They made a dent in the number of journals, albeit with no real success in finding a solution, around the fifth month mark. Most of Iliya's experiments were about the creation of amplifiers - something that Alina knew of, because they were extinct on modern Grishas, what with animal conservation laws and all that. Aleksander had tutted at it, and Alina could guess why.
"It kept Grisha safe, to have more power, and now…" His voice was bitter, and Alina shrugged.
"I've told you. There's no war anymore. What reason do we have to make Grisha powerful?" She replied, and he gave her a scant look. "Sure, we still give high-necessity Grisha amplifiers, but your common Healer doesn't need one."
"And who determines what is a high-necessity Grisha? The people that kept us fearful for so long?" He rose from his chair, wings shaking, and Alina looked at him, the Black Heretic pacing the floor like a caged animal. "They keep us weak and pliable."
Alina crossed her arms and looked back at the diaries. He had been isolated from the world for so long that he forgot what change was.
"The world is not the same anymore, Black Heretic." Alina said, softly, and he stared at her. "Grisha have special schools and have a job guaranteed after they graduate. Everyone wants a Grisha to work for them. They're needed."
And she had given up all that to stay by Mal's side - but that wouldn't be her future, if she had been a Grisha. No, her future would have been in the Fold, laboring away or exploding.
"They made us into pets." He spat, and then straightened his back, taking a deep breath. "We used to be feared and revered in equal measure. All Saints are Grisha."
"And hunted, and experimented on." Alina completed, and he conceded with a grim expression on his face. "What Grisha have now is the best option."
He sat down again, looked at her. Alina stared back quietly. What did he see, she wondered? A half-Shu girl who didn't know what she was talking about? A ticking time bomb, another Sun Summoner he'd know and that would die to erase just a tiny part of the Fold?
"You're a Grisha too." He said, very still, and Alina laughed. "Like it or not, you're one of us, Alina."
She laughed again. Were she a Grisha, she wouldn't even be sitting in that old library, deep inside the Fold, alive and well.
"Not officially."
"And why not? If it is as you said, then a Sun Summoner still must be treated as well as any other Grisha." He paused, stared at her, and the dots connected in his head, his mask falling a centimeter before it settled again in careful neutrality. "Until you're sent to your death."
"I'm not dying for a country that hates half of me." Alina replied, easy, and he gave her a nod. She put her hand on the cover of one of the diaries, fingering the old leather gently. "I just… Didn't want to be away from my only friend. Although, hey, didn't that still land me here? The Saints are funny like that."
His clawed hand went atop hers, warm. Alina's eyes widened in surprise, and she looked at him.
His hand did not feel leathery and odd: it felt human. That was… Something. Something Alina would rather not name.
He looked just like a man who'd been lost and found civilization again. That was…
"I think dinner's burning." She said, tripping over her own feet as she fled, the warmth of his hand burning her skin.
As she mixed in dinner - stew, again, as usual, with volcra meat Alina did not think too hard about -, she wanted to hit her head in the iron pot. Dinner wasn't even made yet! She had shamefully chopped all the freshly picked vegetables and picked water from the river herself, taking the long route to avoid Aleksander. Dinner is burning… She was going to explode like a supernova, actually, if she kept it up.
There was a syndrome about captives and their guards falling in love - Elling Syndrome, maybe? -, but Alina was not a captive. Well, not much: she had the freedom to leave, but she also would have a lot to explain if they caught her. Saints, this was all so complicated. If only the answer could bonk her in the head and tell her to stop having feelings about the man who created the Fold in his grief (presumed).
A book fell on top of her head, and Alina yelped in pain. It was open in the middle, and Alina, abandoning the food for a moment, prayed to the same Saints that what had hit her head that it hadn't been damaged.
