A/N: Today we have more confused historical googling in the form of "Russian pre-industrial bars called what? Inns? Taverns?" and "did Leigh Bardugo bother to come up with any other currency besides Kruge?", none of which served me well. this-is-fine dot png
It wasn't often that Alina thought that maybe, just maybe, the Saints could be smiling down upon her. Yet when she and General Kirigan spotted the swath of buildings that made up the quiet little village just before the sun was about to set on them, Alina could have cried with happiness.
It wasn't physically uncomfortable to be riding along with Kirigan. Since they had to keep an eye on Zarya, Kirigan never brought Harbinger any quicker than a trot. Alina instead had to contend with the mortifying ordeal of more or less being pressed up against him for an entire day. The walking breaks that they gave Harbinger somehow came too frequently and yet not often enough.
Every time that Kirigan dismounted, he would help Alina off as well. It was difficult to tell whether her pulse would start to race then because of the amplifier in his bones or just her own rapidly flustering emotions.
They had to travel through the last dregs of sunlight that faded to twilight before they actually finished crossing the landscape to arrive in town. When they got close enough to the lamplight, Kirigan prompted Alina to extinguish the tiny sphere of sunlight that she had conjured to help spot hazards on the path.
"Probably for the best that we don't announce the Sun Summoner's departure from the Little Palace," he remarked. Even still, his expression betrayed him when she closed her palm. Neither of them really wanted her to stop summoning. The warmth was welcoming in the evening chill, and Alina relished the opportunity to use her abilities for something for once.
The last few minutes of their trip, Alina was actually glad for the man behind her. The one advantage of riding together meant she could lean against him and take in any stray body heat to combat the temperature dropping like a stone.
Not that she was doing that. Not such that anyone could prove it.
"If we're not telling people who we are, then what are we going to say exactly?" Alina murmured. It wasn't exactly the season for spontaneous travel through the Petrazoi foothills. Plus there were certain… assumptions that could be made from a man and a young woman on their own.
"People don't tend to care what you say when there are enough rubles on the table," Kirigan answered. Alina had to agree, though she hadn't personally been in the kind of situation where that would be relevant. The First Army pay wasn't exactly impressive. "And they tend to make assumptions which are easy to direct away from the truth."
Being on the other end of a lie, Alina was finding it a touch easier to accept that it was necessary. She chewed on her lip and reminded herself that protecting their identities - mainly hers, to be fair - outweighed this one little village's need to know that it had Grisha among them and not random travelers from outside. Besides, it wasn't like not knowing was going to impact them at all.
Kirigan brought them to a wide building more or less in the heart of the village and helped Alina to dismount for the last time for the day, or so she hoped. After a meaningful glance at her kefta peeking through, she drew her cloak more firmly around her. Kirigan's colors were remarkable among the Grisha but could be overlooked as odd finery outside of that environment. Alina's Etherealki blue was more blatant, even with the unusual golden detailing. It was perhaps the first time that Alina had regretted the bright ultramarine coloring.
Once the horses were tied off to a post, they were ushered inside the building that Alina realized finally was an inn. Or at least something resembling one. The village was small, to say the least, but people still needed a bed and a roof over their head when traveling no matter where in Ravka one was. It didn't compare to the barracks in Poliznaya in terms of size, but Alina didn't much care. She was enjoying the warmth seeping back into her bones from the stove in the attached room that she hoped might still have food simmering away on top.
The woman who had called them inside was apologizing to Kirigan now. "Illya Novikov was called out by the local dairy. He hasn't been at the workshop all week," she explained. "Did you come through from Reyevost? You would have seen the dairy on the road then and his cart."
"We did," Kirigan said, a lie that Alina had to remind herself to not react to. They had ridden in from the north east, actually, in their backtracking. "But I'm afraid to say that we didn't realize that was the farrier there."
The woman gave a solemn nod. "Fair enough. I'd like to offer you both a place to rest while you wait, but I am sorry to say I've only got one room. My husband's brother's son has come to stay with us for the winter, Saints bless him," she said with a huff.
Kirigan was unphased. "Any room is better than being on the ground," he replied smoothly.
"For both of you?" The innkeep raised an eyebrow and turned her gaze to Alina. She looked at her up and down. Alina wasn't sure if the inkeep was trying to determine if she was in trouble or if she was trouble.
Clearing her throat, Alina drew up as tall as she could on her sore legs. "If I have to sleep on another pile of rocks, I'm going right back to Reyevost," she said with a sniff. "With or without him." The put-upon affect felt ridiculous, and Alina was almost certain that Kirigan was stifling a chuckle, but it seemed like the best course to take when their traveling attire was still nicer than anything Aliina had seen in all of Keramzin.
