Notes: This chapter does feature an execution at the end of it, although not told in detail.
i.
Alina watched as a new group of Grisha children were brought in. A large one, surprisingly. They were Fjerdans, children who had been hidden underground and whose parents had resisted the laws Ravka had set over them. She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to keep her face blank as she watched them.
But she couldn't help the tug of a frown at her lips or the way her heart ached for them. Because they were bright eyed and excited, but she could see the darkness that had settled in their own hearts. Alina didn't have to ask to know what had happened to those that resisted the First Army coming in to rescue these children.
And that was exactly what she had to keep reminding herself. They would be sad for now, and she would understand their pangs. She, too, had been an orphan. Soon, though, the hunger for their new lives, for their new family, would replace those feelings. She knew they would.
One girl looked up. She was older than the others, her blonde hair cut severely short so that tiny curls clung to her ears. A dark green gaze connected with Alina's dark ones. There was darkness in those, a soulful anger that pierced her.
Maybe not all of them would accept things so easily.
The queen pressed her lips together in a thin line.
ii.
"You can't make them all accept slaughter so easily," Genya sighed that night when Alina finally dumped her concerns on her friend.
Alina drew one leg in toward her chest, resting the arch of her foot on the lip of the chair. Leaning forward. her chin rested on her knee as she watched Genya sip delicately at her kvas. How anyone could sip, let alone do it with the gentle grace of Genya, at that disgusting drink was beyond the tsaritsa.
"Their family disobeyed the law, Genya. They don't have to accept it, but they should understand that laws are there for a reason."
Her friend was quiet for a long time, draining her cup first before talking again. "Listen to yourself."
"What."
"You're beginning to lose who you were, Alina. What happened to the girl who would have fought against such policies? The Fjerdans have done cruel things to their Grisha before, but those families just wanted to protect their children."
"From what? A good life here, in the First Army? Serving a Grisha king and queen?"
Alina licked her lips and shook her head. A fire stirred in her gut, but she couldn't tell if it was anger or shame or both. Anger at Genya for speaking so boldly. Shame at her words because she sounded right, but Alina wasn't sure if they felt right. Things were complicated. Such a tired, boring word, she thought, but that was the truth.
"From invaders. From the very queen that burned their capital into nothing but ash and dust," the Tailor said so softly, Alina almost missed it.
"Do you hate me, Genya? Do you think what I did was wrong?"
Genya swirled the drink in her hand a bit, staring into her cup. Alina waited, fearing the worst. She already hated herself, a secret she kept so closely guarded that even Aleksander would never know. But to know that her only friend left to her did, she wasn't sure if she was strong enough to handle it.
The truth was, to answer Genya's question, that the girl before was dead now. The Alina from before Mal's death was no longer alive. She had shifted, evolved. She had become aware of so much, her light touching every surface of this world. Her ideals had fallen to the wayside, but perhaps not her naivety.
"No," her friend answered. Her green eyes were on Alina, fierce and honest. "You did what you had to, for our sake. For Grisha. I have always believed in that part of the Darkling's dream."
"I feel like there's a but coming up."
Genya flashed a smile before the tips of the fingers on her free hand touched the scar at her cheek. "But I won't stand by unnecessary cruelty, in letting a monster bring Ravka into a false light."
Her words were treason, as they always were these days. Or at least bordering on them. Alina knew that, but she agreed, too. That was why she was here, wasn't it? To stop unnecessary cruelty. To not let a monster take the throne.
"I will talk to the Darkling," Alina finally said. "About the families."
Something in Genya relaxed then. "You are the only thing that can change his mind these days. I know he wanted to do away with the Second Army."
A small smile wormed its way to Alina's mouth. "You have no idea. I have to fight just as hard with him as I do our own enemies."
"You're the one who can do it, Alina. You have always been the one."
There was more faith in those words than Alina deserved, she figured. Maybe letting that girl she once was die was the wrong idea.
"I'll do what I can, Genya. But I don't control the Darkling anymore than I let him control me."
There was doubt in her friend's eyes, briefly, before it was slammed shut. She leaned forward before Alina could think too much about it, taking her hand. "Enough of that talk, though. What I really came here to tell you is something more important."
Alina's nose wrinkled. "More important than rebellions and orphans and whether I have the Darkling on a leash?"
"I'm pregnant."
She sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide. For a moment, she did not feel like a goddess trapped on earth, but like a normal girl. Normal, human, surprised, excited. "Genya."
"I know, I know, it's not the best sort of timing, and trust me when I say it was not something David and I planned to do anytime soon." There was an undercurrent to her words that made Alina supply the words "or ever" in her thoughts. "But I'm happy. And don't you think I'd make pregnancy the newest trend?"
Alina had to laugh at that, light and free. "I really hope not." She squeezed Genya's hand gently. "I'm happy that you're happy. I can't wait for this child."
They spent the rest of the night chatting about the future baby, but Alina's thoughts were never far from the present state of Ravka.
iii.
The Darkling was taut with tension, his body like a wire being pulled too tight. He was so many things, but Alina knew that he loved Ravka more than anything. This was slowly beginning to destroy him. The wars, the rebellions, the small insurgencies that undermined their power. There was no unity for him, not like he had been dreaming.
It was killing her to see him like this. She had been at his side for five years now, and every small year of time in the well that they would have together knit her closer to him. She was beginning to understand how he worked in little ways. He was beginning to see that her softness was not at all a weakness.
Alina slipped her hand into his, startling him. Their fingers entwined, and he gave her a brief look before resuming his stare out of the window, back to the empty cabin at the lake.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked her husband softly.
"We should destroy that place," he muttered.
It wasn't the answer she had been expecting, and something cold reached inside of her and squeezed. "You're not serious."
"Sometimes, I think I might be. My mother didn't believe enough in my future."
"Baghra loved you," Alina hissed, her nails digging into the back of Aleksander's hand. They bit into skin, but he never made a reaction to them. "The moment that building comes down, you will regret it, Aleksander. And I won't comfort you."
"You're a cruel woman." His head turned so that he was looking at her now. A small smile played on his beautiful mouth. Reaching out with her free hand, she brushed her fingers over the look. This was how she wished she could present him to the world, instead of the sharp king who had taken the country by power and ego.
But this was reserved only for her, in their quiet moments.
"You're a cruel man. It works out, and you're being childish if you think you can get rid of your mother's cabin like it'll purge her from your system." Her lips pursed.
"I said I was only serious about it sometimes." He sounded put out, like a petulant child, and it brought another smile to her lips.
Her husband: monster and child, all wrapped up in one beautiful package.
"What's really bothering you? It can't be an old cabin."
She cut at the heart of the matter, tired of digging through the layers he would force her to go through until she grew tired of the original problem at hand. His eyes lit up as she did so. She was learning, and he encouraged it.
"These rebels."
"You know, that's all you have to say?" She crossed her arms over her chest, turning to lean with her shoulder pressed into the window frame. "The rebels are always on your mind. They're on everyone's minds."
"We're doing nothing to stop them."
"We're doing plenty to work against them," Alina countered. "We're doing exactly what we should be doing to stop them."
His chin tilted, and he stared down the slope of his nose at her. There went the humor, the good fortune she had piled up only moments before. "We're not destroying them. Because you still harbor some feeling for them. What should I tell our people, Alina, when they cower in fear over another attack? What should I tell our soldiers when another encampment is destroyed?"
Her lips parted, but the words would not come.
And in her silence, he continued. "They say the end is always a force of wind so strong, it resembles the Cut." His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "I never realized that Zoya had such strength."
She sucked in a breath now. "I am not refusing to destroy them because we were soldiers together once."
Alina didn't want to call them friends, even though that the was the word that rebounded through her. They had refused to come back to be with her, and that was not what friends did. They had abandoned her.
"They are as dust, Alina." His fingers were on her chin, gently leading her face until she was looking at him. She hadn't realized that she had been staring hard at the snow on the ground, letting the white blind her as much as the sun did when she summoned it. "You have no reason to hold onto them anymore when they have not held onto you."
He was right. It hurt, a dull and aching throb that began in her wrist and moved through the rest of her body. She had just been thinking the same thing.
"They are still Grisha."
"They are not the Grisha we want to save," he murmured, leaning in so that his lips brushed against hers. She kissed him, gently. Because she could, because he was so close, because he was all she would have left.
There would be no Genya or Zoya or Mal or these people now. They would die and scatter like the ash of Djerholm.
"None of them can be saved?"
"They think Zoya is a queen more worthy than you," he whispered, his lips trailing along the line of her jaw until his breath puffed against the shell of her ear. "Why else would they follow her instead of you? You, Alina, are the light in the dark."
