Disclaimer - I have not read any of the books, this all comes from a combination of the show, the wiki, and some repeated themes in fanfic that I've read that I'm assuming is more or less canon.
I actually started posting this over on Ao3 back in April and completely failed to realise that I hadn't crossposted until now. So, for the next month (approx) I will be posting one chapter a week until all four are up and will just be running two chapters behind.
A few things to bear in mind before you start reading:
I'm going to quickly mention that I'm pro-Malina and not particularly a fan of either Darklina or the Darkling. However, this should be readable even if you don't ship Malina, since the Malina could be platonic depending on how you read it/if you squint even though it was written with a romantic tilt in mind. I personally don't think this is any more pro/anti anyone or any particular ship than the show itself is, but ymmv.
I took several firm ideas and impressions from the show that I've come to learn aren't entirely popular interpretations or not necessarily used very often, especially (but not solely) surrounding Alina and the Darkling, which have definitely impacted how I've characterised them and some of the choices they make. But it's my fanfic so I'm going to stick with them and if you don't like it, well, no one's forcing you to read this.
I should also note that this fic is entirely from Alina's point of view and she's decidedly anti-Darkling and his crusade in this, but please bear in mind while reading that she is an unreliable narrator and is biased about certain things, which means that even though she's right more than she's not, she's also not being entirely fair to the others (in the first chapter in particular) and isn't acknowledging several of the nuances in other people's situations (she knows this, mostly, she's just hurt and therefore doesn't care right now).
Fic name and Chapter titles all come from the poem "Out of Darkness Into Light" by Sarah Williams, which is just a really fantastic poem that I absolutely recommend if you like poetry and really fits with the light and/vs darkness themes in S&B.
Rating is Teen because the show is also rated Teen, although I may later decide to change this after I've posted the last chapter.
Trigger Warnings relevant to each chapter will be at the start of each chapter, except for the last chapter (ch4), which will have a brief reminder of trigger warnings at the start and much more spoilery warnings in the end notes for people who would like to proceed with caution if something that has previously been mentioned is triggering for them or they are aware of major triggers that they have that they think might come up. The "Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings" is there for a reason and the levels of violence in this (as well as brief discussions of Non-Con and CSA) are very much on par with S1 canon although imo don't exceed them.
The first half to two thirds of this chapter pretty much lines up with the first part of the second half of ep 7 (The Unsea) in canon and the first divergence doesn't really come up until the fourth (and last) section. Then there are several conversations and interactions that happen off-screen that I have outlined (and in some cases partly written) but not included because this is an Alina!POV fic and she is not involved in those conversations. Rest assured those conversations will later influence the actions some (three?) people take in chapter 4.
Also watch me take a silent thirty-second-long scene with no dialogue and little camera or actor movement and turn it into nearly 1k of emotion and body horror.
Trigger Warnings: references to canon dubcon body modification and canon instances of rape and CSA; implied CSA of an unnamed character; body horror.
Alina is distantly aware that she's probably still in shock. Everything feels so very far away and even as she clutches at the rough cloth covering the- the collar that Kirigan put on her, she can still barely feel anything and can do nothing but stare blankly ahead, her breathing shallower and faster than it probably should be.
She does not panic. She does not cry.
She doesn't know if she can cry right now. Everything just feels numb.
The carriage continues rocking with the rapid pace that he had set.
She is very aware of the heartrender sitting in the carriage with her, and even though she has never been more afraid of him – had never really been frightened of him until that moment in the tent and now does not know if she will ever not be frightened by him – she still cannot bring herself to care about his proximity.
She can feel the bony antlers where they protrude from her skin. The edges should be raw and everything in her wants to scream and recoil from the heavy sensation of the foreign cartilage sitting on her collarbones but she can do nothing but stare.
She is clutching the blanket close with one hand and trying not to touch but she can still feel the prongs of the antlers underneath and every brush against them makes her skin crawl all over again because she cannot get rid of the sensation of something being stuck under her skin where it shouldn't't be. Like a splinter stuck in her hand, right where she can't help but worry at it, but too firmly embedded to come out so she ends up just pushing on it and constantly feeling it even when she tries to ignore it.
The worst part is the pressure. The constant pressure that is either the antlers pushing against her skin like they want to burst out or her skin protesting that it shouldn't't be stretched over the foreign intrusion like this or some combination of both that doesn't ever stop but is just insistent enough that she can't help but notice it; just enough that she cannot adjust to the sensation.
It eventually occurs to her that maybe Ivan is heartrending her into this calm compliant apathy that she cannot for the life of her break through, but she dismisses that thought almost as soon as she thinks it. She knows what it feels like to have Ivan under her skin now. He had not been shy about it or bothered to hide it in the tent. She had felt him, the echo of his power, manipulating her body to do what he wanted it to. She will never forget the sensation and she doubts he will ever manage to heartrend her again without her knowing that he is doing so. She may not be able to stop him, but he will never be able to hide it either.
