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.

For Darklina Week 2022 Day 4: Alina's Corruption Arc

AU after book 2 but using elements of book 3, but Ivan and Fedyor are alive.

Choice

Merzost always has a price. Sometimes a country needs a firm hand to guide it. Power corrupts. Time chips away at your morals. These are lessons Alina learns.

It starts after Alina tries to collapse a building on top of Aleksander.

She doesn't really think about the fact that she is using merzost, only wants to end it all, playing the martyr and deciding it is worth it if she dies as long as she takes him with her.

Naïve of her, really. Stupidly selfless. Foolish in the extreme.

He is the Black Heretic, the infamous Darkling. He has survived centuries and he isn't likely to be killed easily.

And merzost is unwieldy in the extreme. It rarely produces the results that are desired or expected – the Fold, Aleksander's experimentation and desperation gone wrong, is ample proof of that.

At first, she thinks the price is minor, her hair bleached a bright white that she instinctively knows no Tailor will ever be able to change.

All those months in the White Cathedral, though, teach her something.

There is a hunger inside her, an ever-present, gnawing hunger that she fears will never be satisfied.

Maybe it has always been there, deep down. She can't be sure, but what she knows is that her use of merzost has brought it to the forefront, made it impossible for her to ignore.

Alina wants. A full belly, her freedom, power, safety, a better world … Aleksander.

She tries to be good, tries to be the saint they all call her, tries to act like the girl Mal once knew.

But there is no pretending now. Alina is not prey, not anymore.

She presses her hand to the chest of one of the Apparat's priestguards, marking him as her own with burned flesh as her symbol.

Yes!, her mind crows triumphantly, even as she stutters and ducks her head and pretends to her friends that she feels shame for what she has been forced to do.

For a brief time – after she escapes the Apparat and finds herself in the fresh air once more, finally able to summon, no longer the ghost girl cut off from her power – Alina thinks that maybe she can live with the hunger, push it down, bury it deep inside her.

She thinks maybe Nikolai can be the tsar that Ravka deserves, maybe he can bring their country into the dawn of a new age.

And then the shine wears off, reality sets in, and she is forced to confront the clear truth.

Nikolai doesn't want change, not really. He isn't a lecher like his father, and his ideas for technological advances are interesting, but he won't make it a priority to rescue the Grisha trapped in Shu Han laboratories or Fjerda's Ice Court, he does not see that the nobility is a drain on the country that needs to be purged (or have their power seriously curtailed), he cannot seem to fathom the serious mess the country is in, he wants Alina to play the docile saint and nod along with everything he says, and he asks her to wear his ring to prove her loyalty (even as he makes eyes at Zoya).

She's starting to realise that Aleksander is right, that control of the Fold – the ability to push it further or cut a significant trade path through it – might be what keeps Ravka safe and allows the country to rebuild after centuries of war and mismanagement.

That is the mantra that echoes through her head so often these days.

Aleksander is right. Aleksander is right. Aleksander is right.

And Alina is tired of being a puppet.

As for Mal, the less said about him the better.

He makes eyes at Zoya too, tumbles the Squaller and then has the gall to complain when Alina flinches away from his touch.

He isn't the boy she grew up with. Perhaps he never was … maybe her Mal was only ever a figment of her imagination, a construct made up by a desperately lonely girl searching for a connection.

Yes, Alina is tired and angry and missing some vital piece that she thinks can only be found in the shadows.

With Aleksander.

Perhaps it is time she learns to accept who she really is.

In the end, it's the mob that does it.

A group of desperate, starving, pious worshippers who come to see her.

Nikolai thinks it is wonderful, a sign of support for her that reflects onto him. He stands there and promises the people a stable country and the overthrow of the infamous Shadow Summoner.

And yet, he has her wearing heavy gold jewellery, and a diamond-encrusted kokoshnik to greet the crowd. And no one looks at her and suggests that perhaps, just maybe, they could sell a fraction of the Lantsov treasury and feed the people with more than just the glittering image of a flawed girl playing at being a saint.

They scream and cry and shout when they see her.

Ask for blessings, for favours, for deliverance.

And Alina cannot give them that. She has no power here, not really, not with Nikolai and her so-called friends pulling at her strings.

Aleksander is the one with the power, the one genuinely trying to end the wars and increase food production and bring some sort of order to the chaotic country.

She shines. She holds a miniature sun in her hands. She tries to smile.

(it's not enough, it's never enough).

More weeping and bellowing voices. She can see the guards trying and failing to keep the crowd under control.

That is what Nikolai seems unable to understand. He does not see that desperation is dangerous and powerful.

They surge forward as one, these pilgrims, fall onto her.

It isn't even that they mean her harm. It is only that they think their prayers might be answered if only they can touch her skin or hair or kefta, if they can just have a piece of her to take away with them.

The guards are helpless, useless, defunct.

Alina has to save herself.

And so she glows, shines brightly enough that the people fall back, half or fully blinded, burns on their skin, and yet still chanting her name.

"Sankta Alina. Sankta Alina. Sankta Alina."

She makes it back to the safety of her rooms, only to find herself confronted by Mal, Nikolai, Zoya and Genya.

They scold her for 'attacking' the pilgrims, as if she wasn't defending herself, like there was any other way she could have extricated herself from the mob without being torn apart.

Genya fusses over her hair and the kokoshnik that is slightly askew, as if Alina gives a damn about that when she's narrowly escaped death.

At least they acquiesce when she throws them unceremoniously out, telling them she needs rest.

One of Zoya's hands is entwined with Nikolai's. The other is brushing against Mal's arm. Alina has a sudden urge to hear the other girl scream.

