A/N: *cough* I totally posted this yesterday at the same time that it went live on AO3. Totally.This is a good time to do a general note that I am firelord65 over on Archive of Our Own and that site is a much better experience overall for fic reading writing!! I'm starting to migrate away from here except for existing WIPs and certain fandoms like Divergent.
Also if the formatting is whack on this chapter, I'm sorry. I will try to fix on my laptop later ((but also - this is why you should find me on AO3 instead :) ))
She woke to the quiet murmur of her name and the feeling of blissful warmth that came from being buried under blankets in the morning chill. Her face and nose in particular were definitely cold. The rest of her was utterly cozy.
"Alina," Kirigan repeated once more. She gave a half-hearted grunt. If she didn't yield to angry serving women or even more intimidating Tailors in the morning, she certainly wasn't going to spring out of bed because of her name being quietly repeated. Even if it was from Kirigan.
"I don't know if this is intentional, but…" He trailed off as Alina burrowed more securely into the blankets and-
Oh. Oh no.
The band of warmth over her side and the body heat she felt on her back were definitely not just from being a few polite inches from her bedmate. When she had drawn her arm up, a second had come with it, fingers interlaced together. She could even feel the band of his ring against her knuckles.
"... you seem to have set a bit of a trap," Kirigan continued. Alina pressed her eyes more firmly shut and concentrated on breathing slowly in a definitely-not-awake fashion. If she let go in a second and rolled over, she could play it off, right? He had noticed the way that she had pulled their bodies against one another, yes, but maybe he didn't know if she was actually awake yet. And he wasn't actively pulling away from her.
There was one more observation to be delivered, of course. "I don't mean this to come across as rude, because I don't mind though you might; but you're glowing."
"I'm what?" Alina hissed, her eyes shooting open. Playing possum was suddenly much less important. She realized now that on top of the lazy, early morning haze there was also the soothing thrum that came from Kirigan's amplifier running through her veins. Saints knew how long she had been borrowing both his body heat and his amplification. Apparently long enough that she had started summoning outright in her sleep.
Mortification was not a strong enough word. She let go of him and brought her hands out from under the blankets to confirm, yes, there was a halo of light gently emanating from her very skin. Alina pushed away the power as soon as she found her self control, shoving it harshly into the dark. Her skin faded back to its usual opaque status.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Alina repeated.
Behind her, Kirigan let out a decidedly tired chuckle, dismissing her apologies as readily as she made them. He clearly had not been affected by the shot of adrenaline that had gone through her. His arm remained loped over her side, and he hadn't budged from the pillows. "You have another use besides midnight picnics," he murmured lazily. Sleep gave his voice an extra layer of roughness. Alina could feel his breath on the nape of her neck.
"A very comfortable heater. Coal bed warmers have been put to shame."
She covered her face with one hand and used the other to delicately remove Kirigan's arm. Then she at least wasn't feeling the amplification in her veins, though it was going to take considerably longer for her thoughts to not be a jumble. "I'll make sure we write that one down," she offered.
When she wriggled out from the covers, Alina chanced a look back at her companion. The one eye that peered up from the pillow wasn't angry, and he wasn't laughing at her obviously red cheeks and ears. She had to turn away just as quickly as she had gotten up. Aleksander once again had his fond expression played out for only Alina to see.
Even with the strange start to it, the rest of the morning went exceptionally well. Alina was pretty damn certain that was why the day was going so poorly now. The Saints had no time for Alina's happiness. In fact, she was starting to suspect that they were actively working against it. After all, hadn't the Apparat more than insinuated that she needed to suffer more than even the usual Grisha?
That wasn't to say that she really was suffering when it came time for the farrier to ask her to bring Zarya into his small paddock attached to his home, but that had been the start of what turned to a mess for her.
Illya Novikov didn't work alone. He had his daughter as well, a woman maybe five years Alina's senior who helped keep the horses in line while her father worked down by their feet or prodded and poked to check for health issues. The daughter, however, only had to focus on the rather underwhelmed Zarya and was holding up the personal side of the business. The father just wanted to get his work done and have Kirigan stop pestering him to please rush their request, thank you.
Alina wondered if they might have had better luck backtracking further to the other village's farrier. They would never know, but she was definitely wondering now. Standing in a slowly accumulating field of snow, Alina wanted to be anywhere but here.
The poor weather had started before either of them woke up. The sunrise had been sluggish to come, fighting and losing to the grey snow clouds that had come down from the mountains.
When she eventually had tugged open the curtains after leaving the fading warmth of the blankets Alina had actually huffed in disgust. It wasn't light snow, either. Her attire required all her layers, including the conspicuous kefta.
The one that Novikov's daughter was looking at with outright disgust now. "I didn't know they let your kind in here," the woman sneered. "They didn't send you packing?"
It was nothing new, really. Whether Alina was Grisha or otkazat'sya, it seemed that there was only so many different ways to render bigoted opinions. It just hit her like a slap to the face that it happened so quickly and without any warning.