She distantly wonders if maybe it would help if he did. But she cannot bring herself to care. It is all too much.
It should hurt. But it doesn't. That almost makes everything worse.
The thought makes her breathe faster again and she has to push everything down just to focus on her breathing. She tries to take deep breaths and does her best to ignore the heaviness around her neck and the way it makes it so much harder to breathe. She distantly recognises that she is shutting down and anything that is not currently essential for survival is being pushed down to deal with later, but she cannot handle anything else right now.
She finally manages to slow her breathing back to the faster-than-it-should-be pace that it's been lingering at since she was shoved into the carriage – or maybe since that awful moment in the tent when Aleksander had been nothing but triumphant as he forced her power through her skin at his will and she could do nothing to stop him – and tries to focus on breathing deeper.
Breathing deeper makes her notice the antlers again in a way that she cannot even pretend to ignore which makes her want to hyperventilate so she goes back to the shallow breaths and keeps staring into nothing.
After a long stretch of time, she finally manages to drag herself close enough to the present to glance at Ivan where he sits opposite her. He looks back at her after a moment, expressionless, before looking away again, out of the nearly covered window.
She trembles slightly and looks away, attempting to set her jaw but unable to shake away the numbness enough to do so. She reflexively clutches the blanket tighter and it drags quietly against the tines of the collar.
The antlers are heavy around her neck.
Ivan's grip on her elbow is tight when he drags her out of the carriage. She resists slightly, just because she can, and he jerks her towards him, hard, before they start moving.
Alina's shock has mostly faded by now and she starts to mentally prepare herself to fight back. She doesn't know how yet, or what she's going to do. She barely knows the risks at this point, except the risk to Mal. She's not about to put it past Aleksander to hold the lives of the people she cares about hostage for her good behaviour. But she can't let him win. She can't.
She stumbles slightly, struggling to keep up with the pace that Ivan's setting, and making sure to still keep a tight grip on the blanket around her shoulders covering the antler-bone collar.
Ivan tugs at her again, impatient but barely showing it visibly, and that's when she catches sight of Mal. An Oprichnik is escorting him is escorting him past her in the opposite direction and Alina cannot help the desperate cry that leaves her lips, "Mal!"
She tries to struggle against where Ivan's hand has become a shackle and cannot help but to call desperately for the one person that she's always had, even when she had nothing else, "Mal!"
"Alina!" he shouts back, also struggling against the man that holds him and sounding just as desperate as she does.
Ivan continues dragging her past, implacable, and she futilely tries to get back to where Mal is being pulled away, "No! Mal!" The more she struggles, the harder Ivan grabs her, "Mal! No!" and he shoves her back to his other side with both hands when she tries to lunge across him to get to Mal, "Mal!" He pushes her harder to force her to keep moving in the direction he wants and she can hear her own breath coming out in loud pants as he continues to force her further away.
Alina waits alone in the tent for a long time. She starts walking back and forth around the tent nearly as soon as she hears Ivan leave, and eventually steels herself to see what has been done to her. She has to look at it eventually. So she makes her way over to the standing mirror in the middle of the tent – a tent that is far too fancy for a war camp and obscene in the quality and quantity of expensive items in it. Aleksander had scorned the King's frivolous spending habits to her more than once. It's never been a secret, the way the royal family throws their money around without care for their people's suffering. But this tent speaks volumes to Alina about the General's own spending. And it looks hardly any better. The washstand in the corner alone is worth at least a week's worth of rations for her old unit; the water jug twice as much. The expensive material of the tent could sell for months of rations and supplies, but Alina can forgive that given the transmutation abilities of the Fabrikators in the Little Palace – it could easily have started out as the same basic canvas of the First Army tents. The fancy candelabra and ornate jars and containers dotted around the tent are another matter. They have no use here, and even less place.
But Alina is also aware that she's stalling and reluctantly looks at herself in the mirror before apprehensively lifting the blanket so that she can see the collar the Darkling fused around her neck.
It's horrific in its obscenity. Her skin stretches tightly over the knobs on the antlers and if she didn't know any better, she could almost think that they were just extremely sharp and defined collarbones in the centre, at the base of her throat. But when she follows their line outwards, parts of the antler begin to show through her skin, like bone flashing through an open wound in dead flesh. They curve almost gracefully until the top of her clavicle, and then the pointed ends poke out of her skin like blunted claws, the jagged edges of healed over skin clinging to them where they protrude. She breathes out sharply and chokes back a sob as she feels her heartbeat start to increase and her breathing start to get faster, and immediately covers herself again, clinging to the blanket as she wraps it around herself like a small child trying to find comfort alone in the dark. She backs away from the mirror and tries to rid herself of the image in her head but can't manage it. It feels heavier than before and she is almost afraid that it's going to start impeding her breathing but it doesn't.
The swish of the tent flap pulls her back to herself, and she determinedly doesn't look, trying to put off whatever awful conversation is about to come.
