Notes: Assuming the Darkling is old as shit, and therefore when he's a teenager the Firebird legends weren't quite widespread across Ravka yet. Also Alina sucks at storytelling, so there's a link to the actual folk tale I'm basing the festival (and this life, actually) on at the end of the chapter!

On that note, things will move a lot faster romantically than they do in canon proper. Big part of that is because the Darkling is just a seventeen year old with his first, real crush instead of an ancient, semi-eternal loner, so I figured he'd be more open (and quick) with his affections in this timeline.

The First Life: The Firebird, Part II

iii.

Days move slowly in what might be young love, and nights all too quickly. A week becomes a month, and a month becomes a few months, and every evening passes the same: he comes to her door, but does not enter, and they walk until they are far enough away from everyone else to only be with each other. Their powers dance together until the early hours of morning, but after the first week, they don't just use their time to make ribbons of shadow and sun.

Some nights, he tells her stories of his travels: of villages, and cities, and his desire to see more still. She learns that his mother's name is Yana, though she doubts that is the truth.

Some nights, she tells him of her life in the village: of growing up an orphan, of the festivals, and even sometimes about Mal, her only and best friend for so long.

Other nights they are silent, her head on his shoulder and his eyes watching the sunlight in her palm almost hungrily.

But every night, they sit with hands held between them. And most nights, he kisses her goodbye after he walks her home.


The baker's wife notices when Alina comes in to her store with dark circles around her eyes, and she definitely notices one particular morning that Alina buys her rolls with a black and gold cloak around her shoulders.

And the baker's wife talks, as she always does.


On one of their many nights together, they are lying on the grass, looking at stars, when he asks her a question without asking.

"All of the villagers are tying feathers to their door."

Alina has one arm folded behind her neck, and the other is outstretched, fingers dancing patterns that the light trails after, mimicking the constellations in the sky, "It's for the spring festival."

She isn't aware that he's watching her fingers move until he has lines of shadow chase the movements of her light. She smiles as she sees the dark patterns copy hers, and makes her own designs more complicated in challenge, a regular game they play between the two of them.

"What do feathers have to do with spring."

She rolls her shoulders, "They're for the Firebird."

Piotr's shadows eclipse her summons, and she lowers her hand in defeat. As soon as her fingers touch the grass, he has his own rest over them, both summons extinguished.

"Like on the skirt."

It takes Alina a moment to realize what he's referring to, but then she remembers the embroidery she did for Ruby so long ago. She's surprised he remembers it, "Yes, it's…" she shrugs, "It's a common tale, here in the valley."

"I've heard of the Firebird before," he agrees, "But I didn't know there were festivals dedicated to it."

Alina turns her head to face him. It's still dark, but with the moon and the stars she can see enough to catch the outline of his profile as he continues to stare up at the sky. A small, tired smile forms on her lips.

"There's a lot of different tales about the Firebird in Ravka," she says, cradling the side of her face against her arm now and trying to stifle a yawn, "In our valley, we usually tell the one about the Firebird once being a woman."

He shifts, and she realizes that he, too, is now lying on his side. Their faces are inches apart.

"A woman?"

Alina nods, "She refused to leave the valley, and Death wanted her for himself. And there's something about sewing and a kingdom in there, too."

She feels him move closer, "You are," and his lips press against her forehead, "A remarkable storyteller."

Alina rolls her eyes, "It's hard to be poetic when it's late," to emphasize this, she yawns before continuing, "Anyways, she's turned into a bird, and she flies over the valley, dropping feathers to remind us to look for beautiful things."

His hand goes to the side of her neck, thumb moving slowly over the line of her jaw, but she ignores it to finish her story, "They say the Firebird comes from those mountains," she points to them, though he isn't watching anything but her and it's impossible to see them in the dark anyways, "every spring to shed her feathers in the meadow. The children collect them, and then the women tie them to the doors to show the Firebird that we remember her."

