Chapter Text
Alina always knew she could call the sun. She didn’t hide it. But she didn’t exactly show it off, either.
Some people knew. Mal knew. They used it together. She would summon a little orb in her palm, cradle it close as they huddled beneath the blankets, reading from a frayed storybook, perusing the illustrations well into the night. They used it to steal food from the kitchens, illuminating the rickety staircase in order to avoid the steps that screeched, hiding out beneath the countertops and digging into the dried fruits meant for breakfast the next day. They even used it when Mal wanted to spend the early morning on a hunt, rising before the sun and traipsing through the long grass to the nearby lake where the deer always grazed at dawn. Her power lit their way, a gentle glow to ensure they didn’t get lost.
And yet, when the Grisha came to test each child for their abilities, it still came as a shock when light exploded from Alina’s palm the instant her skin was sliced by the steel. The testers stumbled backward in shock, shielding their eyes from the brightness, while Alina stood there and waited patiently for her future to begin.
After that moment, everything moved at warp speed. No longer was she going to spend her days at Keramzin, hiding out with Mal, biding her time in the meadow, taking her lessons, stealing quick naps. They sequestered her away immediately, sectioning her off into a side room by herself, an empty classroom turned ominous in the absence of other children. Alina sat down at a desk, resting her chin in her injured palm, and continued to wait. She’d heard stories of the Little Palace. All children had, of course. But none, at least not in recent memory, had ever been plucked from Keramzin and deposited there.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go. It was just that she didn’t want to leave.
Keramzin was her home, her safety net. Mal her only friend. Ana Kuya her teacher. She had no family; she knew nothing of the world. She felt so terribly small.
Alina was scratching her fingernail into the soft wood of the desk when Mal snuck in, the door opening and shutting with a gentle creak.
“What are you doing here?” she scolded. But her actions defied her words -- she launched herself across the room and into his arms, holding him tight. She didn’t know how long they had left together and she was determined to make the moment count. “How did you get in?”
“I struck a match and pretended Alexei was an Inferni. They’re distracted.”
“You did not. They’ll never believe that.”
“Not once they find out Alexei’s afraid of fire, that’s for sure.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
They fell into silence then, Alina still holding onto Mal’s arms, a lingering remnant of their hug.
“I didn’t know if I’d have the chance to say goodbye,” Mal confessed. “You’ve got all those Grisha out there losing their heads. I swear I saw one of them crying like a big baby.”
“Maybe they will let you visit,” Alina said.
“Maybe…” Mal trailed off, clearly without much hope in the prospect. “But either way, know I’ll always be your friend. Even if I am just otkazat’sya.”
The door opened then and three Grisha filed in, all wearing deep red keftas. Corporalki. Even Alina knew that meant things were getting serious. She fidgeted, pulling closer to Mal.
“Miss Starkov? It’s time to go,” the one nearest to her said, all sandy brown hair and steel green eyes. He was formidable, gazing down upon her with a serious but kind expression.
“Miss Starkov, fancy,” Mal whispered playfully in her ear, then pushed her gently forward toward the waiting Grisha. “See you after you save the world, Alina,” he taunted, though she could see the sadness on his face hiding just beneath the surface.
“Not if you don’t do it first,” Alina grinned, trying to be brave. And then the Grisha crowded around her, shepherding her out to the awaiting carriage. It was ornate, fine, carefully crafted, and pulled by two horses whose manes were so well-kept that they shone in the sunlight. The whole thing stood in stark contrast to Keramzin, whose paint was chipping and whose floorboards were left to rot. Her clothes felt lackluster, and when she slid onto the plush seats of the carriage, the rough-spun wool left remnants underneath her.
The three Corporalki surrounded her on all sides. Only through their shoulders was she able to get one last glimpse of Keramzin, the only home she could remember, as it dissolved into the distance.
x
They didn’t make it all the way to Os Alta before they stopped. Alina was nervous, twisting her hands in her lap. She didn’t know where they were. Even the trees were strange, their colors familiar but their leaves taking on different shapes than she was used to. Towering above the forest, looming omnipresent, were distant, snow capped mountains. The door of the carriage opened from the outside. The Grisha nearest to it slid out first, then beckoned her along. It was a choreographed move, though she was too naive to realize it. They were flanking her, they were protecting precious cargo, they were closing any blind spots.
