A/N: Heads up for gratuitous one-sided pining here for Malina. It's all part of Alina's growth, I swear, but I know it's a bit much when she's got such better options right here! Just inches away!
Also this is an anti-Baghra zone here. I literally cannot with that woman (rolls eyes). But she has her part to play, as usual.
Alina tapped her pen on the side of her dressing table. Her letter this week was short. Barely a page, even including the section that Alina had spent summarizing one of the folk tales she had read this week. It had been the only thing that had stuck out to her as something Mal would really have loved to hear about, assuming that he still cared about the folklore that they had eaten up like sweets as children. Beyond that, Alina knew that she was stretching to come up with anything to tell him.
He still hadn't written back.
There were a dozen good excuses for it, Alina knew, and a half-dozen more shoddy ones that she would have let him get away with if it meant hearing from him at all. But having none to go on left Alina with just her own wild imagination to fill in the gaps.
Genya was sitting on the settee by the window, hiding from the Queen and nominally keeping Alina company. In actuality, the Tailor was practicing with her kit and borrowing the "superior light and clean mirrors" that came with the Vezda suite.
Alina let out an exasperated sigh and slumped in her chair. When she tipped her head to the side, she frowned. Genya hadn't looked up from whatever she was doing with her eyelashes. Alina let out another sigh, this one more exaggerated.
"If you're not a metallic pigment, I'm not here for you," Genya murmured. Her focus was still locked on the mirror as she fluttered her eyelids experimentally.
"Some company you are," Alina grumbled. She folded her arms over her chest, cursing when she realized that the nib of her pen was dripping ink. She sat up properly and tossed the pen back into its holder. The last thing that she wanted was to have to bribe some poor Durast into pulling ink stains out of her kefta.
Genya was apparently satisfied with her eyelashes. The flinty stone she had been holding went back into her kit to be swapped for something new; the Tailor wasn't done. "I told you that I needed to work on Her Majesty's face for this month's public reception. You were the one who said 'No, Genya, I just want someone to sit with me. Don't worry about talking.' I have too good of a memory to have the wool pulled over my eyes because you haven't figured out how to tell Malyen you're mad at him," Genya said.
"It's just Mal. Not Malyen. Nobody calls him Malyen other than the COs." She didn't address Genya's claim that she was mad at Mal. She wasn't; Alina was more so mad at herself but that was complicated to explain.
"Sorry." Genya's eyes flicked to meet Alina's in the mirror before focusing on her lips.
Alina squinted. "You're not working on the Queen's face. You're doing a look for yourself. She'd never wear lavender on her lips like that," she insisted. Alina wasn't completely useless when it came to all of the courtly Tailoring that was Genya's day to day.
She didn't even look guilty when she admitted Alina was correct. "Just because I'm planning on reusing that boring blue and silver look for probably the third time this year doesn't mean that I can't have needed time practicing it," Genya lied smoothly. Alina lifted an eyebrow and waited until she knew Genya had seen it.
Going back to her letter, Alina once again took the pen in her hand. Re-reading her previous paragraphs only made her gut twist in the start of knots that would take all afternoon to get over. She scratched a new line at the bottom with a forced exclamation point to try to wrestle some excitement into the letter. Then she growled under her breath.
This wasn't working. She couldn't squeeze any happiness into this letter. But it was better than silence, which was all that she was getting in response; so Alina didn't feel too terrible scrawling her name at the bottom before tossing her pen aside for good.
Genya took pity on her, finally. "Alright, alright. I can do this later. Let's go for a walk. Get some sunlight and fresh air. That's healthy for a Sun Summoner, right?"
"I am not a plant," Alina protested.
"No, but either way it might keep you from wilting. Or frowning. I don't want to have to deal with wrinkles on your face. I have to spend all of my energy keeping Her Majesty looking youthful. I'll be dreadfully bored wasting my talents on yours, too." Genya steered Alina to the door, plucking the signed letter from the desk. She would ensure that it went out with the next mail.
It was too early in the afternoon to scrounge an early dinner from the kitchens and too late for there to be tea still set up in the Fabrikator workshops. Alina indulged Genya in a trip through regardless, holding her tongue as the redhead concealed her obvious disappointment in a certain missing Durast.
Instead, Alina and Genya crossed the stretch of grounds that separated the palaces. Whereas the majority of the amenities used by the Grisha were behind the Little Palace and by its lake, Alina had grown rather attached to the paddocks and stables that were shared between the nobles and the Second Army.
She had gone with Kirigan to stable their horses personally after their last lesson. She had been sitting with the urge to show someone her horse - her horse! The concept was still surreal - even as she worried that mentioning it would make her appear as favored as some of the other Grisha scoffed under their breaths at dinner. But Genya already knew and she hadn't seemed to begrudge Alina for any of it.
