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.
Return to the Palace
Alina woke slowly in the skiff's cabin, her body aching as if she'd endured three or four of Botkin's intense sessions all in a row.
She'd barely had the time to sit up before Aleksander was standing next to her, handing her a steaming cup of tea.
"You shouldn't be moving," he chided.
"I'm fine," she insisted, even as her body screamed in protest.
Aleksander snorted, "you lit up like the sun. The last time there was that much power being wielded by one Grisha was during the creation of the Shadow Fold."
So maybe her skin did still feel like it was burning. Not sharply painful, but an undercurrent of heat running through her.
Aleksander laid a bare hand on her arm as she took a sip of tea, and she felt the burning lessen, his touch soothing and cool.
She sighed happily, making his eyes brighten in smug pleasure.
"Where is everyone?" she asked.
"Preparing the carriages and horses to take us back to Os Alta, and doing a little crowd control."
It was only then that she realised there was a roar of noise outside, muffled a little by the walls of the cabin. Thousands of people, talking and shouting and cheering.
"They want their Sankta Alina," Aleksander added, an expression on his face she couldn't quite decipher.
Alina winced, remembering her nightmares of being hemmed in by fanatical worshippers who demanded miracles she couldn't produce for them.
"They do love you," he tried to reassure her, despite his known distaste for the fanatically religious peasants who collected icons of her, "I believe they are erecting altars to you at this very moment. Sankta Alina of the Fold. Alina the Bright. Daughter of Ravka. Soon you'll have even more names than me."
She gave him a look. He was fully aware of the dangers when someone was put on a pedestal. They might adore her now, but there was no guarantee that it would last.
"I never wanted this," she reminded him, "I wouldn't give up my light the way Mal thought I should. But I never asked to be a saint or a queen or some kind of idol."
"Sometimes we must do distasteful things to protect our people," Aleksander told her, "we are what is best for Ravka, what the country needs to avoid annihilation at the hands of its enemies. Not the Lantsovs, not the Apparat, not a coalition of squabbling nobles. We need strong, powerful leaders."
He was right. Saints, he really was correct. Ravka had been teetering on the brink of disaster for years and it couldn't take a power vacuum right now.
"You will be fine, Alina," he added, "I will ensure it."
His words sent a shiver right up her spine. The absolute certainty, the dark promise there.
She liked it. Even if she probably shouldn't.
"You can't just solve every problem with violence," she reminded him.
He scoffed, "I have lived for centuries, Alina. I am well versed in the many and varied ways one can run a country."
"You wanted to wipe out a whole city simply because of the actions of a few."
"Examples have to be made, Alina, and rebellion cannot be allowed to fester. Besides, you got your way there, milaya."
"You are going to consult me, aren't you?" she asked, "I absolutely refuse to be some figurehead with no real power."
"Do you truly believe I would alienate the woman I desire to spend the rest of eternity with?"
"I think you have more than enough practice with manipulation to keep me out of important decisions without making it obvious that you are doing such a thing."
Aleksander sighed, "I'm really not sure we should be having such an important discussion while you are still recovering."
"Isn't it better to get it out of the way now?" she asked, "so we can present a true united front when we return to Os Alta."
"I've got no intention of excluding you, moya lyubov, and I have no doubt you would make me regret it if I ever tried to do such a thing."
Alina narrowed her eyes as she examined his face carefully for any signs of deception. However, he seemed sincere enough.
"Alright then," she nodded her head, "when are we leaving for Os Alta?"
"Ivan and Fedyor are sorting out our travel arrangements. They shouldn't be much longer. There is a new kefta for you to change into."
He pointed to the corner of the cabin, where a glittering gold kefta embroidered in black was waiting for her.
She was surprised by the colour. He had accepted it at the Winter Fete but she knew he preferred her in black.
"Appearances are important," Aleksander said, "this will endear you more to them."
It was true that much of the country associated a black kefta with the Darkling, who was always a controversial figure, and gold would certainly play into the Sun Saint image they were clearly trying to project.
Alina washed up as best as she could using the small basin of water in the cabin and then changed quickly, glad to discard her creased and travel-stained kefta for a fresh one.
She grimaced as she looked at her hair and face in the small hand mirror, "I look like a mess."
