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.
It's one of those emails she'd usually ignore.
After all, Enter To Win usually just means she'll end up with twice as much junk mail for the next few months.
But this one catches her attention. It is from The Little Palace Foundation and states that any donation received in the next week – big or small – will enter the donor into a prize draw to win a private tour (with all travel expenses paid) of Morozov Castle.
Alina has always loved history, and Morozov Castle is probably the most interesting historical site in all of Ravka. She's visited it half a dozen times over the years, but there are so many sections that you can't enter as a normal visitor and artefacts not always on display.
It's an offer too tempting to resist.
Alina lives on a shoe-string budget, works two jobs to afford a room in the crappy apartment she shares with three other girls also studying at Os Alta University.
Still, it is easy enough to make a donation of $10. She is aware that she isn't likely to win, but it's a small price to pay to have a chance.
Who knows, maybe she'll get lucky.
-x-x-x-
A week and a half later, Alina opens her email to find unexpected delight.
She's won. She's actually won.
It seems like it should be some kind of scam. Things like this don't happen to Alina, after all.
The number on the email matches the one on the castle's website, though, and the email comes from Genya Kostyk, a beautiful red-head whose details and picture can be found on the website, listing her as PA for Aleksandr Morozov, head of The Little Palace Foundation.
Genya is cheerful and efficient on the phone, easily finding a convenient date for Alina to visit – a Friday at the beginning of January, a few days before classes begin again.
She expects them to ask that she keep her train or bus ticket so they can reimburse her, but Genya instead explains they'll be sending a car for her.
"Much quicker," Genya tells her, "and we've got a wonderfully busy day planned so we want you to get here as early as possible. Now, do you have any dietary requirements?"
"Err … no."
"Lovely. The driver will have breakfast for you and Mr Morozov has invited you to have lunch with him."
"You don't need to go to so much trouble," Alina protests, "I can just bring a sandwich or something."
"Nonsense," Genya says, sounding horrified at the idea of Alina eating something so pedestrian for lunch, "this is a prize, Alina, and we want you to enjoy yourself."
She stutters out her thanks as the other woman cheerfully lists the day's amazing itinerary – including a full tour of the castle and grounds, a chance to meet the renowned historians Fedyor Kaminsky and Nina Zenik (who have collaborated on a number of books about Morozov Castle, its history and the infamous 16th century Duke known as the Black Heretic who had lived there), the opportunity to view some of the castle's artefacts and jewellery not usually seen by the public, lunch with Mr Morozov and a horseback ride through some of the forest next to the castle.
It's hard to believe this is actually happening. A real treat for Alina, who rarely has the disposable income to enjoy something like this.
It carries her through her exams, through a quiet and lonely Christmas, through the headache caused by too many noisy revelers making their way past her apartment on New Year's Eve.
A small thing, many people would tell her. However, it is an experience Alina will treasure and truly appreciate.
(she never expects how completely it will change her life).
On the day of her visit to the castle, the car arrives promptly at 7am, a sleek, expensive model with buttery-soft leather seats and a frankly extortionate number of breakfast options.
There is a small television for her use during the one-hour journey, as well as a Morozov Castle tote bag with a copy of Kaminsky and Zenik's new book that has a post-it note stuck to it – A gift for our prize winner – from Genya. Alina smiles and settles into her seat to read.
The view is spectacular as they drive over the wooden bridge that is the only official way to access the castle – forest all around and the castle itself, magnificent and beautiful.
Genya's red-hair is visible from a distance and Alina is almost shy as she gets out of the car. The other woman looks so effortlessly stylish, whereas Alina knows her own fashions are a little out of date, even if she had worn one of her favourite outfits in the hopes that she wouldn't entirely embarrass herself at lunch.
Genya is practically bouncing, giving Alina a beaming smile as she approaches, "oh, I'm so pleased to meet you in person, Alina. We've all been waiting so long for this."
Her phrasing is a little odd, but she seems sincere and kind, so Alina just nods along as Genya links arms with her and leads her towards the entryway.
