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.
For information, Alina is fifteen during this chapter.
Fifteen
The Ravkan Royal Court was in mourning.
News had arrived two days previously that the King's sister Ludmilla and nephew Ludovic had sickened and died from the plague ravaging Ryevost, two of the many victims of a tragedy that had wiped out a large number of the city's population.
"No great loss," Sergei muttered to Alina, Nadia and Marie during combat training, "the last time they visited she insisted on a Grisha fight club so she and her friends could place wagers."
"And he assaulted a Healer while she was walking in the gardens," Nadia added angrily, "the poor girl was only fourteen – the Darkling was absolutely furious."
Alina shuddered at the thought. It made her think of Genya's ongoing ordeal – with this story about Ludovic, and the rumours she heard about Prince Vasily, it was clear that the King's disgusting behaviour ran in his family.
"The Queen has ordered practically an entire new wardrobe in black," Nadia continued, "as if she doesn't have a perfectly good set of mourning clothes from when her mother died a year ago. Naturally, it's all in the most expensive fabrics possible."
The King had declined to send much aid to Ryevost to help them during the plague, citing budget concerns. Clearly the Queen's wardrobe, as well as the new summer villa he'd apparently purchased only a few months ago, were of more importance to him than the health and wellbeing of the citizens of Ryevost.
Saints, it really was a shock that there weren't more assassination attempts on the Ravkan King.
"I heard the Darkling sent a few Healers," Marie added, "though we can scarcely afford to spare them. I don't know how much help it will be, though."
Probably, thought Alina morosely, like trying to stem a flowing river with only a few small rocks. The richer residents of Ryevost had fled to their country homes as soon as possible (entirely ignoring the quarantine that had been placed on them), leaving the rest of the city in chaos. It was likely that everyone would just have to wait out the plague and hope there weren't too many more victims.
This was the last thing the country needed. Constant warfare was bad enough, but when an entire city was so badly affected by illness it just made things so much worse.
"This would never happen if –"
Nadia elbowed Sergei in the stomach, stopping him from finishing his sentence.
"Don't," she warned him, "you have to be careful what you say."
Nadia, Sergei and Marie all looked at Alina, as if they thought she might scold them. They were doing this more and more often now, looking to her for judgement of their words. She never really knew how to respond.
"I think we should all just hope for an end to the plague," she said, trying to infuse some level of authority into her voice and only half succeeding.
They all seemed to agree with her, though. Everyone murmured their wishes for Ryevost's swift recovery and then Marie changed the subject to their upcoming Ravkan History exam.
Some things, after all, were best not spoken out loud.
"Her Royal Bossiness has been complaining about having to wear black," Genya told her one evening, "apparently the colour washes her out."
Alina frowned, "I thought she always called Ludmilla her closest, most precious friend?"
Genya snorted, "that was the party line, of course, but I don't know if that woman is capable of truly caring for anyone, except perhaps Vasily. She makes a big show about mourning but all she does in private is complain about it."
Alina wasn't surprised in the least. The Queen was a vain, shallow thing, as far as she could tell. Besides, Alina would never forgive the woman for how poorly she treated Genya.
She thought about asking about the King, but the Tailor was tense enough that Alina knew what her answer would be.
The King's regard for his sister and nephew was a little more genuine than the Queen's, and it seemed like he was working through his grief in one of the worst possible ways – visiting Genya's room almost every night.
She made a mental note to talk to the Darkling and see if he could distract the King with work as he had done in the past. Every time she saw the dead look in Genya's eyes that came from too much time with the King, she was torn between wanting to cry or storm over to the Grand Palace to strike the King down with burning light.
"Let's not talk about the Queen," Alina said, "can you stay a bit longer. We could play a few rounds of Durak. Leonid won't play, but I think Dimitri and Pavel will."
"Alright," Genya agreed easily, "I don't have to be back at the Grant Palace for an hour or two."
It turned out that her best friend was an absolute Durak fiend. She won every round easily, her smile getting wider and wider each time she claimed victory.
"Saints, we should get you to play with Ivan," Alina said, "he almost always wins whenever the Little Palace has a Durak tournament and I think it would do him good to lose occasionally."
