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It starts with a well-intentioned act of kindness. One of the pastry chefs at the Grand Palace, Stepan, has been courting a young nursemaid at the Little Palace, Inessa. Their romance is very sweet and quite boring so we’re going to move on to the important part, which is the day that the tsaritsa orders a decadent seafood stew. This is not an easy recipe for the kitchens to fulfill because East Ravka is landlocked, cut off from the sea by the Fold and their enemies.
Luckily, one of the cooks has certain...contacts. Several crates of fish, lobsters, crabs, and clams are quickly brought to the palace. The staff prepare the requested stew, but just as it is ready to be served, they receive word from upstairs.
The tsaritsa no longer wants seafood. Now she wants lamb.
Everyone in the Grand Palace kitchen is utterly sick of seafood, having been surrounded by its smell all day. As the staff prepare to dump the stew, Stepan offers instead to deliver it to his beloved as a treat for her and her coworkers, so that it will not go to waste. Most of the nursemaids at the Little Palace have never even tasted seafood before, and they find the stew delicious. The enormous cauldron is quickly cleaned out as they clamor for second helpings.
Several hours later, the first nursemaid has to run away from playtime so she can vomit into a decorative vase.
The rest fall victim in quick succession. The last nursemaid standing, who was last in line to get her share of stew, has the foresight to send urgent word of the predicament to another staff member of the Little Palace before she, too, must seek a chamberpot.
Officially, Botkin Yul-Erdene’s only job is to train Grisha in the art of hand-to-hand combat. Unofficially, he is the nursery residents’ favorite person to offer comfort after they have nightmares. As a result, he has a friendly relationship with most of the nursemaids, so it is he who receives the hastily scrawled note about the sickness which has befallen them.
“Botkin? Is something wrong?”
He is having tea with one of his favorite students when they’re interrupted by the delivery of the note. Botkin looks up at Alina’s query. “All the nursemaids have suddenly come down with food poisoning. They will need backup while they recover.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
Botkin stands up. “Take this note to the General. He’ll issue instructions.” He deliberately overlooks Alina’s blush at the mention of Kirigan. He’s heard the rumors that there have been interesting developments in that area, but gossip is bad for one’s peace of mind, so he ignores it as much as he can.
Alina takes the paper. “Are you headed to the nursery?”
His stomach roils. “I’m afraid not. I had the misfortune of being invited to partake in the nursemaids’ luncheon of seafood stew earlier.” He turns away from Alina’s wide-eyed stare as he serenely walks into his water closet.
The doors to the War Room are open. Alina tentatively sticks her head in and hears voices coming from Aleksander’s study. From her vantage point, she can see Ivan and Fedyor’s profiles as they face Aleksander’s desk, but Aleksander himself is just out of sight.
Fedyor notices her presence first and smiles. “Good evening, Alina.”
Beside him, Ivan closes his eyes as if he’s already dreading what’s coming.
There is the scraping sound of a chair being pushed back, and then Aleksander’s tall frame fills the study door. “Alina,” he says, his voice carefully neutral as his eyes search her face curiously, with the hunger of a man who has been denied his favorite meal for far too long.
Alina has been doing her utmost to physically avoid Aleksander ever since she decreed that she will not kiss him as long as Marie is designated to be her body double at the Winter Fete. Now, she is keenly reminded of why she took that precaution: every cell in her body is howling for her to run forward and throw herself against him, wrapping her arms and legs around his torso and refusing to let go.
Discipline! Self-discipline! She chants the words silently like a mantra, willing the rest of her to obey her brain. If she gives in now, what kind of precedent will that set for their future arguments? All he’ll have to do is stand there looking unfairly pretty and she’ll give in, just like that? No! Unacceptable.
She waves Botkin’s note. “There’s a situation in the nursery.”
All three men’s gazes sharpen, and Alina is reminded that the denizens of the Little Palace take the wellbeing of their youngest very, very seriously. “What kind of situation?” Aleksander asks as he steps forward to take the paper.
“The nursemaids all have food poisoning.”
He skims the note, brow furrowed. “So it’s not contagious. No quarantine necessary, then, but we’ll still want to pinpoint the source of the illness.” Aleksander glances at Ivan, who nods and begins to stride out of the room.
“It was seafood stew,” Alina blurts out, and they all look at her again. “Botkin is sick too. He said he ate it with the nursemaids.”