It is a bright, sunny day and Alina is getting to enjoy a whole day at this wonderful castle. She's going to make the most of it.
-x-x-x-
Genya is her first tour guide.
The castle isn't open for regular visitors in January, so it is quiet and empty as Genya shows her around.
The red-head looks as if she's not much older than Alina, but she talks so knowledgeably that it seems as if she's been working here for decades, with an answer to every question Alina asks.
Then there is a meeting with Fedyor Kaminsky and Nina Zenik. The two of them beam at her when she shakes their hands and then exchange odd, knowing looks.
"Really quite strange," Fedyor murmurs.
"The likeness is uncanny," Nina agrees in a whisper.
Alina frowns, but both of them smile again and she thinks it must just be an inside joke between the two of them.
It takes a great deal of effort for Alina not to end up tongue-tied around the two historians. They are so affable and down-to-earth, very enthusiastic about their topic and full of rumours and stories about the Black Heretic that haven't made it into any of their books.
"Such a fascinating historical figure," Nina enthuses, "the way he is characterised as a villain by some and a vigilante or hero by others. And a near-perfect example of religious propaganda twisting the story around."
Alina nods. Everyone with a more than passing interest in the Black Heretic knows that the Apparat at the time he lived – an overly-zealous man more interested in punishing anyone who did not adhere exactly to the religious laws than in helping the poor and needy he was supposed to serve – had instigated an intense campaign against Duke Morozov until he was known across the world as the Black Heretic.
"He's my favourite historical figure," Alina admits.
It is a secret she rarely shares with anyone else. Many people think it's strange for someone to admire the Black Heretic – best known for the numerous massacres he had perpetrated (allegedly with the help of dark magic, although in modern society that particular element is well-disputed) – but he is such an interesting person and she has always felt drawn to him, eager to try and understand his motivations, as well as the good works he did, things that are swept under the rug by so many people who see him as a one-dimensional villain.
Fedyor and Nina share another significant look, one Alina does not understand, but those two have been collaborating for a decade now and it isn't surprising that they can communicate without words.
"You've certainly come to the right place then," Fedyor tells her, "now, do you want to see a few papers we discovered in the dungeons here? We think they were written by Duke Morozov himself."
Alina nods eagerly. This really is turning out to be a fantastic day.
-x-x-x-
Once Fedyor and Nina leave for another meeting – after giving her their cards and insisting she contact them with any other questions she has – Genya reappears to take Alina through a collection of the artefacts and jewellery.
They're shadowed by a stern, unsmiling man as they walk to the vault.
"Don't mind Ivan," the red-head tells her, "he just likes to keep an eye whenever anyone is in here."
Alina finds that it is easy enough to forget Ivan's presence when presented with so many treasures.
There are swords and knives and other weapons, pieces of armour bearing the Morozov coat of arms (which includes an eclipsed sun, a blazing sun, a magnificent Stag), some ornate goblets and gold plates, a painted wooden trunk and other items.
Genya gives a brief history of each item and even lets Alina (with Ivan hovering in the background) hold some of the weapons.
Next are the beautiful illuminated manuscripts, carefully stored in temperature-controlled cases.
Finally, there is a whole room filled with jewellery. The theme seems to be gold and black, with most of the pieces including diamonds or black gemstones like onyx and obsidian set in gold.
"Are all of these from the time of the Black Heretic?" she asks, not quite able to comprehend how much value there is in just this room.
Genya nods, "whatever people say about the Black Heretic, it is a well-documented fact that he adored his wife. He showered her with gifts during her lifetime and was inconsolable when she was killed by King Anastas' men when she was only twenty-three years old."
"Alina Morozova," Alina murmurs.
They share a name, a fact that she thinks makes her feel a sort of kinship with the long-dead Duchess and sorrow for the Duke who loved her so desperately.
"A good name," Genya says with a wink.
"They're all such exquisite pieces," Alina looks at them longingly, "you can see the thought that went into their design."
So many of the pieces, after all, feature entwined initials of A & A, or the symbols found on the Morozov coat of arms.
