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Chapter Text

In the South of Ravka, there sits a small, poor village named Keramzin. In the small, poor village named Keramzin, there is an orphanage founded by Duke Keramsov, where it houses all the children orphaned by the border wars.

Maria Volkova is one of the many children orphaned due to skirmishes at the border when she was a child. She, along with two others who have since left, were taken to the orphanage in the dead of night by some First Army soldiers.

Maria has been at the orphanage ever since.

It’s not so bad, she reflects most days. Yes, the children are underfed and undereducated, and the younger ones get beat and mistreated by the bored older children, but it’s a step up from being dead.

At eight-years-old, Maria has all but one friend in her dreary life, and Alina Starkova seems to make up for the lack of food and for the pathetic life they lead.

Alina, if Maria has to describe her, is sunshine. Pure, radiant sunshine. And if Alina is sunshine, then Maria herself must be a plant of some kind, like a flower. Because if flowers don’t get sunshine, they wilt, and if Maria doesn’t have Alina, she’ll wilt as well.

Maria knows it’s a little more than just that though. Alina was her first friend, her closest friend, and her only confidant. In a sea of heartbeats, Alina’s is the only one that stands out to her.

Maria knows what she is. Everytime she looks in the mirror, she can see her mother staring back at her, their faces as familiar as the power they hold at their fingertips.

“𝘚𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘚𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴, 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘬𝘢.” Mama had explained, glowing exuberantly at her child having the same abilities as she herself did. “𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘓𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘗𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺.”

These days, Maria doesn’t think much of the Little Palace, the far-off land where Grisha children like herself are trained to serve the Second Army. Maria knows she could give her dreary, half-abusive life up in Karamzin the second the Grisha testers come around this year. A small part of her wants too.

A small part of Maria wants to sleep in a proper bed and eat full meals and not hide her abilities.

But the bigger part of her screams, Alina! What about Alina?! Suddenly, Maria is disillusioned with the life of a trained Grisha.
She would never, ever, consider parting with Alina.

That is why, when the Grisha Testers do come for their yearly trip, and the woman in a blue Kefta takes her hand, blood runs down her thigh, staining her pants and hidden by her dress.
The cut stings terribly, but it’s a small price to pay.

“This child is not Grisha.” announces the woman, disappointed.

Alina, behind the tester, sends her a beaming smile. Maria doesn’t notice the blood pooling in her palm, too caught up in the radiant grin.

“Very well,” sighs Ana Kuya. “Next!”

Maria and Alina escape outside, and run as fast as they can to the Meadow. Together, they collapse between the overgrown grass and flowers, their eyes transfixed on the cloudless, blue sky.

“Promise me you’ll never leave me.” Alina suddenly says, sitting up. There’s blood on her clothes, but that’s not new. Maria sits up as well, ignoring the pain at her upper thigh. Alina’s grin is infectious, causing her own lips to curve immediately.

“An oath?” Maria asks jokingly, but her eyes are serious.

“Yes,” answers Alina. “An oath.”

Blinking softly, Maria cups Alina’s hands in her own, dismissing the blood transferring onto her skin. “I, Maria Petrovna Volkova, swear that I shall never part from you, Alina Starkova, unless I am dragged away kicking and screaming.”

Alina’s giggle is sweeter than the most wonderful of summer days.

“We’ll never part, Mashenka,” she cries dramatically, flopping on her back. “We’ll join cartography together, be spinsters or something.”

Maria snorts at her display, and falls back as well. “Of course we will, Alinochka. Something like that.”

Later in life, Maria will look back fondly of the memories she has of her and Alina in the meadow, laughing and giggling like the children they were. She’ll cherish them, and keep them close to her heart.

But for now, the steady rhythm of Alina’s heartbeat lulls her into this soft, summer afternoon, the calm before the storm.

Chapter Text

“Somehow, Alya,” begins Maria uncertainty, “I think this is a terrible idea.”

Alina Starkova and Maria Volkova are fourteen years old, and Alina is sure she’s just had the best idea of her life. Maria, unsurprisingly, disagrees.

