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It’s a plain old Wednesday, and Vesna is so bored that she’s genuinely contemplating dyeing her leg hair pink, just to freak Danica out—that is, until she overhears it.
“It’s the fourth time this week,” the soldier is saying in an undertone. He wrings his hands nervously and leans in closer. “I mean, not that I didn’t know he was putting Major Valeriy through the wringer, but this is, I mean, it’s ridiculous.”
His companion—probably a noncombatant secretary, judging by her outfit—frowns. “It’s Wednesday. How could he have done it four times?”
“Twice on Monday. He said something about ‘keeping Sarge on his toes.’”
“Isn’t he a Major?”
“That’s what you’re worried about?”
They’re getting closer, so Vesna leaps up and presses herself into the ceiling rafters, undetected. Who’s making one of their Majors suffer? That’s a damn high rank. They shouldn’t be taking bullshit. She has to keep listening. Maybe she can help combat this injustice. And maybe that means she can score a couple bonus points in her competition with Danica! (Not that anyone’s keeping score. It’s her own mental contest. But whatever! It counts!)
“I just don’t see what the point is,” the soldier says, looking distressed. “I mean, Major Valeriy always catches him in the end. It wastes hours of their time. Why does he spend so much effort running away?”
The secretary sighs. “Maybe Mister Mitya’s thought process is too complex for us to comprehend. He is a genius, after all.”
“Yeah, you might be right, Lana. He’s so…”
But Vesna doesn’t care what he is, because now she has a name. Mitya. They must mean Doctor Dmitry from Project Mistilteinn. Evidently, he’s been hiding from his security detail so frequently that it’s becoming an everyday occurrence—or, in this case, more-than-everyday—and wasting hours of their time.
Vesna sympathizes. She’s felt the need to hide from Danica many, many times! (Mostly because Danica was planning revenge for putting things into her food, which, she admits, was thoroughly justified.)
But she digresses: if Mitya feels the need to hide from his security detail, there’s really only one possibility. Clearly, he’s being mistreated! She’s seen Mitya before when he meets with his Harbinger supervisors, and although he’s bright-eyed and well-spoken, he looks, quite frankly, like a strong breeze would topple him over. It’s entirely possible that this poor, frail scientist is being exploited by his military-issued security detail, and that he’s trying to escape a bad situation!
Obviously, she can’t stand by and watch this happen. No—Vesna is a woman of action. She’s going to help! Of course she is!!
Vesna drops down from the ceiling and stretches out her wings. Time to get to work.
***
“I’m flattered that you summoned me personally,” Mitya says. He smiles politely and inclines his head, even though she’s taller in heels. “Does the esteemed Commander of the Druzhna need something with me?”
Vesna puts her hands on the table and leans forward. “You need something with me,” she announces, loud enough that the teacup on her table rattles. She coughs and reins it in a little. “Um—yeah. You need me to help you.”
Mitya looks bemused. “I do?”
Vesna pulls herself together. She’s literally honorable—she even has the titles and shit to prove it—and she can do this. “I’ve decided that you’re in need of some training. Combat training, to be precise.”
“Oh.” Mitya relaxes slightly. “Don’t worry about that. My security team is more than capable. Sarge can scare anyone off just by looking at them.”
And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Vesna shudders. This ‘Sarge’ character must be truly terrifying.
“Anyway, don’t worry.” Mitya picks up the teapot and pours himself a cup, unbothered. “Hey, this smells great. What variety is it?”
“I need to teach you how to hide better,” Vesna blurts, which is a really, really dumb strategy. She curses herself in her mind. Silly Vesna, why couldn’t she have put together an argument like a normal person, a functional argument, a convincing argument; Danica would have gone through an entire five-paragraph essay by now and had this stupid genius eating out of her hand…
Mitya’s eyes snap up. “Wait,” he says, sounding almost gleeful. “Really?”
Vesna blinks.
That worked?
***
“Okay,” Vesna says brightly. She puts her hands on her hips. “I usually do this training in a small town, or in the wilderness, but since you’re often hiding in the city, we’ll do it here. You get a three-minute head start, and then I’ll come find you.”
Mitya raises his eyebrows. “Three minutes?”
“I know it doesn’t sound like a lot. This is a preliminary round, I’m not expecting—”
“No, no, no,” he says, laughing. “I mean, that’s a lot more than Sarge usually gives me. I’m lucky if I get thirty seconds before he’s onto me.”
Vesna’s blood runs cold. He must have it even worse than she thought. Is his security detail so attentive that they won’t even let him have thirty seconds of leeway? Poor thing…
“So, uh,” he says. “When do we start?”
“This is just practice,” she reminds him, still feeling bad for him. “So don’t feel bad if I find you quickly, okay? After this round, we can examine your technique and work from there.”
