Chapter Text
Alina approached the idea of the Winter Fête with a sense of palpable anxiety.
No matter that she could summon fully after her explosion on the lake, but what filled her with fear now was what the Darkling planned to do with her. She’d kissed him one night on the lake sometime after - her memories from the time before her powers breaking through were fragmented - but this silence from him scared her. Not even Genya’s gossip sessions in her office could bring Alina out from her state of imposed anxious isolation. She’d shunned her studies and classes, locking herself in her room for days. It’d taken Nikolai’s offer of tea with him and Baghra in the old woman’s hut to coax Alina from her hole.
Now, she sat on her window seat in her room and watched the indentured inferni serfs light the lamps that stretched down to the gates. Soon, the carriage-way would be filled with horses and wagons containing Ravkan nobles, their servants and indententured Grisha sold out to wealthy families. Alina winced. Wasn’t that her purpose in Nikolai’s household? He’d given her a generous salary to use freely, food, clothes, and housing, but at the end of the day she served him .
In a way, she served the Darkling too. It seemed that no matter where she turned, there was always a man who held her puppets' strings in his fingers. Brushing her hands against the velvet of her bedrobe, Alina tilted her head back and glanced up at the atrium light. Stars glittered dimly in the distance, pushed to the far reaches of the sky from the gas-lamps that trickled in through the Fold’s crossings. Around her bed, gas fixtures had been exchanged for a flameless lamp set that Nikolai called Anbaric light.
“There you are!” Genya crowed, pushing the double doors of Alina’s bedchamber open. Alina’s head twisted to regard the ginger-haired Tailor and gave a soft smile, though pain clouded it easily enough. “Ready for the night?”
“No.” Alina breathed. “My Kefta still isn’t here yet…”
“Luckily, I have it!” Genya held out the box, wrapped with an emerald green ribbon. “It seems there was a bit of a fumble with regards to which kefta you were supposed to wear. I wouldn’t be half shocked if Nikolai and the Darkling were out having fisticuffs in the Palace courtyard.”
“Over what I’m supposed to wear ?” Alina blinked. She knew, instinctively, why. Nikolai held command over her, yet the Darkling was her commanding officer. She had a feeling Nikolai had much better taste than the Darkling, though her feelings towards him complicated all of this. However could one woman fall in love with two men at once?!
Except… She didn’t really love the Darkling. Part of him scared her senseless. His wantings for her to have Morozova’s stag’s antlers frightened her. Was it out of goodness or a desire to control her? And why make the antlers a collar? Why not a crown? Or a fragment of the larger antler? Or a bone of the bloody creature?
“Lost in thought?”
Alina jumped in her seat at the sound of Nikolai’s voice and looked up, smiling at the sight of him in the doorway. He wore something that surprised her - an emerald green hussar uniform with the pelisse swung easily over his left shoulder. The miles and miles of braid and buttons had to have been his work.
“I didn’t know you served in a hussar regiment.” She quirked a brow.
“I was in the 22nd for a good few years, yes, but I did develop a love for the hussars. Spent a few months with a Russian regiment…” He trailed off and fiddled with one of the buttons. His court sword rested at his waist, the gold hilt and guard embossed with a fox running under a crescent moon. Emeralds studded the sword’s hiltpoint.
“You look dashing .” Genya breathed. “And so will you-” bopping Alina’s nose, Genya lifted the box-lid of Alina’s kefta. In the depths, under a layer of soft green tissue paper, was an emerald green and gold kefta. The twin to Nikolai’s hussar uniform, the gold embroidery was done all the way down the front and side panels to resemble a sun-burst. The strands twirled their way down the bodice and stretched around to the back, which draped down into a long, long train. That train pooled behind Alina in a single sweep of emerald velvet and satin blend, brightened with a fabrikator’s touch.
“H-how?”
“Consider it a gift.” Nikolai poked Alina towards the wooden screen for her to change. Genya helped her with the kefta, buttoning it up the front and fluffing out the train and belt. The gold center-pin of a sunne in splendour glittered in the lamp-light. “Hair…” Genya murmured as Alina was poked over to her dressing table. “Nikolasha, ideas?”
“None.” Nikolai replied from where he’d perched himself on Alina’s sofa and sat sipping tea while watching Genya comb, brush and whack Alina’s hair into form. Alina’s hair was long and thick enough to be braided into an elaborate chignon and pinned up with several gold-hairpins edged with seed pearls.
