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.
This chapter is a series of vignettes set when Alina is ten, eleven and twelve years old.
Years II
Ten Years Old
"Can I look at the discard pile?"
"No, Miss Starkov."
"But I can attack now it's my turn?"
"Yes, Miss Starkov."
Alina, bored and lonely, but too tired to study, had begged the two oprichniki on duty outside her room to teach her to play Durak. It was a card game Marie and Nadia had mentioned, but not one she had ever learned at the orphanage.
They had been reluctant, but had agreed eventually that there was no harm in a simple game and they could still guard her well enough.
Of course, it had been difficult at first, attempting to learn a game where the two teaching it spoke only when they absolutely had to.
Igor had, in fact, not spoken at all. Tomek, always the easiest to persuade into a conversation, had explained the rules as succinctly as possible and was now answering her many questions with one of only two responses – 'Yes, Miss Starkov' or 'No, Miss Starkov'.
When she'd first arrived at the Little Palace she'd tried asking them to call her Alina, but they seemed to think that was tantamount to treason. If they had to address her then it was 'Miss Starkov' and nothing else.
Alina still hadn't managed to win a game when Igor and Tomek both started to look pointedly at the ornate clock standing on her bedside table.
It was late, she had lessons the next day and they probably wanted to switch over with Viktor and Leonid so that they could get some rest.
"Just one more," she suggested, "I'm sure I can beat you this time."
Igor gave her a severe look and she relented.
"Fine, but will you play again tomorrow?" she asked.
He nodded, clearly resigned to this being a new pastime.
(She did not, in fact, win the next day. Or the day after that. Or the next week. It seemed that all her oprichniki were surprisingly sharp Durak players. Still, she'd beat them eventually, she was sure of it).
Ten Years Old
The Darkling frowned down at Alina, "the city is not the safest place right now."
"Oh, I didn't hear about any problems. Marie and Nadia said just this morning that the festival is still going ahead."
He said nothing for a moment, as if unsure whether to give her more information, "it is not an obvious danger. There are some peasants who have heard that a Sun Summoner has been found and are getting a little … overexcited."
It was a delicate way of phrasing things. Alina remembered learning about revolts back at Keramzin. A century ago, peasants had got 'overexcited', stormed the palace and murdered almost the entire royal family in a bloody massacre before the soldiers had managed to take control again.
"The Apparat stirs them up," the Darkling added with a dark look, "his sermons are full of how the Sun Summoner will save Ravka."
More pressure, it seemed. As if she didn't feel it enough already.
"Of course, all of Ravka wishes for the war to end," he continued, "and it is only natural that the peasants feel … impatient. But they do not understand that the Little Palace is the safest place for you while you train. I am only concerned that they might take it upon themselves to bring you to the Fold before you are ready."
Alina had a sudden, alarming vision of being shoved into the vast darkness of the Shadow Fold, only to be consumed by it when her energy faltered and the light in her hand flickered and then faded away entirely.
"I'm afraid it just wouldn't be wise to let you visit the city at the moment," the Darkling concluded, "not while these radicals are around."
"I just wanted to go for a little while. Everyone says the parade is wonderful."
"Nothing particularly special," he said dismissively, "you won't be missing much."
"But –"
"Alina," he said severely, "you can watch the fireworks from your room with Genya, but it would be entirely remiss of me to run the risk of putting you in danger."
She stomped her foot, light flaring in her palms, and didn't care if it made her look like a toddler throwing a tantrum.
"Alina," he shot her a warning look, shadows creeping higher up the wall.
She could understand the Darkling's reasoning, but she didn't think there would be much danger. Even if there were a few crazy people in Os Alta, there would be enough of a crowd to hide easily among them. She wasn't the only part-Shu girl in the city, after all.
"All it takes is one mistake," he told her, more softly now, "and we might not be able to get to you before they spirit you off to the Fold."
Again, the vision of being pushed into the Fold came back to her. She shuddered. There was little to distress her at the Little Palace, but the recurring feature of her infrequent nightmares was having to face the Shadow Fold before she was ready.
The light faded from her hands and she calmed somewhat, "fine, I won't go to the festival."
"Or into the city," he clarified.
She nodded sullenly.
"It's all for your own good," his voice followed her as she left the room.
