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.
Title comes from Tolkien's Lord of the Rings.
Warnings for burning people alive and mentions of executions.
Purge
Most of those who are suspicious of the Apparat's sudden 'retirement' know better than to question it out loud.
Those few who think to stand on street corners and spread rumours … they do not last long.
Not many have time for the vanished Apparat's teachings of hellfire and damnation anyway. Not when the Black Tsar and Sol Koroleva have announced they will be visiting Kribirsk next month to cut a path through the Fold and finally unite Ravka.
The Fold, the people are told, is one of their greatest weapons, something that can be used to devastating effect against their enemies. It would be remiss of them to destroy it completely. What they can do, though, is give Ravkans a safe route, one that will allow families to be reunited and soldiers to pass through safely and easy trade to resume.
It will also be the final destruction of whatever secession movement still exists in the west of Ravka (which is not much, really, for it had been dealt a serious blow with the destruction of Novokribirsk and Zlatan's death).
In the midst of all the gossip about what wonderful things a path through the Fold will bring, most of the population of Os Alta fail to notice the two high profile traitors who are brought into the palace grounds to be locked up with the other prisoners awaiting judgement in the dungeons.
Nikolai Lantsov and Zoya Nazyalenky do not come quietly, nor are they apprehended without casualties, but their forces are depleted and their friends captured and even their own significant gifts are no match for the well-trained group the Black Tsar sends after them.
"Three days," Aleksander tells Alina once he has received the news, his new wife curled up in his lap as they read dispatches together, "we'll see your friends in the Throne Room then, milaya."
She should feel bad, she thinks, should be terrified of what they will say about her when she sees them again.
Alina feels none of these things, though. Instead, she just breathes a sigh of relief that she will soon be able to draw a line under the past and move forward.
Ravka needs to be rebuilt and strengthened, to become the haven Aleksander has tried for centuries to make it. That is what matters now. She wishes her old friends would understand that – if they did then perhaps they would not need to die.
Alina will do what she must, however.
The inhabitants of the dungeon are hopeful to begin with.
After all, Nikolai, Zoya and Fedyor are still free. Possibly Alina too, although none of them had seen her during the attack – they worry she is another prisoner at the new Black Tsar's mercy, but they wonder if she may have managed to escape in the chaos.
Time passes, though, and no one comes to visit or interrogate them. They expect the Black Tsar to come sweeping in, demanding information or gloating over his triumphs, and yet they only see a steady rotation of guards who refuse to say a single word to them.
The Grisha among them cannot use their Small Science thanks to the sturdy manacles around their wrists, but they are not particularly ill-treated, receiving regular deliveries of food and water (although it is bland fare), and no one stops them from conversing with each other through the bars of their separate cells.
Hope begins to die when they bring Nikolai and Zoya down.
The two are in a bad state, battered and bruised, but still fighting to get free despite the manacles that prevent Zoya from summoning and the fact that Nikolai is in heavy chains.
They bring news with them and none of it is good.
Nikolai and Zoya, as it turns out, have not been subjected to stubbornly silent guards. They have learned a good deal while on the run, and overheard even more on their journey to Os Alta.
Ivan's survival. Fedyor's defection. And their new tsarina.
"She married him," Zoya hisses, "Alina actually married that monster."
Mal won't believe it. Nadia shakes her head. Genya wonders if she was forced into it. David frowns. Tolya and Tamar rub the matching sunburst tattoos on their arms.
"It's true," Nikolai confirms tiredly, "and apparently they put on quite the display at their wedding at the Cathedral."
"Infatuated," Zoya spits out, "that's what they say. That she fucks that monster all over the palace without any regard for who might come across them, that she supports him absolutely."
"No," Mal growls, "shut up … Alina … she couldn't … she wouldn't."
"Perhaps she's just playing along, trying to get him to let his guard down."
"Starkova doesn't have the skill for that kind of deception," Zoya scoffs, "if she were lying, he'd see through her in an instant and she'd be down here with us, or trapped and weeping in his bedchamber, not sauntering around as tsarina."
