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 Mal's POV of the Winter Fete and then continues on after that to the next morning.

The Sun Summoner is known throughout Ravka but Alina's name isn't as widely known and generally only those in the palaces or Os Alta know she is Sankta Alina rather than just Sankta. This is why Mal doesn't realise Alina is the Sun Summoner until he sees her.

Interlude: Mal

Dear Mal,

I didn't know, never had any idea that I was Grisha.

I'm sorry you're angry. I never meant to hurt you.

I know that you don't want to hear from me. You've always said how much you dislike Grisha and now I'm one of them.

I just want you to know that you were the best friend I could have wished for.

They tell me it's too dangerous to write to you, but they've promised to bring you this one letter so I can say goodbye.

I'm sorry, Mal, I'm so sorry.

I'll miss you.

Alina

Alina's childish scrawl contrasted dramatically with the thick, expensive paper her letter was written on.

The letter had been hand-delivered by a Grisha wearing a red kefta, who had absolutely refused to answer any of Mal's many questions. All the man would say was that his friend was safe, the Little Palace was the best place for her and there could be no further letters exchanged between them because security concerns made correspondence in and out of the Little Palace difficult when it wasn't for military matters.

By the time the letter arrived, there had been enough time for Mal to regret his actions, to wish he had said something to Alina rather than watch her go in sullen silence.

She'd never kept secrets from him before, but he had been so quick to believe that she had hidden her Grisha power from him.

He was a terrible friend, and now he was paying the price.

Nine years passed.

Miserable years in the orphanage, regretting the loss of the one true friend he'd had.

Then time in the army, a little better than the life he'd had before. It was dangerous, of course, but he had grown from the pudgy boy in the orphanage, was popular with the other soldiers and prized by those in command for his skills in tracking. After all, everyone liked the man who could find them a bird or wild boar when they were stuck in the woods trying to survive on poor rations.

Still, there was no guarantees in the army. You might get a decent plot of land if you got out, but you had to survive your service first, and there were a lot who didn't.

Mal dreamed of a farm.

Sometimes the wife he imagined was a curvy blonde, or a slender red-head.

Most of the time it was a dark-haired woman whose surname was Ravkan but whose face was Shu.

He didn't know exactly what Alina would look like now, or what colour kefta she might wear at the Little Palace, but he still saw her, an indistinct figure who was the adult version of the girl who had protected him from bullies and promised to be his friend forever.

It was true that there were other girls over the years, rather a lot of them if he was honest.

However, it was Alina who was always at the back of his mind. The girl he had lost to the Grisha, the friend he'd stupidly turned away from, robbing himself of a proper goodbye in the process.

Every camp he went to he looked for her in the Second Army section.

He never saw her, though.

Mal hadn't wanted to be handpicked for the search for a fairytale. It was true that a group of trackers had found the mythical Morozova's Stag a year and a half previously, but that didn't mean that Rusalye the sea whip was real too, and Grisha business was not something he wanted to get mixed up in.

The only good thing to come of his new orders was that they would be permitted to attend the Winter Fete, which was to be held the day before they departed to track Rusalye. He wasn't interested in the party, but he knew that a lot of Grisha would be there … that he might manage to catch a glimpse of Alina.

Her last (only) letter to him was in his pocket, as it had been ever since it had been delivered by a stone-faced Grisha two months after she had been taken away.

He thought if he could just see her then perhaps everything would be as it was before.

The Sun Summoner had been found, after all, and she had created a safe passage through the Fold to West Ravka. Surely, once she banished the Fold in full, the Grisha would no longer be necessary and Alina could come home.

He knew he might not be thinking realistically, that the creation of one thin passageway through the Fold didn't mean the whole thing would be destroyed any time soon. He hoped, though, waited for a day when Grisha jewel-coloured coats would no longer wander through villages and take children away from their unsuspecting families. True, Alina hadn't actually had a family, but she'd had him and he knew that had been enough for both of them.

Mal kept to the edges of the Throne Room when he and the other trackers entered to enjoy the Winter Fete. He didn't want to have nobles look down on him, or feel the guards eye him with suspicion, or get into close proximity with any of the Grisha in the room. All he wanted to do was try and catch a glimpse of Alina, even though he wasn't even sure she would be attending the event.