It was one of Iliya's diaries, she noticed as she approached it carefully, picking it up and reading the letters she was now familiar with deciphering. There was a scrawled circle in the middle of the page, with three triangles inside forming a pyramid. At the top triangle, Etherealki, its three categories in each point of the triangle. In the left-side triangle, Materialki, Durasts on the left, Alkemi nestled by the side of Healers at the right, and a question mark on the top, right next to where Tidemaker was inscribed. In the right-side triangle, Corporalki, Tailors on the rightside corner, and at the top, Heartrenders. In the side, where Iliya usually wrote his marginalia in new and exciting directions, a quick, scribbled mark about how, in theory, each Grisha type could be counteracted by someone of a different category - his example was an Alkemi's poison powers being denied by a Healer, or by a Tidemaker, and he also proposed a third type of Durast that had not yet been found. Alina did not know how that made sense, and she turned the page, finding more scribbles -
There was a complex diagram there, almost mathematical in its nature. She squinted to read it, and found it was information on a Shadow Summoner, of how their minds were easily corrupted by the temptation of merzost - how a (theoretical) Sun Summoner, thus, would be the only salvation. If a Sun Summoner (theory, not practice; there would be Sun Summoners in the world after the Fold was created, but this lent itself to the question of Grisha safety in the times before it) used their powers to melt merzost, the sun illuminating the darkness in a concentrated dose, then…
She closed the book with a loud snap. She'd study this later. Right now, sticking the book haphazardly on a shelf, Alina had more to worry about.
The book weighed heavily on her mind: Alina had sneaked it out of the kitchen and into her corner of the library, and had read it instead of sleeping.
If what Iliya Morozova proposed was true, then it made no sense the Sun Summoners that went out like supernovas did not blow it open and into sunlight; however, in their defense, they had never tackled the issue at its root.
Not only the book weighed in her mind: every touch of Aleksander seemed to burn her skin, leave a permanent mark only Alina could feel, heart hammering in place. Was this love? Was she really falling in love with the Black Heretic? Saints, she was a prime study case for Elling Syndrome.
"What are you looking at?" The Black Heretic asked, raising his head from the book he was reading. Alina, startled, felt a blush creep up on her cheeks. He looked at her, put a clawed hand to his black-stained cheek. "It's not like you're seeing me for the first time."
"I was curious about your… Wings?" Saints, that sounded like such a weak excuse. He directed his eyes to his wings, those leathery things full of holes, and shrugged. "Could you fly with them?"
"Before my lovely creations attacked me on my first flight, yes, I could." Alina cringed at the thought of it, and he shrugged again. "It's my fault, really. They're blind."
Alina stared at him for a long moment. She supposed that yeah, there was no reason to have eyes in the complete darkness of the Fold, and that the sound of a different pair of beating wings would scare the creatures so used to their own noises.
"And how did you even get those? You've explained to me about merzost, yes, but all you've said is that it corrupts the world. Not the person."
He offered her an amused smile, closed the book delicately, as if afraid the pages would tear upon a forceful impact.
"Is a person not part of the world? I will admit that I have not seen so much merzost corruption in anyone else ever documented, but then, I think I might be the only person who has used it and lived to tell the tale."
Alina stared at him.
When he'd explained about merzost, he'd glossed over the creation of the Fold - had mentioned it had been a moment of duress for him, and Alina, who'd known him for a grand total of less than twenty-four hours then, hadn't asked about Sankta Luda.
Should she? The question lingered in her tongue. To know about the Fold - maybe it would mean she wouldn't have to do what Iliya's diary said.
"Is it true, then?" She asked, before her brain could regret saying it. He made a curious noise. "About Sankta Luda. That her death put you in such grief you create the Fold to be her tomb."
He sat ramrod straight, wings stiff, and Alina knew she had fucked up beyond repair as he rose and left without a second word. Alina forced herself to stay rooted to one spot, watching as he disappeared through shelves.
Through several hours, Alina was alone in the Fold. She did not keep reading, and instead, took to pacing the hallways until she was tired. Alina tried to take a nap, but it was fruitless: all her dreams were of Aleksander, expanding the Fold in his grief, roaring in madness. She woke up from each and every dream gasping, heart hammering - and only after the third unsuccessful, restless nap, that Alina, with a groan, rose to her feet.