But then: "You look awful," says a voice that Alina could swear is music, and she spins around and nearly manages to forget the heavy weight around her neck for a whole half second. Genya is wearing a familiar sympathetic and understanding expression and Alina is across the tent before she can think about it, embracing her friend as tightly as she can and taking comfort from the way Genya's arms wrap around her in a hug just as tight.
Alina lets out a noise that isn't a gasp but isn't quite a sob and Genya squeezes her tighter for a moment before moving back so that they can look at each other, "The Little Palace hasn't been the same without you." She says earnestly, and Alina drops her arms to take her in properly, desperately trying to hide the pain and grief that keeps threatening to swallow her.
"Oh, Genya," she says, a little helplessly, before she gets hit with a sudden flash of hope as an idea springs to mind. She hopes her friend doesn't hate her for asking, but she has to, she can't think of any other options right now that aren't risking her friends' lives, "I need to get word to the King," she darts her eyes to the entrance of the tent, hoping that the guards she isn't stupid enough to think aren't outside can't hear her, and keeps her voice as steady and earnest as she can, "About Kirigan."
"The King's been taken ill," Genya tells her, her hand still warm on Alina's elbow where she hasn't quite let go yet, and her tone is serious and almost apologetic even as her eyes betray nothing, "His affliction is quite serious," she says, her head shaking a little, "The Apparat's been ruling in his stead."
Alina takes a moment to absorb that and moves back a little from her friend, "And the Queen?" she asks, noting her reactions, knowing that Genya has no positive feelings for the woman.
Genya looks down, and if Alina didn't know better she'd think the other woman was avoiding her gaze, "Confined to her quarters." Her wince is only slightly exaggerated, "No one wants her exposed to the King's contagion." It's only as she finishes that Genya meets her eyes again, and Alina leans back a little, an old instinct niggling at her and warning her of something that she can't quite put a name to yet.
She glances down a little, avoiding the way Genya is looking at her to buy herself a little time, and for the first time notes the kefta that her friend is wearing. It's the same shade of red as Ivan's and she has to suppress her visceral reaction urging her to recoil from the innocent piece of clothing. "Red," she says aloud, glancing at her friend's face before darting her gaze back down to the kefta automatically, despite knowing that it's not about to spring to life suddenly; unable to quiet the instinct that is screaming threat at the sight, "You were made Corporalnik."
Her friend makes a vague mm sound that doesn't really confirm or deny anything either way, and Alina looks back at her face, trying to read something, anything, to give her an indication of what her friend is thinking.
Genya looks down, ostensibly at the kefta, before looking back up at her and reaching up to start untying the cloak fastened at her throat.
"I never did like this colour red," Genya near confesses in a conspiratorial tone. She slips the cloak off her shoulders and folds it before hanging it over the arm of one of the fancy uncomfortable chairs in the tent, "It clashes with my hair."
Alina looks to the side, a lot of little pieces and hints she'd noticed slowly starting to slide into place and building a picture that Alina isn't sure she likes.
"You said Kirigan gifted you to the Queen when you were eleven." She says, somehow managing to keep her voice even, looking up and meeting Genya's eyes.
Genya looks back at her and seems to curl in on herself slightly, something apprehensive in her face. Her lips part and she shakes her head slightly as though trying to refute the thought that Alina hasn't even finished forming yet.
"Does that mean…" Alina trails off, afraid to put it into words. Afraid of what it would mean if Genya confirmed it.
The other girl stares at her quietly for a long moment, her lip twitches and she blinks before she looks away and visibly braces herself before straightening and adjusting the collar of her kefta, and that's when Alina knows that she's right.
She licks her lips, not wanting to say it, but the words hang heavy and unspoken between them and Alina's never shied away from pain before, so she drives the knife into her own heart in an attempt to lance the wound before Genya can thrust it in for her. "You were a spy for him."
Genya glances away briefly before reaching up to fiddle with her collar. "I tried to warn you," she says, dropping her hand. Alina thinks she can see some sort of turmoil in her eyes but isn't sure whether or not that's just wishful thinking.
She feels like crying, but she knows that's not going to do her any good now, and will just reveal weakness besides. And she won't show weakness to this woman, not anymore, not now, after everything that's happened and the truth of their relationship has been revealed.
She'd liked Genya, trusted her. She'd recognised a little of herself, another outsider struggling to survive, in the other woman. She'd seen another lost girl who struggled to trust her peers with the more vulnerable parts of herself, who covered up her wounds with a smile and a raised chin. Alina had thought she understood, had thought they understood each other. But it seems like that had been just another lie at the behest of GeneralKirigan. Every time she thinks she can't be hurt any more, there comes a new way in which she has been lied to and deceived since she discovered she was a Sun Summoner, and a new wound gets torn open.
