Chapter Text
Far away from Os Alta, high in the mountains that separate Ravka from Shu Han, the wind whips around the small group standing before the Fold. The bright sun reflecting off the snow illuminates three in First Army fatigues and two men whose uniforms are in better condition. Thicker than the First Army’s, free of patches, and bulletproof. One grey, and the other red.
The Oprichniki uniform is looser than Kirigan remembers, and warmer. Or is the fabric more flexible? Pride blooms in his chest; the Materialki amazes him, even now. The snow is crisp under Aleksander’s boots; it crunches with every step.
The Cartographer frowns, brows drawing together as she looks into the distance towards the Fold. She’s shivering more now that they’ve made it here; spring doesn’t count for much in the mountains, and she crosses her arms.
“Don’t worry Starkov,” says the blonde Tracker; giving her a sudden grin. “I'll protect you.”
The Cartographer says nothing, just shifts her dark eyes to glare at the Tracker, which causes the side of Kirigan’s lips to twitch.
Such an expressive little thing.
“There’s a cave,” the Tracker says, jerking his chin in the right direction. “I want to check it out. It might be a good place to shelter if nothing is livin’ in it.”
The other cartographer, a young man with blond hair speaks up, his brows knitting. “There isn’t a cave on the maps, Dubrov.”
The Tracker shrugs. “Maybe it was uncovered in a rockslide? Map or not, it’s there.” He turns and walks in the direction of the cave.
She’s still transfixed, focusing on the edge of the Fold, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. Whisps of air escape her mouth and freeze just as they leave her lips. Aleksander’s eyes are drawn to her again. What does she see?
The Corporalki in red, Sergei, takes charge of the next steps. “Let’s not waste daylight, no one is to go out in the evening with the Fold this close.” The men nod their agreement, but the Cartographer is still focused on the Fold. “Agreed? Good. Now, if we’re lucky, the cave is abandoned.”
Kirigan nods. “Yes, lieutenant Beznikov,” and steps behind.
The other cartographer calls out. “Alina?”
She jumps at the sound of her name, shakes her head and begins to follow, walking in step with the boy.
The boy tries to whisper to her. “You okay?”
She waves her hand like she’s trying to brush his worry from the air. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
The boy’s fingers fidget. “Alina, it’s the Fold, it’s okay if -.”
There’s finality in her voice. “Alexei, I’m fine.”
The cave is deceptive; it appears to be a shallow opening into the mountain, a space that would leave them one on top of the other as they huddled together. The sudden image of the Cartographer sprawled in his lap makes Kirigan blink in surprise; those thoughts should be over by now.
Once one has entered the opening of the cave, there is a passage that veers left lined with stalactites that drape together as they flow down the walls from above.
The Cartographer enjoys a long breath. “It’s warm.” Aleksander can see it, the gleam in her eyes as she takes in an unknown place, untouched by any cartographer’s pen. The way her mouth parts as her eyes roam over the cave. The softening of her features now that she’s out of the cold.
They venture forward and the passage opens to a tall and wide chamber with a floor made of smooth, dark ripples. Other smaller tunnels branch off the chamber, stretching out like fingers.
She’s right, the cave is warmer than Aleksander had expected. The Cartographer runs her hands along the smooth walls before turning to the other cartographer.
Stepanov tilts his head. “Is this a-?”
She’s breathless. “I think so.”
The Tracker lifts his lamp and illuminates her. “You gonna share with the rest of us Starkov?”
She whips around, eyes bright, and her smile is wide, infectious. Her body is wound up tight with excitement, and her hands emphasize her words. “It’s a pyroduct.”
The tracker frowns and cocks a brow. “A what?”
“A lava tube. Basically, when lava empties after an eruption, it leaves a tube where it travelled.” She takes a step towards the tracker and makes him angle the lamp he’s just lit towards the ceiling.
“Yes.” She hisses, a grin taking over her face as she points the lamp towards the ceiling, where it looks like frosting made of stone has left little licks. “Lavasickles.”
The Tracker raises his brow and huffs. “You’ve made that word up.”
Sergei clears his throat. “Cartographer Starkov, any comment on the danger of such a cave would be appreciated.”
“Oh. Um… well they tend to be long and a bit of a maze. This is probably a finger off the main tube…” She gets distracted by the texture of the walls as she runs her hand down before continuing. “No danger of actual lava, that’s long gone.”
