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.

Warning

"I hear you will be away for a few days," Baghra said as their lesson came to a close.

The trip to hopefully allow her to get an amplifier was a closely-guarded secret known only to a few. It didn't surprise her that Baghra was aware, though – the old woman was so well-informed that Alina had guessed a while ago that she had her own spies in both palaces. She had wondered whether to bring it to the Darkling's attention, but if Alina had figured out Baghra's connections, then she had no doubt that he knew even more about it than she did.

She simply nodded to confirm Baghra's words.

Baghra shook her head, looking older than usual, "foolish girl," she whispered.

The words had little effect on Alina. She had been called a foolish girl too many times by the old woman to let it hurt her.

"It's a good thing," Alina insisted.

"You're just playing into the boy's hands," Baghra told her, "do you really think he's going to let you destroy the Fold?"

"Well, maybe not right away," she conceded, "he's explained some things to –"

"Bah," Baghra waved her cane around and Alina jumped back, always wary of one of her stinging blows, "as long as the Fold is useful to him, that boy will never let you destroy it."

"I'm sure he will eventually. He wants to correct his ancestor's mistake."

"His ancestor!" Baghra let out a harsh laugh, "oh, girl, don't be stupid, he is the Black Heretic."

Alina shook her head, not quite able to understand what she was hearing. How could the Darkling be the Black Heretic? She knew that powerful Grisha could live a long time, but surely not hundreds of years.

"I am older than I look, solnyshko."

She remembered his words, all those years ago, when she had only just arrived at the Little Palace. He had never been more specific than that, had never confirmed or denied any rumours about his age.

How did Baghra know all of this, anyway? Alina had figured out that she must have known the Darkling for a long time, considering the way she called him 'boy' and never spoke to him with the respect everyone else did. It was almost as if … almost as if she knew him as a child.

"Baghra … are you … are you the Darkling's mother?"

"Well, it seems like you might have some brains, at least."

Alina slumped into her seat, not quite able to comprehend what she was being told.

"The Darkling created the Fold?"

Baghra nodded, "my son tried creating his own army with merzost. He didn't realise how quickly such power could get out of control, nor did he consider what it would do to those who were caught in the crossfire."

"No!" Alina gasped, "surely you can't be saying … the volcra … what … who were they?"

Baghra sighed, "They were people, before the Fold engulfed them. I warned him not to meddle with merzost, but he wouldn't listen to me."

Alina couldn't comprehend what she was being told. It was true that the Darkling was reluctant to allow her to enter the Fold, but it was also the case that his reasoning had seemed sound enough – Alina knew she could possibly protect a small skiff crossing the Fold now, if the Darkling was there to amplify her, but she required an amplifier of her own to give her the level of power she needed to actually destroy any of it.

"With you at his command," Baghra continued, "he'll be able to enter the Fold and weaponise it. He'll be unstoppable."

"No," Alina countered, "he wants to make the country whole again, to make all Grisha safe."

"I have never doubted his intentions where the Grisha are concerned, futile though those intentions may be, but time has eroded his compassion and increased his ambitions and his craving for power."

Alina could scarcely think in the stiflingly hot hut. She had to get out, had to try and process her thoughts.

"I can't … I need to talk to him," Alina whispered.

Maybe someone smarter would have started running, got as far away from the Darkling as possible. Where would she go, though? The Little Palace had been her home for eight years and she wasn't naïve enough to think she could outrun the Darkling and the far reaches of his power. Besides, she knew the dangers that awaited her outside the palace if she left on her own.

Baghra only shook her head, her expression one of resignation.

"Whatever happens," the old woman warned her as she reached the door, "you must kill the stag yourself, or you risk your powers being entirely at the boy's mercy."

Alina fled without another word, so distressed that her oprichniki ignored their usual rule of staying almost entirely silent and shouted out to her in alarm.

She didn't listen to them, only ran and ran and ran as fast as she could, through the gardens and the palace corridors until she reached the War Room.

The oprichniki guarding the door let her in immediately, obviously sensing something worrying in her expression, and closed the door firmly behind her.

The Darkling looked up when she entered, brow furrowed in concern, "Alina, what –"

"Are you the Black Heretic?"

His expression went cold, "Baghra!" he spat out, "what has that bitter, twisted old woman been telling you?"

