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.
Alina, being a child and very sheltered by her parents, has only a vague idea of who the Grisha are. She has never heard of the Black Tsar or his search for his soulmate. She is aware of soulmarks, but her parents are extremely reluctant to talk about hers.
Tether
Aleksander lounges on his throne, eyeing the trembling man in front of him with disgust.
"Arken Visser?"
"I … yes, moi tsar."
"But that isn't the name you are known by, is it, Mr Visser?" he asks softly, "no, I think the title we are all more familiar with is the Conductor."
"No," Visser shakes his head, "no … I … I would never … you have me mistaken –"
His pitiful protests are cut off as Aleksander flicks his fingers and shadows gag him.
"I do not make mistakes. You, on the other hand … you smuggle Grisha out of MY country … and you help those bearing soulmarks to escape the government mandate for them to present themselves in Os Alta for registration."
Another head shake, frantic this time.
"It was not a question," he says coolly, "I have ample evidence for your crimes, not to mention a Heartrender who can tell me when that traitorous heart of yours gives you away. All that is to be decided is how quickly, or slowly, you will die."
He sighs as the man starts to thrash around. They always struggle, even though they must realise how futile it is.
"Enough," he stands up from his throne.
The shadows come, his control of them as easy as breathing.
"Now, Mr Visser," he murmurs, "you are going to tell me everything about those you have taken across the Fold in the last six months. And then, if I am suitably convinced of your truthfulness, you might be embraced by the blissful darkness of death before the day is over. Otherwise … well, I'm sure you've heard the stories."
The screaming starts seconds later. They all fold quickly enough in the face of his shadows.
Anton comes back to their rented accommodation with a grim expression and it seeps much of the joy from the little room they are staying in, despite Alina's happy babbling.
"They caught the Conductor," he tells his wife, rubbing tiredly at his eyes, "the news was all over town. They say his body has been hung up just outside the palace gates in Os Alta as a warning. What the Black Tsar apparently did to him … it doesn't bear repeating, milaya."
Keyen sighs, "it was never an ideal plan, anyway. When someone is as well-known as the Conductor, and acting so much against the tsar's wishes … it was only a matter of time before he was caught. Better that it was before we'd ever approached him."
"It still leaves us with no way across the Fold," Anton reminds her, "and it's too dangerous for us to try and go around."
"We'll have to stay," his wife decides, "stay on this side of the Fold and let the furor die down, and then try and make our way to West Ravka. From there, we can get a boat from Os Kervo and decide where to go."
"Keyen," Anton protests, "it's too –"
"I know staying is dangerous, and it pains me to know we're keeping our daughter within reach of the Black Tsar. We don't have a choice, though. We just have to keep our heads down and pray we're lucky."
"What kind of life are we going to give her?" Anton runs a hand over his daughter's downy head, "never staying still, never putting down roots, always looking over our shoulders."
"Better than if he had her. We are doing the best thing we can for Alina, and we cannot ever let ourselves doubt it – the second we lose conviction is the moment we will slip up and risk being caught."
"It will be worth it in the end," Keyen adds, voice barely a whisper, pressing a kiss to her daughter's forehead, "it has to be."
Annika likes the young family who have rented the top floor of their home for a month.
They are quiet, but perfectly polite, and their daughter Alina – a smiling child of about four – is a delight.
It's true that they are extremely security-conscious and wary of the special patrols that sometimes come through the town, but that isn't particularly surprising – the oprichniki, the Black Tsar's personal security force, make everyone nervous, especially since people tend to disappear whenever they come to town.
And the Starkovs are unusually protective of their daughter too. She is never left alone without one or both of them by her side, and they insist on teaching her at the house rather than sending her to one of the local schools.
Her husband Leo, busy with his bakery, does not see all of this, but Annika watches and observes and comes to her own conclusions.
This family are running or hiding from something. And considering that oprichniki patrols, searches for those who bear soulmarks and Grisha testing all increased in intensity about four years ago, Annika can make an educated guess of why the Starkovs are so nervous.
Alina is Grisha or she bears a soulmark, perhaps both. And, for whatever reasons, her parents are terrified to let her go to Os Alta as mandated by law.
If she had any sense, Annika would march to the Town Hall and report to the tsar's representative exactly who is staying with her and what she believes about little Alina.