Mal and Zoya bicker back and forth until Genya shushes them, "surely this is what he wants," she reminds them, "all of us at each other's throats. None of us really know what's happened. Someone will come down to us soon enough and then we can judge for ourselves what the real situation is."
"Well, you better hope I'm wrong," is Zoya's sullen warning to them, "if she has betrayed us then it's over and we'll likely all be dead before the week is out."
She turns away from them all then, even Nikolai, and refuses to say another word.
It is not, they all think, a good omen.
Aleksander thinks it is almost maddening, this constant need, this fierce want.
Centuries have passed with his heart untouched, his emotions muted out of ennui and self-preservation.
(he remembers the pain he felt on Luda's death – even after he had somewhat exorcised his feelings with the creation of the Fold – and the hurt he had to push away lest it destroy him entirely).
There is a price to be paid for immortality. The show chipping away at a person's morals, the preference for looking at the bigger picture over individual stories, and the need to regulate emotions to survive.
And now there is Alina, making him feel things he thought long buried.
Wanting makes us weak.
It's true and false at the same time. Alina is his greatest ally, his balance and equal, the missing piece in his life. And yet she is also the weapon who could destroy him, the only one he has allowed close enough to see his weaknesses.
Perhaps it is a gamble, as so many things in life are.
Still, he is as sure about her as he can be about anything. What ties them together now – after all that has passed between them, the battles, the reluctant honesty, their tether connection – is something far deeper than anything ever seen before, born in the Making at the heart of the world.
At least he can say that Alina feels it too.
The hunger. The desire. The wish to be close.
He had thought she might be shy about it, but it seems that whatever revelation had led her to him had also led her to shed her inhibitions. After all, what do the morals and scruples of ordinary people matter to the two of them, they who will be eternal?
Their bond only strengthens over the days following their wedding and coronation. With every secret whispered, every confidence shared, every time they lie together skin to skin, every kiss, every touch, every entwining of his shadows and her light together.
Aleksander has waited centuries for his Sun Summoner, for his destined other half.
There might have been a few ups and downs along the way, Alina nearly falling out of his reach thanks to the machinations of his witch of mother and those damnable traitors.
But fate cannot be denied. He and Alina cannot be kept apart. They are inevitable.
And their reign will be glorious.
First, however, there is the matter of their prisoners to deal with, and Alina's final break with her old life so that they can properly begin their new one together.
They share a throne.
The old Lantsov thrones have been melted down and a new one designed in black and gold, big enough to fit the two of them, although Alina prefers to curl up in Aleksander's lap during many of their audiences.
Some of the more traditional nobles seem to take this as a suggestion that their tsar and tsarina are not equal. They direct their questions to Aleksander alone and look to him to confirm any statement Alina makes.
They did, at least. It only takes a few hours and a handful of blinded nobles for the message to spread and the deference shown to her to improve dramatically.
(they will learn even more, in time, these fickle and greedy nobles, but that is for another day).
Now they sit side by side on the throne, Alina holding Aleksander's hand tightly.
He seems smugly pleased by her desire to keep close. She knows her proximity to him and her obvious affection will enrage the prisoners they are seeing today, but she refuses to be embarrassed or shamed for her choice.
She is doing what she must and she will not let anyone say otherwise.
Their oprichniki bring the prisoners in, Grisha on hand in case one of them thinks to try and make an escape.
The Grisha prisoners have no keftas now and all their clothes are filthy after some weeks in the dungeons or, in Nikolai and Zoya's case, time on the run.
The manacles on their wrists keep them from using their Small Science and while wasting sickness has not yet set in, they all appear rather worse for the wear. It is especially obvious with Genya, whose nichevo'ya scars look raw and tender from lack of tending to.
Ivan is to Aleksander's right, a few steps from the throne, the one her new husband trusts above all others apart from her. He eyes his old comrades with only cold disdain, making it clear that he considers them traitors for choosing to support Nikolai over their own General.