Some days she wished she could just run far, far away from the Little Palace, away from her responsibilities, away from the life she had never asked for.
She couldn't let Ravka down, though. There were so many people depending on her to eventually help end the war that had been raging for so long.
Besides, Alina did enjoy being Grisha. She adored the Little Palace, her friends, even her lessons. Most of all, she loved the feeling that rose inside her when she called the light. She thought that life would be empty without that light.
One day, though, when it was safe, she promised herself that she'd see the festivals not only in Os Alta but in all the other Ravkan cities, and maybe even beyond that.
Alina Starkov wanted to see the world, no matter how long it took.
Ten Years Old
"Why must we learn Fjerdan?" Alina sighed as she struggled over the translation her languages class had been given, "it's not like I'd ever want to go somewhere they burn Grisha."
"Well, the Darkling would never let you get near Fjerda if he could help it," Genya said, "but there are quite a few from the Little Palace who go undercover to try and help captive Grisha, and it's always useful to be able to speak the language if you get stuck in enemy territory."
Alina only rubbed her hand tiredly over her eyes as she tried to remember whether der git ver rastjel meant 'we are grateful guests' or 'we are insulted guests'.
"Can't you help me, Genya?" she asked, "surely you must have learnt this."
Genya shook her head sympathetically, "I did a very limited languages course – the Darkling wanted me to focus on my Tailoring skills instead. It's a shame Nina is away at the moment, she's fluent in six languages and she speaks Fjerdan like a native."
"Lucky her," Alina muttered.
"You're great at Shu," Genya offered, "even if you know far too many swear words."
"Botkin told me I should understand the authentic language of my ancestors."
"I don't think he meant it like that, Alina. Where did you even learn them?"
"From Botkin, obviously."
Genya raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, "Botkin? Really?"
Alina only shrugged, "he was a mercenary. He's got some interesting stories."
"He probably shouldn't be sharing them with a ten-year-old."
"I heard worse back at the orphanage," she admitted, "the older children thought it was funny to scare us all with tales they'd heard about the war."
Genya wrinkled her nose, "it sounds like a charming place."
"It wasn't so bad."
Truth be told, Alina's memories of Keramzin faded more and more every day, overtaken by her time in the Little Palace. Faces blurred, old taunts lost their sting and the orphanage became merely a source of faint nostalgia.
"Well, you're here now," Genya said, "and it looks like you've still got half a page more of Fjerdan to translate so I better leave you to it. I have to go to the Fabrikator Workshop anyway."
Alina nodded absentmindedly, still trying to figure out if the word she was looking at was 'grateful' or 'insulted'.
It was only a few minutes later that she wondered why Genya would need to see the Fabrikators.
That, however, was a mystery she would have to solve another time. For now, her Fjerdan dictionary called.
Eleven Years Old
They were sat out under a shady tree in the gardens when Alina decided to show off her newest trick.
"Hey, Genya, look."
She screwed her face up in concentration as she called the light and then split it into three glowing spheres. Then, slowly at first but quickly speeding up, she began to juggle the orbs of light the same way she had seen entertainers toss objects during Butter Week back in Keramzin.
Her best friend laughed delightedly, but a few moments later her eyes widened in panic.
"Ivan's coming," she hissed in warning.
Alina immediately dropped her hands and by the time the stern Heartrender had made his way over to them, they were both diligently studying their Grisha Theory texts.
He eyed them suspiciously, "where are your guards?"
Alina gestured towards the lake, where Dimitri and Pavel were watching them.
Ivan said nothing, only nodded curtly and stalked off back towards the Little Palace.
"I swear by all the Saints that if Ivan had his way I'd never have any fun. He thinks I should train constantly."
"He used to be worse," Genya told her, "when I first arrived, I was absolutely terrified of him – if he caught any of us smiling he'd start lecturing us about how we should be honoured to be training for the Second Army and that we needed to take it more seriously. I know it's hard to believe, but all the time he's spent with Fedyor really has loosened him up a bit."
Alina sighed, "at least he'll be leaving soon. I heard him talking with one of the other Heartrenders yesterday and he said he was heading out to join the Darkling in a few days."
"Thank the Saints," Genya muttered, dropping her book and beginning to scribble on a scrap piece of paper.
