Chapter Text
Amongst young trees, before an archaic fountain, Alina recalls what she knows of the Black Heretic. Recounting the story laid out in stone before her as the Darkling listens on.
When she finishes she turns to find his eyes glazed with an age-old pain.
“I have devoted my life to undoing the great sin of my forebearer but I’m never seen as the solution, always as reminder of the problem, but they always need someone to blame.”
“Can you tell me any more about him?” his black eyes snap to hers “please”.
“You think there is more to know?”
Eyes dropping under his intense gaze she turns back to the carvings. “I don’t really think. I hope… Or maybe I don’t.”
He doesn’t comment, following the movement of her hand towards the stone, waiting.
“I’m afraid” she admits reluctantly as she kneels before the ancient story, partly hoping he’ll interrupt her before she reveals too much of herself, partly desperate to share what’s been haunting her these past nights.
Tentative fingers follow the contours of the demonic image of the Black Heretic rendered lifetimes ago. “I want to know what actually happened, what the fold cost and how he did it, because if that’s what it took to make it and everyone expects me to be able to destroy it… They will martyr me to it, won’t they? And maybe I should let them, but maybe I shouldn’t. I don’t know what to think.”
She stands and turns back to him as her fears roll freely off her loosened tongue.
“And when the fold is gone, what happens? With Ravka whole will we have the strength to finish these wars with Shu Han and Fjerda? Will they ally against us? Now that I am one, I can’t ignore how they treat Grisha, and it is evil. But as everyone is always so desperate to remind me, I am also Shu. And people deserve the chance to live without fear: Grisha, but also Shu and Fjerdans, as well as Ravkans.”
The Darkling is deathly still but for the saccadic dance his eyes play over her face. The forest holds its breath.
Finally, “You’re right,” he breathes softly.
“About what?”
He turns to pull at the tips of autumn branches that brush his shoulder then, after a moment, “The politics of the Fold are more complex than everyone is willing to consider.”
“That wasn’t really my question.”
He frowns at a golden leaf as it floats to the ground and settles among its peers, then looks up at her.
“I know by what means it was created, but I don’t think you’re ready to hear it yet.”
When she opens her mouth to complain he raises a hand and continues.
“It is not for the sake of your sanity or your morals, it is complex Grisha theory beyond what most study in a lifetime, and as you say, the issue of the Fold is more complicated that it looks.”
“But that’s exactly my point, if it took a lifetime to learn to create it how am I to be expected to destroy it, what, by this time next year?” she retorts, startling the woodland with her exasperation.
But the Darkling just steps closer. “We have all the time in the world, Alina, and I won’t let anyone make you their martyr.”
“But the Tsar- “
“I will deal with the Tsar.” His voice is low as she finds herself looking straight up into dark eyes. She tries to shorten the heavy breaths that she fears he can feel on his face so close to hers.
She should continue her argument... but can’t remember what it was, her erratic chest as deafening as his soft exhale above her.
“That’s not fair” she finally whispers, embarrassed by the lightness of her voice.
“What is?” he responds with a curve to one cheek.
“You’re distracting me.”
“How, pray, am I doing that?” he murmurs, and dark eyes search her face as she doesn’t dare to move.
But suddenly he lifts his posture and takes a step back, leaving Alina bereft against too much space.
“The problem of the Fold is one I have had a long time to consider” he is now achingly formal, although breathing carefully around the words. “if you would like I could take you through some of the history, the scenarios and... contingencies that I have planned?”
“That you have planned?” Her intrigue banishing lingering embarrassment.
Arms folded behind his back he looks back at Alina and beyond her.
“As I told you before, the King is a child, and a spoiled one at that. Spoiled children cannot see past their own desire. Reality is rarely so neat. Even when people think they know what they want, they soon find themselves corrected,” he asserts, gaze flicking back to her and away again. “Things never happen the way you want, or how you expect, but I have had a long time to plan for every eventuality.”
“It sounds like you’d need even longer than a century for that.” She huffs sitting heavily on the side of the fountain, suddenly weary under the weight of the unknown.
A small smile graces his shadowy features as he stares out into the trees “Indeed.”
She looks up and watches him curiously for a few moments before he snaps into himself once again.
“We should get you back, Baghra does hate tardiness.” He offers her a hand.
They ride back to the Little Palace in companionable silence as Alina as considers the unexpectedly intimate exchange. She cannot help but suspect his motives. She knows she is a tool now, that her allegiance is to be used, but had he revealed more than he intended? He seems to keep relaxing into her company, then catching himself and retreating behind military decorum.
But that could be as much as part of the game as anything else.
Glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, he seems equally lost in thought. She can’t help but hope that it isn’t.