She looked for him through every little corner of the fort, from the deepest cave to the dustiest corner, and hesitated when she arrived at the door upstairs. Alina hadn't been upstairs since she'd arrived, and somehow, she feared going there - what if the Fold had been ended in her absence, and the sun greeted her? That'd be… Awful. People would figure out she was alive.
But then, he wouldn't be outside if that was the case. Alina took one step, then another, ascending.
After a small eternity, Alina arrived at the broken remnants of the fort, lighting up a little the place so she wouldn't fall, and noticing that, amongst the sand that had been tracked in by the wind, there were recent marks of walking, accompanied by two lines that could only be the marks of the tip of Aleksander's wings dragging in the sand. Huh, maybe she did not rely only on Mal during their tracking training and had, in fact, learned something.
Alina shook her head, and followed the marks in the sand, careful to not shine her light too brightly. She couldn't hear the volcras, and that was more chilling than their noises.
There were stairways up, and no more marks; Alina, hoping it wouldn't lead to an open space, once more ascended.
She arrived at the top of a tower, in open space like she'd feared, the darkness of the Fold swallowing the air out of her lungs. She could, with her weak light, make the shape of Aleksander, sitting on the edge of the tower, his back hunched as if in deep thought. Alina approached with low steps, and turned off the light as soon as she sat by his side, a little distance away so that she wouldn't be in his personal space.
Speaking in the dark felt like the hardest task possible, as if her words were tied to sunlight, but she still made her throat speak.
"I'm sorry. Sankta Luda must be a sore spot. I shouldn't have mentioned her." The only bad thing about darkness was not being able to see his reactions. Alina hoped he wasn't about to throw her from the fort's ancient tower.
Rain fell, gently, in the Fold, and Alina looked up: yes, she knew about rain, had seen the bowls of water on the floor being filled with gentle drips, but she didn't think clouds could pass through the Fold, for some reason. Then, the rain stopped as wind gently moved behind her, and Alina reached a hand, finding leather over her fingers.
Had he…?
"What is said about Luda?" He asked, voice soft, and Alina was thankful of not seeing him broken. What did grief look like in his ancient, monstrous face?
Alina told him: Luda, princess and Grisha, who'd abandoned the life of royalty. Luda, Grisha, who'd wanted a better place for her fellows. Luda, Healer, joining forces with the man who'd be the Black Heretic. Luda, undying love, who'd saved the Black Heretic from death in Fjerdan hands. Luda, dead: the Fold made to house her body, volcras the sentinels of her tomb.
He had laughed until he was hoarse when Alina was finished with the story, and looked at him, confused.
"That's how it is told? Saints, no. They're blaming the Fjerdans?" Another round of laughter, and she could almost guess at his shoulders shaking - his wings moved, at times letting the rain fall in her face, at times not. "Oh, Saints. Poor Luda did not deserve this. To be used as propaganda for a country that killed her…"
A chill ran through Alina's spine, and she turned on a small light, just enough to make out the features of Aleksander - the way his eyes were not looking at her, but instead, at a specific spot in the distance: she squinted at it, and could make out what looked like a tombstone. Was that...?
"What?"
"This country used to be no better than Fjerda when it came to Grisha. They wanted me, not Luda, because I was working on a Grisha revolution. Luda was a Healer, and as long as I had her, I was invincible. One day, they lured me out, but it was a trap, and they wounded Luda." The story felt stilted, full of holes, but Alina guessed it was a heavy subject for him. Alina did not press for more. "I brought her here, but she was the only Healer among our numbers. She died, but the soldiers did not desist, not as long as I was alive. So, in anger, and yes, in grief, I created the Fold, made humans into monsters with merzost. They were human, and now they're cattle for me."
And then Ravkans realized that Grisha, when kept unhappy, were dangerous; thus the bettering of their conditions, Alina realized.
She reached a hand to his face, touching him, and his head snapped to look at her. There were no tears in his eyes, but his face was wet with the gentle rain.
