chapter three,     the scars remind her

𝕷iya

TRACING THE SCARS ON HER ARMS, she closed her eyes, listening to the way water was moving around her. One hundred and forty-three scars. Thirty of them were merged into others. Fifty of them were bumpy – once were deep cuts. One hundred and forty-three scars she was aware of.

There was a certain peace being submerged under warm water. Knees pressed to the chest, arms hugging the legs as the chin stayed on the knees. The spine was exposed to the air, chilly and unwelcoming, but the water lulled her. Bath was a luxury she quickly fell in love with in the Little Palace. Washing up in the children's home was always chaotic and clumsy – girls pushing each other, splashing with their handfuls, arguing about the biggest bar of soap. Sitting like this, alone, almost submerged in warm water that was a treat.

The woman's fingers traced the scars on her forearm, counting them all over and over again – on the left arm there should be fifty-six, fifteen deep ones. The weight on her shoulders seemed to roll off as she didn't encounter any new ones – a pretty successful week in the Little Palace.

Liya didn't know what to think of this place yet. Constantly ready for it to crumble apart, for others to invade and run, she seemed bothered by the calmness of this place. The mean whispers of the others didn't bother her, it somehow soothed her, reminding her of the children's home, of the fact that people will always be the same. Mocking the weak ones, mocking things they do not understand, just because it is easier to insult than to compliment.

She wondered if this place could ever feel like home. It seemed like there is a home for everyone only once and she already had it. A family of four – father, mother and two red-haired, giggly sisters. Home, was the smell of gingerbread every winter, the squeaking wooden pallets beneath them, the creaking bed the sisters shared. Only for it to be invaded, the family was left broken and separated.

There wasn't a day spent without thinking about her sister. Countless years of remembering the fire-red colour of her sister's hair was all that was left in her mind. She blamed herself for remembering so little, but it wasn't her fault. When Genya got taken, Liya was only three-years-old. A child, losing the main element that held their family together.

Genya told her that she looks like their mother. If she was honest, she doesn't remember much of how she looked like – a faint smile from a fading face, stored deep in her memory and her soothing voice, quickly overwritten by the wailing screams. Even if the wails bruised her heart every moment she dived into the dream-world, it seemed pleasant to look anything like their mother.

Her sister seemed like a pleasant woman. Even if they were strangers, united by the same blood and flesh – they were only now learning everything about each other. The urge to spill everything was unbearable, the need to cry, to hug her and beg for her to never leave her again or it will become unbearable. But she kept it to herself – cautious as always, even if Genya was her sister. According to her, both of them had time to get to know each other, only because they were safe.

Liya was fine with that – taking her time to get to know Genya, to get used to the new given title to her – a Heartrender... As if she will ever be announced as a valuable Grisha. For now, she was just getting into the rhythm of a schedule – mentoring session every morning, language and history lessons, a free time that was supposed to be a combat practice, but no one let her get near that place.

The mentoring sessions were a huge disappointment and she knew that wholeheartedly even if the General didn't utter a single word even if he promised to tell her if she is failing. Apart from reading emotions, and quickening or slowing the pulse – there was nothing special about her. A Heartrender, unfit to be on a battlefield because, in order to do something, she needed to touch them.

She finally huffed out a sigh, moving her upper body away from her knees, she slowly raised, hands steady on the edges of the bath as she heard how the water was dripping. Feeling like a waste of air, not suitable to roam these halls and enjoy the food and the most comfortable bed, she tried to hold herself together even if she always thought about running away. Yet she couldn't – she just got the chance to meet Genya again.

Carefully, she stepped out of the bath, her right hand stretched out forwards to a chair on which there was a fluffy towel. Quickly wiping herself, she slipped into undergarments, making sure to feel twice that stitches were touching her body and not pushed to the outside; tying the ribbons tight. She put on a shirt, a pair of pants and the silk kefta that seemed like a luxury to touch itself.

