Chapter One: But some of me won't be saved

Alina

I thought I had known darkness. I had grown up in an orphanage. I'd been scared of the dark as a child, begging Ana Kuya to let me leave a lamp on when I slept in the portrait-hall-turned-dormitory. She'd never let me, though, and I'd learned not to see the monsters lingering in the shadowy corners of the room. I had walked endless miles in the First Army, sometimes through the blackest nights, and I'd even survived the depths of the Shadow Fold. More than once!

But in all that darkness, there had always been light.

My power... my friends….

Mal.

But the light was no more. When I would dig inside myself to summon light that had once come so easily, there was nothing. Only an empty pit was left where the light had once lived. It left me hollow and aching, my shoulders once again bony and my skill dry and pale. A piece of me was gone, a piece which I had rejected for so long yet now longed for desperately.

Still, I would trade the light in my soul a hundred thousand times over for Mal. He was my true light.

Nikolai assured me I was not alone, that there would always be a place for me in Os Alta-be it the Queen's bed chamber as his wife or an advisor or just an honored guest. He'd begged me to stay, at least for now, until "things came to their senses." As if they ever would. I obliged grudgingly, but the truth was that there just wasn't anywhere I wanted to go. I was lost.

I'd gone through Mal's funeral as if I were sleepwalking. The service was small and short, with so many funerals to host following all the devastation that had been happening around Ravka for months. The priest spoke of his loyalty, his duty, and his love for his country.

He'd probably given the same eulogy a dozen times that day.

And then Mal was lowered into a grave on the grounds between the Grand and Little Palaces. It was a great honor, all things considered. It was one Nikolai had insisted upon. He thought that putting Mal's grave on the grounds might keep me there, prevent me from running away. And it might have.

If I'd had anywhere to run.

The first few days after Mal's funeral had been spent physically recovering in my chambers at the Little Palace. Fabrikators had repaired the building so that it almost looked new. I'd given the Darkling's chambers a wide berth, settling again in my old room with its sumptuous bed and bath with a massive copper tub. It should have been a relief after months of running, but it wasn't. I'd collapsed into the bed still in the black dress I'd worn for the funeral, and I remained there for three days. I hated black and all it represented, yet I couldn't bring myself to remove what I'd worn the last time I saw his handsome face, even if that face was in a casket.

On the fourth day, Genya had summoned servants to prise me loose from the bed, and when that was insufficient, a Heartrender to calm me enough to coax me into the tub. She'd washed my filthy white hair herself.

Heartrenders could soothe me in their presence, but the second I was left alone, my heart ached. Unable to take it anymore, I began to wander. My wanderings had started in the Little Palace, just up and down the hallways of the dormitories for the first few days. I looked for familiar faces, wondering who had survived and who had not. There was a handful of Grisha who'd been loyal to the Darkling who were confined to the Little Palace awaiting trial. It was likely most would receive light sentences as the Second Army needed every man they could get. Some others that had been out on assignment in other areas of Ravka or abroad had returned to the relative safety of these walls to deal with their grief. Many of us were ghosts, floating up and down the halls somewhere between living and dead.

My wanderings soon extended beyond the walls of the Little Palace and across the massive lawn to the Grand Palace. Fabrikators were working on the Grand Palace, repairing and improving. Ironically, much of the improvement being made was to scale back the gaudy grandeur that had graced the palace. The Darkling had told me once that the Grand Palace was the ugliest building in all of Ravka and Nikolai seemed to agree. He was determined to undo much of the excess of his parents. Less baroque gold leaf (carefully lifted away and saved for the royal coffers, of course) and more Ravkan history. Durasts stripped away layers of ornamentation to reveal the classic architecture of the palace. Tapestries depicting the grandeur of Ravka's past replaced the dozens of portraits of Queen Tatiana. Fashionable furniture was auctioned off and replaced by heirlooms that had once cluttered the attics and storage closets. David's hand was present in it all. He was training Genya, too, her artistic hand for faces lending itself to restoring paintings and fabrics.

