The walk back from his talk with Baghra is as interminable as his journey there had been, and Aleksander returns to his rooms vexed and worn out. He is exhausted – mentally, physically and emotionally by the events of the past few days. Has it really only been three days since this debacle began? It feels like years, and has done more to distress him in days then decades of pointless wars and endless losses.
He is so close to having all that he has worked for, planned for, sacrificed for and yet it has never felt so far out of reach as it does at this moment. His manservant must see something of this in his master's face for Gustave is more than usually solicitous of the General; stoking the fire in his rooms and pressing warm spiced wine into his hands while he draws Aleksander a bath.
The bath helps most, relieving the bone deep aches and pains from such a strenuous ride, although the spiced wine helps to mellow and settle his mind which has been left even more turbulent after his most recent discussion with his mother. Baghra is right. He should have paid more attention. He had dismissed the hints and signs of Alina's true nature as only evidence of his foolish feelings and his desperation that there might be a future for him and Alina that need not end in death. He had been caught in the worst trap, made worse still because it is one of his own making; too scared to have hope destroyed if it was not true and yet terrified as to what it might mean if it was.
He had made a muddle of this. Alina – she who had trusted him for years – is now wary of him, distrustful and distant. That he has hurt her is clear, and yet he still has no idea as to how he has done so or indeed how to fix it.
It is only after his restorative bath that it occurs to him that Alina should see a healer. It is a shameful oversight, and one that makes guilt curdle uncomfortably in his stomach, when he thinks of it. The last two days had been long and fraught for all those involved – but particularly for Alina, who has been injured at least once. Who knows what harm the Fjerdan fiend had inflicted on her before he arrived. The healer with Ivan had not been particularly concerned, but then Olga was not known for his sympathetic qualities, and he could not rest easy until Garin had seen her. With that in mind, it is a matter of moments to write a note, seal it, and dispatch it via one of his guards to his head healer.
Garin arrives with a quarter of an hour, out of breath, and with a frown marring his normally jovial features. It takes a few minutes to reassure his old friend and to explain to him the discovery of the Sun Summoner. During the explanation, Aleksander is treated to a demonstration of Garin's peculiar way of showing his regard, as he finds himself prodded and poked past the point of frustration, before the healer announces that he is in adequate health for someone who had nearly died only two days before.
That Garin is shocked by Aleksander's news is clear. Everyone, Grisha and otkazat'syas alike, have been waiting so long for the Sun Summoner to appear that it is more legend than expectation now. But now, at last, the Sun Summoner had been found. The healer quickly recovers though as is back to his normal business like attitude before his examination of Aleksander is even finished and all his concern is directed at understanding Alina's possible injuries. It doesn't even require an order for Garin to declare his next stop will be the Vesta suite, although it does need a raised eyebrow to get the healer to volunteer that he will return and update his General after the examination.
It is only once Garin has left that Aleksander appreciates the flaw in his plan. If he was feeling guilty before, now is worse. Now he is not just feeling the increasingly familiar pain of guilt, but is also fretting about Alina's continued state of health, his many possible (likely) mistakes, their argument, what he will do now and the quickly degenerating state of the plans he has spent hundreds of years perfecting. It is not an ideal situation to say the least and it is with mounting impatience that Aleksander is forced to wait for Garin's return. Every minute that passes feels ten times as long and it is a torturously long hour that he paces the confines of his study like a caged wolf. At last there is a knock on the door and his healer returns.
Garin's report is better than Aleksander's tormented mind had expected. Alina has not suffered any permanent or long term harm. She is exhausted, frightened and confused, but her injuries are minor. With a grateful nod, he dismisses the healer, and settles in front of the fire to think, the flames soothing his agitated mind. Sitting his glass of kvas, he turns the events of the last few days over in his mind.
It shouldn't be his first priority and yet Aleksander cannot help the desperate need to bring some comfort to the girl who is even now crying in the opulent rooms of the Vesta Suite. There are other, more important things he needs to get done – things like informing the Tsar of the discovery, like making plans to protect the Sun Summoner, or arranging a training schedule for Alina – but instead of doing any of these things Aleksander makes his way back down the path towards the stables.
The Head Groom, Isaac, greets him with his typical low bow and looks nervous as tells his master that Beauty is too tired after his fierce ride to be taken out again that day. With a nod Aleksander agrees and allows himself to be directed towards a dappled grey gelding. The grey is a tall, handsome creature, and while not so striking as his pitch black Trakehner, he has a steadier character - one less prone to fits of personality and far more biddable. He is saddled swiftly and within a few short minutes Aleksander is once again on the road, wind rushing through his hair as he passes through the city gate towards the south side of Os Alta.
Finding the house he is looking for is as easy as breathing. It might have been years, but his thoughts have never been far away from the occupants of this tiny dwelling and the route from the Little Palace to this place is indelibly etched in his mind. That Madam Starkov is surprised to see him is neither a mystery nor unexpected. The blood suddenly draining from her face as she sways dangerous where she stands, one hand raised to press against her heart as if it pains her, is unexpected. It is instinct that allows Aleksander to catch Mei-Xing as she stumbles, her cheeks an unhealthy shade of white, as he guides her onto the sofa and hurries to make tea from the kettle hanging over the fire.
With stumbling words, Mei-Xing asks how her daughter died only to laugh tearily as Aleksander hastily explains that she is alive and well, if somewhat shaken and bad tempered after an unusual chase across the western fields of Ravka. There are few people in the world that can make Aleksander feel like a chastened child again, but Madam Starkov is one of them, and he shifts like a naughty school boy in his chair as he apologises for scaring her, before explaining his reason for turning up on her doorstep at a quarter past four and giving her a fright.
Mei-Xing listens with a growing frown as the General tells her about the events of the past three days. Her frown deepens when he gets to the part about the skiff and the revelation of Alina's powers, and she looks troubled as she stirs her tea.
"You wish me to come to the Little Palace?" Mei-Xing queries as she refills Aleksander's cup. He can only nod, the words he needs to say sticking in his throat.
"Alina…" he starts and trails off, looking lost, before he begins again. "My head healer as checked Alina over himself, she's fine physically, nothing that a few days will not heal… but she is… that is to say…"
Mei-Xing nods and reaches over to place a calming hand over her guest's, "but there are more types of pain than just physical hurts, and there are times when a Mother's care is best. That is what you wish to say, yes?"
Aleksander nods. His stomach is churning at the thought of Alina crying in the bedroom he has long imagined her occupying. It is a cruel parody of his dream and one that hurts him all the more because of it.
Mei-Xing smiles at him, gentle and calm as she always is. "I will come," she says firmly as she stands to collect her coat off the hook by the door. He had never thought she would do otherwise, but Madam Starkov's confirmation reassures his fretful mind and he feels the tension in his muscles relax as he stands to assist her. The carriage he had ordered will be waiting for her a few streets away and he escorts her there, handing her into the conveyance with care, before giving instructions to the driver and guard. Mikhail is one of his most trusted Oprichniki and will ensure she taken where she needs to go. He follows the carriage out of Os Alta and into the safety of the stable yard of the Little Palace. It is here that he finally forces himself to part company with Alina's mother and return to his study and the myriad of tasks he ought to be getting on with.