"Oh, Ivan won't play with me," Genya confided, "I beat him six times in a row when I was nine and he's never quite forgiven me for it."
Alina burst out laughing at the image of Ivan – proud, stoic, always admonishing them for behaving childishly – being an absolutely terrible loser.
"Maybe we could trick him into it?" she suggested, "we just won't tell him who his opponent is until he's sat down and then we'll get Fedyor to use his puppy dog eyes so that Ivan doesn't get up and leave."
"Hmm," Genya mused, "that might work."
-x-x-x-
Ivan faced Genya in a best of three Durak tournament three days later.
She beat him two games to one, much to his fury.
It took Fedyor a week afterwards to persuade his other half to accept his loss semi-graciously.
Alina presented Genya with a sketch to commemorate the occasion that the Tailor hung on her wall in pride of place.
They wisely decided to keep that little detail secret from Ivan.
Alina paced nervously in her room, waiting for the Darkling to come and collect her.
Two days ago, he had sent a request for her to meet with him for some training. It probably wasn't meant to be a big deal, but she'd been panicking ever since.
She was used to Botkin's steady method of teaching and to dodging Baghra's cane. She had no idea what to expect from a training session with the Darkling.
Would he be disappointed? Would he think she hadn't made enough progress? Would he wish for a Sun Summoner who might be more effective against the Shadow Fold?
A sharp knock on the door jolted her out of her thoughts and she hurried over to answer it.
The Darkling offered her his arm and lead her through the corridors and out of the Little Palace. They went past the lake and into the trees, walking for about ten minutes until they came to a clearing she had never seen before.
There were a lot of tree stumps around and a sort of lingering darkness in the area that made her shiver a little.
"Do you practice here a lot?" she asked.
He gave her a faint but pleased smile, "fairly regularly, when I'm at the Little Palace. Often enough that something of the shadows lingers."
He stood opposite her and she tried not to fidget as she waited for instructions.
The Darkling moved his hands and the whole clearing turned pitch black as his shadows spread. Alina couldn't see him, but she could sense him, if she tried, standing not too far away.
Like called to like, after all, as someone had once said to her.
"Bring the light, Alina," he told her.
She did, letting the glowing orb grow and grow, beginning to banish the shadows.
It was similar to the demonstration they had done for the Ravkan Court years ago, although now Alina needed no amplification from the Darkling to summon a large amount of light.
This time, however, the Darkling did not watch passively as his shadows vanished. Instead, he clapped his hands together and darkness fought against light.
Her light was almost smothered before she managed to regain some control and make it brighter again.
Alina pushed and pushed, trying not to get disheartened when the shadows seemed endless and overwhelming.
She tried to remember Baghra's teaching, attempted to focus on how it felt to call the light. It had been harder when she was younger, but it felt right now, almost like breathing.
Still, she wasn't used to fighting so hard against the shadows. It was taking all her stamina and energy just to keep the Darkling's power at bay.
Alina had become so used to summoning light without any kind of external resistance that it was a shock to have to battle the Darkling's shadows at the same time.
It made sense why he had decided to train with her now. It was all well and good for her to be able to summon light, but she'd have to contend with a mass of oppressive shadows when she eventually went to the Fold and she needed to get used to that.
It was an odd feeling, really. The use of her powers made her glow, energising her in one sense, but it was also exhausting to counter the shadows with her light.
The Darkling, older and with far more experience, did not seem to be suffering the same negative effects. His eyes were bright and his power emanated outwards, clear for her to see.
It struck her suddenly just how handsome he was. She'd always seen it, of course, but now her whole body seemed to warm as she watched him, and she felt an odd urge to reach out and touch him.
Her light faltered momentarily and she mentally chided herself for getting distracted.
Her skin glowed brighter and brighter as she used more of her power.
She caught a glimpse of his face, saw the proud expression, before he smirked and shadows almost exploded outwards from his body, entirely engulfing her light.
She gasped and dropped her hands, swaying slightly as she recovered from expending so much power in such a short time.
A few moments passed and then the shadows cleared away, banished to the edges of the clearing by the Darkling.
