A/N Posting early as a treat for this story's first reviewer Femme Fatale 23. Tissue warning ahead folks...

Summary: In which Aleksander finally wakes up and jumps headfirst out of the frying pan and into the fire

The first time Aleksander woke it was brief – barely a few seconds – just enough time for him to see a fuzzy figure leaning over his prone form before blissful darkness embraced him again.

The second time it was to darkness and a meagre flickering light from a guttering candle. Pushing himself upright on the makeshift bed, he took stock. His body ached fiercely where he could still feel his wounds healing and bones knitting themselves back together. His head ached as well, although at least it no longer hurt to think and his vision was only faintly fuzzy now.

It was only when he tried to stand that he realised he might not be as recovered as he'd hoped. Even Grisha healing had its limitations after all. With a strangled yelp, the feared commander of the Second Army found himself once again prone on the floor, this time with the added indignity of the bedclothes wrapped tightly around his legs, severely hampering his freedom to move and extricate himself from the situation.

A clatter outside and a stamped of boots on the hard compacted earth announced the arrival of his rescue party. With various shouts of Moi Soverenyi, which made the pounding in his head much worse, Aleksander felt himself manoeuvred back into bed in short order, the cursed bed clothes once again wrapped around him like a bizarre attempt at mummification. Sill slightly winded from his unexpected detour, it took several seconds for the General to get his bearings enough to start objecting to this treatment, by which time it was too late. The healer had arrived. Mid sentence Aleksander once again felt himself unceremoniously, and rather unwillingly, returned to Morpheus's arms.

The next time his eyes opened weak pre-dawn light was filtering into the tent and his stomach was making itself known. With bleary eyes, Aleksander sat up, the memory of phantom pain prompting him to run careful hands over his ribs and head. Mostly healed, thank the saints. Only his ribs twinged slightly as he extricated himself from the tightly wrapped swaddling, but his head was clear and with it the events of the day before returned, demanding attention.

The Sun Summoner had been found at long last. His half a millennia of waiting was finally over. His Alina was the Sun Summoner.

His Alina.

Crap, shit and bugger it all to hell!

With mounting panic his thoughts whirled.

In the pain driven panic of yesterday it had seemed like the best decision to send her off to the safety of the Little Palace. In the cold light of day, however, he could clearly see the flaws in his oh so brilliant plan. He had sent her away, away from him, away from the safety he could provide and into the wilds of Ravka with limited protection in a race she was certain to lose. Anyone from here to the Petrazoi mountains could have seen the light show and anyone with two brain cells would know what it meant.

Sun Summoner.

He had sent her into a trap. Everyone from the Fjerdans and Shu to greedy nobles and religious nutcases would want her, would strive to find and claim her and her power for themselves.

And he had sent her away, unknowing of her condition. Was she hurt? Injured? His last memory was of them flying in opposite directions. Had she been injured, rendered unconscious, like him? Did she even know that she was Sun Summoner or was this another mistake for which he would have to atone. He could just imagine it – Ivan explaining her new status to a confused and disbelieving Alina and the ensuing argument that would inevitably result. He might lo-adore Alina, but he was not blind to her faults, and that girl could out stubborn a mule. Add in Ivan's less than tactful or empathetic nature and the result was combustible.

With a shudder, the Darkling stood, taking care to fold the blankets neatly and place them on the makeshift bed before moving to the chair holding his clothes and starting to dress, his shadows roiling restlessly around him. One day Alina would be a force of nature - the sort who could cause whole armies to turn and run away - as he did. But this was not that day. Today his precious girl was out there vulnerable and probably very confused. The room darkened as his shadows reacted to his fear. He needed to get to her now.

He had just shrugged into his kefta and was in the process of lacing his boots when the healer arrived. Not for the first time since he made the decision did Aleksander bitterly regret leaving Garin to a well earned rest at the Little Palace and instead allowed another to assume the position of head healer in Kribirsk. Garin knew his General well, well enough to know when he could enforce something and when he needed to get out of the General's way.

Olena was young. Talented, very talented, but so young. At 26 she was a seasoned officer and had already served in the Second Army for almost eight years. This, however, was her first command post and her first time healing the revered and mysterious Darkling, and unfortunately it showed. Where Garin would have known to back off, to work with or around his General, Olena was stubbornly committed to process and by-the-book, which in this case meant enforced bedrest and restricted duties for several days, not a desperate gallop across Ravka. For someone like Aleksander such an approach was maddening at the best of times – and now most certainly did not fall into that category. Time was of the essence.

