Chapter Text
while the beast was asleep
In the mist of the morning, while the Beast was asleep
Woke up with a plan so brilliant I could not believe
If you can't win the battle, it's better to run
She chose to wear black during the winter fete for the very first time.
She did it on purpose. She did it for him.
And the look in his eyes was everything she was hoping it would be-- endless pools of granite irises that she wanted to lose herself willingly in. How his chin raised ever so slightly, showing just the hint of a smile against his stoic face. The way that he looked at her when she was casting-- how proud and in awe of her-- she wanted to capture that feeling and bottle it up, hold on to that sense that she was finally where she belonged.
Her show of power was supposed to be just that-- a show. She would start off small to catch their attention, knowing that few had ever seen her powers up close. She wasn't sure that anyone really expected too much from her-- a glowing orb here, a ray of sunshine there. But Alina wanted everyone, especially him, to see that she was becoming stronger every day. She didn't need gloves, she didn't need Zoya's skepticism. She wanted to show her classmates that she could be Grisha, all on her own.
She clasps her hands back together and the light recedes within her. Alina smiles, humming with power from within and radiating energy. It washes over her skin like water over pavement on a hot day and she wonders if anyone can see it the way she is feeling it-- everything, all at once, invigorating.
For the first time in her life, she feels strong. She stares out into the crowd, beaming.
And then… the pulse of the room changes. She isn’t expecting the people's overwhelming reaction. Women are crying, men are cheering, people are collapsing to the floor in front of her. Alina wasn’t expecting much more than an applause--- but their whispers, their bows, their cries of sankta alina!--- she wasn't expecting any of that.
Her body tenses and she looks to him for guidance. He's grinning, not holding his emotions back. He's proud. He nods, and she is comforted by it. He offers her a hand and she feels him breathe in heavily as her skin touches his. He can feel her energy pouring off of her and he breathes it in-- reveling in it-- and it takes both of them by surprise, how strong this tether is between them.
The people stop their cries of sankta alina when the Darkling raises up his hand. His presence intimidates the crowd and they silence immediately, waiting on edge for him to speak.
"The Sun Summoner!" he declares, and she takes her cue to walk down the stairs. "Your Sankta Alina is a Grisha."
The crowd cheers and she smiles, knowing that this parlor trick would unify Ravkans together. If the people believed her to be a Saint and a Grisha at the same time, no more would there be persecution and betrayal between the two groups.
She thinks back to his confessions at the fountain, the first glimpse she had of his insecurity and his weakness. She knew how important this was to him, to show that Grisha could be saviors too-- that one man's greed should not condemn an entire culture of people. She remembers the sudden fear and worry that struck her when his shadows leapt from the floor that night as he hovered over his maps in the war room, the shadows expanding and wrapping around them as he confessed his pain and loss, the turmoil of burying their kind due to war.
She remembers how she grabbed his hand to stop his shadows from choking them, her energy amplified by his touch and bursting into a dome of light. She was protecting them from the shadows engulfing her and threatening to suffocate them, and yet… she wanted to be there to comfort him as well.
That's when she felt it first-- his presence, his being--so intense and overwhelming. That was the first night she felt the tether that existed between them.
Aleksander places his hand behind her back and escorts her out of the room. She hears the King call for another round of drinks and continuation of the fete. She faintly hears the gush of flames floating back and forth through the air, the crowd in awe and shouts for more! more! more!
He is still holding his hand at the small of her back even after they made several paces down the long hallway, no one around save a few oprichnik. She licks her lips and feels herself blush, slowing down her stride to pause their steps. She is working up the nerve to steal another kiss, waiting for him to turn and face her, but before he can, she hears a call for "General Kirigan" and then he's not turning toward her but away from her.
"General Kirigan, two soldiers have arrived for you."
She watches his eyes roll, an aggravated yet halfhearted huff sigh from his mouth. He doesn't want to be bothered with this. Her lips turn upward into a smirk though she tries to stop it. Their bodies are close enough together that their keftas are just barely grazing against one another.
"They said it's important."
She can sense his disappointment. He grabs her hand and plants a gentle kiss on top, his eyes never wavering from hers. He calls to the two oprichnik down the hall, tells them to escort the Sun Summoner to get ready for dinner.
------
She's at the party, laughing with Fedyor and Nadia, giddy with wine and high on the feeling of her power and the reaction it caused when she seems him again. Instantly, she feels the pull from within. He's carrying blue irises. Her favorite-- how could he guess?