Alina doesn't know what to do, so when in doubt, she falls back on old habits and defensive manoeuvres from her youth and lashes out, trying to hurt them before they can hurt her. "'Be careful of powerful men'?" She says tightly, as Genya turns away. The more uncharitable part of her that she's tired of burying whispers that Genya is trying to hide. And, well, Alina really couldn't care less right now, the betrayal is still stinging with its freshness, "You should have included devious women," Alina is proud of how even her voice comes out, she's sure Genya can hear the tremble in it, but with how accomplished the woman seems to be at spying, that's hardly a surprise, "The King's illness, we can assume you had both the inclination and proximity to make that happen?" Despite everything, Alina cannot bring herself to spit the words out, she knows that she sees more than most, and she's had a suspicion for a long time about the true nature of Genya's relationship with the King and why she's always so relieved to have an excuse to be out of his presence or to turn his gaze to the Queen. She knows what the false smiles used to disguise fear and hurt look like on a woman without the power to say 'no'. It had always been one of her biggest fears when she was younger, that some nobleman would take a liking to her and 'adopt' her, like what had happened to one of the older girls in the orphanage. The one the townspeople had called lucky but all of the other orphans knew was anything but. The general disgust of her half-Shu heritage and her sickliness had seemed almost like a blessing then.
Genya doesn't meet her eyes, still turned away, and the longer she remains silent the more Alina recalls about how much trust she'd put in the other girl, and the more things she's puts together. Of course, that's when she realises the worst betrayal, "My letters to Mal," the letters to the one person she trusted unconditionally, her lifeline, the one connection she had to home, "You never sent them!"
Finally, finally Genya turns back around towards her, and Alina doesn't know how to feel about the fact that it is this accusation of all things that she feels the need to justify. After all, if even one of her suspicions about Genya's life in the service of the Queen are correct, then the other girl probably knows exactly what Mal means to her as the one touchstone and support that she's always trusted in. She probably knows exactly how deep this betrayal cuts.
"I had no choice." Genya tries to tell her.
But Alina doesn't want to hear it, because if there is one thing that she knows, one thing that life as an orphan taught her, it's that there's always a choice. "Except that you did! And you chose to betray our friendship." It's a choice that Alina cannot understand, because it's not a choice that she would ever make. She's always put Mal first, would always put the people she cares about first. She would never betray them, not even to try and save herself.
And just like that, the turmoil that Alina still isn't sure was ever actually there vanishes. "I was a whipping girl for the Queen and a Grisha without a colour. I- I…" Genya actually stutters for a moment, glancing down, before shaking her head, "Choosing friendship over survival was not a luxury I could afford." Genya finally meets her eyes again and there is no apology there that Alina can see, just a ruthless resolve based in self-preservation that Alina cannot for the life of her understand. Because in Genya's position? Alina would have chosen friendship. She would have chosen friendship over survival and never thought twice. The closest she's ever come to making that choice was when choosing between Mal and her Stag, and even then, that was more akin to choosing one loved one's life over another, with the way the Stag had always haunted her dreams. And in the end it hadn't been survival that she chose, it hadn't been the Stag.
"I know what it means to be an outsider struggling to survive," Alina stares at the woman she had considered a dear friend and dares her to say any different, when Alina had more than once gone without food or supplies because someone with power over those things had decided that they didn't like the way she looked, "And it's no excuse!"
Genya stares at her blankly for a long moment and then looks away. She gasps slightly and looks back, her eyes slightly glazed over. And something about her face at that moment makes Alina want to grab her hands, to let Genya know that she's here and that she's not alone. She ruthlessly squashes the urge. She refuses to let her sympathy for this woman that had burrowed her way into her heart soften her to the betrayal that she knows will remain a throbbing wound for years to come.
"I used to struggle," Genya says softly, not quite meeting Alina's eye but not looking away either, "I used to try to…" she swallows heavily, "…to fight him off." She raises her gaze back to Alina's and shakes her head mutely, and Alina's heart clenches in sympathy and sorrow for the truth that Genya is spilling out into the space between them. The awful truth that neither of them had said aloud before, but that Alina had always thought hung between them in a somewhat tacit understanding, "That never worked in my favour." Alina feels her face soften, she wants nothing more than to hug the other girl, stop her from tearing open her own stitches and reassure her that it's okay, that Alina understands, that she doesn't have to explain. She resists the urge – barely. Genya is telling her this for a reason, and one outsider to another, she owes it to her to hear her out. To let Genya tell someone who will listen and sympathise and not judge her for her pain. She lets Genya continue, even as she has to suppress tears for what Genya is revealing. "I waited for years for my chance at revenge," Genya's voice is full of held back tears, her face pain-filled and serious as she explains herself to Alina, and Alina says nothing and just waits for her to finish, "To finally bring him a fight that he cannot…" Genya's voice fades away as the emotion she's trying to suppress rises to close to the surface. She clenches her jaw and when she speaks again her voice is stronger, "That he cannot fend off." Alina searches her face, she's not sure for what, but whatever it is she doesn't find it, "I never expected it to come to this. Here." Alina stops herself from crying by the skin of her teeth and years of practice, and meeting Genya's eyes she sees that her friend - her former friend - is struggling just as much, "Wouldn't you have done the same if you were me?"