Alina stretched, her muscles stiff from sitting in one place for so long. The bright sun made her squint. She turned in a circle, trying to assimilate to this new world, these strange people. They didn’t seem intimidating, but at the same time they wore the clothes she knew to equate with danger and power, and she’d read of what they could do with just a twist of their fingers in her storybooks.
“He’s here,” the taller Grisha, the one with green eyes, said, breaking open the silence. “Come with me, Miss Starkov.”
He reached out a hand and Alina took it, walking forward around a bend until one lone rider on a black stallion came into view. He stopped the horse abruptly, breaking off the gallop mid-stride and causing it to whinny and snort in protest, then dropped from the saddle in one fluid motion.
The rider was tall and imposing. He wore a black kefta that hit the tops of his knees, black boots, and a black cloak so long it skirted the underbrush beneath them. She recognized him, of course. It was the Darkling. As she watched his confident approach, his face, first set in an intimidating scowl, broke open into something gentler, softer. Still, Alina couldn’t help but back up a step, knocking abruptly into the Heartrender’s knees behind her.
“Moi soverennyi,” the Grisha said deferentially once the Darkling was within earshot.
“Ivan,” he nodded. Then he dropped into a crouch before Alina to see her at eye level, holding out his hand to her as if she, too, were an adult. “What is your name?” he asked politely. Alina swallowed, removing her hand from the Grisha’s and reaching out to shake his. There was a shock of something within her the moment their hands touched. It startled her and she pulled her hand back, tucking it tightly into her chest.
“Alina Starkov,” she whispered.
“Alina,” he repeated. “That’s a pretty name.” She couldn’t help the blush that rose to her cheeks, glancing down at the forest floor to avoid his stormy, unnervingly gray eyes. “Tell me, Alina,” he continued, causing her to look up at him again. “Do you like horses?”
Alina nodded hastily. She’d always been drawn to the horses back at Keramzin, even though she’d rarely been allowed to ride them. They were reserved for field work or for travel in and out of the nearby town. But that didn’t stop her from visiting them whenever she dared, hiding out in the stables until Ana Kuya called her in for supper.
“Would you like to meet mine?” he asked.
Alina nodded again. The Darkling rose to full height and held out his hand for her to take. She took it hesitantly, feeling again that surge within her. It was like her temperature was rising -- like she had been laying out in the sun all afternoon, letting her skin grow pink. Her power pushed at her insides like never before, threatening to come out if only she would let it. She swallowed it down, focusing instead on the horse in front of her.
She stood on her tiptoes to reach the horse’s snout, only barely able to brush it with her fingers.
“Looks like you need a lift,” he remarked, reaching under her shoulders and picking her up easily, like she weighed nothing at all. He rested her on his hip, angling her to the side so that she could better reach the horse. The horse snorted, nuzzling into her palm, angling for some sweets. “Take a sugar cube,” the Darkling said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small square. He placed it in Alina’s palm, molding her hand open so that she could feed it to the horse. The horse ate greedily, digging more earnestly into her open hand, whiskers tickling her skin, its dark eyes winking at her in thanks.
“Tickles,” Alina giggled, pulling her now-wet hand back. The Darkling glanced down at her. She noticed that his nose crinkled when he smiled.
“Are you ready to see your new home, Alina?” he asked, a slight grin still on his face.
“I think so,” she replied hesitantly. “Only…”
“What is it?”
“Do I have to go back in the carriage?” Her limbs were still tight from being cooped up in the small space, crowded in on all sides by Corporalki.
The Darkling's smile widened.
“No,” he said. “You ride with me.”
x
The Darkling stood before the royal family in the Grand Palace throne room. He disliked being away from Alina. Already, it was like severing something that’d been tied tightly within him, linking him to wherever she was. It gnawed uncomfortably and incessantly, and it began the moment he put his hand in hers on the road to Os Alta. His kefta was rumpled from the ride to and from the border, though he otherwise showed no outward signs of discomfort. He simply stood before the Lantsovs -- King, Queen, and prince -- while he waited for the interrogation.
“You’re positive she’s a Sun Summoner?” the King finally asked, slouching in his throne.
