The End Draws Near

Summary: In which there's a date at the Winter Fete, a dazzling display and a diabolical plot is discovered.

The day of the presentation dawns bright and cold, with perfect weather for the first day of the annual winter fete. Alina awakes to the sun in her face and a stomach full of nerves. Her presentation is that night. Finally after weeks of preparing, of endless rehearsals and carefully planning the day she has been dreading is here. There's no more time and nowhere to run. This evening at 20:00 she will stand before the Imperial Court and have to dazzle them with her powers and prowess.

It's not a cheerful thought. She already feels like a performing animal in a zoo and it rankles that grisha abilities are being put on display as entertainment. Their abilities should inspire respect and awe, not be used as a sideshow.

There is one bright side to the day, however. The Winter Fete. As a child her mother would take her each year, and it was a highlight she had always loved, and this year promised to be bigger and more elaborate than any she had seen.

It's Genya who suggests the plan and presents it to Aleksander.

Tailoring.

As Alina the Sun Summoner, the fair had been judged far too dangerous for her to attend, but as Alya she can move about unnoticed and unremarked. She's simply another lower order grisha enjoying the winter festivities.

It takes her by surprise when Aleksander agrees, the only stipulation being that she take at least one other grisha with her, in case of any difficulties. With a sly smile, Alina agrees, promptly asking if he would like to accompany her. The expression of surprised delight on his face makes her duck her head, a blush staining her cheeks.

And so it's agreed, while Marie has her final fitting with Genya, she and Aleksander will escape and explore the fair.

10 minutes is all it takes for Genya to affect the transformation, dark brown hair changing to blonde, golden eyes to Rvkan blue. Her features are more or less the same, but even these slight changes are enough to render her almost unrecognizable and it makes her smile as she traverses the corridors of the little palace without anyone recognising her.

Aleksander gets a similar treatment from the Tailor. His black hair changes to blonde, his eyes lighten from their dark blue to a frosty grey, his nose becomes rounder and less sharp. He's still devastatingly handsome, even tailored to not look like himself, and he garners more than a few stares as they mill around the fare.

The fair is as wonderous as she'd hoped. There are acrobats from Kerch, snow dancers from Fjerda, bear tamers from Shu Han, and fire breathers from Novokribirsk, all dazzling the onlookers with their displays. There are merchants from Shu Han with exotic silks and spices and book sellers from around the world, but all this takes a back seat when Aleksander shows her the food caravans where clever merchants are feeding the hungry festival goers.

This tiny section of the festival is a bustling hive of activity, people and smells, and Alina loves it as she and Aleks stop and try selections at each of the stalls.

After food, she drags him onto the frozen pond and teaches him to skate to the sounds of both their laughter. Aleksander, despite his gracefulness on land, is not a natural skater… and it shows in the windmilling arms and the number of times he lands on the ice. In the end, Alina abandons her lesson, tears of merriment streaming from her eyes, as an unimpressed Aleks hands back their hired skates with a hauteur at odds with his performance.

It's a much needed break, for both of them, and Alina feels it work it's magic as they both gradually relax into the anonymity they have been given. Here they aren't the Darkling and the Sun Summoner, they are Alina and Aleksander, enjoying a rare day off duty and away from their responsibilities.

She's never seen Aleksander looking so young or carefree. He buys her a sticky pink confection on a stick, and laughs as she tries to eat it and instead gets it stuck in her hair. They win the top prize on the coconut stall, which Aleks reluctantly spends the rest of the day carrying around, the expensive porcelain doll looking incongruous in his arms. Still, it will make a lovely addition to the children's wing in the Little Palace, and Alina is excited to be able to present them with several new toys.

They drink hot spiced wine and watch the carnival goers with interest, taking turns to create imaginative backstories for the people they see. It's a glorious day, but eventually it comes to an end and it's time for them to return to the little palace - her to rest before her debut, he to attend a meeting with Ivan about the security for that night.

To Alina the number of plans and contingencies being insisted upon are both extraordinary and unnecessary, but there's no swaying Aleksander or his accomplice, Ivan. In addition to the body double Genya will tailor to look like her, Ivan has also rostered three times the number of Oprinichki to be on duty as there normally would be. All outside staff have been carefully vetted and assessed, and the only food she will be allowed to taste will first be checked by the healer assigned to her who will test it for poisons or tampering.

But the plans don't stop there.

Throughout the evening she will be shadowed by at least four members of the Little Palace, including Fedyor, who is once again her personal guard dog. Such measures are wholly foreign to Alina and they sit uncomfortably with her, but she is also not naive enough to write them off as the products of paranoia. Threats against the Sun Summoner have been made, and with so many foreigners present there is a real risk of kidnap. The price if that happened would be a steep one for Ravka as a whole, but disastrous for the grisha… and devastating for Aleksander, - and so she submits to the plans with as little complaining as possible, even if she does feel suffocated under them.

The walk back is as cheerful as the rest of the day, spent in laughing conversation and fond reminiscing, even as their fingers freeze and their cheeks pink from the icy wind. All to soon though the Little Palace is before them and they are being ushered in through a side entrance by a smiling Genya.

He leaves her at her door with a gentle kiss on the back of her hand and a longing look that makes her heart pound.

A warm bath revives her frozen fingers, and then she's swiftly settled into her bed for a rest before the presentation.

As she stares sleepily at the blue canopy of her bed, Alina grins. This has been one of the best days of her life and she knows she'll treasure every memory of it.

Although her part in the evening's entertainment isn't until eight o'clock, Genya arrives at her door not long after the clock has struck five, her arms full of boxes, followed closely by two maids, one carrying several garment bags, the other a tray laden with food.

"Eat, 'Lina," the Tailor commands as she starts sorting through and organising the enormous number of boxes that have taken up residence in her room. "You'll need your strength for tonight."

"Isn't there food provided?" Alina asks confused, slowly extricating herself from the tangle of blankets.

Genya laughs, glancing up with dancing eyes. "Yes, but I doubt you'll be able to get anywhere near it, let alone taste it." At Alina's curious glance, the Tailor explains, "You're to be kept hidden before your big moment, and after it I think you'll be so in demand, you'll be lucky to get a sit down." She pulls the new kefta from one of the garment bags, inspecting it with a critical eye. "Fortunately, that's what Marie is for."

