Disclaimer: I don't own the Grisha Trilogy and its characters – it belongs to Leigh Bardugo. Any recognisable dialogue does not belong to me.
Set in an AU where Alina was found by examiners when she was eight and grew up in the Little Palace.
Warnings for brief mild exhibitionism.
Mal Oretsev had a reputation in the First Army.
Handsome, charming and capable of making friends easily.
The best tracker his superiors have ever met.
And, more infamously, the one who found Morozov's Stag for the Sun Summoner.
He was seventeen, only a year into his time with the army but already well-known for his tracking skills.
When the orders came from the Black General for the First Army to send their best trackers after a mythical stag, Mal was the top of their list.
None of them wanted to lose such a good tracker for however long this mission would take, but everyone knew that the Black General could make life extremely unpleasant for anyone who dared ignore his orders, especially when they pertained to the Sun Summoner.
Thirty trackers went north in search of the stag.
Nine died there in Tsibeya, two victims of the freezing cold and the others shot down by Fjerdan soldiers.
Ten returned to their units after weeks of the trail going cold and no glimpses of their quarry.
Five went to Os Alta with perfectly ordinary stags, only to find themselves swiftly executed for their failed attempt at deception, victims of the furious Black General wielding a blade of shadow.
Six remained, but it was Mal who was successful, who coaxed the magnificent Morozov's Stag into a wooden cage carefully secured to a cart and brought it to Os Alta with a Grisha escort.
He hadn't caught so much as a glimpse of the famed Sun Summoner that day. Not that he was surprised, really, for it was well known even outside of Os Alta that the Black General kept a very close watch over the young woman, whose name and face were known to only a few select people.
Still, he had hoped to have longer in the Little Palace than the half an hour required for him to debrief with the Black General's right-hand man, the unsmiling Colonel Ivan Kaminsky.
He might generally find Grisha power freakish and unnatural, but he still remembered Alina's terrified face when the examiners took her away when she was just eight years old, still wished he could meet her again.
Mal never did find out what kind of Grisha she was, but he'd hoped to get the chance to see her, to let her know that he still cared about her and was doing his best to earn enough to buy the farm he'd talked about since they were tiny, traumatised children new to the orphanage.
Luck was not on his side, however, not with this.
And so he returned to his unit with a heavy sack of gold and the knowledge that poor Alina was still at the Little Palace, probably miserable and wishing, as he did, for the simpler days of their early childhood.
Two years later, the country found itself experiencing a brief period of turbulence following the sudden deaths of both the king and Prince Vasily.
There were whispers that the two deaths were anything but accidental, but very few dared to suggest such a thing out loud – those who voiced those sort of opinions tended to quickly end up missing or dead.
Papers proving an affair between the dowager queen and a Fjerdan shipping magnate meant Prince Nikolai was quickly removed from the succession and Tatiana Lantsov was forcibly removed to a convent to contemplate her many sins.
Out of all the resulting chaos, with a smoothness that Mal considered highly suspicious, the Shadow and Sun Summoners married and took the throne, now known throughout Ravka as the Black Tsar and Sol Koroleva.
When the new queen used her light to burn a wide pathway straight through from Kribirsk to Novokribirsk, she was promptly declared a saint, adored by the country despite the dark cruelty of her imposing husband, who was brutal and unforgiving in his dealings with enemies, traitors and dissidents.
Now that she was queen, the Sun Summoner's name finally became public knowledge, and Mal was absolutely horrified to discover that the mysterious woman was Alina.
Frail, kind little Alina, taken away to the Little Palace when she was so young and now married to a dark monster.
Of course, the Black Tsar must have wed Alina solely so that he could take the throne by her side. No one would have accepted his rule alone, but they could not deny a crown to the wedded husband of their beloved Sankta Alina.
A dozen or more increasingly implausible plans came to mind as Mal frantically tried to decide how he might save Alina from a lifetime bound to the Black Tsar.
In the end, though, he needed none of his schemes.
Because, barely three months after the wedding, he received an official summons ordering him to present himself at the royal manor just outside of Os Kervo.
It seemed the Black Tsar had need of a tracker once more.
The manor was one of the smaller properties belonging to the crown, but Mal found himself surprised by its splendor.
He had expected something more dilapidated, considering the royal family had not had much chance to make use of the property in the centuries since the Black Heretic had created the Fold and made crossing to the west side of Ravka so difficult.
Clearly, though, someone had done an excellent job of rebuilding and refreshing the manor, although Mal grimaced at the black silk banners that were hung throughout the interior, bearing the sun in eclipse and the full blazing sun as the symbols of the Shadow and Sun Summoners.
"Wait here," muttered the stone-faced guard who had escorted him through the manor, pointing to a spot just outside the double doors that led into the manor's great hall, "don't wander off. You won't like the results."
The implication that he would probably be shot if he moved more than a few steps away was not lost on Mal and he lost all desire to explore.
He stood there alone for almost fifteen minutes before he heard footsteps coming closer, two women about his own age turning the corner.
