Chapter 17: Shadow and Bone

Summary: In which miracles happen, rumours get out of hand and Alina meets a new friend

There are few things more torturous then waiting, especially when it's bad news you're expecting. If Alina had thought the two days waiting for the injured Aleksander to arrive had been bad she had not accounted for the entirely new level it would reach once the convoy had made it to the safety of the Little Palace. Every moment she expected a knock on the door and every noise startled her. It destroyed her concentration and tore at her self-control. Though few outside of the healing staff new that the General was here and the state he was in, Alina did - she had seen him with her own eyes, laid out on a stretcher being carried by two Oprinichki - she knew he was here, she even knew where he was, and yet still she was powerless to go to him.

Needless to say, it was not for lack of trying. Almost as soon as Aleksander disappeared from her sight she had fled to the infirmary, intent on reaching it first so that she could be in position when they entered, desperate to be close to her dearest friend. But when she entered the stark whiteness of the infirmary she was turned away by a solemn faced Anya and escorted back to her room by one of the junior healers. She tried again a few hours later, and again some hours after that, both times to no avail. Frustrated and at her wits end with worry, she at last approached Fedyor in the hope that he could ask his lover. Ivan's response had been typical and unequivocal. "The General does not need troublesome little girls hanging around," he had said, scowl fixed firmly in place, and that had been that.

At least the umbrage his tactless remark had caused provided a distraction for a little while from the sea of worry that was drowning her, but soon enough her mind returned to fretting about Aleksander. With Baghra still refusing to accept pupils and most of Alina's instructors busy in the infirmary or on rumour management with the younger years, there was very little left for her to do either.

Vexed, worried and increasingly anxious, Alina at last retires to the relative serenity of the library in the hope that there she might finally be able to settle, but even surrounded by the books she loves so much her fears continue to plague her and she feels unusually restless – as if there is something she needs to do but has forgotten about.

It's Marie who suggests she goes for a walk after the sixth time of catching the restive Sun Summoner tapping her foot and fidgeting. Nadia agrees as well. Unlike Alina who has a specialised lesson plan, both girls still have classes and homework due that day – work which, true to form, they have both left until the last minute. They might not understand the cause of Alina's disquiet and unusual behaviour, but that doesn't mean they haven't picked up on the undercurrent in the Little Palace and Alina's agitation is a distraction they can do without as they puzzle over the tricky problem set by the mathematics instructor, Vasya Kuznetsov.

With a nod, Alina agrees and sets off - her usual guards in tow - for a turn around the sunken garden. It's a favourite haunt of hers, especially as there's a fountain that never turns off. The gentle tinkle of running water is soothing to her nerves and the sun beating down on her relaxes her with its calming warmth. The guards behind her are wrapped up in thick coats and gloves to ward off the harsh winter air, but Alina stands there, bare hands outstretched and dressed in only her kefta, as she soaks up the light. It's one of the odd perks she's noticed since discovering her power, but she is seldom cold now if the sun is shining - all she needs is to feel the sunlight touch her skin and she feels instantly as if she's in a warm bath. Even today with the temperature hovering only just above freezing, she feels comfortably warm.

She must have been sitting in the garden for nearly an hour when the sound of heavy boots on the stone path wakes her from the dose she's slipped into. Blinking against the bright light, Alina's eyes focus on the sour features of Aleksander's Second in Command. Ivan is scowling, that's the first thing her tired mind notices, but underneath the show of bad temper his eyes are lined with exhaustion and worry, and for all his usual surliness it has a defeated quality to it.

"Hello, Ivan." Alina greets the Heartrender, as she pushes herself into a sitting position on the stone bench she had claimed as a place to rest.

A nod is all the return greeting she gets, but then from Ivan that is almost loquacious.

"You must come," he says, stepping back and gesturing towards the path that will lead back to the Little Palace.

Now more alarmed, Alina stands, hands anxiously brushing dirt and debris from her normally immaculate kefta.

At her worried look the Heartrender's glower softens minutely. "Not here," he says in his usual gruff voice, as he starts to walk away. He sets a fast pace as they return to the Little Palace, one Alina with her shorter legs struggles to match without having to jog by the Commander's side. It is a torturous few minutes as they speed along the carefully maintained paths but at last they reach the front door, the two guards on duty nodding respectfully as they enter the main building.

Any thought of getting answers once inside the safety of the Little Palace is quickly disabused as Ivan shows no sign of stopping and instead continues to lead Alina through the maze like corridors at a fast clip. The destination though is a surprise. With the Heartrender's unexpected and harried appearance she had expected to be led to the infirmary, convinced that something dreadful was happening with their General. But that isn't where Ivan has led her. The room she's in is only vaguely familiar from the night after her presentation, but it's enough to know that she's just entered The General's suite. No sooner has she entered though than Ivan leaves her – complete with a severe admonishment not to touch anything – before he hurries through the apartment with purpose.