"Fortunate, indeed," Alina croaks, more than a little horrified at the picture her friend has just painted for her.

"That's why you need to eat," the Tailor repeats, pulling yet more items from the boxes, and starting to arrange them on the bed.

Deciding that this is sound advice, Alina tucks into the filling stew, tearing thick chunks of bread to dip into it in a way that makes Genya grimace and shift the expensive garments several feet to a safer location away from Alina and her food.

Soon enough the delightful meal has been consumed, and then its time for a quick bath before the redhead starts the beautification process.

As with any creation of Genya's the dress the stunning. Dark blue silk so dark it looks black shimmers in the lamp light, the slight iridescence adding a mystique to it that's both eye catching and awe inspiring. The dress itself is floor length and off the shoulder, designed to show the skin of her neck and arms. Her presentation is meant to dazzle and impress, and the dress is the first step of that plan.

Her new kefta is next, sliding over the dress to fit perfectly, as she knew it would. This will be the first time she'll be seen in public wearing the black and gold of her new status, and both Summoner and Tailor are expecting it to cause a stir.

The kefta is beautiful with its intricate gold detailing, designed to look like solar flares radiating out from her neck to cover her shoulders and chest. The gold embroidery is offset by the gold buttons down the centre and along the cuffs. It's a kefta fit for a living saint – but more than that, Alina can't wait to see Aleksander's reaction to it, or more accurately, seeing her wearing his gift. It's not just with the Imperial Court that this will set tongues wagging.

Once this is in place, Genya turns her attention to Alina's hair, smoothing it and making it shine, before pulling it back into an elaborate updo and finishing off with a few strategically placed gold pins.

Kohl lined eyes complete the look, giving her a dangerous and alluring air. Staring at herself in the mirror, Alina hardly recognises herself from the girl who first stayed in this room, bedraggled, scared and uncertain of everything. The Alina who looks back at her now is confident, stronger and dressed for battle.

It's a battle she intends to win.

Waiting is always the worst part as far as Alina is concerned. Once ready, Genya departs to see to Marie, but that means she's now on her own with over half an hour left to go before Fedyor is due to collect her. The minutes inch on, frustrating her with their slowness. She tries to distract herself by reading Ilya Morzova's journals, but whether its her distraction or the disjointed way he writes, she finds it difficult to understand what he's trying to say. Peering at the almost illegible writing, she can just make out a line which she thinks says nature's king is crowned when there is a knock at the door.

Peering through the peep hole, as requested, Alina spots Fedyor hovering outside her door. It's time then.

The room Fedyor leads her to is a tiny ante-chamber off the ballroom in the Little Palace. It's the perfect location for her to wait until it's time to make her grand entrance. Through the door she hears appreciative noises from the crowd at display from the Inferni and Tidemakers, but she can also hear the indistinct chatter of a hundred voices talking.

"They're not really paying attention, are they?" she asks Fedyor quietly.

The Heartrender shakes his head, his habitual smile for once absent from his face. "No, 'Lina. We've long since lost our mystery and interest, I'm afraid."

"How can they stand there and not be amazed at what they can do?" Alina demands, crossing her arms in annoyance. "It's a miracle – not a literal one," she adds when it looks like Fedyor is about to correct her, "but it's astonishing. People shouldn't be bored by this sort of display, they should be awed… honoured… amazed."

Fedyor just smiles sadly at her. "Once, perhaps," he replies, "but not anymore. We're old news now."

It's yet another poke to the fire of Alina's growing irritation with how grisha are treated. They're no better than performing monkeys to the people in that room. Before she can start to really feel riled though Aleksander arrives, his eyes sweeping over her with delighted astonishment and open appreciation. "Alina," he breathes, reaching for her hand to place it on his arm, "my precious girl, you look… breath-taking. Simply breath-taking."

The walk to the ballroom is far too short in Alina's opinion. The nerves which she has kept controlled all day are starting to get the better of her, making her hand tremble where it rests of Aleksander's arm. He looks down at her, his gaze intent. "You have nothing to fear, Alina," he says firmly. "Nothing."

"What if I can't do it, Aleks," she asks, staring up at him with wide eyes. "What if I go in there and the sun won't come or what I do isn't enough. This has to wow, it has to dazzle, it has to amaze. What if I can't do that?"

"You will," Aleksander says, his tone certain and full of conviction. "Do you know how I know that?" he asks gently, smiling as she shakes her head. "Because you're you, and there's no one I trust more, no one I have more confidence in. You constantly amaze me - astound me - just by being you. You're spectacular, Alina. All you need to do is believe in yourself. You don't need to do anything but be you – that will be wow enough."

It's the words she needs to hear, and she feels her spine straighten and her resolve firm. Yes, she's the Sun Summoner, but more than that She's Alina Starkov, and that's more than enough.

Alina feels Aleksander's shadows move as they step into the room through one of the service doors, radiating from him to cloak the room in shadow. She knows the location of the stage from the many rehearsals she's gone through with her instructors, and she steps confidently over to it, two small candles illuminating the steps up to the stage. Shucking her kefta, she leaves it draped over the chair positioned next to the stage, before lifting her dress slightly as she climbs the three steps. Once in the centre of the stage she waits, shrouded in the loving embrace of Aleksander's shadows for Aleks to finish his speech introducing her.

Her heart is pounding so hard now that she almost misses her cue. The Tsar has demanded a show, and Alina intends to put on one they will never forget.

She thinks of her mama's smile and her skin starts to glitter. She recalls Genya's hug that afternoon as she helped dress her. She thinks of Fedyor's proud salute as she left the antechamber. Last but not least, she thinks of Aleksander - the warmth in his eyes as he bowed over her hand and the secret smile they had shared as he let her go to get ready.

With each surge of emotion, she feels her skin shine brighter, the faint sparkles transforming into a dazzling kaleidoscope of colour as her sun burns brighter and brighter reacting to her emotions. Around her there are oohs and ahhs from the enraptured audience, but Alina hears none of it. All she is aware of in that moment is the light and the joy of summoning.