“It’s humid.” Aleksander juts his chin to a section of the wall that is shiny. Her eyes follow the direction and she presses her fingers against it.
“So it is.” The cartographer runs her fingers through the shiny patch of wall. “Maybe there’s a water source.” Her grin stretches.
Sergei’s voice is even, a corner of his mouth downturned. “Dips, falls?”
“Oh! Impossible to know without exploring.” She shrugs. “There could be a gradual slope. Could be a fifteen-meter drop.”
Sergei’s smile is terse. “Thank you. We camp here.”
Collecting wood together before the sun dips too far below the horizon, Kirigan studies Sergei. His confidence is good, Aleksander thinks, much better than a few months ago.
Sergei breaks the silence after a long stretch of collecting wood. “Moy -.”
Aleksander keeps his face blank and tone soft. “Not here.” Sergei ducks his head.
“My apologies.”
“Accepted. Now. What do you make of them?”
“The cartographers?” Aleksander nods.
“They seem like honest, hardworking people, who understand the gravity of this expedition.” Sergei chews on the inside of his cheek before continuing. “Some would find that harmless, but if they do find inconsistencies… they will need to be handled delicately.”
“And what would you suggest?”
“Stepanov will fall in line, without much pressure.” Sergei purses his lips. “Starkov will be more difficult…”
Aleksander leans up against a boulder, and crosses his arms. “Go on.”
“I think she understands some of the politics of the situation but doesn’t have the experience to navigate it. She is… She is a tempest of feelings.”
“So, how will you handle her?”
“She needs to believe that she’s doing the greatest good by staying quiet. That raising the alarm before a plan is put in place, and more information is collected is dangerous.”
Aleksander gives him a tight smile, and pushes down the roar in his chest. The idea of silencing her with force makes it hard to swallow. “Good. The Tracker?”
“Doesn’t like us, that’s for sure. Might rebel if I give him an order he doesn’t like.” Sergei looks off in the distance. “The mountains can be treacherous at this time of year.”
Aleksander nods, and they go back to collecting wood in silence. Sergei coughs. “He’s not pleased that you’ve caught the eye of Miss Starkov.”
Aleksander hums as he adds another thin branch to his pile, and the silence between them stretches. “You’re doing well.”
Sergei’s voice is soft. “Thank you.”
They collect wood until the light begins to retreat. When Sergei turns to head back into the cave, Alexander frowns. He is going to be beside himself when he thinks that his General has been eaten by Volkra.
Just as the sun sets, the Tracker returns with a skip in his step, and a rough, burlap bag in his hand.
The Cartographer laughs, a delightful noise that makes something bloom and tense inside Kirigan’s chest. She’s illuminated by the small fire they’ve built in the middle of the cavern, arms laden by a large waxed canvas bucket she’s unfolded and filled with snow. She drops it next to one that’s been filled and set down, just far enough from the fire to keep the wax from melting.
She juts her chin towards the bag the Tracker carries. “Don’t you look pleased with yourself?”
“Naturally, Starkov.” He winks at her.
“Find something good then?”
Dubrov wiggles his brows, and dumps his bag on the rock where Alexei is sitting. “The warmer weather has been good to us. Rabbit.”
Dubrov cleans and then cooks the rabbit over the fire in some fat their Second Army companions share with them.
They all eat in silence, tired from the day’s journey, only the sounds of their utensils scraping on their mess bowls.
The Cartographer frowns, her brows knitting together as she pops a bite into her mouth. “I don’t think we should even look at the physical map until we’ve made some progress with the measurements.”
The other cartographer pauses mid-bite. “You mean just compare them to the calculations the last team made?”
She nods. “Yeah. At least for the first bit.”
The Tracker narrows his eyes. “I don’t understand, why wouldn’t you look at a map when you're making a new map of the area?”
The Cartographer pushes around her food with her spoon. “Well, I’m worried that it could influence our thinking. Like, we could make assumptions based on bad measurements. End up taking shortcuts.”
Sergei nods. “Or drawing what you think is there versus what actually is there.”
Alina gestures to him with her spoon, eyes brighter. “Exactly.”
Alexei rubs his face. “So, what do you want to do then?”
“Well… tomorrow we’ll work from where the last team started their measurements. We don’t have all their notes, but we do have some of their calculations for this site.”