Informing the Tsar is a duty that unfortunately has to be undertaken and it is regret and a heavy sense of foreboding that Aleksander at last inks his quill and starts on the missive. The General is under no illusion as to what the response will be from their revered ruler, or how easily things could now go awry.
The corpulent idiot Ravka is currently lumbered with is merely the latest in a long line of bad monarchs. The Lantsov line is riddled with weak chins, weak wills and weak brains – the result, he suspects, of continuously marrying their cousins. The Lantsov family tree more resembles a tangled knot then it does a tree, and it is an annual headache for the Master of Ceremonies to keep track of who'who - and who's married to who - in the tangled web that is the Lantsov family.
With a sigh, Aleksander signs his name with his usual flourish and sits back as he waits for the ink to dry. That the Tsar would be thrilled was a certainty. They had all been waiting for the Sun Summoner; commoner, lord and prince alike, with mounting impatience as each successive generation passed and there was no sign of the fabled Sun Saviour. So, yes, the Tsar would be pleased. It's everything else that is up in the air. There was no guarantee that the Tsar would do the sensible thing and give Alina into his care. The Apparat would almost certainly look to get his greasy fingers on Alina and could well persuade the Tsar that she should live in the Imperial Palace under the protection and auspices of the Tsar and Tsarina. Such a move would be catastrophic; not just for his plans, and for the good of Grisha everywhere, but because he had no doubt what would happen if the Tsar turned his attentions on Alina – there likely wouldn't be an Imperial Palace left, or a Tsar.
He shuddered. As if he didn't have enough to worry about, now he had that image in his mind. Alina is a pretty girl, and he's sure she had admirers before – even if his heart burns resentfully at the thought – but he doubts any sane minded person would wish for the attentions of such a man as the Tsar.
And then there was the problem of Vasily. As if the Tsar wasn't enough of a problem at least his lecherous attentions were limited. Vasily was a different animal and it had not escaped Aleksander's notice that the young Tsarevitch had moved on from molesting maids to trying it on with his Grisha. More than once he had had to redirect Vasily away from the Little Palace or distract him so that the unfortunate girl who had caught his attention could make a swift exit. It was why there was a blanket requirement that the girls in the Little Palace walk in the grounds in pairs or larger groups. Age was no protection from the Crown Prince, nor was saying no. The rape laws in Ravka were strict and punishment swift, but they were no help when the perpetrator was a member of the royal family.
Aleksander half hoped that Alina's unusual heritage would protect her. To his eyes she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever met, and her mixed heritage merely added to her allure, giving her an exotic edge that made her stand out against the pale eyes and hair so common in Ravka and Fjerda, but he was well aware of the racial prejudice only too present in their society, and the Imperial Court was worse. He could already hear the whispers that would follow Alina's appearance; the snipes and jibes, the casual cruelty directed unthinkingly at the one they expected to save them and yet had no problem disparaging.
It's no wonder why he hates the Imperial Court – all those useless, backstabbing, hypocrites – the people who resent his Grisha, who begrudge them every comfort and yet still expect them to create dazzling performances, to invent new technologies, to die in their wars and cater to their every whim. And into this nest of vipers he has no choice but to bring his Alina – his precious girl, who is honest and innocent and decent. His Alina who has no experience of the Royal Court, who he has kept far away from the secrets and intrigue, the sex and debauchery, the snobbery and scorn of their so called ruling class.
Aleksander's fist clenches around the sealing wax, knuckles bleached white in his anger. He would protect her – even if it meant pulling down the Imperial Palace brick by horrendously ugly brick – he had to. Sun Summoner she may be, but she is also his Alina, and it would destroy him to see her changed because of this – because of them - to see her warm heart grow cold, her faith and innocence shattered. Scowling, he presses his ring into the melted puddle of wax, sealing the letter, and trying desperately to shake the fear that he has sealed her fate along with the message. With quick strides he walks to the door, yanking it open and pressing the letter into the hands of the waiting guard with instructions that it's to be delivered into the Tsar's own hands immediately.
With a deep sigh he returns to his desk, desperate for the relief the distraction of work will bring to the torture of his thoughts.
Half an hour later there is another knock on his door.
Knocking on the imposing door, Mei-Xiang smiles as General Kirigan leaps from his chair to stand upon her entrance, offering her a deep courtly bow as she closes the door behind her.
"How is she?" he asks, voice hoarse with worry.
Mei-Xiang sighs, "Uncertain and overwhelmed by the speed and magnitude of the changes that have occurred, as anyone would be." Her voice is deliberately mild but Aleksander hears and understands the gentle rebuke and grimaces as he invites the older woman to sit.
"Forgive me," he murmurs as he hands Alina's mother a large glass of kvas, "I have been beset with worry for her these last few days. So much has happened I can hardly comprehend…"
His guest sighs as she sips the strong alcohol. "She will recover her spirit and equilibrium in time," she reassures the young man before her before fixing him with a firm, uncompromising stare, "did you know she was the Sun Summoner," she asks, voice like steel.
Aleksander can't stop the flinch as he reels back from his desk, the hidden dagger in what might seem an innocuous question piercing him, "No!" he said firmly, shaking his head.
Madam Starkov searched his eyes for a long moment before she finally nods.
"I do not know if you mean my daughter harm," she says in her usual soft spoken way, "but my heart believes that you love her, maybe as much as I do, so I offer you this advice. Do not lie to my Alina or play games with her, General. Her trust is not broken, but it is fragile, and it would not take much to shatter it beyond repair."
With that parting advice she stands and leaves as quietly as she entered, leaving behind her a man desperately trying to keep his rioting emotions under control.
Staring at the shut door thoughtfully, Aleksander ponders Madam Starkov's advice, shame niggling at him as he considers how close it was to his original plan he'd had to mould the Sun Summoner. It's remarkably similar to the advice his mother gave him earlier that day, although this was far less acerbic and much more straightforward than the words his mother had used. Baghra, in her usual gnomic fashion, had merely told that while peat bogs were great places to hide bodies they made for poor foundations when building a house.
He assumes the message is along similar lines, but who really knows when it comes to his mother.
What Mei-Xing has tasked him with is only easy in theory. Secrets have become a form of currency to him – his and other people's. It's a dirty trade, but it has kept him and his Grisha safe over the years. Knowledge is a perilous commodity in this world and he very much fears that in sharing it with Alina he will drive her from him.
One thing is clear to him. He cannot, will not, risk his relationship with Alina. But could she – would she – still claim him as her dearest friend if she knew he was the Black Heretic? If she knew his plans?