Genya is looking for absolution, but Alina doesn't know if she can give it to her. Because in Genya's position she would probably have knifed the King with anything sharp that came to hand, if not the first time it had happened then the second time he attempted it, and damn any consequences that came her way. Alina's sharpest defences and most ruthless behaviours had always come out the most when she was defending what was hers, whether that was someone she loved, or her own autonomy, bodily or otherwise. And she'd never cared about any consequences to herself before. Not once. That was how she'd kept ending up in the camp cells and in trouble with Ana Kuya.
If she'd known it was this bad, if she'd known it wasn't just unwanted advances and refusing to hear her denials and taking advantage of the fact that a servant cannot say 'no' to the King, but that the King was actually violently forcing himself on Genya, even when she resisted, then she probably would have tried to kill him at the Winter Fête for hurting her friend. As it is, she cannot give Genya the absolution that she wants, but she can give her some kind of understanding.
She looks away for a moment and composes herself, licking her lips to try and get rid of the dryness in her throat from suppressing tears. "The King deserves every bit of your vengeance," she sighs as Genya bites her tongue in a motion that Alina knows as a method to prevent tears and sobbing, and continues on regardless, because she does not see how Genya cannot understand that the General, the Darkling, Aleksander, is just as bad. That just because he never tried to rape Alina, that doesn't mean he hasn't harmed her at all when the collar he used to enslave her is so easily visible around her neck. She doesn't know if Genya cannot see it or if she is just choosing not to. If she is just so desperate for someone to trust and a cause for her loyalty that she is refusing to see that the only reason she was ever in that position in the first place is because he placed her there, and that he is trying to use Alina just as much as he used her as a spy. Alina knows that at the end of this conversation they will both be left with broken, bleeding hearts, but she doesn't know what else to do. She never learned how to be truthful without cutting, how to force someone to see things without blinding them, how to help lance a wound without ripping it open even wider. Her upbringing in the orphanage was never gentle and she had never learned how to be gentle when things were difficult in turn. It has never bothered her before now. "Kirigan does not deserve your loyalty," Genya looks away, and Alina wants to bleed at the look of pain and vulnerability on her face. At the denial that she isn't even sure Genya recognises for what it is, "He is just as responsible for your position!" She tries to get Genya to see but the Tailor just turns on her. She's always known that you can only help someone who wants to be helped, but never has that fact hurt more.
"I am his soldier!" Genya insists, even as Alina can see a tear running down her face, "We all are."
Alina wants to sympathise with her, at how Kirigan has her so turned around that she actually believes that an eleven-year-old girl placed in a dangerous position as bait for a lustful man that craves physical proof of his power over others can be a soldier rather than a pawn. But she cannot. Because Genya still isn't seeing what's right in front of her. She still can't see that Alina is in a position where she is being exploited by a man who craves the power she has and that unlike Genya, the physical proof is out in the open for all to see rather than something that can be tailored away and hidden under a flawless mask of beauty.
So Alina once again goes straight for the heart, this time for Genya's rather than her own, "We are his pawns," she tells her, her voice full of the heartache that she cannot help but will the other woman to see past her own wilful blindness, "Nothing more."
Genya's face does something that Alina doesn't recognise and then she sets her jaw. And Alina knows that she didn't get through to her. She doubts anything will.
Genya whirls around and grabs her cloak and hat of the chair, storming out of the tent, like that will change the facts or anything that Alina has said to her. Like it will change the fact that the trust between them is broken and Alina will never trust her again. Like it will make Alina's position any different or stop either of them from standing on diametrically opposite sides to the other.
Alina suppresses her sob badly as the tent entrance swings closed, and she once more wraps the blanket around herself in a futile attempt at self-comfort, wishing once more that Mal were here and that she could wrap herself in his arms and make the world go away.
Alina can feel it nearing sundown when the entrance to the tent rustles again.
"Come to tell me another sob story?" she bites out, not caring who has just come in.
"I don't really have one." Says a quiet, accented voice that is horribly familiar.
Alina closes her eyes in resignation and composes herself, even though she knows it will do no good. Fedyor is a Heartrender. He can read the signs of her body better than she can hide them. He will know that she has been crying, and every skip in her heartbeat better than she will. He will know that she is suppressing yet more tears, and that her heart aches with the proof that she should have known better than to trust him.
She steels herself, then lashes out. "I'm not sure whether or not to congratulate you on how truly spectacular you are at your job," she says, turning to face him, the words tasting sour in her mouth, "You really had me fooled, I really thought you actually gave a damn about me." Her voice trembles slightly, and she blinks quickly to prevent herself from crying.
Fedyor looks at her, stricken and reaches out to her. She steps back before he can make contact, more out of sheer instinct and self-preservation than any conscious choice, and he falters.