The first time she entered this room she had been too fraught with nerves and exhaustion to take much in, but looking around now, she notes the layout with more interest. The rooms are arranged in a L shape, with access to the next only achieved through the room before it. It's a layout designed to maximise security and she feels a pang of sadness at the fear – almost certainly well warranted fear – which led to this design, a design which speaks of isolation and a life of continual danger.

The room she has been left in is the first room, known throughout the Little Palace as the War Room. This is the room that Aleksander uses to discuss strategy and have meetings with officers from the First and Second Army. It is a dark, imposing room, one filled with books, maps and the accoutrements of war. There is only one other door in the room, one set into the dark wood panelling so that you might miss it if you weren't looking for it – this is the door that leads to the room Aleksander had met her in that night. His private study couldn't be more different in design and decor from the War Room. The study is light and airy, it still has the same wood panelling as the other room, but it is less heavy and ostentatious somehow, with a more relaxed feel to it; and while it is dominated by the grand desk, there are chairs and sofas scattered around the large fire, organised into a comfortable seating area.

Ivan's return is as brusque as his exit had been as he stomps toward her, gives both Alina and the War Room a dark, searching look as if to see if she has touched anything she shouldn't. Satisfied, his waves her through the study and towards another concealed door. Stepping through this last door, Alina's eye blink as they taken in the gloomy atmosphere of Aleksander's bedroom. It's a large room, with a beautifully carved bed at the centre of it, but even for a room this size it feels small with the sheer number of people in it.

Garin is beside a dark blob hidden by the mound of blankets and covers. Clustered near to the Head Healer are three other healer's she only vaguely knows, flicking through books at a startling speed and talking in hushed whispers. By the far wall is Fedyor, looking out of place in his bright red uniform, his eyes are closed in concentration and it only takes a moment for Alina to realise he must be monitoring Aleksander's heartbeat. Near to him are two other guards and another unknown Heartrender who are in deep discussion. But it's the last two residents of the room that really capture her attention – for there, half hidden in shadows, are Baghra and Botkin.

Something of her surprise must have shown on her face, for next to her Ivan mutters; "another troublesome woman. She just appeared and has since refused to move."

For a moment, Alina feels a flash of amusement flicker through her and her lips twitch as she replies, "and you were what - too afraid to try and remove a little old woman?"

Ivan's habitual scowl deepens, and one hand creeps down to rub his thigh, as he eyes the distant Baghra with a dark look. "She was not to be moved."

Supressing a laugh, Alina nods, "I can see that."

The moment between them is broken at the sound of a stick thumping the wooden floor with purpose. Around the room six men flinch before automatically stepping backwards.

"You've finally found her then." Baghra's voice cuts through the noise effortlessly, silencing everyone. It's more statement than question and definitely hostile. Ivan's scowl returns with terrifying ferocity, but it has little effect on the old woman, who remains stoically unmoved by a sight that routinely terrifies most of the inhabitants of the Little Place.

"And where was she?"

"In one of the gardens." Baghra harrumphs, a derisive and faintly mocking look on her face. "Hmm. As I said then."

Ivan choses to grunt and shrug rather than reply to the troublesome old woman, but Alina can see just how nettled he is in the rigid set of his shoulders as he makes his way over to where his visibly amused partner is trying not to laugh.

Fedyor's amusement is the only bright spot in the otherwise sombre room, even the lamps in the room seemed somehow dimmer than normal, casting a gloomy pall. In the dim light the blue walls look darker, blacker, more ominous - like she's wandered into the lair of one of the villains in those books Marie and Nadia giggle over. Unease itches at her, making her stomach churn and her hands tremble. She had known Aleksander was badly injured but she had thought – hoped – that hewould improve once he reached the safety of the Little Palace and the care of his healers. It doesn't take a genius to realise that this hasn't happened. The man on the bed is dangerously ill.

"Well! Why are you all standing about in such a stupid manner," Bahgra demands, her acidic tone jolting Alina out of her thoughts. "The girl is finally here. Maybe now we can actually get on with things."

Garin lets out an exasperated sigh. "As I have told you multiple times, madam…"

As to what the healer had told her was to remain a mystery as the old woman interrupts, speaking over him. "And as I have told you – the jurda parem has not destroyed his power, it's still there – I can feel it."