“Positive,” the Darkling replied.
“You’ve seen it?”
“My Grisha testers have. I know it to be true.” The Darkling also knew it by the way it felt to be near her, how his power called to hers, how hers blossomed something within him. How, for the very first time in his long existence, something inside him was slowly but surely being filled. But that knowledge would show his hand and was best kept private. The Lantsovs, as far as the Darkling was concerned, were on a need-to-know basis.
“Well, I shall need to see it myself."
“She’s only eight. You will see it in time,” the Darkling responded easily, but that did not sit right with the Lantsov king.
“She is Ravkan, Kirigan. She is my domain. I can do with her as I see fit.”
“She is Grisha,” the Darkling snapped, the calm in his voice now accompanied by an underlying threat. “Second Army.”
The King stood, angrier now, pushing his overweight body off his throne. But before he could advance upon the Darkling -- and before the Darkling could retaliate in kind -- the Apparat entered, appearing as if from nowhere. He slunk toward the King, whispering into his ear hastily. The Darkling felt his fists clench. If there was one person he disliked more than the King, it was the Apparat.
“Yes, yes,” the King mumbled, shooing the Apparat off to the shadows once more. “Here is what we are going to do,” he continued, approaching the Darkling. The Darkling lifted his chin, steeling himself for what was coming next. “You will train the Sun Summoner. Do whatever you need to do in that Little Palace of yours. But when she comes of age, once she is in the public eye as the Saint she was always meant to be, she will marry Vasily. Then, we will present a united front to Ravka.”
The Darkling felt the shadows grow on his fingertips, felt them curl up around his feet and ankles. And though it was already nighttime, the room grew darker still, more opaque. Moonlight no longer streamed through the windows, candles dimmed, torches flickered. Upon their thrones, the Queen and prince looked around nervously.
But now was not the time to fight back. Deep within him, the Darkling knew that. Alina wasn’t ready. Ravka wasn’t ready. Not for what they would bring together. But in time, and with enough training and preparing, there would be no need for the Lantsov family. Him and Alina were power enough. But he needed that time to shape her, to mold her. She needed time to grow. And this deal -- this deal granted that. So he would take it. The Darkling took a deep breath through his nose, letting it out slowly.
“It’s a deal,” the Darkling said, holding out his hand. Around them, the lights grew brighter, a warm glow returning to the space.
“I don’t make deals. I give orders,” the King replied gruffly, turning around and heading back to his throne. The Darkling let his hand drop. Over the course of his long existence, he had served many rulers. The peaceful, the gentle, the cruel, and the tyrants. He’d also been a ruler himself. He knew the tenuous balance he had crafted was just that -- tenuous. In Ravka, the Grisha were safe. He couldn’t risk that now with a coup, not with the ongoing border wars, not when he didn’t yet have the ability to rule the way he needed to.
He needed to wait. Now was not the time.
And if there was one thing the Darkling had, it was patience.
x
Alina scurried into the library on bare feet. She’d been in lessons for months and they were going miserably. Her power wasn’t nearly as strong as the other kids’. After all, they were already creating storms, moving waves, lighting trees on fire. And all she could do was summon a little bit of light in her palm, make it glow hot but not even hot enough to burn. The whispers that followed her every move didn’t help. That she was a Sun Summoner, one of a kind. That the Darkling had taken a special interest in her. That she wore a black kefta instead of blue, unlike the other Etherealki. And for what? So she could create a night light? It was embarrassing.
From the bottom shelf, she grabbed the book she’d been reading -- a children’s story on all of the Saints gone by. Each chapter was its own parable, telling the history of the Saint, what they accomplished, how they died. (Because they all died, of course.) They were even paired with illustrations. She knew that the book was too young for her -- knew that it would make her look babyish, and even smaller than the rest of the kids -- but she couldn’t help returning to it time and time again. She dropped to her hands and knees, crawling beneath a side table where the blankets and pillows from her bed were already waiting for her. The table itself was covered with a cloth that dangled down, effectively shielding her from view.