She looked up at him, expecting to see a disappointed frown. However, he did not seem upset or irritated, only thoughtful.
"A good first attempt," he told her, "you handled yourself well."
"I barely managed five minutes against you," she countered.
He laughed, "I have a great deal more experience and practice with my powers than you, Alina. I would not have expected you to beat me. Time will help you, as will an amplifier."
"Have they found it yet?" she asked.
"The stag remains elusive," the Darkling admitted, "but amplifiers are not meant to be easy to find and claim, especially not one like Morozova's Stag. You'll have it soon enough, I'm sure."
Alina hoped so. She felt a kind of yearning for the stag. She saw it (or her own mind's image of it) in her dreams sometimes.
"Patience, Alina," he told her, almost as if he had read her mind.
He moved forward and grasped her wrist with his hand. Although she had learnt to stop (or at least slow) his amplification, she saw no reason to demonstrate that skill at the moment, so she felt the surety rush through her as the light shot out in all directions before it dissipated, leaving the clearing brighter than before.
"You will have this level of power with you always, once you have your amplifier," he told her.
It was a heady thing, the rush that amplification brought. She imagined it would be easy to be almost consumed by it if one was not careful enough. It was clear why the Darkling only allowed his very best, most controlled Grisha to claim amplifiers.
He let go of her then and the light faded.
"Come," he said, walking towards the pathway, "you're due in Botkin's class soon and I wouldn't want you to be late."
She followed him in silence, still thinking about Morozova's Stag.
When they reached the training grounds, the Darkling left her to return to the War Room.
Before he went, though, he turned back, "I'll be leaving again in two weeks but, before I go, I'd like us to try and get some further training in. I'll send you a note of the times and your instructors will excuse you from classes."
Alina nodded eagerly. It was clear that she needed to practice using her light against shadows before she could face the Fold and she knew she'd feel much better once she was able to hold her own against the Darkling for longer than five minutes.
She went into Botkin's class with a smile on her face.
The Darkling had told her she'd handled herself well, he clearly thought she was competent enough to warrant further training sessions and she was feeling a little more confident about her ability to eventually face the Shadow Fold.
It had certainly been a good day's work.
Before the Darkling left to go to the Fjerdan front, he showed Alina his personal library, which could be reached through concealed doors that were hidden in both his receiving room and the War Room.
He demonstrated how she could enter the library through his receiving room whenever she wished, but stressed that she was not to remove any of the texts from the library, nor was she to allow anyone else entry.
"Some of these books are controversial or even banned in Ravka," he warned her, "and it would not do for the King to discover I have possession of them."
Alina didn't bother to ask why he had the books if it was so dangerous. The Darkling was not one to allow the King's laws to interfere with his own scholarship or beliefs, especially not when he had so little respect for said King.
She didn't want to complain either. He was showing a great deal of trust by allowing her into the library and she itched to explore it. Many of the tomes sounded fascinating – the collection included a few from Fjerda and Shu Han (probably vicious about Ravka but it was always useful to know what the enemy were saying) and a lot written by the more neutral Kerch scholars, or even authors from Novyi Zem and the Wandering Isle.
"You really trust me with this?" she asked him.
"I trust that you appreciate knowledge, and that you will not do anything to jeopardise the position of the Grisha."
His words were mild but there was a warning in his voice that she heard and took note of.
"You are old enough now to read and understand these books," he continued, "and I hope you will find them both enlightening and useful."
As she caught a glimpse of some of the titles, Alina thought she would certainly learn a lot from the Darkling's personal library.
"And then we were overrun by tigers. I escaped by the skin of my teeth, you know."
"Wait, what!"
"That got your attention," Genya said, "you've been odd ever since I arrived."
Alina felt a flash of guilt. The Queen rarely gave her Tailor a free afternoon and she really hadn't been giving her friend anywhere near her full attention.
"Sorry," she shot Genya an apologetic smile.
"Hmm, you've been daydreaming, staring off into space, touching your mouth a lot …"
The red-head let out such a loud shriek that Alina was surprised her oprichniki didn't barge in, "Alina Starkov! Have you had your first kiss?"
She ducked her head to hide her blush, which was answer enough for Genya.