Piotr's head tilts, as if listening for the first time, "So the Firebird is real?"

Alina pauses, "It's just a story."

"One you believe," he observes.

"…Maybe. It's not like I've ever left the valley to find out."

She sees his smile in the dim light, "And did you gather feathers in the meadow?"

Alina feels something like loss hit her at the question, "Once," she mumbles, "With Mal."

He tenses at the statement, and his tone is cautious, "The butcher's son."

"Yes."

He runs his thumb across her cheek, "You've mentioned him before."

"I miss him," she admits.

The hand on her neck goes still, and his voice is quiet, "Do you love him?"

Alina blinks, having never really considered the question. There was always just the two of them, just Alina and Mal. One never came without the other. Until Mal began to hold her hand and look at her with promises in his eyes, "I can't love him," is all she says instead, "And I've always known that."

"Because he is otkazat'sya?"

Alina blinks, "What?"

Piotr pauses, as if he's been caught doing something he shouldn't, and she can practically hear his mind trying to come up with a more polite response, "It's a word for those who are…not like us."

She looks guiltily at their joined hands, and decides to answer honestly, "Yes. It's not-" Alina bites down on her lip, "-it's not safe to be like us. Or to be with those like us."

Piotr shifts until his elbow is propping him into a half lean, and he hovers over her, "What's happened here, to those like us?"

Alina frowns, "I don't know for sure. No one talks about it. But there are rumors."

"What sort of rumors."

She inhales, and her heart starts to beat faster in her chest, "…I'm sure they're the same as everywhere else."

He looks at her, and she feels the intensity of his stare in the dark. Sees the determined set of his jaw as he brings their joined hands up to his lips. He kisses her knuckles, and Alina curls her fingers tighter against his at the warm contact.

"Then I will be the one to keep you safe."

She exhales, and does not think of blue eyes as she looks into grey ones, "Then I guess I am the one that has to keep you safe. For fairness' sake."

He shifts, and suddenly he is hovering over her, his long arms and legs framing the sides of her body. He doesn't release her hand, and she doesn't tense or cower. One of his legs moves between hers.

Alina raises an eyebrow, "I thought we had an agreement about my virtue."

"I don't want you to love Mal," he confesses suddenly.

She bites down on her lower lip, "Why."

"Because," and she's not sure if she's imagining the hesitance in his words, "I want there to only be me."

Alina rests her free hand against his chest, wrapping her fingers in the edge of his vest, "…is there only me?"

She feels his heart thrum underneath her palm, "Yes."

Her fingers tighten in the cloth, "Then I'll try."

Piotr smiles, and kisses her like he has all the time in the world to do so.


Neither go home that night.


"My name is Aleksander," he says suddenly on a different night a few days later, her head resting on his shoulder as they sit together on the log that has managed to become theirs.

Alina's eyebrows rise.

He looks at her out of the corner of his eye, "What?"

She shrugs, "I like Piotr better."

His hand covers her shoulder, rubbing slow circles with his thumb, and she feels his quick, small laugh vibrate against her ear.


The long days and short nights continue in a blur, until one morning it is the butcher's son who is waiting for Alina outside of her door along with the rays of the sunrise.

Mal has a bow slung over his shoulder, and the start of a beard on his cheeks, and he eyes Alina and her companion with a heavy but expectant stare.

"Early for a walk, isn't it?" He asks hollowly, bright blue eyes narrowing in on where their hands are joined. On reflex, Alina tries to pull her fingers away, but Piotr's grip tightens.

"Mal," Alina whispers, and it suddenly feels like years instead of months since she's last spoken with him. Shame floods her, when she realizes just how long it's truly been since they've seen each other, aside from the spare amount of furtive glances across the market place.

The butcher's son looks from Alina to Piotr, and his gaze hardens once it rests on the traveler, "Can we talk?" He finally mutters, though he keeps eyes trained on Piotr.