Kirigan had left her to gather the last of their things from the inn. That was some small mercy, Alina figured.
"Didn't have much of a choice," Alina retorted back. "My money's just as good as anyone else's." Was it sad that this wasn't the first time she had to make this argument? A bit, yeah.
The woman gave a sharp bark of laughter. Zarya's ears flipped irritably. At least Alina wasn't the only one bothered. "More likely you snuck into poor Sofia's inn. Didn't tell her, did you? I hope your man's not so stupid. He'll realize it soon enough that that's no fancy dress jacket," she continued on.
Alina opened her mouth and then froze. Her head tipped as she found herself actually stumped by this one. "Beg pardon?" she actually had to ask.
"Sonya," Novikov himself said, the woman's name a quiet warning. It was half-hearted though as he was busy tapping the new shoe into place.
"He's got eyes. I think he knows," Alina scoffed. "It's not like I can hide..." Then her stomach dropped. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest and she lifted her chin indignantly. The woman - Sonya - wasn't talking about her ethnicity. She was talking about Alina's kefta. The Etherealki blue had betrayed her, poking out between the folds of her cloak.
Alina bit the inside of her lip when her natural next retort was to go on about how Kirigan more than knew he was travelling with a horrible Grisha. Then practicality took over and she focused on throwing her shoulders back haughtily.
"Don't look at me like that," Sonya snapped. "Like you're better than me. Grisha trash. With your general refusing to send all you witches to the front like real soldiers. What're you doing here anyway? Get bored in your little schools and your gilded palace life? Felt like slumming it for a bit?"
The phrase 'seeing red' had never meant much to Alina before. She got mad, of course. She had more than her fair share of anger especially in these past months. But nothing could have prepared herself for the wash of fury that rose inside of her at this woman looking at her with indignation. As though Alina had picked this for herself.
As though anything she had said had an ounce of truth to it. She heard Mal's judgments once more and her own old assumptions about the Grisha. Pampered. Lucky. Up on their high horses - even as she could see some irony there now.
Then it all quashed inside of her. She really had no leg to stand on, getting angry at this random woman from the Petrazoi foothills. The worst part was that Alina very much could have been this young woman scrapping out a life outside of the cities and warzones if her parents had survived. Alina had only been Grisha for a few months, and arguably she was getting a very hand-held experience with it. Not that she should have suffered instead or that she needed to prove herself in some existential misery, but standing in her gifted finery as she waited for her own, personal steed to be tended to… there was something to be said about knowing when an argument just wasn't worth it.
Alina tossed her hair over her shoulders. "You can think whatever you want," she replied. "I just want Zarya re-shoed and then you'll never have to be bothered by my miserable, Grisha presence again." Horrendously, she realized that she was channeling a very Zoya-like affect now, just as she had when they had first arrived in the village.
She stuck out her hands to take the reins from the woman. "And I can hold my own damn horse. You can leave," Alina added.
Novikov grumbled something to his daughter. He clearly wasn't invested in the spat, though Alina was not imagining the way that he shifted slightly as Alina took over keeping Zarya in place. A stony silence remained over them until Kirigan returned.
Keeping it together for the shoe to be replaced and Zarya to be given a final bill of clean health took the rest of Alina's patience. She held off from giving more than a simple, curt thank you to Novikov before throwing herself back onto the saddle.
Kirigan had a furrow in his brow all the while, but he thankfully didn't protest when Alina asked if they could finally get going. "I just want to get out of here," she said stiffly, one hand clutching the fabric at the base of her throat to keep the cloak in place.
After a final exchange of rubles and a wary glance from Novikov, they were off. Alina kicked Zarya in the sides and let out a heavy sigh of relief when she was able to point them north once more.
The road served them well enough, but Alina's concerns about being recognized were sky-high once more. She nudged them off the main roadway after less than an hour and further away from foot traffic by taking to game trails after they stopped for lunch. She explained briefly to Kirigan about her kefta being noticed, skimming over the outright hostility that had come with it. When it was hours behind her, Alina fought with herself to stop thinking about it. Bigotry was nothing new to her. She simply hadn't expected it compared to the reception they had been getting.
She still had plenty to learn to overcome her naivete, she supposed.
Snow fell more heavily as the day passed which slowed them further. There wasn't much sun. What little there was reflected off of the inch or so of powder that built up throughout the day. "Are the horses going to be bothered by the weather?" Alina asked when the snowfall slowed to a light flurry. Squinting up at the clouds, it didn't appear to her as though this respite would last. There were plenty more dark grey ones looming from the northwestern mountains.
"They won't enjoy it just like any creature, but they'll be fine unless it gets too windy or wet. We'll have to be a bit more picky with where we camp, that's all," Kirigan answered.
A little later on in the fading afternoon light, Alina spotted an unwelcomed sight. Smoke rose over the next copse of trees, thick and black. She looked over her shoulder at Kirigan behind her. His face was set in a stern expression.