Mitya smiles and leans back, relaxed. “Aye aye, cap’n,” he says, giving her a joking salute. He’s not taking this seriously, and normally Vesna would yell at her soldiers for that, but she thinks he might wilt if she yelled at him. He’s endured enough, anyway. No need to put him through more military abuse.
“Alright, Mister Mitya,” she says, nodding. “And… go!”
Mitya nods. She closes her eyes, and he vanishes.
Three minutes later, she turns back around to find him. She starts from the place he was standing. There will be traces, there are always traces. Footprints. Scents. Elemental traces. She’s a fine-tuned fae machine, designed to find her enemies and track them down. And despite her easygoing appearance, she’s actually been training her whole life for—…
…The footprints lead to… a crowded shopping street?
Well, no matter. Sure, Vesna can’t pick up his exact footprints with this many people around. And she can’t smell his perfume, or see his specific elemental traces. But that’s okay. She’s sure he can’t have gone far.
Maybe he’s hiding along the street. She glances into the obvious crevices of the alleyways, but sees no one. Then the less obvious ones. Still nothing.
She checks for elemental traces again. He’s an electro user, and there are quite a few electro traces around here. None of them are particularly distinct, which is strange. Usually a strong electro user would leave exceptionally strong traces, particularly if they used any kind of elemental effects to get around. Mitya works with electricity, not only as his elemental power but with Project Mistilteinn; surely he would leave a stronger trail than this, right? Unless he has ironclad self-control, or some kind of regulator on his person…
Vesna has no choice. She picks an electro trail and starts following it. He’s got to turn up sooner or later…
…Right?
Ninety minutes later she’s still fucking looking.
Where the fuck did he go? It’s not like he could have gone that far. There’s no way he did something ridiculous, like buying a train ticket, right? He has to be in the city. Surely that was part of the rules. It has to be.
Maybe someone came to get him. Maybe, she thinks, maybe he had a meeting he forgot about, and he ran back to the Armory Palace to attend it!
Who is she kidding? She has no clue where this guy went. Vesna sighs and stares up at the sky, which holds no answers.
If she’s gonna spend another hour and a half looking, she might as well call halftime and take a drink break. Vesna walks into her favorite cafe, exhausted, and slides up to the counter. “Hey,” she says. “Can I get an extra-large double caramel whipped cream espresso sundae with sprinkles? Thanks.”
“Oh! And a black coffee with blueberry syrup, please,” says a familiar voice, right next to her.
Vesna yelps so loud that it makes the poor barista jump.
Mitya—of course it’s him—grins and looks at her sheepishly. “Sorry! I thought you knew I was there. Weren’t you meant to be looking for me?”
Vesna’s face feels warm. “I was looking. You just weren’t where I expected you to be. Were you here the whole time?”
Mitya motions to the corner table, right next to the window. There’s a book propped half-open on the table, next to two empty cups and a half-eaten biscuit plate.
“Dude,” Vesna says flatly. She’s walked by this cafe at least five times during her pursuit. “Are you serious?”
“Hiding in plain sight,” Mitya says, shrugging. “It’s a valid strategy, isn’t it? Also, I wanted a coffee. So.”
Vesna stares at him, confused. She points one slow, accusatory finger at his face. “You,” she says slowly, “are actually crazy.”
“Most people wait until after they see me working to say that.”
“What kind of psychopath drinks black coffee with blueberry syrup?”
Mitya laughs, and his eyes soften. “Yeah. Sarge says it’s weird, too. But then he turns around and drinks nothing but tea all day—not even water, did you know that? I guess it’s a southern thing. Southern families don’t always have clean water, so they boil it to get rid of toxins. At that point, you might as well make tea, right? At least, that’s what he told me.”
“You talk to him?”
It’s Mitya’s turn to look confused. “Yeah? I mean, we’ve worked together for almost a year now. Of course I talk to him.”
“But he’s—” Vesna runs a hand over her face. “I mean, you make small talk?”
“What else am I supposed to do?”
Vesna groans into her hands.
“Hey,” says the barista, looking nervous. “Are you, uh, gonna pay, or…?”
“First rule of espionage,” Vesna says. “Don’t give him any information. If he knows your coffee order, he can use that to find you. Escape is temporary. Anonymity is forever.”
Mitya whistles. “Captain, you’re dropping wisdom over here! But I think it’s way too late for that. I mean, Sarge already knows everything about me. My favorite foods, my sleep schedule, my waist measurements, my usual brand of shampoo, my ranked list of sex positions…”
“Uh,” says the barista.
“My favorite shape of wine glass for white wine specifically,” Mitya adds. He turns to Vesna kindly. “I can pay, if you don’t have enough.”
