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.
Epilogue: Irina Kostyk
The reign of the Shadow King and Sun Queen lasted one hundred and fifty years, before they disappeared without a trace and with no explanation.
Dead, some said. Hiding, others suggested. Waiting, a few guessed.
Under their rule the age of Grisha power had lasted longer than it likely would have otherwise, but it was finally coming to an end.
Technology advanced as Ravka sought to catch up with Shu Han's inventions, and eventually the worth of one Grisha and one otkazat'sya soldier became almost equal in battle.
Calls came for a democratic system similar to that which had been adopted by a number of Ravka's neighbours. Rioting was minimal, since the Sun Queen remained beloved among her people and the Shadow King still struck fear into the hearts of many. And the Shadow Fold remained a dangerous weapon to be wielded by their rulers if they chose to do so. Still, it was easy to see that change was coming.
Later history books speculated over the circumstances surrounding the disappearance of the country's two most powerful Grisha. After all, no one ever expected the Shadow King to cede his throne so easily … and yet it seemed like he had.
Even more shocking was that the Shadow Fold was destroyed in a blazing flash of light the very night that Ravka's immortal rulers vanished, a phenomenon that lit up the skies and could be seen all the way across the True Sea.
No one ever saw the Shadow and Sun Summoners again.
At least, that was how the official story went.
As if nature understood what had happened, children were no longer born with the ability to practice the Small Science.
Nevertheless, such talents did not disappear entirely, not if you knew where to look.
A doctor who nearly always managed to save their patients, no matter how badly injured or sick they were. A sailor whose presence on a ship usually meant smooth sailing. A skilled artisan whose jewellery was almost beyond compare.
Another one hundred and fifty years passed.
Ravka embraced democracy, then dictatorship, then democracy again. Leaders (some good, some bad, some not at all memorable) rose and fell.
The tales of the Grisha became almost like fairytales. There was far too much evidence for anyone to deny that they had been real, but they seemed almost like a half-remembered dream. People moved on. After all, the Grisha were extinct now.
Weren't they?
And if occasionally there were rumours of shadows that devoured and bright sunlight that blinded … well, old superstitions persisted and everyone loved a good horror story.
300 years after the coronation of the Shadow King and the Sun Queen
Irina Genya Kostyk turned heads wherever she went.
This was unsurprising, considering she was almost the spitting image of her ancestor Genya Kostyk nee Safin, the very first Tailor, whose likeness was captured in numerous sketches and paintings done by the Sun Queen and carefully preserved in various museums and private collections.
It was this resemblance that sometimes caused Irina's godmother to tear up when she was feeling particularly nostalgic.
"So very like Genya," she would sigh quietly, "but David's eyes."
Her godmother generally had a very positive disposition, and was usually delighted to tell tales about Genya and David but, on some days, she could turn quite melancholy when talking of old friends.
Irina knew all the stories. Genya, David, Fedyor, Ivan, Marie, Nadia, Zoya, Nina, Matthias – they weren't historical figures to her, but funny, flawed and talented people that her godmother had loved fiercely, the very first family she had loved and lost.
"You don't have to listen to an old woman ramble on," her godmother would say, "I'm sure you have more exciting things to do."
Irina would always shake her head. It seemed crazy to her that Alina Morozova nee Starkov, the Sun Queen herself, didn't understand how fascinating her stories were to Irina.
Besides, history was a passion of Irina's, especially since Alina and her husband could give her so much first-hand information. It was true that she couldn't cite them as sources, making her essays far less interesting (how she'd wished she could have included her godmother's eyewitness accounts of events like the bombing of Os Alta eighty years ago, or the celebrations after the six-year war with Shu Han ended almost sixty years previously), but at least she could know some of the truth behind the biggest events of the last few hundred years.
Aleksander's stories were always factual, constantly peppered with his insistence that "the history books got it completely wrong" and "I can't believe he got credit for that" and "is this what passes for scholarship these days?"
And, unlike Alina, who spoke about old friends with a warm affection, Aleksander almost never mentioned the people he had known in his centuries of life.
It wasn't that he didn't care, Alina told her once, only that he tended to bury his feelings deeply, a self-preservation method of sorts.
He got a look in his eyes every now and then, though, a bleak kind of darkness that was the biggest indicator of how very ancient he was and how many people he must have lost.