Hope seizes her, and she nods, taking a step forward. Piotr does not let go of her hand, and Alina turns back to him with a frown.

"Piotr?"

His grey eyes slide toward her and he lets go of her only to move closer. He places his hands on each side of her face, and brings his lips to hers in a way that he has done dozens of times before. Today, though, it feels like the action is not for her, and Alina frowns when he pulls away.

"I'll see you tonight?" He asks in a quiet whisper, hands still cupping her face.

Alina brings her own fingers to his wrists, and she gently removes his hold, "…Yes."

He looks over her shoulder, where she knows Mal is standing, before he nods.

Alina watches him go, and the frown is still fixed on her lips.

Mal sighs, and the sound makes her turn her attention back to him as he runs a hand through his hair, "At least now I know where you've been."

Alina fights the urge to wince, "Were you even looking?"

He stares at her in disbelief, "Do you need to ask me that?"

Yes, she does. But she also knows that she doesn't have a right to do so. Alina takes a deep breath, steadying herself as she opens the door to her store.

"Let's go inside. I'll…make tea."

Mal gives a forced grin that he obviously doesn't feel, "I'll go the apothecary and buy rat poison instead. It will go down smoother."

She matches it, even though she knows her eyes are starting to water slightly, and she holds the door open for him, "At least I don't charge for mine."

He walks past the threshold, a sadness in his own stare, "But the rat poison's quicker."


She brews the tea in silence, and she's almost positive it's not entirely burned when she strains it and pours a cup for herself and Mal. He takes it, and their fingers brush. His touch is still warm, something soothing instead of jarring.

"You could have just told me," he finally whispers, as Alina withdraws to sit across from him.

She closes her eyes, "It didn't happen until…after."

Mal's eyebrows furrow, "After." He repeats in a dull voice.

Alina nods, and when she opens her eyes she stares at the boards of her floor.

Her friend, her family, takes a sip of the tea and scowls before immediately setting it on her counter, "Is he…courting you?"

His words sound like they are being pushed through the grinders of his trade, and Alina frowns at the question. "I don't think so," she finally allows. She's not sure what he's doing. What she's doing with him. Doesn't know how to give a name to what's been quickly, but undeniably, forming between them.

"I love you," he says simply.

The words feel like a slap. And something that cannot be taken back. Her fingers tighten around the mug of tea.

"And I've missed you."

Alina takes a ragged breath, "I've missed you, too," she confesses, because she can't confess to anything else. Not with what she is, and what he is. The word otkazat'sya dashes through her mind, and Alina feels something curl in her stomach.

"Good," he replies softly, though the lack of a response to his first statement hangs in the air between them, "I don't want…I'm not expecting -" he runs a hand over the scruff of his beard, "I don't want to not have you in my life, Alina. Even if it means that he's in it, too."

Alina bites through her lower lip so hard she can almost taste blood. And part of her decides that she needs to tell him. He needs to know why she can't love him. Why she's kept her distance, why she can't ever return what he gives her. Because if there's anyone, anyone, in the valley she can trust, it's him. And he deserves to know.

She is turning phrases around in her mind, trying to find the right way to tell him, when he speaks again.

"There's something you need to know," he sounds almost guilty.

Alina is torn from her thoughts, "What?"

Mal looks away from her, staring intently at the tea cup, "The baker's wife has been talking."

She stares at him, "…the baker's wife is always talking." He scowls, and it's such a dark expression that Alina feels herself shrink slightly in her seat, "What has she been saying?"

Mal still doesn't look at her, "This doesn't have anything to do with…with me," he clarifies, and Alina is suddenly nervous, "But. There's rumors. About them."

She doesn't have to ask who he's referring to, and she is acutely reminded of how much she hates gossip, "What sort of rumors."

"They say they're criminals, but." He frowns again at the tea cup, "They're saying they might be Grisha, too."

The word sounds so hollow, coming from Mal's mouth.

She's going to be sick, "We…haven't had Grisha in the valley."