Alina caught a glimpse of a heart with the letters GS & DK written inside. Before she could ask Genya who DK was, the older girl saw her looking, blushed pink and began to shred the paper as if she'd been caught doing something wrong.
It seemed like the Tailor had a crush. Another mystery to be solved.
(it never occurred to her that the question of Genya's visit to the Fabrikator Workshop and the identity of DK could be connected).
Eleven Years Old
It was an accident.
It was also funny and Alina couldn't help but laugh.
Still, she wanted it on record that it was an accident.
Really, it was Ivan's own fault. He should have known better than to try and go walking in the part of the garden where twenty or so students were having an epic snowball fight.
Alina wasn't even the one who had started throwing snowballs. She had been diligently practicing – making focused beams of light that would melt a path through the snow – when Nadia and Marie had dragged her away.
"It's girls versus boys and we absolutely cannot let the boys win," Marie told her with a fierce expression.
"No powers," Nadia added, building up a pile of snow with incredible efficiency.
Alina shrugged and went along with it. She hadn't had a good snowball fight in ages and she'd done enough training to feel like she deserved a break. Besides, Genya was stuck at the Grand Palace all day and she'd been in serious danger of getting bored.
The battle raged on for almost half an hour until a few lucky shots made it seem like the girls would soon be pronounced the winners.
And then Alina aimed a snowball in Sergei's direction, only to have it smack straight into Ivan's head when Sergei dived behind a tree at the last minute.
It seemed as if the whole world had gone completely silent as the snow hit Ivan, as he turned his furious gaze on her and started to twist his hands.
Alina swayed slightly, light-headed. Was he really going to knock her out just because of a bit of snow?
The grip on her heart loosened, however, and Alina looked over to see Botkin had arrived and was giving Ivan a hard look.
"Gifts are not to be used like this," the combat instructor said.
Botkin might not be Grisha (at least not as far as Alina was aware) but everyone at the Little Palace respected him, even proud, disagreeable Ivan.
The Heartrender didn't apologise, but he did not attempt to reprimand Alina for the snowball either.
Botkin made his way over to her as the others went back to the snowball fight. She was still a little woozy and she didn't want to start running around again.
"Little girl will follow," he said, gesturing towards one of the entrances to the Little Palace.
She had been 'little girl' when she first arrived, sickly and underfed. He still called her the same thing even now that she had grown taller and stronger. She somehow knew he would probably never call her anything else. To be fair, though, most people could be considered small when stood next to the broad, muscled combat trainer.
Alina followed him through a maze of corridors in a part of the Little Palace she'd never been in before. They eventually came to a door which, when opened, revealed a small but comfortable suite that she realised must be Botkin's rooms.
She sat at the small table, watching as Botkin brewed some pungent tea and poured her a cup.
Though reluctant to drink it at first, Alina found it was actually rather delicious. After only a few sips she felt much better, as if the near-fainting spell in the gardens had never even happened.
She settled down in her seat, expecting Botkin to talk about his time as a mercenary, or maybe teach her a few more Shu colourful phrases that would have her languages instructor despairing.
Instead, he began to tell her a familiar tale.
Alina didn't remember much about her parents, but one of the few memories was of her mother's lively retelling of The Magic Lotus Lantern, a story the combat instructor now began to recite.
Botkin was a surprisingly good storyteller.
His words were simple, but filled with meaning and very evocative, and she found herself transported to a far-off place, as if she were actually in the Shu Han of centuries past rather than the Little Palace.
By the time the story came to an end, Alina felt calmer than she had in a long time.
"Thank you," she told Botkin softly as she stood to leave.
He said nothing, but he looked as peaceful as she felt.
She ran into Fedyor as she was walking back to her room.
"Ah, Alina, I heard about earlier."
He looked guilty, as if what Ivan had done was his fault.
"Don't worry about it, Fedyor. I know how Ivan is."
"He overreacted," the Heartrender said, "he spends so much time in the field that he sometimes forgets that not everything is an attack."
Alina hadn't ever really thought about it like that. To her, Ivan was just a grump who liked to chastise her whenever he got the chance. The idea that there might be a reason for his behaviour apart from just a bad temper hadn't ever occurred to her.
"It's fine," she promised him, more sincere now.