He straightens and folds his hands behind his back, moving a step away from her to give her space, and Alina's heart aches. She had trusted him, cared about him, maybe even come to love him as another member of the broken family she was still looking for, and this, his picking up on nonverbal cues and giving her space to deal with them, his kindness and consideration, was half of the reason why.
She turns away again, so she doesn't have to look at him, noticing and trying to ignore the way he has schooled his face into what he had called his 'serious face' in a conspiratorial whisper to her when she'd first caught him doing it. He'd told her that he'd copied it off of Ivan, and she'd giggled at the image of him practicing it in the mirror.
That seems a very long way away now.
She inhales shakily, trying to ignore the way he'd flinched when he'd noticed her noticing that he'd become defensive, "Is the General really just going to send in a parade of all of the people he inserted into my life as friends that spied on me for him?"
Fedyor sucks in a breath, as though she'd just punched him and the part of her that isn't crying at the betrayal of everyone in the Little Palace that she'd thought she could trust, curls in vicious satisfaction.
"If I told you that I do care for you – that I always have, and that I did consider us friends, that I still do, would you even believe me?" his words are slow and measured, as though to disguise the emotion behind them, but Alina has heard calm sentences and cool composure used to disguise hurt and pain and desperation since she was a child. The orphanage was never kind to its inhabitants, no matter that Ana Kuya had tried her best to make it a home, and all of the inhabitants had learnt to hide such things best from her.
Alina turns around so that he can see the bitter twist of a smile that she wears. She is not above being petty and spiteful and wants to hurt him as much as he's hurt her. She doesn't know what to believe, but she knows that she doesn't trust his words anymore. "No, not really," she says, eyes holding his gaze, daring him to look away first, knowing that her heartbeat does not stutter and that he can tell just how brutally honest she is being with him, "After all the lies? Fool me once and all that. If I were to believe you now, that would really make me a fool."
Fedyor looks away first, breaking her gaze as he absorbs the blow. He doesn't change his position, still keeping his hands far away from her and letting her control the space. She bets he has his hands clasped behind him, in reverse of the way Ivan always stands with his hands clasped in front of him. She wonders if they teach that in the Corporalki School.
"I see." He says after a long moment. "In that case, I offer my apologies."
It's Alina's turn to look away, she cannot stand that earnest gaze on her. Not now.
She turns away, wrapping her arms around herself in a futile attempt to self-soothe.
There's a slight rustle from behind her, and then she hears him step towards her. She immediately spins around and backs away again. There's an animal instinct screaming at her to get away, that he's dangerous, that if he gets too close he will cause her pain. She knows it's only partly because she feels hurt and betrayed by him. The much larger part is because in her peripheral he looks far too much like Ivan and she can still feel the phantom touch of his power holding her still when David had fused the collar to her neck.
Fedyor stops and holds his arms apart apologetically, he is holding his cloak in one hand. "Here," he says, offering it to her without moving, giving her the option of whether or not to close the gap, "You're cold."
She hadn't realised it until he mentioned it, but she is trembling slightly. She doesn't know if it is because she is cold as he said, or because her heart hurts so much she can barely breathe with it.
She doesn't move. "I trusted you." She says, voice breaking halfway through.
He shuts his eyes, "I know." He says, something tight in his voice.
"Why?"
He shakes his head and offers the cloak again. She ignores it.
"I trusted you." She says again, "I knew I shouldn't't, I knew it was a mistake," growing up as an outsider, an orphan, hearing a sneered 'half-breed' every time she moved wrong had taught her young that the only thing you could trust was someone's dislike. Dislike was at least honest, and the people who sneered at her face would at least be the ones she'd see coming so it was a stab in the front rather than the back. She'd learnt too many hard lessons too many times that the kindly smiling person who wanted to be her friend had ulterior motives and she couldn't't trust them not to pull the rug out from underneath her. It had taken months before she'd trusted that Alexei was genuine, and he'd been kind enough not to resent her for it. But she'd stupidly gone and given her trust to Fedyor anyway, and now it was coming back to bite her. "I knew it was stupid as soon as I let you in, but I trusted you anyway."
Fedyor flinches, and finally drops the hand holding out the cloak, "I'm sorry." He says again.
She can't stop her scoff, "Don't you have anything else to say?" she asks sarcastically, "Anything at all? An explanation maybe? Some reason or justification for lying to me and betraying the trust I gave you?"
Fedyor meets her accusing gaze easily. He's composed himself now, and although she would like to imagine that she sees a glimmer of pain or hurt in his eyes, she doesn't know whether or not that is wishful thinking. "Nothing that you want to hear." He says gently, like he's trying to avoid causing her any more pain.
She flinches, then steels herself, "Tell me anyway." There is iron in her tone, iron that she rarely uses and had forgotten she was capable of. She doesn't know where that little girl went, the one who threatened boys twice her size and three years older than her with a knife-sharp letter opener to get them to back off and leave her and Mal alone. She thought she'd lost her. But there she is in the iron that she uses to order Fedyor to tell her something that will only pain her.