"Is it true?" she asked.

She knew she sounded desperate, like a scared child. She felt like one right now, like someone whose entire world had been knocked off kilter.

"Alina, you must calm down," he told her, all infuriating coolness to her frantic energy.

"Please," she begged, "please, you have to tell me the truth."

He crossed the room quickly, placing his hands on her shoulders and guiding her firmly into a seat.

She went to stand back up but he gave her such a forceful look that she stayed seated.

"What do you know about the Black Heretic, Alina?" he asked her.

She began to repeat the story she had learnt as a child and he shook his head, "no, not that ridiculous propaganda tale. What do you know about the Black Heretic?"

Haltingly, Alina detailed what she had read in the journal and other texts in his private library, and what she had surmised from that. The Black Heretic had created the Shadow Fold, but it had been an act of desperation rather than evil, a use of merzost that had gone horribly wrong, an attempt to save the Grisha that were threatened by the King who had betrayed them all.

The Darkling sighed softly when she finished, "you can't imagine what it was like, Alina. I am glad you do not have to know. We were hunted wherever we went – used and tortured and killed. You have seen what happens even today, but it was so much worse back then – Ravka is something of a haven for Grisha now, but back then we had no true home, just temporary camps hidden away in the woods or the mountains. I offered my services to King Anastas, helped him win his war in the hope that the Grisha might then have some permanent place to settle and live safely. He betrayed me, though, listened to the poisonous lies whispered in his ears that I sought to overthrow him and rule myself."

"But you do want that," Alina interrupted, "your disdain for the King, everything you've said about how we have to serve for now … it all points to a time when we will no longer be subject to the King's whims."

"Clever girl," he praised her, and despite everything she found herself grateful for his approval, "I will admit that I do not plan for the King to rule much longer. There have been far too many weak, useless Lantsov monarchs for me to tolerate this one much longer, especially now we have a means of controlling the Fold. However, that was not the case back then. I was far younger, more idealistic, and I truly trusted Anastas, believed that we could live in peace side by side. I know better now."

She wanted to believe him. She did believe him, at least when it came to what he said about the prejudice and troubles the Grisha had encountered. And she also felt too much hatred for the current King to be particularly bothered by the idea of a coup against him.

The Fold, though … it had been the cause of so much misery over the centuries. But at least it was fixed space, a carefully mapped area to be avoided if at all possible. Now, she was concerned about how the Darkling might control it, the way he might wield such a mighty weapon, change its borders and push it further into enemy territory.

It was one thing when people died in battle, but she'd never felt comfortable with collateral damage.

"The volcra," she said quietly, "Baghra said they were people once."

He looked momentarily pained, "they were."

"Do you regret it?" she asked.

For a few seconds he seemed torn, as if he didn't know how honest to be with her, "I do not regret my use of merzost. I was out of options and we were desperate. It was only supposed to be the soldiers, turning Anastas' army into my own. When the shadows grew out of control, they wiped out entire towns and villages, completely decimated the Grisha camp nearby. I lost all of my friends that day – the only ones who survived were Baghra and I. I do regret that. Baghra has been apathetic about loss of life – Grisha and otkazat'sya alike – for as long as I can remember, because they all turn to dust in the end and we live on, but those Grisha were not just allies to me, they were friends."

Alina could sense the truth in his words. He was certainly more removed from humanity now, allowing very few people to know him well, but she could imagine him four hundred years ago – warmer, more trusting, hopeful – and thought perhaps that might have been what the Shadow Fold took from him.

Merzost had a price, at least according to the vague references she had found in various books. Was that what the Darkling had lost? His faith in people, his ability to truly connect with the comrades who must seem like mayflies to him?

It was somehow unbearably sad. He would probably hate that she felt a little sorry for him, the infamous Darkling, but she did anyway. It didn't matter that he needed no sympathy or protection, ferociously powerful and intelligent as he was, she still couldn't help but mourn for a boy she had never known, one who had probably smiled and laughed more freely than he ever did now.

"Why are you so insistent that we should use the Fold rather than destroy it?"

It was a question she had been asking herself ever since it had become clear to her that the King's vision of the Sum Summoner tearing down the entire Fold was not necessarily what the Darkling had in mind.