They brought with them a few nubs and carrot tops from the kitchen scraps. Genya's eyes went wide when Zarya inhaled the pieces from her cupped hands. "If she bites off my hands, I'll haunt you till my dying day!" Genya hissed. Then she laughed because the mare started to sniff and nudge at her, obviously disinterested in her boring fingers.
Alina passed Genya another handful of carrot pieces to keep Zarya occupied. "That's only fair. I'd deserve that," she relented.
The stables had an earthy, animal smell to it and there were flies darting around in the lengthening shadows. Still, Alina appreciated that there was at least one place on the palace grounds which wasn't wrapped up in gold or hand painted wallpaper. The Little Palace was far less regal - less ostentatious, if Alina was speaking her mind - than its noble counterpart but it was still a palace of sorts. The Grisha might be a part of the Second Army with all the dangers and hardship that came with the front, but it was difficult to keep that at the forefront of her thoughts when she was sleeping on a feather mattress every night.
"Do you think I'm being foolish?" Alina sighed.
"By trusting my precious fingers to this beast? Hopefully not," Genya replied wryly. Then she asked, "Foolish for what?"
"Waiting around for Mal to reply." Alina couldn't suppress the wince that came from making the admission.
Autumn was in full swing now. When she had been whisked from Kribirsk the heat of summer had only just started. She could no longer count on just two hands how many letters she had sent to the First Army since everything had changed. Since she had been found by the Grisha. Since she had almost seen her best friend die.
Genya wiped her hands slowly on one another. Her forehead was creased as she considered her response. "What are you waiting on him to say, exactly?" She replied with another question rather than an answer.
"Honestly? I have no idea," Alina admitted. "We didn't get a chance to say goodbye that day. I know… I mean I thought that we were close even after being split up in the Army. It's kind of hard to drift apart after growing up together like we did."
Her hands had been emptied of carrots to give Zarya, so Alina wrung them round and round. It was so easy to be certain that nothing had changed between them, that they were still close. If they hadn't been, he wouldn't have said what he did on that skiff.
But… Is that your little friend from Keramzin? She didn't like feeling little, and now she didn't even feel like Mal's friend.
"I just hoped he might say something. Anything. Just to let me know he's alright and that he healed up fine after the attack." That he acknowledged her letters telling him she was safe, tucked away in the Vezda suite of the Little Palace half a country away from the Fold.
That he hadn't just watched her be dragged out from Kribirsk in the Black General's coach and forgotten all about the closest thing an orphan had to family.
Genya took Alina's wringing hands into her own. She had a curl to her lips which might have been intended to be reassuring. "I'm certain that he is fine. The First Army has fine medics, and he has not been listed on the casualty rosters. I've checked them all for you," Genya insisted. Alina found herself nodding along, mirroring Genya's own gentle bobs.
"Then why hasn't he written back?" Alina blurted out against her best attempts at self control.
She found no easy reassurance in the Tailor's expression now. Genya pursed her lips and rubbed Alina's shoulder.
"I don't have answers for you," Genya admitted.
Alina huffed and allowed herself to be drawn into a reassuring hug. Her chin fit snugly on Genya's shoulder. Now that she didn't have to meet Genya's eyes she could ask, "Is this when I should let him go?"
She felt the other girl's embrace tighten around her shoulders. "You're the only one who should answer that question."
"But I'm asking you ," Alina protested.
Slowly Genya let go, one hand moving softly down the side of Alina's face. "He is otkazat'sya. You are Grisha. It's not an impossible match, but it isn't probable either," she murmured.
Quickly, Alina pulled back. The tips of her ears and her cheeks burned. "I didn't mean- no, I know that he-," she sputtered as she tried to put her thoughts into words. Somehow the Tailor had tricked her into voicing her feelings that she had tried so hard to keep from rising. "I wasn't hoping that he would love me."
Her face was burning. Her blood ran hot in her veins. Of course that had been what she hoped, quietly and with increasing desperation as they got older and the years had crept on. Every flirty glance that he gave to another young woman had left Alina tinged with jealousy. Every casual touch or arm thrown over her shoulders had brought her a high that never quite seemed to be reciprocated by him. Yet she had hoped. Waited. Prayed not to be left behind for some prettier, kinder, softer face.
Genya nodded firmly. Between the two of them, they would agree to Alina's assertion. She wasn't hoping for more from Mal. She wasn't holding out for a connection that had started to wither the moment that they weren't together every moment of the day. She wasn't.
Genya would let her have the lie for as long as it took to become true.
Wiping at the corners of her eyes, Alina forced herself to smile. "Do you want to see her out in the paddock?"