"You are beautiful, as always," Aleksander countered, "just a little … rumpled."
"I wish Genya were here. She'd know exactly what to do."
"Your face is fine without cosmetics," he insisted, tracing the line of her jaw with his finger, "your skin is still glowing from your summoning. And as for your hair, it just requires a little work."
He rummaged in a small cupboard and produced a brush, sitting down behind her and beginning to de-tangle her mess of hair.
"You do hair now?" she asked with a smile.
"I am over six hundred years old, milaya. I am more than capable of making your hair acceptable for the crowds."
It wasn't a bad job, in the end. Nothing as complex as Genya might have done, but neat and pretty enough. She still wasn't used to the new colour, but had to admit it did look quite striking.
"Not a word to anyone else," he muttered as he slid one final golden pin into her hair.
"Of course not," she nodded seriously, even though she knew it was going to be incredibly difficult not to whisper the story of his hairdressing skills to Genya or Fedyor.
Aleksander had perfect timing, it seemed.
She was just checking his impressive handiwork in the mirror when there was a knock on the cabin door.
Ivan entered once Aleksander had called out for him to come in, seemingly relieved to find them both fully clothed and prepared to leave.
(she was starting to think they might have traumatised the powerful Heartrender a little during their quest for the sea whip).
"Everything is ready, moi soverennyi, moya soverennya," he nodded to each of them in turn.
Aleksander turned to her, "shall we go and face the crowds, Alina?"
"Since I have to," she grumbled.
He offered her his arm and she took it, the two of them following Ivan out of the cabin into the bright sunshine.
The roar of the crowd was suddenly so much louder.
Their Grisha had done an excellent job in making a clear path to the carriages, but she could still see thousands of people, a mix of soldiers and peasants, watching them, shouting out.
They shouted their thanks for her actions in the Fold. Called out for her blessing. Requested her aid.
Alina plastered a smile on her face, waved to them all, summoned some small globes of light to float around her, much to the delight of the crowd.
"For someone who finds this spectacle so distasteful, you are surprisingly adept at it," Aleksander murmured to her.
Alina sighed, "it's not difficult to make them happy. Most of these people have almost nothing. They need more than a light show, though, at least in the long run."
"We will give them peace, milaya," he reminded her, "a better, stronger Ravka."
She nodded decisively. Ravkans had suffered for centuries and, while she was determined to make things better for the Grisha, she also wants to ensure the otkazat'sya had safer, more stable lives than what they had endured under the succession of Lantsov kings.
She was relieved when they arrived at the carriage.
It was difficult, seeing the poor peasants, many who didn't have much more than the clothes on their backs.
She waved again, made her fingers glow as she passed her hands over a few of the babies held up by their mothers for blessings.
Alina wanted to tell them that she wasn't that kind of saint, that she couldn't heal or fix or do anything except try and combat a corrupt monarchy and keep their country safe.
She allowed her mask to slip as she entered the carriage, slumping into her seat.
It seemed she was more tired than she had thought, still not recovered from her work in the Shadow Fold, despite what story her glowing skin and rosy complexion might paint.
"Go back to sleep, solntse," Aleksander ordered as he climbed into the carriage and set next to her.
She frowned, "we still need to talk some more."
"And we will," he promised, "when you aren't falling asleep in your seat."
Opening her mouth to protest, she instead just let out a long yawn.
His mouth quirked up in amusement, "sleep," he repeated.
"Fine," she conceded, "but I'm only having a nap because I want to, not because you told me to."
"Of course, milaya."
She thought about glaring at him because of his teasing tone, but she was honestly very tired and his kefta really was quite comfortable when she leant into him.
The gentle movement of the carriage rocked her to sleep within minutes.
When Alina woke, it was beginning to get dark outside and Aleksander was scribbling notes, the scratching of his pen the only sound she could hear apart from the bustle of travel outside the carriage.
"Feeling better?" he asked.
"Yes. What are you doing?"
"Making a list of the urgent issues that will need to be dealt with once we arrive back in Os Alta."
He tilted the page so could she read what he had written. There was mention of the former queen, the Fold's borders, the Grisha that should be called back for new assignments, checking where their soldiers were stationed, the securing of both the Grand and Little Palaces under their full control and countless other things.