He had no idea what he was going to say to her. They hadn't parted on the best of terms, something he regretted deeply, and he had a feeling that his easy way of talking to people would vanish entirely around her.

His hand went to his pocket, to the worn letter that had been read and re-read so many times over the years that it was honestly a surprise it hadn't fallen apart.

When Alina had left Keramzin, Mal had been resentful and angry, determined to forget her. Time, and the one simple letter she had sent, with its sincere declaration of friendship, had changed his mind, made him realise how wrong he had been to turn his back on her.

Mal wandered around, snatching up as much of the delicious food as possible and occasionally speaking to one of the other trackers.

He watched every Grisha performance carefully, looking for anyone who looked like Alina. However, when one of the pretty young women in blue winked at him when he caught her eye he turned to go out into the garden for a moment, his distaste for Grisha warring with his attraction to her.

He heard the announcement of the Darkling and the Sun Summoner and re-entered the room quickly. He'd never seen the infamous Black General or the famous Sankta and was a little curious about their performance.

The Darkling was easily spotted, the only man in the room dressed all in black. He appeared to be only about five years older than Mal himself, though the rumours put him at over a century old. Mal shuddered – Grisha magic and how it affected ageing was just another strange thing about the Second Army.

The crowd fell silent as the Darkling stepped up onto a small dais and Mal leant against the wall, his position giving him a good view of the whole room, just in case Alina appeared.

He shivered slightly as shadows began to spread around the room. Many in the First Army whispered about the man they often called the Black General. Comments about his looks were almost always interspersed with a fearful kind of awe when they considered his power.

He was unnatural, Mal thought. There was something about his eyes, bottomless pits that watched the world like they were preparing to devour it.

After his introduction, the Darkling stepped aside and a petite young woman with dark hair stepped forward. She was wearing a gold kefta embroidered with black and her face was hidden by a gold veil – the famous Sun Summoner.

He didn't know what he expected – some shining, glowing Saint, or a proud, contemptuous creature who considered herself above everyone else.

Whatever it was, he was certainly shocked when the Sun Summoner removed her veil and handed it to a servant. It took all of Mal's control not to cry out or run towards her.

He hadn't seen Alina in nine years, but he recognised her all the same. She wasn't anything like the sickly, frail child from the orphanage, but she was still Alina.

He'd finally found her again.

He stood up straight, trying to get a better look at her, to catalogue all the things that were the same and what had changed.

She looked out at the crowd and his heart stuttered when her eyes met his.

Except, there was no sign of recognition, no smile or widened eyes.

She just looked away, like she hadn't even seen him.

Well, maybe she hadn't.

It was a big room. She was probably under a lot of pressure.

It was fine. Now he knew he'd see her again, would have plenty of chances to speak with her on the journey to track the sea whip.

He just couldn't believe he'd found her. Nine years and here she was.

The Darkling threw his hands wide and clapped them together, shadows engulfing the room in darkness.

He didn't know how Alina could stand next to the Black General with a smile on her face. Mal was sure nothing that came from those eerie shadows could be trusted.

He couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief when his old friend stepped forward and summoned bright light between her palms. He didn't understand Grisha magic, but he certainly preferred her light to the Darkling's shadows.

Whispers of "Sankta" spread throughout the room, some people crossing themselves or even falling to their knees. Mal didn't believe in saints, but he had to admit that Alina looked impressive.

A little too impressive, really. The Darkling watched her closely, an emotion in his eyes that made Mal uneasy.

Just how well did Alina know the Black General?

He was distracted when the performance ended, beginning to move through the crowd in the hope that he might manage to speak with Alina.

Unfortunately, it was more difficult than he'd anticipated to find her by herself.

First, she was by the thrones, bowing to the King and Queen, then constantly accosted by nobles, Grisha and ambassadors.

He began to wonder if she would ever be alone, or if his best chance was to try and look for her when she left for the dinner.

Eventually, the most recent chattering group surrounding Alina began to disperse.

Mal took a few steps forward, hopeful that he might now be able to talk with his old friend. Their eyes met once more, her brow furrowed as she looked at him.

And then, suddenly, the Darkling was in front of her, blocking Mal's view.

"For you," Mal heard the Black General murmur, producing a bouquet of Alina's favourite blue irises.

(once upon a time, Mal had been the only person who knew her favourites).