"Even if that is the case, it's too late, madam." Garin's tone is a far cry from his normal joviality and Alina suppresses a wince. Extended exposure to Baghra can do that to even the most cheerful and genial of people.

Thump. Thump. Thwack! "No it isn't, you mutton headed moron. What he needs is Alina." Next to her, Botkin rubs his shin and looks reproachfully at Aleksander's incensed mother and the walking stick that is being brandished like a weapon with every irate gesticulation.

"Madam, please," Garin says, his voice startlingly close to pleading. "It's only my respect for you and for our General which has stopped me from have you removed from the room, but this situation is very grave. It is time for us to prepare ourselves and the other grisha for what is coming. You know what jurda parem is and what it does. He cannot last much longer."

"Then there is nothing more we can do?" Fedyor asks unsteadily.

Garin's eyes are full of pity as he looks at the younger man and shakes his head. "Even grisha healing has its limitations. No one has ever survived such a strong dose before. That he's survived this long is nothing short of a miracle. There's literally nothing left." He sighs sadly, "pray to any gods or saints who may be listening, for there is nothing more any of us can do."

It's not the pronouncement anyone in the room wanted to hear and panicked whispers erupt almost as soon as the healer has finished speaking.

Left by the door and feeling increasingly like an intruder, Alina shifts uncertainly as dread starts to turn her ice cold. He's dying, she realises, her heart aching and her vision greying at the edges. That's what Garin means. The man under the mound of blankets - her Aleks - is dying. There's nothing more Garin and the healers can do. They're hoping and praying, but they just don't know how to save him.

Near her, the three Heartrenders are already deeply involved in disaster planning - discussing contingency plans for control of the Second Army, notices that will have to be sent and how to manage the Tsar and royal court who will almost certainly seek to capitalise on this tragedy to the detriment of all grisha. Baghra and Botkin are arguing with Garin and the remaining healers, while the Oprinichki guards just look uncomfortable and edgy.

What she wants is to check on Aleks. What she needs is for him to be okay. What no one needs – or wants – at the moment is this cacophonous disagreement. Now she's concentrating she can feel the gentle tug she's come to associate with her oldest friend, an awareness that is always with her. It's the same sense she has that makes her look up to find him watching her, that calls to her in her dreams, and that binds them together. It's a bond, a tether, one woven as much by her affection for him as by their powers. Two sides of the same coin. Yet it feels oddly distant now as if something has muffled it. Frowning, she chases the strange sensation, following the ephemeral tug with her mind. There's something… something just out of reach, something half forgotten, half buried. Something she needs to remember. It calls to her.

Closing her eyes, Alina breathes deeply as Botkin has shown her and allows her mind to stretch and flow, to follow the path set before her.

It starts with darkness and blood and rage, and she understands. Again, she sees a flash of swirling black shadows and hears a pain filled cry. In her mind's eye there is blood and mud, the horror of war all around her, but greater than that is the pain of the man hunched before her. She sees a pale Aleksander fighting to keep control of the shadows flying around them with lethal energy. She feels his pain, his desperation and the knowledge that when he fails – and it is a question of when, not if – the destruction he will wreak will be a hundred times worse than what happened when he unleashed the Fold. He will decimate not just the battlefield but for miles around. Enemies and allies and innocents alike will be obliterated under the onslaught of his power.

Next to her, Baghra and the team of healers are still arguing, their voices increasingly high pitched and fraught as they battle their wits and willpower, but she pays them no attention. It's white noise, nothing, an irritation that she pushes from her mind as she focuses on trying to recapture the whisps of memory.

She sees Aleksander's anguished eyes as he begs her to leave him – to escape to safety before he cannot control himself anymore and she feels her response resonate through her body: her resolution that she will be with him to the end. Whatever end it is. She watches as her dream self reaches out and touches his ungloved hand and it's like an explosion in her veins - she feels a tsunami of pure light like never before. The sun rushes out of her, encasing and enfolding the hidden core of Aleksander's power in a golden glow that beats back the jurda parem and then she knows.

Her eyes blink open. The row has expanded now to include Botkin, Fedyor and Ivan. Of the room's occupants, only the two uncomfortably looking Oprinichki are not involved in the shouting match as they hover near the door, clearly uncertain what they should do and just as clearly wishing they were anywhere else. With a wave of her hand, Alina dismisses the pair and waits for the tell tale click of the door shutting. It speaks to the heat of the furore that not one person appears to have noticed the guards leaving, but that's in her favour.

She knows Aleksander will be cross with her for doing this in front of other people, but she can feel him slipping away. That he has lasted this long cut off from his shadows – the very essence of himself – is nothing short of a miracle, but it is a miracle with a countdown timer; one that is already perilously close to running out. It's no wonder the healers have been unable to help him, not when grisha healing relies on the healer using the injured grisha's own energy to fuel the healing process.