With every minute that passed the danger towards Alina increased; with every new delay the knot in his chest grew tighter and his patience grew thinner. Garin would have known to back off before the resultant explosion, unfortunately for Olena she did not. With shadows licking around him like furious inky flames Aleksander snarled, his impatient, desperate fury sending his attendants scattering and skittering away from him, as he summarily dismissed the healer and barked out instructions at the waiting Oprichniki.

With the dispassionate ease of many years of command he watched as one set off at a run for the stable to bring his horse while another disappeared into the supply tent to fill his saddle bags with provisions. He would need to travel light if he wanted to catch up with the convoy, but it would be folly to set off in pursuit without basic field rations and medical supplies, especially if what he feared came to pass and they were attacked.

Foot tapping impatiently as he awaited their return Aleksander crossed his arms, the cloying need to be with Alina decimating his usually patient nature, making him jittery and anxious. He needed to be on the road, he needed to be with her, and he needed it NOW. He was conscious of every slow sluggish second that ticked past, every painful heartbeat that took her farther away from him and his protection.

It was in this maelstrom of emotion that Zoya found him. With worried eyes and the deliberate touch of a lover she ran her hand down his arm, demanding to know if he was alright, if he was healed, and railing against the healer and guards who had kept her from his side since last night.

Zoya's presence was an irritant, an inconvenience, and one which he barely had the time or patience to deal with. To make it worse, his skin crawled and itched, a faint burning sensation spread down his arm following the path of her hand. In surprise he stepped back to put more distance between them. Had he looked then he would have seen the flash of hurt that crossed her face, a bright pain that flared brighter still as he deliberately turned his back to her with casual coldness to hide his discomfort at the strange sensation his once lover had engendered. Had he looked he looked he would have known, would have recognised the look on Zoya's face, would have realised the problem heading his way, but he didn't.

With practiced discipline Aleksander reined in his chaotic thoughts. He needed to think, to plan, not have his reactions controlled by emotion. The situation was precarious, dangerous. The game had changed and with it all the rules that had kept the shaky peace between Grisha and Otkazat'syas had flown out of the window. One false step and this house of cards would come tumbling down around him. For decades beyond memory Grisha had been feared, hunted and slaughtered for their gifts. It was only since the creation of the Fold that they had gained the limited acceptance they currently enjoyed. The discovery of Sun Summoner changed everything. She was at once the greatest boon and the greatest threat to the tentative safety he had carved out for the Grisha in Ravka and he had no idea whether the Sun Summoner being Alina would make matters better or worse.

Over the centuries he had planned meticulously for the emergence of the Sun Summoner, how to teach them, how to mould them, how to woo them and win their loyalty so that they would be his. He had plotted out the stories he would tell, the half truths he would use, the careful seductive dance which would pull the Sun Summoner ever closer to him, tangling them in his web until they had no desire or will to escape. Those plans were now in tatters, torn to shreds by a young girl with mirth filled eyes, a girl who owned him body and soul. Oh, if only his mother could see him now, how she would laugh at his hubris. What he needed now was to re-plan, regroup, to adapt, but first he had to find Alina and he had only a vague idea where to start.

Deep in thought he was peripherally aware of Zoya's continued presence behind him, her stream of meaningless chatter fading into white noise as he sought order in the chaos that was this situation. Staring thoughtfully at the map before him, Aleksander realised with a sinking feeling that more Grisha would be needed, both to assist Alina's escort and provide back-up if necessary but also to protect the Little Palace. Alina presence there would be like a flame, it would draw every insect for hundreds of miles and some of them would have stings.

Waiting for a team now would create an unacceptable, and potentially devastating, delay, but in this Zoya might be of some use. Not even bothering to face her, he gave the girl her orders, his voice cool and detached, as he pulled on his riding gloves. Without waiting for her response, he turned and walked through the tent flaps.

With the knot in his stomach growing to painful proportions, Aleksander was unsure whether to be pleased or not to see his favourite mount coming towards him led by his personal groom. The tall black Trakehner was an elegant and imposing creature, one of the fastest horses in the stable with stamina to spare and wonderfully loyal. Like many of his breed, he was a handsome horse, tall and proud. In addition to these wonderful traits he also possessed, however, a few others less virtuous ones - not the least was a sometimes truculent temperament, obduracy in spades and a nasty hind kick if he felt annoyed or slighted.

He also only responded to the name 'Beauty'. This hadn't always been the case. As with many of the unexpected things in Aleksander's life the root cause was Alina.

The horse had originally had been called Achilles; a suitably impressive name, as befitted the mount of the infamous Darkling until, that is, Aleksander introduced his horse to an awe-struck Alina. She had always loved horses and had spent weeks pleading with him and pestering him to bring his newest equine acquisition to visit and, unable to deny his little Alina for long, the Black General had promptly caved. The next time he visited the Starkov's it was not on foot as was normal but with his new horse. Thirteen-year-old Alina had been immediately besotted and had promptly christened the horse Beauty. Unfortunately, the name stuck and now the bloody beast wouldn't answer to anything else despite, or more likely, because of the embarrassment it caused.