"Poor Sankta Luda." Alina said softly, and something in his posture shifted. "To be used by a country that hated what she was."
Alina would know the feeling, thinking, distantly, about Vasily's words when he saw her eyes. He hadn't been the only one to say it.
He kissed her then: his mouth crashed on hers with the ferocity of a man alone for too long, and Alina leaned into the kiss, hands on his long hair, his wings doing their best to protect them from the rain.
When they separated, they were soaked to the bone, and Alina couldn't help but laugh a little, hysterical. She had just kissed the creator of the Fold, and worse - she had liked it. She had enjoyed it, and that felt…
"Don't you want to go inside so we can get warmed up?" He asked, voice sultry, and Alina nodded. Yeah, she could stand to get out of these wet clothes.
Time passed slowly as his kisses to wake her up every day, but warm enough that it didn't seem boring. The book of Iliya's writing's still hung over Alina's head, but she didn't want this - whatever this was - to end. It was nice to be secluded away from the world, away from Ravka who hated her, away from people who thought she was dead.
On the other hand, though, if the Fold didn't end, more girls would be fed to the volcras. If Alina was managing to keep track of time correctly, then roughly ten months had passed. Sure, there was still a lot of time between the current time and the next bride, but…
Alina took a deep breath, one day, as they read Iliya's diaries, and she rose. He sent her a curious glance, but Alina waved off his concerns. She went to her long-abandoned corner of the library, picked up the diary, and returned promptly.
He looked at her, and Alina put it on the table, opening it on the earmarked page that explained the connection between Grisha powers. He read it curiously, at first, but then his face slowly froze in surprise, coldness descending over him like ice.
"This could end the Fold. No more darkness." She said, sitting down, putting a hand over his. He rose to his feet, leaned in her direction, and a cruel smile was splayed on his lips.
"And who says I want the fold to end, Alina?" He cooed, and it was her turn to freeze. "It has never been my aim to end it. Expansion has always been the goal. I was looking into his diaries so that I wouldn't end up more monster than man."
Alina rose to her feet, the chair clattering noisily on the ground as it fell, and the two stood still, time slow as molasses. He turned his dark eyes to the diary, a claw passing through the lines.
"But…" she started, and he looked at her. How many girls would keep dying because of him? She didn't want to count. Not right now.
"Join me, Alina. If this is right, then only our forces, combined, can expand the Fold and keep it permanently expanded. No more pesky Sun Summoners undoing my hard work." He offered her a hand; Alina batted it away, pretended to not notice the hurt expression that fell on his face for a second, before he recomposed himself. "Ah, well. I tried. Too bad, really. I loved you."
He sent a shadow towards her, and it captured her hands, locking them behind her back, another going for her ankles and, effectively, letting her captive as he went away in a sway of his black clothes.
"Aleksander!" she called, but he ignored her. Alina grit her teeth, sat down, and closed her eyes, focusing the sun in her hands. The sun, illuminating darkness: Alina made light into a knife, and slowly cut away the bindings of her hands, unsure if it would work.
Sweat poured from her skin, but it worked; her hands were freed, and Alina cheered for a second, echoing in the large empty library. She quickly set to do the same in her ankles, watching as the bindings were cut away dark thread by dark thread, until she was free to walk again.
Okay. Best case scenario, she arrived in time and avoided the new expansion of the Fold. Worst case scenario, she killed him.
Easy. Alina ran.
Aleksander was at the entrance of the fort. Alina wondered if that had been the place where the Fold originated, all those years ago.
"The Fold will grow, Alina." He said, sensing, rather than seeing, Alina. She stared at his maniac smile when he turned to look at her, shadows curling in his hands, the black veins pulsing around his eyes. "It is what has been keeping Grisha safe and needed for generations, and so it'll stay."
"You're insane. Grisha have been living good lives for centuries!" She scrambled to her feet, the sun in her veins knowing instinctively more than she did. "The hunts are over. Fjerdans haven't gone after Grisha for at least two centuries. Shu experimentation is illegal. Life is good, Aleksander."