The response from the Tsar arrives at a typically late and inconsiderate hour. Gustave has only just succeeded in cajoling the General to leave his desk and retire to bed when there is a knock on the door. It's one of the Tsar's servants, dressed in the normal white uniform denoting them as staff at the Imperial Palace. Why the Royal family thought white a good colour for a servant's uniform was a mystery to most people and had perplexed Aleksander for years. It was the most impractical colour and meant that in addition to their already gruelling jobs, the royal servants also had the extra burden of keeping their clothes immaculately clean while they undertook all manner of cleaning, carrying and serving related duties.
The note from the Tsar is much as Aleksander had expected. With little in the way of consideration as to the state or health of the newly found saviour, the Tsar commanded that the Sun Summoner be presented before the court at 11 hour the next morning where a demonstration of her powers would be required.
Along with the note was a uniform and veil for the Sun Summoner to wear for her presentation. Aleksander looked at the garment and immediately scowls in annoyance. There before him was a brand new, uselessly ornamented and idealised version of the First Army uniform, only made from far better cloth than the usual First Army officer warranted. The design was impractical, for a start, and made a mockery of Alina's credentials as an actual member of the First Army. That this was brand new and specially made for this purpose is clear and only serves the stoke the fires of his annoyance more. The Imperial Army was perilously provisioned, poorly equipped and badly trained. Their losses were great, the health of the army appalling and here is the Tsar flittering away money, which could have gone to a much better purpose, on what could only be described as a farse. Alina wasn't an officer, she was an NCO in the medical corps, and yet the epaulets clearly denote her as a lieutenant in the First Battalion.
With a huff, Aleksander retakes his recently vacated seat and pens a response, before handing it to the waiting servant. Sighing he rubs his eyes tiredly. The Tsar's pretentions and ridiculous requirements would create a lot of work tomorrow morning. Alina would have to made ready to meet the court – which was not a job he relished. The uniform would also need to be tailored to fit her. The Tsar's tailor had evidently guessed at Alina's size and judging by the excess material he had erred on the side of caution by basing it on the average dimensions of the court ladies. As much as he resented the need, Aleksander was too used to politics and court games not to understand and appreciate the need to create the right first impression on the gormless idiots at the Imperial Court. First impressions matter – and the impression Alina needed to make was one of unassailable power, one who demanded respect.
Pinching the brow of his nose, Aleksander tiredly put pen to paper once more, this time to the best Tailor in the Second Army. If anyone could prepare Alina, alter this ridiculous costume and achieve the unachievable in the ridiculously tight time scale they had, it would be Genya.
He had long wished to introduce the redhead to Alina. Genya's calm, composed nature, experience and gentleness were traits which he had often thought would balance Alina's happy, kind and sometimes naïve, disposition. It was a friendship which would benefit both girls who were both, through no fault or inclination of their own, in a different position to the rest of the Grisha.
The instructions to Genya finished, Aleksander can finally rest and it's with relief that he at last climbs into his bed and allows sleep to claim him.
The morning dawns far too bright and far too early for someone as tired as Aleksander. It is only the immediate application of three cups of the strongest coffee available which succeeds in prising the General from his bed and saves Gustave from a severe tong lashing. Exhaustion is a weakness he can ill afford at the moment and Aleksander resents his body's complaints as he shuffles through his morning routine.
By cup number four, the General is at long last feeling somewhat more human and is sat at his desk going through the voluminous overnight dispatches when one of the guards appears to inform him that Ivan and the escort division have arrived and are awaiting instruction. Distracted by a concerning report from one of his spies at the Fjerdan border, Aleksander scribbles a quick note to his Second-in-Command to have the newly arrived Grisha fed, bathed and dressed in their best keftas to report to the Imperial Palace at 11 o'clock when the Sun Summoner would be presented to the Imperial Court. That completed his attention returns to the reports. They were troubling, very troubling.
At fifteen minutes to the hour, a polite knock on the door alerts him to the time and with a final check of his appearance to make sure all was as Gustave had left it some hours before, Aleksander leaves his office to meet the Sun Summoner at the bottom of the great staircase so he could escort her to the Imperial Palace. The rest of the Grisha, with the exception of Genya, should have already assembled at the Imperial Palace and be waiting for their arrival.
Right on time Genya appears, leading a heavily veiled, yet visibly, nervous woman and it was only Aleksander's long familiarity with Alina that allowed him to recognise her under the hideous gold embroidery. In his chest his heartbeat quickens, dancing in delight as his breath catches. Even dressed in that ridiculous outfit Alina is breath taking and the sight of her after the tumult of the last few days is a much needed balm he hadn't realised he needed until that moment.
He is still trying to get his rebellious emotions back under control when Alina takes the final step off the staircase and appears beside him. Unable to speak for the moment, Aleksander instead offers her his elbow in courtly gesture. It thrills him more than it should when he feels Alina take his arm and start to walk beside him. Genya has melted into the background, no doubt intending to run ahead so she can be in position for their grand entrance, but of this he is only peripherally aware. All he sees, all he can think about, it the girl on his arm.
At last he finds his voice, helped in part by the trembling hand he can feel shaking as Alina clutches his arm. "Please don't worry, Alina," he murmurs to her. It doesn't take a genius to understand the root of her nerves. There has been no time to discuss these plans with the poor girl or even to reassure her that he can help her call the sun. "I would not embarrass you. If you believe nothing else, you must believe that." The words are little more than whispers on the wind, but the emotion behind them bleeds out of him in a way that he is powerless to control. He would never let Alina be harmed or embarrassed and he hopes that if she doubts everything else, that she at least believes this of him.
As they make their way through the Imperial Palace he tries to joke with her, to distract her from what is coming. In this their location helps. The Imperial Palace is one of the ugliest buildings he has ever had the misfortune to see and it is clear that Alina feels the same. It is gaudy and ostentatious, with useless finery and a décor which makes him wish he was blind. This is not even the worst part of it. He dreads parties in the Green Salon, a room so called because of its lurid green wallpaper. If the assault on good taste had stopped there, things might have been okay, but the Tsarina, in what can only be described as in a moment of colour blindness, had decided to furnish the room with orange upholstery and gold accents. The result was a visual assault the likes of which he had still not recovered from three years later. The Tsarina called this a daring fashion statement. He – and he assumed most other people with eyes – thought this was an afront to good taste and that the Lantsov's should be barred from any other architectural or decoration related projects.
It warms his heart to hear Alina's snort as she tries desperately to supress her laughter. She is still shaking, but now it is with silent laughter instead of nerves, as he leads down a final corridor towards the Grand Ballroom. In less than a minute they are finally inside the room and Alina gets her first glimpse of the Imperial Court.
The room is much as he had expected, crowded with everyone and everyone who could wangle an invitation. At the far end, raised high on a dais sit the Tsar, Tsarina and the Tsarevitch.