Her hands lift from where they had been folded demurely in front of her, palms turned towards the ceiling. Light starts swirling around her hands so that they look like miniature cyclones of glittering starlight in the eldritch darkness of the room. Faster and faster the light spins rising up until it hits the ceilings, becoming beams of golden mist.

The audience goes wild, some clapping, others gasping, a riot of foot stamping making the floor shake as they express their awe and admiration. It Alina smile inwardly.

This only the entree, the appetizer before the main course.

As if this approval was some prearranged sign, Alina's eyes snap open, their normal brown now a burning gold, and she claps, once, twice, thrice, and suddenly where before there had been pillars of light there are a hundred shimmering orbs dancing across the room transforming the heavy darkness of Aleksander's shadows into a dazzling night sky.

Whispers break out as the watchers start spotting familiar constellations. The stag, the acorn, Wilhelm the hunter, the black bear, the list goes on. It takes a tremendous amount of concentration for Alina to keep all the shapes, but she isn't finished as 8 more orbs join the fray, swirling around the watchers before settling in the centre of her depiction and arranging themselves into a new order, spinning faster and faster until they started to merge, forming a miniature sun.

Another clap and the sun explodes, showering the onlookers with sparkling rain as droplets of light fall all around.

There is silence, and then there is thunderous applause.

Mingling with the audience is no where near as fun or as interesting as Alina had thought it would be. It mostly seems to consist of listening as a parade of nobles and dignitaries pass by each intent on compliment her, and the vast majority saying the same vaguely insulting things.

"My dear, you look almost Ravkan in that dress – you must tell me the name of your dressmaker."

"Sankta, what a marvel, what a display. I had heard you were Shu, but you look nothing like them."

"Such power, such prestige. What a magnificent display you put on for the Tsar – tell me, would you do one for a New Years party I'm planning?"

"Quite remarkable. Really quite remarkable. And no mirrors involved at all. I was looking you know. Grisha and their tricks, can't trust them at all. What a display. The Tsar said he had ordered a performance to remember."

"Beauty as well as power. Shame about the eyes, but in this light she looks Ravkan enough."

The blatant hypocrisy gnaws at her, galling her. They call her a saint, expect her to save them, and still find something to denigrate. Not all the people she speaks to are like this. Some are like the people at the gate, overawed by her mythical position, who only want to look on or touch the Sankta. Others want to ask when she is going to destroy the Fold. One stands out though, of all the people she meets. It's the woman in an Oprinichki uniform she saw watching her performance with awe filled eyes. The woman stutters when she asks her name, a blush staining her cheeks before she runs away… and Alina means runs away. She could have had the plague given the speed the other girl turned tail and ran when she started talking to her.

It's odd. An odd encounter. In her experience, Aleksander's Oprinichki are polite, habitually reserved, and not prone to running away when she talks to them. They also move in pairs, but this one appears to have lost their partner. It's enough of an oddity that she resolves to mention it to Ivan when she next sees him.

Before she can think on it for long though, her attention is claimed by Gabrielle who is all effusive praise and demanding questions as she quizzes Alina on everything from her dress to Aleksander who is hovering just out of earshot in the background, looking dashing and darkly mysterious. It's enough though to make smile and give her hope for the rest of the evening.

Things are going well, and Alina starts to think she might be able to escape this debacle with only tender toes (both metaphorical and physical) and a lingering feeling of annoyance. But then it happens and the Tsar finds her.

With his typical pomposity, the Tsar spends the first five minutes waffling about his own prestige and importance, before seeming to remember his original mission and proceeds to summon the ambassadors from Kerch, Shu-Han and Fjerda to meet the Sun-Summoner. His Sun Summoner, as he makes clear to all assembled. Knowing what she does about him, it's all Alina can do to paste a smile on her face and nod when he speaks. What she wants to do is flambe him, roast him, light him from the inside out until he explodes in a display people really will talk about for years to come.

But that's not the plan, and she won't do her friend the disservice of taking from Genya her justice. So, instead, she stands beside the arrogant ruler, only partly listening as he waxes on and on about this and that.

The ambassadors and a strange woman appear during his soliloquising, directing flourishing bows and flowery salutations to Ravka's monarch. The Kerch ambassador is the first to acknowledge her, kissing her hand with a soft "Enchanté, Sankta Alina."

It isn't the Shu ambassador who greets her next – although he bows lowly when introduced - but Ehri Kir-Taban, the daughter and heir-presumptive of the current ruler of Shu Han. The Shu princess is dressed in a deep green gown with twin embroidered gold falcons sitting over each shoulder. "We had heard rumours," the princess says as she dips an appropriately deep curtesy to both Tsar and Saint, "but we had not truly believed them." She is studying her, Alina realises as she watches with a combination of interest and concern. "But no, there can be no doubt. Tell me child," the princess asks her, "which parent hails from Shu Han?"

"My mother," Alina says after a moment's pause. There's a considering look on the princess's face, an expression which speaks to the sharp intelligence hidden behind courtly manners and diplomatic double speak.

The princess nods regally, her eyes flitting to the men around them. "I thought as much. If it had been your father, you would likely have never left our great country." It's an odd comment, and one which makes the fine hairs on her neck stand up. A cough from the remaining man interrupts the Taban princess, and with only a slight pinching of her eyes to show her annoyance, she swiftly says, "but we will speak more later, I am sure, Sankta."

Barely waiting for the princess to finish speaking, the final man steps forward with a low sweeping bow. "Lord Bååt," the man says.

"Ahh, Bååt," the Tsar replies with a regal nod. Explaining to Alina, "he is the ambassador for Fjerda. A good shot… for a Fjerdan." The Tsar sniffs, then spots someone else he has been meaning to talk to and wanders off leaving Count Blazhenov to oversee proceedings.

Everything is going quite well until, that is, the Bååt makes two mistakes. The first is to start talking about her possible marriage. For Alina though, the words sound as if from a long way away, her mind focussed on the memories stirred up by the familiar heavy accent. Of a bearded man with yellow teeth standing over her with axe and knife.