“Whatever did the Darkling send?” Alina asked, turning to look at Nikolai as he lifted the lid on the second box and pulled out a black and gold Kefta emblazoned with more gold embroidery and dangling from the collar, his symbol.
“Ugh, put it back.” Genya shuddered. Alina got up and went over, touching the water-like silk and satin blend with a gentle finger. “He kissed me, at the lake, a few nights back.” She confessed, looking up to see two sets of eyes locked on her. “Must be why he sent this…” She flinched.
“Did you ask for that kiss?” Genya whispered
“No.” Alina’s gaze locked on Nikolai, who nodded firmly and sipped more of his tea. “That settles it.” He glanced at Genya, who sighed and wrung her hands. Something was shared between them, something Alina would never experience.
“It felt nice, but wrong . Like he was trying to take something from me.” Alina ran her fingers over her rouged lips and blinked in confusion. “I’ve never been kissed before, so…”
“It’s not supposed to feel like that.” Genya supplied. “I mean…” She looked at Nikolai again and he nodded. “She’s right. Here’s my advice for tonight. Give him a berth of about..” He tilted his head up to look at Genya through his lashes.
“30 feet,”
“And go from there. If he continues to pursue, alert a servant. We’ve all had our fair share of ugly pursuers.” Genya murmured, rubbing at the back of her neck with her hand. Alina blinked, confused. Then, it fell into place.
“The King’s hurt you. That’s why he’s sick.” She got to her feet and glanced at Nikolai, who looked not at Genya, but the empty space where the royal portrait would’ve been. His eyes hardened, full of hate and rage. “What’d you do?”
“I did it.” Nikolai replied. “Dominik and I. We’re not blind, Alina. He’s been lusting after Genya since we were all about ten or eleven. She was just too young. But once she turned 16, all bets were off.” He winced. “My mother let it happen.” the glass in his hand cracked . His thumb effortlessly healed the fissures.
“We should get going, or we’ll be late. They’re lighting the lamps.” Genya looked out from the bay windows to the garden path, and moved back to the other two. “I’ll need to go see what the Queen needs. I trust you two can get downstairs without too much error?”
Alina nodded, poking Nikolai in the ribs. He snorted, and offered his arm. Alina took it, and let Genya pin the kefta’s matching fur cloak at her neck. Then, they were off. Genya broke off from the group at a servants' passage and Alina and Nikolai turned to go down the winding stairs of the Great Palace. As they moved, unevenly matched for height, Alina opened her mouth, remembering the Apparat’s words to her in the infirmary.
“When I was sick, after Zoya gave me that concussion…” She began, watching Nikolai’s face. “The Apparat came to my room. I don’t know why. He’s been following me. Saying how I’m destined for greatness or some other such thing.” She shivered. The coldness of that memory seeped into her bones and she gripped the marble bannister for balance.
“He’s worse than the Darkling.” Nikolai murmured in her ear, watching the little knots of gathered foreign diginitaries, Grisha and Ravkan noble families below them. “He and I have… an old history.” He hinged, then moved to change the topic suddenly.
“Chin up. You’re glowering, sunshine.”
“I’m nervous .” She bit back. “And a bit… afraid. What if the performance doesn’t go well?” She almost tilted forwards too far and risked falling down the stairs in a jagged, broken heap. Nikolai pulled her back by her arm and held her close to him. “No such chance. Besides, if you do faint or blow up something, that’s nothing. I did worse at your age.”
“Like what?” She breathed. His easy charm always seemed to calm her, and she found herself needing it now more than ever. Looking up into his hazel eyes, she wondered what being inside his mind was like. This chaotic, charming prince who was her liege lord, friend… and crush.
Oh Saints. If I confess that, I’ll be the laughing stock from here to Kiribirsk!
“I once, at fourteen, switched out the salt and sugar service for tea after the dinner for the fete and sent the Fjerdan delegation into cardiac arrest. I did it partly because I’d gotten so badly… shunned by Vasily for any potential partners.” He winced and looked behind them to see if they were being followed.
“Oh.” Alina looked down. “Well if its any consolation, I’d be happy to dance with you tonight.”
“Really? Sunshine, you flatter me.” Nikolai’s grin, so open and warm, sent a jolt through her.In a way, they were two sides of the same coin. Once they finally reached the ballroom, Nikolai escorted her through several smaller salons stuffed with visitors who oohed and aahed over the sight of the Sun summoner so healthy and clad in emerald green and gold. Normally, she’d been in Etheralki blue, but concessions had to be made.
“Why emerald green?”