With time very much against them, Beauty had - theoretically at least - been a good choice for the mission despite some of his less-than-ideal traits. It was merely off putting to the lauded General of the Second Army that he would be mounting his rescue on a horse with such an embarrassing name and one he knew would make him use it repeatedly, and most likely at the most embarrassing moment, just from sheer devilment. But he knew if there was any creature alive who could speed him to Alina's side it would be this one, Beauty adored the girl and was like a bloody homing pigeon whenever he was within thirty leagues of her.

With a nod to the groom, Aleksander swung into the saddle, before taking the reins and spurring him into a quick trot.

The hours passed by in a headlong rush across the Ravkan countryside marked only by the changing position of the sun and the sound of pounding hoof beats on the dry earth. It had been a gamble turning away from the Vy to instead gallop across fields but he knew Ivan, knew that his second would not want to risk the open expanse of the main road, even if it would make for a quicker journey. So across the fields, through woods and dells he rode, stopping only when necessary for Beauty to have a drink before setting off once more. By midday he was fast approaching the thick forests that stretched between the Petrazoi mountains and Balakirev and the anxiety was so thick it was almost choking him.

The journey was going well, too well in hindsight. Apart from a few farmers and peasants going about their business, Aleksander had seen no one - and no one at all, once he entered the forest. Where were the Drüskelle patrols? This close to the border they were so common you could usually throw a stone and hit one, particularly once you were on the woodland roads.

Something was wrong, he knew it. Knew it in his bones, in his heart, his soul - Alina was in trouble. Through the thick upper canopy of leaves along the forest road the sun light blazed, creating patches of dappled illumination across the path. The throbbing knot in his chest was stretched taught like a bow string pushing him onwards, pushing him to find her.

Moments later gunshots sounded, quickly followed by screams, echoing through the trees and turning his blood cold in terror. With a kick to his sides, Beauty's already fast pace increased from a gallop into a full out run, as they hurtled through the forest heedless of anything else but the need to get to Alina. In what felt like hours but was probably only a matter of minutes they came upon the fight. Aleksander barely paused to take in the carnage as he tore along the road, scattering Drüskelle and Grisha alike, passing the smouldering remains of a carriage that looked suspiciously like to his favourite travelling coach, as he followed the invisible thread urging him relentlessly on.

He sees them as they dash from the forest into a clearing, the sunlight momentarily dazzling his eyes. Time slows as his eyes fix on the sight before him, of the man on top of a struggling figure in a red kefta. At this distance it's too far to make out the Grisha's identity, but he knows anyway - it's Alina. Before his mind has even consciously understood the situation his shadows have reacted, rising around him like a vengeful cloak they race before him dulling glare of the sun as they head for Alina.

With practiced ease he slides from Beauty's back, his hands already forming the cut, it has never been easier to create the complicated form. The Drüskelle barely has time to turn, axe raised, before his end is upon him.

With a cold dispassionate gaze he watched the spray of blood as her attacker's body is bisected but it does nothing to satisfy the cold rage that sings within him, the urge to rain down fire and destruction upon those who thought to take her from him. It's Beauty's worried nicker as he nudges the crumbled figure that wakes him from the blood rage and sends him running across the glade to the unmoving body on the ground.

This close he can clearly make out Alina's beloved face, but she's too still, not even her chest seems to be rising and for one long horrifying moment Aleksander fears the worst, that he is too late. Desperation drove him to his knees as he checked his precious girl with shaking fingers, his grief filled eyes taking stock of the injuries marring her features. Relief rocks through him like a tsunami as his fingers find a pulse in her neck but it's only a brief reprieve; she's been hurt, badly hurt by the brute who attacked her and these are just the visible injuries, who knows what might lie beneath the kefta.

Voice shaking slightly he bellows for a healer.

The stampede of booted feet beating against the earth announced the appearance of Ivan, Fedyor and Olga.

Through the thick fog Alina hears Aleksander's voice, hoarse with panic, as he demands to know what's wrong with her. It's a question Alina herself would like an answer too. It's like she is a captive in her own body, she's vaguely aware of what's going on around her, of who is there, but other than that she is a prisoner – a watcher rather than a participant in her own life.

Gentle hands settle on her body, soothing coolness spreading from where they sit, numbing her aches and pains.