Annika, however, so often lets her heart rule rather than her head. Her parents – wealthy merchants – had refused to let her marry Leo, and although she knew she would have been far more comfortable with their own choice of suitor, she had chosen to leave a life of luxury behind for one much harder but filled with far greater love and happiness.
She does not know much about the goings on in Os Alta, or exactly what power Alina Starkova might possess, but Annika knows beyond a doubt that the little girl's parents love her dearly, that they only want their daughter to have a proper childhood with her family, not whatever might await her in Ravka's capital city under the control of the country's dangerous leader.
And so, Annika keeps quiet about her suspicions. And, when she hears news of an approaching contingent of oprichniki and Grisha, she mentions it casually to the Starkovs, noting how the two adults freeze.
"The Starkovs had to leave suddenly," she tells Leo when he returns that evening, "they had a letter from Mr Starkov's sister – some kind of family emergency in Balakirev. They did insist on paying for the rest of the month, even though they were departing early."
Leo, sweet and unsuspicious, only nods and says he'll miss little Alina and her eagerness to taste-test new recipes for him.
Annika prays the family remain safe. After all, they'll need every scrap of luck to avoid the clutches of the Black Tsar.
Aleksander feels it sometimes, a tugging on his heart, a foreign warmth, flashes of emotions that are not his own.
He knows it is his soulmate, somewhere in the world, still out of his reach.
And doesn't that burn, the fact that even now, almost five years since he felt their birth, his own soulmate has still not been discovered.
Countless soulmates have been connected by his efforts to catalogue all the soulmarks he can find, and yet none of them are his own.
He wonders who is hiding them from him, for a child could not conceal themself this well without assistance. Parents, most likely, fearful or protective or ignorant.
No matter, the child's powers will grow as they do, and their gift will become harder and harder to hide.
He only has to ensure he can get to them before any enemies, opportunists or fanatics do.
"Happy Sixth Birthday, Alina!" her parents chorus, handing her a piece of her favourite honey cake, "make a wish."
I wish I could meet my soulmate.
She feels terrible about the deepest desire of her heart, knowing how pained her parents would be to hear of it. She cannot help it, though, she is so very curious about the person whose mark matches her own.
Alina knows, however, that she should never talk of her mark. It upsets her parents, brings tears to her mother's eyes and makes her father go awfully somber.
"I promise we'll tell you everything when you're older, Alinochka," they always say, "but for now you must never speak of it to anyone."
There isn't really anyone for Alina to tell. They move so often, and her parents are reluctant to let her out of their home. It's a lonely existence, really, and although she loves her parents, she cannot deny that it would be nice to have a friend. Her heart aches for one, almost painfully at times.
"May I go outside and play, papa?" she asks.
Her parents exchange uneasy looks, "I'm not sure, Alinochka," her papa begins.
"Please," she begs, "I'll only be in the garden. I promise I won't go out of the gate."
Their latest home is a cosy little cottage on the edge of a forest, a mile or two from any neighbour. Her parents are sure to know with plenty of notice if anyone is coming.
"Alright then," her mama says, "just this once, as a birthday treat, for ten minutes."
Alina skips happily outside, beaming when she realises she sun is shining.
She never feels happier than when she can lie out on the grass with the sun on her face, but she rarely has the opportunity to indulge in such an occupation.
Lying there, with her eyes closed, she feels truly at peace.
And then there it is, an odd tugging, a yearning.
Alina opens her eyes and there is a man standing in front of her. Dressed all in black – a kefta, she thinks, although she's never seen any Grisha in person before – and looking down at her with something approaching awe.
She opens her mouth to scream – where did he come from, who is he, what does he want? – but he moves quickly, crouching down next to her, reaching out to clasp her hand in his own.
And then she senses it. A spark, something building inside her.
Alina looks down at her hand and finds she is glowing.
The man looks triumphant and pleased and hopeful all at once.
"Who –" she begins to ask, but then the front door opens, Alina panics and the man vanishes as quickly as he came.
"It's such a lovely day, Alinochka," her mama says, "I thought I'd sit with you."
Alina only nods, not trusting herself to talk, still staring at the spot where the mysterious man had stood.
Perhaps, she thinks, it had just been her own imagination getting the better of her.
-x-x-x-
Far away, in Os Alta, Aleksander blinks away the countryside scene and finds himself back at his desk.
He pulls a fresh sheet of paper towards him, picks out a pencil and begins to sketch a face.
His search has just become much easier.
Over the next year, Alina ponders a number of questions.