Aleksander curses under his breath. “We’ll need to get reinforcements elsewhere, then.” He looks at Ivan again. “Find people we can trust with the children temporarily. Preferably people who like children, but that’s negotiable.”
“Yes, moi soverenyi.” Ivan rushes away.
“I can fetch Healers to look in on the nursemaids,” Fedyor offers. “But this is not an injury that they can simply heal and be done with it. Food poisoning requires purging, and that can’t be rushed without risking further harm.”
“Fetch them. If they can speed up the recovery by even a few hours, that will be a boon.” As Fedyor departs, Aleksander tosses the note onto a nearby desk and pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply.
Alina bites her lip, glancing over at him. “How many children are there in the nursery?”
“Nineteen. About half of them are old enough to be trusted to look after themselves for a few hours. The remaining ten require constant supervision. One moment.” Aleksander disappears into his bedroom. A moment later, he emerges with a slim book tucked beneath his arm. “I should go make sure the nursery hasn’t been burned down or flooded. Would you care to join me?”
She isn’t surprised that Aleksander is prepared to get his hands dirty--maybe even literally, considering the opponents they’re about to face. The memory of him corralling the children outside of Baghra’s hut makes her squirm in a way she’s trying not to think about too hard.
Discipline. Discipline. Discipline.
“Why not? Sounds like fun,” Alina replies casually.
When they crack open the door to the nursery, half-dreading what they’ll find within, a young girl in a red kefta hurries up to them with an obvious expression of relief. “Moi soverenyi, thank goodness you’re here!”
“Hello, Katya. Where are the other children?” Aleksander looks around the startlingly empty room.
“When all the nurses left, I told the younger children to lie down for a nap while we waited for more adults to come.” Katya averts her gaze to the floor in a distinctly guilty fashion.
“And?” Aleksander prompts, eyes narrowing.
She rocks on her heels, hands clasped behind her back. “Some of them didn’t want to nap. So I might have used a little Heartrending. Just a little. ”
“Yekaterina.” His voice is heavy with disapproval. “There are rules prohibiting usage of the Small Science on the other children. You know better.”
Katya bows her head, lip wobbling. “I’m sorry, moi soverenyi.”
“However,” Aleksander continues, and she begins to perk up, “right now these are extraordinary circumstances. I appreciate the initiative you have shown, but you must not use your Heartrending on the other children like that again. If you promise that, then I think you can be excused this time.” She brightens and eagerly swears not to do it again. “Now, let’s go speak with the others before waking the little ones.”
The other older children have apparently been eavesdropping from around the corner, because they scurry forward as soon as Aleksander finishes his sentence. Katya joins them as they all line up in front of the two adults, shoving each other as they scramble to organize themselves.
“Wait, I thought we were lining up based on our Orders,” one child in a red kefta complains.
“No, we do it by age,” retorts a remarkably tall and large Fabrikator boy.
“But the adults do it by Orders!”
Aleksander clears his throat and they all fall silent, staring up at him wide-eyed. “Thank you,” he says crisply. “Now, someone please inform me what is the usual routine the nursemaids have for you at this point in the day.” They all begin to talk over one another, each voice unintelligible from the next. Aleksander waves his hand, quieting them once more. “On second thought, Katya, you tell me.”
The girl draws herself up to her full height, which isn’t that much. “Usually we come inside from outdoor playtime around now so we can wash up before supper. Then we eat--”
“At five-thirty,” another Fabrikator boy interrupts.
“Yes, thank you, Sven,” Katya says irritably. “We eat at five-thirty, and then at six we’re allowed to have free time, but only if we’ve finished our vegetables. We have to stay at the table until we finish our vegetables.”
“Don’t tell them about the vegetables!” someone else wails.
Katya ignores them. “The little ones--everyone five and younger--start getting ready for bed at seven. The nurses take them to the baths in groups of two or three, but the babies get special attention. Then they tell bedtime stories and sing lullabies, and the little ones are usually asleep around eight. The rest of us prepare for bedtime on our own, and we go to bed at eight-thirty.”
A bespectacled girl--a Tidemaker, based on her kefta’s embroidery--raises her hand.
Aleksander’s mouth twitches. “No, Raya, your bedtime will not be moved to nine-thirty.”
