This fic has been a long time coming, the idea sparking sometime in late April 2021 while the signups for the 2021 Grishaverse Big Bang were still open. Life happened a lot in early-mid May and I actually considered dropping out from the event, but I stuck with it and here we are now, 13k words of my longest fic, and completed fic, to date. I'm so proud of it.
I have to thank my awesome GVBB21 gang members, who either created fanworks inspired by this fic (eeeee!) or betaed for my fic to help it be the best it could be. So thank you to my lovely betas (Zuha and Cate), artists (Carol, Oliver, Allie, and Violet), and edit makers (Amihan and Grace)! Thank you to @the_jennster on AO3 as well, "cancelled plans" was the original inspiration for this fic.
A note from February 2022: I learned after I finalized and posted this fic that Novyi Zem is not, in fact, based on Tanzania, but on Australia and its Aboriginal people -- this misinformation affected a lot of details for the character of Dhamiria, mostly her name and the foods she grew up with.
One last thing: While the first and last chapters are OC-centric, in line with Leigh Bardugo's writing style for the SOC Duology, the rest are Kaz-centric. Please note that the prologue and epilogue are incredibly integral parts of the story.
Enjoy! <3
Dhamiria wishes the world turned differently.
She wishes there was never an Unsea; no reason for the True Sea, as the Ravkans call Ghezen’s Diep Expansie — the Kerch commerce god’s Deep Expanse of commerce-topped saltwater — to need the specification in its name. She wonders what it was called by Ravka before the Shadow Fold tore a hole through their lands and changed the only sea to simply a sea.
“Hold still, Dhamiria,” the Healer sitting in front of her says for the second time in as many minutes, a gentle reminder with soft laughter on her peach-tinted lips snapping Dhamiria out of her haze. Their knees clack together from their matching chairs, Adeliya’s skirts rippling against Dhamiria’s pants-covered calves, and Adeliya murmurs an absent apology. Dhamiria waves it away and straightens her spine, pulling her chin up and her arms back to her sides.
“Is this still enough for you?”
“Da,” Adeliya says simply, close enough to the Kerch ja that Dhamiria instantly recognizes it for the yes that it is, tilting her fair face to peer at one of Dhamiria’s dark, golden brown forearms. She holds her hands up in an artful motion and the clear liquid in the open vial sitting on the table by her elbow lifts into the air, curling toward Dhamiria. Dhamiria watches, just as transfixed the hundredth time as the first, as the liquid settles against the skin of her forearms for half a moment before sinking into it, into her muscles to spread through the rest of her body.
Dhamiria will forever be grateful that Corporalki discovered a way to synthesize hormones years ago, giving her the chance to seek the body she truly wants. The body she has now, just over two years since her first dose. The first Healer to sit with her for these weekly sessions moved back to Ravka four months ago, homesick and wanting to see his family again, and so Dhamiria and Adeliya had met and become fast friends by the second week.
“Almost done,” Adeliya hums, light and sweet, as her pale, lithe hands twist in the air.
Dhamiria smiles. “And next week you’ll bring syrniki and I’ll bring my mama’s ugali just like we agreed, right?”
“Food for food,” Adeliya agrees with a tone of amusement and excitement as she tilts her hands into a third configuration, raising her connected hands toward Dhamiria’s forehead to form a triangle of empty space a few inches away. “Some Ravkan, some Zemeni. But you had better not be lying about your mother’s ugali being the best ugali east of Weddle, Dhamiria, or else I will need to have words with you.”
“I would never lie about my mama’s cooking.”
“Well,” Adeliya allows as she lowers her hands and gives Dhamiria a sunny-bright smile, one Dhamiria might like to keep in a jar on her window sill to appreciate daily, “if you did then I would say, ‘Dhamiria Fuli, you are a liar and a cheat—’”
“I’m already both of those things, Adeliya.”
“‘—and I’ll only forgive you if you teach me how to do that fancy card trick you showed me last month.’”
Dhamiria tries her best not to laugh as Adeliya promptly re-seals the hormone vial and carefully places it back in her satchel with a pleased look on her face. “If you wanted to learn the trick you just had to ask,” Dhamiria says.
“You’ll have to teach me over syrniki and ugali, then.”
“The deal is the deal,” Dhamiria agrees in an overly serious tone, reaching to shake Adeliya’s hand, and the young woman laughs so hard her shoulders shake, bright and clear like tinkling bells as it fills the small bedroom.
Dhamiria is glad she’s made a friend in Adeliya, just as she’s glad that some things in the world are the way they are and that she gets the chance to hear Adeliya laugh instead of cower in fear, protected by the Dregs and their leader from any harm that could come to her on the streets of Ketterdam.
The relaxed moment is interrupted by a knock on the door to Dhamiria’s bedroom. Adeliya’s laughter subsides, the woman looking at the door with a curious expression as one hand drifts to curl around the strap of her satchel.
“Come in,” Dhamiria says, and the door opens part way, a Dregs member ducking into the doorway to look at Dhamiria and Adeliya.
“I’m not interrupting, am I?” Floris asks, flaxen braid pulled over his shoulder to rest against his chest.
“No, Adeliya just finished,” Dhamiria says, a small furrow appearing between her black brows. “What do you need?”
“Brekker is leaving the Slat, we’re not sure for how long,” Floris says, giving Adeliya a polite nod and smile as she stands and pulls the strap of her satchel over one shoulder. “You’re in charge until he’s back, according to the boss. I think he’s already out the door.”
Dhamiria being in charge when Brekker is out isn’t unusual, it’s been the norm these past months, yet despite that Dhamiria can’t help but let curiosity overtake her dark features.
“What’s got him leaving in such a hurry?” she asks.
Floris grins, eyes twinkling.
“He’s going down to Fifth Harbor to meet his Crows,” he says. “The Wraith is coming home.”
Dhamiria is a Swahili name meaning ‘thoughtful aim’, while Fuli is a surname of Swahili origin meaning ‘very fast’. Swahili is the most widely spoken language in Tanzania, which I believed was the basis for Novyi Zem at the time of writing. Similarly, Adeliya is a Russian name meaning ‘noble’. Floris is a Dutch name meaning ‘flowering’.
Ugali is a traditional African (Great Lakes, in this case) breakfast food. Similarly, syrniki is a traditional Eastern Slavic (Russian, in this case) breakfast food.
Thank you so much for reading the first chapter of this absolute labor of love! As always here, comments kudos are greatly appreciated (I love replying!) if you have anything specific you want to talk about, point out, whatever!