Who was the man? How did he appear and vanish without a trace? What had he done to make her glow? Why had it felt so peculiar to be near him?
Time and time again she feels that strange tugging on her soul, but the man does not appear.
She wishes she could ask her parents, but she knows instinctively that she cannot tell them, that they would not understand.
It is only when she finds herself once more lying on the grass – outside a different cottage in a different part of Ravka, her parents having become even more paranoid about something they won't talk to her about, refusing to let her talk to anyone that isn't them, finding more and more remote places for them to live – that he appears once more.
"Hello, solnyshko," he murmurs, sitting down next to her on the grass, gaze so intense it makes her fidget a little.
"Hello," she responds quietly, conscious of her parents inside the cottage, window open, listening out in case she cries or shouts.
"What's your name, little one?" he asks.
"My parents say I shouldn't talk to strangers."
"Oh, but we're not strangers," he reminds her, smoothing an errant piece of hair back with a smile, "we've met before, remember."
"That wasn't a proper meeting. And you haven't met mama and papa."
"I could come and meet them right now," he says, "and you could all come and stay with me. You just have to tell me where you are."
Alina shrugs. Truth be told, she doesn't exactly know where they are. Her family do not travel by recognisable routes and she hasn't been within two miles of a village, town or city in almost a year.
"Come on, solnyshko," he coaxes, "I just want you to be where you belong."
While it would be nice to see other people, Alina can't just ignore mama and papa's rules. It may be frustrating sometimes, the way they live, but her parents love her dearly and she adores them in return – they play games with her, read books, teach her to bake honey cakes and dumplings and other treats, take her to see the animals in the forests and so many other fun things.
"Why do you call me that?" she asks, "solnyshko?"
"Little sun," he says, "because you are the Sun Summoner."
Her nose wrinkles in confusion and shakes her head, "I don't –"
"I assure you, little one, you are indeed the Sun Summoner. And you have a soulmark too, don't you."
"No."
The answer is automatic, drilled into her after years of practice.
He frowns a little, before unfastening his kefta and lifting his shirt so she can see the mark on his stomach – one identical to her own.
She freezes.
"Are you sure you don't have a mark, solnyshko?"
Alina doesn't answer. Instead, she reaches out almost shyly to touch his mark.
As soon as her finger brushes his skin, she feels the same jolt of power as before.
Her wraps a hand around her wrist and the light comes again, more powerful than before, visible even in the bright sunshine.
"What is your name?" he asks again, more demanding this time.
"Alina."
It slips out almost accidentally, her mind a little fuzzy from the power thrumming through her.
"I don't understand," she whispers.
"You are the Sun Summoner, Alina," he repeats, "my balance, my equal."
She tilts her head in confusion, "yes, but what is a Sun Summoner?"
It isn't a term she's ever heard before. She is vaguely aware of the Grisha orders, but she doesn't remember anything about Grisha who glow.
His mouth twists into a frown as he lets go of her, "have they kept you so ignorant?" he muses.
He lifts his hands then and shadows spill outwards.
Her eyes widen, "is that magic?"
"No, solnyshko," he tells her, "this is the Small Science."
When he takes her hand again he is gentler, and the light he coaxes out of her seems to twist and dance with his own shadows.
"It's pretty," she grins, enthralled.
"Oh, it is much more than that, little one. You have a great and powerful gift, and it should be properly nurtured. Come now, Alina, tell me where you are."
"Can't you show me more shadows?" she asks, "I can get mama and papa so they can see them too."
"No!" his voice is harder now, expression a little scary, "you must not tell your parents, solnyshko."
Alina doesn't like that. Mama and papa have always made it clear there should not be secrets between them, that they can't keep her safe if she doesn't tell them about any strange things she might see.
"I'm sorry for startling you," he reaches out to pet her hair gently, clearly aware of her discomfort, "it is only that your parents do not quite understand your gift, Alina. They believe they are doing the right thing by keeping us apart, but soulmates should be together, don't you think?"
"I … I don't know. Mama and papa don't like to talk about my soulmark."
"People fear what they do not understand. I am sure they will change their minds if they speak with me."
Before Alina can decide what to do, she hears her mama calling for her to come in and wash before lunch.
"I have to go inside," she says.
"Alina," he looks panicked now, "just tell me where you are. Do not –"
It is too late, though. She is already pulling away, her nerves getting the better of her, choosing the comfort of familiarity over the unknown. The man vanishes from view.