It was times like these when she missed Mal the most. How they would curl up together in silence, slowly reading books, using her light to illuminate the pages. She wondered what he was doing back at Keramzin. Getting into trouble, probably. Chasing one of the girls, definitely. It made her sigh with longing. She felt like a stranger in a strange land at the Little Palace, trapped by the finery and the customs, the foreign ways in which even the children carried themselves. Like they’d forgotten what it was like to just play.
Alina flipped open the book to where she’d left off, a story about a Saint who helped a group of children cross the Fold, back when the Fold itself was still new. The illustration covered the page, the black ink practically seeping into the words. The children all made it across to Novokribirsk, but the Saint herself was lost, never to be seen again. She was just finishing the chapter when she heard the approaching sound of boots on marble. Peering out from beneath the cloth, she saw a very familiar black pair as it walked slowly up to where she hid. The knees bent and a face came into view: the Darkling, of course.
He always knew where to find her.
“Hiding out, Alinochka?” he asked.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she confessed, closing the book and putting it to the side.
“Have room in there for me?”
Alina nodded, scooting over to make space. He barely fit, his legs sticking out at an angle, his arm around her shoulder. Alina imagined it looked awfully strange for passersby, to see the Darkling’s legs alone sticking out from beneath the library’s side table. But there were few visitors to the library at night and, besides, she forgot about all the other Grisha in the Little Palace when she was with the Darkling. She curled up into his side, pressing her face into his torso. He smelled of wood smoke and pine trees; his heart thumped steadily beneath her ear.
“What were you reading?” he asked.
“It’s embarrassing,” she confessed.
“What is it?” he pressed.
“A story for little kids. A picture book.”
“I still read picture books sometimes.”
“You do?” Alina asked, turning her head to look up at him, eyes wide. The Darkling smiled.
“Sure, if I like them enough.”
“The one I was reading was about a Saint. She crossed the Fold… but she died. It was a sad story.”
The Darkling stiffened, then sighed. She felt his hand tighten on her shoulder, drawing her even closer to him. His cloak fell around them both until she was wrapped tightly in his darkness.
“The other kids say that I’m supposed to get rid of the Fold. That I’m the only one who can,” Alina continued her confessional. “But I can barely even summon enough light to warm up a room. Even Baghra says I can’t do it. That I’ll never be able to. I’m going to fail everyone.”
“I won’t let that happen,” the Darkling said solemnly and seriously, running his hand through her hair. Alina sniffled, but she didn’t want the Darkling to see her tears. He was strong and confident; she wanted to be strong and confident too. “Listen to me, Alinochka,” he said, pulling her atop his lap fully. “You are not alone in this. We have each other. If you are upset, or if someone upsets you, you come to me. Do you understand?”
Alina nodded and took a breath.
“Good,” he said. He used his thumbs to wipe away the tears from her cheeks, pulled her tightly against him. “Let’s pick a new story,” he said, grabbing the book. “One with a happy ending this time, preferably.”
He flipped through the pages, settling on one toward the back. And then he began to read aloud, slowly and with a calm surety. She felt the vibrato of his voice through his chest and into hers, felt his warmth seep from him and into her. His chin rested gently atop her head, one fingertip running up and down her spine. It wasn’t long until she drifted off to sleep.
x
“Vasily, stop!” Alina protested, stomping angrily through the sloping field that lay between the Little and Grand Palace.
She hated Vasily. And not just because he was a spoiled prince, but because he was mean. He liked to chase her, taunt her, torment her. He seemed to have some type of vendetta against her. Either that, or he simply found being cruel to be funny. At that moment, his particular form of entertainment was chasing her around the grounds with a stick, pretending it was a sword of Grisha steel.
He purposefully found the ones with thorns or spiky offshoots, swinging them through the air haphazardly in her direction.
“I’m a valiant knight and you are my enemy, Alina!” he cried, running after her once more. Alina growled in frustration, taking off at a faster clip through the field. She’d had enough of these games. They were nothing like the games she used to play at Keramzin with Mal. They felt like bullying.
“Stop it!” she yelled again as she felt the stick-turned-sword displace the air near her cheek.
“Fight back!” Vasily cried out, his mop of blonde hair sticking to his sweaty forehead.
“No!”
Vasily swung the stick again. Alina dodged it, only to trip over a pile of loose rocks. She tumbled in surprise, landing on her back in a whump, the air knocked clean from her chest. She gasped for it, scrambling backward on her elbows as Vasily approached with the branch.