Liya was very careful to button it up. She has politely declined the maid that was assigned to her by the General and for that reason, she must always look appealing. No missed button, no unfolded collar, no crinkled materials on her. That's why several swipes, fingers scanning the material over and over again, not getting used to the softness and delicateness of the kefta and the roughness of the ornaments, she finally was ready to face a new day.

Pushing the towel over the chair, she stretched her left arm to the wall, knowing that the door was just upfront. The room was fairly small, but it was bigger than everything she had. The bed took the biggest space in the room, at the end of it, there was a bathtub, where once was a writing table, but was once disregarded as soon as she moved in. Opposite the bed stood a closet and beside it was an armchair.

Pure luxury she didn't deserve.

Liya always skipped breakfast, that's why she soon found her way to the garden. In the first days, Fedyor was more than eager to give her a tour and take her wherever she wants to. On the fifth day, she was thankful for his help, but she didn't want to bother him anymore as she was fine – she remembered her way from her room to the gardens, to the General's office and the dining hall. Usually, from the dining hall, she would follow the giggles of small children into the classrooms.

Oh yes, a grown woman was sitting in a history and language classroom with small children. It was still a topic of the ongoing conversations in the Palace, but she learnt to just ignore them. She had nothing to say in her defence. There was no reason to defend the fact that she was without any skills.

Walking out of the room, she quickly forced her body to the wall on the left, moving to the right – to the gardens. She walked carefully, hands stretched in front of her as she quickly felt the little table on which she has stumbled her knee and her toes several times already. She dreaded the fact that she saw only darkness and nothing else – day or night, hell, she wouldn't even know if it was day or night. Complete darkness. She could only see vivid images, blurring together when she would fall asleep, but sleeping was complicated these nights.

Soon enough, she let out a satisfied hum as her hands touched the grand, carved door with her outstretched hands and she gently knocked on them and they opened from the outside. There were always two guards guarding it. She quickly was met with the floral scent as she murmured a soft greeting to them both before she stepped down the three stairs and moved to the right, her footsteps crunching the gravel.

The scent of Lavandula Angustifolia didn't overthrow the stench of Fjerdans that was lingering in her nose this whole week. It soothed her down enough that she wouldn't remember the tiny cage she was held in for Saints know how long—she was treated worse than an animal, no food, water was a delicacy and the constant degradation that she soon learnt what it meant.

Drüsje. A witch.

Demjin. A demon.

Shimkopper. A piss bucket.

"What are you doing here alone, child?"

Liya was so deep in her thoughts that she didn't hear the appearing voice and she flinched, grasping her hands in horror. Knowing that she wasn't in danger, she let her shoulders loose, pushing her head to the sound of the source. "Taking a walk," she answered, voice shaky.

"You come here every day. In the morning and the evening," the woman's voice was rough, scratchy and deep. She hasn't encountered her before. "Shouldn't you be having breakfast with the others?"

"I am content with having a meal once per day. I have heard that overeating after..." Liya couldn't dive into the starvation she felt when she was captured, "Overeating can be a cause of sickness."

The woman hummed, tapping something hard against the gravel only to realise that she was with a cane. "Is that the reason or are you avoiding the insults of the others?"

In fact, the only time she would hear the whispers are during the dinner time. Most of the time she was surrounded by children and they were far more distracted by everything to give any thoughts about her. The older ones, teenagers and adults, were on and off about her – some of them pitied her, but didn't dare to go talk with her, the others mocked her since she was a waste of space in this haven.

Perhaps she didn't want to be surrounded by those talks more than she can handle, but she was starving for weeks and overeating was dangerous for her. It was a good reason to not attend public places and she will use it for as long as she can.

"It is the reason," Liya admitted, pushing her hands behind her. "I believe we haven't met. Are you one of the mentors?"

"In fact I am," the woman agreed and she soon hooked one of her hands over Liya's, making the youngest Safin flinch again, but she complied and both of them started to walk forwards. "I wanted to mentor you myself, but the Darkling has refused. I am sure you know that others get mentored by several teachers."

It did seem like the General was keeping her away from the adults as much as possible, but she didn't disagree with his actions. She was a guest here and she had to get used to the routine they gave her, to the comfortability they provided and be thankful. She was grateful even if all of this seemed odd.