-x-x-x-
Ivan knocks and enters the Black Tsar's study.
He finds the room in disarray. Glasses smashed; inkbottles overturned; paperwork ripped to shreds.
The shadows are oppressive, thick and almost seething with vicious, angry energy.
Ivan takes a step back and shuts the door firmly behind him. No need to disturb the tsar right now.
"Mama," Alina asks tentatively, "what does my soulmark mean?"
A plate slips from her Keyen's hand, lands on the floor and cracks into pieces.
"Mama, are you alright?" she asks uncertainly.
"It is only a mark, Alinochka," is the half-whispered answer, "it does not have to mean anything."
"But I thought –"
Most of what she has learned about soulmarks has been second-hand from books or overheard conversations. Still, most sources seem to agree that soulmates are better together.
"There is no need for you to worry about such things until you are grown up," mama insists, "you should have the chance for a normal childhood."
Alina knows, though, that their life is not normal. In the stories her parents read to her at night, the girls have friends and go to school and often live in cities or villages. Alina has not seen a person other than mama and papa since they left Annika and Leo's home about three years ago.
She wants to ask why they hide, why it is so important that Alina remains hidden, why her soulmark is a cause for concern when it should be a thing of joy.
Her mama is tense and upset, though, and the last thing Alina wants is to make things worse.
She stays silent.
Four years pass and Alina ignores it.
This bond or tether or connection, whatever it is.
She pushes it to the back of her mind and tries to forget about it.
Alina is just a girl who does not understand the light that comes when the mysterious man calls it. She does not know what it means to have a soulmate. She is nervous as she remembers the man's insistence that she reveal her location. She does not wish to leave her family.
Sometimes it hurts, denying the insistent tug on her soul.
Sometimes it hurts, refusing to go out into the sun even though she craves it.
Sometimes it hurts, having no one but her parents to speak to.
Alina bears it, though, because she is scared of the unknown and desperate not to lose her parents, the one constant in her life.
"She's too pale, Anton."
"Perhaps she only needs some sun."
"She won't go outside, though. I don't know why. You don't think it's –"
"She hasn't seen another soul but us in years, Keyen."
"Are we still doing the right thing? You know what they say about Grisha who don't use their power. Wasting sickness, they call it."
"She just … she just needs a bit of sun. It's almost spring, milaya, and we'll take her out into the garden more then."
"How," Aleksander seethes, "can it be so difficult to find one girl? We have a name and a face and yet all you've managed to bring me is scraps of fourth-hand gossip and no confirmed sightings."
He isn't usually prone to violence against his oprichniki, who are talented and loyal, but he's coming close right now.
"Get out," he hisses, "and find her."
He turns on his heel and stalks away in the direction of the dungeons.
Right now, he needs to work off some of his anger.
Everything is fuzzy. Alina's head aches terribly and she's shivering and she can't keep her food down.
She isn't conscious enough to really understand her parents' conversation, but she hears words every now and then.
"Fever … wasting sickness … doctor … risk … this is our daughter, Anton … try …"
She is lifted into her father's strong arms and carried downstairs. The door creaks open and then she feels the sun on her face for the first time in what feels like years.
Laid out on a blanket on the grass, warmer than she's been in what seems like such a long time, the tug on her heart strong and insistent.
Alina cannot focus, not really, and she doesn't have the strength to resist the call.
Her eyes are still closed when he arrives, but she can sense him anyway, can hear his surprised intake of breath.
His hand grips hers tightly and, even with her eyes closed, she can tell the area is lighting up.
Her parents murmur, words she cannot quite hear. All she can focus on is how close he is.
Soulmate.
It is the last thing she thinks before she slips into a healing sleep.
-x-x-x-
"You foolish girl."
He is the first person she sees when she wakes in her own bed, the darkness outside suggesting she has slept a good while.
While his words are angry, his expression is one of anguish and she notes he looks tired and drawn.
"Surely you know what happens to Grisha who do not summon?" he demands.
Alina does not look at him. She had heard such a thing once or twice, but she had not set out to make herself ill. She has only been wary of the connection, and of why her parents would go to such lengths to keep her hidden.
He kneels by her bed now, takes her hand in his.
"What do you imagine your death would have done to me, solnyshko?"
"I …" her voice is croaky with disuse, "I want to stay with my family."
"The Grisha are your family, Alina."
"My parents," she insists, "I love them, and they love me."
