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.
Eternal
The hunger inside Alina yearns to be fed, an ever-present need that she has learned to accept as part of herself.
She thinks she must have been born with it, for it seems embedded into her very soul, and she wonders how she managed to live nearly twenty years pushing it away – no wonder she was always so sickly.
Thankfully, there are countless ways she can feed that darker part of herself now. There are traitors to be dealt with, nobles and generals and diplomats to be manipulated and, most of all, there is Aleksander.
It is a heady thing, to be indulged by her husband.
In the orphanage there had never been enough. Alina – weaker than the others, despised for looking like her Shu mother, unable to make friends with anyone but Mal – had always been pushed to the back of the queue, left with scraps and broken toys and the smallest portions. And then in the army it was more of the same, except it was commanders and captains that looked at her like she was expendable cannon fodder and a traitor. Now, Aleksander seems to give her whatever she wishes for without her even needing to ask.
He is most generous with both power and himself. She is not left to languish in the hellish boredom of high society, but finds herself an equal partner, next to Aleksander at the head of the table, dispensing judgements and favours in the Throne Room, servants and nobles and ambassadors taught that her voice is just as important as Aleksander's, that their outdated ideas about women need to be sharply updated if they do not wish to risk running afoul of the Black Tsar and his Sol Koroleva.
Then there is the way he touches her.
Ah, it makes her warm just thinking about it.
She knows full well that they scandalise many of the nobles with their behaviour. The Grisha – less pious, freer with affection – are not so bothered, but the stuffy nobles seem baffled at the sight of a happy, extremely satisfying marriage. It makes Alina feel almost sorry for them, that they clearly don't have much heat in their own unions.
Once upon a time, Alina might have been embarrassed at the idea of anyone seeing her disheveled, let alone thoroughly ravished. Now, though, she does not see why she should have to hide the affection she feels for her husband, or how much they enjoy each other.
And they certainly enjoy each other with delicious regularity.
It is easy to forget the hunger when Aleksander is touching her, while he is making her fall apart and become a boneless mess in his arms.
As for their tendency to get caught in compromising positions, Alina thinks of it as something of a power play.
It does not matter where or when they decide to have sex, there is nothing anyone can do about it, no one with the power to stop them.
Of course, they won't expose the young students to scenes that they should not be witnessing, so they are generally well-behaved in the Little Palace, but they have no such scruples when it comes to the Grand Palace.
There is a thrill in being watched, in knowing that no matter how priggish or pious the nobles might claim to be, they never tear their eyes away immediately, jealous desire burning under the skin of the men and women who will never be able to touch either her or her husband.
And then court sessions can be so tedious, filled with problems that are often easily solved (perhaps they need a purge of local governing bodies too – is competence really too much to ask for?) – and nothing livens those hours up more than seeing how quickly she can persuade Aleksander to bring proceedings to an early close so that he can fuck her on their throne.
Alina knows that some of the most conservative members of the court think her and Aleksander to be hypocrites for decrying the Lantsov regime for its excesses and scandals when they have their own exhibitionist tendencies.
It's ridiculous, really, to think to compare them. Lantsov taxed most of the country into poverty, spent exorbitant amounts on unneeded luxuries and ridiculous parties and gifts for his mistresses, chose caviar and gaudy jewellery over the needs of his own army, molested and assaulted countless maids, and generally had absolutely no regard for most of the citizens of the country he made a paltry attempt to rule. Alina and Aleksander having an active and fulfilled sex life is nothing compared to Lantsov's sins, especially as they continue to take their duties seriously and work towards building Ravka into a true power.
It frustrates her, to have all that they are doing belittled simply because some of the nobles can't handle seeing a little bare skin and a married couple who actually like each other.
She tries not to let it bother her too much. Lantsov had simply had lackies and toadies scrambling for favour. Aleksander and Alina have plenty of trusted Grisha and oprichniki with true loyalty to them. Alina does not want to make the entire country fear her, but she has no problems reminding disloyal citizens who endanger their plans of just why it is so dangerous to stand against the Sun and Shadow Summoners
People should realise by now … Alina isn't afraid to make an example of traitors.
"She's no saint," Dmitri Durov proclaims drunkenly, "she's just the Black Tsar's whore."
The whole inn goes silent, the owner's wife slipping quietly out of the back door.
"Shut up you fool," Dmitri's companion hisses, "think about what you're saying."
"I'm not ashamed of my words," Dmitri says, red-faced from the eight drinks he'd imbibed in the last two hours, "everyone knows that she spreads her legs for him without any regard for public decency and no care for who sees her. She probably isn't even a Sun Summoner, just some Shu slut the Black Tsar likes to fuck, and he's using that unnatural magic of his to make us think she's worthy of being tsarina – I bet all that talk about making a corridor through the Fold is just lies."