Alexei nods. “Apparently there’s a piton to secure our rope to.”
“Thank the Saints, at least there’s one thing that’s going to be easy.”
Sergei leans in towards the Cartographer. “Do you think the Fold is actually moving?” The question makes both cartographers’ spoons skid to a stop on their plates.
Alexei and Alina turn to look at Sergei, before turning back to one another, a silent understanding passing between them.
Alina raises her eyebrows when she turns her face back to Sergei. “Honestly?” Kirigan tilts his head and studies her face. “I think it’s more likely that someone measured wrong than the Fold has moved.”
Alexei raises his brows. “Or the cartographers at the Sokol River, were drunk off their faces.”
“Or, their tools were inaccurate.”
Sergei hums. “Or they were afraid of it, and didn't measure the edge properly.”
Her jaw tightens and she looks down at her hands. “Exactly.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” Dubrov chews on a mushroom. “Honestly, that thought of that thing moving is the stuff of nightmares.” Kirigan’s frown deepens.
She laughs and shakes her head. “Don’t thank us. We don’t have any answers yet.”
The tracker stuffs another bit of rabbit into his mouth. ”You know Alina, Mal never mentioned how smart you are.”
Beside her, Stepanov’s eyes grow wide. He tries to be subtle; catches Dubrov’s eye and draws a finger across his throat.
Her face pinches. “Thanks?” She returns to her meal, picking at it with a frown.
Aleksander studies her in between bites of his dinner. He can’t leave until he knows for sure that the Fold is stationary. And this woman; she’s going to be the key to his plans. Just a few weeks in their company, and then he can be off. She’s just the gear that falls into place to start the momentum.
Mal. Hmm.
He looks down at her hand; no ring or the tan line of one removed. So, no partner they could use if they needed to gain leverage against her.
Or, at least not one she’s married to.
Later, she’s curled up on her side, eyes closed, facing Aleksander, a few feet away in the dark, when the Tracker makes an unwise suggestion.
“You know Lina, if you’re cold you can snuggle up.”
Her heavy eyelids remain closed. “Mmm. I think I’m okay. Thank you though.”
“You sure? You’re not shivering?”
She opens her eyes, and lets them go wide as her brows rise, and as her mouth becomes a flat line. “Yup. Toasty.”
This time, hearing the Tracker rebuffed, Aleksander snorts. A few feet from him, a pair of dark eyes, flash in amusement, and he turns his head to make eye contact. The Cartographer’s face scrunches when the corner of his mouth twitches up and she turns to press her face into her pillow, shoulders quivering in silent laughter.
There has been some benefit to his charade; it’s been a long time since he’s had so many occasions to laugh.
Aleksander wakes before the others, and allows himself a moment to meditate on the last few weeks before ripping himself from his bedding.
In his peripheral, the Cartographer still sleeps. Curled up on her side on her sad excuse for a bedroll, face buried in her pillow and too-thin blanket, her hair escaping from its loose braid.
His heart makes a soft suggestion; to reach over and tuck her hair behind her ear. He scowls, and lets out of huff of breath.
Ridiculous.
Meeting them, the poor, expendable sods that the First Army has sacrificed for this venture, has been more involved than Aleksander expected. A few silent dinners at inns; the First Army fidgeting at their meals while Sergei does his best to seem warm and welcoming.
The sheer amount of time that Aleksander’s eyes strayed to the Cartographer’s, and found her eyes straying back, made his teeth clench and spine straighten. Made the curve of his mouth hateful. That is until he catches the motion of her throat one night. Watches her struggle to eat with any enthusiasm. His brow furrows, the food at this inn, for once, isn’t terrible.
The way she’s so intentional with every bite. The occasional wince when she nears the end of her meal.
His eyes sweep over her features. She’s so pale for someone who has Shu heritage, a bit too thin for her uniform, and over the course of one dinner, he’s hooked. There’s this need clawing inside him to unravel the puzzle she presents. Is she Grisha? Her eyes narrow at him when she realizes he’s examining her, and her mouth twists.
This time, he can’t break her gaze.
Sergei brings it up, as they settle in for their last night at an inn before setting out to the mountain. “She looks like she has wasting sickness.”
“She certainly does.” Aleksander pauses as he double-checks his pack. “Eats like it too.”
Sergei frowns, his brows knitting together. “If she is sick, she’s powerful. Starkov is in her twenties.”