"Tell me everything," her best friend demanded, "who was it? When did it happen? Was it any good?"
"Arne Eriksen," Alina mumbled, "we were working on a History project together and he asked if I wanted to go for a walk in the gardens."
She didn't answer Genya's last question, rather mortified by the interrogation.
It had been good, she thought, although it wasn't like she had anything to compare it to.
"Arne Erikson, he's the Fjerdan Healer, isn't he? Really tall with great shoulders."
Alina nodded. Arne, like most Fjerdans, was tall, blonde and broad. His one distinguishing feature was his slightly mottled skin – he had been saved from a pyre (where he had landed after being denounced by his own parents when he was just seven years old) by two Grisha undercover in Fjerda, but even the work of a talented Healer had been unable to entirely erase the remnants of the severe burns he'd suffered before he had been freed.
"Good choice," Genya grinned.
"He was very sweet," Alina said, "although Viktor did appear at the worse possible moment to check on me and Arne got a bit nervous."
Genya snorted, "he should have been glad it wasn't Dimitri or Leonid – they're the scary ones."
Alina only shrugged. After seven years, she was far too used to her oprichniki to find any of them terribly intimidating, but it was true that they were elite soldiers under the Darkling's command and she supposed it was reasonable for anyone not used to being followed everywhere by them to be a little put off.
"So?" Genya asked eagerly, "are you going to see him again."
"Well, we do live in the same place."
The Tailor elbowed her, "don't mess with me, Alina. I've only just managed to get David to speak full sentences when I visit him – I have to live vicariously through you."
"He said he'd see me around. I think he was still a bit flustered by Viktor's appearance."
"Do you like him?"
Alina shrugged, "I don't know him that well. He seems nice, and he's very clever."
"Saints, Alina, you don't sound very enthusiastic."
"I don't know what to say to you," she admitted, "it was a … pleasant experience and I wouldn't mind it happening again."
Genya smiled, "right, I'm coming to help you with your hair tomorrow morning."
"But the Queen –"
"I'll manage it," the Tailor waved her hand dismissively, "you have to look your best for Arne."
Alina blushed pink, "you really don't have to, Genya."
Her best friend grinned widely, "oh, Alina, I absolutely want to."
There was clearly no arguing with her. And Alina didn't mind, really. It would be nice to get to know Arne a bit better.
She'd just have to make sure she reigned her friend in and didn't let her do too much work on her – the Queen had forbidden Genya from Tailoring any Grisha and the last thing Alina wanted was to get her friend in trouble.
The Queen was irritating enough as it was, after all.
It was on her third trip to the Darkling's personal library that Alina found the small, faded journal.
Her first thought was that it must be centuries old. It had been carefully preserved but it was still ragged and worn, with the ink faded so much on some of the pages that they couldn't be read at all.
When she began to read through it, she was shocked to discover that the journal had belonged to an Inferni contemporary of the Black Heretic. And his words told quite a different story to the one she had learnt as a child in Keramzin.
They call him the Black Heretic now. To us, he was Leonid, and it was under his protection that we survived in a hostile world.
He gave aid to King Anastas and for his service received only suspicion, hostility and the threat of an army ready to cut down any Grisha they found.
We were dying in droves. Men, women, even the children. They hated us with a venom that I have never understood.
I believe that merzost was his final resort. The journals of Ilya Morozova have always been considered the ravings of a mad man but Leonid was so certain they held the key to a power that could bring safety for Grisha.
I was not there when it happened. I had gone away with my parents to see some cousins. There were no survivors, no witnesses to say exactly what occurred. I feel in my heart, though, that something went very wrong that day.
Leonid could be harsh, but that is understandable, for we Grisha live in an unforgiving world. He cared about Grisha, though. He cared more than anyone I have ever met. All he ever wanted was for us to be safe.
Alina had never thought much about the Black Heretic.
The Fold was constantly in her thoughts, but for some reason she had never really considered the man who had created it.
For man he appeared to have been, not some demon as the Apparat would have them all believe.
A man with strengths and good qualities rather than just flaws.
She didn't know how much she could trust the old journal, but it did make her think.
What if everything I've been told isn't the full story?
