side. “No, no. This won’t do at all. Fedyor, when exactly was she discovered to be grisha?”
“A little over 5 months ago, momma.”
“And she’s still this thin?” She snorts and drops Alina’s chin. “Your General is an idiot. See to it that my supplies are delivered to the kitchen at once.” She turns back to Alina and smiles more warmly than she had originally. “Come, child. Walk with me and show me around the Little Palace. It has been an age or two since I’ve last been and I’m sure some things have been adjusted since my last visit.”
Ivan shudders in remembrance. Her last visit had resulted in half the Little Palace having to be rebuilt .
He watches as Momma takes Alina in hand, not-quite dragging her off. Fedyor comes to stand beside him, still smiling his grim little smile.
“Fedya, are you sure this was wise?” Ivan asks plaintively.
Fedyor’s smile widens. “Don’t worry, milaya,” he practically sings out. “Momma will be gentle with her.” He pats Ivan’s shoulder and then heads off back towards the wagons, calling out instructions to the servants as to what trunk goes where.
Ivan whimpers. “I wasn’t talking about Alina ,” he mutters.