“It’ll be fine!” insists Alina, mischief clear on her lovely face. “Ana Kuya is sleeping like the dead right now.”

“You want us to steal vodka from her storeroom, Alya.” snorts Maria. She crosses her arms over her chest, doubt evident in the tone as she continues, “That woman could rise from the dead, if need be.”

Alina giggles brightly.

Like always, Maria is struck by the sound, heart stumbling over a couple beats. Despite hearing it before a million times, she is always taken aback every single time. Alina seems to have that effect on her more often than not.

Alina’s giggles, combined with her pleading look, is enough to make Maria cave.

“Fine,” she grounds out, sighing dramatically.

It’s so incredibly ironic, she thinks in the back of her mind, that everybody in the orphanage thinks she’s coldhearted and stubborn, yet it takes Alina four minutes and a mere look to get Maria to bend to her will.

She is so gone for this girl. Saints help her, she thought.

“Yes!” cheers Alina, almost glowing with happiness. Maria can hear her heartbeat speeding up from it’s usual pace, indicating that Alina was genuinely happy about their little scheme. Somehow, that makes it all worth it.

Oh Saints, Maria thinks drily. She’s a bloody sap.

“Do you wanna keep watch or get it?” questions Maria, pushing herself off the wall she was leaning on. She privately hopes Alina chooses the second option, as it provides her a chance to practice her small sciences.

(She’s ninety percent sure she won’t burst Ana’s heart.)

To her happiness, Alina does choose option B, and before she knows it, they’re splitting up.
Maria sneaks along the dusty hallways; it’s one o’clock in the morning, so nobody is awake. She and Alina are a little bit too used to sneaking out, seeing as they do it more often than not, so she glides through the halls, unseen and unheard effortlessly.

Ana Kuya’s quarters are easy to break into, and as Alina predicted, she is asleep. Surprisingly, however, it’s a light one. She’s only just fallen asleep.

A small smirk spreads over Maria’s face as she raises her hands, mimicking the pose her Mama taught her when she was a little girl. Index and middle fingers up on each hand, and crossed with one another to make an ‘x’. Concentrating deeply, Maria recounts her mothers’ distant words.

'𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘬𝘢. 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘵.’

It’s terrifying using her abilities sometimes. If Maria had gone to the Little Palace, she’d have been labelled as a Corporalnik, a member of the Order of the Living and the Dead. Her mother would tell her constantly about her time as a soldier in the Little Palace, before everything went awry.

Maria would’ve chosen to become a Heartrender there, as she’d done now. Sure, she could probably heal somebody to some extent now, but she’s certain that the differences between the Heartrenders and the Healers is knowledge.

You probably need to know a lot to heal someone as effective as Grisha Healers supposedly do.

Her mama, Yelena, had taught her the basics of Heartrending, from when her abilities manifested at the young age of three, to when she died when Maria was eight. From there, Maria had to do her best.

It was a lot of trial and error, mostly. She couldn’t use her abilities on animals, and she had to see her targets. Her mother, her incredibly powerful mother, was able to heartrend with one hand, which should’ve been impossible, but Yelena Stepanova was stubborn, strong, and of course, only had one hand.

Maria had only seen it a couple of times before her mother had died, and she longs to be able to do the same. Alas, she doesn’t want to risk accidentally killing another human, and on top of that, she has no idea how her mother accomplished that sort of feat.

With ease, Maria guides Ana Kuya into a deep slumber, and holds herself back from doing more.

That would feel… violating.

Maria, for good measure and because Alina had put her in the mood to cause trouble, swipes a loaf of bread from the kitchens after slipping out of the room. At least they won’t drink on empty stomachs.

She makes her way down to the cellar silently, padding down the stairs quickly. It is only because she senses Alina’s heartbeat that she doesn’t jump when they round the corner at the same time.

Her friend, however, does not have that luxury.