Vaguely, Alina feels her body picked up. Quiet cursing and fuzzy discomfort as unfamiliar hands struggle to settle her uncooperative body across what can only be a horse, her head falling forwards like a puppet whose strings have been cut. A familiar scent surrounds her, soothing her, as warm arms wrap around her drawing her back to rest against a firm chest.

Around her there is a gentle burble as her rescuers talk, but her tired mind no longer has the strength or desire to even try to follow what is being said. She's safe and, for the first time since she awoke in that dratted carriage, she feels it deep within her bones. With a jolt the horse carrying her starts trotting, drawing a pained moan from her as it jostles her aching body. Through the rapidly darkening fog, Alina hears Aleksander's soft apology and feels a ghost like kiss brushed against her hair, so light and gentle she half thinks she imagined it. Warm and safe she finally lets go, floating away into the comfort of unconsciousness.

The last coherent thought Alina has before the shadows drag her under is that her tail bone is going to hurt like anything when she wakes up.

Within 10 minutes from setting off from that cursed glade, Aleksander could say with authority that contrary to what he had been led to believe by those romantic novels he occasionally had cause to confiscate from the younger inhabitants of the Little Palace, riding with another person on the same horse is comfortable neither for mount nor the passengers. It is, in fact, really quite torturous; made more so by the unlucky combination of factors which rendered what in other circumstances might – he stressed might – have been a semi-pleasurable if cumbersome experience torture of the highest degree. Here he is, a red blooded man, with the woman he lo… an attractive girl pressed tightly against his chest but this is over shadowed by the peril of the journey, the discomfort controlling both horse and holding an unconscious body upright had on his arms and the breakneck speed they were maintaining which is murdering his backside.

Quite frankly, if this is the sort of reward a hero could expect for rescuing his simpering bubble-headed lady-love from misadventure he would be tempted to leave the girl to save herself, it would be far less inconvenient and uncomfortable. Not that Alina could ever be accused of being either simpering or bubble-headed, a girl less impressed with wealth, rank or reputation would be hard to find. No, Alina isn't the sort of girl who would be swept off her feet by some ego driven cad on a white horse, no matter how charismatic or heroic.

Unbidden an image came into his mind of that blue eyed boy who had been standing close to her on the skiff, a young man with the easy, charming smile of a practiced seducer. He shook his head. No, whatever that boy might think, Alina surely had more sense than to be taken in by his charm and affable persona. A shudder raced down his spine. The sun was setting and the warmth, such as it was, was rapidly cooling, it would be night soon and too dangerous to continue travelling at such speed. Beauty was tiring too, his breath becoming more laboured and his steps more sluggish.

They had made good progress over the last few hours and were now out of the forest. Balakirev was less than an hour away and if they could keep up this progress tomorrow they would be at the Little Palace by dusk at the latest. As they had travelled east, away from the mountains, the land had become flatter, large fields taking the place of rolling hills and dense forests. In the distance he spotted a small stone building that memory told him would likely be one of the many shepherd's huts dotted around this area.

It's a definite boon, with Alina still unconscious and the weather in Ravka ever uncertain, a place to rest overnight out of the elements is fortuitous. Steering the visibly tired horse towards the building he's delighted to see that not only was it empty but that it's in a good state of repair with blankets and hay in plentiful quantity.

Dismounting is much harder with the added burden of Alina but eventually it's achieved, although not with anything like his usual grace and elegance and he's quite pleased not to have audience for it. Once inside the hut, Aleksander makes quick work of laying his precious burden down in the corner furthest from the draughty entrance, tucking a thick blanket around her to ward off the chill. With that job completed, his next is to see to the exhausted Beauty, rubbing him down briskly and rooting out the feed his groom had thoughtfully packed into the saddle bags. As the last vestiges of light disappeared, Aleksander settled himself into the hay beside Alina, wrapping his cloak tightly around himself and gave into the fatigue that had been nagging at him for hours, reassured with the knowledge of his shadows cloaking the hut from prying eyes.

It's rather poetic that Alina started to stir as dawn stretched across the horizon, turning the midnight blue sky a stunning vista of reds and oranges, snuffling into Aleksander's side and waking him abruptly from the doze he had been enjoying. For the second time in as many days, Aleksander's awakening is both sudden and entirely unexpected. Sometime during the night he and Alina had moved, with the result of him waking up to find Alina comfortably settled with her head on his chest and his arms firmly wrapped around her, encasing her in the warmth of his cloak.

Gazing down into Alina's sleepy eyes, Aleksander felt an unusual peace settle over the hut, even Beauty awake and restive after a night's rest is quiet and still. A long moment later Alina, now more awake, pushed herself up a pink tinge to her cheeks as her hands patted at her hair, sweeping several strands away from her face.