She approached him with slow steps, sinking into the sand a little. The volcras screamed like the crowd at Alina's send off; it really showed how human they were. She did not think of her meals, then. Aleksander turned his back to her, clearly thinking she wasn't going to do anything - and why would she? He thought Alina loved him, which she did, but she was about to kill him if needed.
"That you know of. As if they'd -" He was interrupted by Alina tackling him, dropping them both to the floor. They struggled in the sand for a moment, as Alina tried to get the two face to face, and his hands tried to be released from her grip. Sand found its way inside her clothes, scratching at her skin, but that was the lesser problem as Alina finally managed to get a grip on his hands, pinning them above his head, straddling his hips.
Really nice position: Aleksander looked furious, black eyes shining with anger, his braid undone and messy, a halo of darkness and sand around his head, his wings fluttering uselessly.
The sun in a concentrated dose. She had that at her disposal, nestled inside the Fold all those years, his own defeat carefully cultivated without his knowing.
"You're not getting more girls killed, Black Heretic." She hissed, pulling the sun so many Sun Summoners like her had made over the years from the ground, and kissed him to distract him from seeing the light coming towards them, eyes closing automatically. She hoped he did, too.
It came through Alina, and she could see the light even through her closed eyelids, his shape vague, and Alina used her mouth to direct all that concentrated light inside him, hoping it'd clean him of the merzost. She didn't know if it'd work: at worst, he'd explode in light, shadow, and some gore.
The light felt warm, going from her to him, entering the soil after it coursed through both of them, and only when it was finished that she opened her eyes, just in time to see the shadows in him recede, his wings dissipating in shadows, his claws retracting and becoming nails. Alina stared at him for a long moment, staring at the man whose sclera became white and revealed his eyes to be true black.
Aleksander looked normal. Alina hadn't ever thought she'd say that. She leaned in: he seemed… Luminous.
"The sky…" He gasped, and in the reflection of his black eyes, Alina saw stars. She looked up, releasing him, and the sky greeted her, the moonlight bathing the two in its pale glow, stars shining as brightly and as foreign as they'd feel after months of not seeing them.
Shit.
"I think we need to go. Now." Alina said, and he climbed to his feet, fast. He seemed to be struggling with the lack of weight of his wings - a fixture he'd had for so long that now it seemed he missed them, even though they were functionally useless with all the holes -, and Alina grabbed his hand, pulling to the direction of what she hoped was west.
"Ketterdam should be receptive. They won't think too hard about two people running from Ravka." He murmured, quiet, and Alina nodded.
"Your information may be centuries outdated, but I guess Ketterdam doesn't change." Alina dryly replied, and he smiled - dazzling in moonlight.
The news report at the shitty inn they'd managed to get for the night (after Aleksander had shown his little wallet-stealing tricks on the port city they'd found themselves in, Alina had trusted him with getting money) was reporting, baffled, about the Fold's sudden disappearance, including the fort that was unaccounted for in all maps from before the Fold.
He looked different, with his hair short and slicked back, having cut it just a bit before they'd entered the ship to Ketterdam. Alina found him handsome with either long or short hair.
"Of course it's unaccounted for." He said, staring at the television from a distance, as if afraid of it. Not like there was much distance: the room was mostly occupied by its double bed and the television stand, the door to the bathroom almost hitting the foot of the bed when fully open. "It was Grisha territory. They all thought we were murderers without conscience."
Alina shot him a look, and he conceded the point. She fluffed up her pillow, laid down in bed, and he, from his corner a few palms away, stared at her.
"So, what do you plan on doing now, Black Heretic?" Alina asked, putting her hands behind her head. "I mean, life surely must be new and interesting, after all those years hiding away in the Fold."
He hummed in answer, and slowly sank to lie by her side, black eyes staring into her brown ones.
"I don't know, bride. I was considering traveling. The world must've changed so much since I've last seen it." His fingers found hers, interlacing gently. Alina let it happen. "Won't you come with me? Try some sweets we've never had before?"
Alina smiled. She couldn't think of anything better to do.