Alina startles, stuffing a scream in her hands, and almost drops the two bottles she’s holding. Swiftly, Maria braces her by the arms, steadying her from not only falling flat on her ass, but from dropping the vodka.

“Saints, Mashenka!” huffs Alina, shifting a bottle to the crook of her elbow so she can place a hand to her chest. Her heart is beating wildly. “A little warning, next time!”

“Sorry, Alinochka.” Maria apologies, an impossibly charming grin on her face. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Sensing her amusement, Alina lightly smacks Maria’s arm playfully. “сучка,” she grumbles.

Covering up her snort with a cough, Maria swallows and says, “Come on then, Alya. Let’s go get drunk in a field or something.”

Alina doesn’t attempt to cover her snort, and they’re off.

Chapter Text

Two hours later, Alina and Maria are drunk in a random field.

Well, Alina is drunk in a random field. Maria is only slightly tipsy, because she’s a weary little thing, and men drunker than Alina walk the path close to them often.

“Mash-enka!” Alina giggles, prancing around drunkenly in a circle. “Th-Thanks for help--” hic “--helping me!”

“You’re welcome, Alinochka,” Maria snorts exasperatedly. “Now lower your voice, would you?”

Alina huffs loudly, sighs dramatically even!, and flops down next to her. Clearly, she’s out of energy.

Usually, Alina doesn’t have much to begin with anyway, but tonight she seems especially fluttery about something.

“Look at the stars, Mashenka.” Alina slurs. “They’re so-” hic! “-pretty!”

Maria has to agree with Alina there. The stars are beautiful, shining brightly against the dark canopy of night. It reminds her of Alina a little; a shining star against a dark canopy, that being the dark canopy of the life she’s been dealt.

It’s pathetically sappy, but Maria has long ago accepted (although not necessarily enjoyed) her adoration for Alina Starkova.

With a soft sigh, Maria lets herself fall onto her back next to Alina, one arm tucked beneath her neck for comfort. “Yeah, Alinochka. The stars are beautiful.” She hears Alina shift, and then suddenly, feels her warmth breath against her cheek. It smells heavily of spirits, unsurprisingly. Maria turns her head, and meets Alina’s eyes.

Suddenly, the atmosphere seems incredibly tender.

Alina, without saying a word, brings her hand up shakily, and brushes Maria cheek almost reverently. Maria wonders if she is drunk as well, if she is imagining things. If this is all just a mere mirage. It feels too real though; Alina’s fingers against her cheek, still smudged with graphite; an owl hooting in the distance.

They’ve always been close, Alina and Maria. They’re each other’s first friends, but they’re not sisters. Their relationship is a strange thing, something that Maria has always been afraid of touching for fear of destroying it. She’d rather have Alina as her best friend, watch her meet a boy and get married and have children, then not have her at all.

A flower cannot survive without the sun.

Maria wonders silently if the vodka has messed with Alina’s head, whether it is giving her false ideas and feelings.

(Maria will look back on this moment, and realise that the vodka gave Alina courage.)

“Alya?” She whispers shakily, uncertainly.

Alina only hums in reply. Her fingers, nimble and light, brush a few strands of hair away from Maria’s face, tucking it behind her ear gently. “You’re so beautiful,” Alina whispers, voice half slurred.

Maria almost, almost, flinches back. She can feel her heart speed up, Small Sciences unnecessary. “You don’t mean that,” she whispers back, not unkindly. Why have the saints decided to play with her feelings like this? “Alya, you’re just drunk.”

“I’m drunk, not blind.” Alina retorts, eyes soft. “You’re beautiful, Mashka.”

Maria takes a shaky breath in. “Please, Alya,” she says. “Please don’t do this to me.”

“Don’t do what, Mashka?” replies Alina.

“Get my hopes up.”

Maria takes a shuddering breath as she admits it. She prays Alina won’t remember that in the morning.

Suddenly, Alina pulls herself up into a sitting position, drawing her hand back from Maria’s face. Maria almost flinches again as Alina confesses, trembling, “But you’ve been getting mine up for years!”

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵?