She knew her parents, siblings and cousins were all a little bit afraid of the man who had been the most feared figure in Ravka for so long, but Irina had never been scared of Aleksander. He was distant and detached but she knew why that was – she wasn't sure that she could bear it, outliving almost everyone you'd ever known.
Besides, none of that mattered during the moments where she caught him looking at his wife, when she witnessed the devotion in his eyes.
Irina wanted love like that, strong and powerful and beautiful.
Alina and Aleksander really were the most captivating pair in the world.
And Irina considered herself incredibly lucky to have them in her life.
Irina was six years old the first time she saw Aleksander use the Cut.
She'd had a sheltered childhood so far.
There were just so many secrets that the Kostyks had to keep, a burden carried by the family who had been loyal and true to Ravka's Sun Queen and Shadow King for more than three centuries, a family who had their own secret to keep safe.
Better to homeschool the children, at least until they were able to understand that there were some things that were never to be spoken of outside the family.
It was the first time she'd ever been in a proper playground, busy and noisy and so much fun.
Her father was at work. Her mother distracted by her brother, who had just fallen over and cut his knee. Her godmother telling a story to her sister.
Irina didn't realise there was anything wrong about the man offering ice-cream, not until she'd followed him into the nearby woods and he'd tried to force her into a van he had parked there.
She never found out how they'd managed to persuade Aleksander to visit the playground with them, but she knew it must have been Alina's work. For years afterwards, her family would thank the Saints that he was there, that he had followed her when she wandered off.
Aleksander Morozova was not known for his mercy.
Especially not towards men who meant to harm his beloved wife's tiny goddaughter.
He didn't hesitate, not for a moment.
Later, her parents would fuss and worry and whisper about whether there would be a way to try and explain this to a therapist without breaking any confidences.
Irina herself had blessedly few memories of the incident. She bounced back easily enough, far less shaken than her parents and godmother had been.
The one thing she did retain, however, was a feeling of security and safety whenever she was around Aleksander.
All the Sun Queen's Tailors had descended from the line begun by Genya Safin and David Kostyk, as had some of the best Durasts in their Court.
Since the disappearance of the Shadow King and Sun Queen one hundred and fifty years previously, Irina's family had kept a number of secrets closely guarded since, unknown to the rest of the world, one Grisha gift had continued in the Kostyk Family, even when other Grisha talents were consigned to the annals of history.
Tailors persisted.
There was one in every generation of the family, ready to take on the mantle passed on by their mother or father before them. Their siblings were always talented too, in their own way, but they weren't Grisha the way the Tailors in the family were.
Irina was her generation's Tailor.
She was the youngest of three. Her older sister was a well-regarded, prize-winning Biochemist, while her brother was a famous metalwork sculptor. Irina, meanwhile, trained under her father and grandmother to hone her own particular skillset.
Of course, make-up was so much better these days than it had been centuries before, but nothing was quite like a Tailor's work, which could so easily change the shape of Alina or Aleksander's faces.
For a hundred and fifty years the two Grisha had stayed out of the spotlight.
They had amassed wealth and power over the years under assumed names, but always presented themselves as camera and publicity shy. On the rare occasions they needed to attend an event, their features could be ever so slightly changed by their Tailor to ensure that they weren't recognised.
There wasn't much risk, really. No official portraits of the Shadow King and Sun Queen existed, aside from the few held by Aleksander and Alina themselves. There were still old icons, mostly depicting Sankta Alina, in a few museums and private collections but, as Alina had apparently complained about for over three hundred years, most of them weren't very good likenesses at all.
Still, Irina knew the two of them hadn't survived for so long by being careless.
And Irina's skills were going to be all the more important now, as Aleksander and Alina stepped back into the spotlight for the first time in one hundred and fifty years.
Aleksander Morozova, you see, had just been elected as Ravka's newest president.
Irina was sixteen the first time she heard Aleksander and Alina arguing about him running for president.
"No. Leave it alone, Aleksander."
"This government has a 32% approval rating right now, Alina."
"There are two other main opposition parties, Aleksander. There are still options."
"One has just been embroiled in a fraud scandal. The other is full of idealists living in a dream world."
"We said we wouldn't interfere."
"You said you didn't want us to interfere, solntse. I knew we'd have to, one day."
Irina, who felt she'd overheard quite enough, coughed quietly from her place in the doorway.