With a last cautious glance at the others, Alina creeps across the room, her footsteps soft and barely audible on the thick rugs. The man in the bed bears almost no resemblance to the Aleksander she knows so well. This man is gaunt, unnaturally pale and barely conscious. His skin is waxy and has an unhealthily look to it that speaks of a long illness, while his hair is unkempt and greasy, and he has the beginnings of a scruffy beard.

The Aleksander she knows is always perfectly put together and is fastidious – almost to the point of vanity - about his appearance. Even when on the odd occasion he ruffles his hair it at most looks artfully dishevelled and he is always cleanly shaven. To see the dense dark scruff on his chin makes the man in the bed look alien, foreign, like someone else has snuck in and is just pretending to be her Aleks.

Across the room the noise shoots up another few decibels, and Alina winces, grateful for the knowledge that these rooms are soundproofed. The bundle of blankets shivers again and Alina swallows, instinct telling her that it's now or never. The argument won't last forever and she knows with uncanny certainty that once it's over her chance will be gone.

Swaddled as he is, there's no chance of Alina being able to touch Aleksander's hand as she had in the dream. Instead, all she can reach is his face, which is half hidden as it is in the mound of blankets. Another step forward brings her right to the edge of the great bed and she leans over, her left hand placed on the mattress for balance as her right gently strokes his hair before cupping his cheek.

Fever dazed eyes meet hers and she hears the man whisper her name as he stirs weakly. Unlike the last time there's no rush of power and a for a moment Alina fears she's made a grave error, that her dream was just that after all no matter the eerie similarities to the few details she's learnt about the battle. But then she feels it; feels the warm glow that starts in her chest, her skin shining as her sun sings, and she feels as it sinks into the shivering man, warming and soothing him. Before, it had been desperation and instinct which drove her, pushing the reaches of her power in a frantic bid to save his life. Now, with him safe before her, her light is more like gentle wave as it washes through him, pulling free the shield of light that had protected his core, the secret part that gives all grisha their gifts.

The effect is almost instantaneous and three things happen in quick succession: Aleksander jolts and arches in the bed, letting out a strangled gasp as his shadows explode out of him, swirling around and over him like a thousand inky snakes. Already disorientated and unsteady, this action unbalances Alina who wobbles for a moment before falling to the floor with a crash, just as the arguing comes to an abrupt halt. The silence only lasts a few seconds and then there's a roar of noise and activity as the healers spring into action while Fedyor hurries to help the dazed Sun Summoner to her feet.

The Alina who stands is different to the one who had been escorted into the room a few minutes before by Ivan. This Alina looks drawn and tired, with a pallor to her skin that speaks to her exhaustion, and she sways where she stands beside Fedyor. The Heartrender keeps her upright with a steadying hand to her elbow as he escorts her to one of the deep padded chairs in the bay window.

She knows she must look dreadful for even Ivan is looking at her with unusual concern, but there is little Alina can do at that moment except sink into the comforting embrace of the chair and allow her eyes to slide shut. It feels as if she's run a hundred leagues, completed the Oprinichki obstacle course and then defeated half a dozen volcra just for the fun of it. She feels drained even as the sun burns inside her, blazing and triumphant.

The familiar tap-tapping of a stick makes her open her eyes blearily to see Baghra near her. "Well done, girl," she murmurs softly with an approving twitch of her lips, before she turns to continue watching the flapping of Aleksander's highly trained medical staff.

"But how?" One of the junior ones is demanding in a high-pitched, almost hysterical tone. "This isn't possible. There's no way…" he trails off as he furiously compares his notes against the evidence of his own gift. "His power was gone, destroyed, we checked. This isn't physically possible!"

Garin's eyes are closed as he breathes in deeply, his hand laid on Aleksander's now visible wrist. "And yet it is!" he corrects sharply as his eyes open. "the General's power has been restored and he is now healing. It won't be long before he is at full strength again." His eyes find Alina's across the room and he bows low.

"I don't know what you did, Sankta," he says reverently, "and I won't ask, but I thank you." It's the first time the steady healer has used that name and it makes Alina want to squirm in discomfort, but Garin isn't finished. Squaring his shoulders, he also bows in Baghra's direction as he says stiffly, "it would appear, madam, that you were right."

Baghra just grins victoriously as she pats Alina's hand and walks back to the seat she has claimed as her own. The mood is lighter, almost jubilant now that the danger has passed and Alina smiles as she rests her head against the thick cushion placed there by an unusually considerate and attentive Ivan.

