There had always been Grisha in Ravka. In every country around the world, they had been there, alongside their otkazatâsyan relatives. They had always been there, to help with the weather, to heal the sick and to keep the homes warm at night. Until someone found a name for them; a legacy, something to pin on them and to make them other.
His own grandfather dappling in the forbidden arts, crafting the Living Amplifies from merzost and spells, and letting them out in to the world, had been enough to seal the fate of any Shadow Summoner. Had been enough to force his mother in to hiding and him with her. Like all Grisha.
"I hope so. The ones who don't like it there, who fail to feel at home..." he trails off again, rubbing a hand over his hair. "They return to their homes. To their families. Or, we help them find work."
The low rise and fall of the timber of his voice cuts out abruptly at her touch, and he blinks. First down at her hand on his leg, and then at her face. The Darkling's mouth opens, and then he snaps it shut with a small frown.
"If that's what you want to believe, but I stopped believing in gods a long, long time ago." Saints were real, they were Grisha and powerful, the alters placed in their names, scattered across the globe. But no gods had ever shown their face. With that said, he looks at her more closely.
The cared-for look of her hair, the way she looked at home, even in rags and in a cell, but she had wanted to be a queen. There are no scars on her arms that he can see, nothing but clear skin on her face. Warm eyes and warm hands. A soft heart, but not naive.
As she laughs, he skims his fingers over the back of her hand. "Ah, you've got me there. How could I have witnessed such a miracle and still renounce the gods of this place. An avian deity."
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His own grandfather dappling in the forbidden arts, crafting the Living Amplifies from merzost and spells, and letting them out in to the world, had been enough to seal the fate of any Shadow Summoner. Had been enough to force his mother in to hiding and him with her. Like all Grisha.
"I hope so. The ones who don't like it there, who fail to feel at home..." he trails off again, rubbing a hand over his hair. "They return to their homes. To their families. Or, we help them find work."
The low rise and fall of the timber of his voice cuts out abruptly at her touch, and he blinks. First down at her hand on his leg, and then at her face. The Darkling's mouth opens, and then he snaps it shut with a small frown.
"If that's what you want to believe, but I stopped believing in gods a long, long time ago." Saints were real, they were Grisha and powerful, the alters placed in their names, scattered across the globe. But no gods had ever shown their face. With that said, he looks at her more closely.
The cared-for look of her hair, the way she looked at home, even in rags and in a cell, but she had wanted to be a queen. There are no scars on her arms that he can see, nothing but clear skin on her face. Warm eyes and warm hands. A soft heart, but not naive.
As she laughs, he skims his fingers over the back of her hand. "Ah, you've got me there. How could I have witnessed such a miracle and still renounce the gods of this place. An avian deity."