Fedyor's mouth quirked into a relieved smile, "I won't say he'll apologise, but I'll talk to him about trying to be a bit less … difficult."
Alina wasn't holding her breath, but she wasn't about to put a damper on Fedyor's hope.
"Come on," she told him, "you can make it up to me by playing a few games of Durak with me, Dimitri and Pavel. Maybe if we play in a team against the two of them I can finally win."
"Unlikely," Fedyor told her with a good-natured grin, "I'm notoriously bad at card games."
He paused for a moment before his mouth quirked into a sly smile, "Ivan's very good, you know."
And Alina had suddenly found a very good reason for becoming Ivan's new best friend.
Eleven Years Old
"No."
"Please, Ivan."
"No."
"I'll spend the whole weekend practicing my summoning."
"You should be doing that already."
"Please, please, please. I just want to win one game."
"No."
"I'll tell Fedyor how wonderful you were in helping me."
"…. Fine. Three team games and that's it."
"Thank you!"
Eleven Years Old
"Alina! Genya! What are you two doing?"
Fedyor sounded uncharacteristically furious and they both shrieked slightly in surprise, despite knowing that if they had truly been doing anything wrong, then Alina's oprichniki would already have stepped in to stop them.
"Sorry, sorry," he smiled sheepishly at their expressions, "I'm trying out my Ivan impression – intimidation is a useful tool, you know. How did I do?"
"A little too realistic," Genya pouted slightly.
"Then I must apologise," Fedyor bowed his head and offered each of them an arm, "I'm friends with the Grand Palace cooks – would some pastries buy me your forgiveness?"
Alina and Genya looked at each other, grinning as they pretended to consider the offer.
"Done," Genya announced.
"Definitely done," Alina smiled.
Twelve Years Old
"Happy Birthday!"
It was three voices that sang out the greeting as Genya, Marie and Nadia all piled into her room with a plate of fruit and pastries and some presents.
She had already opened the package from the Darkling that Dimitri had given her earlier in the day, a book on Ravkan fairytales that wasn't stocked in the library, and now she smiled as she opened the gifts from her friends as they shared the food.
She thanked them profusely for the little bottles of lotions, shimmery gold scarf and warm winter gloves.
"You didn't have to," she said, as she told them every year.
"Of course we did." Marie exclaimed, "besides, it's a special Birthday. Soon, we'll be starting proper combat training."
"I'm so glad I can avoid that," Genya said with a sniff.
The Tailor took some self-defence lessons privately, but her work with the Queen took up most of her time and she declared herself quite happy to avoid having to get all sweaty and dirty in the muddy outdoor training grounds.
It was nice to see all three of her friends together. Marie and Nadia could still be snobby when it came to Genya, but it seemed that Alina's Birthday had united them all in a common goal, at least for the moment.
She only hoped that at some point in the future their silent truce would last for more than the odd day.
Twelve Years Old
Alina had waited for years to be able to do combat training.
It wasn't like the games they played in Botkin's lessons weren't fun, but she really wanted to learn some proper fighting techniques. Perhaps if she could prove she was able to defend herself, then she'd be able to go out on trips with the other students.
She approached combat training with a great deal of enthusiasm, right until she realised they would be working with some of the older students.
Zoya looked like she couldn't wait to knock Alina into the dirt.
It had been almost four years since her arrival at the Little Palace and, as far as Alina knew, the Squaller's dislike had only grown.
She still didn't entirely understand it. Alina was the Sun Summoner, it was true, but Zoya was one of the most promising Grisha students and would likely grow to be the strongest Etherealki of her generation.
"Don't leave me with her," Alina whispered to Marie and Nadia, darting an anxious glance at Zoya.
"We're not allowed to use powers here," Nadia reminded her, "you'll be ok."
Zoya was at least four inches taller than Alina was, and she had the beginnings of muscles Alina could only dream of. As far as she was concerned, there was still plenty to be worried about.
Botkin, thankfully, left the older students to spar among themselves while he got the younger ones to stretch and then taught them a few basics like how to properly throw a punch.
"You hit hard," Nadia shot Marie a look that was part admiration and part irritation when the Inferni demonstrated what their instructor declared to be a perfect punch.
She poked at her arm experimentally, "this is going to bruise."
