"I understand you've met my mother."

General Kirigan sat relaxed and loose limbed on Cresana's balcony, watching her face for her reaction. It had been almost four weeks since Cresana had seen him last, and the weather was beginning to change. The crisp bite in the air this early morning betrayed the coming of autumn.

Cresana nodded. "I did."

Kirigan waited for her to continue. Cresana felt the pressure of his gaze, and she knew it would be unwise to play a battle of wills with this man. At least, not this early in the morning.

"She told me some interesting stories of your Grisha traditions," Cresana continued. She assumed Kirigan knew the extent of what Baghra had revealed to Cresana; no doubt Ivan had divulged this information, as he was the only other person who could have possibly told Kirigan that Cresana met his mother.

Kirigan nodded, a wry smile playing across his face. "She is a storyteller, that one," he commented. "What else did she tell you? More about Grisha lore? Or about my plans for you?"

Cresana was intrigued as her previous interaction with the Black General had much more coy. There was a directness in his mannerisms today and in his line of questioning. Cresana found it refreshing; she was tired of playing games.

"She told me that you are my Directive."

Kirigan nodded, the smile on his face widening.

"I doubt you were surprised," he ventured. Cresana shook her head.

"Not surprised. Honored, but not surprised," she agreed.

"What else did she tell you, then? Surely that cannot be all." Kirigan's eyes bored expectantly into Cresana's.

"She told me that you plan to make me into a Sun Summoner." It was the first time Cresana had actually acknowledged the possibility of becoming a Grisha out loud, and she found a small thrill run up her spine at even the hint of such power. She took a deep breath and swallowed, trying to stuff that prideful part back down into submission. Pride was a foolish trait, especially for a Blade.

"Ah, I see." Kirigan's smile vanished. He broke eye contact and gazed off over the gardens into the distance. There was a cloud of mist rising up over the roof of the Little Palace, and the sunlight was the color of champagne as it filtered through the vapors. It was a beautiful morning, breathtaking truly, but Cresana found the view tiresome compared to the interesting man sitting across from her.

Kirigan had been notably absent in the days following Cresana's visit with Baghra. When he had finally knocked on Cresana's chambers this morning at sunrise, Cresana had felt a sense of relief. She hoped the waiting would be over. There were many questions she had, loose ends that needed answering. She had decided after some deliberation that, if Baghra was correct and Kirigan did plan to make her a Grisha, she would accept. The nagging suspicion that his plan would proceed with or without her consent was a bit troubling, but she tried to push that from her mind as she felt perfectly capable of making her preference known to him, by violence if necessary.

Cresana had, at first, resolved to leave the Little Palace after she learned of Kirigan's plans. She had even gone so far as to ready her belongings, such as they were, and plot her exit route off the balcony and onto the roof by cover of darkness. As Cresana had sat on the threshold of her balcony waiting for the light to fade from the sky that night, she had felt a strong inner conflict about her decision to leave.

Part of her – the Blade – wanted to distance herself from this palace and from the General as quickly as possible. Blades were not political operatives, nor were they to be used by their Directives for their own purposes. Blades did not obey the commands of their Directives; in fact, many of the most successful Blades had directly violated the wishes of their Directives in the interests of protecting them. That was a Blade's role – protect and preserve.

But there was another part that rebuked this notion. It was the prideful part, Cresana knew, and it shamed her to realize how tantalizing this side of her found the promise of power. If she truly was made into a Sun Summoner, she would not only be one of the most powerful Grisha in Ravka, but also the most powerful Blade. This could be the beginning of a new generation of Blade training. It could usher in an era of peace, for who of Ravka's enemies would be foolish enough to confront the Second Army if they were bolstered by ranks of Blades with Grisha magic?

And as exciting as those possibilities were, Cresana knew that in a very secret and dark corner of her mind, there was an image of her standing next to the Black General with crowns on their heads. That image, more than any other promises or possibilities ahead, was what clenched her gut in anticipation. The intoxicating idea of being more than just an assassin in the dark, a faceless mercenary. To be someone that others knew, by name. To be recognized, feared, revered, and loved. That was why she had stayed.

"The transition will not be easy, or painless." Kirigan interrupted Cresana's reverie. She startled slightly at the intrusion of his voice on her thoughts.

"Pain does not worry me," she replied truthfully. She doubted that whatever difficulties the transition could pose would even remotely test the limits of her endurance. The Institute had made sure of that.

"I don't doubt that," Kirigan said. Was that pride Cresana detected in his voice? Admiration? She felt a warmth in her stomach at the thought.

"When do we start?" She was anxious to begin.

Kirigan laughed. "We can start as quickly as you'd like. But, Blade, you should know that once I begin the transition it cannot be stopped, undone, or reversed." Cresana half expected him to ask her if she was certain if she wanted to continue, but he did not. He simply looked at her, measuring her reaction. She realized that all he was offering was a delay – albeit a modest one at best, she expected. He could offer her time before beginning, but not the option of bowing out. Cresana half wondered what would happen if she did decline. How far was he willing to go to see this plan through?

The thought was gone as soon as it appeared, replaced instead by a flicker of the image of her standing next to Kirigan, both of them in black keftas, both of them wielding their Small Science at the head of the Second Army.