His companion only shakes his head, scrambling to get away from Dmitri so quickly that he almost falls over in the process.
The oprichniki appear so swiftly and quietly that no one even realises they are there until they seize Dmitri and begin to haul him away.
He hollers and shouts, battling against their hold, but his movements are slow, mind dulled with alcohol, body soft with years of indulging in his vices, and he is no match for the Black Tsar's well-trained personal guards.
No one dares move to help him, whether or not they agree with what he has been saying. Everyone keeps their heads down, not wanting to look the aprichniki in the eyes and find out whether there is any truth to the rumours that there is something preternatural about them.
Still, one oprichnik catches the eye of the owner's wife, now returned, as he leaves and nods once, confirmation that her quick reporting of the treasonous talk will prevent the inn suffering any reprisals for Dmitri Durov's behaviour.
Thirty seconds later and it is as if the scene never occurred.
The patrons are drinking once more, the staff refilling glasses, voices echoing around the room.
And if many have a tremble in their hands as they contemplate the fate of the man who will likely never be seen again alive, well, everyone collectively agrees not to talk about it.
Gluttony is a sin.
This is what they were often told in Keramzin. Every time a child's stomach grumbled because they didn't have enough to eat, they were scolded for a lack of proper gratitude, told that they should be glad to have a (leaky, thin) roof over their heads and (sparse, tasteless) food on their table.
Funny, really. Alina has always thought that children who never have enough, who are constantly empty, are most likely to grow into the sort of adults who grasp desperately for just one more biscuit, or another spoonful of jam or an extra cup of tea.
As it is, Alina has never quite gotten the hang of overindulging in food, her stomach well-satisfied with the portions offered by the palace and an occasional foray into Aleksander's stashes of biscuits and shokolad.
Gluttony comes in many forms, however, and she admits to being greedy in other areas.
She knows well enough the things people whisper about her, the nobles and merchants and peasants alike that call her a whore simply for seeking pleasure. Hypocrites, the lot of them, for she sees no harm in indulging in with Aleksander (who is, after all, her lawful husband) and believes it far better than the avarice of so many Ravkans.
Why should it matter so much where she and her husband choose to fuck? Why is she wrong for craving his touch, for having the audacity to love the man she is bound for life to?
These moralistic irritants are so frustrating. Such people do not inspire her to anything except more of the behaviour they so despise. And perhaps that is her greatest revenge against them.
Gluttony is a sin, they say.
But what does she care for the words of stagnant old men? It is Alina who makes the rules now.
When the Black Tsar and Sol Koroleva make their way towards the Fold, thousands join them, many with sunburst tattoos and even a few who seem enamoured of the tsar they call the Starless Saint.
Recent days have been awash with bloodshed – Prince Nikolai and his comrades, a great deal of the nobility and ordinary men and women across the land caught spewing treason – but Ravka has spent centuries at war and these focused executions, while shocking, bring with them the promise of a better future.
Already, the army is receiving improved equipment and provisions. Soldiers whisper about battle plans made by men with actual experience rather than by wealthy nobles who have never done a hard day's work. Peasants talk about having their sons and daughters released from service to help with the harvest.
Honest, law-abiding people need not fear.
That is the message the oprichniki share as they travel through Ravka, although it is admittedly somewhat muted by the fear their very presence brings.
Still, there is hope in the air. Sol Koroleva is coming to the Fold and surely that means the rumours are true and there will soon be a corridor uniting Ravka, a safe passage that will bring an end to the days of men, women, children and goods being lost to the darkness.
The Black Tsar may be right out of a nightmare, but the Sun Summoner is a fairytale come to life for most people – it is true that she is married to the most dangerous, terrible creature in Ravka, but she is their longed-for Sankta and they put their trust in her.
The wiser people of Ravka do more than hope, they kneel and pray. The saints are powerful, after all, but also divine, and they can bring curses and horrors down on the people as quickly as blessings and gifts.
"Pray for healing light," one old woman warns her family, "rather than scorching death."
Sankta Alina is great, you see, but no one can be quite sure that she will be kind.
Pavel sees it.
It has been nearly a week of hard travel, aching feet, barely enough food and water to keep him going. All worth it, though, to get a place at the front of the crowd, to wear the sunburst tattoo proudly on his cheek, to see as Sol Koroleva enters the Fold with the Black Tsar at her side.
They travel by skiff, Sol Koroleva's glittering golden kefta a beacon for Pavel to watch as the people on the skiff's deck move further into the Fold, getting smaller and smaller until he can no longer see them.