Finally, the words start to penetrate. "One of the lesser princes, of course," the ambassador says with a chuckle to the Count," receiving a knowing nod in return. It's enough to make Alina see stars, her hands balling into fists as she listens in growing horror. There was a plan being hatched between the high-ranking nobles, money changing hands in order to grease the path to her being married off for political advantage, as if she isn't a thinking, feeling person, as if her wishes and desires had no place. It makes her blood boil and the sun sing in her veins. How dare they. How dare these smug, arrogant, over entitled men make decisions for her.

She isn't a brood mare to be bartered or sold. It's her choice who she weds - if she marries at all. Her choice. Not these primping peacocks, not the rulers of Fjerda and not the Tsar of Ravka. This is her choice, and hers alone. And she would defend it no matter the offence caused or problems it raised.

Such comments, however, might have passed unremarked if not for the second, and more egregious mistake of the ambassador in trying to kiss her hand. With dark unreadable eyes Alina pointedly pulls her hand out of his grasp, before turning with deliberate intent to the Shu ambassador and Taban princess, speaking in perfect if slightly slow Shu.

There is no mistaking Alina's gesture, nor its intent, and all those watching know she meant to cut the Fjerdan ambassador.

With an embarrassed huff, Blazhenov tries to rescue the situation as the Fjerdan ambassador turns a startling red in affront. "You must pardon our Sun-Summoner," he blusters, "she is unused to moving in such exalted company or attending State functions."

He turns to Alina, interrupting her conversation with the Shu and Kerch ambassadors, demanding in a low voice for her to apologise. Had he been aware of the brewing diplomatic crisis, Aleksander could have diffused it without too much trouble. Alas, however, he's stuck over the other side of the crowded ballroom with the vacuous Vasilly and two of the First Army Generals, listening to them debating whether changing the uniform from grey to yellow in honour of their Sun-Summoner was a good idea.

As such he is as much taken by surprise as everyone else when the situation with the Fjerdan contingent explodes. And explodes it does.

Alina has many faults, of this she's only too well aware, and not least among them is a stubbornness that according to mother could outlast the gods themselves.

How dare he, Count or not, order her to apologise to that turnip head. Twice his country had tried to kill her. Twice others had died, uncounted and disregarded as collateral they might be, but Alina remembers. This is the country responsible for her beloved father's murder, who had brutalised her poor mama so she would not even look at another man, who had tried to kill her for no other reason than what she might represent. She would not shake hands with a man who represents such a State. She would not touch him. she would not even recognise him.

With a dark frown Alina locks her eyes on the floor, tuning out the long-winded reprimand the Tsar's official is giving her - no doubt in the hope of cowing her and bringing her to heel. It's bad luck, if that is the intention, as she has no intention of listening.

At last, the frenzied whispering winds down and the Sun Summoner looks up, her fury filled gaze meeting her astonished audience.

"I. Will. Not!" Alina responds sharply, her voice raised and carrying over the crowd. "I have nothing to say to a man in service to the country who murdered my father, widowed my mother and attempted to murder me not once but twice."

A deadly hush falls over the crowd, drawing the attention of everyone in the ballroom, guest, grisha and servants alike. With mounting horror, Aleksander understands the corner Alina has been forced into, and that there is little that will stop this playing out now, even as he elbows his way through the throng of bodies trying to get to her.

"You let this little peasant girl talk to me like that?" The Fjerdan ambassador hisses in heavily accented Ravkan.

Back ramrod straight, light blazes from Alina, blinding and hot enough that people take a fearful step back.

"Little girl?" She says, voice loud and clear in the silence of the ballroom. "What does that say about your country, sir? A country that advocates and approves of murdering little girls. Your countrymen murdered my father in cold blood, and on Ravkan soil, and then they tried the same with me. Do you deny it?"

Muttering starts in the room as Alina's words hit home.

"I will neither talk to nor recognise such a country. A country which even now sends out its Druskelle to kill my fellow Grisha, as their ambassador stands and smiles and eats the food of the sovereign realm he is seeking to destroy. A country who advocates the murder and brutalisation of those who are different. No, I will not apologise. I am no mere girl. I am the Sun Summoner and I will not stand by, indifferent to their crimes, in the name of politics."

The disturbance soon reaches the Tsar who wobbles his way towards them with more intention than speed. "She will of course apologise," the Tsar blusters, his enormous belly quivering with the chuckle he forces out.

"She will not," Alina comments, her eyes glittering dangerously.

"Now, see here young lady-" whatever the Tsar had been about to say is lost as the Apparat appears by his elbow, whispering furiously in his ear.

The spiritual advisor's words clearly hit home, however, as the Tsar starts nodding his head so fast Alina wonders if it might fall off with the force.

"No, of course not," the Tsar agrees, eyes turning on the ambassador. "Saint's don't apologise, quite right. What in the saint's names is going on here, Bååt."

"This little girl has insulted me and the great nation of Fjerda," the ambassador shouts, his face rapidly turning puce. "And after we did her, a girl of questionable pedigree, the honour – the great honour – of looking to arrange her marriage to one of our royal house. It's an insult!"

"I'd sooner marry a yeti," Alina retorts hotly, hands balled into tight fists by her side.

"See?" the ambassador demands, gesticulating at the girl before him. "She insults Fjerda again. Such insult is not to be endured. I demand satisfaction." His cry is accompanied by the drawing of his ceremonial dagger, an act which causes the assembled crowd to take a collective step back as they gasp is horror and enjoyment of the spectacle.

This is the moment Aleksander arrives – Ivan not far behind – to stand next to her, a companionable on her shoulder. His eyes glitter with suppressed power and Alina feels one of his shadows wrap around her forearm in solidarity. His voice though is its usual calm and commanding tone as he replies with a sneer, "Satisfaction? You can't mean you want to duel the Sun Summoner, Bååt." He cast a derisive glance up and down the portly ambassador, lifting a mocking eyebrow. "She'd wipe the floor with you, and that's without using her 'grisha magic'. I knew you were a fool, but I hadn't taken you for a suicidal one."

Alina glares, her muscles tensing as she prepares to accept the duel, anger fizzing in her veins. Just as she moves to step forward though a strange calm slides over her, dulling her senses and making her feel dopey and relaxed, as if she doesn't have a care in the world. The world around her feels muted and removed, like thinking through treacle. She knows she should be angry – furious – right now, but for the life of her she can't seem to muster the emotion, instead she feels empty, as if someone has drained all the emotions from her.