It would certainly be a trial by fire. No gentle introduction to governing for them.
"So," she said, hoping to catch him off guard by jumping right into the topic she most wanted to discuss, "you love me."
"Alina," he growled, "I don't know where you're getting your ideas but –"
"Well, you have been calling me moya lyubov for weeks now."
"It's an endearment, Alina, not a confession."
"You said you would destroy the country if I died."
He stilled then, "I did, didn't I?"
"Is it true?"
Aleksander sighed, "don't ask questions to which you already know the answer."
That was a yes, then. Possibly not the healthiest mindset to have, but definitely suggestive of stronger feelings than he wanted to admit to.
"Would it be so bad, to love me?" she asked quietly.
Aleksander frowned, "Alina …"
"You don't have to say it," she told him, "I mean, I wouldn't mind hearing it, but I know it's difficult for you."
He bristled indignantly, as if irritated at the idea that anything could possibly be hard for him.
"Alina, milaya, you are my eternal equal, you will be my queen. Emotions do not need to get involved."
"Saints, Aleksander, you can't hide from your feelings forever. It's alright to care, you know."
"I …"
It might be hilarious, if it wasn't desperately sad, if she didn't know the centuries of struggles and sorrows that had created the dangerous, ruthless, intelligent, powerful man in front of her, a man who had locked away his own emotions out of necessity.
She put her hand over his, laced their fingers together, "I'll be here, Aleksander," she promised, "I won't leave."
A few moments of silence before she spoke again, "but we will need to get married."
He didn't seem to have an issue with this. After all, marriages between rulers were not love affairs, but partnerships or alliances. That was something he could easily understand.
"Mmm," he agreed, "although I'm not sure how some people will feel about their precious Sankta Alina being defiled by the feared Darkling.
"They'll just have to accept it," Alina huffed, "I refuse to deal with idiots thinking they can foist some prince off on me to take the 'burden' of ruling that they believe I can't manage alone. For one, you'd just try and kill them all."
"Of course," he interjected with complete seriousness, "you are mine, Alina. My sun, my light, soon to be my little wife."
"I am no one's little wife," she protested irritably.
"You are significantly shorter than me," he said with a perfectly straight face.
"That definitely wasn't what you meant," Alina glared at him.
Aleksander only looked at her, wide-eyed, a surprisingly good impression of innocence for a man who hadn't been so in centuries.
She was prevented from arguing further with him as the carriage slowed down to a halt.
A knock on the door and then Fedyor stuck his head in, "we've reached the inn, moi soverennyi, moya soverennya."
"Thank the Saints," Alina muttered, "I need a proper bath."
"You do smell like something awful," Ivan interjected as he appeared next to Fedyor.
Alina scowled, resisting the childish urge to stick her tongue out at him.
The inn's proprietor came to greet them then, clearly known to most of the Grisha in their group.
He was an efficient and friendly man, and within a few minutes Alina was in a large, clean room with a roaring fire and a steaming bath.
She stripped off quickly, entirely unbothered by Aleksander's presence, and then sank into the bath with a happy groan.
"Shall I leave you two alone?" Aleksander asked her, just as her stomach rumbled loudly.
"I'll arrange some food, then," he added, his amusement clear, "I need to speak with Ivan and some of our other travelling companions too. I shouldn't be longer than an hour."
Alina nodded absentmindedly, distracted by the pleasant warmth of her bath.
She washed her hair quickly and then spent the next half an hour just soaking, occasionally summoning a heated orb of light to increase the water's temperature if it began to get too cold.
When she climbed out of the bath, she found a soft robe that felt almost as nice as the velvet ones at the Little Palace, wrapping herself up before sitting down to brush the tangles out of her wet hair.
There was no sign of Aleksander when she was done. Their luggage hadn't been brought up yet, meaning she didn't even have one of the books she had packed to entertain herself with.
As she stood, wondering if she should get dressed and go in search of Aleksander (because once someone got Ivan started on protocols and plans, it was sometimes hard to get him to stop), her surroundings suddenly seemed to shimmer and change.
And then she was no longer in the bedroom.
Instead, she was standing in bare feet and her robe, staring at Aleksander as he spoke to someone she couldn't see.
While he was clear to her, the rest of the room was fuzzy, all hazy shapes and darkness.