"They aren't from the valley."

Her heart's in her throat, and suddenly she's not talking about Piotr and Yana, "…what if they are?"

Mal finally looks at her, and his face is so grave that her heart breaks for it, "Then they're dangerous, Alina."

It's one thing to give up on a life with Mal, it's another to hear it slip away.

"They aren't," she states, trying not to sound like the words are choking her. Alina remembers the promise she made to Piotr, and she needs to protect him just as much as she needs to protect herself, "He's never…"

Mal stands, and he goes to grab her hand, but stops himself. It hurts. Everything about this hurts. "Just be careful, Alina." He stares at her like she's about to slip away, too, "I don't…" his fingers ghost over the back of her palm, "I hate this," he finally whispers.

Alina watches his hand hover, touching but already out of reach, and agrees, "I hate this too."


He leaves her store without ever learning her secret.

iv.

She tells Piotr about the rumors that night.

And his reaction is not what she expects. His body tightens, as if in pain.

"The butcher's son told you this?" There's an edge to the question. And Alina's sure he isn't oblivious that tonight she is very much a girl who has just had her heart broken.

Alina nods, "…Mal doesn't gossip."

Piotr grabs her hand, and she lets him. The old fear, the one she has been able to forget the last few months he's been in the valley, has returned. And it's returned more strongly, because now she is not the only one with a secret.

"We will have to leave soon," he whispers, and he rests his head on top of hers, staring into the darkness of the wood, "…I don't want to go."

She doesn't want him to go, either. She doesn't want to be alone again. She doesn't want to put her power back into its cage now that it's been freed. She wants these nights together to continue, to look into his grey eyes every night and see amusement and skepticism and something that she thinks might be affection.

But she doesn't want him or his mother discovered.

"How many times have you moved?" She asks, because she doesn't want to realize that he will leave her on the same day she truly realized that she could never love Mal the way he deserved.

"Too many."

Alina brings light to her free hand, "I will miss this," she tells the golden dome, making it rounder and spinning it into an orb that is not unlike the first one he made for her.

Piotr's silent beside her. It's all very silent, as they watch the sun stay tucked away behind her fingers.


"Alina," his voice is only a little above a whisper as he walks her to her door, "…May I stay here tonight?"

She looks at him, at the sad set of his shoulders. And she thinks of snuffed candles and burned tea before she answers.

"Alright."


The next morning, Piotr runs into the baker's wife as he leaves her home.

The baker's wife, for once, does not have much to say as she drops off some pillows.


The rumors grow, and Alina notices when more eyes than usual start to follow her when she buys her things at the market.


The baker's wife has decided that she is no longer speaking to her at all, apparently.


She tries not to be afraid as more and more villagers whisper "Grisha" and "sorcerer" when she walks with Piotr. But when a secret's been kept for so long, fear is the only thing that can still guard it.


A few days after a butcher's son stood outside her store, a traveling woman walked through the same door.

"You will not ever leave this valley," Piotr's mother states curtly, with no hint of doubt.

Alina looks up from the pillow she has finished, and she shakes her head. Because Alina is many things, but an adventurer is not one of them, "No. I won't."

"My son is under the foolish impression that he can convince you otherwise," Yana's eyes are like the black, glossy sheen of ink wells as they burn a hole through her, "Fix it."

She hears the threat and the love twined together in the demand, and Alina only has time to nod before Yana storms out just as easily as she has stormed in.


"I spoke with your mother today," Alina says, as the two of them walk out of the village and to their regular hiding spot, "Or I guess I should say she spoke at me."

Piotr's jaw tenses, just for a moment, "What about."

She turns to him, and decides she is extremely tired of having to do what is best for the men she is half in love with, "Fixing things."

Piotr stops, and she does too. They aren't far enough away from the valley as to not be seen, but right now that doesn't matter. She can't keep him here. And every night they spend together, she wants to keep him a little more.

"What is there to fix."