Kirigan drew an arm around her shoulder, comforting but not too familiar. "Now, it's not going to come to that. One room is fine, thank you," he said.
Still looking fairly dismayed, the innkeep nonetheless flipped open a book to take down a record of their stay. The king's tax people were diligent. Ravka's armies did not march for free. She looked pointedly first at Alina. When Alina said nothing, the innkeep said plainly, "I need a name, sweetheart."
"Oh, of course," Alina replied, trying to stall as her mind went completely blank. "Miss… Miss Safin," she managed to answer after a pointed second.
"Pleased to meet you, Miss Safin," the innkeeper replied with undue emphasis on the reference. Alina's lips curled in a frown. Should she have said Missus? That… might have been smarter, but she wasn't certain that she really wanted to try and maintain that kind of ruse.
Kirigan offered over a handful of rubles and a name that Alina had never heard before - Pyotr Ivanov - all without removing the arm from her shoulder. Alina worried that they had somehow showed their hand in the exchange that seemed to obviously be dripping with subterfuge, but when they were merely led to a small room off the side of the main living and eating room and left to their own devices, Alina decided that she was reading far too much into it. Besides, maybe with their affect of being semi-noble types tossing money around a bit too casually it would be un-remarkable for them to be giving fake names. It made them comparable to any other well-off travelers passing through and sneaking off for some unchaperoned trouble.
Then Alina spotted a Saints-blessed bed - even if it was just a straw tick mattress and not a feather one - and she stopped worrying altogether. As soon as the door closed behind them, she dropped face-first onto the blankets. "I forgot what it felt like to not be on rocks, dirt, or a saddle," she said, her voice muffled by the bedding.
That Kirigan laughed outright at. Alina rolled over onto her back. "Look!" she cried emphatically, pointing up. "No stars and no grey snow-clouds. Who would have thought?"
She felt the mattress dip on the corner. Kirigan might have dozens of decades of experience on her, but it seemed even he couldn't resist the comfort of an actual place to sit after their weeks of travel. Alina sat up on her elbows. "When was the last time you slept in a bed?" she wondered aloud. Guilt spiked in her chest. She had made her departure - escape - from the Little Palace on the same day that Kirigan had returned from a long mission away. And he had found her less than two days later. He couldn't have had more than a few hours at best in his own rooms before taking off after her.
"I tend not to count the days," Kirigan replied honestly. "Too long."
Alina sat up and scooted to sit next to him at the foot of the bed. Her knee knocked against his. "That won't stand. You should get the bed, then," she said.
He had to tip his head slightly to meet her eyes. "Absolutely not, Miss Safin," he said emphatically. Alina fought the urge to scoff. "A gentleman does not make a lady sleep on the ground."
"I've got a bedroll."
"It's still the ground."
This time Alina actually did scoff. "Horror of all horrors. The floor! If you're worried about keeping up appearances, I think that went out the window when Mister Ivanov didn't use the same last name as the young lady he was bunking with."
"Oh?" Kirigan replied. "I would argue then that we've laid in some very different expectations with that display out there. The argument of who gets the bed might as well be moot in our charming host's eyes. It is, in fact, large enough for two regardless of names." His voice had dropped in pitch and Alina became extremely self-aware of just how small, actually, the room they were in was. He held her gaze for a handful of breathless moments.
She decided that if he pivoted this to a conversation about "practicality" again she might actually see how effective her knife was against kefta corecloth. Too bad it was back in her bag, several walls and doors away while Kirigan was considerably closer.
Just when the tension was about as high as Alina could bear, Kirigan took some level of pity on her. "But that's just based on what things look like, not what they are, Miss Starkov." He rose from the bed and stepped to the door. The smug little twinkle that had been in his eyes had vanished again, and he was just Kirigan once more.
"I'm going to fetch the bags, get the horses properly settled, and see about a hot meal. I believe I spotted a washroom if you'd like to clean up. I'm sure we've overpaid enough to get some hot water for a bath," he suggested.
Alina accepted the fact that she was going to end up sleeping on the floor out of spite. She wasn't about to also turn down the chance to not smell like Zarya, as much as she had grown to love the mare.
"You'd better make sure that you've paid for two," Alina called out before he closed the door on her. He paused to lean back into the room, a dark eyebrow raised. "You don't get to steal both my bed and my bath," she said.
"Do I get to pick which one I get?" Kirigan replied. Alina inhaled sharply and she knew her cheeks were flushed at this point if they hadn't been before.