Botkin shook his head and muttered something in Shu about children who whined too much.
"Your turn to try and block, Alina," Marie said.
They stood in front of each other and Alina tried to watch the Inferni's cues the way Botkin had taught them.
She blocked the first punch, then the second, but the third caught her in the side.
"Saints," she muttered, "Nadia's right. You hit hard, Marie."
They switched again then. Alina's punches were fairly good and she landed most of her blows on Marie, whose defence was not as good as her offence. Nadia's blows were a little weaker but, with some practice, she soon became adept at reading their movements and blocking almost everything they aimed at her.
Out of the corner of her eye, Alina could see Zoya sparring with a Tidemaker she couldn't remember the name of. The two of them moved so fast it was difficult to watch. She winced, though, when Zoya landed a vicious blow right on the Tidemaker's chin, knocking them to the ground.
Botkin gave the Squaller an approving nod, wandering over to explain to the group watching all the moves Zoya had performed.
The ringing of a bell in the distance signalled the end of the lesson, much to Alina's relief.
"Tomorrow we will look at escape techniques," Botkin told the younger students as they grabbed their bags, "which Zoya has kindly agreed to assist with."
The Squaller gave them all a smile, but to Alina it seemed more like a smirk directed specifically at her.
"How long does it take a Healer to fix a broken leg?" she hissed to Nadia as they walked back towards the Little Palace.
"About ten seconds. You know this, Alina."
Well, there went her idea to 'accidentally' fall down the stairs before tomorrow's lesson.
"What about a stab wound?"
Nadia started to look alarmed, "you aren't going to get hurt in the Little Palace. It's the safest building in the entire country."
"Just don't let Zoya kill me tomorrow, please."
Nadia and Marie laughed.
"I'm serious," she told them.
"Zoya's not stupid enough to try and really hurt you in training," Marie said.
"We'll see about that," Alina sighed.
-x-x-x-
The next day, the three of them hobbled back to their rooms, aching and bruised.
"Zoya's not stupid enough to try and really hurt you," Alina growled at Marie, "look at me! My bruises have bruises."
"Her dropping you was an accident."
Alina snorted, "that's what she wants you to think."
"I think you did well," Nadia said with an encouraging smile.
"Right until I fell flat on my face," Alina replied flatly.
"Doesn't Botkin always say every misstep is a learning experience," Marie offered.
Alina was in no mood for platitudes, "if I'm going to have a learning experience, I'd rather have it somewhere Zoya isn't around to witness it."
Zoya picked that moment to walk past with two other Squallers, "better luck next time, Starkov," she said with a condescending smile, "some people just aren't cut out for proper combat."
"One day," Alina promised when Zoya was out of earshot, "I'm going to punch that girl right in her smug face."
Twelve Years Old
"The city isn't really all that exciting, Alina," Genya told her, "and everything you need is here at the Little Palace."
"I just want to see it," she explained, "did you know I haven't left the Little Palace grounds since I got here. That's four years, Genya! Zoya is insufferable every time she comes back from a trip. Poor Alina, so sheltered, such a child."
"Just ignore her," Genya sighed, "she only says things like that to get a reaction out of you."
"I just want to look in the shops, act like a normal person for once."
"Alina, you're not a normal person. If anyone found out who you were you could be attacked, or kidnapped, or mobbed by those lunatics that the Apparat has stirred up."
"I'm not about to go around shouting my name at the top of my voice. I just want to see something outside these walls."
"Well, the Darkling is back tomorrow," Genya said, "I suppose you could ask him. Don't get your hopes up, though."
-x-x-x-
It wasn't nearly as difficult as she thought it might be to ask the Darkling if she could look around some of the Os Alta shops.
To be honest, it was almost like he was expecting her visit. He listened to all her reasons and then nodded his head.
"You and Genya may visit the city, but you will be accompanied by Ivan and Fedyor and you will not leave their sides."
The smile that had bloomed on Alina's face at his acquiescence to her request dimmed slightly when she heard the names of their escorts.
"Do I sense a little disdain for my Heartrenders?" the Darkling asked, a faintly amused expression on his face.
"I like Fedyor just fine," she muttered.
"You know, once you get to know him Ivan's actually quite funny."
She snorted, "I bet you find volcra hilarious."