While Ivan's feelings are clear, Alina knows Fedyor's are not quite so clear-cut, and she has ensured he need not be present for this particular event, wishing to spare him both the scorn of those he once called friends and the difficulty of witnessing their sentencing.
Instead, it is Alina who takes the brunt of the betrayed expressions and disgusted glares.
Aleksander and Ivan are established enemies, but she is the turncoat, the traitor, the deserter. Alina is the architect of their capture and the destruction of all their plans.
She watches them all as they are lined up – Mal, Genya, David, Nikolai, Zoya, Nadia, Tolya and Tamar – and she does not regret her actions. She is a little sorry, of course, but not enough that she would argue with Aleksander for their lives. The others captured – Harshaw, Adrik and the remaining Grisha who had been fighting for Nikolai – will be tried separately and rehabilitated if at all possible, but the ringleaders cannot be trusted and would, she thinks as she watches them sneer and scowl at her, stick a knife in her back as soon as the opportunity presented itself.
"Oretsev first, I think," Aleksander drawls, and two oprichniki drag her childhood friend forward, forcing him to kneel in front of the dais.
As Alina contemplates the boy in front of her, she thinks back to her to her stint in the First Army.
At the time, she would have said that Mal was the best thing she had. Now, she only remembers how weak and worthless he made her feel – teasing so common it felt normal, belittling her when he was around his friends, never responding to the letters she wrote faithfully twice a month.
And then, after she was found to be Grisha, it was even worse. She wasn't sickly or tired anymore, and she had a purpose, but all Mal seemed to want was for her to be that frail, helpless creature again.
How, she wonders, could she ever have thought she loved such a boy?
She knows better now, the connection she shares with Aleksander something that she could never hope to replicate with someone else.
They are inevitable, the two of them – sun and shadow, light and dark.
Together, they are unstoppable. And Alina doesn't think she could ever want anyone other than Aleksander for the rest of eternity.
Aleksander nods to Ivan, who reads out a long list of charges including, but not limited to, desertion, kidnapping of the Sun Summoner, sedition, treason and murder.
"And how do you plead, Oretsev?" her husband asks almost pleasantly, as if this is small-talk at some tedious event rather than a trial.
Mal remains stubbornly silent, venomous hatred in his eyes as he watches Aleksander.
It is Alina who passes the sentence, voice only a little tinged by regret, by sorrow for a boy she has outgrown, "Malyen Oretsev, you are hereby found guilty of all charges and sentenced to death."
He comes to life then, fighting against the oprichniki holding him in place, his struggles only stopping when Ivan twists his hands and slows his heart.
"Alina!" he shouts, even as he clutches his chest and wheezes, "this isn't you. We can fix it, make you better. Once he is dead then it will all be over. Things can be normal again and we can get that farm we always talked about."
It is the last sentence that truly angers her. The fact, that even after all this time, he still can't seem to understand that she loves her power, that the light is a part of her and it would surely slowly kill her to lose it.
And that damnable farm …
"I've never liked farms," she says coolly, reaching out for Aleksander's hand, reminding herself that right here, sitting next to her, is a man who understands her in ways Mal never will.
Anger, then, contorting Mal's face before a stream of vitriol leaves his mouth.
Whore. Traitor. Monster.
It all washes over her. Mal's words cannot hurt her anymore.
The light comes, as easy as breathing, and she shapes it quickly, lashing out with a whip that leaves an ugly welt on the face of the boy she had once loved.
He screams, but she is not moved. It is deserved and she has no pity for him, not anymore.
They drag him out, his cries echoing in the cavernous room. Most of the other prisoners look at her in stupefied horror, but she will not bend, won't allow herself to be swayed.
Nikolai is next, with a new list of crimes.
Aleksander takes the lead here, taking particular delight in referring to him only as sobachka – the name of Lantsov is stripped from him due to his lack of shared blood, and neither the Fjerdan royal house or his alleged father have made any claim on him.