“Old royal colors.” Nikolai explained as he effortlessly plucked two crystal glasses of champagne off a passing tray and handed Alina one. “Not my favorite, but I suspect this is your first time?” He murmured, indicating the glass in her hands.
Alina sniffed the glass and then sipped it hesitantly. Her puckered face, expecting something dry like kvas , softened at the sweetness. “It’s good. Really good.” She took another sip. “Imported from the champagne region of France. Very expensive.” Nikolai informed her as they worked the room. He introduced her to generals and members of the Tsar’s cabinet, representatives of the two houses of the Duma , foreign ministers, and civil service workers prestigious enough to come to such an event. Alina could see through the crowd on the raised dias, the Tsaritsa and Tsar presiding over all.
“Vasily?”
“Drunk somewhere with a whole harem of courtesans.” Nikolai replied automatically. “I clocked him leaving as we were coming in.” They wove their way through a crowd of fawning debutantes, who coyly tried for Nikolai’s hand.
“No, ladies, apologies, my hands are occupied tonight.” He waved his dance card in the air and made vaguely compassionate sounds at the women's respective cries of agony. Alina privately thought they were all going to rip his clothes off and shame him for not opening offers of marriage.
“Are you… courting?” Alina asked as soon as they were drifting through the ranks of officers of the First and Second Armies. This was much more Alina’s preferred clique. She could mingle easily with generals and officers who’d actually fought their battles instead of preaching from on high.
Nikolai snorted into his champagne.
“Not a chance, Miss Starkov. Not a chance.”
“Really?” Alina blinked in surprise. “But…”
“Nope.” He shook his head, something coming over his expression that made Alina shut her mouth. She knew that she was set to present her powers to the court… but when? She looked up at Nikolai as he talked with General Pensky, discussing the new repeating rifle Fjerda was improving in low tones. She hovered nearby for a few moments, then pushed through the crowd and began to circle the room alone. Across the hall, she could see Nadia and Adrik speaking about something in low tones, their sapphire blue keftas winking in the candle-light overhead.
Alina’s eyes rose to regard the ceiling above, painted in a fresco of the Firebird, wings spread wide over the expanse as it flew over the steeples of the old Os Alta. The Old city had been burned to the ground by Fjerdan forces in their invasion in 1453, with the fall of Constantinople and end of the Byzantine Empire. Vauban had rebuilt and reinforced the old city’s walls before his death in 1707, the last job he’d undertaken in his lifetime. The odd, star-shaped pattern of the old city was not lost on the Russian dignitaries of Peter the Great who visited after the Tsar’s ascendancy in 1721. Catherine had been a great patron of the Ravkan court before the treaty of Os Kervo that split Ravka from a Russian protectorate to an independent nation state.
Now, the great bear was at the gates again, with the Fjerdan dire-wolf and Shu Han phoenix eating away at Ravka’s borders. But it’d always been like this. Sandwiched between two great powers, Ravka was losing the war it had fought over centuries. Alina’s gaze lowered and she spotted Genya crossing the ballroom floor to speak with a fellow servant. With whatever being secured, she crossed to the dias and took her place at the Tsarina’s shoulder, winking at Alina as the crowd parted around her.
“Ah, Miss Starkov.” The velvety tones of the Darkling’s voice reached her ear before Alina even had time to register it. She jerked her eyes up to look him straight in the face and blinked in wide-eyed fear. The expression on his face was one of pure shock and anger.
“I see you’ve chosen to wear… the royal colors tonight.” He growled in her ear as he grabbed her left arm in his hand. His fingers encircled her elbow, digging tight into the flesh. “I thought I gave Miss Safin specific orders to burn this wretched piece of cloth.”
“And was your black kefta not the same?” Alina breathed. She didn’t want to be pulled away to some dark corner and beaten into submission. Whatever feelings of affection Alina had for him evaporated. Something within him frightened her senseless, and she twisted in his grasp. She was supposed to keep 30 feet away from him tonight, and yet, she’d let him pounce like some predatory animal.
“What’re you here for?” She asked, looking him in the eye and raising her voice to do so. Her features furrowed into a mask of calm acceptance, though every cell in her body was itching to blind him and kick him out from under her. Somewhere, she desperately hoped that Nikolai was watching everything.
“To escort you to the stage for your little performance .” He jerked her forwards, unsteadying her. Aina would’ve fallen flat had her boot not hit Nikolai’s. She smashed straight into his left side and he grabbed her, effortlessly scooping her up and placing her back on her feet without a murmur of protest.