Raya puts her hand back down, pouting.
“I think the little ones are starting to wake up,” Katya pipes up.
“Very well. If you all wouldn’t mind rounding them up and bringing everyone here?”
As the children pile out of the room, Alina turns to Aleksander and whispers, “Are there any nursemaids in the Grand Palace we could call for reinforcements?”
“The children are entrusted to only the most trustworthy caretakers who have been thoroughly vetted. That automatically rules out anyone from the Grand Palace.”
Before Alina can come up with any other ideas for backup, the horde is stampeding back into the main room. Katya is carrying a baby who can’t be more than a year old while trying to herd two stumbling toddlers. Alina quickly steps forward. “Here, let me,” she says, and Katya gratefully hands over the dozing baby.
“Mr. Soverenyi! Miss Sun!” a familiar voice squeaks.
Alina smiles at the familiar blond head bobbing its way around the other children to the front of the pack. “Hello again, Misha.”
He stops in front of her and tugs at the hem of her new gold kefta. “Is this made of real gold? I’ve never seen a gold kefta before. Why do you get a gold kefta? Is it because you summon the sun? I want a gold kefta. Can I have a gold kefta, Mr. Soverenyi? Fire can be gold too. I think I should have a gold kefta.”
“Let me try!” A Fabrikator girl whose purple kefta is adorned with several dozen pink ribbons grabs hold of Misha’s sleeve. It starts to turn gold in color, spreading from where she’s touching his sleeve up his arm, but then stops at his shoulder. She frowns and squeezes some more, but the gold proceeds no further. She shrugs. “I tried.” Then she turns to Aleksander, her pudgy hands smoothing the skirt of her kefta. “Hi, Mr. General,” she says coyly, batting her eyelashes up at him.
“Good evening, Annushka,” he replies warmly. He pats the top of her head, which almost sends the little girl into a swoon. Then he steps back and addresses all of the children. “As you may have heard, the nursemaids have fallen ill. It isn’t serious, but they will need bedrest for a while. Miss Starkov and I, along with several other adults, will attend to your needs while they recover. Any questions?”
About a dozen hands go up in the air. Aleksander suppresses a sigh and begins to call on them one by one. Most of the questions are about dinner (yes, they still have to eat their vegetables), playtime (no outdoor playtime today, unfortunately), and bedtime (same as always, please don’t ask again, Raya). Once the children realize that the answers won’t change no matter how many times they repeat a question, they line up at the washroom to wash their hands for supper.
Alina looks down at the baby in her arms. She has a tiny blue bow in her hair and is staring back up at Alina with wide eyes, fingers stuffed in her drooling mouth. Beaming, Alina coos, “Aren’t you precious?” The baby removes her hand from her mouth and smiles, showing off two tiny teeth.
“Irinushka is our youngest and the newest arrival at the nursery.” Aleksander moves to stand beside Alina. “She was found on the steps of the Basilica of Sankt Egmond. The nuns were originally going to raise her, but she flooded their quarters during bathtime so she was given over to our care.”
“Awww. It’s not her fault! I’m sure she can’t help making messes.” Alina boops Irinushka’s nose, causing the baby to giggle. Then she whispers to the baby, loudly enough for Aleksander to hear, “And if you ‘accidentally’ flood Baghra’s hut when you’re older, none of us are going to complain.”
Aleksander smirks, but before he can say anything, they hear shrieks coming from the washroom. “Misha threw soap at my head!” someone wails, clearly on the verge of tears.
“No I didn’t! Your head got in the way of my soap!”
The two adults exchange an exasperated look.
Supper is brought on carts which are being pushed by four familiar faces. Fedyor and Genya warmly greet the children, while Ivan silently shoves his cart next to the child-sized tables which have been pushed together to form a makeshift dining table. David is the last to file into the nursery, looking utterly confused and mildly scared.
The children’s meal is definitely not pickled herring and rye. Instead, chicken, potatoes, and cabbage are doled out. Most of the children are able to feed themselves, with the exceptions of baby Irinushka and the toddler twins, Dimka and Dasha. Alina draws upon her previous experiences helping with the village children as she spoons mash into Irinushka’s mouth. Meanwhile, Fedyor has courageously taken on the task of managing the twins, looking unperturbed that most of their food has ended up on their clothes--and his--instead of in their stomachs. Genya is roving around the table, helping less dexterous fingers cut their chicken and vegetables.
