Ivan paused at the edge of the Little Palace's southern wall, peering around its edge. Cresana could hear the faint sounds of men's voices: guards, she expected. He held his hand back to her, palm facing her, as a gesture to stop. She obliged. Their progress had been painstakingly slow through the palace as Ivan had taken them through the least busy corridors to avoid detection. It was now almost completely dark outside. Thankfully, there hadn't been any sign that Kirigan had returned from whatever murdered servant had distracted him.

"Three guards... two Oprichniki and one Squaller," Ivan whispered, turning back to Cresana.

"Oprichniki?" Cresana had never heard of that type of Grisha before.

"General's personal guards. Not Grisha," Ivan informed her. "They're Otkazat'sya, like you."

"Like I used to be," Cresana corrected him, almost playfully. Ivan chuckled.

"Like you used to be, Militova."

Ivan peered around the edge of the stone wall once more.

"This is as far as we go in the dark," he announced. Cresana felt a small jolt of fear as she realized what that meant. She wasn't exactly sure what it would feel like to have her heart stopped, but she felt fairly certain it wouldn't be pleasant. Despite the fear gnawing at her stomach, she nodded in what she hoped was convincing confidence.

"I won't be able to keep you awake," Ivan went on. "Your heart needs to be completely stopped. We're lucky none of these men are Heartrenders, but even so, they're no slouches. In order for them to believe you're dead, you need to be as close to that as I can get you."

Cresana quickly felt her false confidence ebbing away. She swallowed down the urge to run.

"If the worst happens, I'll try to get you back as quick as I can. Get out of there, fast, don't look back. Head due east for about six days, stay off the roads. You'll see the mountains, I trust you can find your way home after that."

"How do you know where my home is?" she asked before thinking. It was a trivial detail and, given the stakes of the moment, truly unimportant, but Cresana's curiosity got the best of her.

Ivan quirked a half smile. "You're not the only one who read that book about the Blades."

Cresana's laugh was almost imperceptible, but Ivan shared it. She had forgotten that her family's ancestral home in the foothills had been described at length in the chapter on the history of The Institute as a possible site for its creation. She was both surprised and impressed that Ivan had remembered that small detail, and once more she felt a flood of gratitude towards her unlikely ally wash over her.

As quickly as it had come, the fleeting feeling of conviviality passed and Cresana's mind returned to the urgency of the moment.

Ivan placed his hands on her shoulders, peering into her downcast eyes. He was nervous, like her.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

Cresana wasn't sure that she was, but she knew they'd both come too far for backing out now.

'If it's in the blood, it's as good as done,' she silently reminded herself. Cresana didn't believe that it was her destiny to die ignominiously on the grounds of the Little Palace in a botched escape attempt. She was destined to be a Blade – maybe even a Grisha. 'This can't be the end.'

Cresana averted her chin to Ivan in a single affirmative gesture. He returned her grim stare and let go of her shoulders, his hands beginning to move in the mesmerizing patterns that most Grisha used to summon Small Science. Cresana had never needed the hand movements, nor did she know them nearly well enough to be of much use to her in her failed quest to control her Sun Summoning abilities. She watched with interest as Ivan's hands danced in a well-rehearsed pattern.

Within a moment, she felt a crush inside her chest, as if a balloon had been suddenly inflated there, flattening and pressing her heart and lungs against the inside of her ribs. The breath sucked out of her throat in a small 'whooshing' sound.

Although Cresana had spent the last hour or so contemplating what this would feel like, she wasn't expecting the surge of adrenaline that rushed through her body. Unconsciously, she reached out to strike Ivan, the source of her peril.

He apparently had been more prepared than her, because her strike was met with a forceful grip, immobilizing her wrists in his hands. For a few moments, the two struggled, but Cresana's strength was quickly waning, coupled with her conscious mind's attempts to avoid hurting him as she knew – even through the instinctual fear – that this was part of the plan.

She gulped uselessly at the air, spots forming in her vision, but wasn't able to take any breath in. Ivan watched carefully, that same odd expression she'd noticed in her room returning to his grey eyes. As she sank into unconsciousness, Cresana felt Ivan's grip on her hands loosen, and he caught her deftly before her body hit the ground.

*****

"Ivan." One of the Oprichniki – the taller one on the right – greeted Ivan perfunctorily, recognizing General Kirigan's most trusted Grisha commander even in the darkness.

Ivan returned the greeting. "Warren."

The Oprichniki's eyes quickly fell to the heavy object Ivan carried over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. As Ivan approached and stepped into the weak light cast by the guards' fire, the man named Warren recognized that it was a body Ivan was carrying. The two men with him had similarly surprised expressions on their faces as Ivan dropped what was clearly a woman's body onto the soil about three feet away from them with a grunt. After letting the woman thud to the ground, Ivan dropped a drawstring bag next to her from his other shoulder, rolling his arms and neck at the release of weight.

"What's this?" the Squaller asked. He peered interestingly at the woman, her face turned away from the firelight, trying to recognize her. She wasn't wearing a kefta, but there was something oddly familiar about the dark chestnut color of her hair.

"Kirigan asked me to get rid of her." Ivan's response didn't directly address the question, but it was answer enough. There was only one person that Kirigan would want disposed of in this way: by his most trusted advisor, under cover of darkness, and without any sort of ceremony.

