Lick Your Wounds
I: Caradoc
19th December, 6 days to Bellatrix’s wedding
Os Alta
Caradoc doesn’t know exactly how it happened but he knows how it started.
He was on his patrol along the ditch of Os Alta, separating the more fortunate citizens from the peasants. The city was dead, all lights flickered out(apart from the stray lamp in the windows of insomniacs). Barely a sound was made, apart from the occasional toll of the hour bell(much quieter than it would’ve been during the day), the scurry of small critters and Caradoc’s own footfalls. The chilled breeze of winter fluttered in and around Caradoc’s kefta and he shivered, drawing it tighter around himself.
Saints, he thought with a frown. I fucking hate winter patrols.
He raised a gloved hand, lantern hanging between his fingers as he peered out into the night, carefully walking around a bend in his path. You’d think by now some sort of smaller hand held lights or glasses of night vision would’ve been invented. Surely the Durasts could whip something up, right? Caradoc shook his head at his own thoughts. It’s probably not that simple. You wouldn’t know, you’re not a Fabricator.
A distant crack snapped through the night, practically a scream in the suffocating silence. Caradoc spun on his heel, straining his eyes harder.
And, see, Caradoc has read scenes like this in his mum’s favourite novels. An unsuspecting target, alone in the shadows of midnight, mistaking a sudden sound for a fragment of their imagination, a side effect of the creeping paranoia the situation gives. The target carries on like normal until they hear another sound, then another and another and by the time they try to run, it’s too late and they’ve already fallen bait to the trap they hadn’t realized was set.
Caradoc was not about to be another one of these cases. He wasn’t stupid enough to search for whatever made the noise either, nor cowardly enough to abandon his post.
He set the lantern down in the snow with a gentle rattle, drawing a dagger from inside his kefta with a steady grip, despite his clothed hands. He picked up the lantern once more and looked around. If he could find where it was coming from, maybe he could-
He didn’t get to finish his train of thought before a hand surged up from the ditch and yanked him downwards.
Caradoc swallowed a scream, the lantern tumbling from his grip and rolling down the sheer, dirt walls of the ditch with constant, loud clangs. Caradoc was plunged into darkness as he slammed into the ground, the lantern several meters away.
A black boot stomped down on it, glass shattering as the flame extinguished before it could touch anything else. Caradoc leaped to his feet, struggling to make out the person’s shape. He gripped his dagger and breathed in deep. If only Tailoring was a little more helpful in combat.
Before either he or the other person could move, there was a foot at the back of his knee and a blade pressed up against his kidney. Though it wouldn’t break through his kefta, Caradoc hissed at the pain. He fell to the ground, quickly rolling out of the way as his attacker tried to follow him down.
Caradoc was back up on his feet, hands up to try and identify just how many people he was up against. He cursed under his breath. Four different heartbeats, all surrounding him and he couldn’t see a single person.
The attacker in front of him leaped for him again and Caradoc sidestepped, spinning around and slashing at their shoulder, only to be met with resistance.
Caradoc’s eyes widened. They have keftas.
In his surprise, two of the other assailants knocked Caradoc back to the ground, quickly disarming him and locking his arms behind his back. It was almost pathetic, how quickly he went down, even though it was four on one and he couldn’t see a fucking thing.
The final person leaned forward, close enough that Caradoc could make out a silver metallic mask with carved out divots for eyes. He saw the barest gleam of smug triumph before the figure brought up their hands and everything went black.
II: Molly
The True Sea, somewhere along the Ravkan/Shu border
When Molly had gone to sleep the night before, the task much easier on the ship now after nearly six years of practice, she had foolishly believed she’d be granted a peaceful morning. She doesn’t know why she thought this. Eighteen years of tradition wasn’t going to stop now.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOLLY!” Gideon and Fabian screamed in sync, dangling their heads over her ears on either side of her hammock.
Molly blinked her eyes open sleepily at them as she was dragged cruelly away from the realm of dreams. In the early years of her life, she would’ve jumped, fallen off of whatever surface she was sleeping on, yelled at them for being annoying little shits, despite them both being older and larger than her. She scrunched up her nose. “Neither of you have brushed your teeth.”
Fabian rolled his eyes while Gideon purposely breathed more morning breath into her face. Molly smacked him away.
“Well, Mollz, we were just so excited to greet you to the world that is being nineteen that waking you was the first thing we’ve done this morning.” Fabian exclaimed, grinning.