David is flanked by Sven and Vadik, two of the older boys, both Fabrikators. They fervently watch his every move, imitating the precise way he cuts his food and how he chews each bite exactly five times before swallowing. David either doesn’t notice or ignores them as he steadily works on his meal. From their seats at either end of the long table, Aleksander and Ivan survey everyone hawkishly, but Misha in particular gets extra attention. Several times over the course of the meal, Misha starts to scoop a lump of potato into his hand with a mischievous look in his eye, only to be deterred from lobbing it at his intended victim by a well-timed stern look.
Several of the children try to sneakily foist their cabbage onto each other’s plates, which the adults ignore until someone tries to shove their portion onto Ivan’s plate. At that point, the adults unanimously decided that everyone ought to get a second helping of cabbage, no matter how much cabbage they’ve already eaten. The children nearly riot, but under Mr. Soverenyi’s watchful eye, they reluctantly consume all the greens on their plates.
Fedyor’s offer to bring out dessert is met by dozens of hopeful stares--not all of them children--directed at Aleksander. He waves his hand in assent, and a cheer erupts around the table. As soon as the communal platter laden with cookies is set down, dozens of tiny hands reach out to snatch their portions.
“I’ve never had this kind of cookie before,” an older girl named Olya remarks as she chews happily.
“Really?” Fedyor looks at her in surprise. “I thought walnut cookies were quite common. They’re my favorite. I asked the kitchens to make a batch tonight as a treat.”
“Walnuts?” Olya repeats calmly, nibbling on her cookie. “We never eat nuts in the nursery. Pasha is allergic. His throat swells up and he stops breathing and he might die.”
Fedyor is frozen for a moment. Then he lets out an expletive, which causes an uproar among the children--“Mr. Fedya said a bad word! He has to go in timeout!”--and dives across the table where the aforementioned Pasha is shoveling down his third walnut cookie.
With quick, skillful application of Heartrending, Fedyor ensures that Pasha’s airways remain clear long enough for a Healer to emerge from the nursemaids’ quarters and whisk away the boy for treatment. The rest of the children seem unconcerned as they polish off the cookies. However, Misha stands and points a half-eaten cookie at Fedyor. “Mr. Fedya has to go in timeout,” he declares.
Fedyor starts to smile indulgently. “I don’t think--”
“If the nursemaids say a bad word, they always go in timeout too. Those are the rules.” Misha shoves the rest of his cookie in his mouth, chewing furiously as he stares at the Heartrender, who now seems mildly irritated.
“Fedyor,” Aleksander says tiredly, “go stand in the corner.”
“But--moi soverenyi--”
“Five minutes. Just do it.”
With a grumble, Fedyor obeys.
When the meal wraps up and the children begin to wander away from the table, David speaks for the first time that evening. “I’ll bring the dirty dishes to the kitchen,” he volunteers, hurriedly scooping plates and utensils onto the carts. Ivan scowls at him, and Alina suspects that the Heartrender intended to use the same excuse to get away from the nursery for a while. But Ivan doesn’t have a chance to challenge David, because Misha leads a squadron of his peers to clamber up Ivan’s legs and hang from his arms, begging for piggyback rides.
Genya also does not look impressed with the Fabrikator, but when one of the girls tugs on her hand, the Tailor turns to her with a friendly smile. “Yes, Sonya?”
Sonya, who is also a Tailor, holds up an eclectic array of lipsticks and powders. “Miss Genya, can you please show me how to use these properly?”
“Of course! I would love to.”
“Dress up? I wanna play dress up!” Annushka scrambles from where she’s been curled up on Aleksander’s lap and bounds over to join the Tailors.
That leaves Aleksander and Alina alone at the table, with Irinushka slobbering on Alina’s shoulder. “Fickle affections, that one,” Aleksander remarks, not sounding insulted in the least as Annushka completely forgets about him in favor of cosmetics.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll recover from the heartbreak,” Alina comments absent-mindedly as she gently tugs a lock of her hair out of Irinushka’s mouth.
“It is the lesser of two heartbreaks I’m currently experiencing.”
Alina raises her eyebrows at the sight of Aleksander’s forlorn expression. “I don’t think a lack of kissing counts as heartbreak.”