He leads them away from the crowded room, down toward the war room. Toward his bedroom.
"I don't recall this being part of the schedule," she tells him smoothly.
"It isn't," he says quietly, and then, "Would you prefer to return to the dinner?"
He moves slowly, too slowly and muttering what sounds like nonsense as her heartbeat quickens and her hands being to shake. She did so well at playing coy, she mused, but now she needs him closer, and quicker. It feels like much too long before he kisses her and she wraps her hand around his neck, running her fingers through his hair and drawing him to her, pulling them closer as his lips become rougher, his need becoming more hurried.
His hands are everywhere on her-- at the nape of her neck, on her waist, and her lower back, then on her thigh moving up until she can feel the indentation his thumb cross the barrier of the curve of her pelvis--and then she's on fire, burning, her desire mounting from within. She needs him, closer still, like she's never needed anyone ever before. So when he stops, so briefly, she pushes her hips forward and nods, 'of course I’m ready,' grabbing him by the collar and wrapping her legs around him as he pushes deeper into her with his mouth.
The knock on the door comes hard, heavy and fast paced.
"Don't go," she clutches him, whispering. "Don't leave."
He's grabbing her face between his hands, his feverish kiss heavy and wet against her lips. He's grabbing her like there is no tomorrow, a promise of return. He’s grabbing her and she knows he’s leaving and she cannot stop him.
"I'll only be a moment," he breathes into her skin.
-----
And then she's gone, rushed away and being hurried down a hidden corridor she never knew existed.
Baghra's voice is dry and quiet among the hollows of the tunnels, telling her whispers of dark truths about the Black Heretic and the man who was just between her legs.
"Did he want you distracted by dreams of your future with him? Dependent on him?" Her words echo in the dark crypt-like tomb.
Aleksander told her the Black Heretic was his relative. Why did he hide the truth? How many other confessions of his were lies? If it was true, if he were hundreds of years old... No, no it didn't make sense.
"He's had centuries to master lying to naive girls," Baghra spits out, as if sensing her apprehension. "Did he tell you how lonely he was?"
The humiliation strikes her deep in her gut, a sudden a sharp pain digging at her insides. Her jaw clenches. She thinks back to his hands on her skin, only moments ago, his mouth pressed tight against her collarbone, the shiver that ran down her spine as he swirled his tongue at the base of her neck before biting it ever so gently.
She can't keep track of everything that's being said. Everything is happening too quickly. Could it have all been a show? A lie?
"No,” she shakes her head. "No. You’re lying."
And then, darkness.
Baghra... She was his mother… Saints! The mother of the Black Heretic, unknown for all these years--- ancient and powerful, covering up and protecting the sins of her son. A thousand-year-old women who existed before the fold. A woman who saw the carnage against the Grisha, the rise and fall of empires.
Is that all that Baghra knew how to do? Hide? Hide among the caves, hide within tunnels, hide behind her son and within the depths of time? What must it be like to be so ancient that you've seen lovers die, kingdoms topple and lands expand? Is that why she was so cruel, so cynical?
Why would Baghra care so much about saving her? Couldn't she be the one lying to the sun summoner? Manipulating her and trying to separate her from the one person who was helping her to grow strong and expand her powers? Baghra never had a nice thing to say to her, let alone the other Grisha students-- always chiding her and telling her she would never be enough.
Alina shakes her head again. ‘No,’ she thinks, ‘No, this cannot be true.’
She doesn't realize the words betray her and are uttered as whispers from her lips. Baghra scoffs, annoyed. "Did you think this was just about you?"
It stings, this familiar sentiment. The words rush toward her and takes away her breath. She feels the lump form in her throat, the swelling of tears in her eyes. Of course. Of course it wasn't about her. Who was she? She was no one. Her light was weak, her abilities underwhelming. A trick here, an expansion there. A parlor game. A ruse. She wasn't a Saint or the Sun Summoner. She was just Alina, the orphaned girl. A map maker.
Why would the Darkling want anything to do with her?
"You're far from strong enough to face him."
The tears sting in her eyes while she looks at his portrait, his gaze dark, menacing and all knowing. How could she be so foolish?
She crawls through the path that the tunnels carve, using her light to guide her way, Baghra's voice resonating in her thoughts, "You are nothing."