The Darkling simply gave her an exasperated look, though she could tell he was hiding a smile, and tilted his head towards the door, an indication that she could leave.
Her oprichniki fell into place behind her as she went to give Genya the good news. She wasn't thrilled at having to go with Ivan, whose would almost certainly spend most of the time sullenly complaining about babysitting duties, but hopefully Fedyor would be able to tease him into a half-decent mood.
Besides, nothing could spoil her excitement at finally getting out of the palace.
-x-x-x-
They went down into the city in an unmarked carriage and dressed in otkazat'sya clothes rather than their keftas. Fedyor and Genya were fine with their outfits but she could see from the even deeper than usual scowl on Ivan's face that he didn't enjoy being out of his usual uniform, even if everything they were wearing was made with the same Materialki corecloth as their keftas.
Alina was too happy to be bothered by his mood and derogatory remarks about everything they passed by. They picked up sweet pastries at one market stall that Genya pointed out, and then found cheap but colourful bracelets at another.
It was so liberating to be outside the palace gates, mixing with people who had no idea she was the Sun Summoner.
Still, it wasn't long before Alina spotted Dimitri and Pavel among the crowd, dressed in plain clothes and hovering around a shop doorway.
She elbowed Genya, discretely pointing at the oprichniki.
Her beautiful friend only rolled her eyes, "honestly, Alina, did you really think the Darkling was going to let us outside the Little Palace walls with only Ivan and Fedyor?"
The answer was that she had been too pleased at her request to go into the city being granted to think about the guards. She really should have known better.
"You know who you are," Genya said, "the Darkling isn't about to let us go wandering around without the proper protection."
Alina sighed, "well, as long as they keep a distance."
They walked further down the cobbled streets until Genya let out an excited squeal and tugged her inside one of the shops.
There was fabric everywhere, together with sheets depicting different dress designs. There were also dresses already made up on display for customers to look at.
Alina had never really thought much about fashion. At Keramzin she hadn't had a choice in what she wore – the staff at the orphanage sorted all the donations and assigned each child something that was at least vaguely the right size. At the Little Palace she wore her kefta with the shirt and trousers provided.
Still, the fabrics were lovely, though she was scared to touch them in case she left marks, the grease from the pastries still on her fingers.
She and Genya were admiring some dresses, Ivan and Fedyor at the other end of the room, when she heard the tap of heels and looked up to see a tall woman with fashionably coiffed hair eyeing them with distaste.
"Out," she said with contempt, "I don't want your sort here."
For a brief moment, Alina thought the woman, who she thought must be the owner of the shop, or an employee, was complaining about the fact that she and Genya were younger than her usual visitors. Then, she wondered if perhaps the woman didn't like Grisha, but of course none of them were wearing the keftas that would have identified them. It hit her when she realised that the glare was directed at her specifically, and when she heard the venomous "Shu trash" muttered under the woman's breath.
It was funny how quickly Alina had forgotten the animosity she had once experienced for the simple crime of looking like her mother. Within the Little Palace no one dreamed of insulting her in such a way – Grisha were Grisha, whether they came from Ravka, Shu Han, Fjerda or anywhere else, and any otkazat'sya servants who had made comments when Alina first arrived had quickly been removed from service.
Genya hissed angrily and Fedyor frowned, his usually sunny disposition turned serious. Ivan's hands twitched, as if it took a lot of effort for him to not unleash his power, and Alina felt a brief rush of affection for him – he didn't really like her, but it seemed like Grisha stuck together when they were outside the walls of the Little Palace.
"We're leaving," Fedyor put his arms around Alina and Genya and began steering them towards the door.
She saw him glance at Ivan, a quick look but one clearly filled with hidden meaning that Alina didn't understand. The Heartrender nodded, a grim look on his face, and did not follow them.
"What's going on, Fedyor?"
"Nothing you need to worry about, malen'kiy."
"We're not going back to the Little Palace, are we?" she asked, "we've not even been out an hour."
"We didn't anticipate such … prejudice in this part of the city," Fedyor explained, "it's usually more confined to the southern section of Os Alta. And we don't want to draw attention to ourselves."
Alina felt a burst of fury that her one day out of the Little Palace was being ruined because of people who hated her simply because she looked Shu.