“I have a cruel mistress,” he mutters. Then he glances behind Alina. “Did you need something, Meilin?”
A Shu girl in a blue kefta shuffles closer, lifting her hand in a shy wave. “May I draw here?” she asks, whisper-soft.
“You may,” Alina agrees readily, smiling as Meilin takes the seat next to hers. The young girl spreads a sheet of paper on the table, along with a small collection of colorful wax stubs. Without another word, she begins to doodle.
Aleksander watches Meilin for a moment, an unreadable look in his eyes. Then his and Alina’s attention snaps elsewhere in the room as two high-pitched voices yell in unison, “Time to duel!” Alina gapes, horrified, as Misha and another boy summon flames and begin to hurl them at each other.
“ MISHA! BORIS!” Aleksander bellows, shooting up to his feet and storming over. Fortunately the fireballs peter out of existence as soon as they depart the inexperienced boys’ palms. Aleksander grabs them both by the shoulder then begins to say, “Ivan--” He pauses upon realizing that Ivan is preoccupied; no fewer than six children are sitting on the back of the Heartrender, who is sprawled face-down on the floor in defeat. Aleksander shakes his head. “Fedyor,” he calls out instead.
“Yes, moi soverenyi?”
“Come lend a hand.”
“I thought I was in timeout,” Fedyor retorts, uncharacteristically snarky.
Aleksander’s nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath. “Timeout is over,” he says slowly, as if he can’t believe what he’s saying. “Now come help.”
The remainder of playtime passes uneventfully in comparison. Fedyor invents a nonsensical game which mostly involves running around in circles, and that causes a good number of the children to collapse on the floor in exhausted lumps for at least ten minutes. When the clock strikes seven, Alina gathers up Irinushka from where she’s crawling on the floor. “Bathtime,” she decides.
A cry of protest roars from the little ones who aren’t Tidemakers. “But we took baths yesterday!” Misha whines.
“We take baths every day,” Katya responds as she and the other older children calmly prepare themselves for their nightly ablutions.
Ivan sidles over to Aleksander. “Can we just line them all up and hose them down?” he whispers.
Alina rolls her eyes as she shifts Irinushka to perch on her hip. “Let’s go have some nice, clean fun,” she tells the baby as they head to one of the adjoining bathing chambers. To Alina’s relief, there are adult Tidemakers on call to help fill and refill the tubs, but the Etherealki draw the line at any further involvement with the children. Still, any assistance is invaluable right now.
Irinushka doesn’t squirm too much as Alina removes the baby’s clothing. There is a baby-sized tub sitting on the floor. Alina places it in the larger tub, which is filled with several inches of warm water, and then secures Irinushka inside. As Alina rolls up her sleeves, she hears footsteps coming from behind.
“May I offer some assistance?” Aleksander inquires.
She glances over her shoulder. “Don’t the others need help bathing the rest of the children?”
“I’ve given Ivan permission to try his assembly line idea.” At a sharp look from Alina, Aleksander holds up his hands. “He’ll use warm water, and it’s only the one time. Besides, the children seemed delighted at the prospect.”
Alina tamps down on an exasperated sigh, reminding herself that this is an exceptional circumstance for everyone. A few shortcuts here and there won’t harm the children, but she prays that the nursemaids make a swift recovery. “Tell me there’s someone else with Ivan. Otherwise Misha might lead a revolt and turn the hose on Ivan instead.”
“Fedyor is at his side, as always. Genya is bathing the toddler twins separately. David still hasn’t returned from the kitchens, though. I’m starting to suspect he’s deserted.” Aleksander kneels beside Alina by the bathtub and gestures at the baby splashing around happily. “Have you done this before?”
“A few times. Some of the larger families in the village needed extra hands on occasion, and the rest of us helped when we could.” She watches as he removes his clawed ring and tucks it securely in his pocket, then reaches for a soft washcloth and the appropriate bottle of cleanser sitting next to the tub. “And you?”
He’s quiet for a moment, apparently concentrating as he carefully rubs the washcloth behind Irinushka’s ears while the baby occupies herself with a duck-shaped toy that floats on the water. “It’s been a while,” he says at last. “Before we Grisha moved into the Little Palace, we all chipped in where needed with the children.”
Her lips quirk in amusement. “Even Baghra?”