And then there is a ripple of power that even non-Grisha can sense.
A beam of light, shooting straight up into the air, getting larger and brighter with every second that passes until Pavel is forced to shield his eyes or risk being blinded.
(and how tempting it is, to keep looking, to have the Sankta's holiness burned permanently into his retinas).
It is the screams that get him to open his eyes once more.
Screams not of fear, but of delight.
Through the shadowy darkness of the Fold, a pathway has now appeared. Wide enough to allow six lanes of carriages or two lanes of small skiffs. The ground is pure white, like all the life has been leeched from it by the shadows, but it is clear that when you use the corridor you will be able to see the sky above you.
From where he is standing, Pavel can see in the distance the remains of the dry docks of Novokribirsk, visible from Kribirsk for the very first time.
There is dampness on his cheeks, tears that have started to fall.
It has really happened. After centuries of waiting and hoping, they have a Sun Summoner and finally there is a safe route through the Shadow Fold.
It feels like a miracle.
Pavel knows what some people say about the Black Tsar's cruelty, and even the whispers that Sol Koroleva can be as dangerous as her terrifying husband.
Today, though, he can only give thanks and praise to them for what they have done in finally uniting Ravka once more.
For the first time in its history, the Shadow Fold changes.
The Sun Summoner, supported by two legendary amplifiers and her living amplifier husband, burns away a pathway from Kribirsk to Novokribirsk.
And that is all the people of Ravka see. A victory, a reason to celebrate.
Meanwhile, on the borders with Fjerda and Shu Han, it is a different story entirely.
The shadows creep forward, slowly at first but they soon pick up pace.
Everything in their path is consumed by the darkness. Soldiers screaming as they try and fail to outrun the shadows.
It does not last even thirty seconds but the devastation is immense, the people swallowed up numbering in the thousands.
Enemies for the most part, but innocent civilians too, casualties of war and collateral damage in the message sent to Fjerda and Shu Han by Ravka's new sovereigns.
You see, the Black Tsar learned a lot when he was left to die in the Fold after the destruction of Novokribirsk.
His nichevo'ya were not the only trick he discovered. Hours in the heart of the Fold, desperately trying to tame the shadows before they destroyed him, taught him far more than centuries of experimentation on the edges of his creation had done.
He had engulfed Novokribirsk in shadows before, but the city had been close, in his eyeline. Now he knows how to sense the entire Fold, how to nudge and shift, how to change the borders of the Fold to swallow enemy territory.
And he puts his skills to use, taking advantage of the distraction of his wife's pathway to surprise Ravka's enemies with a deadly and devastating attack.
It will take days for the news to reach the general population, plenty of time for his network to spread the right kind of message – his actions are patriotic, necessary, even heroic.
It is no lie, he thinks. War requires sacrifices and he thinks the few civilians to be worthy collateral damage for the thousands of enemy soldiers and military outposts destroyed.
This act may be the turning point for two wars that he has already begun to turn in Ravka's favour.
All the Ravkan people need to know is that they are one step closer to a country where young men and women do not have to go off to war to fight and die. Ravka will be great, will be a safe haven for Grisha, will subdue its enemies.
The Black Tsar and Sol Koroleva will ensure it.
"The Fjerdan Ambassador wishes to have an audience, moi tsar, moya tsarina," Ivan tells them, "and I believe the Ambassador from Shu Han is eager to speak with you as well."
Ivan's eyes are fixed on the ceiling, the only sign of his discomfort with the state that he has found Ravka's rulers in.
"Mmm," Aleksander nods, biting back a groan as Alina rolls her hips and lets out a breathy moan, "right on schedule."
"Yes, moi tsar," Ivan agrees, cheeks now ever so slightly red.
"We will see them in the Throne Room in one hour. Have them taken there now under guard to wait and then send oprichniki to search their rooms – I want to know about any papers or letters they might have received in the last few days."
"It will be done, moi tsar."
Alina laughs as the door closes firmly behind them, although it turns into a sigh as Aleksander bends his head to mouth at her breasts, "I have you figured out, Sasha. Be nice to Ivan, milaya, you say, but you like to make him twitch just as much as I do."
Her husband doesn't say anything in response, but she can see his eyes glitter with mirth.
Ivan goes right out of her mind, though, as Aleksander shifts their position so that when he rocks into her, he reaches deep enough that she's sure she'll feel it for days.
She clenches around him, smugly pleased when he hisses in pleasure.
The meeting with the ambassadors is incredibly important, but for now they have a whole hour until they're expected in the Throne Room and Alina plans to use it wisely.