It occurs to her that he's angry. That she's seeing the boy who walked into her store with horse blankets again, and that the underlying aura of hostility he carried with him then is starting to show through now.

"I'm staying in the valley," she makes sure that her resolve is clear in her words.

He glares, "Why."

Her mind drifts to the baker's wife. Because this is your home, and your home should keep you. "This is where I belong."

"No," he spits, "It's not."

"It is."

Piotr grabs her arms, and his grip is tight around her biceps, "They would kill you, Alina. They would break your skull on the rocks, and not think twice about it."

She knows he's not lying to her, just as much as she knows that the truth doesn't change things. "They are the closest thing I have to a family." And it's true. Mal, Ruby, even the baker's meddlesome wife. They are all important to her. They are all kept close to her chest.

"They."

Alina frowns, "They."

"Not Mal."

"Mal would be part of they, yes."

Piotr drops his hands from her arms, "You would stay for an otkazat'sya, but you won't leave for me?"

"I can't leave for you," Alina tries to meet his eyes, but he is not looking at her. Instead he looks up at the sky, at the blackness of it that stretches between the few specks of stars, "And I won't let you stay for me. Your mother's right."

"If they find out, they'll hurt you."

"I'm tougher than I look."

"I said I would keep you safe."

Alina hates the words as they fall off her tongue, but they need to be said, "You can keep me safe by leaving. I've hidden what I am for sixteen years, I can keep doing it after you're gone."

Piotr tears his gaze away from the sky to stare at her, "You would hide again," he repeats, stricken.

She doesn't know why she feels ashamed, but she does. Though that doesn't matter. Pride she can let go of, if it means they won't find him, "…Go with your mother, Aleksander."

He maintains his stare for a few minutes, betrayal evident on his features, before he turns and walks away from her.

She waits by herself in the dark, until she knows he is far enough ahead. Then, she returns home.


Three days pass. And as Alina walks to the baker's wife (who is begrudgingly speaking to her once more, now that she doesn't come to her store with a grey-eyed man beside her), she notices that the crowd moves ever so slightly away from her. And that some are staring as if they're looking for something. A hint, maybe, that Alina is not just the embroiderer who has never left this valley.


On the fourth night, she is starting to drift off into sleep when she hears a knock on her door. Alina gets out of bed hesitantly, pulling on a warmer housecoat over her nightdress. She does not light her hand with the sun, and she does not grab a candle.

And she is not surprised when she sees Piotr on the other side of her door frame. He stands, hands deep in his black, gold-lined cloak, and looks determined to be here. And it irritates her. Because she already knows he is going to expect too much.

"What are you doing here?"

Piotr takes a step forward, and crosses her door, closing it behind him, "I want you to come with me," he whispers.

"I'm not leaving the valley."

"What would convince you."

"Nothing."

He watches her expression carefully, looking for any hint that her resolve is fading. She doesn't think she gives him one, but he nods as if he has decided something regardless.

Alina isn't sure what to make of his arrival here, of his questions. She swallows, "…What is it?"

Piotr's smile is strained, and he gives her a fast, bruising kiss. She barely has time to take a breath before he pulls away and presses his forehead to hers. His words are delivered with a strange combination of giddiness and desperation.

"I'm going to bring you an amplifier."

Alina doesn't understand what he's saying, and she starts to ask him what an amplifier is, but he steps back from her and goes without another word.

Like his mother, he seems to take a storm with him.

v.

Five more days pass, and Alina watches the door to her store with an increasing dread every morning.

It is not Piotr who comes for her, but his mother instead on the sixth.

And she is furious, the anger rolls off her shoulders in poisonous currents. And Alina realizes, sadly, that she is more worried that something has happened to Piotr than the fact that Yana might be about to do something to her.

"What's happened?"

Yana's hands clench tightly by her sides, "I told you to fix this, embroiderer."

She stands, uncertain, "I did."