Maria reels back as though she’s been slapped straight across the face.

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴!

The words tumble around in her head as Maria tries to make sense of them.

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴!

She opens her mouth - she doesn’t know what she’s going to say but she has to say something - but Alina is apparently not done.

Her brows scrunch together, and her cheeks flush. “I don’t understand, Maria, I don’t! I don’t understand how you could get my hopes up for years, and ask me that!”

It is the first time in memory that Alina has called her by her full name. It’s always Masha, or Mashenka. Or, more recently, Mashka.

“I’ve been waiting since I was ten, Maria!” bursts Alina, anger and sorrow and heartbreak flying across her features.

Maria wants to burst her own heart when she sees the expression on Alina’s face, the tears gathering in her lovely eyes.

“I have been waiting for you to give me a straightforward answer over whether you felt the same.” She reveals, chest heaving. “Yet you give me nothing but mixed signals! You hold the doors open for me and you sleep in my bed during the winter to keep me warm, yet somehow you keep me at arms length!”

“Alina-” Maria tries, voice quivering.

“I’m not finished.” She huffs, crossing her arms. “Please,” Alina says, voice drooping, “just be honest with me, Masha.”

𝘉𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵.

“Alina,” Maria begins shakily, as though professing her sins. “Alina, I have loved you since I first set eyes on you.” Tears blur her vision, but she continues, “and how could I have not? In what world could have existed where I didn’t fall truly, completely, irrevocably, madly in love with you?”

They’re both crying now. Years of pent up feelings are being released, and all Maria wants is to make Alina feel better. She presses their foreheads together, and holds Alina’s hands in her own like they're made of glass, and she continues to profess, to speak her truths to the one she loves.

“If such a world exists, Alinochka,” whispers Maria, “it would be my worst nightmare. A world without you is a world without me, because if you’re then sun then I’m the flowers, and we both know flowers can’t survive without the sun.”

“Why?” Alina utters the single word, and it’s a blow to Maria’s heart. “Why would you never tell me?”

Maria shrugs, but it seemed pathetic. “I didn’t know if you… liked me like that. And so I held my tongue, because I’d rather have some of you, than none of you at all.”

It is silent for a moment.

The only sound is from the owls in the distance.

Then Alina, beautiful, bright Alina, looks Maria dead in the eyes, and tells her, “Have all of me, Mashka. Have all of me and I’ll have all of you.”

And Maria is sure she has died and gone to heaven, when Alina pulls her in by her shirt, and their lips meet, and Maria finally knows what home feels like.

Chapter Text

Maria Volkova is eighteen when she proposes to Alina Starkova.

There's no big, flashy proposal. There isn't a swirl of rose petals and getting down on one knee. Saints, she doesn't even process the proposal until a couple of hours later!

Instead, it's a quiet Sunday afternoon, and Alina and Maria are sat on the roof of the orphanage.

Maria had been given the location of a hatch by an older girl named Svetlana a couple of months ago in exchange for a 'therapeutic massage.' There was nothing therapeutic, really. She got to practice her abilities while also gaining things simultaneously.

Did that make her a bad person? Maria doesn't quite care.

They're sat in the roof of the orphanage, watching the sun sink down, bathing everything in a myriad of pinks, oranges, and reds.

It would make a lovely watercolour painting.

Unfortunately, Alina doesn't have watercolours, so she tries her best with old coloured pencils.

No words are exchanged between them in these moments. The occasional sound of Maria taking swigs of Kvass rings out, but other than that, they're swathed in silence and the golden glow of the sunset.

Maria enjoys looking at Alina, which sounds weird when she puts it like that, but she really does.

Alina is beautiful.

Her shiny dark hair glimmers like silk threads in the fading daylight, brow creasing in determination as she switches an orange pencil for the red. Her skin almost glows, all signs of ill-health being washed away tenderly by the loving sun.

Maria is suddenly struck by this intense desire to do... something. She's half drunk, she won't lie, but she knows that she has to do something now to ensure she and Alina will never part.

