From the Ashes of Victory: The Complete Series, page 94
part #0 of From the Ashes of Victory Series
"Thank you," Elise said. "But they will never know my success. And since they are gone, it feels… bad, but also good?"
"Bittersweet."
"Yes. That is my feeling."
The train trundled along, and Victoria swayed in her seat along with the motion, her hands folded in her lap. Though she felt closer to Elise than almost anyone, Victoria still didn't know what to say or do in that moment.
"I'm sorry Millie isn't here," she said eventually.
Elise nodded, finally tearing her eyes away from the window. "Me too. But if she is not, I am happy you can be. You are part of my success, and I do not have to return alone."
"Thank you. That means a great deal to me. I just hope I don't embarrass you with my French."
"People will understand, as long as you try. That is most important."
For Elise's sake, Victoria could do that much.
The train sped on towards the light.
The hotel room was ancient and reeked of cigarettes, but the bed was soft, and that was all that mattered to Katya as she flopped backwards onto it, letting her hands and feet hang off the edges.
It had been a long trip.
They were on the top floor, so as to get Sveta away from as many people as possible, but the window was apparently only for keeping the wind out. As she stared up at the yellowed ceiling, the sound of Paris at night came in just fine, washing over her with the shouts and laughter of those just leaving the bars, and the excited jabbering of those just entering. Hoofbeats sounded alongside the chugging of motorcars, making Katya wonder how she had ever gotten to sleep in a city. Though more modern than St. Petersburg, the life of a city was the life of a city, and Paris made many of the same sounds and smells as her home.
Her old home. Her first home.
Compared to her new one, it was quite the racket. An airfield at night didn't make any noise, even with the windows open. Crickets, of course, but that was it. It didn't sound like a city, or a town, even. It sounded like night.
And the stars. She already missed them. She'd glanced up a few times as they'd made their way here, but she hadn't been able to make out a single one, whereas at home, the entire sky was awash in them. It looked like night.
Katya blew out a breath. How so much had changed.
But not only for her.
"Sveta, are you going to be able to sleep here?"
After so long in the peaceful, relatively sparsely-populated Longstown, being suddenly plunged into a population of millions was clearly taking its toll. Her long auburn hair was unkempt and wild, having been shaken free of the pins that had been put in it, and she was quietly humming to herself.
Then one eye popped open, circling crazily before landing on Katya's face. It was a harrowing moment before it showed any recognition of what it was seeing.
"It's so loud." Sveta's voice was a pitiful plea without being a request. "I can't block it out well. It's better up here, but…" Though she managed to get both eyes open eventually, they simply stared straight ahead from just over her hunched shoulder. "I'll try."
Smiling grimly in sympathy, Katya moved to sit beside Svetlana, gathering up strands of her hair to begin trying to get them back in some kind of order, if only to remove one irritant by keeping it out of her face. "I don't pretend to understand how you see the world, but can you focus on something else?"
"Like what? It's dark outside and we're alone."
"Well, me, then. Or Vita, she and Elise are just on the other side of this wall. Aren't we positive?" Katya said, plucking one of the pins out of Sveta's hair and fastening it again. "Or my touch. That's something, isn't it?"
"Thank you, Katya," Sveta said. Her eye flicked up to Katya's wrist. "But I know you too well. If I listen to you, I'll hear even more. Things you don't think loudly."
"You're in my Coven, I'm an open book to you," Katya said.
"You believe that," Sveta said sadly. "But it's not true."
"How so?"
"There is much you do not say. Your captivity still weighs heavily on you. Your guilt about Grace."
Katya swallowed. "Yes. I know I can't hide that from you; I think about those things a lot," she said. "But just because I don't bring them up doesn't mean I'm hiding them from you. You have enough of others' emotions pressing on you for me to presume to put mine on top of them."
"But I'm your sister. Shouldn't you feel comfortable doing that? Who else should you be able to confide in more than another member of your Coven?" Sveta shook her head. "I longed to be closer to you and Nastya for so long, but it's my Manifest that's preventing it now."