"You failed," her words are cold and certain, "Because he's run off to the mountains," the older woman's eyes narrow, "And who would ever give him an idea like that."

Alina doesn't understand, because they have never talked about going west of the valley. And she doesn't see how this connects back to her. But for some reason, her mind snags on one particular statement, the one given to her with a promise she couldn't interpret.

"Yana," she swallows, "What is an amplifier?"

Yana's eyes snap to her, and Alina knows she is not imagining how they widen in horror, "You foolish children," she mutters, "What have you done."


Yana tells her. And Alina can only think of one thing that might make Piotr want to leave for the mountains.

Because she finally remembers the story she told him weeks ago, while they stared at the stars, about a woman who became a bird. And horror fills her when she realizes what Piotr intends to do to the woman who sheds feathers.

"He means more to me than a thousand of your valleys," Yana states, "And your valley threatens him."

Alina understands her implication. And she nods as she grabs her boots, "I'll stop him," she promises.

Maybe she is going to become an adventurer, after all.


The sun is still starting to rise when Alina throws a pebble at a window. A few seconds pass, before that window opens, revealing a disheveled blond head of hair.

Mal yawns, blinking sleep from his eyes as he looks down. He instantly becomes more alert when he realizes who it is, "Alina?"

She bites her lip, "Have you been to the mountains?"

Mal frowns, "Yes. Why?"

She inhales, and realizes he is going to have her secret today even if she never meant to give it, "…I need your help."


Two hours later, Mal is walking ahead of her in silence, sending her fleeting and questioning looks over his shoulder as he guides her up the treacherous mountain passes.

"He wants to hunt the Firebird?" He asks again, as if still trying to make sense of it.

Alina nods, hoisting her pack over her shoulder.

Mal shakes his head, "Why would anyone want to do that?"

Her eyes widen as she realizes what part of the statement Mal is having trouble accepting, "-you mean the Firebird's real?"

He looks back at her again, before he hesitantly nods, "I've seen it, before. When I was hunting," his hand pats the quiver strapped to his back, reassuring himself that it is still there. "It was…beautiful," he admits, "And terrible."

"Terrible?"

Mal shakes his head, and Alina quickens her pace to walk beside him, "Something about it…," he looks at her with those bright, blue eyes, "It just seemed like such a lonely creature."

She stares at the path ahead of them, "Do you think it will attack Piotr?"

He hesitates before answering, "There were bones, at the bottom of the rocks," is what he settles on.

Alina tightens her grip on her pack, taking a deep breath as her steps become faster.

"Alina?"

"Yes?"

Mal frowns at her, and she can tell he wants to ask her something other than what he settles on, "…You didn't tell me why he'd want to hunt the Firebird."

Alina takes a deep breath, and her secrets fall from her mouth like water pouring down a fall.

He stares at her when she does, with a look that mirrors the one Piotr gave her when she said she refused to leave the valley.

They walk on in silence for the rest of the day. As they go higher and higher, Alina, too, begins to see the bones that line the crevices of the mountainside.


They are sitting by a fire when Mal finally speaks to her again.

"How long have you known you were one of them?"

Alina closes her eyes, and reminds herself that Mal is still sitting beside her, and that must count for something, "Before my parents died."

"And you never told me," he says, wounded.

She remembers how grave his face had been when he told her the Grisha were dangerous, and she looks at the flames instead of at him, "…I thought you would hate me, if you knew-"

His voice is sad, "I don't hate you."

Alina swallows, "-and I couldn't let you risk knowing."

She feels his stare, now heated with anger, stay on her face though she does not look up.

"That wasn't your decision to make."


The next night Alina feels the call within her, and knows he is nearby.

She looks at Mal's sleeping form with apology, before she steps over him and leaves the cave where they have made camp. Foolishly, or maybe optimistically, she does not take any of his weapons with her as she follows that silent thread that connects her to Piotr.

