i met a prophet, dark as the night; she could see into my soul {amaranth}

It was safe to say that Ira had never done anything like this before – not in her entire life.  She strove always for perfection, wanting only ever to make her family proud.  She rarely took her own desires into consideration.  She would have never done anything to defy them.

Why, then, was she here?

It wasn’t as if she didn’t have her doubts.  In fact, all she had was doubt.  She had half a mind to turn around, head back home, forget it had ever happened.  But what then?  Would she ever be able to forgive herself for such shameless cowardice?  Ira had been feeling desperate and restless for some time.  Normally, a feeling like that might go away if ignored, but this one did not.  Ever since the war in Britain had ended, Ira’s life had felt… empty.  For a brief time, she had known what it had felt like to have purpose.  She had known what it felt like to give herself over to something that mattered; to spend her time in a way that somehow felt more relevant than all the dinner parties and balls and shopping expeditions.  But then the Dark Lord was defeated, and Britain went back to its old ways.  No, not quite its old ways – a way that was worse.  A way that promoted ‘equality.’  Like a tidal wave, an epidemic, this new mindset traveled across Europe and into Russia.  And, suddenly, Ira discovered that it was very dangerous to speak of the superiority of pure blood in public.  It was no longer socially acceptable, it was politically dangerous.  The Ilyins, practiced navigators of society’s waters, who had always worked extremely hard to ensure that their reputation was a positive one, learned not to speak of their heritage.

Doing so hadn’t been easy for Ira.  She felt like it was dishonest, for being a pureblood was something to be proud of, something to flaunt, not be ashamed of.  And as life returned to normal, the things that her entire world had once revolved around no longer held their same allure.  It was if she had been made wiser.  For a long while, she tried.  Tried to move on, tried to listen to her father and mother that told her that who she was, what she liked and how she spent her time.  But it didn’t come as easily anymore.

But, recently, a whisper of a hope had reached her ears.  She’d overheard some servants discussing an underground meeting for the pureblood movement, and she was immediately gripped with a desire to attend.  Would it be those same people who she had convened with a year ago?  She doubted it.  Most of them had been among the highest ranking members of society, and had been the quickest to renounce their involvement in such things.  And though she could clearly understand exactly why they had done it, it made her angry.  Had they held their ground – had all of them fought for what they believed in – perhaps Russia would not have followed Britain’s lead so helplessly, so blindly.  Perhaps they would have stood a chance.

It had been a struggle to keep such a thing to herself, when she was bursting to consult her parents about it.  She sensed that her father might have caught wind of it – he was always so well-informed – and had chosen to stay silent.  He wouldn’t want her to attend; of this, she was absolutely certain.  So she kept silent.

Ira had gone to enormous efforts to put everything into place.  She was a practiced organizer, often responsible for arranging social gatherings, and those same skills carried over to this surprisingly well.  She had been forced to feign illness, so that her absence would go unnoticed.  She would be missing out on a very prestigious event tonight, but she knew wouldn’t have been able to enjoy herself, anyway.  The woman she had hired to protect her was a complete stranger – which was simultaneously comforting and terrifying, for it would provide anonymity, but she had no idea what to expect.  Dressed in her riding pants and boots, with her cloak pulled over her head for concealment, she almost felt like she was disguised as someone else.  It was a very unfamiliar feeling – she never hid.

The rolling clouds hung low over the steadily darkening sky, and the rain-washed air was thick with moisture.  She was very far north, and it was much cooler here than it would have been at home.  Ira stood, partially concealed by the narrow alley walls, trembling beneath her cloak – both from the chilly air and the nerves wracking her mind and body.  She was more afraid, now, than she was excited.  She was beginning to wonder if this wasn’t the worst idea that she’d ever had.  It was safe to say she’d never done anything so reckless in her entire life.

Amaranth closed her eyes and took in a deep breath as she pushed the door open and entered the street. The air was cold and damp and she could hear the steady, foreboding rumble of dark clouds hanging over the sky. Amaranth could feel Sinbad's heavy body coiled around her waist and neck, his head resting just below her ear. Amaranth paused and wiped a little Floo powder off her cheek. She walked down the street, listening to the sounds of her footsteps echoing off objects and feeling Sinbad's body pull and nudge her in different directions as they approached the meeting spot.

She remembered getting Zukov's owl a few days prior. It had been a big letter, more of a file really, on a woman who wanted a bodyguard. According to him, her name was Sofiya Valeriyevna Alkaeva. Quite a name. Zukov mentioned how important it was for Amaranth to keep this girl safe. Apparently, her family was quite powerful and well-connected and the Zukovs had a long history with the Alkaevs. His own reputation rested on his recommendation. "If you let her die, I'm going to kill you right back," the oh-so-friendly letter had said.

She had been hired by someone who wanted privacy, who needed to be protected when they were going somewhere they shouldn't be. And upon further inspection of the file, she realized why. This was some kind of pureblood supremacy rally. Amaranth had heard whispers of these sorts of things still going on. People gathered in secret to preach the values of blood purity and raise their fists against the fall of tradition. She assumed that these factions were much more prevalent in Russia than they were in Britain or France. It was just a little odd that someone would hire her for protection at this kind of event.