"Oh, Irinochka," her godmother smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes, "I didn't realise you were there."
"Dad said dinner is ready."
"We'll be right down," Alina promised.
Irina nodded, leaving the room and heading towards the dining room.
As she reached the stairs, she heard them begin to hiss furiously at each other once more.
Irina rummaged through Alina's clothes, trying to find the perfect outfit for her godmother to wear to the inauguration, and listened to Alina and her husband bicker.
"Stop looking so smug, Aleksander."
"I told you, solntse, sheep need someone strong to lead them."
"They are not sheep," Alina hissed, "you're ignoring everything they've built over the last century and a half."
"We could have done it better," Aleksander insisted, "and we'd never have let ourselves get killed the way Kuznetsov or Lebedev did."
"Don't think that I don't remember the rumours of shadow creatures both of those times," Alina sounded angry now and Irina couldn't help but shiver a little at the thought that Aleksander might have been involved in two of Ravka's most famous political assassinations.
She might be less afraid of Aleksander than her family, but she was sometimes forcibly reminded of exactly what he was capable of.
"People stumble sometimes," Alina continued, "but then they get back on track."
"Ah, yes, the democracy you are so fond of. I maintain that the leaders were stronger when their power was absolute."
"Andreev's ideas had some merit, I will admit," Alina conceded, "but Lebedev was a monster – you must remember what he did in Adena?"
"I remember," Aleksander's voice was tight now, "how you foolishly put yourself in danger trying to help a rag-tag group of rebels."
"I refuse to regret that. I'm only sorry couldn't save more."
"And if they had killed you?" Aleksander asked coldly, "what use would it have been to save a dozen men and women then, only for me to raze that city and then the entire country?"
"You're always so dramatic, Aleksander."
It was funny, how Alina made his words sound like some kind of exaggeration when they all knew better.
When it came to Aleksander, it was abundantly clear that all bets were off if you went after his wife.
He didn't forgive and he didn't forget.
"Well, you can only serve two terms," Irina heard Alina remind Aleksander, "you'll have to content yourself with eight years."
Aleksander shrugged, "I'm sure we can get that changed."
"No!" Alina sounded as firm as Irina had ever heard her, "no, Aleksander."
"You know how difficult it is to implement real change in such a paltry time," his voice was almost coaxing now, "when we ruled, it took you nearly two decades to fully reform the orphanage system."
"I said no," her godmother stood firm.
Aleksander only hummed, "we'll see. Power has always agreed with you, solntse."
"I'm not the president here," she reminded him.
"Oh, but you'll make your mark, Alina. You always do."
Irina thought of the charitable organisations her godmother had organised under various aliases, of the anonymous opinion pieces that appeared in newspapers all over the country, of the scholarships for underprivileged children.
Not the wielding of political power, but certainly offering a voice to the more marginalised in society.
And as the new president's wife, Alina would definitely have even more power to make changes, to stand up for those who society pushed down. Aleksander was right that such power might be intoxicating, even to the woman who had always been such a champion of democracy.
"They have to stand on their own," her godmother simply sounded tired now, her sigh showing something of her true age.
"Why should they?" Aleksander asked, genuinely curious, "when they have us to guide them?"
"People need to grow. You cannot call them simple sheep in one moment and then deny them the chance to prove you wrong by simply coming in and taking over."
He scoffed, "I gave them a century and a half, Alina. And all they showed me was that they would soon enough squander any chance they had."
"Stop trying to act as if it was all bad. You're entirely disregarding all the successes."
"And yet, here we are, with protests across the country, an outgoing president likely to face corruption charges and an international reputation as a non-entity."
They were quiet for a moment and Irina sneaked a glance to see that the pair were standing close together, her godmother reaching out to her husband.
"I promised I'd support you," Alina said, so quiet Irina almost couldn't hear her, "and I will. But you have to promise me that this has an end point. Eight years to help Ravka, get the country back on its feet, try to browbeat some of the politicians into actually being competent, worthy leaders, and then you step back. There's a whole world out there, Aleksander, new places and adventures every day, and I want to see them with you."
Aleksander leant down, his forehead pressed against Alina's, and Irina looked away, the scene too intimate for her to intrude on.
"You know you are my world, moya lyubov," Aleksander murmured, "but Ravka …"
"Ravka is home," she agreed, "and, of course, I understand how much you care for it, how long you spent trying to make it safe and secure. You can't look after it forever, though, and you cannot take every mistake personally."