She climbs up the winding path and crumbling ledges for a few hours, before she finds him sitting underneath one of the sparse pines that pepper the cliff. He looks tired, but resolved, and there is a traveling pack and a bow at his feet. When Piotr looks up at her, she is startled to realize that he looks as though he has been expecting her.

"You came," he greets, pleased.

Alina takes a few, slow steps towards him, "…I know what an amplifier is."

Piotr's chin juts out, just a little, "My mother."

"Yes," Alina shakes her head, "and I don't want it."

Piotr's fingers tighten into a fist, before his next words are chosen carefully, "It will make you stronger."

She moves until she stands before his sitting frame, the two of them overlooking the valley, "I don't need to be stronger."

He grabs her hand, and she feels that familiar pull towards him with the contact, "If you're stronger, you can leave the village."

Alina looks at him, and it's with a feeling of sadness that she realizes just how very misunderstood he is about why she wants to stay, "I'm not staying in the valley because I'm afraid."

Piotr presses his lips together in a tight line, an expression now familiar to her, "You know we're supposed to be together."

The statement makes her take a half a step back, but Piotr does not release her hand, and his voice is certain, "You know, Alina."

Maybe she does.

She looks up, to the top of the mountain, to the sky that is starting to pinken with the rising sun, "…let's go back to the village, Aleksander. Forget about the Firebird."

Piotr stands, and without releasing her hand he grabs the bow by his feet, "I've already found it."

Alina's stomach turns to lead, "-what?"

He smiles, almost shyly, at her as he gestures to a small copse of trees across the crevice from them. The trees are thicker and greener than the rest of the skeletal ones in the valley, and there is a long, long fall in between where Alina and Piotr stand and where they grow. Alina looks over the precipice, and sees the gleam of white bone at the bottom, highlighted by the quickly brightening sunrise.

"Every morning, when the sun fully rises, the Firebird lands there," he says, and as if to confirm his observation, Alina hears a distant caw from somewhere beyond them, "I've been here three days now, waiting for you. It has to be you, Alina."

"…What are you talking about," she demands, as his fingers tighten around hers.

"You have to be the one to kill it."

Alina faces him, anger filling her frame, "I don't want to kill it!"

She sees the confusion register in his eyes, but no more words are said between them, because suddenly the sound of wings and the cackle of fire fills they cliffside and occupies both of their attention. Alina turns, looking up just in time to see brilliant, burning gold catch the light of the sun, and her breath catches in her throat.

The Firebird soars into the crevice.

Drops of fire fall from the span of her wings, dying embers that transform into red feathers before they touch the ground. Alina is suddenly aware of how close she is to the Firebird, closer than anyone like her has a right to be, for she can see the shine of her beak, the haunting stare of her eye.

She's beautiful. And, as Mal had said earlier, she is also terrifying. Alina and Piotr watch in near suspension as the Firebird circles above them, then the trees beyond the chasm.

Unknowingly, Alina's fingers tighten against Piotr's. And, taking that as an invitation, he wraps that arm around her waist and guides her in front of him.

The Firebird caws out again, and there is something human in its cry. Alina is almost frozen in her awe as she stares at it.

Piotr takes the bow, and puts it in her spare hand. Alina feels the smooth wood underneath her palm, and her heart beats faster. She can feel the power that radiates from the Firebird, can sense the strength and command it holds over even the mountains. For a brief, weak moment, Alina thinks of what it would mean, to wear a crown of its feathers around her head, or one of its talons around her throat. Of what it would be like, to be as beautiful and terrifying as the creature above her. The power within her swells and crests, a force of nature wanting to be released. She feels Piotr's power call out in kind.

"I'll help you," he whispers into her ear, as he closes his hand over her own and lifts the bow. Somehow, he has already notched an arrow.

It's an easy shot. The Firebird is so close she can feel the heat of its flames against her face. She's shaking.

Piotr's hands help her guide the arrow back. She can hear her blood in her ears.