"Well, I hope you'll be less of a nightmare in the morning," the Squaller mutters as she leaves.

But Alina doesn't plan to be there in the morning.

Nobody notices her go.

It's funny, really, how little anyone actually sees her when they aren't trying to parade her before the people or use her as a bargaining chip.

Only Aleksander never stopped looking. Only he watched her like he could never get enough.

She's just outside of the town, half-hidden in a small forest, when she tugs on the tether.

An invitation, of sorts.

He wastes no time in coming, and his eyes burn with emotion – desire and happiness and frustration and anger all mixed up together.

She hasn't seen him, in person or via the tether, since she tried to kill them both in the Chapel.

"Alina."

He says her name like a prayer and a curse all in one, as if she is both his salvation and his damnation.

"Aleksander," she whispers.

"I suppose you want to bargain," he spits out, "to plead for your foolish friends, to ask me to step aside for another damned Lantsov … although, he isn't even that, is he, just the son of an adulterous tsarina and her Fjerdan lover?"

"I want you to come and get me, Aleksander."

For the first time ever, she sees genuine shock on his face. She truly has surprised him.

His eyes narrow, "do not try and trap me, Alina. I give you a lot of leeway on account of your youth and the bad influences you are now surrounded by, but I will not be merciful if you think to catch me off-guard."

"I don't want you to be merciful," she tells him honestly, "I want to save Ravka, I want to fulfil my potential, I want to be more than a pawn."

Perhaps he can see the truth in her eyes, or sense it through the tether. Either way, his expression softens a little and he strides forward to brush his thumb across her cheek.

"Alina, my Alina," he leans down, soft at first when his lips meet hers, and then fiercer, like a starving man.

"Where are you?" he demands when they break apart, his slightly rumpled hair the only sign that he is not utterly composed.

She gives him the name of the town, tells him she is in the forest to the south. For a moment, she wonders if she should warn Nikolai and the others, give them a fighting chance, but she doesn't think they deserve her mercy.

Alina has played the sweet little saint and found the role lacking. She thinks it's time for something different.

The shadows find her before Aleksander does.

She is sat under a tree, trying to shape some semblance of his face out of the light, when shadows curl around her ankles, cool against her skin.

If she listens, she can hear screaming in the distance, the sounds of a brutal battle. Knowing Aleksander, the fight will certainly end in his favour.

The shadows move further up her body and she is distracted enough that her light dissipates. Tendrils of shadow wrap around her wrists, somehow insubstantial and binding at the same time, pulling her hands above her head.

She squirms as other tendrils brush against her, the sensation arousing but the pressure not enough to give her any satisfaction.

Is this her punishment for running, for taking so long to realise that they are inevitable, and that the Lantsovs cannot be allowed to continue ruining Ravka?

Well, while she is rather intrigued by this position, and has heard whispers of the delightful sorts of things that can go on in the privacy of a couple's bedchamber, that doesn't mean he gets to be in charge all the time.

Aleksander is centuries older than her, more practiced in his power, his summoning practically effortless. Still, Alina is the Sun Summoner and holder of two legendary amplifiers – he once said he wants an equal and she will be that equal.

Her light flares out, breaking the hold the shadows have on her, and she hums in satisfaction as they retreat almost moodily.

Aleksander himself arrives barely ten minutes later, the sounds of battle still raging.

"Aren't you supposed to be fighting?" she asks.

He waves a hand dismissively, "your friends are outnumbered ten to one and my nichevo'ya are ensuring they can't make too much trouble.

She grimaces, her shoulder twinging, "oh, those things."

His mouth quirks into a tiny, brief smile and he reaches out, slipping his hand under her shirt so that his cool fingers can run across the mark on her shoulder, "don't be bitter, milaya."

Alina thinks she's got plenty of reasons to be bitter, and a bite that won't ever properly heal and still aches sometimes is a very good one.

She is interested to realise, though, that Aleksander can sustain the nichevo'ya even when they aren't in his eyeline. They aren't too far away from the fighting, but it has to be at least half a mile.

The shadows converge once more, now Aleksander is here and, when they wrap around her ankles and root her to the ground, she discovers they are not as easily banished as before.

Aleksander tilts her chin up, brushing the barest hint of a kiss across her lips, "you didn't think it would be that simple, did you? It might be relatively straightforward to fight off my shadows while I am away, but you have some time to go until you can match me, milaya."

"Well, we can't all be ancient relics," she mutters irritably.

"Ah, you've grown snappish, Alina," he says, "although I suppose it must be tiresome spending so much time playing the puppet saint for those traitors."

"If you don't like it," she snaps, "then you can go to –"

He cuts her off with another kiss, fiercer this time, a bruising grip on her waist.

When they break apart his eyes are bright and almost wild, "I have seen everything that you are, Alina Starkova," he murmurs, "and I know all the damage and cruelties that you might wreak upon the world. But I have never looked away. I never will. And who in your merry band can say the same?"

He's right, she knows. Her one-time friends fuss if she does something as minor as frown in public or suggest that maybe some of the ridiculous outfits she has been given should be sold to give food to the poor. If she were to cut down an entire regiment, though, she is sure that Aleksander would simply hold her closer.

"I know where I belong."

Her words are almost a whisper. Still, he hears her, and he understands what she is saying.

My place is with you, ruling by your side, fixing what is broken in this failing, war-ravaged country.

The smile that appears on his face is that of a predator, one that would make his enemies run in fear if they caught just a glimpse of it.

Alina, though, she likes it.

"Well then," he says, "shall we begin?"

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.