Aleksander huffs in quiet laughter. “She was not a favorite among the children,” he admits. “But if she had to, she still knew how to prepare a bottle or change a diaper.”
Alina stifles a giggle at the thought of Baghra crankily dealing with a small child’s accident. “I notice you didn’t summon her here as backup tonight.”
“I suppose she would have been a better option than someone from the Grand Palace. But she was still very low on the list.”
It only takes a few minutes to finish bathing Irinushka. Alina stands, trying to rub out the aches in her back from stooping. “Job well done,” she grunts as her spine pops most pleasantly.
Aleksander tosses the last washcloth into the laundry basket. “Alright, let’s get you out of there,” he mutters, reaching for Irinushka.
The baby wails, distinctly unhappy as he starts to lift her from the water. She shrieks so shrilly that Aleksander immediately sets her back down in the tub, but too late. Irinushka raises her chubby hands.
All the water in the tub surges upward and crashes down upon Aleksander’s head. Alina is just out of range of the splash zone; only the hem of her kefta gets a bit wet. In contrast, Aleksander’s hair is plastered to his skin, and his kefta is drenched. Slowly, silently, he raises his hand to brush the wet hair from his eyes.
Irinushka chortles up at him from the now-empty tub.
The look of utter betrayal that he casts at the eleven-month-old undoes all of Alina’s self-control. She doubles over laughing, hands on her knees, as Aleksander redirects his wounded expression toward her instead. “Insubordination among the troops,” he mutters as he finally removes Irinushka from the tub and wraps her in a towel, the baby no longer protesting now that the water is gone.
Stifling the last of her giggles, Alina takes pity on him and covers her hand in a glove of sunlight. She waves it over Aleksander’s kefta, hurrying along the drying process. Once his clothes are no longer sopping wet but merely damp, he says stiffly, “Thank you,” then strides out of the washroom with as much dignity as he can muster, Irinushka burbling against his shoulder.
At long last-- bedtime.
The older children are grouped into rooms of three, self-sufficient as usual as they wind down for the night. Irinushka and the toddler twins share a room, which is also usually occupied by one of the nursemaids during the night, as they are prone to wake up sporadically. Ivan and Fedyor offer to rotate the duty, which Alina belatedly realizes may actually be the most peaceful assignment.
The remaining seven children, aged three to five, all sleep in the same large room. But, as Genya points out (right before she makes her escape, claiming she has some task or another from the tsaritsa, the traitor ), Misha alone counts as four hellions.
“My turn to pick a bedtime story!” Misha caterwauls, waving a book in the air.
“Noooooooo!” Annushka stomps her foot. “You always pick the story!”
“Do not!”
“Do too!”
“Well, you always pick a story about princesses.”
“Because princesses are awesome.” Annushka sniffs as she crosses her arms.
“Princess stories are stupid.”
“You take that back!”
Aleksander steps between the two squabblers. “Neither of you will pick the story tonight,” he declares, daring them to complain. They don’t, though they both grumble under their breaths. “Pasha will pick the first story, now that he’s back from the Healers. And…” He looks around the room consideringly. “Meilin has been well-behaved all night, so she can pick the second.”
Pasha, who exhibits no symptoms of his earlier allergic reaction, reaches for the book in Aleksander’s hand. Alina recognizes it as the volume that Aleksander brought with him from his quarters. Pasha begins to flip through the illustrated storybook then stops and points to a particular chapter.
“Prince Ivan and the Firebird,” Aleksander announces, a peculiar note in his voice. “Very well.” Once all the children have settled into their beds, he looks down at the page, clears his throat, and begins to read. “ Once upon a time, there was a tsar who had three sons. Before his palace was a beautiful orchard, and in this orchard was an apple tree which bore golden apples. But one day, the tsar discovered that somebody was stealing his apples, and he grew furious… ”
By the time Aleksander finishes the story, the youngest of the lot, a three-year-old named Veda, has drifted off to sleep. The others are still awake, some drowsier than others. Alina herself is beginning to feel tired, and she silently admits that Aleksander has a very soothing voice. She wouldn’t mind listening to him read aloud more often...
Aleksander turns to Meilin, who is still sitting up in her bed as she hugs a stuffed bear. “And what story would you like, Meilin?”