I didn't linger with them. I didn't linger anywhere. I would take my breakfast in my room at the Little Palace each day, picking at the pastries and tea offered to me. It all tasted like mud again. I'd then wander through the halls aimlessly. I'd usually end up in the library for an hour or two before memories overwhelmed me and then make my way out onto the grounds. I gave a wide berth to Baghra's cottage and looked at the Summoner's Pavillions only from a distance. There were too many memories of casting light across the waters. It made my hands itch with longing.

If Nikolai didn't at least lay eyes on me daily, he would seek me out. That was the last thing I wanted, to be found. I'd wander by his office when he was in meetings with people far more important than me, offer up the jauntiest wave I could manage, and wander on. Portrait halls, libraries, billiard rooms, endless parlors, bed-chamber after bed-chamber, two ballrooms. Most of these places weren't infused with the same beautiful and painful memories the way almost every room was in the Little Palace. The few spaces I'd spent time in could be quickly closed off behind a door.

It was on one of those wanderings that I found him.

I'd never been to the cells in the basement-never had cause to-but on my tenth day of wandering, I made it. The guard only nodded to me when I passed. Nikolai had given me free rein of the palace, and he meant it. If I had wanted to wander his bed-chamber or examine the jewels of the treasury, I was allowed.

I paused at the top of the steps. I had been so absorbed in my grief that I hadn't given much-any-thought to where the Darkling would be. When my powers had been ripped from me, they'd rent from him too. I had clawed at him in desperation as I realized that Mal was beyond saving, that I had killed him.

And he had taken it.

I don't know if it had been shock or weakness at the sudden loss of power, but the Darkling had just stood there as I clawed at any scrap of skin I could reach. I'm not sure who pulled me off him or why but they did, clapping him in irons and summoning a Heartrender to soften my hysteria.

I wished Sankta Alina had perished in battle.

There had been a time when I thought the Darkling was my destiny. For all that I had hated him for it, he was right that there was no one like us. No one would understand the headiness of our power. No one would understand immortality. No one would understand our connection, even before he placed the collar around my neck.

I hated that he knew me so well.

I hated that I could have loved him.

I hated that I still could.

I hated him.

And yet... I didn't.

I wasn't exactly sure what I expected to see when I descended the steps into the dungeon. The cell was more comfortable looking than I anticipated. There was a narrow wooden bed with several blankets and a plump pillow. The stone floor and walls were unadorned, but there were a pair of chairs and a rickety table with a few books. A screen concealed the back corner, presumably offering a measure of privacy around the chamber pot. Some might see the comfortable cell as a sign of Nickolai's mercy, but I recognized it for what it really was: a sign of the Darkling's weakness. If he had been a threat, They would have shackled him to the walls, hooded and gagged. But for the division of bars, this could be someone's bed-chamber.

Even without his powers, the Darkling almost blended into the shadows of the room. No one could be still like him. He was seated on the floor, leaned against the stone wall, and staring out of the cell-staring at me.

I felt his gaze before I saw him. I studied his countenance and found his face was as pale and angular as always, the scars from the volcra almost adding to the appeal by softening his prettiness. His black hair was messy as if he'd just run his fingers through it even though he hadn't moved since I'd come down the stairs. And his eyes… the quartz gray irises were so dark they were almost black. Fathomless. And focused entirely on me.

I met his gaze with more strength than I felt.

"Come to gloat?" he asked, finally. "Now that you have me in a cage."

I said nothing. There wasn't anything I could possibly gloat about.

"So this is what you rejected your power for?" he sneered.

I merely raised an eyebrow.

He huffed, ruffling a hand through his hair. I should have had more empathy for him. It was his first brush with mortality, after all. This was someone I had admired, had been captivated by. I had almost surrendered to him a hundred times. Instead, I felt… nothing. I had no feelings left to give at this point.

"Now I know how it feels. I'd always wondered…"

He had piqued my interest. "How what feels?"

"Being ordinary."

The chapter title comes from "Spell it out for you" by You Me at Six.