“Now I have you,” he jeered. He swung the branch down hard. She rolled, but one of the branch’s pointy offshoots still managed to nick her cheek, causing a thin stream of blood to bloom atop her skin. Vasily reared back to swing again, but this time, Alina fought back.
All of her training came to her in that instant: how to hold her hands, how to focus her power, how to exercise it with both restraint and purpose. Her palms clapped together and then separated, a hot orb of light bursting from between them and slamming directly into Vasily’s chest. The impact of it caused him to fly backward through the air, landing in a heap a few feet away. Alina pushed herself to her feet, jogging over to where Vasily lay, confused and blinking, with his ego bruised but not much else.
“Are you okay?” Alina asked just as a small fleet of First Army guards came running toward them, yelling the prince’s name in fear.
“She hurt me,” Vasily cried, lip trembling, pointing at Alina with disgust. “She hurt me with the light!”
One guard lifted Vasily, still sniffling, then dragged Alina by the arm up to the Grand Palace steps. They moved quickly as a group through the ornate halls and winding passageways, all the way up to a set of closed double doors, flanked both by the King’s guard and by a handful or oprichniki, the Darkling’s personal fleet. The guard holding Alina knocked on the door, peering inside.
“What is it?” It was the King’s voice.
“I have the Prince. And the Sun Summoner,” the guard said hesitantly.
“Come in.”
The doors opened and they entered. In the room already was a handful of army generals, both from the First Army and the Second. They stood in a loose semi-circle around a table covered with maps and parchment, missives hastily scrawled atop. The King stood opposite the Darkling, whose arms were crossed. The Darkling’s eyes zeroed in on the hand that gripped Alina’s bicep, his gaze black.
“Let her go,” the Darkling ordered, a stream of shadow cracking like a whip from the first two fingers of his left hand, aimed right where the guard held tight. The guard yelped and let go, immediately nursing his wound, holding it to his chest nervously. Once released, Alina ran directly to the Darkling, hiding beneath the folds of his cloak, wrapping her arms around his waist. The Darkling placed a hand on top of her head, staring at Vasily expectantly, who was still crying weakly.
“What happened?” the King finally asked.
Vasily erupted:
“She hurt me with her power! She hit me with it in the chest!"
“You used your power unsupervised? Against the heir to the throne?” the King asked, rounding on Alina. Alina cringed deeper into the Darkling’s hold. The Darkling looked down at her, eyes questioning.
“He wouldn’t stop chasing me! He was swinging a stick at me, see?” Alina protested, pointing out the cut on her cheek. The Darkling scowled, running his thumb over the clotting wound.
“It is not illegal to play with sticks. It is illegal to use Grisha power unsupervised,” the King interrupted.
“But--” Alina tried again, but the Darkling held a finger to her lips.
“I will see that she’s properly punished,” the Darkling said. “I assume that we’re done here, then?” he asked the room. There were grumbles of acknowledgement as the group of officers began to pack up their maps and notes. The Darkling took Alina’s hand and pulled her from the room. Once they were halfway down the hall, he lifted her into his arms, propped against his hip. She wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder.
“Are you going to punish me?” she asked, biting her lip.
“Of course not,” the Darkling sighed. “But you have to be more careful. He is the prince.”
“But he was chasing me! He was being mean! It’s not fair.”
“I know, Alinochka. I know.”
“Why do we even have the prince and the King? You could kill them easily. They aren’t even Grisha.”
The Darkling’s eyes flashed but Alina could see that the comment pleased him.
“Be careful with what you say, my sweet. That’s treason,” he warned, but he was smiling all the same. “Now, are you going to show me what you actually did to the boy? I want a demonstration.” He set her down on her two feet again. She looked up at him and grinned.
“Yes. But you have to catch me first!” she cried, then sprinted out the open doors, through the field and toward the trees. The Darkling waited for a few moments, giving her a head start before jogging after her, following that same tug he always felt and always would feel. He caught her up near the lake where they spent the rest of the afternoon. The Darkling watched with the now-familiar awe and thrill as his little Sun Summoner grew light in the palms of her hands.