Two years had passed since, well, since they died.
Alina Starkov and Malyen Oretsev. Valiant and brave. Martyrs.
They met their death in the Unsea, fighting for all of Ravka and its people.
But they weren't actually dead, not really. They had possessed two lives, with their extraordinary selves extinguished. The two were normal now—almost invisible. Much like how they were as children. Malenchki. Little ghosts.
Now they were the curious couple that ran an orphanage in the West of Ravka. It was an elaborate place. A warm place. One where the orphaned children prayed to the saints every night, thanking them for their good fortune.
It was said that many lost children prayed to Sankta Alina specifically, knowing the stories that she had been an orphan herself. It brought them comfort to think that such an ordinary girl became something much more. She gave them hope.
Little did the children know, however, their blessed saint was only feet away, resting in a room on the highest floor. Of course they often felt something peculiar about this young white haired woman, who had an undeniable grace about her. She and the young man were very peculiar indeed.
The couple ignored the inquiries of those that surrounded them. They simply said that good fortune had given them all that they had—wealth and friends in very high places included.
And for two years, none of the children and staff had any reason to think they were more than what they said they were. That was until a palpable unease spread across Ravka and the rest of the world. There were whispers and rumors of a creation, a drug, beyond anyone's wildest imagination.
It was said that it could make Grisha grow wings, flood entire cities, turn invisible, and even boil a person's own blood and melt them from the inside out.
When the news of this creation reached Keramzin, something changed in the couple, most notably in the white haired woman. Her grace faltered, her smiles dulled, her painting became less frequent. She seemed to withdraw into herself.
Then one day came an anonymous letter—addressed to: The Dead Saint.
Author's Note: I was inspired to write this because of 1) Six of Crows (which everyone needs to read) and 2) a post I saw on tumblr about Alina wanting to use jurda parem. I've been working on an Alarkling fic for the past year or so but I wanted to write something that wasn't so large in scale. So here I am. This will probably end up being three to five chapters long at the most (maybe more?). Let me know what you think!