He could only watch as Alina blushed and smiled softly at the most feared man in Ravka, taking his offered arm and leaning into him as they walked off towards one of the doorways.

Alina didn't see him, too focused on her flowers, but the Darkling's eyes met Mal's very briefly, and it seemed like they glittered in a darkly triumphant way.

Mal blinked and then the Darkling's gaze was somewhere else.

Perhaps he had just imagined it. After all, the Darkling didn't know Mal at all – what reason could he have for looking so mockingly at him?

It was fine, though. They probably just had to talk about the performance, or the schedule for the evening.

He'd find Alina later, after the dinner, or during the dancing, and he'd do whatever it took to finally have a conversation with her.

He waited … and waited … and waited.

Alina never returned to the Fete.

It wasn't exactly easy to slip past the guards around the rooms he and the other trackers had been assigned to, but it was possible and Mal had excellent motivations.

He couldn't understand why Alina had never come back to the Fete. He'd heard that the Sun Summoner was rarely seen outside the Little Palace but it was only now that he really started to consider the implications of those rumours.

How much freedom did Alina really have?

She had entered the room with the Darkling and he'd noticed a number of grey-clad guards hovering close by as she spoke to various guests after her performance.

Alina probably hated them, those stoic men who watched her so carefully.

He was worried for Alina. And so now he was sneaking around the Little Palace, trying to figure out where she was.

It was true that he had no idea of the palace's layout, but whatever preternatural tracking skill he had tended to make it easy for him to find what he wanted, whether it be creature or person. He knew he was heading in the right direction.

Mal went still when he heard voices, edging slowly forward until he found a door, slightly ajar, hidden behind a tapestry. The stone walls of the set of steps he found there suggested it led to some sort of dungeons.

The last thing he should be doing was wandering around somewhere he clearly wasn't meant to be. The First Army was strict enough with their punishments and he had no doubt the Second Army were worse, especially if they found a First Army soldier nosing around.

But surely it couldn't hurt to take a quick look. It would be useful to know the sort of thing they were hiding in the Little Palace, another reason to give to Alina for why she should leave as soon as possible.

He inched forward, down the stairs, until he could peer around one of the corners and see what was happening.

There was a man, bruised and bloody, tied to a chair. He was recognisable despite his injuries as General Zlatan, the man who had gained support in West Ravka, gambled everything and lost dramatically when the Shadow Fold had engulfed the dry docks at Novokribirsk.

Zlatan was dead, though. Or, at least, he was supposed to be.

The Darkling loomed over his prisoner, a sneer on his face, surrounded by some of his guards, as well as a dour-faced Grisha wearing a red kefta.

"You come into my palace and try to murder my Sun Summoner," he hissed.

Mal shivered slightly as the temperature dropped and the shadows crept higher and higher up the walls.

They joked in the First Army about the 'Shadow Man' who led the Grisha, but Mal didn't think anyone would be laughing if they saw this.

Mal's found his hackles rising too. There was a wrongness about the Darkling. Mal didn't like Grisha in general, but their General was the most unnerving.

Even worse was how he had spoken about Alina, the possessive way he called her 'my Sun Summoner'.

Alina didn't belong to this man with murder on his mind and eyes that promised all manner of tortures.

Knowing he shouldn't stay too long and risk being found, Mal crept back up the stairs and into the empty corridor. Unfortunately, it was only a few seconds before he heard footsteps turn the corner behind him.

"Are you lost?"

Mal whirled around to see a handsome man in a red kefta. He had a pleasant countenance but there was a thread of steel in his voice that warned Mal not to try any tricks.

"Err, yeah," he said, "I'm part of the tracking party staying here. I got lost trying to find my room."

The man gave him a faintly amused look, as if to say I know you're lying, but I'll let you pretend for the moment.

Mal tried to remain calm. The Grisha in front of him was wearing red, so he was a Heartrender or Healer, and he'd heard stories that they could detect lies by listening to heartbeats.

The man's small smile widened ever so slightly, "name?"

"Malyen Oretsev."

The Grisha looked interested for a moment, but then his expression cleared, "you're in another wing. I'll escort you there, just to make sure you don't get lost again."

They were halfway down the corridor when the screaming started.

Mal looked straight ahead and tried not to hear it.