They were both almost unnaturally beautiful. The red-head, wearing a red kefta with navy blue embroidery, had the most flawless features he had ever seen, but Mal found himself preferring the dark-haired, haughty one wearing blue, feeling a jolt of attraction despite the fact that Grisha usually made him uncomfortable.
"… lost out on over two hours of sleep," the dark-haired woman muttered mutinously, "it's been three months and they never seem to stop."
The red-head giggled, "he's entirely besotted, Zoya … he always has been, really. You're welcome to bring your noise complaint up with him, but I don't fancy your chances – he's more likely to get worse simply to spite you."
The two of them went silent when they saw Mal. While the red-head swept straight past him and through the doors, the second woman gave him a thorough once-over before winking and then following her friend into the great hall.
The doors closed and Mal was left on his own once more.
Now, though, he could hear the faint sounds of talking and laughter in the great hall, although he couldn't hear what anyone was saying.
Another ten minutes passed and Mal's irritation rose. Did they plan on keeping him waiting all day?
Just as he was considering looking for someone to tell him what was going on, the doors opened and a pair of guards gestured for him to enter.
The room wasn't exactly packed but it was still fairly busy.
There were groups of Grisha dotted throughout the room, identifiable by their coloured keftas, together with a large contingent of guards in grey uniforms and a small number of First Army personnel and nobility.
"Stay in line and wait until you're called," one of the guards told him, offering no other explanation. Mal knew he was required to track something, but no one had yet designed to tell him what exactly he was supposed to be looking for.
He couldn't see much at the moment, being stuck behind a number of others and knowing it was too high of a risk to try and move out of place to look at the dais at the other end of the room.
Still, he could hear bits and pieces of what was happening.
There were petitions, answered in some cases by the Black Tsar, his voice low and measured but entirely devoid of emotion, and at other points by Alina, whose voice he recognised despite the ten years they had been apart.
Then there were a group of sailors being presented to the king and queen, although Mal did not know what exactly for. He didn't much care, however, because the movement of the line meant he could finally get a good glimpse of the dais.
He nearly cried out in anger, barely restraining himself in time.
There were not two thrones there, only one. It was an exquisite piece of work, made of ebony wood and obsidian but embellished with golden designs, the perfect fusion of shadow and light.
Mal hated it.
A pulsing, quivering kind of hated, one that made him shake with fury.
The bastard hadn't even given Alina her own throne. Instead, she was curled up on his lap, one of the king's hands carding through her hair while the other …
While the other was hidden somewhere underneath Alina's black and gold kefta.
Mal eyed his old friend. Her expression was slightly dazed, her eyes glassy.
Surely the Black Tsar wasn't …?
Not in the middle of the great hall, in front of about sixty people?
Except Mal was no stranger to intimate encounters. He knew that there was only a very small chance that what he was seeing was an entirely innocent occurrence.
What kind of sick monster was the Black Tsar, to debase Alina in such a way in public?
It was true that she wasn't protesting, even seemed to be enjoying it if the smile on her face and the soft breathy moans he could hear were any indication, but Mal was sure she was just too scared of the king to try and pull away.
They said the Black Tsar doled out the most fearful, terrible punishments for those who ended up in his dungeons, after all, and Mal was sure that such a man could think up any number of horrors to inflict on his innocent wife without leaving any obvious marks.
"Malyen Oretsev, the tracker," a voice announced.
He jerked to attention at the sound of his name, half stumbling forward when one of the guards materialised behind him and gave him a shove in the direction of the throne.
With a flash of hurt, Mal realised that Alina hadn't even reacted to his name. Instead, she was whispering something in the king's ear that was making the Shadow Summoner's eyes flash with satisfaction.
He managed a half-decent bow when the king finally looked at him, ignoring the Black Tsar's dismissive look in favour of trying to catch Alina's gaze.
And then, finally, their eyes met.
Mal had been waiting for this reunion for years, desperate for the moment when he and his childhood friend could finally meet again.
But there was no recognition in Alina's expression. She looked at him like he didn't mean a thing to her.
In his shock and sadness, Mal spoke before he could even wonder if it was a good idea, "Alina."
Everything went deathly quiet and the surrounding crowd stared, as if they couldn't fathom how a lowly tracker could have the temerity to address Sol Koroleva, their Sankta, by her first name.
He ignored them all, entirely focused on the woman in front of him, "Alina … it's me, Mal."
She looked at him properly then, but he knew immediately that she wasn't really seeing him. There was only the faintest glimmer of recognition there.
The Black Tsar stared at him with a cold fury that might have terrified Mal if he wasn't too busy trying to discern whether Alina really had forgotten him.
She had been so distraught when they took her away from Keramzin and he had always assumed she would welcome him with open arms when he finally found her again. It was true that the knowledge that she was Grisha had shaken him enough that he hadn't responded to the letters she had sent like clockwork each week for almost six months, but surely she had known it would take him some time to accept the situation.
It was the Black Tsar's fault, obviously. The man had clearly turned Alina against him.