"Are those irises?" Alina asks, looking down at one necklace – simple compared to many of the others, but clearly very personal, with a pendant that has an eclipsed sun on one side and a blazing sun on the other, with a pattern of flowers around the border – in interest.
"Good eye," Genya compliments her, "blue irises are said to have been the Duchess' favourite flowers."
"Mine too," Alina smiles, "I've always loved them."
"Would you like to try it on?"
Alina's eyes widen, "oh, I couldn't, surely that isn't allowed. It must be worth a fortune."
Probably more than everything she's ever owned, likely more than a year's tuition would be if Alina didn't have a scholarship.
"It's fine. If we were doing anything Mr Morozov didn't approve of then Ivan would tell us immediately."
Ivan grunts in agreement and makes no move to take the necklace away.
"I suppose," Alina says, because it really is a lovely necklace and it would be an amazing thing to wear something that had belonged to Alina Morozova.
Genya picks the necklace up carefully. It feels cool against her skin as Genya fastens the clasp, turning Alina so she can look in the mirror.
"Oh," Alina gasps softly, "I look –"
"Beautiful," a new voice says, low and rich.
Alina spins around in shock and flushes red when she recognises the man in front of her.
Aleksandr Morozov. One of the world's richest men, and probably the most reclusive billionaire there is. Head of The Little Palace Foundation, CEO of Morozov Industries and descendant of the first Duke Aleksandr Morozov, better known as the Black Heretic. He's even more handsome in person than he is in the photos she's seen.
"Mr Morozov," she stutters, "I'm so sorry, I know I shouldn't have –"
He waves her words away, "no apologies necessary, Miss Starkova. You wear it very well."
"I … thank you, Mr Morozov. And, please, call me Alina"
"Alina, then. I thought I might take you to lunch via the portrait hall," he says as Genya carefully unfastens the necklace.
"I'd like that," she nods, suddenly shy.
He gallantly offers his arm and she takes it, trying not to feel nervous when Genya walks in the opposite direction with Ivan rather than joining them.
Mr Morozov – "Aleksandr, but you can call me Sasha" – is very charming, quickly putting her at ease.
He has a vast company and numerous other holdings, but he freely admits that Morozov Castle is his favourite.
"It's the one place I feel at home," he tells her, "it has been in my family for six centuries now."
"It's a truly wonderful place," Alina agrees, "so much rich history."
He is even more knowledgeable about the castle than Genya, tells her family tales about the castle and the line of Dukes who have lived there.
There is something magnetic about Sasha and she struggles to turn away from him. Something familiar too – when she looks at him, it feels like they have met before, even if she knows for sure that they haven't crossed paths previously.
It is only when they reach the portrait hall that Alina is able to tear her gaze away.
She wanders past a long line of Morozov Dukes, all of them remarkably similar.
"Your family must have strong genes," she says to Sasha, who could be the identical twin of any of the painted figures.
He laughs, "so I'm told. My mother – a snob of the highest order – would have said that good breeding wins out every time, but I imagine it is simply one of those quirks of genetics."
Alina's eyes widen in surprise and awe when she reaches the final two paintings.
"Is that …?"
"Duchess Alina," his voice is soft now, almost wistful, full of emotion, "yes, that's her."
The first painting is of the Black Heretic and his wife together, looking at each other with so much love and intimacy that it seems intrusive to look at it too long. The second is of Duchess Alina alone, in a magnificent black and gold dress, a bouquet of blue irises on the table next to her.
"She looks … she looks like me."
Not exactly, of course. Her skin is a little paler, her nose a slightly different shape, and she is certainly taller than Alina is. In all other ways, though, it is as if her doppelganger is staring back at her.
Sasha's eyes are intent on her, "I suppose she does. It's really quite remarkable."
"I didn't realise any portraits of her survived. Not even Fedyor and Nina's books include a copy of either of these."