He stiffened the moment he saw her, eyes narrowing as he took in her attire and the baffled expression on her face.
She felt something reach out to her, like a tugging on her soul. It felt just like Aleksander.
Alina tugged back, not entirely sure what she was doing, just going on instinct.
Their eyes met, even as he continued speaking.
Then she blinked, lost the thread of their connection, and found herself back in the bedroom.
"What in the name of the Saints was that?" she whispered to herself.
There wasn't much time to puzzle over it. Less than a minute passed before there was a sharp knock on the door, "let me in, Alina."
She hurried over, opening the door to reveal Aleksander on the other side.
He stepped inside, locking the door behind him.
"Aleksander, what was that?" she asked.
"That, milaya, was a tether."
"But … but you said it would probably just give us a deeper awareness of each other, not that it would somehow take me to you."
"How did it feel?"
She shook her head, "like nothing I've ever felt. I was here, and yet I was also there. I could feel these floorboards beneath my feet, the draft from the open window. Still, I could see you so clearly, hear you talking as if you were only across the room from me, rather than all the way downstairs."
"It appears the bond is stronger than I first anticipated. I suppose it isn't surprising – we are by far the most powerful Grisha alive."
He appeared fascinated by what they had discovered, intrigued at the idea of something he hadn't yet experienced in his long life.
"It isn't dangerous, is it?"
Aleksander shook his head, "I do not believe it will harm either of us. It could certainly be a useful connection, though, once we figure out exactly how it works."
"No experimenting tonight," she warned him, "we've got to be up early and I'd like a good night of rest before we return to Os Alta."
Alina couldn't say he pouted, but it was a near thing, "just a few tests, milaya?" he tried to coax her.
"No," she stood firm, "it won't kill you to wait a few days."
She climbed into bed then, to make it even clearer that she was not going to test the connection until they were back in Os Alta.
For a few seconds he seemed to be contemplating whether or not he could persuade her to agree with him, if he just tried a little longer, but then he only shrugged, took off his kefta and climbed into bed next to her.
Alina smiled to herself as he wrapped one arm around her and pulled her closer.
There were no wandering hands tonight, just a soft kiss pressed to her cheek and the lovely feeling of being secure in his embrace.
No matter what he might say, or not say, on the subject, in that moment Alina felt entirely and completely loved.
The Apparat waited at the palace gates when they finally returned, surrounded by servants wearing black.
A mass of people had gathered to await their return. The news of the widening of the path through the Fold had clearly spread quickly, this crowd even greater than the one in Kribirsk.
It took an age for the carriage to reach the gates, moving at a crawl to ensure none of the crowd were knocked over.
Alina's nerves rose the closer they get, until she was practically vibrating in her seat.
Aleksander reached out and she gratefully grasped his hand, letting his amplification soothe her.
"What if something has gone wrong?" she asked nervously.
He laughed, "this plan has been in the works for years, milaya. Trust me, it will all be exactly as we wish."
Alina peeked out of the window and grimaced at the man waiting for them, "does the Apparat really have to stay?"
"For a little longer, I'm afraid. It wouldn't do for him to disappear too soon after our coronation."
Perhaps it was bloodthirsty of her to wish the Apparat dead in a ditch, but she really did hate the man.
A hypocrite who spoke of piety and abstinence even as he dined off golden plates with the King and refused to aid most of the poor and needy who came begging for aid.
A manipulator who used the faith of thousands to try and turn her into a living saint for his own gain, who would have shoved her into the Fold as a child with no training and called her a martyr to further his cause.
A man who sent shivers down her spine when he looked at her, as if he was wondering just how many holy relics he could make out of her body.
For now, though, she would have to swallow her distaste and face him as if she didn't feel loathing build up inside her as she watched him.
They were putting on a show today.
Alina in her gold kefta decorated with sunbursts and delicate black embroidery. The Darkling at his most intimidating in his formal black kefta, the little threads of gold she could see here and there not detracting from his imposing presence.
He stepped out of the carriage first, offered her his hand so she could climb down.
They walked together to the gates, side by side, equals.
The noise of the crowd decreased with every step they took. By the time they stood in front of the Apparat, there was almost total silence.