-x-x-x-
Aleksander and Alina enter the Throne Room to the sound of raised voices.
"I have been kept waiting for nearly an hour," a woman complains, "this is an insult."
"I can see why they would have no desire to see you," a man responds, "but to have this rudeness directed towards an eminent emissary such as myself."
The woman responds with a hissed insult. The man snarls back. The oprichniki guarding the two of them and their entourages remain silent.
"I do hope you are not finding our hospitality lacking Ambassador Kir-Kaat, or you Ambassador Opjer?"
The ambassadors stiffen, both at the cold question and also at the shadows creeping along the floor and tickling their ankles. To be fair to them, they do not immediately babble or grovel as many would do, but Alina can see the fear in their eyes.
She notes how both faces show a hint of disdain as Alina takes her usual position curled up in Aleksander's lap on their throne. No doubt, they believe it to be evidence that she has a subordinate position, an ornamental Sun Summoner kept for the Black Tsar's amusement. She does not let it bother her – they will learn better or they will die.
Aleksander is better at the dull formalities, so as the two ambassadors go through the rigmarole of presenting their credentials and their respective monarch's (patently false) warm wishes, Alina observes them.
Ambassador Opjer bears a marked resemblance to Nikolai, something Alina doubts will endear him to Aleksander. It seems, then, that the Opjer family is likely to contain the man who had truly fathered the younger prince. The man looks always at Aleksander, dismissive of Alina in the way so many Fjerdan men overlook women. She idly wonders if he would behave so if she used her light to blind him.
Ambassador Kir-Kaat is clearly the more intelligent. Her eyes dart around, taking in the room and the people in it. Alina meets her gaze head on, letting herself smile ever so slightly when the older woman is the first to look away.
Aleksander's hand settles on Alina's waist, idly tracing shapes over her kefta. Both ambassadors look angry at what they perceive as his lack of attention, but Alina knows he is listening to the introductions and taking note of body language.
When both are finished, her husband tilts his head slightly in her direction and so it is Alina who addresses them now, "if you would explain why you have requested this audience …"
For a moment, there is silence. Ambassador Opjer looks insulted to have been addressed by Alina rather than Aleksander. Ambassador Kir-Kaat scrutinises Alina, contemplative look on her face.
And then they answer. At the same time.
"His Majesty wishes –"
"The Empress was most displeased –"
"… an unprovoked attack –"
"… civilian casualties –"
"… my King has received no word from his sister Tatiana or her husband and demands proof that they have not been arbitrarily executed without trial –"
"… setting dangerous precedents for the rules of warfare –"
It goes on like that for nearly five minutes as the two ambassadors fight to speak over one another.
Alina's estimation of Ambassador Kir-Kaat goes down somewhat. The woman is just as much of a child as Ambassador Opjer with this silly one-upmanship.
A side door creaks ever so slightly and Ivan walks up to the dais, leaning down to whisper in Aleksander's ear, the ambassadors oblivious as they now start to argue with each other. Alina can't hear everything the Heartrender is saying, but she trusts Aleksander to act appropriately on whatever information has been passed on.
Her husband nods to Ivan, who vanishes once more. She quirks an eyebrow, a silent question, and his lips turn upwards ever so slightly.
Good news then.
"Enough," Aleksander says, voice almost a whisper but with a menace that has the two ambassadors freezing.
"The Drüskelle have been apprehended," he continues, "as have the assassins sent by Empress. Your hidden correspondence has been decoded. In these circumstances, I am sure you understand that we will be confining you and your entourages to your rooms. You will be free to leave as soon as we have finished the documents outlining our terms for your respective rulers. I strongly suggest that you encourage them not to dismiss our offer out of hand – we will not be as generous again."
Meaning, Alina thinks, that the Fold can be moved further into Fjerda and Shu Han. It is likely to result in more civilian casualties than their first incursion, but it is a sensible escalation if their terms are not met. They are being reasonable, after all, in using diplomatic channels, especially after both ambassadors have been linked to the groups sent from their respective home countries with a mission that Alina assumes is to kill her and Aleksander.
The ambassadors and their aides thankfully decide not to protest as some oprichniki surround them to ensure they all get back to their rooms and no one slips away.
Ivan, with perfect timing, has their prisoners – the Drüskelle and assassins – brought into the Throne Room in chains just as the ambassadors are leaving. The sound that Opjer and Kir-Kaat hear as they are led down the corridor is that of ten voices screaming in pain as they burn.
She hopes that the ambassadors impress upon their rulers the importance of coming to an agreement.
After all, Alina and Aleksander will both do terrible things for Ravka and for Grisha.