Before her, the little man pulls himself up to his full and rather unimpressive height, glowering up at the Darkling who is towering over him. Aleksander's sneer ratchets up a notch, the blue of his eyes lost to the black of his shadows.

"Now, see here…" Bååt begins, tone decidedly belligerent.

For better or worse, though, the rest of his reply is lost, as his previous words finally penetrate the thick skull of his Imperial Uselessness who looks apoplectic as he bellows: "What! What do you mean he proposed to her." He casts a dismissive glare at the offending ambassador. "Insult! He's insulted me in my own home." The Apparat whispers in his ears again, the red on the Tsar's face turning purple. "That's not any better, you blithering imbecile. They're trying to poach me damn Sun Summoner, and at me own damn party."

There was another flurry of whispers, this time from one of the Ravkan nobles, no doubt pointing out that this was not in fact his party, and that the Tsar is likely going to cause a diplomatic incident if he continues in this vein for much longer. As if to prove Aleksander right, that's the moment the Tsar explodes with, "I don't give a damn if he's offended, you mealy mouthed cur. He's trying to pinch the Sun Summoner. Our Sun Summoner. There's only one of them, you know, and he's trying to pinch her. This is an act of war!" The Tsar thumps his fist on one meaty thigh, his jowls quivering, as he glares at the now sweating Fjerdan ambassador.

They're collecting quite a crowd now and Aleksander is all too aware of the ticking bomb that is his Alina, who is only quiet now because of the pacifying efforts of Ivan's Heartrendering in keeping her calm and docile. A battle it's clear The Heartrender is losing… and losing fast.

If there's any hope of salvaging this situation - or being able to use it to their advantage later - they need to leave now before Alina re-enters the fray and has her say.

A nod at Ivan and escape plan C is in motion. Trusting that with the distraction of the Tsar having a public temper tantrum they won't be missed, Aleks steers the quiescent Alina into one of the many rooms marked off bounds. There Marie is waiting impatiently with an increasingly frustrated Genya, who it appears has been trying to teach an excited Marie how to play poker. Without much success, given her frosty expression.

"Is it time?" Marie asks jumping to her feet, hand already reaching for the veiled hat Alina wore for her first presentation to the Tsar and Tsarina, "Am I on?"

"Yes," Ivan replies in his usual succinct way, levelling her with a distinctly unimpressed stare as he issues her orders. "You are to go to the dining room and mingle with the guests for a short while before retiring. It is imperative the Sun Summoner is seen away from the Ballroom." Marie nods, clearly giddy with excitement at having an important role. It speaks to her distraction that she has not questioned - or more likely not noticed – the unusually still and quiet form of the actual Alina. Genya does though, and shoots Aleksander worried looks while completing a quick final check of Marie's disguise.

A few moments more the Alina double is out the door, Genya and an even more surly Ivan in tow.

There's a hooded cloak on one of the chairs, left for just such a situation and Aleksander wraps it around the somewhat dopey figure of his beloved, before whisking her out of the storeroom and down the labyrinthine passages towards the familiar mahogany doors that mark the entrance to his private quarters.

It takes nearly fifteen minutes for Alina to shake off the residual calm from Ivan's interference, but he knows when she does as she bolts up from the sofa he had settled her on, and shakes like a dog fresh from a bath, before rounding on the now locked door and shouting, "Coward! That's right, you run Ivan… but don't think I'll forget this! Or that you can hide from me!"

"Feel better?" Aleks asks wryly from where he is sitting behind his desk, studying a newly arrived letter.

Alina shoots a withering stare at her illustrious leader. "I hate it when he does that," she complains with a scowl. It's an abuse of his powers. How would he like it if I super-heated his food or… or gave him a sun headache."

"Poor Alinochka," he laughs, putting the letter down in one of the many piles. "It's for a good cause, my sweet. Don't think Ivan did it lightly."

"Hah!" Alina scoffs, her eyes still trained on the door. "He enjoys it."

"Perhaps," Aleks shrugs. But on this occasion he did you a favour."

"A favour," Alina screeches, outraged. But Aleksander just nods solemnly. "He stopped you intervening in what was fast becoming the diplomatic incident of our age." He holds his hand up to forestall the complaint he can see brewing in Alina's murderous expression. "I don't know what happened exactly, but Ivan's actions mean that this should all have blown over by morning – most likely brushed under the diplomatic carpet of things best not remembered - and you cannot be blamed for it. That falls on our wise Tsar."

At that Alina subsides, her logical side reluctantly agreeing with Aleksander's point, and grudgingly thankful for the intervention.

"Still should have let me at him," she says, somewhat petulantly, kicking the floor in disgust. Aleks laughs again.

"I would have paid good money to see you flatten him in a duel," he grins, eyes shining with merriment.

"Disgusting old goat," Alina grouches, "not sure he'd be worth the set-up effort. He'd be down and out within in minutes."

"Seconds, surely," Aleksander laughs, clearly amused at the prospect.

"Well, the Tsar did say he wanted a display to remember…" Alina's smile is as wicked and sharp as her tone.

"He did indeed, not sure he had this in mind – but then that's often the case with our illustrious monarch," Aleksander replies wryly, pouring two glasses of wine and handing one to Alina.

"To you, dear one," he says, raising his glass, "for a highly entertaining evening, long to be remembered and treasured."

Alina grimaces, gently swirling the red liquid around the glass. "Not sure it's one I want to remember," she confides quietly.

Aleksander frowns, placing his glass down as he studies the troubled expression on Alina's face. "Why's that, dearest?"

Glancing up, Alina's eye glitter with gold flecks, her anger returning in droves. "Those miserable old goats wanted to sell me off to some Fjerdan prince. Not one of the immediate royal family, of course, a lesser prince, so that my grisha blood wouldn't pollute the purity of the royal line." She snorts, and kicks the corner of the rug in frustration.

"They were laughing about it. About bartering me off like a brood mare. Like an animal. As if they had the right!"

Aleksander's frown deepens, "what did you say to that?"

"I told him, that I would sooner marry a sasquatch than someone from the country who murdered my father, and that the only time I would set foot in Fjerda would be to tear it down one tundra at a time," Alina says plainly, her eyes now a burning molten gold.