"The General thinks he can find something—interesting about my abilities."

"And you don't think so?" The woman asked.

"I am failing the lessons."

"No Grisha became great in a week."

She knew that. But it was hard to believe that when during the sessions she could read the Darkling's emotions and the bitterness of his disappointment when she couldn't project what he was telling her to, was slashing her throat with embarrassment. He didn't say she was a spot of grey in this spacious palace, but she could feel it herself.

"He is being hard on you?" The woman asked as if she just read her mind.

Liya choked out a cough, unexpectedly, moving her head to the side, trying not to trip, "I have heard from others that there is another mentor that uses more violent ways of teaching."

The woman audibly chuckled, "Yes, my cane has been a threat for all."

The red-haired ears turned pink. How was she so foolish not to put the puzzle pieces together and realise that this was Baghra, the oldest mentor and Grisha to roam this palace? Saints, she was such an idiot...

"My apologies... I didn't know it was you."

"Calm down, child," Baghra exclaimed, her rough voice somehow lighter, "Sometimes violence brings out the little science others keep hidden."

The breath got stuck in her throat as a little smile lingered on her lips, oddly feeling safe around this woman; or was it the effect of Lavandula? "Are you going to hit me with your cane now?"

Baghra exhaled a very pronounced laughter, hitting the gravel harder with the cane, "I don't think pain would help bring out your abilities."

"Perhaps there is nothing to bring out of me?"

The woman's hand gently tightened around Liya's: "Ah," she exhaled. "I see now how it is."

Furrowing her eyebrows, Liya turned her head to the right where Baghra was, feeling that she was way smaller than her. "The General thinks my past is holding me back."

"He is not wrong," the woman shrugged, "but you don't trust him."

The inhale hurt her lungs and she sniffled. She didn't trust him because she didn't know him. In addition, the rushed conversation with Genya let her know that this place wasn't as peaceful as she imagined. The oldest Safin encouraged her sister to not trust powerful men – the King, the General, the higher servants and the other Heartrenders. She said, that in this place, the competition for power was cruel and she was a newbie. Others wanted her to fail.

That's why Liya didn't know what to reply to Baghra's words. It wasn't a very good quality for a soldier to not trust their General. He seemed like an interesting man, contained and eager to discover new things, but she didn't want to say her whole story to him, afraid he might use it against her.

"You're right not to trust him," Baghra spoke and that sentence made her heart drop. Now, it just sounds odd when two people tell not to trust the Darkling.

"Is there something about him I don't know?"

There was hesitation Liya could feel coming from Baghra. Their arms intertwined and that already let her feel the emotions of the woman at the back of her palm.

"You know as much as everyone else does. Which is nothing."

Liya's lips quivered slightly, letting out a deep exhale through her nose. "My sister told me not to trust powerful men."

"Men are way more prone to getting their heads messed up by power. We, women, hold so much pain within ourselves and it helps us to rationalize the given authority. If you are smart – you will always be cautious."

For most of the part, Liya believed that women were meant to endure pain. The childbirth, the loss of their beloved, losing their child because of the war – her mother endured it all. She died out of the heartbreak – she had enough of the pain.

"We are in the middle of a war. I don't think anyone can feel calm," Liya admitted. "Not when the enemy—is so determined."

"How long were you captured by Fjerdans?"

Her knees felt weak – she had no idea how long she was captured there, but it must've been a few weeks at least. She didn't like to remember the little cage that haunted her at nights, the piercing whips and shackles, the spitting and the touching.

"Too long."

Baghra stopped and that made the younger woman halt as well. The older woman gently grabbed her palm, squeezing it almost too hard, but that made her heart clench. Never has she felt such a reassuring touch and it made her tear up as if she was a weakling—how pathetic.

"Your power will be stronger if you will allow herself to accept that you are a Grisha. Captured by an accident or not – it is haunting you and it will if you won't realise that there is no way back. You are here now – make the best of it."