Irina didn't hear what they said afterward. They were whispering quietly together, hands entwined, as she slipped out of the room.
She could sort her godmother's outfit later.
Irina was twenty-six when Aleksander was announced as Ravka's newest president.
Not that she was surprised, really.
The country loved him. A charismatic man with a charming wife, passionate about Ravka, more knowledgeable than anyone else about its history and its people.
The other candidates hadn't stood a chance.
Irina stood on the stage with them, waving and smiling, accepting congratulations.
Officially, she was Alina's personal assistant, her political science degree being put to good use. The perfect cover to give her a reason to stay with them in the Grand Palace, the official residence of Ravka's president.
She wondered how it would feel for the two of them to be back in a building that had been their home for so long.
Both the Grand and Little Palaces still stood, almost exactly as they had been when the Shadow King and Sun Queen had ruled, although thankfully with some modern improvements.
There were no Grisha to fill the Little Palace, which she imagined would be a source of sorrow to them. It served as Ravka's most prestigious museum now, a must-see for any visit to the country's capital.
Irina had never actually visited the museum. Somehow, such things paled in comparison when you had two people available to you who had lived through history, who had met famous figures and fought in battles that children learnt about in school.
But maybe she'd go now. It might be a fun game, to search the artefacts displayed there and see if she could spot pieces of Alina or Aleksander's life, or recognise something from one of their many stories.
"And that was when you were … Anastasia?" Irina wondered after her godmother finished a story.
"Yelena," Alina corrected.
"I don't know how you keep track of it all, Aunt Alina."
Her godmother shrugged, "you get used to it, I suppose. Aleksander has more practice than I do and he doesn't find it nearly so jarring an experience, especially since so few people ever knew his real name. Still, it really is very nice to be Alina again."
Irina nodded. Girls all over the country were named for Ravka's beloved Sun Queen – it was such a common name that everyone simply thought it a coincidence that the incoming president's charming wife shared the same name and white hair ("an odd genetic quirk," she would say to anyone who asked) as Sankta Alina.
"Is it strange?" she asked Alina, "being back in the public eye after all this time."
Almost her whole life, Irina had been warned not to speak about Alina and Aleksander. Now, everyone in the country knew who they were, even if they only had a tiny fraction of the true story.
"I never did enjoy the spotlight," her godmother told her, "they called me a saint even when I was a child, and I hated it – the expectations, the pressure, the attention. It was easier when I get older, and I learnt to cope with it. You lose so much of your privacy, though."
She looked sadly at Irina, "I am sorry for that, Irinochka. Your family have helped us faithfully ever since we stepped down, and now Aleksander's ambition is putting everyone under a microscope, you most of all."
Irina remembered that there had been a picture of her in the newspaper a few days ago. All she'd been doing was getting lunch from a café, chatting with the bodyguard Alina had insisted she have, and a journalist had somehow managed to create a two-page article from that. Irina couldn't believe anyone would find her that interesting.
"I won't say it's not strange," she admitted to her godmother, "but Aleksander is right – Ravka is a mess right now. Maybe he's what we need to get back on track."
"As long as he can step back when the time comes," Alina looked worried, "he's always had trouble letting go of power. Never thinks anyone can lead the country as well as we did. It took me fifteen years – not to mention decades of planting the seeds in his mind prior to that – before he agreed that we should step aside and let democracy take over. And, to be honest, he's been complaining about it ever since."
"I shouldn't be burdening you with my worries, though," her godmother continued, patting her arm affectionately.
"I don't mind, Aunt Alina," Irina insisted.
She knew it must be hard for Alina, having so few people to confide in, forever frozen as she watched everyone else but her husband age and change around her.
Her godmother might look about six years younger than Irina, but she was so much older inside, more a piece of history than anything that might be found in a museum.
It was a little strange, and morbid too, for Irina to think that in a hundred years she would be long gone, while Alina would look as young and vibrant as she did now. A hundred years that would give her godmother countless other to mourn.
She wondered if Alina would ever adopt Aleksander's stance, become removed from even those who knew her secret. Irina didn't think she would blame her godmother for doing that, for protecting herself from further heartbreak.
There was nothing she might say that would make it better.
All she could do was do her best to support her godmother while she was able to.
