Note: This takes place after the winter fete in Shadow and Bone. Baghra did not appear to send Alina fleeing into the night and the hunt for Morozova's stag continued along its original trajectory.


The cuffs of the kefta reminded her even when her face could not.

A Tidemaker's pale blue thread looped and whorled its way around them in a pattern that, upon the closer examination she had had the time to devote in the past days, lacked quite the level of intricacy the gold of her own cuffs did. Pulling them back from the reins for a moment, Alina Starkov chafed her gloved fingers against one another and focused on remembering she was not, for the moment, 'Alina Starkov'. She was simply another average Grisha, riding in the Darkling's entourage.

Genya had not accompanied them. Her presence on this journey would have raised questions, though not as many as an attempt to extricate her from her duties at the Grand Palace to start with. But she had played a part nevertheless and her talents saw to it that this particular Grisha did not merely smack of the Sun Summoner in a borrowed kefta. They would fade: the blonde wash to her hair, the shade of her skin, the scar-evoking discolourations that trailed down over one cheekbone from her hairline. Through some sort of agency she could not quite place, the Tailor had even contrived to make her look somewhat older: a Grisha in the prime of her service to the Second Army. Alina had privately thought it all on the excessive side under the circumstances, particularly given she going to be bundled against the cold. Yet Genya was so gleeful at her part in the intrigue that Alina had not the heart to put up more than token protest.

Some protest was mandatory, of course. That was half the joy of it for Genya, she was sure of it.


Having brushed Alina's hair smooth as a first step, Genya switched to bringing it all up into a tail that perched just below the crown of her head. From there, it was simple work - for Genya at least - to twine it into a concoction that managed to be both utilitarian and becoming. It also called more than a little attention to the ersatz scarring on her face, even in the cramped view offered by her hand mirror. Alina quirked a brow and pointed. Genya flapped a hand dismissively on its way to diving in with another hairpin.

"Sofya Volkova is a woman with pride in herself. That scar is a badge of honour, I'll have you know." Genya was not overly gentle with Alina's hair, but compared to the ministrations of Ana Kuya years ago, it was a soothing sort of manhandling to undergo.

"Who's Sofya Volkova?"

"You are. You can't very well go around introducing yourself as Alina Starkov while you're in disguise, can you?" Genya beamed. "So I've come up with a cover story for you." With that, she launched into elaborating upon the life she had concocted. Alina gazed at herself in the mirror as her friend spoke, regarding the look of her cheekbones and the arch of her neck, set off as they were by the styling of her hair. The sight grew on her. It was as looking a measure into the future, where the line between Alina the unwanted orphan, the Junior Cartographer of dubious talent and Alina the Sun Summoner had widened into a chasm. She found she did not mind the thought of that, as she shifted the mirror to take in a three-quarters view.

"Wait, wait!" she interjected with a laugh, when Genya was done spinning out the tale of how Sofya came by her scars. "I don't want a reputation that means I need to leap to first action in defense of the Darkling - remember I'm not actually a Tidemaker?" Though the idea of sculpting deadly flying icicles out of the snow was certainly an impressive notion.

"But. . .I like the rest of it. Even if my ears are going to freeze like this." She grinned and Genya mirrored it.

"Put your hood up."


The sound of hoofbeats coming from the opposite direction interrupted her thoughts and she sat straighter in the saddle, holding tight to the guise of Sofya Volkova. Sofya Volkova the Tidemaker, chosen to accompany the Darkling north to the outpost at Chernast, with no idea of what his business was there, for it was none of hers. Alina may have had no experience at being an actress, but it was nevertheless a more comfortable part to play than the truth.

Between them and Chernast lay Tsibeya's snow-covered vastness. And somewhere along the way, were the Saints with them, Morozova's herd.

It was not the Vy, this road they were on, not so broad or well-kept. Tsibeya and the border beyond did not have as much to offer as the west, even if the Fold sat between Os Alta and the True Sea. Yet as the main trade road bound north, it was decent enough and kept clear of snow for the Armies and merchants to pass that way as needs must. Some distance behind where Alina rode, the wheels of the Darkling's coach rumbled over stone and earth. It wouldn't be viable for much of the route, but at the moment, reminders of its presence caused Alina to think of its cushioned seats with some wistfulness. As 'preoccupied' as she had been during her prior and only venture forth in that particular conveyance, she had to admit it had been a less bruising way to travel than the days of hard riding that had come after.

They journeyed on. Not so brutal in pace as that prior trek and far better provisioned, it was nevertheless an interval wreathed in monotony. In better shape now as she was, it left Alina in good repair for dwelling on that latter point and, more so, upon the things that flooded in to fill it.