The Firebird cries again, and she wonders, briefly, if this is a type of mercy for the creature that is the only one of its kind.

"Ready?" Piotr asks.

She doesn't know. But he takes her silence as compliance-

"Alina!"

-the sudden shout startles them both, and Piotr's hand jerks over her own. Mal's voice echoes from somewhere further down the mountain path, and the shot goes wide, the arrow only clipping the edge of the Firebird's wing.

Alina's knees go boneless with relief, as she sees the Firebird spin in the air. And horror fills her, as she realizes what she had almost done.

"-you came with the butcher's son?" Piotr asks her, in a tone so broken that sorrow almost replaces the dread she feels.

"To find you," she answers numbly, and she looks down, where Mal is a distant form below, steadily climbing to where they stand.

The Firebird screams, and this time Alina recognizes for certain the very human emotion of rage in its call.

"We need to go," she whispers, as she realizes that the Firebird has discovered who just tried to kill it.

Piotr stares at her, then down at the advancing form of Mal.

"No," he finally mutters, and raises the bow.

"Stop!" Alina demands, reaching for it.

His grip on her drops, and he takes a step back, "It's for you," he asserts, drawing another arrow.

"There are bones all over this mountaintop!" Alina spits, gesturing beyond the ledge, where the chasm and the graveyard lay, "We need to go-"

And suddenly, the screams of the Firebird are directly above them. And the bird is fast, much faster than either of them anticipate, and Alina has just enough time to freeze in terror as its talons pierce the skin of her shoulder.

Black floods her vision, and she staggers as the skin rips open, as pain bursts through her like small stars.

She hears the whistle of an arrow, and the Firebird shrieks, claws ripping out of her body as quickly as they had torn into it, and Alina is sure her scream can be heard over the entire mountain. "Alina!"

She's not sure if the arrow or the voice belonged to Mal or Piotr. Instead she sinks to her knees as the Firebird circles over them again.

It occurs to her that the Firebird knew they were in her valley. And that she had not tried to attack them until they had fired that first arrow.

Alina feels warm blood rush over her skin.

And then she instead feels Piotr's hands on her, trying to get her to move. Alina looks up and sees the fear etched plainly on his face, the way his grey eyes are widened in terror. His lips part, and she sees the words for "I'm sorry" forming, but she doesn't hear them as her attention instead focuses over his shoulder, where the Firebird is swooping down with its talons outstretched towards Piotr's back.

She moves before she thinks. Before she considers that she is still very, very close to the precipice that towers over the bones. Alina's hands go to Piotr's chest, giving him a hard and final shove. He topples onto his back, and the Firebird's talons miss.

And sink into her chest instead.

She's aware of pain blooming in her chest, not unlike the flowers she had embroidered into Piotr's vest, of her body toppling over back-first, of hearing two voices cry out her name, and then she feels weightless and suspended.

Alina sees the beautiful and terrifying flames of the Firebird, silently apologizes to her, and falls the very long fall to the bottom of the cliff.


End Notes:

Here's the tale of the Firebird I based this section on, copy-pasted from Wikipedia :'D :

According to Suzanne Maisie the story of the Firebird is about a great embroiderer Maryushka, who lives in a small village. People would come from all over to buy her embroidery. Many merchants would try to get her to work for them but she told them all that they could buy her wares but she would never leave the village she was born in. One day the evil sorcerer Kaschei the Immortal heard of Maryushka's beautiful works and transformed into a beautiful young man and visited her. Upon seeing her ability he became enraged that a mere mortal could produce finer work than he. He tried to tempt her by offering to make her Queen but she refused saying she never wanted to leave her village. Because of this last insult to his ego he turned Maryushka into a firebird and himself into a falcon, picked her up in his talons and stole her away from her village. As a way to leave a piece of herself with her village forever she shed her feathers onto the land below, after the last feather fell Maryushka died in the falcon's talons. The feathers live on showing themselves to those who love beauty and show beauty to others.

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