"Doesn't being a lady count for anything anymore? You don't get to pick," Alina managed to reply without being completely flustered. She even waved Kirigan out with an irritated flick of her wrist. Then she collapsed once more on the bed and threw her arms over her eyes.
Saints.
Why was this the most stressful evening yet when they were finally back between four walls and a roof?
Kirigan must have overpaid more than even Alina thought because not only did she get a hot bath drawn for her but the innkeeper personally brought her a fluffy, freshly warmed towel along with a pile of clothes that Kirigan must have gotten from her bag. They were the cleanest of the sets that Alina had been loaned from one of the smaller Oprichniki, simple breeches and a white shirt that reminded Alina of her First Army uniform.
"If you need something laundered, the neighbor girl does a nice job without wearing out the finer fabrics," the woman told Alina.
Thusfar Alina and Kirigan had been making do when they made camp close to a river or stream. Alina opened her mouth to tell the innkeeper that she could handle it on her own. She remembered they were playing up the cash-rich cover story just before she dismissed the offer. "That sounds great. I'll let Pyotr know as well. So he can pay the girl," Alina said. The fake name sounded awful on Alina's tongue. The Black General was not a Pyotr.
She stayed in the tub until the innkeeper left the washroom once more, a new thought moving ahead of those that had been pushed to the side by her soak.
What even was Kirigan's given name? Alina frowned. From all of the gossip that she had picked up from Marie and Nadia and especially Genya, she had never heard anyone speak about Kirigan by his first name. He was "the general" or "General Kirigan" or, at least in Alina's thoughts the majority of the time, just "Kirigan."
It didn't matter and it certainly hadn't impacted any of their interactions even during this whole strange journey together, but now that Alina had realized that she didn't know she couldn't just ignore it, could she?
The obvious answer was, of course, yes she could. She had already far overstepped any expectations as a Grisha in the Second Army by demanding this whole exercise to get to trusting the man once more. If no one used or at least shared his given name, Alina definitely didn't have any significant claim to it either. She ended up filing it away as a strange curiosity, something that she would maybe ask Genya when she did return to the Little Palace.
Alina finally relented that the bath's water had cooled to an uncomfortable degree and had to suffer through drying herself as quickly as possible to get back into fresh clothes. It felt strange to not be wearing her kefta - the blue coat had been surreptitiously tucked along with Kirigan's into a slim cupboard in their rented room - and Alina struggled with the feeling of being markedly exposed as a result.
When Alina got back into their shared room, she was pleased to find that Kirigan had in fact secured two plates of dinner for them. Alina's had not stayed hot due to how long she lingered in the bath, but that was an acceptable loss. The fact that she was eating something not raw or cooked over a campfire was a treat all on its own.
She was left alone to eat as Kirigan went to get cleaned up as well. Alina's eyes slid immediately to her bags that had been hung on the corner of the wardrobe. Besides her clothes and her knife there was one other item remaining in them. The folio with Mal's letters. Her promise to herself this morning had weighed heavily on her once she was free from the distractions of the road.
Letting out a heavy sigh, Alina pushed her plate to make space on the tiny desk she was sitting at. It was crammed between two windows on the opposite wall from the wardrobe. She had to actively get up to cross and reach her bag. It only took a moment to rifle through, find the folio, and bring it back with her to the desk. Actually undoing the fastener and opening it was another matter altogether.
She tapped her fork on the edge of her plate. Part of her wanted to wait a little longer. She could finish eating first and then take both of their plates over to the kitchen and… No. That was just more procrastinating.
Taking a deep breath, Alina opened the folio and reached for the first letter. Immediately she ran her thumb over the familiar handwriting. She and Mal didn't have any reason to write notes to one another back in Keramzin, but she still knew it just as well as her own.
The first note was short. The date added in the top corner was less than a week after Kribirsk.
Alina. Please tell me that you're okay. No one's telling us shit since the failed crossing. Actually, no one's talking about the crossing at all. They're trying to pretend it was nothing. That it didn't even happen. Of course it happened. You're gone and we're still all here waiting for a new skiff from Novokribirsk. That means we need Grisha and they've gotten even more squirrely than ever. You have to write me back as soon as you can. I don't want to get sent through the Fold without knowing you're safe. Or even better, come back yourself. Mal.
He had written and sent that before Alina had even reached Os Alta. She wondered how late afterwards it had arrived through the mail. A few days? Maybe within that first week when she had been given her schedule and Genya had been talking her through her day-to-day? She would have been able to respond quickly enough. In fact, Alina was nearly certain that she had already drafted her first letter herself long before that week had finished.