"We keep them private," Sasha explains, "the general belief is that Duke Morozov destroyed all portraits of his wife in his grief after her death, but he would never have left himself without a record of her, even in his distressed state. Still, he hid these deep in the bowels of the castle and it is my belief that he did not wish them to be displayed publicly."
"But you're letting me see them."
"I do not think the Duke would mind," Sasha's mouth curves into a secret smile, "you seem to understand him in a way few others do, and I think you appreciate these paintings as almost no one else would."
He doesn't rush her, lets her linger to look at the paintings.
What must it be like, she wonders, to have a love like the one that was clearly between the Duke and his Duchess? Even in this frozen scene, it is clear to see how much they loved each other. Alina feels a twinge of jealousy for two people who died centuries ago and the amazing connection they clearly shared.
It is only when her stomach rumbles, five or ten minutes later, that Alina takes Sasha's arm and lets him lead her away from the portraits and on to lunch.
Still, the memory of those painted faces, so happy and content in each other's company, stays in her mind.
-x-x-x-
They are joined at lunch by Genya, Nina, Fedyor and Ivan (apparently married – clearly the sunshine/grump trope is alive and well).
It is a delicious meal and a noisy, entertaining hour full of lively conversation and laughter.
Something warms inside her at this chance for conversation with like-minded individuals, with people who think her opinion is worthwhile and do not simply ignore her or talk over her.
These people aren't your friends, Alina, she tries to remind herself, they're just fulfilling the terms of their competition. As soon as you leave today, they'll probably forget you completely.
They have no obligation to care about her, of course, but it hurts a little to remember that the day will end. Alina will go back to her tiny apartment and probably not have the chance to visit the castle again for a year or two.
She is determined to make the most of what she has right now, though. Who knows when she'll have a chance like this again.
After lunch, Sasha takes her down to the grounds so they can go riding through the forest.
She's nervous at first, having never gone near a horse before, but Sasha is reassuring, promising that the horse he's selected has a delightful temperament.
"I'll be right next to you," he promises, "and Fedyor and Ivan will come to – we're all experienced riders and we've been down these trails hundreds of times."
Reassured (and she tries very hard not to think about why she trusts this man she's only just met so much), she lets Sasha help her up onto the horse so they can set off.
He's right that her horse Sol is a dream to ride, a docile and calm animal who is clearly familiar with the trail. And the view is spectacular – the forest, a nearby lake, and the views of the castle from different parts of the trail.
Alina is disappointed when Sasha says they need to turn back because it's getting dark.
After all, this is the last thing on her itinerary. As soon as they get back then it's time for Alina to go.
However, once they've reached the stables, seen to the horses and returned to the castle, Alina sees no sign of the car that brought her here.
Genya hurries out to meet them, "I'm so sorry, Alina, there's a problem with the car and it's been delayed. It won't be able to get here for another three hours."
"That's alright –"
"It's worse than that, I'm afraid," the red-head wrings her hands, "there's a storm brewing and it's always dangerous crossing the bridge and taking the track back to the main road when there's bad weather. You'll have to stay overnight – of course, we have plenty of guest rooms and I can assure you that they're all comfortable. And you won't be alone, since we'll all need to stay as well because of the storm."
"A storm," Alina frowns, "but it's been such nice weather all day."
Unseasonably warm, in fact, with clear, sunny skies.
"I can sense these things," Genya tells her, "can't you hear the thunder now?"
As a matter of fact …
How strange that it really does seem to have gotten dark so quickly. And is that a spot of rain?
She looks up and sees rainclouds in the sky. She also spots a young woman (dark hair, wearing an odd dark blue robe) standing on one of the battlements with her hands raised in the air).
"Genya, who is –" she trails off as she looks again and the woman has vanished.
It must have been a trick of the light, she thinks to herself.
"Come in quickly, Alina," Sasha wraps an arm around her, thoroughly distracting her with his half-embrace and the scent of a forest in an icy winter that seems ever present when he is near.
She allows herself to be led inside as she marvels at the good luck of being able to stay in this place for a bit longer.