Molly narrowed her eyes at him, shifting to a sitting position and glancing around the crew cabin. “You didn’t wake anyone else, did you?”
“Of course not, Guacamolly,” Gideon assured, tapping her on the head despite her scowl. “They were all up already.”
“You know the Captain,” Fabian added “Always up before the sun.”
“And when the Captain’s up, so are his parents and his mates.” Gideon finished.
Molly hummed in acknowledgment before shoving Fabian away, dodging his attempts to mess up her hair in retaliation. “If you’re going to wake me, at least let me get up.”
Gideon chuckled, sticking his tongue out at Fabian when he was shot with an indignant look. Molly shook her head at the both of them, slipping out of her hammock and gathering clothes for the day.
Thankfully, she was left alone to change and wasn’t bothered again until she made her way above deck.
“Happy Birthday!” Screamed the entire crew. Molly blinked, still surprised at just how much everyone seemed to care.
See, Prongs was big on birthdays. A day, entirely about you to celebrate your accomplishments, to receive praise for how far you come and to pride yourself in the fact that you’re still here. He does his best to make sure whoever is being celebrated doesn’t have to lift a finger(unless it’s himself, then he puts up a fight) and, if they weren’t constantly travelling in a small space, Molly was sure he’d get everyone personalized gifts. James made sure they had the celebrated’s favourite foods in storage if they couldn’t be ashore on the special day and had their favourite cake flavour/preferred desert made fresh. For a man who’s sunshine personified, James glows that much brighter on a birthday and his energy is infectious. It’s spreads, seeping into everyone’s skin like golden rays and suddenly, birthdays became the highlight of the month(there were so many of them, there were only a few months where there wasn’t a birthday).
When she recovered, Molly smiled fondly. “Thanks everyone.”
Hands quickly came to circle her waist and Molly’s smile widened, heat rising to her cheeks even with something so small. Molly tilted her head back, looking up at a grinning Arthur as she leaned into his embrace.
He dropped a lingering kiss to her forehead. “Happy birthday, my dear. How’s nineteen treating you so far?”
“Wonderfully, especially in this moment.” She replied.
Arthur gave a quiet laugh, shoulders shaking a bit. “That’s good to hear.”
Fake gagging noises pulled the two of them from the rose coloured pocket they had fallen into. Molly glared over at where Fabian had a finger pointed towards his open mouth while Gideon pretended to heave over the side of the ship. Soft chuckles fluttered around the crew, all sat together on the lower deck for breakfast. Or, well, all but one very key person.
Molly tilted her head. “Where the Cap?”
Peter rolled his eyes at the reminder. “Off doing only Saints know what ashore. Wouldn’t say a word or let anyone come with him, the secretive asshole.”
Once upon a time, Monty or Effie might’ve scolded him for his language but they’ve long since given up. They were sailors, after all.
“He should be back soon, though.” Remus assured around a mouthful of Effie’s rare, Saint-like chocolate chip pancakes.
Molly hummed in acknowledgment and took her seat with the rest of the crew, kicking both her brothers as she passed.
As Remus said, James was only gone for another hour or so before he was back aboard, dodging everyone's questions and dipping below deck, where the satchel he had arrived with disappeared.
"Wack-a-Molly!" Her brothers cried in unison halfway through the day of frantically making sure Molly didn't so much as touch a rope and keeping her out of the galley. She raised an eyebrow at them as they ran over, a small package in Gideon's hands, which he gave to her.
Molly frowned at it, then at them. "What did you do to it?"
Fabian gasped dramatically. "You don't trust us?"
"With stuff like this? Absolutely not."
Gideon gripped at his heart. "You wound us, Mollybear."
She rolled her eyes. "You'll live."
Fabian smiled. "There's nothing wrong with it, Mo. It's safe to open. On Gideon's life."
"Hey!"
Molly ignored Gideon's cry and gently lifted the lid off the box. True to his word, the box wasn't trapped in someway. Laying inside was a dagger, silver and gleaming on a padded cusion. It's hilt, wrapped in black, was stamped with Prongs' symbol but coloured red instead of it's usual gold. Molly held her breath as she picked it up, hilt slipping into her palm perfectly as she wound her fingers around it.
Molly glanced back up, staring in disbelief at the twins' anticipated expressions. "How much did you spend on this?"