Alina flipped over the letter, looking for some further writing or postscript. There was nothing there, no incriminating horribleness that she had feared. Shaking her head, Alina moved on to the next one. It was slightly longer but not by much.
The rumors are that the Sun Summoner has been found and blessed by the King. They mean you, I guess. Then, you're safe, right? The Palace has to have the best guard. Of course it does with all those Lantsovs and Grisha around.
What are they doing with you? What do they think you're going to be able to do for them?
We're not going through the Fold now. We're leaving Kribirsk, actually. I tried to transfer to stay in case you were on your way back, but they didn't approve it. Not supposed to say more, but thought you should know. I'm sorry. I wanted to be here, waiting for you, if those Grisha did let you go.
Write soon.
So many questions. And a thread of fear and distrust that Alina found herself beginning to frown at. Alina flipped to the next, her brow only furrowing further when it more or less said the same thing again. Where was she? What was she doing? When was she going to be coming back to the First Army? How long were they going to hold her at Os Alta?
She had answered all his questions and more in her own letters. But he hadn't received a single one and Mal's bitterness was apparent. Her heart spasmed when she opened the next and saw barely anything written at all.
How could you just disappear like this? I wonder if people would keep saying their prayers to their new Sankta if they knew how little she cared. Just another Grisha sitting pretty above the rest of us.
I thought you had been taken. Now I'm thinking you saw the chance to ditch the Army and you took it. I'd say that I was jealous, but- No. I don't think I could envy that escape from the front if it meant being one of them.
Write back. Just once, that's all I'm asking for. Then you can do whatever the hell you want.
She vaguely saw that the next note started with an apology and some explanation for why he had gone off like that. Alina was only taking in every few words or so. Her heart was hammering in her chest, like she had just run a mile. She had to put the letters down, close her eyes, shut out the swell of hurt and frustration once again rising inside of her.
Mal thought that she had run away from the Army and from him. Or he thought that she had been kidnapped. Neither made sense with the other, but both came with an air of disgust in his writing. Worse, however, was how Mal's jabs echoed with Alina's internal voice and the comments from both Kirigan and Ivan.
That was what she did when things got hard, after all. She ran away. Or she closed her eyes and pretended she wasn't avoiding thinking about whatever was bothering her.
She collected the scattered pages from the table top and tapped the edges carefully into alignment. Her stomach twisted. She would have been better off with the bread and hard cheeses from their trail rations rather than the fatty, home cooked meal. Her dinner was betraying her.
If Alina was a maudlin person, she might have thought that it was exactly what she should have expected: another betrayal.
The letter on the top of the pile was the last one that Mal had sent, the one that had started this whole excursion. Alina smoothed out the creases with her thumb that had set in after being in her bag.
Would you cross the permafrost with us, looking for that stag of yours?
No, she wouldn't. Not for the stag or for herself. But she would cross it to find him and make sure that he was okay. An impossible stag from some hometown legend didn't matter.
Her hand stilled as she looked at the stack of guilt laid out in front of her. She was doing something about it now. Mal might not understand why he had never heard from her, but he would have to acknowledge when she got to him that she was making it right now. And that wasn't insignificant, either. Alina had to stand up to the general of her own army now and convince him this was important enough - that her thoughts and worries and opinions were important enough - to put on hold everything that they were expected to be doing.
Trying to balance that level of responsibility still made Alina's head spin. Worrying about the Fold and how she might be able to do something about it seemed impossible, and that made it difficult to really understand how significant she really was. But she could very easily see how important Kirigan was to the Second Army even without Ivan's criticisms. The fact that she had redirected his whole world of priorities, that was undeniable.
Mal would have to understand then that her role, her responsibilities, her place with the Grisha was critical. She wasn't going to be coming back by way of this ridiculous quest to the permafrost.
Alina's fingers ran over the sharp lines of Mal's signature. She had denied to herself for days, first, that she was even on her way up to him. Then she had convinced herself it was all for him, to make sure that she knew that he was alright. Now, though, Alina could recognize this trip for what it was.
A chance to say goodbye. One that she was finally going to walk into with open eyes and without a scrap of thought of how she could squirm out from it.
A/N: Why yes, I have decided to take the "sexy guy has to help take the stranded girl back into town to get her strikecar/strike horse fixed" trope and mash it up with "there's only one bed at the inn" one. I've been writing for *mumble mumble* years. It was TIME!
Don't forget, this is a serious piece of fiction /headshot/