The girl scratches her nose as her face screws up in thought, then turns to Alina. “Miss Sun, could you…” She falters and tightens her arms around her bear.
“Yes, Meilin?” Alina coaxes.
Meilin squirms, her voice is almost inaudible as she focuses on petting her bear. “Could you tell a Shu story?”
An invisible force tugs almost painfully on Alina’s heartstrings. She’s noticed that Meilin is the only Shu child in the nursery, and other than Botkin, she has never seen another Shu member of the staff around the palace or among the Grisha. Apparently, the few Grisha who are of Shu descent are usually stationed at the Shu border and used on espionage missions into Shu Han. Growing up, Alina had always felt like part of a distinct minority in her village, even with her mother and a handful of other mixed-Shu families in the area. But she’d at least had someone.
Here, Meilin only has Botkin, who is busy with a thousand other responsibilities.
Well, Alina thinks with determination, now she has me as well. “Of course I can,” she replies softly. “Which story do you want?”
Meilin shrugs, looking marginally more cheered by Alina’s assent. “I don’t know any Shu stories. Can you pick?”
Alina gazes at the girl who is staring up at her with wide, hopeful eyes. “Well then,” Alina says, managing a small smile. She brings her hands together, and the children ooh as an orb of sunlight hovers above her palms. “Why don’t I tell you all the story of how Sun Summoners were created?”
The room is filled with the sound of soft snoring. Alina carefully tucks the corner of Meilin’s blanket over her exposed foot before glancing around at the others. The children are all asleep, except…
Aleksander is crouched beside one of the girls--Alina thinks her name is Lada. Aleksander is holding a Fabrikator-made nightlight, which Lada appears to be refusing. “You won’t be able to fall asleep without it,” he warns.
Lada shakes her head vigorously. “Only babies need nightlights. I’m not a baby.”
“You’re not a baby,” Aleksander agrees. “But children use nightlights too.”
The girl squeezes her eyes shut. “I don’t want to be a scaredy-cat,” she mumbles. “I want to be brave. Like you, Mr. General.”
There is a slight rustle as Aleksander adjusts his position, resting his weight on his heels. “You know, Lada, I used to be scared of the dark when I was your age.”
She gapes at him. “You were? But--I thought you weren’t scared of anything!”
A peculiar expression flashes across Aleksander’s face. “There are plenty of things I’m scared of,” he murmurs, so softly that Alina isn’t sure he intends for Lada to hear. “The dark used to be one of them, but not anymore. In time, you will also learn not to be afraid of the dark. But right now, I say that it’s braver to acknowledge you’re afraid of something than to pretend otherwise.” He holds up the nightlight again. “Do you still want me to put this away?”
Lada bites her lip, considering. “No. Please leave it here, Mr. General,” she says at last. So Aleksander sets it on her bedside table. The nightlight glows dimly, reassuringly, as the two adults silently leave the room and shut the door.
Back in the main room, they sink heavily down on the one adult-sized sofa and heave simultaneous exhausted sighs. “We made it,” Alina mutters.
Aleksander’s head falls onto the back of the sofa. “The night is still young,” he says forebodingly.
Alina looks at the clock. Almost nine. Nowhere near the time she usually retires. “Now what?” she asks, yawning.
He makes a half-hearted gesture with his hand. “We should talk about that unreasonable prohibition you instated on shows of affection.”
She rubs her eyes, suppressing another yawn. “Not all shows of affection…”
Varya, the newest hire among the Little Palace nursemaids, feels fully recovered the next morning. She doesn’t like the taste of seafood, so she only had a few spoonfuls of yesterday’s stew. Most of her coworkers are still asleep, having spent much of the night heaving and sweating and moaning. Compared to them, Varya only experienced mild discomfort.
Determinedly, Varya dresses in a fresh uniform. It’ll be difficult managing all the children by herself, but someone has to do it. As she heads for the door connecting the nursemaids’ quarters to the nursery, she wonders who took care of the children the previous evening. The General is very diligent about the nursery’s operations, so she’s sure he sent somebody to stand in for the nursemaids.
She opens the door and pauses at the sight before her. The General and Sankta Alina are lying on the one adult-sized sofa in the room, the latter half-sprawled on top of the former. They are deeply asleep.
Varya allows herself a little smile. She fetches a spare blanket from the linen closet and drapes it over them. Then she creeps down the hall to wake the children as quietly as possible, so that the two other adults can get just a few more minutes of well-deserved rest.