It is not an auspicious start as introductions go. The Tsar is rude and uncouth, while the Tsarina is cruel and tactless, but Aleksander can't help the smile that flits across his lips as Alina in her own inimitable way responds to the Tsarina's snobbery. Her little fib that she doesn't speak Shu is brilliantly played and makes him wonder if Alina, counter to his initial thoughts, would be an asset in the political arena. Before he can think about this, however, he is distracted by the Tsar introducing his weak chinned son to Alina. Vasily is an unpleasant, spoilt boy who, if had not been born into the royal family would likely have had little impact on life or history. His interest in Alina is immediately clear and Aleksander finds his muscles tensing and his shadows coiling in proactive readiness as he watches the introduction. Alina is unsettled by the crown prince and it makes the jealous beast in his mind purr with pleasure when she unthinkingly steps back, bumping against his chest, as she tries to distance herself from the boy. Vasily will not touch her, Aleksander will make sure of that. He can see the desire, the greed and ambition in the other's eyes and he tries again the recapture her hand, but Alina is ahead of him and folds her hands behind her back, where they squeeze into fists in an attempt to hide her distress.
It is a troubling situation. Aleksander had hoped that Alina's unusual heritage would protect her from the Lantsov roving eye, but this is clearly not the case. What he can – or should – do about it is a question he will have to think about later as, with impeccable timing, the Apparat intervenes to suggest that it is time for the demonstration.
It is an excuse Aleksander desperately needs. The last few minutes has tried his patience in ways he has not felt for many years and his shadows are desperate to escape – both to protect Alina and to prove his dominance over the boy who has inadvertently issued a challenge to him. He barely has to concentrate before the room is cloaked in the comforting embrace of his shadows and the thought flickers across his mind that it would be such an easy thing to reach out with one and remove the useless idiots that make up their royal family. It isn't the right time for that though. One day they will pay for the blood of the Grisha they have abused and killed, but things are not yet ready. He is a patient man. After waiting 500 years, what are a few more months.
With that, Aleksander takes off his glove and turns, reaching out and offering Alina his hand. He can see in her eyes that she is curious and uncertain as to what he is doing, but nevertheless her hand reaches out and joins his. The reaction is instantaneous and greater that even he could have imagined. Around them he feels his shadows pulse and grow, as if Alina's touch has sent a surge of power through them, but it is Alina which captures and holds his attention. Around them a bubble of light has erupted, encasing Shadow Summoner and Sun Summoner. The ballroom may glitter with the light of a hundred thousand stars but in that moment all he can – and all wants to see – is Alina, her eyes shining with golden light, her skin shimmering, she has never looked more beautiful then in that moment and it feels like his heart might burst with how swollen it is with love for her.
He loves her – desperately, ardently, completely – and with their powers mingling it has never felt so right. Alina's eyes are shining with light and something else, something he desperately wishes is love. It gives him hope. For a moment he feels almost giddy with it and then reality crashes down.
He doesn't deserve her. The realisation is a crushing one and coincides with their hands parting and the reluctant separation of their gifts. How is happened, he cannot say. Did he pull back? Did she? Mayhap both let go at the same time. Either way, the result is the same. Slowly, almost resentfully, his shadows dissipate, reluctantly disentangling themselves from her light. Alina staggers as the starlight fades, off balance and exhausted by the display.
Thunderous applause shock the pair out of their stillness and Aleksander watches as his precious girl ducks her head, suddenly shy, as the crowd scream their delight. Desiring nothing more than to give her a moment to collect herself, Aleksander turns to face the Tsar – proudly proclaiming that there can be no doubt as to Alina's status. She is the Sun Summoner. With a nod he allows the impatient Grisha to swarm around her, welcoming Alina into the fold and extended family of the Little Palace, while he discusses training with the Tsar.
The Tsar's demands are not unexpected, even if they are vexacious. He wants her trained as quickly as possible, far quicker than any Grisha has mastered their powers before. Alina is released into his custody, but there is a proviso that almost makes him see red – she must perform infront of their guests at the Winter Fete in three months. If sufficient progress has not been made then the Tsar will reconsider where the Sun Summoner is best placed. The predatory glint in Vasily's eyes makes his spine stiffen in protective affront and it is all he can do not to cut the Tsarevitch down where he stands. It is the Tsar dismissing him which saves his son's life – or at the very least his ability to father children – and it is with relief that Aleksander follows the happy throng of Grisha back towards the Little Palace.
The celebrations continue for most of the day and conclude in a grand feast for all the inhabitants of the Little Palace. Even the servants will eat well this day. His Grisha have had so little to celebrate over the past few years that he is eager they enjoy today to the fullest. Aleksander does not join in. He is too busy going over reports and dispatching urgent missives to his spy network. One of his best is missing, and he fears that Nina may have been captured by the Drüskelle.
Even distracted as he is, his worries about Alina persist, and he leaves instructions with the oprinichki to bring her to him when she leaves the senior dining room so that he might see how she is. With everything going on, this is the most he can do to assuage his concerns, and he is grateful when she finally appears that now the low-level anxiety which has set up a home in his stomach might finally stop churning away.
His study is different to the rest of the Little Palace. Here he is better able to express his tastes and it is arranged more to suit him then it is to impress visiting otkazat'syas. Contrary to what people might think as a result of him being the Shadow Summoner, he does not like dark rooms. He likes large, light rooms. Rooms which are the opposite of the small, windowless caves and filthy hovels he grew up. His shadows make him feel safe, but the dark in general makes him as nervous as anyone else. He is drawn to the light, and he can see Alina looking around this, his most private room, with unconcealed interest. Idly he wonders what conclusions she is drawing, but before he can ask she spots the book shelves and a look of wonder spreads over her beloved face.
Catching her eyes with his, he stands and offers her a weak smile, asking her how she is and whether she enjoyed the dinner. He feels unaccountably off kilter with her in this room and it makes him stiff and revert to a level of formality they left long ago in their dealings with one another.
Alina's response though is calm and friendly and slowly he feels the tension melt away as they discuss her training and her schedule for the next few days. The interview is not long, and far shorter then his unhelpful heart wishes, but before she leaves he offers to courier any letters she wishes to send to her mother. Ivan will not mind the additional duty and there are few people he would trust with such a dangerous secret. That Alina needs Mei-Xing is evident, they have always been close and now more than ever she needs her mother's support, but the relationship is a potential weakness – and one unscrupulous people will not hesitate to exploit. To protect both Alina and Mei-Xing their relationship must not be broadcast, and that means discretion is paramount.
The offer earns him the first truly genuine smile he has had from Alina since before everything went wrong and it gives him hope that, as undeserving as he might be, he can still salvage the friendship which has meant so much to him.
The next few days are some of the busiest he has had in a while, and Aleksander spends most of his time locked in meetings or pouring over reports. It is headache inducing, and by the fourth day he is thoroughly fed up and needs to escape for a while. It is providential.
Earlier that morning, as Gustave put the finishing touches to his immaculate appearance, Genya appeared, brow furrowed in concern. It didn't take long for the Tailor to voice the reason for her visit – she is worried about Alina. The friendship between the two is everything Aleksander had hoped and it is clear that both girls have found in each other a kindred spirit they had been missing. Genya's report is not unexpected. He had suspected his precious girl would find it a difficult transition phase – particularly the restrictions around her movements. They were for her own good, but to someone like Alina who was used to a busy, active life and self-autonomy, the new regime must be chafing.