"Should we divert?" Alina asked. She didn't want to run into a camp. She'd had enough interaction with people for a while. Kirigan didn't reply, though he brought Harbinger up beside Alina.
"Kirigan?"
His response was another question, not the answer that Alina was hoping for. "How far from Fjerda are we?" His voice was quiet, carefully controlled.
Alina's thoughts flew to the border skirmishes that everyone knew got worse just before the seasons finished changing. She tamped down the flood of worry that surged along with the thought. Kirigan was just asking a straightforward question. Their destination, after all, was the border by way of the permafrost.
"About a week's travel, maybe a week and a half if the weather keeps up like this," Alina offered. "There's less distance if you head straight north but the mountains will slow you down for a good thirty more miles."
It didn't assuage his sour expression but he did slowly nod in acknowledgement. His gaze was fixed on the plume of smoke.
Alina shifted on her saddle. "What are you worried about exactly?"
"Trouble. But if there's smoke like that, the trouble has already come and gone," Kirigan mused. He dragged his attention to the rough trail that they were making their way along.
"Should we divert?" Alina repeated. Kirigan shook his head and flicked his reins.
"We shouldn't need to. I'll ride ahead for a bit, if you don't mind though."
She was all too willing to allow him to. When he moved ahead of Zarya, Alina adjusted her belt to settle her knife closer at hand. Two days in civilization wouldn't put her off her guard. And she had made a promise to herself not to forget Ivan's warning, either. Kirigan could protect them, but Alina wasn't going to make him do that on his own.
They hadn't been talking much during the day's journey on account of Alina's sour mood, but a stern silence fell fully between the pair as they rode closer and closer to the smoke's source. The wind had carried it a ways west, and it was nearly dusk by the time their path rejoined the bit of road that had been carved out along the treeline.
Moving on foot, Alina dogged Kirigan's steps. Every few seconds she would catch something in the corner of her eye, a shadow that curled or flickered in an unnatural dance to catch up with them. It wasn't just Alina who was put off by the situation.
There was still plenty of light left to make out the blackened tree trunk that had been set ablaze but hadn't burned all the way through. There was a pile of ash and tinder at the base which had been the start of the fire. Alina jerked to a stop. She drew a hand up over her mouth and nose when the wind shifted to bring the smoke in their direction.
The acrid scent stung her nose. Even worse, she couldn't tear her eyes away from the unmistakable form slumped at the base of the tree atop the tinder. Alina had seen pain and death and loss at the Army camps and again after Kribirsk. But the slow creep of infection or the quick horror of the volcra had nothing compared to the depravity of death by pyre.
For all that Alina stood frozen, Kirigan continued forward alone. Harbinger balked at the smell and that was the only thing that provoked Alina to move. She took his reins from where Kirigan had dropped them to try and soothe the gelding.
Alina wrestled with both horses. Zarya was the calm one for once, though her ears were pressed back in silent protest as well. She had to lead them both further back up the path they had landed on and tie them off to a sapling. Leaving Kirigan alone seemed a greater risk than her knotwork giving out, and Alina returned to him quickly.
Nothing had changed at the pyre. Alina had to force herself to approach despite her nerves protesting nearly every step. Calling out to Kirigan yielded no response. He was standing at the base of the pyre, the tips of his boots touching the ash.
Folding her arms over her chest, Alina entered the ring of exposed grass where the snow had melted away. She brought herself to stand next to Kirigan, made herself once again look at the figure crumpled at the base of the tree.
Kirigan's spine was ramrod straight. His shoulders were a tense line. When Alina turned to look at his face, his expression was far from the carefully managed presentation it normally was.
Rage simmered there. The black depths of his eyes were all consuming.
"More than one hundred miles from the border. And yet still we are not safe," Kirigan spat.
When Alina looked back at the body, she recognized the remaining scraps of fabric that hadn't completely burned. She didn't want to look any closer at the flesh and bone that remained. Perhaps the snow had dampened the fire or soaked the wood, preventing the rest from burning properly. Around the victim's neck there was a section of deep purple remaining with red threading. An Alkemi.
"Centuries. It has been centuries. And it has not changed." Kirigan's voice became ragged as his emotions rose up. He ground his teeth and shook his head. Whatever else he had to say disappeared in a harsh swallow.
It wasn't just the Sun Summoner that the drüskelle hunted. The petty slights this morning from the Ravkan woman were insignificant to this injustice against Grisha. All Grisha.
There were no words of consolation that Alina could offer. When Kirigan had told her that she would get used to being hunted, she had assumed it was out of weariness or cold indifference from experience. She had not expected the pain that was barely contained behind the anger on display.
Alina forced herself to let go of her arms and to stand firm next to Kirigan. Her fingers reached for his, and it was Alina's turn now to link them together, silent but sure. This time she could be the one to offer strength and support.