Blushing slightly, Alina accepts the flask of water gratefully, taking several long sips as she tried to make sense of the situation she had somehow woken up in. "What happened back there?" she asks after several moments.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Aleksander asks softly as he takes the flagon back and instead passed her one of the trail bars used by the Second Army.

"I was… there was a carriage, smoke, explosions… I was running, I think, from a man…"

For a long moment he's silent, just watching her, before he finally answers; "Drüskelle. Elite members of the Fjerdan military trained to infiltrate deep behind our lines and kill or kidnap Grisha."

"They were… this has happened before, that man, I… I thought… it was all so familiar."

Gentle hands reach forward to grasp Alina's own as she looked up into the concerned dark eyes of her friend. "You have," he said softly, "many years ago… it is how we met."

Blinking back tears, Alina nods, dropping her aching head into her hands, "the attack that killed Papa, that was the Drüskelle?"

"Yes."

Alina nods again. What more could be said. Later, when she had the benefit of safety and the space to think she would deal with the emotions and memories of the last day, the anger that even now is thrumming through her, but for now she has to put them away as her mother had taught her and focus on survival."

Quietly she listens as Aleksander explains about the events of the last day, how he had come upon the ambush in time to save her, but not before she had been injured, and the decision for him to carry on with her to get her to safety of the Little Palace as soon as possible.

"Ivan and Fedyor?" She asks quietly,

"Safe. There were losses, at least two of the Oprichniki, but it's not as bad as it could have been. Reinforcements are on the way, but with the need to get you to the Little Palace it wasn't possible for us to remain with them. Ivan and the others will regroup with the others and then join us in Os Alta."

Alina nods again, her attention flitting to a memory that had just appeared, of her attacker's body falling apart in front of her.

"how did you slice one of them in half from a dozen paces?" she asks curiously.

Aleksander smiles at the resurgence of Alina's omni-present curiosity. "You remember your lessons? There is matter to everything, even air, or shadow, too small to see. The Cut is something a Summoner can do, but it requires tremendous skill. And I would only use it as a last resort. Like that ambush."

"Saints…" Alina murmurs, hands massaging her temples, "Is this my life now? Hunted wherever I go." She asks desperately.

"You get used to it."

"But how did they even know about me?" she demands.

"Your little light show in the Fold was visible from miles away. Whatever their original mission was, they must have diverted to find you. That's why I came as soon as I was able."

"They're that scared of you?" she asks incredulously, trying to reconcile the image of the man who used to play tea parties with her with someone who could inspire such fear.

Letting out a brief laugh, Aleksander said with a chuckle, "I think they're more scared of you."

Alina looks sick as she asks the question she in't sure she wanted an answer too: "Why?"

Aleksander smiles again, but this wasn't one of his genuine happy smiles that started in his eyes, it was a dangerous, dark smile, one that promised vengeance. "Because of your power - what your power means to us. You may well be the first of your kind, but we've always had a name for you. For what we hope you can do." He paused a moment, raising a mocking eyebrow, as if testing her, "the Sun Summoner will be expected to enter the Fold and destroy it from within. With proper training, some amplification, you could be the…"

"No!" Alina blurts out in horror as panic makes her chest seize. It's too much. This is too much. Ivan had started to say this in the carriage, but to hear it from Aleksander, from her dearest friend…

"No?" Aleksander queries, voice smooth and dark like the wisps of shadow that curled around his shoulders, "No, what?"

"It's too much… I don't want any of this" Alina cries, "Why can't you get rid of it?"

"Do you think I haven't tried, Alina? If I enter the Fold, I'm a beacon for the volcra, as you had ample evidence of only yesterday. All I can do is make it worse."

"Then just… Can't you use some Grisha science to transfer this power to someone who can use it?"

Horrified, Aleksander rears back, "You would give up your gift?" he demands hoarsely, a hollow ache in his chest at the inferred rejection of their people, of him.

"Gift?" a dark mocking laugh escapes Alina. "In the last 24 hours I've been set upon by volcra, knocked unconscious, kidnapped only to awake in an uncomfortable carriage with three strangers who thought they knew more about me then I do, attacked, chased, beaten, nearly killed, knocked unconscious again… and now, according to you, I'll be a target for the rest of my life."

But it isn't just the horrific experiences of the last day, it's the glee, the delight, the fervent light she saw in his eyes as he had told her of her altered state, of the life and expectation that now awaited her. Seeing such emotions from the one she trusted almost above everyone else was a betrayal.

Pain makes her cruel and cold as she locks eyes with the man she had thought she knew. "You know why you've never found someone with this power?" she demands angrily, "maybe it's because they don't want to be found."