“She was tested?”
“I checked both their files before we left, and yes. She was tested at Karamzin.”
“Well then, we’ll just have to recheck.”
Sergei nods, his face relaxing. “What do you want to do with her if she is Grisha?”
Kirigan sighs; she’s an unwelcome, delightful surprise. “We send her to the Little Palace and request a new cartographer. If not, we continue.”
Silence lingers in the air, and after a while, Sergei tests the waters of Kirigan’s mood. “I’m glad we brought extra blankets.”
“Hm. Yes, it’s one thing to hear that the First Army doesn’t equip their troops well; it’s another to see it up close.”
“I’d like to put a bit of meat on both of them before we send them back. The Tracker seems to be doing fine.”
The response that comes out of Aleksander’s mouth is automatic. “The otkazat'sya, are not your first priority.”
Sergei's brow furrows as he frowns and then he smooths out his face. “I understand.”
The uninvited image of the Cartographer at dinner appears in Aleksander’s mind. He hums. “Although, it would be a good way to gain their trust. Keep them warm and fed.”
“Yes, moy soverenyi.”
In the morning, Aleksander forgoes his gloves. A dangerous thing, to be gloveless in a place like this. There’s a prickle at the back of his neck any time someone gets too close. He’s fortunate that the Cartographer is easy to startle; the horse she’s standing next to rears up as she’s tending to hers, and she stumbles.
And at that moment, when their skin touches as he catches her, there is nothing but warm flesh.
Well, that’s not accurate.
There is something; the thrill of attraction fluttering open its eyes and sinking its claws into his muscles. He shouldn’t have touched her.
They both pause before he gathers his wits, and there is a moment where both of their eyes fixate on the other's lips. He releases her hand, pulling away like she’s burned him. “Apologies.”
She takes a step back and blinks. “It’s okay. Um. Thanks?”
He nods, turns, and walks away. The Cartographer being an otkazat'sya sits in his stomach wrong. He flexes his hand before pulling on his gloves. She’s just another starving soldier; ill with something other than Wasting Sickness, and one day will be crushed under the Tsar's foot. Aleksander scowls.
Pity.
They’re all together in a single tent two weeks later, when the weather turns vicious, and they’re too far from town to backtrack. The First Army tent they have is nothing better than two pieces of a sad cotton tarp, connected together and propped up by shaky poles.
Aleksander finds himself needing to restrain a pitying sigh that wants to burst out. “Come.”
Together, they put up the Second Army tent, made of waxed, heavy canvas. It’s a bit small for all of them, but they manage. She’s pressed in between him and the boy cartographer, as the winds try to rip the fabric of their tent from around them. Her teeth chatter despite her blanket being pulled around her. The sound worms itself into his brain, pulling him back from the haze of sleep again and again before he scowls and sits up.
He dumps one of the extra blankets on top of her. He ignores the muffled sound she makes as she’s covered and then turns his back to her when she pops her head from under the blanket and her sharp eyes focus on him.
Later, he wakes and the blanket is spread out over her. They’re both turned on their sides and he can just see a bit of her face as she faces him. She’s pressed close enough to steal his body heat, her forehead touching his chest. Her breath skitters over him and brushes his throat. At some point, the blanket has been spread over him as well.
He’s stuck between thrashing her away, staying frozen, and pulling her flush. There’s a little squeeze in his chest when he reminds himself that she’s not Grisha, and the disappointment that he felt that day weighs heavy. He scowls, there isn’t any reason to be disappointed, not every pretty girl is going to be Grisha.
Aleksander decides to try to go back to sleep, but instead, he just pretends to be because she stirs. He can feel the little shift in their shared blanket, a moment where she draws closer, releases a soft sigh, and relaxes into his warmth. This is, until, she opens her eyes and freezes.
“Shit.” Her breath puffs against his throat and then she’s making tiny movements. Just to slide a little bit away, and turn over to her other side. Aleksander cracks open an eye and is met with her back. She’s unable to get more than a few centimetres away since all of them are tightly packed in the tent.
There is something wicked inside him that bubbles up, wanting to know if he affects her as much as he thinks he does. There have been one too many nights where he’s sure he’s seen her irises wide, and her cheeks heated. The heated exchange in that corridor. The way a little frown pulled at her mouth when a barmaid at the last inn flirted with him, and how the Cartographer’s eyes hardened as she realized he’d caught it.