The next time that Alina saw Genya, she asked her to Tailor away the scar on her hand. Once again, Genya took enough pity on her not to ask why now. It was obvious, even if the Tailor didn't know the exact story of where the mark had come from.
Alina ran her thumb over her palm the moment that Genya let go. She knew where every twist and depression should have been in the ropy scar tissue. To feel nothing except the subtle lines formed when she was still in the womb was unnatural.
"Thank you," Alina whispered.
Genya said nothing to acknowledge the request had ever taken place, turning back to her kit as though she had just sat down for the morning. "You're being asked for by the General again," Genya said lightly. "That's, what, the second time this month?"
"He's going to Kribirsk again tomorrow. He's not sure when he will return again so it seemed the last chance for a while to keep up training," Alina said. She had been handed the note from one of the stern-faced Oprichniki while she had been studying in the library yesterday morning. She didn't relay his added post-script that he would much rather remain and show her the riding trails out past the lake. She would rather cherish that detail for herself.
This time they weren't scheduled to meet until later in the afternoon, so Alina unfortunately still was going to have to suffer through another miserable lesson with Baghra first. She desperately wanted things to go smoothly when it came to her summoning. Over the past week, her connection to the light had felt better overall. While she was still relying on the old witch's amplification to start off her summoning, Alina was able to maintain her grasp over the sunlight for whole minutes - a marked improvement she thought. Baghra had been less impressed, turning up her nose and swatting Alina on the side of the calf with her walking stick.
"Keeping a fire burning isn't the same thing as lighting it. A bird who can only glide will soon be on the forest floor among the foxes and wolves," she had sneered.
Alina showed up today with a blase smile regardless, always putting her best foot forward even while it seemed less and less that the old bat deserved it. Another hard learned lesson from Ana Kuya. Alina thought perhaps even the matron of the orphanage might have made an exception for Baghra. Surely not every person was worthy of an eightieth chance to cease being a rude, demeaning crone.
Her smile definitely had a drop of venom in it today. The young boy who opened the door ushered Alina in before disappearing out with a whoop. At least her visit would help someone. "Did Misha run off already?" Baghra called out. "Close that door!"
After all, the sweltering heat of the hut couldn't possibly be diminished for even a moment. Alina obeyed with reluctance. Closing the door also closed off her easiest connection to her sunlight. She would have to pull at the tiny motes and glimmers that made their way past the heavy curtains that Baghra had over the windows. Despite it being just before midday, the hut was dark as a tomb save for the firelight cast by the constantly roaring fireplace.
Her hair clung to the nape of her neck as soon as the beads of sweat formed there. No matter how often Alina gathered it and pulled it into order, as soon as she started moving through the familiar exercises with Baghra it was once again stuck and tickling her skin.
"Stop fidgeting with your appearance. It doesn't matter what you look like if you can't manage to so much as glitter in the dark. You're needed to destroy the Fold. Concentrate," Baghra snapped. Alina jerked her hands out of the way just before the woman's next swipe with her cane.
"How can I concentrate when I'm constantly trying to avoid getting smacked?" Alina growled under her breath.
"Do you think the Volcra will simply wait for you to warm up, girl? Again! Concentrate. Reach out. This should be second nature to a Grisha."
Alina glowered at the constant stream of admonishments and critiques. It was bad enough to think them on her own. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The stagnant, sweltering air of the hut was just another miserable detail to shut out. The hairs that, yes, had already found their way under the collar of her kefta were another. Baghra's disappointment. Even the growing thread of suspense before her next horseback lesson had to be shuttered away.
The last piece that Alina had to shut away was the one that had plagued her relentlessly. Her guilt for being separated from Mal, for not knowing if he understood why she had never returned to him and the First Army. It had sat heavy in her heart for the longest time. Her thumb curled instinctively over her palm, finding nothing but smooth skin.
Mal wasn't here anymore. She was Alina Starkov, Sun Summoner and newly found Grisha. She had friends who cared about her, a chance to be more than just an orphan from Keramzin, and the support from one of the most powerful men in Ravka. She had to stop lingering in the past and accept where she was now.
It wasn't painless to let go. It had taken days to summon the courage to so much as to consider it, even after her conversation with Genya at the stables. Smoothing the scar away had been her last signal to herself. Her thumb moved again. Alina let go of the breath that she had taken in.
She opened her eyes and pulled her hands apart in the practiced motions of a Grisha. The motes of sunlight streamed slowly to follow one another, coalescing into a fist-sized sphere between Alina's hands. It was the brightest thing that she had summoned on her own, and it didn't waver when she gasped in excitement. Alina was able to hold the light for nearly a minute before her control slipped and the light faded.
Baghra was less impressed. She let out an exasperated huff and rapped her cane on the floor. "It's a start. Finally, she flaps her own wings. Now, Can you do any better?"