Katya watched as Sveta shrank even smaller. "I should have asked you before presuming, I'm sorry. I would like nothing more than to have someone to talk to about it. Are you sure my insecurities and anxiety are a good distraction?" she asked lightly, taming the last of Sveta's hair. "There, all done."
"I'd like to think them more than just a distraction," Sveta said. "I'm your friend."
Katya smiled for real this time. "I know, and I am very grateful. But what kind of friend would I be if I didn't make sure you get the rest you need? You brought the sleeping draught Ivy made, didn't you?"
"Yes. And the eye mask. And the earmuffs," Sveta repeated for the third time since they'd left Longstown. "It should be enough."
"Is there anything I can do?"
Sveta yawned, her eyelids drooping. "Try not to think too loudly," she said dryly.
"What if I think loudly about quiet things?"
"That would be all right. Just keep thinking about the stars until you fall asleep."
Katya looked to see Sveta's eyes completely normal. "You heard that?"
Sveta nodded. "It gets easier the more time we spend together. Your colour was wistful."
"What colour is that?" Katya asked in genuine curiosity.
"A shade darker than nostalgic," Sveta said with a noncommittal hand motion. "Sort of— grey… ish."
"That's already a non-colour, how can it be grey-ish?"
"I'm sorry I can't perfectly describe the colour of an emotion, Katya."
"Touché."
Sveta smiled. "Bonjour."
"That means 'good morning.'"
"Oui."
"Right. I think we're both delirious enough to go to bed, then," Katya said, flopping back down on her own.
"Enchantée, ma chérie," Sveta said proudly.
Katya shot bolt upright. "What did you say?"
"Enchantée, ma chérie," Sveta repeated, with perfect inflection and somehow, even more pride.
Katya stared, looking for any sign that Sveta was joking, but the earnestness on her face summoned a great bubble of laughter within Katya that only would only need the tiniest prick to burst. "You don't know what that means, do you?"
Sveta shrugged. "I can hear Elise say it every night before bed."
The total innocence in her voice broke Katya completely, and she threw her head back so far in laughter she fell over. Tears were streaming down her face by the time she could gather herself together enough to form a coherent sentence again. "And to whom does she say that?" she managed before another fit of laughter doubled her over again.
"To Millie…"
"Her lover." Helpless giggles shook Katya to the point her stomach started to hurt. "Behind closed doors…" snort "…in bed. Sveta, I know you don't have to be able to read minds to put that together. Here's a hint—"
Katya's last loud thought of the evening forced every ounce of blood in Sveta's body into her cheeks.
"Oh! Oh, no! No, no, no! I didn't—!"
"It's all right, Sveta," Katya purred as she patted the bed. "If that's how you really feel…"
Sveta's face contorted in utter embarrassment before disappearing under her covers.
"Already? Don't you have something to say to Elise first? She's just next door. Why don't I—?"
"Don't you dare!"
Katya made like she was about to knock on the wall, but was stopped short by a pillow striking her square in the face.
Pretoria looked out from the window in the room she'd been given and into the heart of the sun rising over Longstown.
Buildings, scattered trees, patches of grass, there was little to like. The air stank of petrol fumes and was filled with the sounds of industry coming to life. Off to her right, she could see the women who worked here streaming in through the gates, chatting and laughing with one another. A shocking number of them had hair as short as Niamh's, though it was probably that Ravenwood witch's influence, by the looks of it. Nets and hats could keep it out of machinery, Pretoria knew that much; you didn't have to cut it off.
What else had they influenced? The Long Aircraft Concern seemed to be going along quite nicely all throughout the war, why did they open a school for witches? How had they even known about them? Pretoria hadn't even heard of other witches until what EVE had done.
And who's fault was that? was a question Pretoria would rather not think about the answer to, so she thought about something else, something more immediate: she'd soaked her sheets again.