The Darkling had no more to do with her than most of the other Grisha - Ivan and a couple of others some limited exceptions - since the journey began. What had passed between them the night of the fete might never have been. In between mulling anxiously over what would happen once they located the stag, she caught herself fretting it was not simply a ploy. If it were, Alina could not settle on how she felt about that.

And then, there was Mal. The likelihood she would not see him in Tsibeya when he was the reason the stag had been found to begin with was vanishingly small. She could no more decide how she felt about that than she could unravel the feelings that had trailed her from the Queen's darkened sitting room to the present moment. She ran her thumb along the scar on her palm, the sensation muffled by her glove. The questions became two sides of the same coin, one or the other facing her whenever she lifted her thoughts from the amplifier.


"Starkov."

Even with no one else about save Grisha and oprichniki, Alina nearly jumped out of her boots at hearing Ivan's voice. She had done a better job of submerging herself in the guise of Sofya Volkova than she thought and hearing her true name was like a rifleshot. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him.

The group had split off onto a side road early that morning and had since stopped upon encountering a small contingent of the Darkling's guards awaiting them. With them they had brought a troika, the silvery runners of the sleigh far more suited for cutting through the snow she could see stretching out in unsullied expanses not far in the distance. Its lacquered exterior and three horses were all a glossy black, leaving no doubt as to why it was here. All through the clearing, oprichniki and her fellow Grisha buzzed about, orders being distributed, along with additional supplies. Alina had been left to her own devices to this point, but she had picked up that the group was splitting up, though she was not entirely clear why.

Ivan jerked his head toward the troika. "Lucky you, you get to ride in comfort while the rest of us keep slogging through the snow." The Heartrender smirked and it a little too closely resembled the one he had worn the night that evening by the lake, just after the Darkling had kissed her. That put her back up and Alina coolly arched an eyebrow.

"Is that an order?"

"An offer, I'm sure." The smirk did not falter. "Up to you. You'll be cold enough soon, either way. Never been to Tsibeya before, have you?"

He strode off toward a duo of Corporalki gathered near the horses, gesturing as he neared them and paying no further mind to Alina. After a moment, Alina decided there was no actual principle in snubbing an offer because of the messenger and earning nothing more than an increasingly sore behind from it to boot. She did briefly wonder what the other Grisha would think, but then dismissed the concern. She was the Sun Summoner: that is what they could think.

She approached the sleigh, opening the door and clambering up. It was warmer within, a big contributor to that a covered brazier holding court to one side. Crouching awkwardly for a moment in the floorboards, Alina glanced back and forth. A fur lap blanket was folded neatly on the far side of one seat. Her brow crinkled as she considered which place she was intended to sit in, but crunching in the snow outside motivated her to thump into the forward seat with haste. Moments later, the Darkling was settling in across from her.

He gave her a half-smile, as though he hadn't spent the past days all but ignoring her, and reached out one hand. It traced feather-light down the fading 'scar' that arced out over her cheekbone.

"I see that Genya made the most of her part in this."

Alina clamped down on the urge to check out of the windows and see if anyone had been looking towards the sleigh at that moment. The Darkling sat back, reaching up to knock on the roof. Soon after, they lurched into motion and Alina prodded at the silence.

"Ah, won't this raise questions, in Chernast? I mean, me riding in here." She closed her teeth on a 'with you' postscript.

He gestured to the window and the sight of a large chunk of their group riding off on a divergent path. "They are bound for Chernast. We are not. The outpost is closely watched by Fjerdan scouts at the best of times and I am sure they're even more on alert now. There was an incident."

Her stomach gave an unpleasant roil as she remembered Mal, striding across the Hall of the Golden Dome, a fresh, jagged scar along his jaw, shadows gathered beneath his eyes. ". . .what sort of incident?"

"A small party of soldiers and trackers crossed the border in pursuit of the herd. Unfortunately, they were seen at some point. Whether they know why Ravkans infiltrated Fjerda or not, I do not know. But I would not have you too near to Chernast without purpose. The latest reports are that the herd roams Tsibeya.

"We will await further news at the estate of Countess Timurova. It's an isolated place and the Countess very much a recluse, so it will be simpler to keep our presence quiet. Sofya Volkova is one of the Grisha that travels with me, as far as they will know."

She looked up at him, startled. He had apparently been paying more attention to her than she thought. It occurred to her that, compared to the journey to Os Alta, he was also being far more forthcoming about what was going on. She did not stop the small smile that crept onto her lips then.


Alina had not lent much thought to how the Darkling filled his time while riding in coach or troika. But if pressed, she might have assumed it was something along the lines of gazing regally into the distance for long periods of time, punctuated by intervals of some lackey producing a light snack. Given the brazier, a glass of hot tea might even be in the offing. Presented now with the reality of the thing, she could safely say that there was far less regal gazing and far more paperwork.