Nikolai puts on a good show, prideful as always, but she can see in his eyes that he knows it will do him no good. There is a bit of a roguish twinkle left, nevertheless, as if he still believes he might save himself at the last minute by some dashing maneuver. It is clear from this that he does not know Aleksander well, otherwise he would realise his hope is entirely futile.
The judgement is given, another death sentence, and Nikolai is led away out of the same door they took Mal. He does not make the fuss Mal did, but she sees him look sadly at Zoya as he is taken out of the room, and the anguished expression on the Squaller's face is the most emotional Alina has ever seen her look.
Left now are the Grisha, and Aleksander stands to survey the group, some of them the brightest of their class.
Her husband sighs heavily as he looks at them all, "such a prodigious waste of talent. I confess that I find myself … disappointed."
Tolya and Tamar scoff in unison, the two of them the least in awe of Aleksander, if only because they have not spent any time with him. He has an almost mythical reputation, even outside of the Little Palace, but the twins, after their years with Nikolai, seem to have lost a great deal of the instinctive fear most people feel around Aleksander. Some might call it bravery … others would see it as foolishness.
Aleksander barely has to move his hands and the shadows surge forward, binding and gagging Tolya and Tamar, "I am so glad," he says, "that the two of you appear to find your sentencing amusing. You have little else, I'm afraid, to look forward to."
"Not even a show trial, then?" Genya asks, voice wobbly and uncertain, usual confidence gone, despite her attempts to appear collected and calm.
"I think you've all caused quite enough trouble," her husband tells them with an irritated glare, "and I do not wish to give you a platform for your dangerous, treasonous beliefs. It is unfortunate that none of you could see the light, so to speak," he pauses, mouth twisting into a nasty smile at his own little joke, "but you are certainly not irreplaceable and I think we shall be able to carry on without you quite well."
"And you, Alina," Genya's voice is soft, but less tremulous now, "are you so happy to see us all wiped out like flies swatted away without care?"
"I," Alina replies, "will do what is best for Ravka, to ensure that our people and our country survive and thrive."
"And you choose him?" Genya asks, "after what he's done to you, to your friends, to me?"
The red-head tilts her head up so her horrific scars are even more visible. Alina remembers the shock and guilt she had felt when she first saw Genya's face, when she realised what it had cost the Tailor to let her escape while they had hunted for the sea whip. At the time she had thought it proof that Aleksander was a monster.
But no … it had been Genya's choice to let her go, just as she had refused Alina's offer for her to come with them. And surely Genya knew that Aleksander could simply have killed her for such a betrayal – deserters were common enough in the First Army, at least among the poorer and lower ranks (the conditions being poor and the battlefield dangerous) and when they were caught, they were executed without even the benefit of a trial.
"No leader can expect to rule without some harsh measures," Alina argues, "we're at war, Genya, and sometimes we have to make difficult decisions or cause pain or accept sacrifices to ensure Ravka's future."
Genya shakes her head, "you are forgetting your humanity."
"And how many innocent servants would you have cut down, if necessary, to get your revenge on the old tsar, Genya? Don't you know that of course I wish it could be easy and simple and bloodless, but life doesn't work that way and we have to accept that."
"Did I ever know you, Alina?" Genya asks, sad and angry at the same time, "because looking at you now, I don't recognise you."
"I could say the same about you," Alina argues, eyes narrowed at the woman who has switched loyalties and agendas so often that Alina truly doesn't know what she really believes, "at least I know the friendship I offered was genuine – I'm not sure yours ever was."
The Tailor appears almost offended at the accusation, but Alina has no time for Genya, who seems to have decided Aleksander is an irredeemable monster looking to destroy Ravka based solely on the fact that he had scarred her for betraying him.
"I bet you've been fucking him this whole time," Zoya hisses as Genya turns away, "spreading your legs and whispering all our secrets in his ear."