They're going to the First Army in a week, Cartography for the both of them. Maria is no where near the artist Alina is, but it's apparently enough that she can be accepted to the Cartography Unit. Perhaps they're desperate.

Maria pulls herself up into a sitting position.

Alina, absorbed in her work, doesn't notice.

Around her neck is a chain bearing a golden ring, tucked beneath her shirt and close to her heart. It is Maria's only possession of her Mama's.

She'd been clutching it when soldiers pulled her from the smouldering wreckage of her house, just a little girl, freshly orphaned and covered in soot.

It's almost been a lifeline to her since coming to the Orphanage. It's a quiet testament to the trauma she experienced (the fire, burning hot; her mother, screaming as they dragged her out; the carving of the Saints on the mantle, Maria's prayers). To her past, which she survived, to her present, where she is now, and to her future, where she will go.

It has been her lifeline, something she would hold onto when she secretly practiced her abilities and thought of her Mama in her last moments.

It will be safe with Alina Starkova.

By giving this ring, she not only gives a declaration of her love, but she gives herself, all of herself, to this incredible young woman who's had her heart for years.

Maria slips the chain off her neck, and allows the ring to fall into her palm.

It was her mother's, passed down to her by her own parents, and now it will be passed on to Maria's soulmate.

"Alya," whispers Maria. Alina looks up from her page, eyes attentive. "Yes?" she asks, unknowing of the way she drives Maria absolutely wild.

Maria maps her face out, committing it to memory as though she's never seen this girl before. The warmth of her eyes; the slope of her nose; the gentle, sweet smile gracing her lips.

Saints, Maria wishes she could live in this moment forever.

Herself, Alina and the sunset.

"Alina Starkova," Maria swallows down her fears, "Will you marry me?"

Silence.

Alina's pencil clatters to the roof of the orphanage, hands flying to her mouth, tears shining in her eyes.

Maria's inner monologue is something akin to, 'fuckfuckfuck', panic welling up on her stomach.

"Alinochka? Are you— oomph!" Maria catches Alina as she leaps across the small space dividing them, clambers into her lap, and kisses the fucking daylights out of her.

Alina is like a thousand suns; bright; bold; beautiful; and without her Maria will positively wither. She has to have done something right in her past life to have earned Alina's love in this life. Or perhaps the Saints have blessed her, for some unknown reason.

Whatever it is, Maria doesn't quite care.

Alina Starkova is in her lap, and as she draws back from Maria's mouth, she affirms, "Yes. Yes, Mashka. I'll marry you."

Joy threatens to overwhelm her.

Maria guides Alina's forehead to rest on her own, their heartbeats synchronising in their quickened paces. Alina tastes of sunlight and honey, the perfect combination for a girl who may as well be the sun incarnate.

"I love you." Alina states it as though it is a fact, and in her mind, it is. She loves Maria Volkova, and she will love her to her last breath and beyond the grave.

"Accept my ring as you have accepted my heart so long ago, Alinochka." requests Maria, opening her palm to reveal a shining golden band with a jewel the colour of the true sea.

Alina gasps. “It’s beautiful, Mashka.” She allows Maria to slip it onto her finger, heart hammering in her chest. It’s a little loose, but Alina will figure something else later to make sure it doesn’t slip off.

“I love you,” Maria tells her sincerely.

Alina’s smile is blinding. “I love you too.”

They get married on a Sunday in the church of Sankt Dimitri of the Meadows, a common Saint around these parts.

Alina wears red, to honour her Shu heritage. Maria finds the nicest dress she owns and throws it on.

The priest blesses their marriage, and they make their vows as the sun sets; unorthodox, but it represents them.

“I, Maria Petrovna Volkova, take you, Alina Viktorovna Starkova, as my wedded wife and I promise you love, honour and respect; to be faithful to you, and to not forsake you until death do us apart.”

She’s crying, she distantly realises. Tears run down her cheeks, joy threatening to overwhelm her.