It seems she has not yet had enough of people tearing out strips of her heart through a thousand tiny betrayals.
Fedyor says nothing for a long moment, staring at her like he's looking for something, hands moving to brush in a movement that could be long borne habit and instinct rather than true intent, although Alina now wonders if she ever knew him well enough to tell the difference. Whatever it is he's searching for, he must find it, because after several seconds slip by he sighs and tenses his jaw slightly before dipping his head in agreement.
Alina turns around and perches on the end of the bed facing him, folding her hands in her lap and staring at him expectantly.
Fedyor hesitates then folds his cloak over the arm of the chair and sits in it, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands just barely touching.
"I have always striven to be faithful," he says slowly, weighing his words as he says them, "To put loyalty first and to be honest with everyone. We deal in so many lies and with trickery and prejudice and politics. It's exhausting. So I swore I'd always be loyal and honest with my fellow Grisha."
Fedyor was right, Alina doesn't want to hear this. But she's never shied away from pain before, long years of sickness and ill health had taught her better, and she isn't about to start now. It would feel too much like giving up and letting Kirigan win.
Fedyor does not look away from her as he speaks, keeping his eyes on her face as he slowly drives the knife ever deeper, a wordless apology in his expression as he tells her the words that she'd insisted on hearing, "I know my duty, and I do it gladly. But I try not to let it rule me. I help the younger Corporalki with their lessons and try to be welcoming to newcomers, I try to help those who feel like outsiders or who are struggling, because so much of the world is cruel to Grisha but in the Little Palace we should be at home and at peace." He pauses, still not looking away and his hands clench slightly before relaxing, "It's why I tried to help you at first."
Alina very determinedly and very deliberately does not flinch. She wouldn't't be surprised if her heartbeat reacts, but she does not let any visible tell slip through.
"And then I got to know you." Fedyor's eyes flick away and then back to her so briefly that if she hadn't been looking at them at that very moment she would have missed it, "And you were everything we had always hoped for in the Sun Summoner and so much more." His voice isn't fervent the way the Apparat's had been, or reverent the way the nobles at the Winter Fête had spoken, It's simply matter of fact, as though he is stating the obvious, information that everyone should know. "You were more than a symbol, you were a person, a girl, who was lost and alone, and so kind even when you were struggling to keep your head above the waves."
Alina doesn't recognise the person that Fedyor is describing, that was never her, but she can't help but lean forward anyway, drawn in by his words.
"And you were funny and clever and I couldn't't help myself, I knew I was supposed to keep a professional distance, Ivan kept scolding me for it, but I liked you. And somewhere along the way you became more than just another Grisha or a symbol. You became my friend." He pauses and draws in a deep breath, as though steeling himself for something, "And then you left."
The words are spoken with finality, like a damning condemnation, and Alina can't stop herself from bristling.
Fedyor lifts a hand, silently asking her to let him finish. She subsides, but she is no longer relaxed, on edge and wary, and drawn in on herself again.
"You left," Fedyor says, "Like a thief in the night and my first reaction was that of a friend who felt betrayed." He closes his eyes and looks away, composing himself again. "I didn't understand, I still don't, but beyond that I just felt hurt. And when Ivan said that the General thought you'd been kidnapped my first reaction was relief that you hadn't just left. And then today, I found out that you weren't kidnapped, you left willingly, and Ivan had to go with the General to drag you back." He sighs, "I can't pretend to know the whole story, all I know is what Ivan's told me, and I trust him, I believe his words, but I also know that he doesn't like you." Fedyor turns to meet her eyes again, "When my General and my husband asked me to tell them what I knew of you, I told them. I did my duty as a loyal Grisha and told them what they asked. Every time they asked about you, I told them. And maybe that does make me a spy, maybe it does mean I have betrayed you. But I was never disloyal to anyone, and from where I'm sitting, I do not understand where things went so wrong that we ended up on different sides."
Alina cannot stop the tear that slips from her eye as he talks. She closes her eyes and several more slip down her cheeks.
For the first time since their conversation began, Fedyor reaches out and touches her. He wraps her hands in his and Alina can feel the warmth settling into her bones. Her tears don't stop, and she doesn't open her eyes, but she relaxes just slightly to the familiar touch that is both welcome and unwelcome at once.
Because months of trust and friendship, and maybe even some kind of love, cannot be so easily erased and she wants nothing more than to melt into one of his hugs that feel warm and safe and like nothing can possibly go wrong. It's the closest to home she's ever found outside Mal, and selfishly, she does not want to give that up yet. Even when they stand on different sides.
"You are still my friend, Alina." He says softly. "I will not betray my husband. I will do my duty, no matter how much it pains me. But you are still my friend."
Alina cannot stop herself from properly crying then. She tips forward into the hug that he freely offers and he holds her in silence until her tears run dry.
"Would you like me to get a message to your friend?" he asks into her hair, "Mal, wasn't it?"