Alina knows Zoya hates Aleksander, but now she can see – in the thread of envy in Zoya's tone, in the proud toss of her head as she tries a little too hard to show indifference – that a part of the Squaller loves him too.
It is something she noticed during her first months at the Little Palace. Everyone was a little bit afraid of their General, but all of them – young or old, male or female – gravitated towards him, yearned for his attention and approval. It's clear that Zoya still does, in some sense, and it is equally obvious that she loathes herself for it.
Clearly, the easiest option is for the Squaller to lash out at Alina.
And so Alina simply says nothing at all.
If she denies the accusations, Zoya won't believe her. If she spitefully pretends that she's always been on his side then Zoya will get to feel vindicated. Alina refuses to give the other girl satisfaction either way.
She idly wonders what the group in front of her, and Mal and Nikolai too, would think of the tether she and Aleksander share. Would they be horrified to know how regularly he had visited her, unseen by everyone else, and how often she had been tempted by him?
They would certainly think she had given away information, even if the truth is that she had told Aleksander little except what he could discern himself (admittedly, that could have been a great deal, knowing Aleksander).
Maybe, though, some of them would understand better if they knew. Fedyor has spoken of how sacred such a connection is considered to be, and Ivan seems a great deal more respectful of her standing at Aleksander's side because of it.
In the end, however, it does not matter what they think of her. They lost their right to offer her their opinions when she lost her faith and trust in them.
Aleksander stays silent, just watching.
Giving her the chance to deal with this herself, she thinks.
If you can handle this, his gaze seems to say, if you can maintain composure as you sentence your former friends to die – then, it will stand you in good stead to bear the decisions you will have to make in future.
Because Alina is not a fool. She knows it will not be easy, is well aware that she might have to do things that would once have made her weep and wail and hate herself.
This is a test, and she has determined that she will pass it.
"Answer me!" Zoya demands, cutting right through Alina's thoughts.
"You do not deserve my confidences, Zoya," Alina tells the older girl, settling back onto the throne, tucked up against Aleksander's side, "you've never liked or respected me. Why should I justify myself to you when I know you'll never listen?"
"I think we all deserve the chance to know why you're choosing a mass-murdering monster over us, over a chance for peace."
"Peace," Alina laughs at that, "Nikolai was never raised for the throne. He'd have been better suited sailing the seas for the rest of his life. He would have us compromise and offer concessions and weaken ourselves for the idea of a peace that will never really be achieved. He would keep the status quo of nobles enriching themselves off the rest of the country, of pandering to men who never see real combat and yet see fit to send thousands of men and woman off to die."
"We," she continues, gesturing to herself and her husband, "are the best chance of peace that Ravka has."
Zoya opens her mouth, but Alina shakes her head, "enough!"
Her light flares outwards, fierce and bright, throwing the prisoners off guard.
"There is nothing more to be said," she tells them all with a sense of finality, "we are at an impasse. You will not allow yourselves to be rehabilitated and we will not ever be able to trust you. There is only one way forward. I am sorry for it, even if you don't believe that, but my feelings will not stop me from doing what I must."
"You will all die at sunset," she tells them.
And then, quieter, almost gently, "it will be quick, I promise."
This is all the comfort she can offer them, the only thing she will do out of respect for their former friendships.
They talk and shout and spit venomous words at her all at once, struggling with the oprichniki who take them back to the dungeons to await their fate.
Alina doesn't look, focuses on Aleksander instead.
She isn't heartless, after all, no matter what Zoya and the others might say. It does hurt to have to send them all to their deaths, even if she cannot trust any of them.
"We are doing the right thing," she murmurs when they are the only two left in the throne room.
She means it as a statement, but it comes out more as a question.
"I promise, milaya," he tells her, folding her into his embrace, "this is what must be done."
-x-x-x-
The prisoners are executed at dawn, swiftly and cleanly by Aleksander's Cut.
Alina watches from one of the balconies, hidden from view.
She does not shed any tears.
"Did you hear about Popov and Volkov?" one nervous man asks in a whisper as they walk towards the palace for a meeting.