Leaning against his desk and taking a fortifying sip of wine, Aleksander watches the emotions playing out across Alina's open face. He longs to go to her, to wrap her in his arms, but the keep away vibes are so strong even he can't miss them. His poor Alina. It's wound that has been there so long Aleksander had half-forgotten it was even there. When Alina was young, she had nightmares about that day, nightmares of blood and death, of foreign men chasing her. For weeks after, she had only slept if he or her mother had been with her. As time passed the nightmares grew less frequent, until eventually they seemed to stop all together, but he of all people should have remembered that just because the nightmares fade it doesn't mean that wound has healed – and it's clear now, it hasn't. It's been festering. Lord Blazhenov and Bååt the blithering idiot, had unwittingly lanced a boil and now all the puss was pouring out.

He hates seen her so distressed, shoulders hunched and defensive. Decision made, he reaches for her hand, pressing it gently in a show of support and solidarity that softens the stiff lines of Alina's shoulders. "Then what happened," he asks, half in trepidation.

"Then the Tsar appeared, and the shouting match started in earnest. But you were there for that bit."

"You know what the worst bit is?" She asks Aleks, her gaze searching when it meets his. "It wasn't the way Blazhenov and Bååt just started discussing my marriage right in front of me, as if I wasn't even there. As if have no say in my own marriage. It was the total lack of respect. A lesser prince, Hah!" She laughs coldly.

"I won't let them sell me off, Aleks," she warns darkly, "the only person who will decide if I marry is me, and me alone."

Aleksander frowns in discomfort, the awkward fact that such practice is normal amongst the higher echelons sitting uncomfortably in his stomach. More pressing though than that distressing truth is the impact it could have on them… on the hopes he can no longer deny or suppress. He wants Alina to be his wife, his and his alone. Reality has an unfortunate habit of intruding though, and today it's wearing steel plated boots as it jumps on his nascent plans.

"Ahh," he says tonelessly, only distantly aware of what his mouth is saying.

"And you were hoping for the crown prince?" To anyone else such a remark might have appeared rude or uncaring, but Alina can hear the pain and doubt only thinly concealed behind the veneer of sarcasm. Oh, that silly man, she thinks. He's misunderstood.

"I don't want a prince, crowned or otherwise," she says simply, waiting for him to ask the question she knows is desperate to escape his lips.

"Then what do you want?" It's barely a whisper, but Alina hears it and the poorly disguised longing hidden within it.

Slowly and gently, as if he is a wild animal she's afraid of spooking, Alina touches his chest, her hand lying flat over his heart. "You." She replies, voice and expression resolute. "I just want you."

There is a look of joy and wonderment in his features as heart felt delight suffuses his face, making him shine. Around them she feels wisps of shadows wrap tenderly around her.

"Oh my precious girl," he murmurs, his eyes smouldering with emotion. "How you continually surprise me." His gaze makes Alina's blood sing and heat as it races through her. They are standing so close now, drawn together by the energy crackling between them.

Leaning down, Aleksander brushes a whisp of hair that has escaped her elaborate hairstyle behind her ear, his fingers lingering and touch electrifying. It's like lightning is coursing through her veins as Aleksander gently tilts her chin up so her eyes meet his own. His eyes are black and smouldering with suppressed emotion as he cups her cheek. "Tell me to stop, Alina." It's a whisper so quiet that for one aching moment Alina thinks she imagined it, but then he says it again, his gaze feverish as he studies her.

"Don't stop," she murmurs, her hand sliding up the fine contours of his chest to grip his collar and tug him towards her.

The knock comes at exactly the wrong moment.

Aleksander freezes, his mouth but a hairsbreadth from her own. The knock sounds again, this time with a voice shouting, "Moi Soverenyi "

With a hoarse laugh, he jolts backwards, the hand that had been cupping her cheek so tenderly now running through his hair in evident agitation. There's a third knock, and muttering an oath, Aleksander stalks to the door wrenching it open.

She's too far away to hear what Ivan says, but not so far that she can't see the impact it has on the man she loves. Gone is her Aleksander of a moment ago and in his place is the feared General Kirigan.

Aleksander's back is ramrod straight, the lines almost vibrating with his furious anguish, and Alina knows with a sickening twist to her stomach that something has gone horribly, terribly wrong.

Within seconds the door is closed, and she watches helpless, as Aleksander leans against it for a long moment, his head bowed and fists clenched.

"Aleks?" She asks gently. His gaze when it meets her is hollow and pained.

"I'm sorry Alina, so sorry," he murmurs, striding forward to grasp her hands.

"Aleks?" She tries again, uncertain what's wrong but certain something calamitous has happened. "What did Ivan want." This time it's not a question and she's not requesting information, she's demanding it.

Taking a deep shuddering breath, he tells her. For a moment there is a strange ringing in her ears, and she sways where she stands.

"What?" She demands hoarsely.

"Marie is dead," he repeats gently, "there was an assassin. He's been caught, but not before…"

"Marie… but she can't… there must be some mistake, some confusion." But he shakes his head, expression solemn and full of pain. "I'm sorry, Alina. I truly am. But there is no mistake. Garin is with her."

Alina is still and silent as the news sinks in. Marie is dead. Her friend. The woman who had been her body double that night, she's dead. The ringing grows louder as her fury mounts. This is their home, their safe haven and some… some assassin crept in and destroyed it.

"Alina, I must go," the voice is tormented, and it's this that draws her back.

"Go?" She echoes.

Aleksander nods, "yes, dear one. Ivan has the assassin, but they need me present before they start the interrogation." He presses a glass into her shaking hands, his eyes troubled and full of pain.

"Drink, precious girl, you know where my room is, go and lie down, you'll be safe here and I will be back as soon as I can."

She takes a fortifying gulp, the amber liquid burning her throat and chasing away the lingering effects of shock. "No," Alina says firmly, resolutely, shaking her head.

Aleks pauses with a perplexed frown, and Alina steps forward, drawing equal with him again. "Remember your promise, Aleks," she says quietly, placing the half-full glass carefully on his desk. "Together."

He nods, solemnly, his gaze unwavering. He doesn't try to talk her out of it or impress upon her the grizzly nature of the business they are about to see to. Instead, he merely holds out his hand, which Alina takes, and together they leave the room.