"Your parents cannot protect you," he hisses, "they are not Grisha or soldiers. All it takes is one slip and you could be on a Fjerdan pyre or in a lab in Shu Han, or with that damned Apparat forced to be a puppet saint. You belong with me, in the palace. You need only tell me how to find you."
"I … I can't," she says, quiet but determined.
He looks momentarily furious and her eyes widen fearfully.
Seeing her reaction, his expression softens, "your parents mean well, solnyshko, I'm sure. And if you are quite determined then of course I cannot force you to give me your location. I do hope, though, that you will allow me to visit you like this."
"What … what is this?"
He feels real when he touches her wrist, looks solid enough, and yet she senses from the speed of his appearances and disappearances that he is not truly there.
"It is a tether that binds us," he explains, "we are connected through the making at the heart of the world. It allows me to come to you when you call me."
"My parents –"
"You cannot tell them," he warns her, "they will not understand. And people fear what they do not understand, Alina."
"My parents would never harm me," she protests.
"Not deliberately," he concedes, "but they might seek to break the connection and hurt, or even kill, you in the process."
"You don't know my parents," she insists stubbornly.
"I know otkazat'sya," he tells her coolly, "they cannot be trusted."
She shakes her head, refusing to believe him.
He sighs, taking a seat on the bed, reaching out so his fingers encircle her wrist, nodding in satisfaction when the room is filled with a soft glow.
Alina cannot deny that she feels better already.
"A truce then," he proposes, "you will remain here, but you will allow me to visit and teach you how to use your power so that you can control it, and to keep you healthy."
It seems a reasonable enough offer. It isn't like Alina wants to be ill, after all. And he has said she can stay with her parents.
"Alright," she takes his hand and they shake on it, "but … what shall I call you."
"I have many names, solnyshko. You, though, can call me Sasha."
She nods. The bond between them hums in approval.
Alina Starkova is twelve years old. It has been a year since she agreed to allow her soulmate to visit through their tether – a connection that she has to admit she still considers baffling and mysterious – and give her lessons on the unique Grisha power that she possesses.
In her bedroom, as her parents work downstairs, Sasha teaches her to call the light deliberately, without having to rely on his amplification.
It isn't wrong, she tells herself, to learn about her power. It will only protect her family further if she can control it. And if she feels guilty about keeping it a secret, then Sasha just reminds her that her parents may not understand, that they might do something dangerous or reckless in a misguided attempt to protect her.
In between their lessons, Sasha tells her all about Os Alta and the palaces, about the Grisha orders and his trusted lieutenants.
It sounds wonderful, really, like a fairytale existence. It makes her yearn, sometimes, for the life she would have had if her parents had taken her to Os Alta.
Once, she would have desired nothing but her family. Now, as Sasha weaves tales of a place where she would never have to hide her light, where she could have everything her heart desires, where there is no need to spend every moment looking over her shoulder … it makes her realise that there could be more out there for her.
For now, though, despite Sasha's regular invitations for her to visit Os Alta, she remains content.
Mostly, at least.
Alina spends a lot of her time in her room.
Her parents note it with some concern, but she is older now, almost thirteen, and they know she deserves space and time to herself.
Her health, at least, appears robust once more, and she frolics in the sunshine again.
They still talk together by the fire in the evening, and Alina helps with the cooking and the baking, and Keyen is pleased when her daughter asks for sewing lessons.
Both of the Starkovs, however, cannot help but feel like there is something their daughter is keeping from them, a secret she refuses to tell.
"It might be –" Keyen starts.
"No," Anton shakes his head, "there is no way. The Black Tsar is powerful, but I cannot see how he could possibly communicate with Alina – she receives no letters, sees no one but us."
"There is something," Keyen insists, keeping her eyes fixed on the staircase and her voice low, conscious that Alina could appear at any moment, "when I was last in town, I heard people talking. The Tsar has been commissioning pieces of jewellery, ones fit for a Sun Summoner and a tsarina. They say he must have finally discovered his soulmate."
"Idle gossip," her husband says, although he doesn't sound completely sure, "surely it is only gifts for a lover."
"We need to cross the Fold," Keyen insists, "this is no kind of life for Alina, especially now that she's getting older. If we can get to the Wandering Isle or Novyi Zem then she'll have more freedom."
"But the danger –"
"I think we have to take the risk, Anton."
He sighs, "Very well, milaya, I'll start to make the arrangements."
It is a gamble, they know, but one that may now be necessary.
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.