"Prejudice is stupid," she muttered mutinously.
She was twelve years old, for Saints' sake, not a trained Shu soldier out to slaughter Ravkans in their beds.
Being Grisha was not without its hardships (and they had their own prejudices of course, like the Corporalki who looked down on the other orders, or the way most of the students ignored Genya in her white and gold kefta), but at least they never looked down on her for being part-Shu.
Fedyor gave her a sympathetic smile as he made eye-contact with Dimitri, who had appeared almost out of thin air, "sorry, Alina. I know this isn't how you imagined the day would go."
They turned a corner to find their carriage waiting. Fedyor helped first Alina and then Genya to get in, glancing around briefly before following them. A few seconds later Pavel followed and sat next to Fedyor.
"Where are Ivan and Dimitri?" she asked.
"They'll follow us back soon," Fedyor answered her.
He didn't look worried, but he did seem unhappy. Alina decided it was better not to enquire further.
They rode back to the palace in silence, curtains drawn so Alina couldn't even look out as they passed through the city.
-x-x-x-
"You're angry," the Darkling noted.
He had listened to Fedyor's report with an inscrutable expression, before dismissing both the Heartrender and Genya, leaving only himself and Alina in his receiving room.
"I just wanted to be normal for once," she admitted.
Part of her wanted to vent, to rant and rave and shout, but it seemed almost childish to do so in the face of the Darkling's measured calm.
"You are not normal, Alina," he reminded her, echoing Genya's words from a few days previously.
He said it matter-of-factly, but not cruelly. In truth, he made it sound like a compliment.
"Remember, though," he added, as if he knew she needed reassurance, "you are Grisha. You are not alone."
There was no promise for further excursions, no sorrow shown at the unfortunate outcome of this trip. Yet, somehow, his words still brought her comfort.
You are not alone.
Twelve Years Old
"You want me to do what?"
"Don't act stupid, girl, you know what I said."
Baghra had just told her that she should learn to resist the pull to summon light if confronted with amplification.
"But why would I need to stop the light?"
"Not everyone has your best interests at heart, girl. There may come a time where it is better to keep your power inside than let the light out."
The only human amplifiers Alina knew were Baghra herself and the Darkling. Surely the old woman wouldn't dare imply …
No, best not to think too carefully about that.
Baghra grasped her wrist and the light rushed out, not quite as easily as it did with the Darkling's touch, but still without Alina really having to think about it.
"No," Baghra chastised her, "don't just let it out. Control it, girl, stop the flow."
She tried to concentrate and find the connection between her power and Baghra's amplification, but it was like trying to build a dam with sand as a raging river flowed over it.
The sting of Baghra's cane broke what little control Alina had managed to muster and the old woman let out a snort of disgust.
"Out, girl," her teacher told her, "and when you come back tomorrow, I hope you can manage to at least try and break the connection."
Alina grumbled to herself as she made her way to the training grounds.
She knew Baghra was considered the best when it came to teaching control over Grisha powers, but the woman's methods certainly left something to be desired.
Still, she knew she'd have to try and achieve what Baghra desired. The old woman would definitely refuse to teach her anything else until she had mastered this.
Alina sighed to herself. It looked like there were plenty of sleepless nights ahead as she tried to figure out Baghra's most recent task.
Twelve Years Old
Genya turned up one morning with a plain black kefta and a pair of riding boots.
Alina's eyes widened, "please, no," she begged, "I told you ages ago – horses and I don't get along. I swear by all the Saints that the two that lived in the field next to the orphanage hated me."
"You have to learn to ride, Alina, all the Grisha do."
"Even you?" she asked sceptically, unable to imagine her friend allowing herself to be subjected to the windswept hair and dusty clothes that were one of the hazards of travelling by horse.
"I am a very elegant rider, I'll have you know," Genya told her with a teasing look, "I simply prefer a carriage."
"This is going to be a disaster," Alina grimaced, "you won't laugh, will you?"
"Oh, I make no promises," Genya smiled, "and look on the bright side – apparently Ivan almost got roped in to teach you, since he's back here for a few weeks, but Fedyor took pity on you and volunteered."
"Fine, fine, I'm getting up," she groaned.
Might as well get it over with, she thought to herself.