Desperately, Aleksander reaches out in an attempt to provide comfort to the trembling girl in front of him only to watch as she flinches from him and turns away.

Recoiling from the familiar hand that had brought her so much reassurance over the years, Alina turns her back to her old friend, desperate to calm the rioting emotions rocking through her and the whirlwind of her thoughts. She feels betrayed – had he known what she is? Had he known what power ran through her veins? Was that the reason for his continued interest over the years, had the friendship she had so cherished been nothing but a lie, a means to an end for the General of the Second Army? Just the thought of it brings tears to her eyes that she had to fight to repress. Once she would have turned to Aleksander for comfort and have no fear in him seeing her pain, but now the game had changed and everything is uncertain. Is he still her Alek or is he, as Mal had said, the Darkling known for his mendaciousness and cunning, who would use her for his own plans with no thought to her wellbeing? Until she knew the answer she could no more turn to him that she could turn back time to before she boarded that ill fated skiff.

With her back turned to him Alina couldn't see the heartache writ clear across Aleksander's face, the naked pain he could not supress, before the cold mask was once again in place. With a detachment he fought to keep in place, Aleksander saddled Beauty with quick efficiency before mounting. Without the comforting cover of darkness it was folly to remain in the open like this – they needed to get to the palace, the sooner the better.

"Come," he commands, voice cool and emotionless, as he stretches a hand down to the girl before him. He supposed he should take it as a success that in this at least Alina did not fight him, instead grabbing his hand and allowing him to haul her up before him. Carefully he wraps one arm around her to keep her steady as the other pulls at the horse's reins and they once again set off.

The ride to Os Alta is finished as it had started the day before, in silence - only this time instead of it being caused by worry and fear this is a sullen, resentful silence. Any thoughts as to the intimacy of holding a now very much awake Alina in such a close fashion had dissipated like the morning mist under the icy aura emitting from the girl. This is hardly the way he had imagined introducing Alina to his home those rare times he indulged in fantasising. In those, Alina is excited, happy, glowing with love for him and joy at sharing the home he had built, not studiously ignoring him. The worst of it is, he has no idea how to fix this situation. In all the years he has known Alina they may have argued but never like this. That he has hurt her is obvious, but he has no idea how, no idea why she has reacted the way she has. Alina has long wished that her power was unblocked so she could join the other Grisha in the Little Palace, so it's a mystery to him that having been given her heart's desire she should be so upset and pained by it.

Deep in thought, the hours tick by until at last the grand, shining towers of the Imperial Palace arose in the distance, the late afternoon sun glinting off the gold paint and making it shine like a beacon. In what seemed like the blink of an eye they are soon trotting through one of the less popular gates to the palace complex, guards saluting and getting out of his way as they recognise the Darkling as they follow the familiar paths to the Little Palace.

It's with a nicker of relief that Beauty finally stops at the grand doors to the entrance of the Little Palace. Dismounting Aleksander holds out his hand to assist Alina only to be disappointed as the girl feigned blindness and slid off the tall horse, landing with a thump and a wince on the gravel. Clenching his fist to hide the sudden flare of grief that arose from her rejection, Aleksander turns, accepting the welcoming salutes from the four Oprichniki guards waiting for them, before leading a suddenly resistant Sun-Summoner into the entrance hall.

Vaguely he hears a sharp intake of breath and a soft whistle as Alina stares at the luxurious room. Though nothing to the grandeur of the Imperial Palace, the Little Palace is far more opulent than any other building Alina had been in before with polished marble floors, gleaming candelabra and rich mahogany doors leading off to the other, hidden parts of the palace.

Voice still retaining its cool detachment he introduces Alina to the Oprichniki before instructing two of the guards to take her up to the Vesta suite. If the guards are shocked by the instruction they had the good sense not to show it, instead snapping off two text-book sharp salutes as they wheel around, each taking one of the girl's arms to guide her through a doorway and up the east staircase. His last sight of his precious girl is of her complaining irritably that she knew how to walk, thank you very much. With a deep sigh, Aleksander forces his reluctant feet to move from the spot they had rooted themselves to in the vestibule, desperately trying to squash the fierce desire to follow Alina to her newly appointed room.

There is so much to be done. His Imperial Uselessness, the Tsar, would need to be informed of the Sun-Summoner's discovery and subsequent presence in the Little Palace. He also needed to introduce Genya to Alina, assign a healer to check her over and start organising a training schedule. The Tsar, and nobles, would be impatient for results, never mind that it usually took years to train a Grisha, they would expect for her to tackle the Fold almost immediately, which in turn meant that he needed time to think, to plan, to prepare.