"The King is dead," the Apparat announced in a loud voice that carried to the edges of the crowds, "he battled his illness valiantly until he slipped away peacefully this morning. His last words detailed his wishes that our beloved Sankta Alina should rule over Ravka."
He paused there, as if he was finished, only to startle when Aleksander glared ferociously at him, shadows coiling around his heels.
"– rule over Ravka with the Shadow Summoner at her side," the Apparat continued hastily, "a perfect balance ready to lead our great country into a golden age of peace."
Two servants, one on each side, held out velvet cushions with small coronets, one made of gold and the other of obsidian.
There would be a more formal coronation at a later date, but Alina knew Aleksander was keen to legitimise their rule immediately, to have them proclaimed as the city watched.
The Apparat first placed the gold coronet on Alina's white hair, a murmured and zealous "Sankta Alina" making her take a quick step back.
Aleksander barely dipped his head, forcing the Apparat to lean up and stretch his arms uncomfortably in order to place the obsidian coronet on his head.
And then they turned, in unison, to roars from the crowd.
There were many names shouted. Sankta Alina. Black Tsar. Daughter of Ravka. The Darkling. Alina the Bright.
Most of all, though, there was one rallying cry.
A cry for the Sun Queen and the Shadow King.
Genya, wearing a new red kefta with dark blue embroidery, was the first to throw her arms around Alina when she finally entered the palace grounds.
"It suits you," Alina smiled.
The Tailor tossed her head, "it clashes terribly with my hair, but you know what," she leant closer, as if whispering a secret, "I love it anyway."
"You deserve it," Alina said, hugging her best friend even tighter, "Saints, you more than deserve it."
Genya beamed. She seemed so much lighter now, a burden lifted from her shoulders at the knowledge that the old King could never touch her again.
Aleksander came up behind Alina and Genya dipped into a curtsey, "moi tsar."
"Genya," he nodded his head, "I trust all went as planned."
"Of course, moi tsar. Poor Prince Vasily's sudden death shocked the old King greatly. I'm afraid his body couldn't take the increased strain, not with how ill he already was. The Queen is still in isolation, ready to see you whenever you wish. She was rather distraught at the loss of her husband and eldest son, as well as the public revelation of her infidelity."
"I believe we can see her now, don't you think, Alina?"
She nodded. Best to get it out of the way, to have the former queen removed from Os Alta as soon as possible.
Aleksander turned to Genya, "have her brought to the Throne Room in fifteen minutes. Are the new thrones set up?"
"They were placed just this morning," the Tailor confirmed, "and I will have the guards bring Tatiana Grimjer to you shortly."
Ah, yes. The former queen had not just lost her title when her infidelity was revealed, but had also been forced to return to her family name.
The Throne Room certainly looked different.
There weren't actually that many changes, but the removal of some of the gaudier gold statues ("melt them down and buy bread and meat for the poor in the city," Alina had ordered a few minutes previously) and the destruction of the flags bearing the Lantsov double-eagle made it appear a far more elegant room than it had been.
The thrones were less ostentatious than the former King's had been. Each exquisitely made and decorated by Fabrikators in obsidian and gold respectively for Aleksander and Alina. Placed next to each other, no difference in the size.
Perhaps it was a little thing, really, but the visible proof of equality between them brought Alina a significant amount of joy.
They had not been seated long when the former queen entered the room, flanked by a number of oprichniki.
After her period of isolation, with no access to Genya's Tailoring services, Tatiana looked twenty years older.
She showed the signs of having once been handsome. Now, though, her blonde hair looked straw-like and was streaked through with silvery grey. Her skin had lost its creamy firmness and there were clear wrinkles and blemishes on her face. Her eyes, once a dazzling dark blue, were now a pale, watery colour.
Alina had thought the woman might be hysterical or angry. She was neither of these things, though. Simply faded, in both looks and personality.
It seemed that her isolation had impressed upon the woman the seriousness of her situation, the benefit in cooperating as much as possible.
She was also a woman who had lost both her husband and oldest son, with little chance of seeing her other son again. Tatiana might not have been a faithful wife or a particularly good person, but Alina did think she had loved Vasily. Nevertheless, Alina couldn't muster much sympathy for her, not after the years of misery she had caused Genya and countless others.