Gideon waved her worries away with a hand. "Don't worry about it, Mollster. Just take it."
"If it makes you feel better, we - with Remus' help - added the sun." Fabian said with a shrug.
"It's beautiful."
Gideon's shoulders sagged and Fabian let out a relieved breath. Gideon grinned. "We thought you might like it, Mollsteroni."
"For the record, the sun was my idea." Fabian informed, earning a shoulder shove from Gideon.
"The dagger itself was my idea."
"Our idea. We thought the same thing."
"I said it first."
"Doesn't matter."
"Doesn't it, though? Because, for all I know, you could be saying you thought it because I thought it."
"That's ridiculous."
"It's something you would do."
"Would not."
"Would too."
"Would not."
"Would too."
"Would not."
"Would too."
"Would not."
"Would too."
"Would not."
"Would too."
"Would not."
"Would too."
"Would-"
"Enough!" Molly cut in, swearing under her breath. "You both thought it, okay? It was a wonderful idea and is certainly better than the dagger I have now. Thank the both of you," she paused, then peered around Fabian to catch Remus' gaze, who was watching along with some of the other nearby crew members. "And Remus."
The Durast raised a hand in acknowledgement.
Behind Molly, someone cleared their throat.
The smile was instant. Molly turned around and glanced up at Arthur, gaze questioning. She let him grab her hand and pull her in.
"For you, my dear." Arthur murmured, bringing up a flower so yellow it looked like it had been taken directly off the colour wheel.
She gasped, gently taking the stem from Arthur's grasp, spinning it between her fingers. It's soft, sweeping petals, which were coated in a thin layer of frost, reminded her vaguely of a daisy but, obviously, the colour was all wrong. "Arthur, what is it? Where did you get this?"
He smiled softly. "It's a calendula, native only to this coastline and blooms solely in winter. When I heard we were headed this way, I had Captain pick one up for me on his outing."
Mindful of the flower, Molly jumped up, forcing Arthur to carry her weight as she wrapped her arms around his neck and tucked her face under his chin. He laughed as she peppered kisses along his throat.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you."
"Can I see it?" He asked.
Wordlessly, Molly handed him back the flower and tilted her head in curiosity. Her cheeks grew pink as he slipped it behind her ear, carefully tucking it's stem into her bandana, which had been more or less turned into a headband since she chopped her hair short a few months ago.
He lightly bonked their foreheads together and whispered under his breath,
"Beautiful."
III: Casper
The Slat, Ketterdam
"So close, just a liiiiiiiiittle further- yes! Right there! Thank you so much, Casper!"
Casper set down the fake evergreen tree when the Pandora said so, taking a step back and wiping the sweat from his forehead with back of his hand. He'd grown fond for the Fjerdan/Suli girl but holy shit she could be quite indecisive, which is a quality he'd much rather observe than be victim to. He moved that damn tree four fucking times before she'd decided it was good enough.
He gave her a hard look and she laughed. "Yeah. I won't make you move it again, I promise."
He softened, smiling with a nod.
"Alright," she said to no one in particular, clasping her hands and rubbing them together. "Baubles, stars, bells, tinsel, lights, wreath, snowman figures of all of us, mistletoe because Ev and Barty are driving me nuts and cookie cutters. That should be it. I don't have to worry about dish-ware because we got it out last year and then never put it away," she turned to Casper, long bleached-blonde braids swinging. "Can you think of anything else?"
Casper glanced around and shook his head. He'd be surprised if anyone could.
Pandora beamed. "Good! Do you think you could find Cas for me? While I deal with the lovebirds?"
If he could laugh, he would've. Instead, he snorted before heading deeper into the Slat, up the stairs and down the hallway towards Dorcas' office, where she would no doubt be holed up in.
And, just as he suspected, when he swung the rickety door open, it whined as it revealed Dorcas hunched over a stack of papers. She muttered to herself, ocasionally backing up her rolling chair to glance at the maps on the walls only to return to her documents moments later. In the corner of her desk sat an empty glass and a half-drank bottle of firewhiskey.