Dinner includes all the same faces as lunch, with the additions of David Kostyk (curator of the castle's artefacts, Genya's husband, absent-minded but clearly smitten with his wife) and Zoya Nazyalensky (sharp-tongued and sarcastic, but approving of Alina's extensive knowledge of the history of the castle).
They linger afterwards to talk, clearly a close group but making a sincere effort to include her even if some of their jokes or anecdotes go over her head.
Time flies, hours and hours, and suddenly Genya is showing her to one of their guest rooms, an elegant suite far nicer than anywhere Alina has ever stayed before.
There is nightwear too, a pretty lace nightgown and soft silver robe that fit like a glove even though Genya tells her they're borrowed from Zoya.
"Have a pleasant sleep," the red-head says, "and don't be alarmed if you hear odd sounds during the night – this is an old place, obviously, and there's always something creaking."
Tired from the long day, Alina can barely stay awake long enough to change, wash her face and clean her teeth before she crawls into bed and falls fast asleep.
Her dreams are strange things, clearly influenced by the day at the castle, almost like memories of another life where she is lady of this castle, where Sasha is her husband, where she wears heavy, embroidered dresses rather than jeans and hoodies.
She wakes with a start, her phone telling her it is about 2am, and sighs.
"You have got to get a grip," she mutters to herself, "this is real life, not a rom-com meet cute."
Alina tosses and turns for another hour before she accepts that she isn't getting back to sleep any time soon.
She remembers Genya mentioning a private library attached to the guest rooms and decides to go and find a book.
The walk down is quiet, her soft slippers making no sound as she tries to remember the directions Genya had given her.
She must make a wrong turn somewhere, because she ends up in a part of the castle she hasn't seen before. There are no signs of modernisation here, or that it is has been preserved for visitation by guests.
The only light comes from actual candles, flickering light that makes the shadows seem like they're moving on the walls.
Alina knows she should go back, retrace her steps, but she is drawn further on, like there is something waiting for her.
It is colder here, with no proper heating system, and a little scary too, in a way not even the dungeons (set up for visitors) had been.
About thirty seconds later, she hears two familiar voices.
"The likeness really is eerie," Ivan says.
"Quite," she hears Sasha respond, voice tight.
"I know it's hard, Sasha. Having her and not having her at the same time."
"She will remember, Genya believes, she just needs time."
"Yes, but you must accept it might not be exactly the same. She won't be exactly the same."
"She is my Alina already, even if she does not remember. The same smile, the same thirst for knowledge, the same sweetness."
Alina freezes. Are they … are they talking about her?
In her shock, she stumbles and knocks against a closed door she has been passing with a loud thump.
Footsteps echo off the stone walls and, before Alina can even consider fleeing, Sasha and Ivan appear in front of her.
"I … I couldn't sleep. I got lost looking for the library."
They are still a short distance from her. She could run all the way back to her room.
What good would it do, though? This is Sasha's castle, and she has no way of getting away considering the storm still raging outside.
A sudden flash of lightning illuminates the corridor and Alina can see that while Ivan is frowning, Sasha's expression is one of deep longing.
She doesn't understand, not at all.
All she knows is that this trip, this prize she won, cannot have been a coincidence.
They've gone above and beyond in a way she's sure they wouldn't even for a prize winner. And then there are the portraits, a row of Morozov Dukes who all look identical and a Duchess named Alina who appears to be her twin.
This is bizarre. It's absolutely insane.
Alina stands there, tense like a hunted animal, ready to run at a moment's notice.
"Leave us, Ivan," Sasha says
The man does as he is bid, although as he passes by, he reaches out to brush his fingers across the pulse point on Alina's neck. Her muscles relax and her heart rate slows – it is his fault, even though she has no idea how he has done it.
"I apologise for Ivan," Sasha murmurs when they are alone, "he only wished to help calm you."
"What were you talking about?" she asks, a little desperately, "what is happening here, Sasha?"
"I am sorry for the deception, Alina," he reaches out tentatively, offering his hand.
Even though all of this should make her distrust him and run for the hills, she moves automatically, taking his hand and letting him lead her into the room he and Ivan have come from.