Irina watched from the sidelines as Aleksander gave his inauguration speech.
She could see how entranced the crowd were as they hung off his every word and let out cheers every few seconds. The people hadn't been this excited about a politician in years.
Would they have been so pleased if they knew who the man in front of them really was? The Shadow King had always been considered a controversial figure. No matter how many lives he saved with his military operations, or how safe he made the country as its king, many people could never quite bring themselves to trust him and his shadows. Alina had been their Sankta and their Sun Queen, but her husband had been feared for as long as he sat on the throne and long afterwards, forever immortalised in folktales and ghost stories.
Yet, here they were, screaming their support for his policy proposals and clear commitment to Ravka.
She could see the smug satisfaction hidden behind his polished politician's mask, just as she noticed Alina's slightly concerned expression.
Irina knew that Aleksander had never experienced this level of unbridled enthusiasm towards him. When he was known as the Shadow Summoner, his presence usually evoked terror rather than excitement. Her godmother had mentioned once or twice that Aleksander had viewed her own status as a living saint with mixed emotions – he gladly used the people's adoration of their Sankta Alina to his advantage, but he couldn't help but feel a little jealous that his own monumental efforts on Ravka's behalf went unnoticed and ignored.
Whether there would be any danger in giving Aleksander the recognition he had always been denied was an issue they would have to confront down the line. Irina knew from her history lessons that it was very easy for a populist leader in a democratic society to wield the people's support as a weapon, transforming into a dictator ruling with an iron fist too quickly for anyone to realise exactly what was happening.
She was aware that Aleksander and Alina had seen it happen in Ravka with Andreev, and Novyi Zem was still recovering from twenty-five years under a dangerous man who had started out like a dream come true before he morphed into someone who ordered massacres all in the name of the greater good.
Still, Irina could be reassured by the knowledge that Alina would step in if her husband went too far. He might be centuries older, but she was certainly formidable in her own right – Irina had only seen her godmother truly angry a couple of times, but it was enough for her to be sure that she never wanted to get on Alina's bad side.
Generally, though, Irina was excited to see what came next.
Aleksander had a lot of interesting ideas and also a genuine love for Ravka that seemed to have been missing in the country's last few leaders.
With him in charge, she thought they really could become a force to be reckoned with on the international stage, no longer the country everyone sighed over and considered something of a joke.
During the reign of the Shadow King and the Sun Queen, Ravka had been the superpower, and while Irina couldn't exactly fault their neighbours for taking advantage of its later weakness to claw back some of the border territory Ravka had taken over under Aleksander and Alina's leadership, it would still be nice to have a home country she was actually proud of, one that could come out ahead in negotiations with Shu Han or Fjerda.
They needed a change, and she thought Aleksander could certainly deliver that.
As Aleksander's speech came to a close, out of the corner of her eye, Irina spotted a woman near the back of the crowd.
Dark hair threaded through with silver. A face only slightly lined by wrinkles. Eyes that had seen too much.
She leant on a silvery petrified wood cane … a cane that looked suspiciously like the one that had had featured prominently in some of Alina's stories about her early years at the Little Palace.
Not in Aleksander's stories, though. Never in his.
The woman looked straight at Irina, her eyes seeming to bore into her very soul. Only one gaze had ever made her feel so much like she was under a microscope and, if she was right about who the woman was, it might well be a family trait.
The woman gave a short nod, apparently satisfied with what she had seen.
Then, she turned to look at Aleksander, something grave in her expression. Then, for a moment, barely even a second, something approaching longing seemed to cross her face.
And then she was gone, vanished before Irina could even think to try and signal Aleksander or Alina.
Nobody had seen Baghra in three centuries, not even a rumour of her location or a hint as to whether she still lived.
She had been there, though, Irina was sure of it.
Aleksander and Alina were arm in arm on the stage now, waving and smiling at the crowd.
Irina didn't want to disturb them with ghosts from the past.
She would tell them later, after the celebrations had ended.
All around, she heard cheering, saw fireworks explode above her.
It felt like the dawn of a new age.
Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.
There is one more chapter in this story, a bonus chapter.
There will eventually be three other fics in this series, each containing one-shots from this universe - one will have stories from Alina and Aleksander's reign, the second stories from the one hundred and fifty years between them giving up their thrones and Aleksander becoming president, and the third stories from Aleksander's time as president.