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Alina doesn’t think as she slips out of the Little Palace and down the road into the forests. Aleksan- General Kirigan- No, the Darkling was the Black Heretic. He created the Fold. He lied to her.
She doesn’t think for hours, merely running. S omewhere. Anywhere. Away. She doesn’t stop, because if she stops she thinks and that’s dangerous. So she does as she and Mal used to back at Keramzin and just goes on. If she stops, she loses. What exactly, she doesn’t know. Her life, perhaps.
Of course, she has to stop eventually, just as the first light starts to appear over the horizon. She gulps and lets the light in her hand fade, slumping against a tree, shaking. Gasping.
Her chest feels tight as if someone has wrapped her in a coil of rope. Her heart beats in her throat, for the moment distracting her from the nausea rising in her stomach. If it’s from the information or the mindless running she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know a lot at the moment.
She shuts her eyes and digs her palms in them. A scream is stuck in her lungs, but she can’t quite force it out. Instead she makes choked, high-pitched gasps that do nothing to relieve the pressure in her chest.
She sinks to her knees and leans on her hands, digging her fingers into the cold wet dirt. She’s trembling, but that might just be the cold.
Enough. She needs to focus. She needs to-
Gasp for breath, apparently. For a few seconds the only thing she can think of is the lack of oxygen in her lungs and the insufficient amount in the air around her.
Enough. Focus. She forces her scattered thoughts to form a single line. She’s a soldier – terrible one, maybe, but a soldier. It’s time to stop reacting and start thinking . What would Mal do?
Of course, that is a terrible question. Mal would run because he dislikes all grisha, and the Darkling personally. He would not think on this at all.
Someone else then. What would- What would Genya do?
Again, a bad choice. Genya is loyal to the Darkling, possibly more loyal to him than to the king and the country. Who else?
Alina wrecks her brain until she comes to the uncomfortable conclusion that there is no one else. She doesn’t need to know what someone else would do. Everyone is biased, one way or another. She needs to know what she needs to do.
She pulls back and sits on her heels, shoulders slumping as if carrying a great weight. What is she going to do? Where is she going?
She stares at her hands intensely. Nowhere, is the answer to the latter. She’s running blindly through the countryside. She has no destination and honestly, she can’t think of any place to go to. The First Army is out of question. She’s too old to return to the orphanage. Mal is back at the Little Palace and frankly one of the last people she wants to see right now. She has nowhere to go.
She swallows the lump in her throat – tries to, anyway. It doesn’t work so well. She clenches her fists again and a bitter laugh bubbles from the pit in her stomach. Baghra’s plan truly sucks.
He’s going to find her eventually, she thinks, raising her face to stare at the lightening sky. Grey clouds are gathering the way she’s been going. There’s no silver lining to them.
She does not want to be a slave. She doesn’t want to expand the Fold, murder innocent people.
She doesn’t want to be alone either. She doesn’t want to run for the rest of her life. Not when there is nowhere to go and no one to meet.
She suppresses the urge to scream and digs her palms into her eyes again. Everything was so much easier when she was a mapmaker. How she would love to go back to being a mapmaker in the First Army.
Except, she thinks, pulling her hands forward and summoning just a little ball of light. Except she wouldn’t. She is a Grisha. A sun summoner. And as scary as that is, for the first time ever it is just her. Just Alina. Not one of the children. Not Mal and Alina. Not yet another mapmaker. Yet another soldier. Expendable.
She stumbles to her feet, holding the light before her. That is the question though, i sn’t it? Baghra has said many things, but many more she hasn’t. The Darkling has lied about many things, but… Well, there is a reason all Grisha are loyal to him. He saved them. Alina has no illusion that she’d have fared any better than any other Grisha if he’d not created the Second Army. Sun summoner or not.
Clearly there is more to the story. The question, of course, is what to do now? Who does she want to be?
She thought she knew the answer to that, but now… She stares at the light in her hand. She is the sun summoner. A Grisha. Had she not cheated at the exam, Little Palace would’ve been her home. It was starting to feel like one anyway. The orphan girl in her didn’t want to lose that.
She swallows again and sighs, dismissing the light. This is why she didn’t want to think.
She looks the way she came. They know she’s gone. At least few of them. The Darkling certainly does.
She grimaces then because Oh and Right. She’s not sure how she feels about that anymore. It doesn’t help that she isn’t… Well, the Darkling is attractive . He’s also the general so that may have been a stupid idea from the beginning but that is not the point.
The point is, that she’s going back. She has no idea what she’s going to say once she gets to the Little Palace. To anyone. But she does have the entire trip to figure it out.
She does not, in fact, figure it out. She tries to, of course, but honestly, she’s too tired and too confused to do anything but worry. She’s also a tiny bit ashamed.