The letter was formal, written in the most legible, measured handwriting she had ever come across. It oozed politeness and class, belonging to a caliber of clientele very different than Amaranth's usual criminal ones. It reminded Amaranth of her days as a society daughter. Well she was technically still supposed to be. Her mom wanted her married like...now. The woman basically pushed her into the arms of any reputable man who crossed her path. "No one will take you as you are so we must act quickly. We cannot afford to be choosey, Amaranth." Who was "we", anyways? Amaranth didn't want to be married, she was never going to get married. No man could fit into her lifestyle, embrace the violence and darkness of it all. All of her.

If anything, Amaranth was lucky. She was never going to watch anyone grow old. She was never going to be tricked by a handsome face and a monstrous heart. She saw people for who they were inside, beneath all that frippery and lace. She got an unadulterated look at their gritty red insides and for that she was glad. She made a habit of trying to dig through people's souls, unearth all those secrets and desires they tried so hard to bury. She got to meet people's true selves and there was nothing more powerful than that knowledge. And it was because of that, Amaranth was never going to sit at home and embroider table cloths and pick out fine china. She wanted to be out in the world, making use of her special and unique talents. The world was her oyster and she was not going to be stifled by a society she knew she didn't belong in anymore.

Amaranth and Zukov, and maybe even Molchalivyĭ, saw how close Amaranth was to falling straight into the abyss. If she repressed the darkness for too long, it would come bursting out of her and the people around her would suffer most. When Molchalivyĭ forged her into a weapon, he all but destroyed every part of her until she was just shadow and evil held together by the tenuous strings of her skin and bones. The only thing anchoring her to this earth was some small little fire flickering somewhere in the darkness of her soul and Amaranth clung to that. If she did not keep herself focused and occupied, that light would extinguish and all would be lost. So Amaranth could never be a society wife, or even a wife, or even a lover. Sometimes Amaranth wondered if her parents knew what the patriarch of the Stringfellow clan had tried to do. She wondered if they had any hand in the mercenary that was sent to kill her in order to protect the family's interest. Her father was too smart to believe in all of that superstitious nonsense, but what could he do when his grandfather made the call?

Amaranth smelled her just seconds before Sinbad let out a soft hiss and slipped back under her cloak. Beneath the scent of rain-laiden clouds and the damp streets and the rainbow of other scents constantly swirling through Amaranth's mind, she caught the soft smell of something like cherry blossoms and black currants. It was overwhelmingly pleasant and refined, and Amaranth softened slightly.

"Miss Sofiya, I presume," Amaranth said, giving a short bow as she came upon the woman. "My name is Amaranth, Adelei Zukov's associate. I ask that for the duration of this event you do not leave my side, because I will always find you if you do. Please lead the way and I will keep you safe, you have my word."

A cloaked figure approached.  Ira shrunk against the wall, trying to be as small as possible, not sure if it was her and almost hoping it wasn’t.  If her protection didn’t show up, she would have a valid excuse for turning around and going home.  She could grieve over her wasted effort, write to Zukov and express her disgust and threaten his credibility and demand a refund, and that would be the end of it.  Everything would go back to normal.  She could live her life knowing that she hadn’t compromised her beliefs.  She had been willing to do what was right, she had planned and organized done everything that was within her power, and it was someone else’s fault that she had missed her opportunity.  Ira could live with that.

To her alarm, the figure halted just before her.  She flinched as the woman spoke, using the false name she had provided.  The sound of her voice was unexpectedly calm and quiet, her words surprisingly neutral.  She gave a polite bow, her posture controlled and her movements graceful, demonstrating the kind of behavior Ira had come to expect in her servants and subordinates.  And that was what she was, Ira reminded herself.  She could not let Amaranth see her fear.

Shrewd eyes examined the woman’s appearance.  From what she could see in the dim light, Amaranth was much prettier than Ira had expected.  Much shorter, too, and young.  Possibly around her own age.  “Very well,” Ira said stiffly, squaring her shoulders.  She was not used to leading.  She would have preferred to have Amaranth take that burden on, but that wouldn’t have made any sense.  Of course she was to lead.  She was the commander of this expedition, and Amaranth was her hired help.

But there was one problem.  She didn’t exactly know where they were going.  “It’s near here, I… I’ve never been there before,” she confessed.  She pulled a slip of parchment out of her pocket and extended it toward her protector, her fingers trembling.  She hoped Amaranth would assume it was from the cold.  “It’s to take place in the basement of this… establishment.”  On the parchment, the name of the pub and the city they were in was written, but no address.  That was what she had overheard, and it was all the information she had.  She assumed the entrance was concealed, but didn’t know where to begin.  She wasn’t used to skulking around in this manner, by herself in an unfamiliar place.  She didn’t even know where to begin.  “I am not familiar with this area,” she stated, hoping that Amaranth was.