If Ivan is surprised to see her accompanying their General, the Heartrender doesn't show it, and nor do the five Oprinichki who fall into line behind them. Aleksander keeps his hold on her hand the entire way, his grip strong and almost desperate, as if he fears she'll be snatched from him at any moment. She's never been to the jail on the lower levels before - hadn't realised they existed, truth be told, which makes her feel naive as, of course, the Little Palace has cells. It may be the home of the grisha, a school and a safe haven, but it's also a working garrison, and the headquarters of the Second Army. Where else could they store munitions or captured criminals or enemy soldiers.

The lower levels are an odd place, and not really in keeping with what Alina had expected of a dungeon. They're clean, for a start, and spacious, and with their low arched ceilings it seems more like a vault than a dungeon. There's no torture equipment - that she can see, either, or rats. Both of which she had thought of as fixtures in dungeons.

They pass a firing range, a wine store and various other rooms before the group enters another section of the complex. There are six guards on the door who all salute when they see the General and bow when they see they spot Alina. Beyond the door is a tunnel, and in the dim light she can just make out that there are metal bars set into its wall. These are the cells, then.

The cells themselves are more like alcoves hewn from the thick grey rock of the tunnel, and have barely enough space to fit a bed, a bucket and a wooden chair.

Without a word, Ivan leads them to the fifth cell, his expression grim. Fedyor is standing by the sturdy bars of the gate, he nods as they arrive, slotting his key into the lock and opening the door so that their party can enter.

The cell is small, and there's only enough space for her and Aleksander. The door remains open surrounded by guards, and Aleksander is careful to ensure that she's in the position closest to the door – no doubt in case a quick escape is needed. It's a sobering realisation.

The man before her is small, portly and so very ordinary looking, and he blinks up at them with a bemused expression. His large glasses and fussy waistcoat give him an unthreatening appearance and, for a moment, Alina wonders if they got the wrong man.

"Light please, Alina, if you wouldn't mind," Aleksander murmurs, pausing her perusal of the assassin. A clap of her hands and the cell is illuminated by four swirling balls. The man on the bed gasps and shies away from her, covering his eyes in horror. "No, no, no!" He wails. "No, it can't be true. It's a trick, a grisha trick."

Aleksander grabs him, hauling him off the bed with inhuman strength. "This is no trick," he growls, low and furious, the cell darkening rapidly as his shadows swirl. "You admit it then - you planned to kill the Sun Summoner?"

The man nods shallowly, pale and sweating in fear and Aleksander pushes him away in disgust. "Why?" He demands darkly.

For a moment Alina thinks he won't answer, but then Fedyor does something with his hands and suddenly the man is babbling, his story spewing out of him like a fountain.

It's sickening and infuriating, even as it brings tears to her eyes. Zlatan. General Zlatan ordered this atrocity. Aleksander had been right, the other General is planning a coup and to secede from Ravka. Had been planning it and moving pieces quietly for years, getting ready for the right time. A time that had finally been drawing close. But then her power was discovered, and with it the protective presence of the Fold came under threat. Zlatan had been safe all the time the Fold acted as a barrier separating west Ravka from the mainland. But a Sun Summoner? That was a problem he had not anticipated, one that could destroy a decade of planning and scheming. What was a self-respecting rebel to do when faced with the destruction of all he held dear? Pay someone to remove the problem, of course.

And that's where Arken Visser came in. He was the stooge, the patsy, the only slightly unwilling assassin tasked with eliminating the only person capable of truly ruining the General's plans.

Listening as the man explains the plot makes Alina sick to her stomach. The callous disregard for life, the casual way he refers to her as "the girl" or the "grisha". Here is a man who refers to himself as a rescuer of grisha - a saviour for those who don't wish to fight or be conscripts into the Second Army. Here is a man who sees himself as a moral, good man, and yet he sees nothing wrong with what he agreed to do. His panic is over failing, not in succeeding, and to Alina it shows him for what he really is - a man who profits from others fear and misery. His business model is built on the exploitation of fear. He might call himself the Conductor, as if what he does is laudable, but what he really does is traffic grisha.

"You disgusting gutter snipe! You repugnant canker!" Aleksander's voice is like ice it's so cold, around them the room darkens ominously with thick black shadows. His hands tighten and one wraps around Arken's throat.

The man nods desperately as he claws at the strangling grip the General gas on him. "Please, I had no choice," he pleads, "have mercy."

"Mercy?" Alina questions softly, speaking for the first time. "We should have mercy?" She steps forward, watching dispassionately as he flinches back in terror.

She eyes him coldly. "Why should we show mercy." She takes another step, her hands glowing with light. "Where was your mercy when you slit my friends throat. Where was your mercy when you assaulted the Oprinichki who ran to her aid. Where was your mercy when you then tried to kill Genya as she was trying to save the girl you murdered in cold blood."

Another step, and she's less than an arm's length away. Arken is shaking in Aleksander's grip, his feet twisting and kicking as they try to find purchase on the floor. "Where was your mercy, sir." Their eyes meet and she sees the naked terror in his face. Her eyes flash gold and a string of light wraps around his throat.

"Mercy," he croaks, tears making his eyes glisten.

Next to her, Aleksander is still and silent, and Alina realises he's waiting for her judgement, that this is down to her. She knows what the men behind her want. They want revenge. If left to them, Visser wouldn't leave this cell alive. Beside her, Aleksander is a coiled spring of tension. He'd do it, she realises. He'd kill Marie's assassin in a heartbeat and likely never feel a moment's regret. It's something she seriously considers as she studies the quivering wreck of a man dangling in the air. He deserves it.

She stares at the man, eyes burning with the sun, weighing him and his actions. "No," she says quietly, firmly.

The man pales, his eyes bulging in fear.

Aleksander glances at her, it might be a millisecond, but in it he reads her mind and nods.

"Noooo!" The man pants. "No, please!"

For a long moment, Alina dreams of tightening the golden lasso around his neck, of burning through skin and bone until there is nothing left. But then reality comes back, and she remembers her dreams – of how easy it would be to become a monster; to become judge, jury and executioner. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, that's what her mother says, and this road would start with a single action. An action that would feel just except for the fact that it's vengeance, not justice, and it would start her on a path to ruin. A path of a thousand temptations. It's a road she knows in her heart she must not walk.