The next morning, after a restless night thinking about Alina, the Darkling and Zlatan,a number of the Little Palace's serious, grey-clad guards led Mal and the other trackers to the Darkling's War Room. They were closely watched as they waited for the rest of the party to arrive and Mal found himself fidgeting under the intense scrutiny.

He tried to remember all the rules. The Darkling was to be addressed as General and the Sun Summoner as Lady Starkov (he'd had to hold back an incredulous bark of laughter at the idea of small, scrappy Alina with such a title). The trackers were to speak only when addressed. Any attempt to crowd the Sun Summoner would be considered a hostile action and treated as such, and there was also to be no requests for blessings or demonstrations of her power.

When Alina and the Darkling entered together, Mal was so pleased to see her that it took him a minute or two to take note of her appearance.

Her kefta was black with gold thread now, almost a mirror of the Darkling's. Her hair was mussed too, as if she had …

No, surely not.

She wouldn't. Or would she?

How well did he know Alina now? This young woman who seemed to glow even when she wasn't calling her light, who commanded the attention of a room without trying, who stood far too close to the Darkling for Mal's liking.

She and the Black General weren't touching, but there was a clear intimacy there, an ease between them that spoke of two people who knew each other well.

The Alina he saw now wasn't his Alina.

He wanted her back – the girl who ran around in fields with him, hiding away from Ana Kuya's scoldings; the girl who, when she was too ill to get out of bed, listened avidly to his stories and looked at him like he was her world; the girl who had been his truest friend at the orphanage in Keramzin.

Not this woman who stood next to the infamous Darkling without fear, who made light dance, who lived in a palace far removed from the tents that made up Mal's usual camps, who teased and smiled at the watchful guards like they were friends rather than jailers.

Alina stood at the Darkling's side as he detailed their planned route and guard rotations for the journey. Her eyes were focused on the Black General, never straying away.

Mal couldn't stop noticing little things about her appearance. Not only was her hair untidier than it really should be, but she looked flushed and there appeared to be some kind of mark on her neck.

She looked like a woman who had recently been abed with another, a woman who had been engaged in amorous activities.

As everyone else's attention turned towards the grumpy-looking Heartrender who seemed to be the Darkling's second in command, Mal watched Alina's hand reach out and brush the Black General's.

It was brief contact, barely a moment, but Mal knew what it meant, saw the look that passed between his old friend and the Darkling.

He looked away as fast as he could, fists clenched, feeling sick.

He wished he could laugh it off as an overactive imagination, seeing something that wasn't there, misinterpreting things.

That look was crystal clear, though.

He almost missed the end of the meeting, so caught up in his own head. He only came back to himself as Alina and the Darkling were moving around the room to be introduced to each member of the tracking party.

Mal ended up last, most of the room's occupants having left by the time the Sun and Shadow Summoners appeared in front of him.

"Alina," he murmured, knowing he was breaking the rules but unable to call his childhood friend by anything but her name.

One of the grey-clad guards stepped forward, as if to chastise him, but the Darkling shook his head almost imperceptibly and the man moved back. Mal might have thought the General was being kind, except there was a malicious sort of dislike in his eyes that made his feelings clear.

Alina turned to look at him. For a few horrible moments it seemed like she didn't know him, but then her eyes lit up with recognition, "Mal! It is you, isn't it?"

"It's good to see you," he said quietly.

"Yes," she smiled, "it's been so long, I can scarcely remember Keramzin now."

It was a throwaway comment, not something meant to hurt him, but it stung anyway. He'd always imagined her almost as trapped and uncomfortable with the Grisha – she clearly fit here, though, in a way she never had at Keramzin.

They spoke for a few minutes more, but it wasn't the exciting, happy reunion Mal had always pictured.

No, there was an obvious awkwardness, a barrier between them that he couldn't quite overcome, no matter how much he wanted to.

A looming man in black clearly delighting in the uneasiness of their conversation.

And then she was gone, out of the door with the Darkling's hand resting possessively on her lower back.

The guards shooing him away, back to his temporary quarters and away from Alina.

Would it have been different, he wondered, if he had just behaved better when the testers discovered her?

Would she have greeted him with hugs and wide smiles instead of a polite friendliness?

Would she have looked at him the way she did the Darkling?

He would never know.

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.