Disclaimer: I don't own the Grisha Trilogy and its characters – it belongs to Leigh Bardugo. I do not own the Shadow & Bone TV series, which was developed by Eric Heisserer for Netflix and based on Leigh Bardugo's books. Any recognisable dialogue is from the books or TV show – some lines may be included verbatim, others in an amended form.
AU where there are no Grisha, but the Darkling and Alina have their powers. Warnings for grooming.
Sankta
Alina is eight years old when she summons light from her hands.
Eight years old when they build a cathedral and install her inside it.
They want to keep her safe.
Want to keep control of her.
They have her pray for guidance.
Force her kneel for hours on end to pray to saints she doesn't believe in.
They make attempts to coax her powers out.
Poke, prod and cut but the light never comes, not for them.
Across Ravka, people pray to Sankta Alina and wait for the day she will tear down the Shadow Fold, the blight on their country created centuries ago by the Black Heretic, right before his death.
Alina doesn't care about Ravka, about destroying the Fold, about the unification of the country.
Why would she care for people who never thought of her until they saw what she could do for them?
Why should she save a country that has always considered her the enemy?
(she's seen the icons, the way they erase her Shu eyes in favour of painting more Ravkan features).
Alina is ten years old when the shadows find her.
Curling around her ankles, a cool caress she finds oddly comforting.
In the quiet of her room, away from the incense and the prayers and the priestguard that the Apparat has created, Alina makes her light dance with the shadows.
It is the only happiness she has in her long, tiresome days.
Alina is eleven years old when the shadows coalesce into a man.
Pale skin, dark hair, more handsome than anyone she has ever seen.
Despite what the stories say, it turns out that the Black Heretic never died.
"Hello, solnyshko," his voice is soft, the words echoing around her, "I've been waiting a long time for you."
And somehow, she knows she's been waiting for him too.
Her shadow man teaches her how to use her light, how to shape it, make it brighter, give it heat.
It's difficult at first, a frustrating struggle for her to bring the light forth at will.
He encircles her thin wrists with his hands, his touch bringing her a surety she's never felt as the light bursts outwards.
She learns how that feels, the light underneath her skin, and after a few weeks she can manage without his help, although sometimes he rests his palm on her neck, sends waves of calm to help her sleep.
Alina is thirteen years old when the shadow man murmurs his name in her ear.
A secret, just for them.
Aleksander.
She calls him Sasha.
He whispers stories to her, his stories.
A man with the power to call shadows, to choke men with them, to let them coalesce into a sharp blade that can cut down battalions.
Who fought bravely for his country and won many battles in his king's name.
Who was betrayed, saw his innocent, pregnant wife brutally murdered in front of him.
Whose rage and grief formed the Shadow Fold that divides Ravka to this day.
His rage becomes hers. She thirsts for revenge on his behalf. She longs to destroy those who hurt him.
Of course, they are all dust now. The king, the soldiers, the people.
Nothing has really changed, though.
The current king takes and takes and takes, lives in a palace dripping in gold and jewels while most of his people starve.
The Apparat accepts donations from the faithful, meant to help the poor but really bringing him luxurious accommodations, chalices made of solid gold and a huge priestguard to protect his wealth and intimidate the peasants who cannot afford to give money to the church with stories of the suffering they will endure in death for their lack of 'piety'.
"I'll burn them," she promises, "I'll burn them all, Sasha."
He smiles, all bright white teeth, strokes her hair, calls her his good girl, his precious thing.
Alina is fifteen years old and her powers are growing by the day.
In front of the Apparat, she makes her light a weak, paltry thing.
When he parades her out in front of the faithful, he uses mirrors and tricks to make her seem like the Sankta he calls her.
She scoffs inside. His sham is nothing compared to what she can really do, to what Aleksander has taught her.
Alina is sixteen years old and her skin tingles when Aleksander touches her.
She blushes when he strokes her cheek, sighs softly when presses a kiss to the crown of her head and praises her.
She isn't sure what she feels, but she knows that she wants.
Thinks that he wants too. He always watches her with possessive awe, with hungry eyes.
Alina is seventeen and Aleksander tells her it is time to leave the cathedral.
He's found a boy, he tells her, who will help her claim the power that she is destined for.
He is familiar, the boy. A memory from her childhood, one pushed into the back of her mind by her years with Aleksander.
Mal Oretsev.
Aleksander does not like him and the feeling is mutual. But he can track anything, can find what she needs.
First, the stag, with a crown of antler bone for her head.
Second, the sea whip, with a fetter of shimmering scales for her right wrist.
Third, Mal himself, a look of horrified betrayal on his face as Alina calmly drives a knife through his heart, with a bracelet of bone for her left wrist.
And then they are ready.
The Sun Saint and the Black Heretic.
The Apparat dies first, screaming, burning.
Alina laughs loudly for hours.
Then the priestguard, the Lantsovs, enemy soldiers making futile attempts to invade.
All of them fall to Aleksander's shadows and Alina's light.
The people still call her Sankta.
They bow when she takes a golden throne, Aleksander an obsidian one next to her.
They fear her, yet they love her too.
Their reign is bloody but magnificent.
And it is eternal.
Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.