What if the Fold was an accident, or a terrible mistake, or something that got out of control?
What if? What if? What if?
A walk in the gardens. A picnic by the lake. A bouquet of flowers as a gift.
It all made for a charming first date.
Alina and Arne had seen each other since their kiss – studying together, playing Durak with their friends (even after years of practice, Alina was still terrible at the game) and chatting together at lunch – but this was their first proper outing, or at least as close as they could get considering Alina wasn't allowed to leave the Little Palace grounds.
It was true that three of her oprichniki were watching closely, but at least they kept at a distance and tried to appear as inconspicuous as possible.
All in all, it should have been very romantic.
So why did it seem to be missing something.
There was nothing wrong with Arne. He was charming and cheerful and he had a knack for jokes.
But there was no spark, no rush of attraction. When he kissed her, as they sat on a blanket by the lake, she didn't feel anything.
Alina knew, somehow, that while Arne might make a good friend, romance was not on the cards for them.
She told him, in awkward, stuttered words, as he walked her back to her room.
Arne smiled sadly, said he was sorry to hear it but he understood.
He was a little hurt, she knew, and she felt bad. There was no point in pretending, though, because it would only make things worse in the long run.
-x-x-x-
Later, she recounted the afternoon to a sympathetic Genya.
"You're sure?" her friend asked.
Alina nodded, "I don't really have any experience in romance, but I know I didn't feel like I should. Arne's great, but he won't ever be anything but a friend."
Genya nodded, but she looked suddenly concerned, although Alina had no idea why.
"Is there anyone else you like?" the Tailor asked.
Alina shook her head. She'd never felt her skin tingle when someone touched her, or looked at someone's lips and wanted, or experienced butterflies in her stomach the way Genya said she did when she saw David, not around anyone except …
No, she wasn't going to think about that.
"Just …" Genya said, "just be careful."
"Of what?"
"Of powerful men."
Alina stiffened slightly. Surely Genya didn't mean …
The Tailor clearly sensed her unease and placed one hand comfortingly on Alina's, "sorry, I'm being silly, Alina."
"No, it's fine," Alina told her, "I'll be careful, I promise."
Neither of them said anything else about romance that evening.
The Apparat cornered her while she was in the Little Palace's main library.
She almost groaned out loud when she saw him, wishing she'd decided to go and visit the Darkling's personal library instead.
"Sankta Alina," he bowed slightly to her and she nearly gagged at the strong smell of incense surrounding him.
She shook her head, "I'm not a Saint."
"That's not what the people say, Sankta."
People you've stirred up, she thought grumpily, with your ridiculous sermons.
The Apparat was one of the last people she wanted to deal with. She wasn't even sure how he'd managed to sneak into the Little Palace, since she was fairly sure the Darkling had ordered all the guards to keep him away as much as possible.
She started to edge towards the door, where Tomek, Viktor and Igor were waiting, knowing her oprichniki would be more than happy to 'assist' the Apparat in making his way back to the Grand Palace.
He reached out to grab her arm, though, "remember, Sankta, the people do not like Grisha because they do not suffer."
Alina looked at him incredulously. She thought of Arne and his burns that even the Healers couldn't fully remove, of the children that had been brought to the Little Palace from Shu Han laboratories, of all of Grisha who died on dissection tables or pyres or the battlefield.
And the Apparat said this. A man who, despite the simplicity of his dress and his unkempt hair and beard, had smooth hands without a single callus, who had access to all the amenities the Grand Palace provided, and who received much of the benefit of collections taken at the Os Alta Cathedral (little of which seemed to go to actually helping the city's poor and needy).
"But you have suffered, Sankta. And you will suffer more, I think."
She didn't know if she had really suffered. She had lost her parents, of course, but she scarcely remembered them and there were countless orphans across Ravka with similar tales to hers. Since her arrival at the Little Palace Alina had never been hungry, she had found friends and a place where she belonged, and she had learnt to use her light.
His statement that she would suffer more was not one she liked hearing. She couldn't quite decide if he was just trying to give her a background similar to all the other saints, or if he was threatening to create some sort of suffering for her so that his fanatics would consider her worthy of the Sainthood they tried to bestow on her.