It is this thought which gives him an idea. He has been longing for a ride, why not invite Alina to join him. He could show her the grounds, maybe even take her to the well which would act as a useful aid for him to start to tell her the truth.
In high spirits he sends Genya off to get Alina ready and invite her to go on a morning ride. His impatience makes him jittery while he waits and he finds himself pacing backwards and forwards across his study just to release the nervous energy. After sufficient time that he is sure Alina must be ready now, he leaves his sanctuary and heads for the stable, eager to choose the horses himself.
Beauty is the first horse he sees as he enters the stable. The Trakehner is well rested and visibly in need of exercise as he stamps his legs and digs at the ground in boredom. The groom on duty is only too pleased to leave the saddling of the fidgety horse to its master and instead saddles the grey before leading both out to the mounting blocks in the stable yard.
Alina's delight in seeing Beauty is both amusing and mesmerising and Aleksander finds himself caught watching as the girl places kiss after kiss on Beauty's black nose. She is beautiful in the morning light, like a vision, and his heart skips a beat as he sees how well she looks dressed in the familiar uniform of his people.
It's the first time he's seen her outfitted as a Grisha and he has to say it suits her, the kefta flattering her figure and the gold embroidery complimenting the gold of her eyes. The only thing that feels wrong is the colour. Blue is the colour of the Etherealki, the order she belongs to as a Summoner and yet it feels wrong to see her garbed in it. Alina shouldn't be dressed in the blue of a common Summoner, she should wear black, like him, to show her for the unique Grisha she is. It is something to think on later, for the thought of Alina dressed his colours with golden embroidery sends shivers down his spine and brings heat to his cheeks. Both of which are not suitable reactions for anywhere but his private rooms.
With an embarrassed cough he remembers their audience, and it is with reluctance that he interrupts the reunion.
"Would you like to ride him?" Aleksander asks with a relaxed smile as he pats the grey next to him.
There are few people in the world Aleksander would allow to ride one of his personal horses, but as with most things, Alina is the exception, and her visible delight at the offer is more than enough to calm any qualms he might have about it.
In moments they are off, racing along the path and then off across the Ravkan countryside, the wind in their hair making Alina laugh with the joy of it.
The glade he eventually directs the to is a pretty wilderness and so unlike the rest of the palace grounds that he can easily understand Alina's surprise that such a place exists so close to the finely manicured gardens she is familiar with. The glade is at its best during spring and summer, when a riot of colour erupts in all the chaotic glory that nature intended, but to Aleksander's eyes it is still pretty now - with autumn turning the leaves on the trees a fiery cacophony of reds, golds and oranges.
Tying the horses to a nearby tree, Aleksander directs their walk towards the well, only half attending to Alina's happy chatter as his eyes trace what can be seen of the familiar carvings. He had always intended to bring the Sun Summoner here, to spin them a web of half truths as part of his longer plan to woe them to his cause. He had planned what he would say, how he would slowly reveal his true plans, how he would talk about his infamous ancestor who had saddled him with the curse that is the Fold as his familial inheritance. This morning he had thought about bringing Alina here to talk to her about the past, but the thought now sickens him, and he feels wretched as he breaks away from her to tear off the bracken and detritus that cover the well.
How could he think of saying any of that to Alina, and yet how can he tell her the truth. She could never love him – not even as a friend – if she were to discover that he is the Black Heretic. Twice he begins to speak, but both times his courage fails and he is merely left to shake his head and return to his self-appointed task.
Part of him wonders if Alina recognises the story played out in the carvings. She is a clever girl and he would be surprised if she didn't, but he is torn between the hope that she doesn't and the hope that she does and that she will start the conversation he cannot.
It is not to be. They sit in the glade and discuss meaningless things until the sun is high in the sky and he reluctantly realises they must return soon, or Alina will be late for her first lesson with his mother.
The ride back is less jubilant than the outward journey had been, but for all that Aleksander feels better for the exercise and is pleased to see Alina looking happy and relaxed as he escorts her into lunch.
He has to admit some nervous anticipation as to his mother's assessment after their first lesson. Baghra, in her usual uncompromising way, had informed him early on that his attendance in Alina's lessons would be neither helpful nor wanted.
"What use would you be boy, except as a distraction," she had grumbled when he had raised the possibility of him sitting on the lesson. "She needs to concentrate, not worry about looking like a ninny in front of you." His mother's assessment had stung to begin with, but he could see the sense it in and so he had given Baghra free rein.
It is a decision is coming to regret. His mother is her usual unhelpful self when he appears at her door that evening. She has no wish to discuss how the lesson went and will only say that it went much as she expected. What that means is left a mystery as Baghra will tell him no more than to say, "Sun Summoner she may be, but that doesn't mean she will learn any fast than other Grisha," before she shoves him out of the door.
He is over 500 years old and yet ten minutes with his mother makes him feel like a callow youth of 20 again.
It is not an easy life being Grisha. Children born Grisha usually have a hard life and it is common for the testers to find stories of abuse, neglect and cruelty when they bring their new wards back to the Little Palace. It is why he and his mother have worked so hard over the years to create this little paradice for them – a place where they can be loved and respected and grow into their gifts safe from those who would hurt them out of ignorance. Life doesn't get easier as they grow. The otkazat'syas resent the Little Palace, thinking that Grisha live a life of ease and opulence. They couldn't be more wrong, yet Aleksander has seen countless examples over his long life that ignorance is often the foundation for the strongest of opinions.
Such resentment and dislike from the otkazat'syas breeds danger for Grisha – adult and child alike, and he has lost count of those who have been unfairly attacked – and even killed – purely for the sin of being born Grisha. Then there is life in the army. There is no doubt that the Second Army is better provisioned – unlike the corrupt and incompetent lords of the First Army who would rather line their pockets then care for the troops under their command – he looks after his officers and it shows. But the danger they face is the same and while they are many otkazat'syas there are only a few Grisha. Each loss in the Second Army is a devastating blow, many of them he has known since – and cared for – since they were children and yet their sacrifice is never seemingly appreciated. It infuriates him.
So no, life as a Grisha is not an easy one. It's why ensures they have a good diet, the best cloth and good boots. It is also why once a week there is a games day at the Little Palace. Games day is a chance to relax and unwind. It is the only day free of lessons and responsibilities his Grisha have and it is all the more enjoyed because of it.
Alina had seemed to very much enjoy the last two, so it is with surprise and no little concern that Aleksander finds her missing from the festivities when he goes to find her. He finds Fedyor easily enough who looks shocked, then abashed, as he realises his charge has slipped out while he was playing quoits with several other Corpoalkis.