By the time she sees the Little Palace it’s almost dark again and she’s barely dragging her feet behind her. She might weep when she sees a bed. It doesn’t need to be her bed, just any bed.
She hovers a little distance away and watches the guards engrossed in a game of cards. She slips past them when one of them throws the cards in the other’s face.
The looks she attracts are nothing short of bewildered. She knows she looks terrible. Exhausted to the bone, dirty and sweaty, she bets there at least a few leaves stuck in her hair. But no one stops her, so her disappearance can’t be common knowledge.
It’s either a miracle or an act of Saints that she makes it to the office undisturbed. She stops before it and stares at the door blankly. She knows he’s inside. Somehow she always knows where he is when she needs him. She bites her lip and breaths. She can’t run again. Better get it over with.
It takes her an embarrassing amount of time to gather the courage to knock.
“Come in,” sounds the order from inside. It’s the Darkling and he’s unhappy. She doesn’t blame him too much.
She opens the door before she can think about it and steps inside. He sits behind a desk, scribbling angrily on a piece of paper. A formidable scowl is set deep in his face. He… doesn’t seem to have slept much.
Amusingly enough, he doesn’t look up when she closes the door, nor when she approaches him. She hovers in front of his desk, playing absently with her fingers. Several times she opens her mouth to speak, but words get caught in her throat. She clears it briefly.
“General Kirigan?”
His eyes and hand freeze at the same time before he wrenches his gaze from whatever he’s writing and stares at her. The flash of utter bafflement that crosses his face before he schools his expression seems appropriate.
“ Miss Starkov,” he greets her back, but otherwise seems to be at a loss of words. Again, she doesn’t blame him; she doesn’t know what to say either.
The silence that falls between them is the most uncomfortable silence she’s ever been a part of. It doesn’t help that she’s close to collapsing from exhaustion. She was awake the whole day, through the night and then yet another day. She’s just about ready to sleep and hopefully never wake up so she doesn’t have to deal with anything.
“Sit down, Miss Starkov,” the Darkling says and gestures at a chair opposite of him. Gratefully she sinks o nto its soft padding. He gets up and fetches a glass of water for her.
She watches him while she gulps it down greedily. He doesn’t seem angry, but she can’t exactly read anything on his face. He catches her gaze and she lowers her eyes in response.
“Are you alright, Miss Starkov? Injured?”
That forces her to glance at him again, catching a brief look of concern on his face. She shakes her head and sets the glass on the table.
She miscalculates and almost drops it on the ground.
“You should get some rest,” he tells her. “Get cleaned up.”
Alina doesn’t think she could get up even if the Fold suddenly moved itself to the office. She takes a deep breath, but can’t make herself meet his eyes as she says:
“I spoke to Baghra.”
He scoffs under his breath. “She has mentioned.”
Alina isn’t quite sure what to say to that, if anything. Of all the things she’s expected, Baghra bragging to her son about ordering her to run was not one of them.
“I…” she trails off, still staring at the table. At some point her arms curled around her stomach in anxiety, but she can’t remember when.
“Go to bed, Miss Starkov,” the Darkling tells her again. He sounds as tired as she feels. “Get some rest, take a bath, eat. Come see me tomorrow.”
She looks up at him. He still doesn’t seem angry. He’s staring off into distance with a neutral face.
She forces her limbs to work and stands up. The words leave her mouth before she realizes she’s saying anything.
“Yes, sir. Good night.”
Alina doesn’t wake up until the noon of the next day. When she does she’s warm and comfortable. She vaguely remembers the previous day in her foggy mind, but dismisses it as unimportant and closes her eyes again.
Late in the afternoon she stirs again. Her eyes are glued shut and her brain doesn’t want to process information, but she forces them to work and clambers out of the bed.
She nearly falls asleep in the tub. At this point she decides enough is enough, climbs out and gets dressed. Her clothes from the previous day are gone. Whoever took them also left a small meal on her table. She nibs on it until her stomach starts cramping; entirely too soon. By then her head pounds with an insistent headache.
She considers pretending she slept through the whole day to avoid the Darkling, but that’s cowardly and ultimately pointless. She makes her way through the halls, praying she won’t meet Baghra.
The Darkling is in his office again. The door is open this time, which is mildly concerning. She enters and looks around. He’s alone, sitting by his table, but not working. There is a glass on his table, and a bottle of some high quality alcohol.
“Close the door, Miss Starkov,” he orders. He gestures for her to sit down.
She does so, mindful of her cramping stomach. A lump rises to her throat again as she finds herself unable to meet his eyes. The silence stretches.
“My mother seemed rather convinced you’d not be returning willingly,” he starts neutrally. Something is in his voice, some emotion, but Alina can’t figure out which. She shrugs.