"It doesn't make sense," Dorcas said, loud enough so Casper could properly hear now she knew someone was in the room but not looking up to see who. Though, she could probably guess. Casper has been around longer than she's been alive and which other Snake would burst down the door and stay silent? "Why would he do this? Did I do something to anger him? Why would he try to kill two of my men? I know he can afford rent, he's never been like this. A few days late, sure, but Mulciber has always paid. I've never had a problem with him until now so why, why, why? Is he being paid by someone else? Does he have a personal vendetta against Barty? Evan? Pandora? You? Why-"
Casper crossed the room, frowning in concern. He set his hands down over hers, effectively snatching her attention. Dorcas' head shot up, eyebrows raising in question. "What?"
He gave her a bland look before standing up straight and beckoning her forwards with a finger.
Her brows furrowed. "Where do you want me to go? I have a lot to figure out, Casper. Mulciber might be planning an attack on here or the Viper's Den at this very moment and I need to know why before I can decide what to do."
He rolled his eyes. They both knew Mulciber was doing nothing of the sort. They'd know that even if they weren't sending Pandora out everyday, using her deadly silence as extra ears. Thousands of krugeworth of damage happened to the AK and it was Mulciber's only source of revenue. Repairs were his top priority, not worrying about the Snakes, who were licking their own wounds- both figuratively and literally, in Zar’s case.
When Barty showed up at the Slat, a dying Evan Rosier in his arms and an anxious isenulf on his heels, Casper hadn't needed more than a few seconds to realize it was bad. Very, very bad. He had quickly gotten Evan on the table, sending Barty to fetch his medical supplies, having Pandora grab the IV drip he kept assembled in the front hall closet in case of emergencies like this and getting Dorcas to bring him one of the blood bags from the fridge. It was in moments like these that Casper desperately wished he could talk.
Casper was mute, no surprise there. Everyone knew it. Most people believed it was by choice or was simply an intimidation factor but no. The short answer? Casper had his tongue cut out by a Barrel Boss when he was twenty. The long answer?
Casper had gotten into the University of Ketterdam when he was nineteen with a full-ride scholarship. One look at his application and the scholars couldn't be more happy to have him in their medical program. And for two, glorious years, Casper's dry life filled with nothing but the bare minimum in the south of Kerch was traded for a lavish dorm room, grand libraries and food that wasn't a day away from rotting.
But in his second year of university, during a long night of studying, a Barrel gang broke into the library Casper was occupying, determined to steal a few rare, select books along with whatever else they could nab. Apparently, they hadn't been suspecting any students to be awake at such a late hour(you could tell none of them had ever been to university) and so, Casper had thrown a wrench in their plans. They had tied him up rather quickly, dealing quite a bit of damage to his ego in the process, and he'd been gagged, reduced to a pair of eyes to watch while they scrambled around the library. Before they'd left, their boss had correctly assumed he had seen too much and, well, he can't snitch as easily if he couldn't speak. So, they'd taken a blade to his tongue and Casper had lost his speaking privileges.
The fuckers hadn't even bothered to leave what remained tongue.
Casper's life had been entirely uprooted, stomped over, blended, aten, deficated and then burned in the span of a few hours. He had managed to make it to the headmaster's office and was instantly given medical care. However, that had been the extent of their kindness. Casper was kicked from his program - after all, what medical professional couldn't speak? - and, with his remaining funds having been stolen the night before, Casper was without a way to transport himself back home. Finding any sort of job, whether it be for the long run or for just enough to buy himself a train ticket, was a challenge and a half. Most jobs required some sort of speaking aspect. A server? No. A dealer? No. A bartender? Nope. Janitor, even? No, no, no. Not even the most desperate of Barrel gangs would pick him up.
At least, that was before Eliz.
Casper had been searching for just over a week when word had reached the, at the time, leader of the Snakes. She had found him in some of the lower Barrel streets counting his earnings from that night's theft and offered him a job, having even brought a whiteboard for him to communicate with. That night had been the start of what his life has snowballed into, bringing some of the highest highs and lowest lows he's ever felt. From meeting Dorcas and practically helping raise her to Eliz's death, Casper's sure he's felt it all.
That night, though, when Barty nearly slammed the door to the floor was one of the only times he really had to put his unfinished degree to use. Sure, he's bandaged people up here and there, dealt with a couple bullet grazes and minor stab wounds but nothing this severe. It made a familiar ache vibrate through his bones. It was a hint, a sliver, a whiff of what might've been, what would've been, if not for him being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Evan survived. He was tremendously lucky. The bullet had gone all the way through and had just barely missed the bone. That being said, if the fight had taken any bit longer or if Barty couldn’t’ve clotted the blood, Evan would have passed either on the table or in Crouch’s arms.