The three guards stood up cautiously, exchanging hesitant glances. They'd only recently learned of the Blade's existence, and they'd almost been too stunned to speak when they'd heard that the Black General had actually made her out of an Otkazat'sya. They had never been permitted to see her powers, but several of the higher-up Grisha had let slip that she was a Sun Summoner.

The rest of their knowledge of this woman was entirely based on rumor. The Little Palace had exploded with speculation once enough Grisha knew about her existence. The servants who brought her food and changed her bedsheets became the subject of constant pestering. Some were even offered bribes in exchange for information, for a lock of her hair, for a used towel, anything that the Grisha could get their hands on. Some of the Grisha were enthralled by the idea of another Sun Summoner; others had darker, more violent intentions. There was a growing restlessness amongst the Grisha after the Starkov girl had proven both immensely powerful and intensely disloyal, and the news of a second Sun Summoner stirred very polarizing beliefs amongst their ranks.

It was Warren who broke the tense silence first. "She dead?" he grunted, nodding at Cresana's limp form on the ground.

Ivan nodded, as he stepped closer to the fire, warming his hands in what he hoped was nonchalance. "General did it himself," he grumbled.

The guards shuffled nervously as they considered the situation.

The Squaller – a dark eyed man with a gravelly voice – spoke next. Ivan thought his name might be Arseni.

"Why'd he kill her?" Arseni fixed Ivan with a probing stare, gauging his reaction, the two Oprichniki waiting intently for the response. Ivan met the Squaller's gaze, sensing that his next answer would tip the encounter towards success or failure. He knew Cresana couldn't wait much longer if he had any hope of restarting her heart.

After a few terse breaths, Ivan narrowed his eyes at the Squaller, putting on what he hoped was a face of casual irritation. "I'll be sure to ask the General next time he sits down and outlines his plans for me." Ivan laced his voice with sarcasm and held his breath, hoping he had played it right.

Arseni's eyes lingered on Ivan for a moment before a slow smile started to spread across his lips, a dark chuckle building into an outright laugh. The two Oprichniki guards followed suit. Ivan breathed a sigh of relief; apparently his response had been satisfactory in dispelling their skepticism. In the new spirit of conviviality, Warren handed Ivan a waterskin; Ivan could smell the distinctive bitterness of kvas . He took a sip, swallowing down the acidic burn of the spirit, in a gesture of hospitality and handed it back to Warren, although an impatient itch was forming at the back of his mind. He needed to make his exit, and soon, if he had any hope of reviving Cresana.

As if on cue, the second Oprichniki guard - the one Ivan didn't know - moved closer towards Cresana's limp form. "So this is the General's second Sun Summoner, eh?" he asked, his words slurred slightly under the influence of kvas. He crouched down next to Cresana, moving to roll her face towards the fire light. Instinctively, Ivan tensed and took a step towards the man, planting himself between Cresana and the crouched guard.

The interaction was subtle and quick, but the momentary break in tension reversed quickly as Arseni and Warren registered Ivan's defensive posture. Both men's jaws flexed as their nerves set on edge. Warren's hand reached reflexively to the hilt of a broadsword fastened at his hip, and Arseni's hands began to twist, his fingers flexed as he started to summon his Squalling powers. The second guard jumped back from Ivan, mirroring Warren in reaching for his sword. The four men stood frozen for a breath, each watching the others for a sign of aggression.

"Gentlemen, I am on the General's business. What you've seen here tonight need not concern you," Ivan growled in a vain last-ditch attempt to talk the guards down. His defensiveness had been a dead give-away; if the Sun Summoner were truly dead and discarded by the Black General, his top advisor would not have stood between her and a member of the General's personal guard. And unfortunately, the guards knew it.

"Step aside, Heartrender," Arseni replied, ferociously holding Ivan's gaze. "Let us take the woman, we'll let you live long enough to face the General's judgment."

Seizing the opportunity of distraction as Arseni finished his threat, Ivan contorted his own hands to manipulate the Small Science, releasing Cresana's heart from the vice-grip he'd been holding on it for the last few minutes. With a ragged gasp, he heard her breath come back to her as she stirred on the ground. The guards heard it too and sprang into action.

Warren and the other Oprichniki drew their swords, the unmistakable cool silver of materialki-forged blades glinting in the fire light. Arseni's hands went to work, a strong wind building around Ivan, threatening to throw him off balance as he rushed to execute his own powers. With a rigid coiling motion in his wrist, he grabbed ahold of Warren's heart with his powers, the familiar sensation of pressure as Warren's heart fought against Ivan's grip rippling across his skin. Squeezing his right palm shut, Ivan cut off Warren's heartbeat. Instantly, the Oprichniki guard collapsed to his knees, dropping his sword to have his hands come to grasp futilely at his throat as he tried to gulp down air. Ivan struggled against the ferocious wind of Arseni's summoned storm, leaning at a strong angle against the gusts.

Vaguely out of the corner of his eye, he registered the second Oprichniki guard lift his broadsword above his head next to Ivan's shoulder. Just as Ivan saw the blade begin its descent, a blinding cold white light split the darkness from behind him...