"Why should we remove our greatest weapon? Destroying the Fold will not bring back those whose lives were lost inside it, it will only take away something we can use as a deterrent to force our enemies to retreat and make peace. Ravka is tired – our people hungry, our treasury empty and our borders threatened – and it would be foolish in the extreme not to use the advantage that controlling the Fold would give us."

"The casualties, though," she protested, "surely not every person in Shu Han and Fjerda deserves such a punishment?"

"Sometimes a few must be sacrificed now to save many in the future," he told her, his tone now the one of a tactician making difficult choices, "most Ravkans think only of the here and now, but we must look to the future, Alina, and ensure that the path we take will allow the Grisha and Ravka to thrive for decades and centuries more."

It was hard when he talked like this, reminding her of the fact that their powers would give them lives far longer than anyone else. It hurt to remember that she would one day lose Genya, Fedyor and the rest of her friends. She didn't know how the Darkling had borne it, over the centuries.

Alina was only sixteen. The here and now was all she really knew and she hadn't yet learned to look further than a decade or so ahead.

The Darkling clearly sensed that the conversation was becoming a little overwhelming for her because he squeezed her shoulder gently and watched her with eyes that were softer than usual, "the Fold has stood for hundreds of years, Alina, and it won't make much of a difference if we wait a little longer to decide what to do about it. You will have Morozova's Stag as your amplifier soon, but you will need to train with it before we can think of entering the Fold – a new amplifier tends to shake your control of your power for a while until you get used to it. Take some time and think about it."

"Ok," she agreed.

That was good. Time was what she needed, while she tried to figure out her thoughts on the Fold and the best way to keep the Grisha and Ravka safe.

"Do you have any questions right now?" he asked her.

She nodded, picking the first one that came into her head.

"Baghra told me I had to kill the stag myself, or risk my power being at your mercy. What … what did she mean?"

"It has been theorised," he explained, "that a Grisha who kills to claim an amplifier, and then places that amplifier on another Grisha rather than themself, would have access to the power of the Grisha who wore the amplifier."

Alina flinched. The idea of her power, the light that brought her so much joy, being under another person's control horrified her. That someone could drag it from her and do with it what they wanted without her permission was a thought so perverse she could scarcely bear to contemplate it.

"You wouldn't?" she whispered, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes, "please … tell me you wouldn't."

"No, solntse, I would not," he promised, his gaze soft and sincere, "you are meant to be my balance, Alina. You are the only person in the world who might rule with me, my true equal."

She let out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. Good, that was good. She didn't know if she would have been able to forgive him if he had stifled her that way, her power subject to someone else's call rather than her own.

"Baghra will always think the worst of me," he sighed, "as she has done for centuries."

Baghra. His mother. Alina couldn't quite believe it. Still, she was curious.

"Is Baghra a Shadow Summoner too?"

"She is like me," he confirmed, "a Shadow Summoner and a living amplifier."

"Then why does she look …"

She trailed off, not quite able to describe what was odd about Baghra's appearance. Not a single silver strand in her dark hair and yet she always seemed to look both young and ancient all at once.

"My mother does not use her power as she should. Only the bare minimum to keep her alive. She might have been as eternal as you and I, but she has chosen otherwise. One day she will simply go to sleep and never wake up."

He spoke coldly, but she detected a subtle anguish in his voice that told her he would sincerely mourn his mother's eventual death, no matter the many differences and bad feelings between them.

"How old are you?" she asked then, partly because she wanted to know and partly to change the subject.

Truth be told, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to hear his answer. She had always known he had significantly more life experience than she did, but she was a little scared to find out just how much.

He shrugged, "we didn't keep track of time then the way we do now. I was born during the coldest part of winter but I do not know the exact day and my mother never cared to remember it. I was born, I believe, about two hundred years before the Shadow Fold was created."

Saints, he was six hundred years old. She'd known for years that he was older than he looked, older even than the age of one hundred and twenty that some rumours attributed to him, but she'd never imagined he was so ancient. It certainly explained his eyes, though, and how much they looked as if they had seen far, far too much.

She remembered Baghra's apathy. The woman was at least fifteen or twenty years older than the Darkling, very likely more than that. Baghra seemed to be a foreboding example what living for so long could do to you.

