Before
The once-Sun Summoner didn't like to talk about what had happened when she saved her country. Victory was supposed to be celebrated with parties and celebrations, banquets with women in pretty dresses, and speeches from the victors and the saved. Victory was supposed to be sweet.
But this tasted like bitterness.
In her preeminent victory, all Alina could feel defeat, for the success had cost her everything.
The power.
The light.
Mal.
They'd been willing to sacrifice him to save everyone else. They'd had their tender goodbye tucked away in the conservatory of the farmhouse. They'd known this was a possibility, that one or both of them would not emerge from the shadows. Shel had hoped it would be her. She'd been willing to die for this cause before, but that sacrifice has been taken from her.
The victory had just asked for more.
More.
More.
So she had sacrificed Mal-sacrificed the heart beating in her chest-to gain enough power to conquer the shadow and the bringer of darkness. The Darkling. The flood of power into her very soul had electrified her for that brief moment before wringing her out and leaving her empty.
Mal was gone.
The light was gone.
The power was gone.
But at least when the light was ripped from her, it tore something from the Darkling, too. It took her light, yes, but it also took his darkness—two once-great Grisha, now mere mortals.
To save everyone else but themselves.