But first, right now, he needs someone to help make sense of the insanity that had been the last 48 hours. Rubbing his forehead tiredly, he turns and makes his way across the grounds towards his mother's cottage.

The inferno that greets him as he slips through the door helps to calm the jittery feeling that started as soon as Alina left his sight. It's familiar. Normal. Expected. All the things that have been missing since he first realised his precious girl was in Kribirsk.

"What in the name of all the Saint's are you doing back here, boy?" his mother barks as she spots him.

With a strangled laugh, Aleksander drops gracelessly into a chair near his mother, exhaustion rapidly taking over as he unclasps the heavy cloak still around his shoulders.

"I have news," he says quietly, staring at the fire, half wishing the flames could swallow him whole.

Baghra harrumphs, her displeasure clear at the unexpected interruption and her son's intrusion into her sanctuary. "Well then, what is it?" she demands crossly.

"Oh, nothing much," Aleksander mutters nonchalantly, "only that the Sun Summoner has been found at last."

"W-what?" Baghra splutters, the mouthful of tea she had just taken making a surprise reappearance.

With the forbearance instilled by many years of exposure to his mother and other, even more uncouth, otkazat'syas Aleksander pulled a fine linen handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing at the tea splatters now decorating his kefta.

"You heard what I said," he replies distractedly, still trying to clean the damp areas.

"The Sun Summoner…" his mother murmurs, reaching over to place her cup on the table. That was a shock. She had not expected news of the Sun Summoner so soon, indeed with how long it had taken for one to appear she had almost given it up as a bad bet and decided that they were nothing more than a myth created to help a hopeless people. But now one had appeared. Interesting.

"I take it you've brought the poor soul back to trap them in that Palace of yours," she comments drily.

Aleksander laughs darkly, "you would think that of me, wouldn't you mother. Never mind that this is safest place for Grisha or that every Shu or Fjerdan soldier will be after her."

"So it is a girl?" his mother demands, "young or old?"

Aleksander laughs again, "young, though old enough to be useful. She will be 19 within a few weeks."

Baghra frowns at the stress her son placed on the age, uncertain as to the significance he was trying to convey until a thought occurred to her. "Alina?" she raised an eyebrow.

Aleksander sighs and nods before launching into a summary of events: from how he had come across her in Kribirsk, to their argument and his decision to accompany her on the skiff, to the subsequent discovery of her powers and the frantic race to get her to the safety of the Little Palace.

"What a mess," Baghra comments wryly after a moment, Aleksander can only nod in agreement.

"Why did you send her to Kribirsk, mother?" he asks at last, breaking the silence that has descended over the cottage. It's something he has often wondered over the past few weeks, but in light of recent events it seemed almost prescient, and the mystery is niggling at him.

Baghra looks at her son for a long moment, weighing her words in a careful way that immediately sets his teeth on edge. "Kill or cure," she says at last. "She was ill and nothing we tried was working. Every bit of lore, every technique, every medicine failed, your girl just got sicker and sicker. Her mother remembered the girl having a similar illness before they came to Os Alta and the miraculous recovery. It made me think. But even so, I didn't know and truthfully I had little expectation that it would work."

"But then… why?"

"So you could say goodbye," his mother replies evenly, voice calm even as he reels backwards in shock.

"WHAT?"

"I knew you wouldn't come back… not before it was too late," she adds, seeing the way her son's eyes go pitch black, the shadows coalescing around him like a malevolent halo. "So I sent her to you."

Aleksander stares speechless at his mother unable to comprehend

"The danger…"

"Death isn't much of a danger to someone already knocking at its door," is her acerbic reply, "last time your pain and anger created the Fold. What would it have done this time if she had died and we had concealed it from you…"

It's a valid point and one that hits with the accuracy only a long relationship provides. Aleksander flinched, his mother's comment striking at his already turbulent and vulnerable heart. It had been one thing to hear it from a living, breathing, obviously healthy Alina, it was quite another to hear it from his plain speaking mother. Where Alina downplayed, Baghra was brutally honest, and it shook him to his core how close he had come to losing his precious girl without even realising it.

One question remains though, circling around his head like an annoying fly. "Why did it work?" he murmurs at last, eyes gazing at the fire in the vague hope that they had the answer.

Thwack went Baghra's walking stick, "speak up – don't mumble. Some of us aren't as young as we used to be."

One hand nursing his now bruised leg, Aleksander sent a baleful glare at his mother, wishing not for the first time that he hadn't bought that cane for her as a joke all those years ago.

"I SAID," he repeats in a mockingly loud voice, "Why. Did. It. Work? Even with Alina being the Sun-Summoner, it doesn't make any sense why being near me would cure her."