Blinking rapidly, she squeezed out a smile, saving a small space for Baghra in her heart already. "You are not as violent as they describe you."

"Don't get on my bad side, child."

"I don't intend to."

A sudden voice made both of them slightly flinch, "Miss Safin! There you are."

Liya felt how Baghra's heart spiked from the Darkling's voice. It was a mix of intimidation and pure sadness and it made her wonder why she was feeling like that. However, she had no time to think about it as she turned to the front, hearing the upcoming footsteps.

"General," she gently bowed her head as a way of showing respect. "I am not late, am I?" She hasn't heard the nine chimes of the elder clock in the distance yet.

"Not at all. I was just wondering where you were since I was informed you skipped breakfast again, but here you are," his voice was low and raspy and it was always making her back cover in shivers. It was deep and velvety – so lulling and mesmerising. It made her want to close her eyes and listen to him talk all the time, but then the reality would hit her – so velvety, but she was afraid of him. It felt like a trap, like a pretty disguise.

"You should make sure that she is always being accompanied by someone," Baghra admitted, tapping the girl's hand before releasing it. "I hope I will have a chance to talk with you again, Miss Safin."

Within those words, the footsteps with the little thuds of the cane moved away from them and within each echoing footstep, her heart thundered. Saints, she always felt so nervous around the Darkling. Always thinking if her kefta was clean, if she didn't have anything on her mouth, if her hair wasn't a mess. After a long time in her life, she was bothered that she couldn't see someone. She couldn't know if he was judging her, if he felt disgusted by her and it was torturing her.

"You denied the maid again. You hurt me, Miss Safin," he hooked his arm around her elbow and she swallowed a grunt since his touch was dangerous, it was toxic and for some reason, it felt horribly tempting.

"It is never my intention to hurt you, General," she admitted, turning her head away for him as they slowly moved forward.

"Yet you want to do everything alone. Fedyor is more than eager to help you. In fact, he cannot stay quiet about you," he said, his voice calm, like a deep sea you are not meant to dive in and search for its secrets because of the dangers lurking there.

Saints, the shivers again.

"He is really sweet. But I know he has his duties and I can assure you that I memorised most of the paths in this Little Palace. I thank you for your concern, General."

The Darkling sighed, "Always so polite with me... Are you afraid of me, Miss Safin?"

Her body tensed, but she tried to roll her shoulders back to loosen up, "Not at all."

"You may be able to sense my emotions, but I can see when you are not being truthful," he pointed out.

"New places unnerve me – that's all."

The man hummed, his deep undertones making her head dizzy, "I don't want you to be afraid of me – you can count on me."

"There is no fear for you, General. Just a little bit of intimidation."

The Darkling chuckled audibly, she could almost feel how he shook his head. "Then it's perfect."

A smile crept on her lips, "You want people to be intimidated by you?"

"A little bit of intimidation makes my day more interesting."

"So you are not that kind of person to joke with?"

The Darkling scoffed, "Why's that?"

"Fedyor told me your sense of humour is limited."

"Is that so?" his voice gently raised, but he seemed cheerful. "I'll need to have a conversation with Fedyor."

"To broaden your comedic aspects?"

The man laughed wholeheartedly, "I doubt he could help me with that." Breathing in, he spoke again, "I can see that you are being wary of this place and I'm in no position to force you to adapt. However, your well-being is important to me."

Liya felt her cheeks warm up. She was so deprived of touch, of kind words, that any little affection turned her head around. It was hard to have a clear mind when this man was so alluring, but Genya and Baghra warned her about powerful men.

"I'm really thankful to hear that. I haven't had a chance to thank you for your generosity. This," she extended her hand at her kefta and to the garden, "this is new for me. I assure you, I won't disappoint you and train as hard as I can."

"That's the quality I admire the most, Miss Safin. Determination."

With that being said, she flushed again and had to hold herself back from hitting her head. She had to focus. She had to stay in the middle of all of this.

author's note

what do we think of Liya so far?
and how do you find the genya's chapters?
thank you so much for the support <3

m.n