-x-x-x-
Three hours later and she dearly wished she'd just stayed in bed.
Fedyor had turned out to be quite the taskmaster. He was cheerful and infinitely patient, but completely unwilling to let her finish early.
"My tailbone is killing me," she complained.
"You'll be fine after a long bath," Fedyor promised, "just a bit longer. I really think you're getting the hang of it now.
"No, she's not," Ivan interrupted, having joined them half an hour previously with what Alina felt was a clear desire to make this whole experience even more difficult than it already was.
"Who asked you?" Alina hissed, irritation bleeding through.
Ivan was twice her age and one of the most formidable Grisha she had met, but she was in pain and frustrated, and he was getting on her very last nerve.
Genya barely stifled her giggle. Ivan looked ready to knock her unconscious, but Fedyor put a restraining hand on his arm and the intimidating Heartrender limited himself to muttering curses under his breath.
"Right," Fedyor said, "come on, Alina, try again. Just remember that the horse can sense your emotions, so you have to try and be calm."
"I'd be calmer if I wasn't at risk of being tossed off the second I get nervous."
She found herself jealous of Fedyor's ease with the horses. He rose with far more confidence than she thought she would ever have, and seemed able to communicate with his horse without words.
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.
"Good," Fedyor smiled as she held the reins with an iron grip and the horse trotted slowly around the small paddock they were using, "now, do you want to try going a bit faster?"
"Absolutely not," she tried to sound calm – she wanted to scream the words but she definitely wished to avoid spooking the horse.
"That's fine," Fedyor told her in the same soothing tone he used with the horse, "just keep going for a few more minutes and we should be done."
"Good horse," Alina murmured as they did another lap, "good … Fedyor, remind me what the horse's name is."
"This beauty is Chort."
"You gave me a horse whose name means devil?" she asked flatly.
"Poor Chort was misnamed," Fedyor insisted, watching the horse fondly, "she was a bit high-spirited when she was a filly, but then she calmed right down."
"Good girl, Chort," Alina said, trying not to sound worried, "please do not revert to your childhood ways."
Thankfully, five minutes passed without incident and Fedyor finally permitted her to dismount.
She was ready stagger back to her room for a very long soak in her bath when the Heartrender called after her, "same time next week then, Alina? Ivan and I are heading to Caryeva in a few days, but one of the grooms will be able to help you."
"Nope," she shook her head, "not doing that again. Absolutely not."
"Everyone must show sufficient proficiency in horse-riding," Ivan said with a small smirk.
"I got on the horse, rode for hours and muscles I didn't even know I had now ache," she snapped, "isn't that enough?"
"Sorry, Alina," Fedyor's look was sympathetic, "you've got to be able to get up to a good gallop before we can sign off. Don't worry, though, it should only be three or four more lessons."
"Although there was one Healer in our class who had to go to riding lessons for almost six months," Ivan added, his smirk widening.
"You'll be fine, Alina," Genya insisted, shooting a nasty look at Ivan, "now come on, I'll order a hot bath for you and then you'll feel much better."
"I'd feel better if someone got trampled by the devil horse."
Ivan scowled, but Fedyor let out a short laugh.
Alina let Genya loop their arms together and pull her back towards the Little Palace, leaving Fedyor to appease Ivan's temper.
"It won't really be six months, will it?" Alina asked once they were out of earshot of Ivan and Fedyor.
"Well …"
"Genya!"
"I'm sure you'll manage it in less time than that."
"I'm going to be in riding lessons forever," she complained.
"Don't be dramatic."
(in the end it was five months and two weeks, but at least she managed before she hit the six month mark).
Twelve Years Old
Baghra's hand encircled Alina's wrist and nothing happened.
She could feel the power beneath her skin, itching to be released.
Hold, she thought, stay inside.
Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her power wasn't meant to be contained like this. It didn't like it.
The seconds passed so slowly it was almost torturous, but Alina managed to keep a lid on her power.
Eventually, Baghra let go of her and Alina breathed a sigh of relief.
The old woman gave a nod, which was her version of praise, "this is a start. This is good."
Alina didn't notice the faintest glimmer of relief cross Baghra's otherwise impassive face.
Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.
The next chapter, an Interlude from Genya's POV, is a shorter chapter so should probably be out next Tuesday.