Baghra twirled her cane menacingly, eyeing her son with ominous intent, before settling back in her favourite chair and resuming her fire gazing, deliberating goading her guest with feigned disinterest.

"Hmm," she hums at last when the silence starts to annoy even her, "a good question. One I think that will answer itself soon enough. A better question is why did you leave?"

Aleksander raised an eyebrow at his mother's blatant attempt at fishing.

"you knew she was the Sun Summoner." It isn't a question.

"I suspected," it's all the response he can give at that moment. His mother lifted her gaze from the fire to watch her son, her shrewd ancient eyes weighing and judging him.

"Why continue to hide her if you knew she's what you've been waiting for all this time?" This was the question that had been pestering Baghra for years, the missing piece to the puzzle of understanding the unprecedented hold the girl has over her boy. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought Aleksander might know and willingly – freely – give up the Sun-Summoner he had waited for, whose power he had lusted after, for the better part of half a millennium. It was a gross miscalculation on her part and one that could presage unimaginable consequences.

Aleksander sighs sadly, one gloved hand running through his hair, ruffling it into a disorderly mess in a clear sign of mounting anxiety. "Because I wished to all the Saints I've never believed in that she wasn't. I didn't want this curse for her, not Alina."

"Curse, boy? She's the Sun Summoner. She's a gift – the gift you've been waiting for, for four hundred years!"

"Once, perhaps." Her son replies impassively, "but not if Alina is the one who must pay the price." And that was the truth. Aleksander had wondered in those fleeting moments he let himself, but he had dismissed such thoughts as flights of fancy, hoping instead that his little Alina would be safe. Safe from those who would use and abuse her… safe from him.

Baghra changed tack. "How did you know?" she asks as she stands to poke the slowly dying fire back into life.

"Something her mother said. Mei-Xing told me once that no matter how bad the weather was there the sun always shone when I visited Alina. It made me wonder, but I didn't know, not for certain, and as time went on and nothing happened it seemed less and less likely that she was the Sun-Summoner."

Aleksander raised a gloved hand to rub his forehead. "As long as I didn't know, then I could pretend."

Baghra sat back down with a thump that made her bones rattle and ache, "That's not how it works, boy, and you know it. I taught you better than that. Things don't just stop existing if you ignore them. That girl is as she has always been – she has always been the Sun Summoner."

"Why did you leave?" she asks, half dreading what her son will say. It's the question that keeps nagging at her – why, given the way he felt, had he left? It had made sense at the time, her son leaving to avoid the pain of watching the girl he loved grow old and die in front of him, but why leave if he suspected that this wasn't the case. "Why leave when you could have had the future with her that you wanted – she is your equal, your opposite, the one person who could walk with you through eternity…"

"Because," Aleksander cries hoarsely, "because knowing would have been worse. It Is worse".

"Do you remember, mother, that conversation before I left for Kribirsk, the one about father?" his mother frowns as she tries to recall that day.

"You told me I had two choices – either wed her knowing I will outlive her or move on and try to forget. At the time I thought that moving on was the only option, that distance would dull the pain. But you were wrong, there was a third option, a worst one. Everything I want is there, within my grasp, there for the taking".

With sudden, horrid clarity, Baghra understands.

"I don't deserve her," he whispers brokenly. "She's so young and naïve, so innocent, it would be so easy, so very easy, to trick her into believing she is in love with me, to take what I long for and bind her to me." But it would be an empty bond – one forged on lies and deceit, the antithesis of what he and Alina had shared for so many years.

With a tortured sigh, Aleksander drops his head into his hands, fingers clawing at his hair. The terrible truth laid bare at last. She is everything he wanted, everything he needed, everything he had ever wished for, but he didn't deserve her and the knowledge ate at him of what he would have done to his beloved Alina without a second thought had he not seen her grow up, had he not loved her before the revelation of her powers. The irony that he would have had no hesitation of doing exactly what he desperately wanted too over a nameless stranger left a bitter taste in his mouth. In truth he would have had no compunction of using every trick in the book had it been anyone other than Alina.

"Oh, my boy," Baghra says sadly.

For one glorious moment on that skiff everything he had ever wanted had been within his grasp, then reality had come calling. Any affection Alina might have held for him would surely die a swift death once she learnt who he truly was and the truth of what he had planned. Already she had turned from him, rejected him. She would never accept him, the monster from Ravkan fairy tales. No one could love the fearsome Black Heretic, not even his mother.

Hope is such a cruel emotion.

For the first time in centuries Aleksander let go and cried.

A/N I have to say, I really love Baghra. She's my favourite at the moment and I'm having such fun writing her. The next four chapters are already written, but I'm planning to hold them hostage for reviews ;).