Update: By popular demand, I am including the roster of children.
- Irinushka: F, age 11mo, Tidemaker, rarely cries and always smiles, loves bathtime (a little too much), recently abandoned at the steps of the Basilica of Sankt Egmond and transferred to the Little Palace when she created a tsunami in the nuns’ bathtub
- Dimka and Dasha: M/F, age 2, Inferni twins, usually well-behaved when together but will riot when separated, found by Second Army scouts exploring the ruins of a village raided by druskelle in northern Ravka
- Veda: F, age 3, Fabrikator, speaks in a mix of Ravkan and Suli, likes to turn bits and scraps into cloth and wooden flowers, brought to the palace gates by an old Suli woman who disappeared as soon as a guard came to question them
- Pasha: M, age 4, Corporalnik, deathly allergic to nuts, alternates between moroseness and constantly asking for his parents, the child of a Second Army couple who were killed when the druskelle attacked Alina’s carriage on her way to Os Alta, struggles to control his powers and sometimes upsets the other children with his Heartrending
- Annushka: F, age 4, Fabrikator, keeps adding pink ribbons and lace to all her keftas and nightgowns, obsessed with braiding hair and dress up, often talks about what she and her mother will do next time her mother visits (Grand Palace maid who has never visited since she left Annushka at the Little Palace)
- Meilin: F, age 5, Squaller, has grown shyer as she has come to realize that being Shu in Ravka is not always the best thing, child of Shu refugees who willingly gave her to the Little Palace so she could have a better life
- Boris: M, age 5, Inferni, mixed Zemeni-Ravkan, extremely sassy, loves to have ‘duels’ with Misha which gives the nursemaids heart attacks, discovered during routine testing in Os Alta
- Lada: F, age 5, Tidemaker, very small for her age, still sucks on her thumb to the nursemaids’ consternation, scared of the dark, discovered during routine testing in Keramzin
- Misha: M, age 5, Inferni, blond and blue eyed, adorable demon child, usually the source of trouble in the nursery, (backstory redacted)
- Petya: F, age 6, Corporalnik, most content when nursemaids cut her hair chin-length and don’t force dolls or princess games on her, adores keftas because they aren’t gendered, learned about the Little Palace on her own and ran away from the slums of Ryevost to Os Alta
- Raya: F, age 6, Tidemaker, needs spectacles, reads at a very advanced level, once wrote an essay why the older children’s bedtime should be an hour later to which the General wrote a response explaining why it has to remain at the same time, discovered during routine testing in Chernast
- Yasha: M, age 6, Corporalnik, tall but very skinny, has a stutter so is reticent to speak in front of people he’s not used to, tries to smuggle in a pet bird or squirrel at least once a month, was found as a stowaway on a sandskiff from Novokribirsk
- Olya: F, age 7, Squaller, sings more than she talks, dances more than she walks, head is constantly in the clouds, organizes the nursery into a talent show every few weeks, discovered during routine testing in Balakirev
- Lyov: M, age 7, Inferni, noticeable burn scars on his face, sullen and snaps out at the other children, prefers to be alone, rescued from the burning remains of a traveling caravan raided by bandits which he survived only because of his powers
- Sonya: F, age 7, Tailor, widely acknowledged as a charming and pretty girl, often begs the female Grisha students for cosmetics samples to play with, idolizes Genya whom she has met maybe twice, illegitimate child of a Ravkan noble sent to the Little Palace both as a gesture of goodwill and a convenient place to stash a bastard
- Sven: M, age 8, Fabrikator, Fjerdan, yelling is his default speaking voice, talks a mile a minute, usually found tinkering with the nursery toys to make ‘improvements’ with his best friend Vadik, smuggled out of Fjerda by sympathetic relatives
- Vadik: M, age 8, Fabrikator, very tall and large for his age, usually quiet but says surprisingly wise things when he does talk, usually found tinkering with the nursery toys to make ‘improvements’ with his best friend Sven, from a poor farming family who was unwilling to part with him until the Little Palace offered a handsome sum as compensation
- Katya: F, age 8, Corporalnik, more prone to frowning than smiling, eldest resident of the nursery and treats it as a serious responsibility, prepared for but dreading her imminent move to the student dormitories