Alina wrenched her arm out of the Apparat's grasp, "I believe there's been quite enough suffering in Ravka. I would have thought you'd pray for less rather than more."
She didn't wait to hear the odious man's reply, stomping out of the library with an irritated look on her face.
"The Apparat has overstayed his welcome," she said to Igor.
Her oprichnik nodded, giving a significant look to two of the Little Palace guards, who Alina knew would ensure the Apparat left quickly.
She headed back to her room, having no desire to stay in the common areas of the Little Palace and run the risk of encountering any other unwanted visitors.
If Sainthood was really what the Apparat would have it be then she wasn't at all surprised that there hadn't been a new saint in centuries.
Why would anyone ever want such a poisoned chalice?
Alina sat across from Dimitri, trying to make her expression match his serious one.
"Half an hour?" she suggested.
He shook his head.
"Twenty minutes?" she tried.
Another shake of his head.
"Please," she said, "I just want to have a look at the Queen's wardrobe without, you know, actually having to talk to her."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Ok, so I was going to set a small fire, tiny really, just to inconvenience her. She deserves it for how she treats Genya."
Dimitri's eyebrow remained raised and he looked extremely sceptical.
"I can hold my invisibility for forty minutes now – they won't see me at all."
She wilted slightly as he looked unimpressed.
"So, I admit I'm still a bit touch and go with the invisibility after the half hour mark – I can definitely manage twenty minutes just fine, though."
A further shake of his head.
"You're no fun at all, Dimitri. I'm sure the Darkling wouldn't mind … well, ok, he would mind. He'd probably give me a long lecture about the appropriate use of power and not antagonising the royal family needlessly and have patience, Alina, the time to right wrongs will come eventually."
She sighed when she got no response from him.
"Fine, I'll just stay here and scare the Little Palace residents. Not Ivan, though, because he'll only knock me out. And Zoya threatened to Squall me into a wall if I tried anything again. And Fedyor really is too nice to scare that way. And, of course, I'd never dream of doing any such thing to Genya. And –"
She cut herself off and glared at him when she saw the slightest upturn of his lips betray his amusement.
"Hmph, I don't know what's so funny. All I want to do is practice holding my invisibility in a new environment. You're disrupting my education, Dimitri."
It really was like talking to a brick wall.
"Tomek or Viktor would let me go," she said.
Dimitri snorted softly, the most noise he'd made all day.
Tomek and Viktor would definitely not let her go. They might be the most susceptible to her whims, but they weren't about to risk getting on the Darkling's bad side just to give Alina half an hour without any guards so she could go over to the Grand Palace and make mischief.
"Do you know how frustrating it is having a conversation with someone who won't talk back?" she demanded, "I feel like a crazy person."
He ignored her outburst and she tried to remember all the things she liked about Dimitri and how many times he'd helped her in an attempt to avoid giving in to the urge to send a burning light straight at him.
"Alright, I promise I won't ask again," she conceded, "and I won't try and sneak over myself. After all, Ivan would just love an opportunity to put me into a three-day coma – he still hasn't forgiven me for helping to arrange that Durak tournament he lost against Genya. Honestly, he's such a sore loser."
She'd just do some quick sketches of the King, Queen and Prince Vasily to use as targets in the clearing the Darkling had taken her to.
Not quite as fun as setting a fire in the Queen's suite, but it would help her vent her anger until such time as the royal family could face the consequences for the damage their frivolity, callousness and weakness had inflicted on Ravka.
That day couldn't come quickly enough for Alina.
Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.
The older Alina gets, the less respect she has for the Ravkan royals (and she didn't have much in the first place). It may seem like she's getting a bit bloodthirsty, but at the moment all she wants is to cause a bit of property damage (and also maybe blind the King). She may feel a more permanent solution (execution, exile etc.) is suitable as she gets older.
Also, as you will have noticed, Alina is starting to feel the beginnings of an attraction to the Darkling. This is on a teenage crush level at the moment. As mentioned at the start of the fic, there will be no romantic interaction between them until Alina is seventeen (the same age she and the Darkling meet in the books).
The next chapter will hopefully be out next Friday.