Despite Alina's continued objection as to the need for guards, Aleksander remains concerned. The Little Palace has so far been a sanctuary for the Grisha, but then they have never had a Sun Summoner in residence before. A part trained Sun Summoner. If Alina was in full control of her powers, he would have little cause for concern, but she didn't – and that left her vulnerable. Twice already he had found Vasily wandering the halls, ostensibly with a note from his mother, but the pretext was flimsy at best and it took like intelligence to realise what his real motive was. In addition to the Tsarevitch there was the Apparat to consider.
As spiritual advisor to the Tsar he had sent five letters already requesting an audience with the Sun Summoner and Aleksander had had reports from his oprinichki that he too had been found on the grounds of the Little Palace on several occasions. And these were just the two he was aware of. People were turning up every day requesting to see the Sun Saint or to give her gifts. So far he had succeeded in keeping them away from Alina, but such luck would not hold forever and when it ran out they had to be ready.
Not everyone welcomed the discovery of the Sun Summoner. Shu Han, Fjerda, even West Ravka are all nervous as to what Alina means for them and the war. Then there are the fanatics – those who see Grisha as abominations and would sooner kill her and all hope for destroying the fold then let such unnaturalness live. If they weren't enough to worry about then there was the Soldat Sol, a cult that worshipped the Sun Summoner as a God. Aleksander had been alive too long not to know how dangerous it is for someone to be named a saint. The saints venerated by the populous were often killed by their own followers or those they were trying to save. His grandfather is a prime example of the cost exacted from those deemed a saint.
Then there was the question of Alina's powers. He and his mother had assumed that Alina would be immortal, like them. The problem is he had not gained his quasi-immortality until he had come into his full power during his 20s and it had been the same for his mother. Alina is at her most vulnerable now and that terrifies him.
With that thought it mind it takes only a few minutes to gather a search party and set off in search of their misplaced saint.
He finally locates her in the library – a place which, in hindsight, knowing Alina as he does really should have been his first port of call.
Alina is curled up on one of the window seats, expression peaceful as she reads, and Aleksander feels an immediate sense of guilt as his abrupt entrance startles her. It is a relief to find her and he cannot help the smile that spreads over his face as he says, "there you are. I might have known you would sneak off here rather than enjoy playing games with the others."
Alina laughs as she nods her agreement and sets the book down on the nearby table as she stands to take the hand he couldn't remember raising. Her warmth scalds him, even through the thick leather of his glove, and he shivers; his mind growing foggy as her warm gaze finds his.
"Alinochka," he murmurs hoarsely, eyes full of unspoken emotion as he touches her cheek gently with trembling fingers. Her eyes are molten, soft and full of some feeling that makes his heart ache and for a moment his eyes flit to her mouth, love and desire pushing him forwards. The moment is broken as Alina looks away, a hint of a blush staining her cheeks and telegraphing her discomfort. A bucket of ice cold water could not have been more effective in that second then the sight of her distress. It feels like a canon ball has ripped through his heart, and with a lurch Aleksander steps back, the contact that had only a few moments before been of so much comfort and joy now leaving an acid taste in his mouth. His breathing is hard and his heart pounding as he runs a hand through his hair, desperately trying to regain control and manage the competing sensations of lingering desire and utter heartbreak.
The silence, which a moment before had been filled with something poignant, something beautiful, something captivating, is now is awkward and strained and one Aleksander has no idea how to deal with. He takes another step back, his desire to flee warring with his need to be near Alina. Flight wins and with a bow that he hopes hides his despair he leaves the library, reassured by the sight of Fedyor in the hallway that their Sun Summoner is well guarded.
Life moves on in the Little Palace and before he knows it a month has passed. Things have almost returned to normal between he and Alina. He sees her as regularly as their schedules allow, taking her for rides and talking to her about her studies. If he takes care not to stand so close to her, or to be alone with her for long without distraction, then that is his business and Alina seems content with the new unspoken rules of their friendship.
Yet for all things have changed, some things have remained the same. Concerned over Alina's continued lack of spirits at her slow progress, Aleksander calls Zoya to his study hoping to enlist the Squaller's aid. His mother is a good teacher, but she leaves much to be desired when it comes to building the confidence of her pupils. Alina's progress over the last month has been excellent – no one, except the Tsar, expects her to be able to be a master after only a few days of training – but Alina is frustrated at what she perceives as her failure. That this is a common problem, faced by all Grisha at the start of their training, apparently makes little difference, and in this Baghra is not helping.
His mother's opinion is that confidence comes from doing, not from being patted on the back or coddled, and that Alina will gain confidence once she understands how to use her power. That she can't find the key to use her gift does little to alter his mother's opinion, which remains as staunch and immovable as ever. The last time he tried to raise this with her he earned a sharp whack with that wretched walking stick of hers and a lecture on not trying to teach his mother how to suck eggs. What eggs had to do with this was – and remains – a mystery to him, but he had eventually retreated from her cottage bruised and bad tempered, with nothing to show for his excursion except the headache which usually results from a conversation with his mother.
His mother's intransigence, whilst not surprising, is frustrating – especially as he can see how it is affecting his Alina. Alinochka has always been fairly reserved and quiet, but now she is withdrawn. Where, as a child, she had been fascinated and enthralled by Grisha powers, now she just looks uncomfortable and edgy whenever someone talks to her about how her studies are going.
Baghra thinks that the issue is that she has not accepted her powers - that there is a part of Alina that is afraid and still trying to supress her powers. It is an opinion Aleksander longs to refute, but in the back of his mind, the words she said that fateful day by the Shepherd's hut linger; her desperate desire not to be the Sun Summoner and her fear of what it would mean that she was.
Aleksander thinks Alina needs reassurance and praise.
Baghra thinks she needs to work this out for herself.
It is a standoff on a cliff edge. Pressure is growing from the Imperial Palace to see progress, and then there is the Winter Fete. He could care less what their useless lump of a monarch thinks, or wants, but of one thing he is worried – that the Tsar could revoke his agreement for Alina to be trained at the Little Palace. If sufficient progress is not made by the date of that ridiculous fete, Aleksander worries what their august leader will do, or what it will mean for his Alina. As time passes, he can see how dispirited Alinochka feels; how lost and unsure she is surrounded by expectation. Even being around her fellow Grisha is of little help as she is not truly one of them. She is unique - special - and it sets her always apart from them. It is a distance his poor girl will feel acutely. Her heritage has always set her apart, but not she has been raised to the level of a god by the general populous. It is a lonely position to have - as he knows from bitter experience.
Alina's struggle recalls to his mind another young Etheralki who once had similar problems. One who wished not to be Grisha so she could return to the loving home she had with her family. It is this recollection which prompts him to summon Zoya in an attempt to help his Alinochka.
As this is a problem Zoya herself at once faced, he has hope that the prepossessed and confident Squaller will be of help in assuring Alina that she will find the key and in suggesting alternative methods; seeing as the traditional one of clapping to summon appears to have little effect for the Sun Summoner.