He shuts his eyes, shifts, and closes the distance, his breath now trailing over her neck.
He hears a small intake of surprise but doesn’t feel any movement. She could slide away a bit further if she really wanted to, but she stays still, ridged even, before relaxing and letting out a long breath.
He resists the urge to slide an arm over her and pull her flush against him. To then let his hand slide down and curl to rub slow circles on her clit. What kinds of sounds would she make if she let him bring her to orgasm? How would she keep herself quiet?
Instead, he murmurs. “Come back here.”
He feels her take a deep breath, and lean backwards, her back just making contact with his chest. She scoots back into place, and he hears and feels her gasp when her bottom meets his erection. The almost imperceptible whine she lets out. The sound is so sweet and it makes him huff against her neck.
Her voice is tiny, and soft. “Fuck.” They're still wrapped up in their respective blankets; with the spare one covering them both, which prevents Aleksander from sliding his leg forward and between hers. He curves a hand over her waist, and presses it against her abdomen, pulling her flush. She doesn’t wriggle away, and he doesn’t push her. His brow furrows. This is… nothing.
This is nothing.
It’s just warm.
He ignores the need to fuck her, to hear her murmur his name over and over again, and forces himself to sleep.
The next night, she’s facing him as they huddle together. They’ve layered their blankets, his against their skin and hers on top. It leaves a blanket for their companions, who snatch it up as soon as it’s offered.
Her dark eyes squint as she takes him in, brows furrowed and mouth slanted. He arches an eyebrow, and she huffs, shakes her head, turns over and moulds herself to him. He lets out a little huff of a laugh, and wraps his arm around her waist. Her chemise rises up and his thumb draws lazy circles on her abdomen.
He’s almost asleep when she lets out a small sound, brings her hand to meet his, and starts playing with his fingers. After a while, she pulls his hand up to her breasts, and holds it there until he starts exploring. It cannot be said that he’s anything but a thorough man. If the little mapmaker wants to be mapped, who is he to deny her?
They fall asleep, Aleksander’s hand still under her shirt.
And if she wakes in the morning from a restful sleep, looking better than she has in weeks; he keeps it to himself. The Tracker eyes him over breakfast, and the view makes Aleksander smirk as he eats his porridge. Not his fault she prefers his warmth and hands to the Tracker’s.
The following night, he pulls her flush against him at the beginning; his arm wraps around her waist to hold her there, and his leg nudges itself between hers. She’s facing the side of the tent, his back to the rest of their companions. She presses herself closer when his mouth places a hot, silent kiss on the junction of her neck and shoulder. He’s a gentleman, so when the others fall asleep and she tries to make subtle movements, he helps her grind on his thigh. She tries to arch so she can press closer but can’t quite, and it makes him smile into her neck until she shifts, and the palm of her hand covers the length of his cock, and she moves her hand in time with the movement of her hips.
There’s a pang of disappointment in him when she presses her face into her pillow, muffling whatever delicious noise she’s making. She’s at least trying to be courteous. She’s left on the precipice of orgasm when her companion stirs, and she stops moving.
She turns in his arms, and his eyes have adjusted to the dark enough that he can see her expression. The silent pants she’s trying to slow, the curve of her lashes, the way she’s looking at his lips. Before he can curve her head up and kiss her, the other cartographer gets up and leaves the tent.
She squeezes her eyes shut, her forehead wrinkles and she holds in a silent laugh. She mouths, “what the fuck” to him, making his mouth curve up and eyes crinkle. When the other boy returns and settles back into his bedroll, Aleksander listens for the boy’s breathing to steady, before he moves to tease one of her earlobes with his teeth.
Her mouth transforms, a silent moan falling from a pursed mouth, her front teeth dragging across it. Now that she’s facing him, she pulls herself closer and slips her hand into his breeches.
Another rustle of their companions makes her face fall, and she leans in so her forehead touches his chest and shakes her head. He pulls a hand up from her waist and tilts her head up to look at her.
She’s tense, and when he mouths “alright” to her he feels her body relax. Alina gives him a half smile and mouths “next time.”
He laments not having seduced her early on, there was ample chance to be alone with her. Inns. Dark corners in villages. The river. They’d have it out of their systems by now.