A shiver went through her body, at his touch but also at his words. She was the light. She would bring peace to Ravka like she had promised. So what if she had chosen a different route? A different man to call husband? Why should that matter to them?
Zoya had said she didn't want to live in the darkness, but that was what Alina was fighting against. She hadn't allowed Aleksander to create another Shadowfold. She kept the otkazat'sya in her army, her army. They were not the Soldat Sol of old, but they were new. Rebirthed in her light.
He kissed her again, grounding her. Her light splayed across his face and played with the shadows around them. "When you accept that they must be eradicated for the good of us and for Ravka, maybe then you will accept the power that you're afraid to call your own." He traced a line down her neck, swirling his finger over her collarbone.
"I accept my power, Aleksander. What does one have to do with the other?"
iv.
They hunt.
Sometimes just the elite of the First Army, so quiet that the small rebellion never realized the mistake that they've allowed a spy in until too late.
Sometimes, they send the Second Army and watch as they fight each other into dust.
Zoya's army is strong. Stronger than hers had been when she was just Sankta Alina. The idea burned in Alina, like the jab of a knife to her side until it festered into a wound that wouldn't close. Zoya was capable, but Alina was powerful. And she was learning. At the Darkling's hand, she was learning.
And she could be far more ruthless than Zoya.
But never once did Alina venture into the hiding holes of rabbits.
v.
Alina bounced Mariya on her knee, and the little girl cooed gently. She had thought about children, long ago. In a daydream of a life with Mal far away, where they could have lived happily ever after. She thought about the orphans now, and did what she could to take care of them. But Alina was wise enough to know that now was not for children, even if Genya had done differently.
"She's beautiful," Alina said softly, twisting soft red curls around her fingers.
Genya gave her a smile, quiet and happy. "She does take after me." Leaning in, she then whispered, "Thank the Saints."
"Do you think she'll be a Tailor, too?"
That brought a shrug to her friend's shoulders. "At least it doesn't hold the same meanings that it used to."
Mariya babbled incoherently. There was a light in the darkness, Alina reminded herself. This child was proof. It gave her comfort.
vi.
Adrik stood before the reigning queen and king of Ravka, his tattered sleeved unpinned from his dirty kefta. His hair was unkempt, his face bloodied, bruised, nearly unrecognizable. He stooped, as if he couldn't bear the weight of his body anymore. It made it look as though he were bowing to them, and the look on the Darkling's face - that hungry smile that desired so much - said he thought the same thing.
Alina's heart hammered in her chest, but she kept her face neutral. Or so she hoped she did, sending up a prayer to Mal that she did not trip and show weakness in the face of her husband or the court.
Looking at Adrik's face, however, made that hard. She remembered him losing his arm five years ago. She remembered how he kept going, anyway, how he survived and fought with her. How he learned to summon wind with one arm. And pretty well, from the looks of it. Their special force had had trouble bringing him down, and he had sacrificed himself for the rest of his group.
He was brave.
He was a hero.
The way he glared at Alina - in her her perfect kefta, the gold strands practically glowing in her light, with her tamed hair bound to the top of her head with jeweled pins, and her cold face - made her feel like garbage.
The Darkling's hand brushed hers, just barely, but with it came the amplification of her power. It was a gentle reminder that he was here, and she was greater.
That Adrik was nothing in the face of them.
"You do not wish to tell us the location of the headquarters of your group?" the tsar of Ravka asked once more.
Adrik spat on the floor at their feet, a glob of bright red blood splattering near Alina's boot.
She didn't move.
She wanted to plead with the boy - the man, now - to not do this. To let her help him.
But the Darkling would not rest until they were wiped from the earth. It was the only way. It was the best thing for their country, for their people who needed their protection and security.
"You will kill me either way. I would rather die knowing you are still clueless," the Squaller hissed.
A smile tugged at the Darklin's mouth, but it was something foul. "You will die, yes. But there is a difference in whether it will be painless or not."
"Adrik," Alina breathed. "Please."
He drew his lips back from his teeth. There was something hard in his eyes, a sort of hatred she had never felt directed at herself before. "Traitor. Do you like warming his bed at night?"
The Darkling did not give him another chance.
The crowd's screams when he summoned the nichevo'ya were nothing compared those of Adrik's.
Alina did not sleep for weeks.