Days after whatever had happened to her had happened, she was still leaking, and it was beginning to settle in that it might be something she was going to have to live with forever.
Her hands were still swollen, her skin still soft and the wrong shade of pale, her hair stringy like wet grass. Only her eyes had been spared from transformation, and for that she was grateful. They were what had always set her apart, but had also been her favourite feature. Amber, honey, she had heard them referred to in many ways, usually whispered behind the hand of whoever had said it. But at the end of the day, they were yellow. She'd never known anyone else with yellow eyes, or anywhere close to it. But she'd never seen grey eyes until she'd met Niamh, and then it had been her turn to stare.
But whatever Pretoria was, or had become, she wasn't about to be a burden, so she tore off her sheets and hung them out the open window, propping up a chair to keep them from falling into the grass below. Compared to Cumbria, Longstown was warmer and drier, and she hoped they would dry quickly, before anyone noticed.
She did it quickly to avoid looking down. She'd never seen a house with two floors before let alone been inside one. That was to say nothing of how big it was. She hadn't counted the bedrooms, but she had never pictured so many doors in a single hallway outside of a hotel. Not that she'd ever been in one of those, either. But that made sense! This was… a house! And it had nothing but witches in it? Built a dozen yards from the most gigantic thing Pretoria had ever seen that wasn't a mountain, the house was brick, yet the wood floors were shiny! Why? Wood was dusty and gave you splinters every now and then, the surface she couldn't help but slide her bare feet over now was like dark brown glass. There was a rug, which was normal enough, she supposed, but it had little tassels on it. Were those for catching dust? The wardrobe in the corner was big enough to hold every piece of clothing Pretoria had ever owned, what had they expected her to be able to bring South?
If they were trying to impress her, well… they were succeeding. Even that ginger downstairs was the tallest woman Pretoria had ever seen. Was anything about this place normal? She had no idea, and it made her even more hesitant to leave her room. What would she find if she did?
With nothing else of interest in her room, however, there was little to do other than wait for someone to come get her.
She didn't have to wait long before someone did.
When she opened the door, standing there was one of the other witches who had been waiting for her and Niamh.
Her black hair was tousled and unkempt but clean, long enough to tumble over shoulders hidden by a black dress slashed seemingly at random with white patches and strips, like fragments of shattered glass.
When she looked at Pretoria it was with warm, open eyes the colour of jade, and they narrowed with a smile that until now Pretoria had only ever seen on dogs. It would have been uncouth to call what she saw there fangs, but she didn't know what other word to use. Far from threatening, they were shiny white, and their owner clearly enjoyed people's first response to them, as her smile widened when she noticed Pretoria's eyes flick down.
"Good morning," the witch said. "I'm Ivy. Welcome to Longstown, Pretoria."
"You know my name, too?" Pretoria asked.
"I do. I knew your aunt. I'm very sorry to hear about her. And you."
"Th-thank you," Pretoria stammered. "You knew her?"
"Not well. But I lived up in your neck of the woods for a while when I was younger. She and Eva taught me a lot. I hope I can return the favour; you must have a lot of questions."
Pretoria's brow pinched together. This was not at all the welcome she had been bracing for, and it had caught her flat-footed. "I… yes," she said. "Eva… Eva said you knew recipes."
"Not as many as I've forgotten, I'm afraid. But I think it's recipes of a different sort we should worry about right now. You must be starved."
The restaurant on the ground floor of the hotel was busy, with waitstaff flitting in every direction to keep up with the demands placed upon them to get the army of diplomats, translators and journalists that had descended on the city for the signing ceremony on their feet and out the door.
EVE was no different—they hadn't much time before their only pre-conference obligation: meeting a member of the Foreign Ministry to receive their credentials and hopefully some modicum of explanation as to why they were here in the first place.