"I've steered clear since the fools started insulting the tsarina while they were in their cups," the other says.
"Dead. Both of them. Food poisoning, allegedly."
"Allegedly?"
"Convenient timing, don't you think?"
"I make it a policy of mine to never think such things. If the tsar and tsarina tell me those two idiots died of food poisoning then that is what I believe. You should too, I think, for I wager you'll live longer."
"More, Sasha," she whines breathlessly.
"My insatiable little tsarina," he grins sharply, "you do beg so prettily."
He slows down, though, the roll of his hips enough to keep her on edge but not to let her fall over into blissful pleasure.
"Sasha," she pouts, resting her hands on his shoulders, trying to get leverage so she can find her own pleasure if he isn't going to play nicely.
"Ahh, no cheating, milaya," he grips her hips, stilling her, "you need to learn patience, Alina."
"But I –"
"Patience," he repeats, leaning down to kiss her almost tenderly, "we have all the time in the world, my Alina."
"Got yourself a protégé, Ivan?" Alina asks with a raised eyebrow.
"Hi Alina – sorry, moya tsarina," Nina beams from Ivan's side.
The younger girl is full of energy, a stray smear of syrup on the corner of her mouth telling Alina that Nina has snuck into the kitchens for waffles again.
Ivan only sighs at the girl next to him, but Alina can sense an exasperated kind of fondness in his expression, "Nina is approaching the age for specialised training, if she can keep herself focused on her lessons rather than waffles."
Nina's only answer is a cheeky grin.
Ivan just shakes his head and turns to "the tsar wishes to see you about plans for your visit to the Shadow Fold, moya tsarina."
"Thank you, Ivan. And you and Fedyor must come and see us later – we need to talk about the issue we discussed last week."
"Of course, moya tsarina," the Heartrender nods and steers Nina away, ignoring the girl's non-stop questioning about what the issue was and could she help and when would they be able to get lunch because her waffles had been a whole hour ago.
Alina laughs and goes to find Aleksander in his study.
"Ivan said you wanted to discuss the Fold," she says, coming to look over the maps he is examining.
"Yes," he says, gesturing towards the map, "I've marked out the corridor we've made, and suggestions for others we might consider in the future."
He has far more experience than she does in these matters, but she is glad he is including her, especially when she is able to point at one of the suggestions near the border with Shu Han and tell him it would need to be amended slightly as the terrain there, while clear of settlements, is boggy and unsuitable for a travel corridor.
Her time with the First Army has not given her much, but at least her cartography training has been useful for something.
Aleksander mutters about the incompetence of whoever created this particular map, and thanks her for pointing it out.
"We'll go in a few weeks," he tells her, "once we've dealt with the nobles."
"I told Ivan to bring Fedyor and visit us later so we can finalise our plans."
"He will be glad," Aleksander dark eyes flash with satisfaction, "he's complained about them for years."
This is easier, Alina thinks, than dealing with her old friends. There had been a great deal of sentiment involved then, whereas the nobility are a group she has very little time and patience for – so many of them enriched themselves at the expense of others, and a great deal have profited by enslaving Grisha or handing them over to Shu Han or Fjerda. The reckoning that will soon follow is a privilege and a pleasure to be part of.
-x-x-x-
"The titles will be dissolved and their assets seized for Ravka's use," Aleksander confirms later, once Ivan and Fedyor have joined them.
"But their families will be permitted to maintain something," Alina adds, "enough at least for a roof over their heads and something to support them while they find their feet."
Aleksander would likely have had the families of the traitors thrown out onto the street, but Alina knows they are not necessarily responsible for their husband or father or son's actions. She and Fedyor have carefully considered the families and what is known about them to ensure none are thrown immediately into poverty, although most will find themselves in very different circumstances to the lavish ones they have known.
"You're going to lose over three-quarters of the old tsar's council," Fedyor notes.
"Good riddance," Ivan mutters.