"Tatiana Grimjer," Aleksander stared down at her, "you are guilty of adultery, of attempting to pass off your bastard as a rightful son of our dearly departed King. The rightful penalty for this is execution but, in his kindness, your former husband commuted this sentence to exile in a convent appropriate to your station as a member of the Fjerdan royal family. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
Briefly, Tatiana's face contorted into an ugly sneer. If she could have, Alina fully believed the woman would have lit a pyre and tossed Alina, Aleksander and any other Grisha she could find on top of it with absolutely no regrets.
Alina blinked and Tatiana's expression had settled into a demure mask of sorrow and regret, "I only ask that I be allowed to return to my home country, so that I might mourn my husband and son within the comfort of my own family."
It was certainly a bold request. And a futile one, since Alina knew Tatiana could never be allowed to return and whisper Ravka's secrets into the ears of her Fjerdan relatives.
Aleksander shook his head, "I am afraid this isn't possible, Your Highness. It would be remiss of us to return you to a country whose adultery laws are even stricter than Ravka's. After all, we wouldn't want to put you in danger. I can assure you that the convent may not be as grand as you are used to, but it will certainly be a comfortable and fulfilling experience for you."
Tatiana dropped into a deep curtsey, "thank you for your kindness, moi tsar … moya tsarita."
Alina could tell how she gritted her teeth as she spoke, how the words tasted like ash in her mouth.
And she deserved it. Tatiana could have led by example, might have been a force for good in the country, using what small influence she had to try and persuade her husband to care more about his people and less about his pleasures. She hadn't, though. In fact, she had simply chased her own pleasures, mocked the majority of the country she was queen of and wasted resources on frivolous and pointless excesses.
Now, Tatiana would spend the rest of her life cloistered in a convent, learning the value of hard work and a simple, ascetic lifestyle, her correspondence carefully read and edited to ensure she could not pass on dangerous information to the Fjerdan royals.
A satisfying end to her story, in Alina's opinion.
However, there was still one piece missing, one reminder Alina wished the former queen to have.
As Tatiana rose from her curtsey, so Alina rose from her throne.
Aleksander looked at her, their eyes meeting long enough for him to see something of her plan there. He didn't move, didn't protest, his own form of blessing for her actions.
"A gift, before you leave," Alina spoke softly, but her voice carried nevertheless, "a memento of your time in Os Alta."
She lifted her hands, calling the light, shaping it into something resembling a needle.
"I wouldn't move, if I were you," was all the warning she gave, "it would be such a shame if you end up blind."
Tatiana's screams echoed throughout the Throne Room as Alina carried out her work.
Aleksander watched silently, curiously, from his throne.
Dotted around the room, the oprichniki remained as still and quiet as ever.
When it was done, the sobbing former queen collapsed to her knees, hands pressed to her face.
Genya, who had been stood behind the thrones, moved to stand next to Alina, the Tailor's trembling hand slipping into Alina's.
When Tatiana looked up, everyone saw it, the letter 'G', barely one inch tall, carved into her cheek by Alina's blistering light. The mark was red and raw now, probably extremely painful. It would scar, but never vanish, a constant reminder of Alina's best friend and how badly Tatiana had treated the girl she'd once doted on like she was her daughter.
Aleksander might be the one who made everyone tremble, but let no one say that Alina was a wilting flower.
Aleksander stood now, dark and malicious amusement on his face, "what do you say to your Queen?" he asked the woman crumpled on the floor, "surely you wish to thank her for her lesson?"
Tatiana got to her feet, shaky but with some remnants of her royal bearing. Tears glistened on her cheeks as she curtseyed once again.
"Thank you, moya tsarita, for your most gracious correction."
Alina's smile was sickly sweet, "you are most welcome, Tatiana. I do hope we never meet again."
And, with those parting words, Alina turned on her heel, still holding onto Genya's hand, and the two women left the room.
Aleksander could deal with the rest of the meeting well enough. Alina never wanted to see Tatiana again.
Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.
The next chapter (hopefully out next Monday) will be the final proper chapter. This will be followed by an epilogue and then by a bonus chapter, bringing the total to 30 chapters.
There will be three other stories in this universe, each of them containing related one-shots in the universe. I'll give more details on those when this story is finished.