Aleksander will be fine now.

All will be well.

Time drifts on. Alina sleeps for two days following her intervention and in that time rumours run rife through the Little Palace. With so many people in the room some of what occurred was bound to get out sooner rather than later, but still it's with considerable annoyance that Alina finally awakes to discover that the gossip mill has well and truly outdone itself this time.

It's Genya who has the dubious honour of telling the Sun Summoner what is being said about her and its only their close friendship which saves her hair and eyebrows from Alina's explosive reaction. Still tired and out of sorts, Alina's control of her powers was never going to be the best, combine that with her having been woken up unusually early to fit in a dress fitting and all things considered it probably wasn't the best time for the Tailor to broach the subject.

Head in her hands, Alina can only listen in horror as Genya tells her about the rumours which can't seem to decide if she's some sort of two-timing harlot who's carrying on a relationship with both the General and the Crown Prince, after she was seen being escorted from his private rooms dishevelled and clearly exhausted, or a warrior saint who saved their General from near death.

The latter was the nearest to the truth and could only have come from the healing staff or the unknown Heartrender who she had last seen trying to keep out of reach of Baghra's walking stick after he'd irritated her one too many times. Another rumour explains her exhaustion as Alina having nursed the Darkling for three days straight after he lost a duel with the Crown Prince over her.

However, it's the final rumour that nearly has her setting the Vezda suite alight in mortification.

According to this version of events, Ivan had discovered her trying to sneak into the General's private rooms to steal Second Army secrets for her First Army lover. The Heartrender had over-powered her and what had been seen was the Sun Summoner being escorted to a prison cell where she would wait for her trial and that was why she hadn't been seen for two days.

Genya had told her all this with a chortle – clearly amused by the ludicrous and overactive imaginations of the inhabitants of the Little Palace.

"Where are they getting these ideas?" Alina moans into her hands once the fire has been put out. "I don't even know how some of them would physically work. I mean who in their right minds would think Ivan and I were carrying on some torrid affair behind Fedyor's back – I mean, they have met Ivan right? He loathes me and I really don't think he's secretly carrying a flame for the fairer sex either. And don't get me started on that one about espionage. I don't have a lover – secret or otherwise. When would I have the time to be conducting all these clandestine meetings they seem to think are happening, and someone would surely have seen me sneaking off to them as well. It just doesn't make sense!"

"Gossip rarely bothers itself with probability, truth or even reality, Alina," Genya murmurs gently as she tries to tug her friend's hair into some sort of order. "Don't let it get to you."

"Easy for you to say," is the piteous response from Ravka's Sun Summoner. "I'm the one who's got to sit there are breakfast knowing all the rot being whispered behind my back. And I thought the First Army was bad." Her head hits the dressing table with a loud thunk.

Breakfast is indeed as bad as Alina fears it would be and it is with a long sigh of relief when she can finally exchange the heated stares and whispers of the Senior Dining hall for the relative quiet of her lesson in Advanced Grisha Theory. Sonya, the teacher for this class, is a no-nonsense woman of around sixty years. She dislikes noise, dislikes young students and particularly dislikes any question that she considers either obvious or stupid. As such she's mostly assigned to the older students and ones who won't try her patience too much.

For all her foibles and idiosyncrasies, Alina rather likes Sonya – and never more so than today when she stops the persistent whispers and gossip mongering with one quelling glare, and that's that. The rest of class passes in blessed silence. The rest of her morning follows a similar pattern, and it quickly becomes clear that the teachers are aware of the rumours and not impressed. Battle Strategy and Field Medicine are both uneventful and she almost starts to relax, but then it's lunch time.

Lunch today is more pickled herring, much to Alina's revulsion, and the food doesn't improve her temper which starts simmering almost as soon as she sits down. The whispers are louder now than they were at breakfast, the stares more obvious, and it sets her on edge. She's never liked being the centre of attention. It was bad enough those first few weeks in the Little Palace where she felt like a caged animal put on display at the Menagerie in Os Alta for the enjoyment of those with the money to pay. Back then she'd understood the attention – even if she didn't care for it. They didn't know her and the curiosity was – mostly – benign interest. Now, however, after living with these people for nearly three months it feels personal in a way it hadn't before.

Even the grisha she's been at pains to befriend like Marie and Nadia are enjoying the gossip at her expense. The fact that Aleksander has apparently been in non-stop meetings since his official return the day before only seems to incite the wagging tongues to new and even more outlandish levels. She knows what Genya will say when she moans to her friend later. She should ignore it, rise above it. This will all blow over soon enough.