“I, Alina Viktorovna Starkova, take you, Maria Petrovna Volkova, as my wedded wife and I promise you love, honour and respect; to be faithful to you, and to not forsake you until death do us apart.”

Alina is crying too as it comes time to exchange rings.

They both have their mother’s rings, Alina’s which she dug from the bottom of their things, where it had laid untouched for years.

Maria’s hands shake as she takes her mother’s ring, sapphire glinting in the late evening light. They meet eyes as Maria slides it onto her ring finger, choked up with emotion.

Alina smiles at her, knocking the breath from her throat as she takes her own mother’s ring — an ornate gold band with a jade stone — and slides it up Maria’s ring finger.

The priest says something Maria doesn’t process, until Alina pulls her in for a tender, loving kiss, and oh.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥.

The thought hits her like a train.

They break apart, and Maria laughs exhilaratingly, circling an arm around Alina’s waist, and kissing her so hard she dips her towards the floor.

The younger orphans in the audience giggle, and Ana Kuya clucks her tongue, but Maria doesn’t care, because she has just married Alina Starkova, who is staring at her as though she’s hung the moon and stars.

“Now hurry up on your honeymoon, the building is only going to be empty for an hour!” snaps Ana Kuya.

Maria laughs, and unexpectedly sweeps Alina into her arms bridal style.

Life isn’t faultless, but in this moment, it is perfect.

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, Kribirsk had once been a sleepy little market town along the Vy, the road that leads all the way to the capital, Os Alta.

Now, it's surrounded by a permanent military encampment, for Kribrisk is situated right near the Fold, a place of darkness and terror and flesh-eating Volcra. The Fold hadn't always been there. In fact, five centuries ago the place had been called the Tula Valley, and it had been full of lush fields and wealthy homes. Now, it is nothing but grey sand and shadowy nightmares, with the only things living there the fearsome Volcra.

Maria is about excited as anyone to enter the Fold again, which of course means she'd rather choke on a bunch of grapes. Unfortunately, Cartography had gotten their orders, and they were to enter the Unsea (a name coined for the Fold so that people would be less afraid to cross it) and go to Novokribirsk in West Ravka.

There, the Cartographers will be doing something related to ink and paper, she is sure. Maria wasn't listening during the briefing, too distracted by the shape of Alina's mouth.

Maria has only been into the Fold once before, three years ago, and it was when she was a young, junior Cartographer. They'd needed someone to replace some maps, and because everyone else in her unit was scared out of their wits, she'd volunteered.

Don't get her wrong, Maria had been scared out of her wits too. She'd spent the night before the crossing curled in Alina's arms, praying to every saint she'd be able to see her wife again.

The crossing was terrifying, and gut-wrenchingly frightening, but they'd gotten through fine enough with no encounters from the Volcra.

On the other side in West Ravka, one of the Trackers offered to give her a scar to mark her crossing. She politely declined.

Maria had gotten to see the True Sea for the first time in her life, and she eagerly collected as many trinkets as she could for her wife, including a blue-and-gold scarf that Alina wore often.

Weirdly enough, it is the sea shell that Alina adores the most, however.

For the last two weeks, they've been on the road from the military encampment at Poliznaya, where she and Alina had done basic training four years ago.

They are no longer Junior Cartographers, and are now fully trained, a fact that Alina has never been more glad for. Being Half-Shu, basic training and life in general was hard for her, yet she never allowed Maria to beat some sense into the bastards, and instead dealt with it on her own.

Maria is reminded every single time this happens that she is so ridiculously in love with her wife.

As they near the encampment, Maria's hand entwined with Alina's, the Fold comes into view, and everyone shivers.

It is one thing to see it on a map, draw it even, then to see it in person. It's a looming cloud of pure darkness, and Maria knows personally that when you enter it, it's cold like a winter's morning.

Alina's hand tightens around her own. Maria offers her a comforting smile, and squeezes her hand encouragingly.
"If we can handle Ana Kuya," Maria whispers lowly in her ear, "we can handle a stupid shadow."