"You don't have to stay here, Alina," Mal pleaded with her, "you can take down the Fold and then everything can be normal again. We can have that future we talked about when we were kids, a quiet life on a farm with no politics or war."
He didn't know what had possessed him to make such a plea in a room full of people who probably considered him equal to the dirt on his shoes, but he had to try. After all, he might never have another opportunity to see Alina again.
The king's eyes were like ice now, his mouth twisted into a nearly inhuman snarl.
A number of guards stepped forward, clearly ready to restrain him, but then Alina stood up and all eyes were on her.
"Everybody out," she commanded with an imperious wave of her hand, a gesture that Mal thought entirely at odds with the character of the young girl he remembered.
The Grisha and the guards obeyed at once, muttering quietly to themselves and staring at Mal as they exited.
Most of the First Army men and nobles lingered and looked to the Black Tsar, as if for permission, only to scurry away when shadows darkened the room and he gave them all a glare that made clear that there would be severe consequences for anyone who did not immediately follow his wife's command.
It didn't make sense to Mal. Surely, Alina was a prisoner in a gilded cage, subject to the whims of her tyrannical husband. And yet it seemed as if she gave orders with the same level of authority as the Black Tsar did.
As the room emptied, Alina sat back down, the king's arms wrapping around her as she leant into his embrace.
At first glance, it appeared that the Black Tsar had decided to ignore Mal's existence. He picked up some papers from a side table and began to read through them intently.
However, Mal didn't make the mistake of thinking that the king wasn't paying attention. One of his hands was entwined with Alina's and he paused periodically to press his lips to his wife's hair or cheek or neck.
Saints, Mal wished he could rip the shadow man away from Alina, but he imagined he'd be dead before he could even get within arm's length of her.
"I wrote you letters," Alina murmured, after two or three minutes of excruciating silence, her voice so quiet he had to strain to hear her, "for half a year I wrote faithfully, even got special permission to send the letters to you by courier so I could be sure they got there no matter how chaotic things were. And yet you never wrote back, not once."
"I only needed time to get used to it, Alina," he tried desperately to explain himself, "I was confused …"
"No! You were a coward," she spat out, light suddenly flaring outwards before she took a breath and it faded away, "I was scared. I was petrified. The upheaval, the scrutiny, the expectations all weighing down on me. I needed my best friend and all I got was silence."
"Alina, I'm sorry. I –"
"I don't care about your excuses, Mal. I realised eventually that I didn't need you. I made new friends, I learned to use my power. I thrived at the Little Palace."
"But you asked for me," Mal reminded her, "you requested me specifically. Surely that means something?"
"Well, you are the country's best tracker," Alina said, "thanks to that almost preternatural ability you've had for as long I've known you."
She paused there to share a look with her husband, something heavy with a significance Mal couldn't quite grasp but which he feared did not bode well for him.
"You just need something tracking?" he asked, disappointed that their reunion was borne simply from a practical need for his services.
Alina nodded, "we will depart tomorrow in search of the sea whip Rusalye."
Mal almost laughed out loud, "the sea whip is just a myth, a children's story."
"It's as real as the stag you found before," Alina responded, "and now you're going to find it for me."
The or you're going to die trying was unspoken but still implied.
It hit Mal suddenly, that he didn't recognise the woman in front of him.
Physically, he knew it was Alina, that she would still have the funny pattern of freckles shaped like a star on her right arm, as well as the faint scar on her knee from when she'd fallen out of a tree.
This coolly confident woman, though, who lounged in the lap of the Black Tsar himself as if it were nothing, who glowed faintly with a power he both feared and did not understand … he didn't know who she was.
Mal had lost her. That little girl with a gap-toothed grin who stood up for him against bullies and sneaked into the kitchens to find the biscuits he liked and looked at him like he was her whole world.
That girl was gone and in her place was a queen, untouchable and unreachable by him.
"Find the sea whip, Mal, and maybe then you can finally have that farm you've always wanted."
Alina waved her hand in dismissal then, turning towards her husband, who captured her lips in an all-consuming kiss that even Mal, experienced as he was, blushed to watch.
He practically fled the room, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of malevolent dark eyes watching him as he left.
Mal would join the king and queen on their voyage. He would find Rusalye, because he could find anything when he put his mind to it.
And, perhaps, if he was very, very lucky, he might live to reach twenty years old.
Five minutes later, inside the great hall, Alina writhed against her husband, the two of them taking advantage of the empty room for activities far more pleasurable than audiences and petitions.
"I'll have his bones," she smiled, before letting out a loud moan as she tilted her hips and found a better rhythm, "I need them."
"Of course, moya lyubov," Aleksander promised, "as soon as he's found the sea whip then the boy is yours. I daresay it will be the most useful the whelp has ever been in his life."
"I love you, Sasha," Alina murmured as she moved more frantically, chasing her pleasure and delighting in her husband's increasingly erratic thrusts, a sure sign that she was making him lose his usual composure, "I love you so much."
"And I you, moya solnyshko. Now and forever."
Malyen Oretsev was forgotten, a footnote in their history.
The Black Tsar and his Sol Koroleva were eternal.
Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.