Their first Grand Ball isn't an event either of them have particularly been looking forward too.
Aleksander has attended far too many to find them anything but tiresome and would much rather focus on the arduous task of undoing the damage the Lantsov Dynasty has done to Ravka.
Alina is far too aware of how little she knows about such events and dislikes the stiff and stifling formality, preferring low-key events like visits to orphanages to find out what they need so that the children can grow up better than she did in Keramzin.
Still, needs must. They may have purged their enemies among the nobility, but the remains of high society, as well as merchants and others lucky enough to be invited, need to be appeased a little, if only because killing isn't always the most sensible answer.
Alina finds, as she prepares for the ball, that she feels a brief pang of nostalgic sadness that Genya is gone, for she would have been in her element in this moment.
The Tailor made her choice, though, and Alina will not regret what she has done.
Besides, she has Nina with her, the younger girl freer and more cheerful than careful, controlled Genya. Nina's Tailoring skills are rudimentary, learned from texts and some lessons from Fedyor (who had observed some of Genya's work), but with the additional help of some actual cosmetics, Alina comes out looking as radiant as a Sun Summoner Tsarina should.
"You look amazing, Ali – moya tsarina," Nina tells her with a grin.
Alina smiles softly, "you can call me Alina, you know, Nina, at least in private. And you look lovely too."
It is Nina's first formal event and she's very excited about it, especially since she's been told that there will be miniature waffles covered in shokolad as part of the spread of food. She's wearing a formal kefta and looks quite grown-up with her hair swept into a simple bun studded with garnet pins (most of the old tsarina's ugly jewels have been sold, but there are a few pretty pieces that Alina won't wear herself but has distributed among certain Grisha and loyal ladies of the court).
Naturally, Alina's own outfit is far more complex. She rather envies Nina with her simpler clothes, but she has to accept the need to project a certain image to her subjects. She wears a gown, the style of which is based on a kefta, made of gold core-cloth and delicately embroidered with intricate patterns in black and gold thread, as well as the kokoshnik she had worn at her coronation.
She hands Nina over to Fedyor, taking him aside to whisper a reminder to limit the number of mini-waffles that Nina consumes, lest she leave none for the other guests.
And then she is standing at a set of double-doors, Aleksander at her side, waiting to be announced.
Funny, how nervous she is. Alina has sentenced her former friends to death, executed nobles, received hundreds of petitions and travelled to the heart of the Shadow Fold to create a pathway. Still, she's never enjoyed being stared at by people who think she is a saint or a demon or some kind of miracle in human flesh – it makes her feel like a circus exhibit to be gawked at.
When Aleksander takes her hand, though, her nerves melt away, replaced by the confidence that his touch inspires within her.
"You do not need to prove yourself, milaya. You are already far more than they will ever be."
"I … I just …"
She does not know how to put into words that the little orphan girl from Keramzin still lives inside her, no matter how much power she wields and how often he tells her that he loves her.
"We are eternal," he reminds her, "we will remain when everything in this palace is dust and memories. Balls like this are trite little amusements for the people and you need only use a fraction of your power to impress them. Remember, we have nothing to prove, milaya, especially not after the display in the Shadow Fold. Think of it simply as a way to appease everyone so that we can get on with our reforms and plans."
Alina nods. It's silly to worry, she knows. After all, she is comfortable with her power, capable of wielding it to great and devastating effect. She's taken to many aspects of ruling well, but she's not sure she'll ever enjoy balls like this one.
"Shall we?" Aleksander asks as their names and titles are announced.
A question. A promise that they can leave if she really wants to. It's not like anyone stupid enough to try and overthrow them will succeed, after all.
Alina nods. She can handle the irritation of a ball. After all, she is the Sun Queen and her enemies will burn before her.
They walk in, all eyes on them, everyone watching in silent awe.
As they reach the centre of the room, Ivan materialises at their side with two glasses of champagne.
Aleksander raises his glass high in the air, the movement followed by every other figure in the room.
"To Ravka," he says, loud and clear.
For this is what everything has been for. For Ravka, and for the Grisha too, that they might finally have a safe haven.
"To Ravka," the room echoes as one.
Alina and Aleksander smile. This is their destiny.
People call Alina many things.
Sun Summoner. Sankta. Sol Koroleva. Tsarina. Sun Witch. Drüsje.
Some of them bow down at her altar, kiss her icon, pray to her.
Some curse her name, wish death upon her.
Others whisper "beautiful and terrible" with awe and horror in equal measures.
All, however, are agreed that there are no others like the Sun and Shadow Summoners.
Ravka's eternal rulers.
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.