As succinctly as possible he explains the situation to the Squaller, careful to convey only the outline of the issue. He has faith that Zoya will do as asked – and do it well – as she has all other assignments given to her; but for all that Alina will not thank him for saying too much, nor is it in his nature to share such information. With a smile and a nod Zoya accepts her task and leaves him to his troubled thoughts. If only all of Alina's worries were so easily dealt with. Tomorrow she is due to start training with her peers under Botkin's watchful eye and he has a meeting with the latest incompetent lackies the Tsar has promoted to lead his army. It is not a discussion he is anticipating as anything other than a waste of his time and limited patience.
Aleksander is staring at the large map in the War Room, mid meeting with several senior officers from both First and Second Armies, when he feels it.
It starts as a tingle that races down his spine and the tiny hairs on the hairs on his arms almost vibrate with sudden tension. He stops mid-sentence, distracted by the way he can feel his own power roiling under his skin as if desperate to escape. Across the table he sees the way the other Grisha present are rubbing their arms or fidgeting in discomfort. It tastes like static electricity in the air, a sixth sense you get before the approach of a powerful storm. He looks out of the window, the sky - which at last look had been its usual overcast autumnal self – is still overcast, but there is no hint of a storm, and there are now patches of sunlight breaking through giving it a radiance not normally seen in northern Ravka at this time of year.
The First Army officers seem blissfully unaffected by the strange sensations, which adds both to the mystery and to the unease now coiling in Aleksander's stomach, his shadows restive as whisps start to form around his arms. Something is wrong. Very wrong.
With a barked command he leaves the room, ignoring the grumbling and protests from the senior ranking First Army officers, and striding purposefully through the doors. Once out of sight he breaks into a run, the tingles have become shivers and there is now a painful sensation in his chest that is tugging him in a direction that he is heedless to do anything but follow.
Anatoly, one of the final year students, almost runs into him as he passes the east staircase. The boy is panicked and out of breath, "Moi Soverenyi," he gasps in relief as he grips the General's kefta and starts pulling him back the way he came. Such behaviour would normally be met with a swift rebuke, but this dies a swift death on Aleksander's lips at the explanation that Anatoly gives as they rush down the passage towards the training yard.
There has been an incident, a terrible incident, and Alina is hurt – that is all he understands as they hurtle through the final door, and he crashes into the pandemonium that has overtaken Botkin's training area.
It is chaos that greets him. Over the far side, close to the stable wall, several of the students are beating at something on the ground with large blankets, other students are huddled together, crying in fear and desperation as they clutch at each other, but it is the sight of his martial arts trainer who catches his attention. Botkin is kneeling by another figure, the blue of their Etherealki kefta just visible around his large form and he feels his heart pause for a long moment as fear overtakes him. Around him students' part like water controlled by a Tidemaker and it only takes a few seconds for him to cross the distance and join the trainer. His heart is thudding painfully in his chest as his eyes see what his heart already knew – it is Alina.
There on the ground before him, for the second time in as many months, is his Alina. His sweet girl is unnaturally still, and it takes his grief fogged mind longer than it should for him to realise that she isn't breathing. Her skin, which usually has a health sun-kissed glow has a peculiar pallor to it and her lips usually the colour of blush roses are stained blue. With an inarticulate cry Aleksander throws himself down beside her, desperate fingers clenching around Alina's wrist as if he can anchor her soul in the realm of the living through touch alone. Beside him Botkin continues to rub her arms and alternatively put pressure on her chest, his voice is rushed and lacks its habitual calm as he speaks to the fallen girl.
Within moments of his arrival the healing staff appear, and Aleksander finds himself unceremoniously pushed out of the way as an older woman in healer red appears and takes control. There is a nightmare inducing crack, followed quickly by a gasping inhale as Alina take her first breath. With a sigh the healer rocks back on her heels, "get her to the infirmary," she informs Aleksander, voice tired and strained. "There is more damage than I can heal, and she needs the attention of the Head Healer."
With a firm nod, Aleksander shifts and gathers his precious girl into his arms, his shadows wrapping around her like a swirling black blanket. There are four or five boys lingering close by who all offer to take the Sun Summoner to the medical wing, but he cannot bear the thought of letting her out of his sight, let along allowing another to touch her. He had so nearly lost her. Here. At the Little Palace, the one place that was meant to be safe for Grisha. A place that was meant to be safe for her, and this had happened.
Each shuddering breath Alina takes is like music to his ears as his eyes alternate between obsessively monitoring her and trying to watch where he is walking. It's not an easy thing to walk carrying a grown woman, let alone one that is unconscious, and it's not helped further by the panic gripping his normally calm mind. Ivan accompanies him, his stern expression keeping the curious and worried Grisha away as he opens doors and leads Aleksander the quickest way through the labyrinthine passages the servants use to the Infirmary.
Their entrance to the infirmary is, not surprisingly, slightly more dramatic than either Aleksander or any of the healing team would have preferred. The main reason being that in the seconds it takes to enter the infirmary and settle his precious burden on a bed, Alina's heart stops beating again.
He feels it even before the three healers who have congregated around the unconscious Sun Summoner start shouting, their voices verging on hysteria as they call for Garin, supplies and support. The precious beating of her heart has vanished and Aleksander feels it's absence in his own chest, which now feels as if a leaden weight is weighing down his lungs.
At this point Alina's near immortality is more a hypothesis than a proved fact. That he's come back from worse wounds is a small comfort in that moment as Aleksander contemplates the full horror of eternity without Alina by his side.
The healers are working furiously, desperately trying to catalogue her injuries and he hears enough to make his head swim in rage: lacerations, bruises and a dislocated shoulder, are just the tip of the iceberg. Concussion (again), four broken ribs and a further three have hairline fractures. The worst injury though is the most recent. The trainee healer who had attended her in the courtyard had forced air into her lungs, giving her much needed oxygen, but in doing so had caused one of the ribs to shift, puncturing the right lung and causing it to collapse. At Garin's appearance, Aleksander lets out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, but his relief is short lived.
The head healer is not his normal calm self and is shouting instruction even, as more healers join the fray. But they cannot get her heart to re start.
The precious organ remains stubbornly still no matter what they try. In the background Aleksander is aware of the infirmary doors opening, and of Botkin carrying in the crumpled form of Zoya, but he pays them no mind. In that moment his entire being is focused on Alina, on willing her heart to beat again, and there is no space to think of anything – or anyone – else. Later there will be time to find out the truth, later there will be time for retribution, later he will sort this mess out. All that matters in that moment is Alina.
Her heart has been silent for over three minutes; worry and fear are escalating as hope starts to dwindle. Vaguely, Aleksander is aware of Sergoi leaving the huddle and hurrying in the direction of Botkin, but all he sees is the gap by Alina and half in a panic riven daze he steps forward into it, desperate to touch her, to feel her familiar, beloved presence against his own again.
"Fight, Alina!" He pleads, desperation driving him to speak as he leans down to rest his head against her own, his shadows escaping his control to wrap loving tendrils around her wrist. "Please don't leave me, sweetheart. You must fight."