“I get paid plenty,” Vesna says defensively. She scrounges for her wallet. “I mean, the coffee here is a little expensive, but…”
Mitya pulls out his wallet. His extremely sleek designer leather wallet, which is full of so much mora that it practically makes Vesna’s eyes water. He puts down twice the price of their coffees and waltzes away without waiting for the change.
Vesna stares. “Holy shit. How much do you get paid?”
“Eight million mora a month. Why?”
Vesna blinks. Damn. “Maybe Danica and I need to unionize.”
They sit at Mitya’s window table and wait for their order. It comes out almost immediately—the poor barista was probably terrified of them and rushed the order. Vesna’s beautiful extra-large double caramel whipped cream espresso sundae with sprinkles comes in its own glass cup. Mitya’s coffee comes in a white ceramic mug.
Mitya steals her glass and takes a sip. He beams, and says, “Wow! That’s terrible.” Then he goes back to his black coffee with blueberry syrup in delight.
Vesna rolls her eyes. Weirdo.
***
So: the backup plan.
Clearly, Mitya’s good enough at hiding from her. But apparently his head of security knows everything about him already, which gives him an advantage that Vesna lacks. It’s going to be much, much harder to hide from someone with that level of background knowledge.
There’s only one solution here. She has to witness the security team in action.
Luckily, the soldier she overheard earlier was right—this really does happen every day. Vesna only has to wait four hours outside the Armory Palace before she finds Mitya sneaking out through the window of a bathroom.
Not even two minutes later, his head of security—Major Valeriy; he trained under Capitano, didn’t he? She had already graduated from his tutelage by then, but Vesna must have seen him around a few times, because he looks familiar—leaves the building.
Strangely, he doesn’t bring a squadron. He leaves alone.
Vesna flies higher. From the cover of a cloud, she spies.
Valeriy doesn’t do any of the things she’d expect. He doesn’t search for footprints, or ask nearby guards if they’ve seen anything. Instead, he immediately sets off along the path. Vesna would call him crazy, except that he’s somehow heading in the exact direction Mitya left in.
With perfect confidence, Valeriy walks right to the center of town. He doesn’t even hesitate before walking into a specific clothing shop. He even heads to the correct dressing room without being directed. Can he smell Mitya a hundred miles away, or something?
Vesna walks into the store as casually as possible and hides behind a rack of skirts. She listens in.
A sound. It must be Valeriy knocking on the dressing room door.
“Hey, Sarge,” says Mitya’s voice, sounding cheerful. “Can you fasten this? I’m having some trouble with the side zipper, actually, and it would be great if you could help me out.”
“Mister Mitya.”
“It was just a question!”
“Mister Mitya, put your clothes back on.”
“What, don’t like what you see?”
“…”
“I’m only teasing, Sarge. I know you’re a big fan of—hey, what—mmph—HEY!”
Vesna ducks back into the skirt rack. Just in time, because Valeriy walks right back out of the clothing shop, with Mitya thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Mitya’s cloak is fastened loosely, like he’d gotten dressed in a hurry. He’s struggling against his grip, kicking him, and Valeriy’s holding him in place with only one hand. One hand!
Clearly, she hasn’t been taking this seriously enough. She had been expecting a regular military tracking operation, not… whatever this is. Valeriy seemed to know not only where he’d be, but the exact time he would leave, and even the specific dressing room he’d be in. Hell, she wouldn’t be surprised if he already knew exactly which items Mitya would be trying on!
Vesna shivers. Terrifying.
It’s much worse than she thought. She has to help Mitya get out of this.
***
Danica hits her in the back of the head.
“OWW,” Vesna says, mostly for dramatic effect. She rubs her head. “That hurt.”
“Eat,” Danica says.
Vesna frowns. “What? I literally ate lunch like…” She checks the clock: it’s one in the morning. “Uh, yesterday.”
Danica looks at her in exasperation. She walks right back out of the room.
“Fuck you too,” Vesna mutters petulantly. She’s trying to do very important research here. Mitya’s life depends on it! (Well, maybe not his life. But she’s saving him regardless, so it doesn’t matter if she exaggerates a teensy bit, right?)
She glances at the door. Danica’s gone, but the faint smell of her leather oil lingers in the room like the lipstick print of a kiss.
Vesna sighs. She’s been trying so hard to figure out how to help Mitya evade his captors that she hasn’t had time to take care of herself. It’s hardly her fault that she hasn’t eaten! His security team is a brick wall. Not only Valeriy, but every single member who he handpicked as part of his squadron. They’re all unshakeable. No records of bribery, greed, or even aggression. It’s like they’re all perfect. They practically don’t even eat.
Wait.
They do eat. They have to eat.