A sheaf of documents perched on the cushion beside him much of the journey, the contents variously reviewed, sorted, and frowned at in turns. She took to assuaging her own boredom by trying to read the micro-expressions that crossed his face over different papers and being impressed by just how measured an increment he could raise his eyebrow when particularly annoyed.

She was startled out of this latest routine when the Darkling abruptly extended a paper in her direction. "What do you think of this?"

There being no one else to whom this could have possibly been addressed, Alina tentatively reached out to take it. She forced herself to focus on the words, even if his gaze upon her made her want to blurt out something before she had begun processing the words.

"Rostov is on the border with the Shu Han." That was the only thing she was absolutely certain of in her response. She may have been only a Junior Cartographer, but she was more than a rank apprentice. The Darkling said nothing, nor nodded in agreement. He simply continued watching her.

"So. . .it doesn't make sense that the First Army would do this. This. . .this is the sort of maneuver that leads to settlements being attacked." She saw a dish of beets in her mind's eye and smelled smoke - then they were gone, leaving her shivering faintly. She took a closer look, rereading several lines. It really clicked then. "They're doing it on purpose. As bait." Her fingers on the document felt numb. It didn't say it so clearly as that, but if you rolled it around in your thoughts and looked at it from an oblique angle, there you were.

The Darkling finally responded then. "That is the underlying proposal, yes. While suggesting that the Grisha at the outpost remain to assist 'in event of a situation'. A trick to see how closely the Shu keep watch there these days." He took the paper back from her.

Alina snapped out of the horror of the idea and studied him more closely. "Are you. . .what are you going to do?"

"I don't command the First Army, Alina."

She stared at him, but held her tongue. She had not remained completely oblivious of political maneuvering while in Os Alta. Sometimes the best thing you could do was see what someone would say if you gave them the opportunity.

"But this fails to acknowledge the strategic importance of the area. A poor place for such a reckless maneuver. They realize it, somewhat; thus wishing that the Grisha remain to head off an attack. If I refuse to leave them stationed there in this event, the likelihood is high they will discard the entire plan."

And that was that. He went back to reading, leaving Alina with two questions: why had he asked her opinion in the first place? And, would his response would have been different had the area not been of such 'strategic importance' and only home to a village of unfortunate otkazat'sya?


The Darkling never seemed to sleep, unless he did so while she herself had dozed off. For her part, Alina tried very hard not to; the thought of drooling in her sleep or her head bouncing off the window as he watched was mortifying enough without the reality. But the monotony was an implacable foe and the increasing cold caused her to hunch in on herself more and more. She plunged into uneasy dreams. In them, she ran across endless white fields in pursuit of something she could not see - all around, shadowy figures lurched about the edges, now resembling the golden-haired Fjerdan who had tried to kill her, then looking like no one so much as Mal when she turned her head.

When Alina woke, she was warmer than she had been earlier. The brazier was churning out heat with increased vigor and the lap blanket that had been folded nearby was spread over her. Save for her, the troika was empty, and motionless. Shifting to peer out of the window, the sight of an oprichnik's head was the nearest thing visible, standing close enough that she leaned the opposite direction in reaction. He did not notice, gazing outward into the nearby forest as he was. There were no signs of a camp being pitched nearby. Swallowing, Alina scooted over to look out of the other window.

Grisha and the Darkling's guards were on evidence on this side as well, either sitting their horses or standing with the same air of alertness as those on the other side. Up the hill a ways, she could see several people gathered, though dusk robbed the scene of any detail. The only certainty was that the Darkling was with them, his kefta an unmistakable ink stain against the snow even in the gathering gloom. Alina inched her way back closer to the brazier and, clasping her fingers tightly beneath the blanket, sat there with increasing unease until the door latch clicked.

"We'll be at the estate soon." Having kicked snow from his boots, the Darkling reseated himself and Alina's eyes scanned his features.

"Is something wrong?"

He shook his head, but she would have lain a bet that it was pensiveness she saw edging his expression, every so faintly. "Some dead animals, up the hill. It is unclear how they died."

His talkativeness from the other day declined to put in another appearance and, unsettled at what could be so peculiar about an animal's death that someone would bring it to the Darkling's attention and that he would furthermore bestir himself to investigate, Alina said nothing further. Fingers kneading the underside of the blanket, she looked down at the gently shifting fur and tried instead to think of what Morozova's stag might look like. But what consumed her mind's eye was the Darkling's expression as he stared out of the window. Darker and more distant than she had ever seen, something about it rendering him a man she knew even less than the truth of things.