Alina stiffens and slowly starts to try and untangle herself, but Fedyor's arms tighten, like he doesn't want to let her go.
She tenses and he moves back.
"How do I know he'll ever get it?" she asks tiredly. She has no spite or anger left in her; it had run dry with the well of her tears. Tomorrow she will be angry again. Furious and hurt and lashing out. But she can't muster up the energy to do anything else now. "How do I know you won't just run along like a good soldier and tell everything to Ivan or the General?"
"I won't." He says, then pauses. "I will tell Ivan about this conversation if he asks, because he is my husband and when he asks it will be as much because he is worried as it will be as a soldier. But I will keep what is private, private, and tell Mal whatever message it is you have for him." He sighs, "Except my word doesn't really mean anything to you anymore, does it?" He sighs again.
Alina just looks at him silently, not refuting his words.
Fedyor sighs a third time. "You should get some rest." He says finally, "It will be a long day tomorrow."
Alina flickers her eyes away from him and then back, before nodding and bending to remove her boots.
Fedyor doesn't move and watches her quietly as she gets comfortable.
"Would you like me to soothe you?" he asks as she's about to ask him to leave.
Alina involuntarily tenses again. The last time someone had used Heartrending on her had been Ivan when David was putting on the collar. "Won't you do it anyway?" she asks warily, noting the way his eyes briefly flick to her collar and back.
"Not without your permission." He promises.
She hesitates, then slowly nods. She won't get any sleep otherwise. And he's right, she needs it. The last time she slept properly was before she left the Little Palace – when she'd been moving with Mal they'd been so busy looking over their shoulders and constantly trading watch, they'd barely managed to sleep at all.
He waits for her to get comfortable and then comes to sit on the edge of the bed beside her, reaching out to touch the wrist she left on top of the blanket. He hesitates a moment, "Are you sure you don't want me to pass along a message?"
Alina watches him for a long moment, evaluating his honesty. She still doesn't know how much of what he's been telling her is true and how much is calculated to get her to trust him again and him pushing on the message for Mal puts her back on guard. "How do I know you'll pass it on?"
"I swear on Ivan's life." He says without hesitation, "I will pass on your message exactly as you tell it and I will not share it with anyone else."
Alina bites her lip but finally nods. She pauses for a moment, trying to think of a way to let Mal know she's ok, and where her head is at, without letting on to Fedyor, just in case. "Tell him… tell him not to worry, that I won't be like Irina," she starts. She knows that Mal will remember Irina as well as she does, that he'll understand exactly what she's trying to say, "And that – tell him that he was right about the blue irises, but that he forgot about the meadow flowers." She hopes he'll understand what she means by that – that she loves him, that she'll always try to come back to him, and that even if things go badly, they'll find each other again, even if it's after death and in a different life. She wants to tell him to meet her in the meadow, but that's too personal to ask Fedyor to pass on and sounds too much like a goodbye besides.
Fedyor nods slowly, like he's committing the words to memory. She sees him mouth the words 'Irina', 'irises', and 'meadow flowers'. "I will pass on the message." He promises.
Alina hopes she isn't foolish for believing him.
"Goodnight, Alina." Fedyor says, "I hope you have good dreams." He touches her wrist and starts to slow her pulse, humming lightly as he does.
And she slowly drifts off to the sound of his humming and the gentle movement of his fingers on her wrist.
She, somehow, despite everything, feels safe.
So, Fedyor isn't actually being entirely honest here. Not with Alina, and not with himself. It's nothing another Heartrender would pick up on, he's not technically lying, but he isn't being particularly truthful either. That's part of why Alina's accusations actually hit their mark with him – on some level he knows that she's not wrong to be hurt, even as he's justifying himself and pretending that his actions weren't taken with intent.
Also, yes, I know that in canon Fedyor wasn't there and was off looking for Nina, but for fic purposes we're just going to assume that someone else was sent after her.
As a side note, I actually headcanon that Corporalki in general have a tendency to just not outright lie and instead use half-truths and deflections to deceive people because they're all always subconsciously aware of how easy it is for them to tell when someone's lying to them. They therefore try to avoid that tell when deceiving others without even if it's not necessarily something they're aware of and consciously realise they're doing.
As far as Genya is concerned, I do think she's being wilfully blind to Alina's particular situation, much like Alina is musing, because otherwise she has to accept that the Darkling is just as bad as the King was to her except this time she's one of the people complicit in hurting his victim, and acknowledging that is not something she can do without losing the sense of pride in her identity that she's only just managed to find with her new kefta.
Also, in case it wasn't clear: Alina thought the issue with the King was that he would order servants to sleep with him regardless of how they felt about it and Genya was unable to say 'no' because neither the Queen nor the Darkling were willing to fight him on it, not that the King would physically hold the servants down and force himself on them if they tried to deny him or fight back (this seems like a somewhat arbitrary distinction, but does have historical signifcance).