Vesna smiles. Yes—that’s it! That’s it!!
***
“So I’ve made this poisoned soup,” Vesna explains, offering the thermos. “And in case he doesn’t like soup, I also made poisoned bread, poisoned coffee, poisoned cake, and poisoned water, if nothing else works.”
Mitya blinks. “You made what?”
“Poison. I thought you were some kind of genius. How did you not get that?”
He waves his hands. “No no no! I got that part! But—I mean, for Sarge?”
“Yeah,” Vesna says. She plants her hands on her hips. “If you don’t want him to catch you, then you’ve got to take a stand!”
Mitya looks at her sideways. “Why would I not want him to catch me?”
Vesna frowns. “What?”
“I mean, that’s the fun of it,” Mitya says. “Running, knowing that he’ll always catch up. That he’ll always know where to find me.”
Vesna gets a very, very bad feeling. “The… fun… of it?”
“Yeah.” Mitya laughs, sounding a little nervous. “It’s our game, y’know? I run; he chases.”
Vesna stays silent.
“It’s more fun with Valeriy than it ever was with the others,” Mitya continues. “I always joke that I sent all of my other bodyguards back until they gave me one that was hot enough, but it’s not just that. I mean, he’s smart—like really smart, and I don’t say that lightly. And he’s obsessed with me, which, y’know. Pretty flattering.”
A dangerous smile starts to creep up her face. “You mean to tell me I’ve been trying to help you out of a bad situation, thinking you were in deep shit. And you’ve been enjoying it the whole time?”
“Well, to be fair, I am in deep shit,” Mitya says. “Sarge is gonna get my ass after this. You know I’m skipping work to be here?”
Vesna’s smile widens. “I think Major Valeriy is the least of your worries right now.”
“Hey, what does that mean,” Mitya says nervously. “Uh, Commander Vesna? What does that mean?”
Vesna unfurls her wings and smiles down at him with her sharp teeth. “Start running,” she says. “I’m not giving you three minutes this time.”
Mitya runs.
***
Three hours and one sucker-punched scientist later, Vesna returns to her quarters and flops across her chair, exhausted.
“Long day?” Danica says.
Vesna jumps. “Oh! Oh, it’s you,” she says, relieved. “I thought you were Major Valeriy coming to kill me or something, haha.”
Danica frowns minutely. “Why would I be Major Valeriy?”
“Long story,” Vesna says, grimacing. “Anyway, what brings you here?”
“I came to give my report on the Tsaritsa’s upcoming mission. If we debrief together before the meeting, we can save a considerable amount of time during it, and avoid wasting Her Majesty’s valuable hours.” Danica shuffles a stack of papers. A tall stack. They might be here for a while.
Vesna sighs and drags herself up from the chair. “Alright. Let’s at least sit at the table like civilized people, though, okay?”
Danica nods. She takes a seat at the table, then blinks. “Oh. It appears you were already expecting guests. Am I interrupting something?”
“What? I wasn’t—”
And then Vesna pauses.
The poisoned buffet she made earlier is still sitting on her table. Every last item on the table is poisoned with enough tranquilizer to knock out a bear (or at least a Bear Major). And Danica’s sitting right there in front of it.
Oh, this is too good.
“Actually,” Vesna says, grinning. “I was expecting you! I prepared all of these for you. See, it’s even your favorite kind of cake!”
It is, in fact, Danica’s favorite kind. She likes orange zest berry cake. Vesna mainly picked this flavor because it hides the taste of the poison, but as she told Mitya, intel is everything. She knows this is Danica’s favorite! Therefore, she knows Danica’s flaws!!
“Well, thank you,” Danica says. She serves herself a slice. “Shall we review my documents, then?”
“Go ahead and have some cake first. We’ve got all night.”
Danica nods. She takes a bite of cake. She closes her eyes, enjoying the subtle sweetness and the orange zest and the—“Vesna.”
Vesna grins. “Yeah?”
Danica doesn’t bother explaining herself. She pushes the plate aside. “I know what Natlanese glowshroom tranquilizers taste like.”
Vesna laughs. “You’re no fun.” She pushes the glass of water toward her. “At least drink something. That stuff can have a pretty bad aftereffect if you aren’t properly hydrated.”
Danica drinks it. She takes a long sip before the taste registers, and then—suddenly her face somehow becomes even sterner. “Vesna.”
But Vesna’s already halfway out the door and beaming. “Catch me if you can, Danka!” she yells; the name from when they were young together, training under Capitano and competing, competing, competing, and now Danica’s chasing after her with that same fire in her eyes, and suddenly the whole world narrows, until all that’s left is the wind whistling in her ears and the beating of her heart.
Maybe Mitya was right. This whole running thing is pretty fun.