Alina snorts at the ridiculousness of her sentence. "If I recall correctly," she offers as they begin to make their way down the road, following their unit, "the last time we crossed Ana Kuya, we got our ears boxed and ended up mucking out the stables."

This time, Maria snorts, swooping down to kiss Alina's cheek. "That was all your fault, dearest Alinochka."
"Was not!" protests Alina with a laugh, reaching around to cuff the back of her head jokingly. Maria sticks her tongue out as Alexei, one of the boys who'd joined up with them, stumbles past them looking queasy.

Smiling fading, Maria grabs the scruff of his jacket and pulls him back, startling the poor boy. "Hi, Masha," he greets nervously, eyeing the cloud of darkness before him.

"Alexei," starts Maria, "you need to breathe. We'll be fine, alright?"

He nods nervously as Ruby, a pretty blonde, passes them, throwing Alina a dirty look. She's hated Alina since basic training, when she'd tried to flirt with Maria only to find out they were married.

It's been four years, but it's a matter of pride.

"Of course we will." Alexei uneasily assures himself, clinging to Maria's other arm. Honestly, the boy is like a lost puppy.

Alina adores him though, so Maria's grown fond of him as well.

They enter the encampment, following the Head Cartographer to their tents. "They've moved them," notes Alexei, nodding his head towards where their tents used to be.

"Yeah," says Maria, "apparently the Second Army needed more space to train."

They watch a group of gathered Grisha, Etherealki judging by their lovely blue Kefta. Etherealki, the Order of the Summoners, is made up of three categories: Tidemakers, with their kefta embroidered in a pale blue, who manipulate the temperature of water to summon it; Squallers, who's kefta were delicately embroidered with shining silver, who raised and lowers the pressure of the air to create storms or gusts of wind; and Inferni, their red embroidery unmissable against the blue, who summon combustible gasses to their special flint-gloves which allow them to manipulate fire.

Maria would not be wearing a blue Kefta had she gone to the Little Palace. She would be wearing a bright red, mostly likely decorated with black embroidery that signalled a Heartrender.

She's worked on her abilities a lot more in the past few years, so much that she fears it'll be too obvious. Practicing your Grisha abilities fuels you, and makes your skin smooth and glowing, your hair shiny and healthy, and your body strong. She’s actually resorted to dusting dirt on her face sometimes to tone down the glow her skin radiated.

It’s a pain, but necessary.

Alina, Maria and Alexei make their way to the Cartographer’s tents, putting down their packs and unfurling their bedrolls to place on narrow cots.

They head through to the Documents tent, their junior cartographers following along to do their required two sketches, where they continue on their mapmaking until dinner.

When dusk falls, they and Alexei head to the dining tent, and Maria prays the cook will just give Alina food instead of sending her to the back of the line.

He does not.

That’s how Maria ends up in the Brig the night before the crossing: for hitting the cook over the head with a metal tray.

Alina visits her (“Conjugal visit, Masha.”) and they giggle about it, and the Head Cartographer comes to bail her out.

He’s not fond of Maria or Alina, but he will admit that Alina’s maps are well done, and that Maria is the only one in his unit that can actually shoot a gun and defend themselves.

“That almost sounds like a compliment!” jokes Maria, shooting the old man a shining grin.

“Get outta my sight, Sergeant Volkova!” snaps Rostov in reply.

Hand-in-hand, Maria and Alina run back to their tents giggling and stomachs rumbling, and they push their cots together and curl up next to one another.

“Tomorrow,” whispers Alina, “we’ll be fine. You were fine on your first crossing, so we’ll be fine now.”

“I’ll protect you,” replies Maria seriously, shifting as Alina curled up into her arms for warmth. “I promise.”

“We protect each other.” Alina tells her firmly, reaching up to press a loving kiss to her mouth. “I love you, Marusya.”

“I love you too, Alinochka.”

And she means it. She means it with her whole chest, her whole being—

“Shut up!” moans Raisa. “Some of us are trying to sleep without hearing your love confessions!”