Casper doubted he’d ever seen Barty so frazzled. He had refused to leave the room while Casper had stitched Evan up and has yet to leave his side for more than five minutes, aiding him with anything and everything he could think of.
That first night was the worst, for all of them. Dorcas had forced the story from Barty and then locked herself up in her office. Casper’s never seen someone shed more tears than Pandora had that night. On several occasions, Casper had found her rocking on the floor, mumbling Suli prayers under her breath. Zar had curled up at Barty’s feet, periodically hopping up in his lap to look over Evan and whine. Barty had barely even blinked, like Evan would die if he did, muttering to himself nearly the entire duration of the night. Casper had tried to sooth everyone the best he could, despite fretting over Evan at every possible moment, even if he knew, realistically, the best thing to do was wait.
Things had calmed down when Evan woke up twelve hours later but they were still paranoid. Dorcas’ frantic puzzling, Casper himself checking Evan’s wound probably more often than necessary, Barty tailing after him like he was the isenulf and not Zar.
Pandora had had enough of it. While none of them were interested in the religious part of the holiday, Pandora thought they were due for a little festive cheer. Christmas was in under a week and the Slat was looking as drab and rundown as ever(well, despite the festive dish-ware no one had bothered to put away when it was bought last year). And, honestly? Casper couldn’t agree more.
Casper once again waved Dorcas to follow but she just sighed, reaching for the bottle of firewhiskey as she shook her head.
Casper snatched it up before she could, ignoring her protesting ‘hey!’ And making his way back downstairs, taking a swig for himself as Dorcas chased after him.
“You’re both here, lovely! Thanks, Casper.” Pandora said as they entered the living room.
Dorcas stopped dead in her tracks in the doorway, taking in the stacks of boxes and the fake tree. Pandora stood behind the couch, Evan lying down with his head in Barty’s lap and Zar sprawled over his legs. Barty was gently running his fingers through his hair, gaze flicking down to Evan’s face every couple minutes.
“No,” Dorcas objected instantly. “I have too much to do.”
She then turned on her heel and tried to walk back towards her office. Casper latched onto her wrist, dragging her back into the living room and blocking the doorway.
“Casper,” she said lowly, eyes narrowing to slits that might have, once upon a time, frightened him into compliance. “Move out of the way.”
Casper shook his head firmly, using the bottle to gesture to the decorations before taking another sip.
“Casper, I’m serious.”
Casper carefully set the bottle down on the floor to free his hands before signing, If you keep working, you’re going to drive yourself insane and burn out. So, you’re going to decorate for Christmas with the rest of us and lay off the firewhiskey. Forget your worries for a bit.
“But what if-“
Please. Eliz would’ve killed me if I let you keep working.
And just like that, Dorcas’ shoulders sagged and Casper knew he had won. “You can’t just pull the dead mom card whenever you want.”
He gave her a smug look. Watch me.
Dorcas turned to Pandora. “What’s the game plan?”
They spent the afternoon decorating(after Casper had given Evan a firm warning about not using his injured arm, of course). Dorcas and Barty had worked together to get the lights and tinsel on the tree while Pandora and Evan got the snowmen set up. The four of them, with Zar occasionally booping baubles with his nose until someone put them up, banded together to decorate the tree. Casper contributed a little, mostly by putting the topper(a snake because what else would it be?) on as he was the tallest of the group. He grinned as they cheered when they turned the lights on before slinking back to the kitchen, where he’d tasked himself with baking cookies and preparing hot chocolates.
Barty wolf whistled when the others came to join him just as he was setting the cookies on the tray. Casper glanced up, a curious tilt to his head. Barty smirked. “Nice outfit you’ve got there.”
Casper rolled his eyes and flipped him off. Yes, perhaps he looked a little ridiculous. Teal suit trousers, white dress shirt and brown suspenders hidden under a Christmas themed apron.
“Don’t listen to him, Ghosty,” Pandora said. “You look great all the time.”
He hummed in a way that clearly said, ‘I know.’
They laughed and Casper smiled. Life may be a bit shitty right now by they were alright. They’d be alright.
IV: Caradoc
Somewhere in Ravka
The first thing Caradoc noticed when he started to come to was the fact he couldn’t breathe.
Well, he could but it was harder. Much harder than it should’ve been.