"Quite," Aleksander agrees, "I have made a list of replacements."
"With –" Alina begins to ask.
"Yes, Alina, with both Grisha and otkazat'sya. There are some competent First Army Generals, although they are a rare breed."
Ivan snorts as if he disagrees, but Alina knows Ivan holds the otkazat'sya military command in low esteem, blaming them for the countless family members he has lost over the years in the tsar's poorly-planned wars.
"How do we know all the nobles will attend?" Fedyor asks, "of course they agreed when they received the invitation, but surely they might suspect a trap."
"Especially after Popov and Volkov died in agony," Alina adds.
Not that she mourns those two men, who had been the worst sort of lords – misusing their power, taking advantage of the people under their care, misappropriating funds, trading Grisha with their enemies for wealth and running the battalions under their command with almost farcical incompetence.
"They will come," Aleksander says with certainty, "they worry what will happen if they attend, but they fear me – and Alina, to an extent – far too much to ignore a direct order. Besides, they think there is safety in numbers, and they cannot comprehend the idea that we would be so radical as to re-shape the nobility so soon after our coronation. They hold themselves in far too high esteem, genuinely believing that we need them to hold power."
The majority of the nobility, Alina thinks, are lazy, grasping fools. And that is all the better considering the plans she and Aleksander have.
The courtyard is crowded, the collective nobility shifting nervously as they eye the guards at every entrance and stationed on every balcony around them.
They crowd loses some of its tension as nobles are called forward by name to swear their allegiances to their new tsar and tsarina. After all, each man is allowed to leave the courtyard once they have knelt and so sworn.
And then there is a pause. Around eighty men remain, their names marked due to their actions or their whispered plots. These are the men that certainly cannot be trusted, that might bow and scrape and praise their new rulers, but who seek to maintain the status quo or destabilise the work Alina and Aleksander are doing.
Unease ripples through the men now at the delay.
Why are their names not being called? Why are there suddenly even more guards at every entrance? Why has Tsarina Alina risen from her seat?
"You have been called here today," she says, "to witness the vows of loyalty given by your esteemed colleagues and peers. This option, I am afraid, will not be offered to any of you."
Whispers break out, frantic and angry and fearful.
"You are traitors to Ravka," Alina's voice carries clearly across the courtyard, even with the rumblings of the men who look around desperately for an exit, "you have been found guilty and sentenced to die this very day."
Chaos erupts. The men shout and run for the doors.
It is too late, though. The guards have gone through the doors and barred them from the other side. The only people left are Alina, Aleksander and the sentenced nobles.
The courtyard has effectively become a kill zone.
Aleksander watches as Alina steps forward, lifts her hands and calls the light.
They could have done this together, both using the Cut, but her husband had thought it a good time for her to learn something new.
She has never shone this brightly, never allowed the light to burn so hot.
It is a move similar to that she had used against the Apparat, but on a much bigger scale. Aleksander remains protected by his shadows, and Alina cannot be harmed by her own power.
As for the condemned men … all they can do is scream.
She doesn't let it linger the way she had with the Apparat. Perhaps these men deserve it, but she knows it might unnerve the rest of the palace occupants to hear such prolonged screaming, and she certainly doesn't want to upset the younger Grisha students in the Little Palace.
Four minutes, that is all it takes to reduce some eighty men to chunks of reddened flesh and charred bone and ashes.
She has to admit that the smell of burning flesh in the air really is awful. Nauseatingly sweet, putrid, so thick she can taste it.
(one thing she can say about Aleksander's shadows is at least there is only blood, not this awful stench that will linger for hours afterwards).
Still, Alina feels no horror, just satisfaction at work well done, at the removal of men who have no place in their new Ravka.
"They deserved it, milaya," Aleksander murmurs as he comes to stand next to her, lips brushing the shell of her ear, hands on her waist.
But Alina doesn't need his reassurances. She isn't sorry at all.
Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.
You can find me on Twitter under the username Keira_63. At the moment I pretty much just post mini prompt fics.