She turns away, allowing the light around his neck to fade.

"Thank you. Thank you!" Arken sobs, but his relief has come too soon.

"Don't thank me," she says, her tone icy. She looks at the angry faces of the guards and grisha outside the cell. "It's not kindness to spare you. You will be tried and sentenced in a court of law," she says, looking at their audience. "Where you will tell them this tale of murder and rebellion. You will be sentenced and likely die for your crimes. But before you do, it will be with the knowledge that your actions ended what hope your precious coup had, but more than that, you will die knowing how hated and reviled you are - not just amongst grisha but by everyone in Ravka. Marie will have justice, and you, sir, will rot and be fodder for the crows. So no, this is no kindness. Kindness would be to kill you now hidden away and secret, because before you die, every last sin will be exposed on a country wide stage."

There is silence for a moment, and then she hears the stamp of feet as the watchers outside the cell show their supper; even the habitually dour Ivan is looking at her with rare approval.

Aleksander releases the man, pushing him away with enough force to send the smaller man tumbling in a trembling heap onto the thin bed. The look he levels at the man is contemptuous and full of the shadows swirling around him, "The Sun Summoner has spoken," he says darkly. "Look at her," he commands the Conductor. "Look at the woman you tried to murder. Look at the goddess you sought to destroy. Look and weep for your stupidity."

It's a damning statement, one growled out between clenched teeth, and Arken cries in earnest, rocking backwards and forwards, looking for all the world like a broken man.

They leave him then, his cries chasing them down the tunnel.

There will be no forgiveness, no reprieve for Marie's murderer, but she will not become like Zlatan, killing those in her way like a thief in the night. This will be done properly in a court of law and before the people of Ravka so that they can see the rot that has crept in and the danger that General Zlatan poses.

The next stop is the dressing room. There's blood everywhere. That's the first thing Alina realises. It's on the floor, splattered across the walls, and on the ceiling – even the fine crystal of chandelier didn't escape. It's a gruesome sight. Stomach churning and nauseating, made worse by the acrid smell of blood.

There is a blanket on the floor, covering what can only be Marie, but for the moment all her attention is on Genya.

The Tailor is paler than usual, and her eyes are pinched with pain. Garin is crouched next to her, his hands covering her injured right shoulder. The white of her uniform is stained crimson down that sleeve, and Alina shoots across the room, her need to check her surviving friend too great to ignore.

"Genya," she breathes. The Tailor flashes a drained smile at her, "it's worse than it looks," she reassures Alina, nodding at Garin who is frowning in concentration and appears not to have noticed her arrival.

Tears spring unbidden to her eyes as she surveys the carnage. The double of the kefta she is still wearing is back on the manakin in the corner of the room, the gold embroidery catching the light. It's a stark reminder of why this happened. Marie had been changing, her duty for the night finished.

Aleksander has moved to the blanket now and pulls it back to examine Marie's body. Genya must understand the question in his glance, for she says sadly, "she asked to die with her own face, Moi Soverenyi."

It's yet another terrible realisation, and Alina feels again the full weight of the injustice and the depth of her culpability in agreeing to this plan.

Something of her thoughts must be apparent on her face - or perhaps Genya just knows her that well - as her friend states, "It's not your fault." The redhead levels a firm stare at both her and Aleksander. "Either of you. No one could have predicted someone could get in here. But more than that, Marie knew the risks, she accepted them. Don't take away from her courage by regretting her sacrifice."

Alina nods, shakily. It's a difficult message to accept - it's so much easier feeling guilty than accepting your own cosmic insignificance, or that other people are free to make choices that could see them hurt. For the first time she feels a flutter of sympathy for Aleksander and his need for control, because this hurt. This loss hurt - and selfishly she would give much to make it go away.

The decision to look is hers alone. Aleksander watches her with dark worried eyes, and even Genya seems intent on protecting her from what will no doubt be a traumatic experience. She's seen dead bodies before though, and there's a part of her that can't believe this new reality until she's seen it with her own eyes. She knows Aleksander wishes he could protect her from this, but it's a mark of how hard he's trying and how seriously he's taking his promise, that he only hovers uncertainly next to her as she prepares to pull back the blanket covering her friend.

It's as bad as she feared. Marie's face is frozen in a rictus of fear and pain. The wound to her throat is jagged, uneven and poorly done – not the work of a trained killer – and, as a result, she suffered, horribly, needlessly, dying too fast for help to save her, but slowly enough to know the end was coming and feel every desperate beat of her heart.

Staring down at the mutilated body of her friend, Alina feels a tear slip down her cheek. This wasn't an accident, it wasn't a mistake, this wasn't the work of a madman. This was premeditated murder, a coolly calculated assassination. It should have been her lying on that bed, it would have been her had Ivan not insisted on a body double.

Marie, poor guileless, ever optimistic Marie. She had been so happy to be chosen for the honour of Alina's double, her friend had been thrilled, excited beyond all measure, and so proud of her important job, but now look at her. Alina's last sight of her had been a smiling, laughing grisha, giggling her way into the replica kefta Genya had created for the performance.

She wasn't laughing now. Would never laugh again.

Light sings through her veins, scalding hot with her fury and grief. Her friend. Her friend. Zlatan had taken this, had stolen her friend from her. More than that, he had stolen something precious from everyone at the Little Palace, something irreplaceable.

As if from far away, Alina feels her hand squeezed, a larger hand wrapping around it, encasing it, reminding her of the man next to her. Aleks. Her Aleks. His eyes are as full of emotion as hers, dark and stormy with grief and anger. This hurts him, Alina realises as she studies him, and not just because it might have been her - this hurts him because it's an attack against his people, an attack in the safe haven he's fought to build them. He hurts because despite his avowals that he doesn't care he still knows the name of each and every serving grisha. It hurts him because he cares so very much. She squeezes back, pleased when she hears a soft sigh of relief.

Reaching out with her free hand. Alina smooths a gentle hand over Marie's hair, her promise silent but no less resolute. "They will pay," she vows, "We will make them pay."