It's good advice, but it doesn't help… especially when she has Etiquette followed by her daily session with Baghra to look forward to as her afternoon's distraction.

Etiquette, is taught by a tall blond goddess of a woman called Countess Aneka Solovyov. She has the porcelain features and blue eyes so prized by the Ravkans and is the one lesson the royal dolts at the Imperial Palace insisted on when they agreed to leave her under Aleksander's care. Alina hates it.

In the last three months she's been taught six different ways to curtsey, how to use the never ending cutlery properly (although this is still a work in progress), how to address an Archbishop, a lot about court fashion and the importance of communicating via her fan rather than with her words, and even more about suitable topics of conversation. All of it total rubbish in Alina's opinion.

The only vaguely useful bit of the lessons that Alina has enjoyed is learning to dance. She's not a natural dancer, but for all that Countess Solovyov has agreed she is at least proficient and shouldn't embarrass her partner. As she sweeps around the practice room to the notes of the waltz she can't help but dream that it's Aleksander's arms twirling her around the floor and holding her close ,and not those of her instructor. It seems silly when she's never even seen him dance before, but she knows instinctively that he will be a graceful partner, and it's the one hope she has for the Winter Festival that somehow she will be able to finally see it – experience it - in person.

With the exception of the waltz, the lesson that day is particularly galling to her already short temper. The Countess is clearly aware of Vasily's attentions and spends the whole hour lecturing her on the appropriate comportment and acceptable topics of conversation for the next time the Crown Prince honours her with his company. That there will be a next time is unfortunately apparent in the frown on Solovyov's lips and the praise with which she lauds the generosity of Ravka's Tsarevitch in deigning to even recognise her.

It leaves her in a sour mood. She hates court games and this one is fast spinning out of her control.

The walk to Baghra's cottage cools her simmering temper, and by the time she arrives at her teacher's door her humour has improved to the point where she feels almost like her normal happy self again. She expects a grilling about her actions in Aleksander's bedroom, but that at least gives her break from the persistent whispers that are following her around the Little Palace and in some ways it'll be a relief to get this interrogation out of the way.

True to form, Alina has barely sat down on the rickety visitor's chair when the old woman launches into her questions.

The first is easy enough to answer. Is she fully recovered? It's a question that makes Alina feel warm all over at the evidence of Baghra's regard for her and she can't help but smile as she answers it.

The second is harder to answer though, as her teacher asks shrewdly if she knows what she did. The phrasing is odd and it takes Alina a moment to realise that Baghra already knows – or thinks she knows – what happened. What she's interested in is whether Alina knows what she did and how much control she has over the most alarming of her abilities.

The Alina of only a week ago would have been alarmed and anxious at such a question, but the girl who is sitting in Baghra's cottage today is no longer that girl. This Alina is surer, more confident, because she understands now. It's not that grisha have an extra organ, secreted somewhere in their body, as the Shu have believed for years which allows grisha to manipulate energy, or that they are descended from demons as the Fjerdan's believe. The secret to their power is hidden in their bones, in their very cells. It's a little something extra that taps into specific forms of energy, and it's this that determines whether a grisha is a Squaller, a Healer or a Durast, and why the bones from some animals can be used as amplifiers.

It also explains why grisha gifts are hereditary. You won't get a Tidemaker from a line of Squallers, or a Heartrender from a family of Farbrikators – not unless they are descended from someone with those abilities.

Before, she'd been afraid because she didn't know how she did it – or how it was even possible in the first place. She'd been terrified of being a suppressor because she didn't understand. But now she does, and it changes everything.

Grisha is genetic – no different really to being born with blue eyes or brown. Except that some grisha, like Alina, can control it. It's what she did to herself years ago, it's what she unknowingly did to Zoya and what she realised as she tried to save Aleksander on that blood soaked battlefield.

Just as Aleksander and his mother have the ability to call forth that genetic x-factor to amplify a grisha's power, giving their ability or control a temporary boost, so she can do the opposite and tap into a person's cells to turn that ability off. And that's exactly what she did when confronted by a drug that uses – needs – grisha power to fuel its deadly work.

People think of jurda parem as being one thing. It isn't. It's actually two chemicals put together. The fruit of the jurda bush which is known to cause psychosis, paranoia and total loss of control, and parem which was created in a lab using a mixture of other compounds. It's this part that targets and interacts which the grisha part of a person, infiltrating their cells and amplifying the energy output to terrifying and lethal levels.

Alina remembers her mother talking to her about it at great length and how it's discovery 30 years ago is what prompted her flight from Shu Han.