There is a long endless moment as nothing happens, but then Alina suddenly gasps, breathing ragged and shallow as her heart thunders back into life. Aleksander's hand clasped protectively around her own.
For the second time that day, Aleksander finds himself pushed away from the woman he loves, and relegated to watching from the side-lines as others try to save her life. It's not a position he likes or finds easy. He's a man of action by nature, and even at the best of times he's never liked waiting. Waiting now is like torture. Another ten minutes of frenetic activity pass and then suddenly, almost without warning, two of the healers start to wheel Alina's bed away from Aleksander and down the corridor. Alarmed, Aleksander steps forward only to be intercepted by Garin.
The Head Healer is smiling as he grasps the Generals arm and leads him towards a seating area down a different corridor to the one Alina is quickly vanishing down. "She's fine," Garin says, exhaustion making his brogue thicker than usual. "Olena, Miri and Gregori are taking her a private room to finish things off and get her comfortable. There will be a lot of curiosity around our Sun Summoner and she's going to need peace and quiet."
All Aleksander can do is nod mutely in thanks as Garin pats his arm again and leaves, heading towards the room Alina had been taken to.
Tiredly, he walks the few steps to the visitors area where Botkin is sitting, and sinks into the waiting chair, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he wonders how things have gone so wrong so fast.
Until now the panic of seeing Alina so badly injured has left little available in the way of grey matter to consider how she had come to be hurt in the first place.
That question now comes rushing back, and with a frown he turns to his trainer with a raised eyebrow in mute command. Botkin nods, he has known the Darkling for too many years not to understand his master or what he is now asking.
In his usual succinct and lilting way he explains the events of that afternoon, of the decision he had made to introduce Alina into the standard group with her peers, and his error in judgement with matching Zoya with the Sun Summoner.
What precipitated the altercation, he cannot say, but that there was tension between the two was evident. He had thought the training exercise would help, but he had been wrong. Instead of giving the girls a healthy outlet to learn to work together it had instead ignited into a wildfire – with all the devastation and grief such a natural disaster brings.
With a scowl, Aleksander pinches the bridge of his nose again, anger simmering inside him as he desperately tries to control his shadows before they lash out in impotent rage. As to what had happened, and who was ultimately to blame, he would need to talk to both girls to discover, but one thing was clear. Zoya had attacked first. Zoya had used the small science first – breaking Botkin's first and most important rule and his trust in the process. He had asked her to help Alina, not cripple and nearly kill her.
In a perverse twist of irony, it did at least appear that Zoya had - inadvertently at least – helped Alina find how to access her power. Alina had called the sun; not as she had on the skiff, but summoned it and wielded it like the divine weapon it was.
It might have been seconds, minutes or hours, they have been waiting for news when Aleksander's musings on what this could mean for Alina and her abilities is interrupted by Garin's reappearance. The normally jolly and laidback Head Healer is unusually frazzled as he bustles out of the room Zoya had been to and collapses into a chair while calling for the strongest coffee known to mankind.
"Yes, I've checked on Miss Starkov," he says, correctly interpreting the commanding silence from his General. With a sigh he gratefully accepts the coffee one of the junior healer's presses into his waiting hands, breathing in the aroma deeply before continuing. "Her heart is looking much better. She must have hit that wall with incredible force to have caused enough concussive trauma to stop her heart like that."
"And is she…" Aleksander trails off hopefully.
Garin pats his hand comfortingly, "She isn't awake," he says gently, "and I can't tell you when she will wake. Healing takes time – as you well know - and Miss Starkov used a great deal of energy today, by all accounts, and that will take time to recover from. Be patient," he advises sternly, as he takes a long sip of the coffee.
Aleksander swallows around the lump of relief that has appeared in his throat, but Garin hasn't finished and the smile becomes a frown as the healer continues. "We've fixed the worst of the damage, but there's only so much we can do and it will take at least a week – if not two - before she's up to full strength again. There's also some concern over how long Alina was without oxygen."
Aleksander is speechless, fear paralysing his voice as his mind rebels against the thought that the Alina who wakes up might not be the precious girl he has loved for so long. Patting his arm, Garin says gently, "that's not to say that she will suffer any ill-effects, she might be lucky. But she was without oxygen for a significant period of time, and I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't at least raise the prospect with you. At the very least I'd expect some memory loss or confusion in the early days."
Aleksander nods sharply, the deep unrelenting fear of earlier has not left him, but it has at least quietened somewhat with the healer's calming reassurance. If anyone can recover from an injury like this surely it will be the Sun Summoner.
Setting the mug aside, Garin folds his arms, "now Miss Nazyalensky on the other hand, is a different matter. She should be awake within a few hours, I would think."
Aleksander doesn't try to repress the scowl that crossed his handsome features at the reminder of the party responsible for that day's drama. "Awake and able to be questioned?" he asks, voice regaining its usual cool and commanding tone.
Garin nods thoughtfully, "I should think so," he says. "Her injuries are mostly superficial in nature. She has some very nasty burns, and a few bad bruises, but nothing that should be difficult to heal." His fingers tap on his knee as he turns something over in his mind. Botkin frowns slightly, watching the healer carefully, before asking, "something is wrong?"
"There was something odd about the healing," the healer says at last, "don't ask me what, it's just odd. An odd feeling." He shakes his head, still looking frazzled and pushes himself to his feet.
"I imagine you want to see Miss Starkov, and you can – after dinner," he adds, looking at the still pale General. "I'd say the usual visiting rules apply, but I rather think you'll just ignore them."
The Healer's grin reminds Aleksander of a cat that has just got into the cream, and he deliberately ignores the gentle taunt, as he nods regally and strides out of the Infirmary with instructions that he is to be sent for if there is the slightest concern or change. Alina is safe, for the moment, and there are things he needs to do before she awakes.
He has two mothers to inform and a puzzle to solve. Grisha have been known, on occasion, to be able to sense when another Grisha was summoning or using their gifts. These instances are almost always during periods of exceptional stress or high emotion and all and any attempt to recreate it has, as yet, yielded inconsistent results. The most those who had studied the phenomenon could conclude was that Grisha had some sense of each other but as to why, how, or to what extent, remained a mystery.
That he, and the other Grisha in his War Room, had felt the altercation this afternoon was clear. That they had sensed it over 500 yards away and through multiple thick stone walls was more unexpected. But what puzzled Aleksander was that he hadn't just sensed it as his fellows had. He had felt Alina's pain, felt her need. She had called to him, and he had heard it; known it in his soul and reacted instinctively to it before his conscious mind was even aware of what it was.
His mother had always told him that like called to like. Indeed, it was one of the founding tenets they taught all Grisha about the small science, and he had expected – anticipated - that this would be especially true for him and the Sun Summoner, whenever they appeared. He had not expected it to be literal though. Nor had he expected how his shadows would respond, without his conscious decision – or thought – as if they were a separate, autonomous entity rather than a part of him.
Alina had called to him. It was a puzzle, and one that needed solving.
A/N What does everyone think? Anyone want to guess what Alina has done?