The weather is blissful for the rest of the trek up the mountain, removing the pretence of using one another for warmth. Aleksander mood sours as he decides to wait; she’ll want to curl up again eventually.
The day they begin their measurements is clear, and warmer than the day before, as they ascend the thirty minutes it takes to get to their starting point. The Tracker goes first, checking the snow for its safety, and when he deems it adequate, he gestures for the rest to make their way up. When the group is almost at the spot where they’ll begin measuring the Fold, both the cartographers stop.
Alexei murmurs. “Fuck.”
Alina hisses. “You’re kidding me.”
Stepanov starts to hurry up the path, the Cartographer scrambling up behind him. “Maybe there’s some kind of indicator?”
She snorts. “We’re not that lucky.”
As they end their scramble, stopping in front of a small boulder, Sergei calls out. “Is there a problem?”
Alexei turns and offers them a tense smile. “Uhh. We might have a hiccup?”
The two cartographers crowd the rock, making it difficult for Sergei and Kirigan to see without being next to them. They both hurry up the path, their long legs making quick work of the distance, the Tracker behind them.
Kirigan leans in, and the Cartographer seems to know just when to turn her face to meet his gaze. His brows rise, and his mouth forms a firm line. “Hiccup or problem?”
She breaks his gaze to look at the various pitons stuck in the rock, lets her shoulders droop, and exhales. “Problem.”
It’s as if someone tried to turn a boulder into a pin cushion. “You don’t know which piton the last cartographers used, do you?”
She sucks her teeth and breaths out the answer. “Nope.” She rubs her face with one of her hands before using it to gesture to the piton in the middle. “I’d like to think it was the center one, but that one has a loop on top.”
“So, you don’t know if they measured from the loop or from the shaft.”
“Yes. I mean… they shouldn’t have used the loop, but I don’t know for sure. There wasn’t anything in their notes. And then the rest of the pitons are going to get in the way, so we’ll need to remove them. And then take more measurements of the landscape than we thought.” She bites her bottom lip as she stares at the rock. “It’ll just take more time.”
Dubrov steps in on the other side of the Cartographer. “Well, Starkov, all of them out?”
She nods. “And then we choose one to put back in the center. No loop.”
“Alright, let’s get started.”
It takes them an hour and a half to remove the pitons, replace the one in the center and for the cartographers to measure the terrain around the stone. Alexei secures a marked rope around the piton, which Alina leads to the edge of the Fold.
When the time arrives, she stands in front of it, staring into the darkness ahead of her, breathing in and out.
Alexei frowns and takes a step towards her, instruments in hand. “Alina, I can do it instead.”
Her body tenses and she turns her head to answer him. “We’ve already talked about this. You’re not.”
He takes a step forward. “But I could.”
She turns around, her jaw clenched, cheeks reddening. She scoffs, drops the rope, wipes her sweaty hands on her pants, and then sets them on her hips. “We need to be accurate.”
Alexei crosses his arms. “You’re a great cartographer.”
Her voice is firm, frustrated. “Alexei.” She closes her eyes and takes a breath. “Your measurements are better. Are we done here?”
There is a long pause as they stare each other down. Dubrov looks away as his brows leap, and he blows air out his mouth. Alexei breaks eye contact. “Fine, but as soon as you need a break, we stop. You need to tell us.”
She picks up the rope, looping the excess around her arm. “Are you ready? Am I at 90 degrees?”
“No,” he scoffs. “One moment.” He checks the angle of their rope again and frowns. “Lower the rope a bit. Yeah good.” He peers at the rope from above. “Kay, take a slight step forward. Ok Again. Yes. There. One moment.”
The Cartographer has her eyes closed, breathing in and out but her hands holding the rope are trembling.
Sergei clears his throat. “Miss Starkov,” Her eyes flash open and Sergei holds her gaze. “I swear to you, you will be perfectly safe. I am listening for their heartbeats, and as soon as I hear even a far-away flutter, you will be pulled out.”
She nods. Takes a breath and squares her shoulders. Calls out to Alexei. “Ready?”
Alexei mutters back. “Ready.”
Her eyes meet Kirigan’s, and her next breath catches when she takes in his clenched jaw and dark eyes. The fury in his mouth raises her hackles until she realizes that it’s directed behind her. Her lips part and then snap shut as she looks away. She takes a breath, and allows herself a steadying nod.
And then, the Cartographer steps into the Fold.