On its own, jurda is a dangerous but not necessarily lethal drug, and it's one the body can filter on its own if given enough time. It's also commonly used as a party drug among those wealthy enough and stupid enough to try it. Parem is similar - for an otkazat'sya - at least. If there is no grisha energy to interact with the chemical remains inert and is gone from the system within a day or so, and the most an otkazat'sya would experience is a faint buzz or a brief period feeling particularly energetic. It's only when it comes into contact with grisha energy that it becomes active and lethal.

Combined, the drug corrupts the very cells of the grisha who ingests it, turning and twisting their power and control into something monstrous, but Alina could stop it; for Aleksander she could take away the fuel that was feeding the wildfire of the jurda parem and without it the drug would simply be absorbed by the body just as it would if an otkazat'sya had been injected with it.

It's a powerful and heady realisation and it makes Alina breathe easier to know that the gift she had most feared has a practical use and can be a force for good. She can combat jurda parem, one of the most deadly and feared weapons used against grisha and she is a living antidote to it.

So, yes. She understood what she had done and how did it. How she'd managed it over a dream though, that she was less certain how to answer.

Baghra hums thoughtfully as Alina finished explaining. "Interesting."

The girl nods thoughtfully and the old woman smiles. "You're less afraid," she remarks after a moment.

"Yes," Alina agrees.

The old woman's lips twitch. "Good. You must own your power – all of it. There is no room for fear and doubt. Not now and not in the future. All gifts can be used for good or ill, girl, you must remember that."

It's a sombre warning and one that makes Alina sit up straight in worry as she looks searchingly at her mentor. "What do you mean?" she tries to ask, but Baghra only shakes her head, dismissing the question. "I've lived a long life, girl. A very long life – mark my words, the time will come soon enough when you will be tested and when that time comes you must not cavil."

It's an ominous remark to end on and it fills Alina with anxiety as she leaves Baghra's small cottage. Her lesson has ended earlier than expected and her usual guards are nowhere to be seen. Setting off, she feels knot of fear inside her grow. Things are changing, events gathering pace, and Alina can't help but wonder what will happen next.

It's on the way home that Alina has another surprise. This one takes the form of a man. She meets him quite by accident while wandering around the formal gardens that separate the two palaces. At a loose end now that her final lesson of the day has finished and with no desire to throw herself back into the frying pan of gossip and intrigue that has become her home, Alina instead chose to meander through the gardens, procrastinating. It's here that she meets him - or rather that he meets her, for it is he who comes over and talks to her as she stares lost in thought and the Imperial Palace.

"It truly is a hideous building, isn't it?" A cheerful voice says just behind her, making her jump.

The intruder is a tall attractive man with a mop of dark blond hair, hazel eyes and the beginnings of a beard. His clothing is finely made and of excellent quality, but the dirt and mud also speaks of long days travelling.

"Excuse me?" Alina asks, not certain if she heard correctly. Outside of Aleksander and Baghra she's never heard anyone criticize the Imperial Palace before.

He nods at the grand building in the distance. "Isn't that just one of the most revolting buildings you've ever set eyes on?" He repeats. "Honestly, I'd have shot the architects for crimes against architecture if they'd brought me those plans." He winks at her. "But then there's no accounting for taste."

The informality in the way he speaks is refreshing to Alina after months of court politics and having to pick every word with care, and the man makes her laugh - a proper full laugh that the Countess Solovyov would no doubt call indecorous but makes his face light up with pleasure.

"Are you here on business?" Alina asks, curiosity getting the better of her once she's calmed down enough to speak.

"You could say that," the man said with an odd smirk, melancholy flashing across his eyes. "I'm here to report and to see my family." The latter isn't said with much warmth or enthusiasm, and Alina feels her heart go out to the strange man. Having grown up in such a close-knit family, estrangement or strained relations are an anathema to her. She cannot imagine a world in which she isn't delighted to see her Mama after an absence.

Full of compassion for the nameless man, Alina reaches out to clasp his arm, her eyes warm and gentle. "I'm sorry that such a visit doesn't bring you joy," she murmurs softly.

Surprised, the man glances down at where her hand is still touching him. Embarrassed and self-conscious, Alina moves to step back, but the man grasps her hand before she can. His eyes filled with unspoken emotion as he studies her with an intensity she doesn't understand. "The reports have not been exaggerated," he murmurs as his eyes trace over her features.

"Sorry?"

The man shakes his head with an indulgent smile and bows. "Forgive me Sankta," he says softly. "I was referring to the reports as to your kindness and beauty. I had thought that like so much that comes from this place that the stories would be exaggerated, but I can clearly see that on this occasion at least the reports are true."

Alina blushes at such praise, the scarlet hue growing deeper once she catches the man's appreciative gaze.