As Versailles was almost an hour outside of Paris, it was an early morning for all, and it was reflected on their faces and those of everyone around them. The smell of coffee warred with that of cigars for domination, particularly for Victoria, who kept her cup of steaming black liquid directly under her nose in hopes of bolstering the former's chances.
The sounds of a dozen French conversations buzzed above the clinking of silverware, leaving EVE's the only one carried out in English as a waiter emerged through the fog of cigar smoke to freshen their tea and coffee only to vanish back into it again.
They had all been famished after their journey, and now that only the barest scraps of evidence that there had ever been a breakfast on the table remained did Victoria look between Katya and Sveta to broach the topic that had been on her mind since she'd woken up.
"You two seemed awfully rowdy last night," she said, stirring sugar into her third coffee.
"We had a disagreement," Katya said, her eyes dancing behind the heat mirage put off by the tip of her cigarette. "One that resulted in us coming to blows, I'm afraid."
Elise jerked up, shooting a look of concern between them. "You had a fight?"
Sveta nodded. "A pillow fight."
At this, Elise visibly relaxed, while Victoria merely dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. "Really, how old are you?"
"Old enough to not care if you approve," Katya shot back, a long tendril of smoke streaming from the corner of her smile. "Jealousy doesn't suit you. Unlike that," she said with genuine appreciation as she gestured to the formal suit Victoria was wearing, complete with tails.
It had started life as one for a young man, but Victoria had had it tailored to her proportions rather than enduring another tiresome go-round with the dressmaker about having a men's suit custom-made for a woman out of whole cloth. Though Victoria was pleased with the final result, the time constraints of the last-minute decision for her to come had also conspired against her, making it feel somewhat second-hand. Even if no-one else would be the wiser, being amongst such august company in it left her feeling more conscious of her appearance than she would have been in something bespoke.
"Jealousy? However did you reach that conclusion?" she asked, deliberately ignoring the compliment. She wouldn't have known what to do with it if she'd accepted.
Katya reached out to tap her cigarette on the ashtray with an arm clad in white. The rest of her dress was lighter-weight and less voluminous than most would have chosen for an occasion as formal as the conference, but was far better suited to the warm weather. The blue and red accents were subtle, but spoke volumes; the three together were the colours of the Russian Empire. "Easy. When is the last time you had a pillow fight?"
Victoria hesitated, making tiny stalling motions as she thought. "Well, I—"
"Never. Right," Katya said.
Sveta nodded. She was dressed similarly to Katya, though forgoing the (to her) amplified discomfort brought on by a corset left her appearing more shapeless than her taller counterpart. Her long auburn hair was done up in threads of silver beads and clasps; Katya's deft talent for hair arrangement on full display.
"See? Elise?" Katya said.
"Millie has long arms. I do not fare well. And she has armour." She looked radiant, her dress a shining pale blue, the same as her eyes. Her hair was much less ornate than Sveta's, a single thick braid that lay down her spine to the small of her back.
"She doesn't use it, does she?" Sveta asked, her eyes twinkling with the answer she received before anyone else.
"Yes," Elise confirmed.
"That's cheating!" Katya exclaimed in mock horror.
"But I also cheat," Elise said, colour rising to her cheeks.
Katya must have noticed, as she leaned in a conspiratorial distance to ask, "How?"
Elise glanced around, but the other tables were deep in their own conversations. "I do not button my shirt. It is very distracting," she said, biting her lips together but unable to hide her smile at saying something so ribald over breakfast in public.
Katya didn't even try to hide hers, smiling hugely as she raised her coffee cup in toast. "Well done."
As their cups clinked together, she turned to Victoria. "Pray tell, what would you do, Vita? Glower?"
"I would expand the pillow to the size of the bed and smother you with it," Victoria said proudly.
"So, you'd cheat."
The others all shook their head in a disappointment Victoria couldn't suss out the earnestness of.
"Forgive me, are there rules to this I don't know about? Isn't a fight about winning?" Victoria asked the table at large, but kept her eyes on Katya.