The second was the fact that his hands were bound behind his back, whoever he was up against not even bothering to put the bar between them. The third was that the reason he couldn’t breathe was because something cool and metal was wound around his throat. The fourth was the fact that he was freezing. The fifth was that he wasn’t alone.
“You’re awake,” said an authoritative, male voice. “Good.”
Slowly, Caradoc peeled his eyes open. The dim light of the cavern-esque room was easy for his eyes to adjust to. He glanced around, taking in the tall walls and the lanterns hanging from them. Aside from the chair he sat in, there was nothing else in the room.
Besides the people, of course.
There weren’t many. Only three that he could see. Two were clad in keftas in a colour that hadn’t been used for a thousand years and even then, had only been worn by two people. They were a deep black but the embroidery- the embroidery was all wrong. Caradoc knew what the Shadow Summoner embroidery looked like, everyone did. In the Little Palace, there was a special display case for the Black Heretic’s kefta.This embroidery was as red and in the design of a Heartrender.
One of the Heartrender’s wore that same mask Caradoc had seen before he fell unconscious. It was silver, gleaming in the torch light. It covered the Grisha’s entire face, with carved out eye slots and holes in the nose for easy breathing. The mouth resembled that of grate, mostly covering the Grisha’s lips but allowing sound to easily travel. Painted on the side of their mask was a small rainbow.
The other Heartrender was maskless and Caradoc didn’t even have to think to recognize who she was. After all, there weren’t many Heartrenders with tight, black corkscrew curls and manic blue-grey eyes that stood out.
Bellatrix tilted her head, giving him a wicked smile and a little wave.
The remaining person had been the one who spoke before. He stood with his shoulder back, chin raised and his hands clasped behind his back. Dark hair fell into even dark eyes, a stark contrast to his ghostly complexion. His kefta, too, was abnormal. He was clothed in an ominous green, one that screamed looming darkness. Which, was quite fitting, considering the ebony embroidery of a Shadow Summoner circled his wrists and trailed the neckline.
Caradoc stared, the epitome of terror, gaze flicking between the very much real son of the Darkling and the massive fucking snake draped over his shoulders.
Darkling Junior smiled. “Glad you could finally join us, Dearborn.”
“What-“ Caradoc tried to speak around the obstruction with tremendous effort, only to be interrupted by searing pain in his back, followed by a loud whip crack echoing throughout the chamber.
Bellatrix laughed and Darkling Junior tutted softly, his boots clacking against the floor as he took a few steps forward. “You need not speak, Tailor. You don’t have anything worth saying.”
Caradoc swallowed thickly, biting his tongue to keep himself from hissing a reply. As much as he’d like to fight, he was in a room with three Heartrenders and a Shadow Summoner with his hands bound behind his back, unable to properly breathe. He was outnumbered. He was pathetically weak compared to them. He was useless, harmless and undeniably cornered.
Darkling Junior smiled, an evil smirk crossing his face as he easily picked up on Caradoc’s train a thought. “You’re confused, as anyone would be in your position. Allow me to explain. You are a Tailor, the weakest, lowest possible rank of Grisha, almost as useless as muggles and squibs, but not entirely. I have use for you, a few tasks in mind. But if you are to stick around, I can’t have you poisoning the minds of the young, teaching them your nonsense. That is what this,” he leaned forward and his snake hissed in Caradoc’s ear. Caradoc tried - and failed - not to flinch as Darkling Junior trailed an ice cold finger down his neck, tapping twice on the collar. “Is for.”
Darkling Junior snapped his fingers and suddenly, a mirror was pressed into his hand. He spun it around, showing Caradoc the depressing view of himself. There was a bruise on his cheek, probably from the fall down the ditch. His blond hair was stained with dirt and mud, his kefta no where to be seen. Caradoc saw his mouth drop in disbelief as he took in the newest and most prominent feature. Fused to his skin was a gleaming gold band the width of his thumb, circling the entirety of his neck.
Darkling Junior dropped the mirror, Caradoc’s face replaced with his own. He stood tall, grinning down at him. He walked backwards, passing the mirror back to Bellatrix. “You’ll get a kefta of your own, of course. You may be a Tailor but you are still Grisha. Its colour may be different than what you’re used to but what you wear is wrong anyway. Ravka got it right many, many years ago and it’s due time we bring it back.”
Darkling Junior snapped his fingers once more and then he was throwing a kefta down at Caradoc’s feet.
A white kefta.