The man sighs as the great bell strikes four. Twilight is settling around them now and Alina knows she will soon be missed. Similar thoughts are clearly on her new friend's mind as well as he turns from her to look regretfully at where the Imperial Palace looms large in the gathering dusk.

"It has been a pleasure, Sankta, but now I must away. Duty calls." He gives her a courtly bow but then just as she thinks he is about to leave he presses a gentle kiss to the palm of her hand. It's an unmistakably flirtatious gesture and despite herself Alina feels her heart pound and her skin pink as her blush comes roaring back.

The man grins again as their eyes meet, making him look younger and more boyish than she had first thought. Like this, the man looks only a few years older than herself.

"Beautiful!" She hears him whisper to himself and watches as he shakes himself like a dog before bounding back to where his tired horse is tethered on a rose bush.

But you never introduced yourself," Alina calls as the man mounts the brown gelding.

His smile is cheeky as he shouts back over his shoulder, "don't worry, Sankta, you'll know soon enough," and then he is gone and Alina is alone again.

Fedyor meets her as she steps into the vestibule, her skin still pink from her blush. His eyes are pinched with worry that relaxes when he sees her, and Alina feels discomfort squirm in her stomach. That the Heartrender has been looking for her is evident from his relief, and her guilt increases at her friend's gently admonishment.

"Where have you been, 'Lina?" Fedyor asks as he guides her out of the entrance hall. "We expected you back from Baghra's over an hour ago. I was on the point of calling out the guards to look for you."

Embarrassed to have caused such concern and bother to her friend, Alina ducks her head, hands twisting into knots in her kefta.

"I'm sorry," she says softly. "I never meant to cause such fuss. I was just… I wanted a walk."

Fedyor smiles instantly and claps her on the shoulder. "I'd say that sounds more like an escape to me." He grins. "I can understand that, but maybe next time let one of your guards know rather than just disappearing on us. Not that I don't appreciate the fun of a palace wide game of hide and seek, but it would certainly save a lot of fuss and bother."

If the rumours are bothering him at all then he hides it very well as he chats amicably with Alina all the way from where he found her to the door of Aleksander's private quarters.

Surprised, Alina looks at her escort in mute enquiry. Fedyor shrugs. "Orders from the General himself. I think he wishes to make sure you're alright after…" he waves an expressive hand, "you know."

Nodding, she waits as her friend knocks on the door, waits for an answer and then opens it just wide enough to shoo her through before shutting it again.

The Aleksander waiting for her is much more as she remembers him. Standing by the fireplace, he looks tall and resplendent, dressed in his usual black, with his hair styled and his chin clean shaven. He's still slightly pale and thinner than he was before he left for Caryeva, but that's not surprising after such a taxing campaign. Looking at him now, no one would know how close he had come to death's door only a few days before.

The smile he directs at her when he sees her enter is heart stopping and Alina feels her pulse pause and then jump as if on a trampoline at the sight of her beloved. He is here. He is really here and he is awake and healthy. It's more than she could have hoped for only scant days ago.

Rushing across the room, Alina throws herself into his arms, relief swimming through her when he immediately responds. Chuckling, Aleksander's arm wrap round her waist, pulling her to him, while her own find his shoulders, her grip bruising as she presses her face into his neck.

"Alina, my Alina," he whispers against her skin and her heart sings with the warmth in his voice.

"You're here," she sobs, her tears wetting his collar. His only answer is to pull her impossibly closer, one hand moving to stroke her hair as he lets her cry out the fear, desperation and pain of the last few weeks

"I'm here my Alina," he murmurs gently when at last her crying starts to slow. "I'm here, and I am well."

Pulling away, Alina leans back so she can see his face, her eyes searching for any hint of illness or concealment. "You nearly died though."

There is little Aleksander can do but agree to her statement. He knows only too well how close he was to death on this occasion, and he feels her pain as if it was his own.

"I'm so sorry, Alina. I'm so very sorry you saw what you did…" but his heartfelt apology is interrupted by Alina shaking her head – "No!" she says fiercely, "Don't be sorry for that – I'm not. How can I be sorry when it meant I could… that you are now… and even if I couldn't have saved you, I'd still rather have seen it for it meant that you weren't alone."

Her impassioned speech seems to have done the impossible and stricken Aleksander speechless, and so she continues, her courage running high. "You must know, Aleks. I'd do anything for you. Brave anything. You're my family, and you mean more to me than anyone." She smiles, "except possibly Mama and Beauty, of course." The last is meant as a joke but it falls with devastating force.

Still and silent with shock, all Aleksander can do is clasp the girl in his arms to him in a desperate embrace.