There are more portraits here, all of them of the same like woman. The Duchess who looks so much like Alina.
"What do you know of the Black Heretic, Alina?"
"A great deal," she says, "I've read every book, apart from those awful ones written by Antoly Lantsov and Danil Zlatan."
Those two men don't deserve the title of historian. Their books were unresearched, biased trash not worth the paper they were written on.
"Would you like to know the truth?" Sasha asks.
She nods, sits down on the chair he points out and watches him pace back and forth for a few moments before he turns to face her.
"Aleksandr Morozov was born centuries before the Black Heretic was ever spoken of, and born with a gift that would likely have seen him killed for witchcraft or consorting with the devil."
Sasha lifts his hands and the shadows around them move. Alina watches in fascinated awe as the shadows dance around the room, finally coalescing into the shape of Morozov Castle.
"How ….?"
He shrugs, "I do not know. Even after all these centuries, we still can't be sure how it happens."
"Centuries …" it all starts to click into place, "Sasha … are you … is the Black Heretic …?"
He nods, watching her carefully for a reaction, "there has only ever been one Aleksandr Morozov, even though history would tell a different story."
"You … how old are you?"
"Nine hundred years old, give or take," he admits, "the others are younger."
"Others."
"Ivan and Fedyor, Genya and David, Nina, Zoya. We all have gifts and we all cease to age past a certain point, sustained by our powers, we think."
"You're the Black Heretic."
"I am."
"The Black Heretic."
"Yes, Alina."
Right. That's … it's …
Saints, she doesn't know what to say.
"Your wife," she blurts out, "I'm not … I can't …"
She doesn't want to be a second choice, a replacement, a pale imitation.
"She was murdered by Anastas, senselessly slaughtered in an attempt to bring me to heel when I rebelled against his cruel regime and his attempt to subjugate my people. I used my power against his army and henceforth they called me the Black Heretic."
"Is that why you invited me here? Because I look like your wife?"
He reaches out, a pale finger wiping away the tears that fall unbidden onto her cheeks, "it isn't like that Alina. There is something more going on here, a twist of fate. Paintings are subjective, the artist never getting it exactly right – believe me, there are some truly awful paintings of me hidden around her somewhere that Ivan finds too funny to let me burn – and you don't just look eerily similar, Alina, you are exactly the same. That isn't coincidence, it is meant to be."
He sighs, "I wasn't completely sure, that's why I arranged for you to visit, so I could check."
"Check what?" Alina asks warily.
He reaches out once more, wraps a hand around her wrist and closes his eyes.
Alina feels a power build inside her, familiar, as if it has been there her whole life and she has never noticed it before.
And then she is glowing, the room bathed in a warm light.
Sasha looks near to tears, beaming widely, "you see. I was a Shadow Summoner. Alina was a Sun Summoner."
"I … I don't understand."
"Reincarnation. That is David's working theory, at least, and the others agree it seems the most plausible."
"You feel it, don't you," he says, cupping her face, eyes full of wide desperation, "the connection, the link, the spark."
She nods because it is true. From the first moment they had met, he had seemed familiar and she had been drawn to him.
"I've been waiting a very long time for you, Alina. Such a long time."
Memories not her own flashes in front of her eyes. Kissing him goodbye as he went off to war, Anastas' men managing to breach their defences, Aleksandr arriving when she had lost too much blood, the furious grief in his face when she closed her eyes for the last time.
"I suppose I've been waiting for you too," she whispers, hands roaming over a body that is more and more familiar the longer she touches it."
When his lips slant over hers, she knows it for sure.
This man is hers and she is his.
It doesn't matter how crazy the situation is, what difficulties they might have to face in the future as he comes to know her better (because she is not the Alina who died, not exactly, and they will both have to come to terms with that).
What matters is that this feels exactly right and that a simple kiss from him makes her feel more than she has with anyone else in her life.
Shadow and light dance around them as they kiss and Alina smiles against Sasha's lips.
She has found the place she truly belongs.
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.