"I'm ready," she stated confidently. The greedy light in Kirigan's eyes was noticeable, and had Cresana been less preoccupied with her own prideful thoughts, it would have sent a small chill down her spine.

"Excellent. You'll need to pack your things, I'm moving you closer to my chambers so I can supervise the process. We'll begin once you've settled in." Kirigan stood and turned towards the door, his movements strong and deliberate. Cresana, who had been standing the whole time leaning against the doorframe of the balcony doors, nodded her agreement.

"I'll send Ivan to help you." And with that, Kirigan exited, purposeful and focused. Cresana couldn't help but smile a bit. The process was beginning. The crown and the black kefta were one step closer.

*****

Cresana had very few possessions to pack up, but those that she did have with her – including her Scythe Swords, which Kirigan had at long last allowed her to have after weeks of pestering the servants – were packed neatly in a small bundle at the foot of her bed by mid-morning.

Ivan arrived at lunch time with Cresana's meal: a heel of bread, thick beef broth, and an apple. Ivan watched sullenly as Cresana ate her meal in silence. She felt enmity radiating off him in waves. She had noticed he moved gingerly when entering her chamber and was favoring the hand her blade had pierced. It was bandaged and no doubt it would heal nicely – she had never intended to cripple him permanently – but she could tell that the bandage was too cumbersome for him to use the Small Science at present.

As she finished her meal, Cresana stood and grabbed her packed belongings. Ivan rose too, walking towards the door. Although luxurious, Cresana would not miss these chambers. They still felt ludicrously lavish for her purposes. She would, however, miss her balcony and its breathtaking view. She stole one backwards glance at the sun drenched marble balcony before closing the chamber doors behind her.

"So, what should I address you as now? Blade? Sun Summoner? Concubine?" Ivan's insult caught Cresana unawares, and before she had time to think twice her body was in motion. She grabbed Ivan by the collar of his kefta, throwing him against the wall and pinning his throat with her forearm. She landed a swift blow to his left side with her knee, right where her foot had connected with his ribs in Baghra's hut. He wheezed in pain at the tenderness there; Cresana had not needed to strike hard as she knew that the ribs were bruised from their last encounter.

Although easy to disarm, Cresana felt Ivan's strong frame tense against her in protest. She applied more forceful pressure on her forearm, cutting his breath off.

"You're a slow learner, Heartrender," she sneered, inches away from his face. Ivan growled as he tried to twist his head away from her. She let back a bit on her arm, allowing him to drag in a breath. He coughed, wincing at the pain it inflamed in his ribs.

"Not as slow as you, it seems," he retorted. Cresana's eyes narrowed.

"You really think that you have what it takes to be a Grisha? A Sun Summoner? To stand by the Black General's side?" Ivan's face was beginning to blotch as he tried to suppress coughs and suck in air against the resistance of Cresana's arm. She released him fully. Ivan slid down the wall, grabbing his throat (a familiar sight at this point, Cresana thought drily) and gasping.

"Is that what this is, Heartrender? Jealous that your precious General didn't choose you?"

Ivan choked out a laugh as he gingerly stood back up.

"I've served the General for seventeen years, Blade. I've seen his play things come and go. You're not the first, and you won't be the last. Just another face in a long line of failures."

Cresana snorted at Ivan's statement, although there was something unsettling about it. Cresana knew little of Kirigan's loyalties and true motives, but she was certain that Ivan was one of his most loyal and long serving commanders. What little details she had been able to glean from the servants all added up to Ivan's status as the General's duty-bound, shrewd, and battle-hardened righthand man. So why this blatant outburst? Why the undertones of derision at Kirigan's "failures" and "play things"?

Cresana hesitated, her gaze on Ivan's face as the hitch in his breathing slowly dissipated. Her intuition told her that something foundational in Ivan's loyalty had changed. She had half a mind to ask him why, but before she had the chance a timid servant named Liliana rounded the corner. Both Cresana and Ivan straightened. Although unsure why, Cresana knew that the interaction they had just shared was not meant for other eyes.

"This way, Blade," Ivan gestured, and began leading her down the hall. Cresana followed dutifully. As they passed Liliana, who averted her gaze deferentially and stood aside, Cresana tried to detect if the servant suspected anything out of character. The girl did not seem particularly jumpy or curious, so Cresana decided that her and Ivan's exchange remained a secret.

Her and Ivan traveled the rest of the way in silence. Cresana's new chamber was indeed close to Kirigan's – adjacent, actually. It was much more to Cresana's liking: smaller, simpler, and without needless frippery. She suspected Kirigan may have had the chamber outfitted to better suit her as its simplicity did clash with the rest of the décor in the Little Palace, but she was pleased nonetheless. As she stepped in, she made eye contact with Ivan briefly before he closed the door. She saw something in his gaze that she couldn't quite place, but it unnerved her. It wasn't anger (although there certainly was plenty of ill will between them), but it also wasn't jealousy as she had expected. It continued to gnaw at her as she busied herself around her chamber, rearranging the furniture to clear a space in the center of the room for her training. It wasn't until nearly dinnertime that Cresana finally placed Ivan's expression, and it did nothing to alleviate the growing sense of anxiety she felt about the situation.

It was pity.