“I’m sure she believes that,” she offers, playing with her fingers in her lap.
“ Why did you?”
Alina snorts despite her position. “Where would I go?” she asks before she can think better of it. She bites her lip, but decides to press on. “She doesn’t seem to have planned that far.”
He doesn’t respond so Alina continues, trying to justify herself: “I was confused, that’s why I left when she demanded. Confused and overwhelmed.”
She glances up, but is met with an impassive face.
“Do you believe her?”
Alina swallows her nerves. “Should I?”
His lips twitch before they curl into an amused smile. “ I am the Black Heretic,” he confirms. “And I did create the Shadow Fold. On accident.”
Alina takes a shaky breath and nods. She knows the Fold was an accident. He was trying to do something else, although she’s unsure what. She watches him, trying to consolidate the person before her with the Black Heretic. Trying to figure out why a man like that would build the Second Army.
“Do you really plan to expand the Fold?” she blurts out. It’s easier to ask that than the rest.
“Will it ease your mind if I say no?” he asks in turn and that’s an answer enough.
She doesn’t ask why. She doesn’t think she wants to know. Not yet. Whatever the reason, he apparently can’t do it without her and for now that is enough of a safeguard.
He leans forward and rests his arms on the table. Alina immediately remembers that it’s not her who has the power now. She’s not the one there to ask questions.
“Why did you come back, Miss Starkov?”
She frowns. “I have nowhere else to go,” she repeats, trying not to feel miserable about it.
He hums in response. “So if you did, you would not have returned.”
“I didn’t say that,” she protests. “I-”
She purses her lips, glancing away. “I’m Grisha,” she says, happy her voice doesn’t shake. “I belong here.”
“Your friend seems to disagree.”
She scowls, but nods. She is aware. Mal has made his opinion very clear. He wants her back, but only without “the Grisha nonsense.” That’s just too bad, because she’s not giving up her sun summoning. Not even for Mal.
The Darkling rises to his feet and walks idly to the window, staring out with a tilted head.
“You’re afraid of me.”
Alina snorts. “I don’t think there’s anyone who isn’t. At least a little.” She gets to her feet too and immediately regrets it when her stomach makes itself known. She approaches him cautiously and peers out of the window.
“Of course,” she adds, “your mother had things to say about your intentions regarding me.” It takes all her willpower not to back away when he looks at her sharply.
“She mentioned nothing of the sort to me.”
Alina purses her lips. That is… inconvenient. “It’s not important.”
“Clearly it is,” he argues and turns to face her fully, looking down on her. “What did she say?”
“I really, really don’t want to talk about it?” she tries and inches away from him.
He sighs and reaches out, cupping her cheek gently. “Alina...”
She freezes, her breath hitching. She can suddenly remember the moments before Baghra approached her very clearly.
She crosses her arms over her chest and starts talking to distract herself: “It’s the amplifier. She said if you place it on me you’ll be able to control my power.”
He blinks and lets his hand fall. “Only if I’m the one to kill the animal. Which I don’t intend to do.” He tilts his head and stares at her.
“You came back because you belong here,” he repeats slowly. “But do you trust me?”
It’s Alina’s turn to hesitate. Did she trust him? Could she? She shouldn’t, but did she?
She stares at him. She’s not dead yet, he’s not even angry with her. The Fold was an accident. He’s protecting the Grisha. He’s been for years, centuries, maybe. Did she trust him with Mal? The First Army? The otkazat’sya? No. But she would trust him with the Grisha. She’d trust him with herself too, even if it could be a mistake.
She nods mutely and looks outside again. Several Grisha are strolling outside, enjoying the evening.
His knuckles brush her jaw and she looks back at him. He’s watching her with an intense gaze. He’s standing much closer than she’ s previously realized.
He moves almost as if to kiss her, but stops halfway through the motion and pulls back. He shakes himself and turns, walking back to the table.
Alina grabs his wrist to stop him. He glances at her, confused and makes a surprised sound when she pulls his head lower and kisses him. He doesn’t protest though, sneaking one arm around her waist and the other to the back of her neck.
It’s...good. It feels safe, his hands on her. Kissing him. She feels confident, powerful. That’s probably because he’s an amplifier, but that’s fine. It feels real and that’s what she needs right now.
She deepens the kiss, running one hand through his hair, the other braced on his shoulder.
Her stomach chooses that exact moment to announce itself with a rumbling growl.
They start laughing mid kiss and lean their foreheads together. His eyes sparkle with mirth that Alina knows can’t be false. Neither was the rest, she’s sure. It doesn’t matter what Baghra says, at least some of this is real. Not everything were lies. And while not everything is not as good as nothing, it’s also much better than everything.