"Will it happen to me?" she asked him quietly, "will I tire of everything the way Baghra has? You aren't so removed, but you still don't … you don't connect with most people. I don't want that to happen to me."

He looked like he felt sorry for her, like he knew his answer would be unpleasant but felt it was necessary to be truthful, "time does not touch us physically as it does everyone else, Alina," he told her gently, "but it does take something from us. It's for the best really – it hurts, losing people, more so when it happens constantly. It is better to harden yourself, to dull the pain so that you can function and survive."

That sounded … very sad, really. It probably did make it easier to live with the heartache, but she didn't know if the price was worth it. Maybe she would feel differently in the future, maybe not.

"Last question now," the Darkling said, looking a little worn by their topic of conversation, "there are still preparations to be made and we will be leaving early in the morning."

Alina thought carefully. She had a hundred other questions to ask, ones she would have to wait to have answered until he was inclined to indulge her curiosity again. She had to make this final question count.

"Would you have ever told me all this?" she asked, "if Baghra had stayed quiet, would the secret have been buried?"

"I would have explained," the Darkling insisted, "maybe not for a number years, but I would have given you the truth eventually. I have always intended to tell you, Alina, but it was information too dangerous for you to have while you were still young."

Yes. How incredibly young she must appear to him. On one hand, she was so intimately involved in the situation with the Fold that he really shouldn't have kept such important facts from her. On the other hand, however, she couldn't imagine it was easy entrusting anyone with such dangerous secrets, especially not one so young.

It made her head hurt, everything she had learned.

"To dinner, now," the Darkling told her, "you don't want to be late."

She only nodded, not entirely sure what to say after everything they had just spoken about.

As she left, she decided to put the problem of the Fold out of her mind for now. She had to focus on Morozova's Stag for now. There would be time for the rest later.

During dinner Marie and Nadia asked Alina about the spiritual retreat she was going on.

Confused, she was about to request some clarification on what they were talking about, but she caught herself just in time as she realised this was clearly the story that would explain her absence from the Little Palace while she went to claim her amplifier.

She murmured something about meditation and strengthening her mind to improve her summoning, wolfed down her dinner at top speed and then fled the dining room to avoid letting anything slip accidentally.

That evening, Genya helped her pack a small bag with warm winter clothes and a spare kefta in case something happened to the one she would be wearing on the journey. Other provisions like food and camping equipment would be arranged by the oprichniki who would be joining them.

Genya clearly knew the real reason Alina was leaving the Little Palace, wishing her good luck with a smile on her face before leaving so Alina could get a good night's sleep.

Alina then proceeded to have, not the worst night of sleep she'd ever had, but certainly one full of tossing and turning.

No nightmares, thankfully, but a nervous kind of energy kept her from falling into a truly deep sleep and all she seemed to see when she closed her eyes was a majestic stag staring straight at her.

She rose early (and bleary-eyed) the next morning, still half-asleep when she ate the small breakfast that Tomek delivered and then washed and dressed quickly.

All six of her oprichniki were accompanying them on the trip, together with two of the Darkling's personal oprichniki. There were a few Grisha too – the Darkling didn't anticipate trouble but prepared for it anyway. Ivan and Fedyor were still away fighting, so instead the group would include Heartrender Elena, Squaller Maksim and Healer Marit, the three Grisha who had been with Alina when the Drüskelle had infiltrated the Little Palace grounds. David was also coming along as they would need a Fabrikator close by to assist with the amplifier.

All the Grisha except for the Darkling piled into the two carriages, while the oprichniki rode beside them with the Darkling. The oprichniki were all wearing plain corecloth outfits without anything that would identify them as the Darkling's personal guards, and they would be taking back roads to avoid notice. Alina personally thought anyone who saw the Darkling would know him immediately, but she had to remind herself that not everyone could feel his power the way she did, and dark colours were very common for riders.

She looked out of the carriage window at the Little Palace, knowing that when she returned it would hopefully be with the power of Morozova's Stag, one step closer to being able to protect her people and her country.

The last thing she saw, in the distance, was a lone figure standing next to a stone hut. Baghra, watching them all leave.

Alina couldn't quite decide if that was a good sign or a bad one.

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.

Next chapter, where Alina comes face to face with Morozova's Stag, should be out next Friday.