“Kirigan.” Nikolai smirked.
“ Moi Tsarevich .”
“I see you’ve rather upset Miss Starkov. Mind unhanding her?” His voice dropped, turning colder than Alina had ever heard it. The Darkling flinched visibly and the vice grip on Alina’s arm fell. Turning to thank him, she didn’t get the chance for the Darkling had Feydor and Ivan escort her to the stage. As she passed through the crowd, Alina saw Nikolai’s hazel eyes well with pain, adoration and something like love .
Then, she was swallowed up by the glittering gowns and colored keftas, and he melted back into the emerald and olive grove of the First Army. Alina wanted to reach for him, to pull him back. Most of all, she wanted to confess her innermost thoughts and feelings about her fox-prince. But, she couldn’t.
As the light spilled from her hands and filled the ballroom with golden light, all Alina thought of was the Darkling’s dark glare upon her. Never again would she fall into his good graces. Never would she in good conscience be safe with him. But some part of her, foolish and frightened as it was, wanted him . She wanted to be as powerful as he was, to rule alongside him. But logic had to win out in this case, certainly?
She raised her hands regardless, letting her light fill the room and decking their visitors in golden warmth. Let them feel the sunlight for once, let them realize that it was in this single moment that her holiness was something to be cherished. But the Darkling would use it for power. Certainly he wanted to destroy the Fold, but she was little more than the piece that would unlock a world beyond Kiribirisk. She was his queen, his Sol Koroleva . She would have no future if she would not bend the knee - to survive meant submission.
So, she did. With some scraping and bowing, Alina found herself being dragged from the ballroom in a cloak of shadows. She tried desperately not to think of what the Darkling intended for her as his lips found hers in his darkened office. His hands on her kefta’s folds, proclaiming the emerald silk as a sin… all of that heat made her forget just how much she hated him.
Get up. Wake up, Alina
But she couldn’t. His kisses were like opium, dragging her under into a whirlpool of deceit and danger. If she forgot herself, she’d be lost forever. Too soon for his liking, Alina was pulling back, putting her hand up to deflect his affections.
“No.” She whimpered. “Please, no.”
“You shift so suddenly, Milaya. ” The Darkling growled, reaching up to touch her cheek. “Are your affections perhaps… misplaced?”
“N-no!” She stammered, feeling the sharp bite of the wooden armoire she’d been so easily shoved into by his greedy hands. Outside, raucous song and laughter pierced the air and someone bumping into the door made Alina stir for hope of an interruption. Yet, the Darkling’s arm to steady the door dashed her desires into shards.
A swift knock at the inner door to the Darkling’s western sitting room stirred him from his hungry languor and he snapped:
“Who is it?”
“Ivan, Moi Soveryeni. The trackers have arrived with news of Morozova’s Herd. I showed them to the library.”
“Bring them here. At once.”
“Yes,” Ivan murmured from behind the blackened oak wood, and Alina twisted in the Darkling’s grasp as his footsteps receded.
Within minutes, Ivan had returned with a team of trackers… and Mal.
Alina, who’d not seen her childhood friend in half a year, stilled dead at the sight of him. She, her kefta and skirts hiked up to her knees, being pinned against an armoire in rooms so certainly the Black Generals, made Mal’s face whiten, then flush with color.
“Alina.” He snapped, coming to her as the Darkling was quickly distracted by an incoming telegram. “What in the Saints name-”
“I didn’t ask for this!” She hissed, her voice filled with panic and fear. She looked up at him in hopes that he’d be on her side, but suddenly, the cold look on his face frightened her. His face was a mask of pure fury, and he looked down at her gloved hands in disgust and pity .
“Shameful, spreading your legs. Have you no honor?” He leered. “And I saw you in that throne room with all your pretty little lights. You’re a freak .”
“F-freak.” She stammered, rage filling her. “I am this blasted country’s savior, you ass .” She growled. Her anger of months of no letters and the hunger of being held back by a need to protect him exploded out in a verbal diatribe that went deep and hard.
Mal barely blinked. He shifted easily from foot to foot as she snarled and snapped her teeth, looking strangely bored. Then, when she’d finished and leaned against the Darkling’s desk with her eyes popped wide, he struck back. The Darkling had vacated his rooms in search of Feydor and a proper map of Northern Ravka, so only Alina heard Mal’s cruel, pointed and poisoned words.
“I know you don’t really feel that way, Alina. You’ve just been isolated for too long. Stuck up in this palace. You don’t know what you’re saying, what you’re feeling . Evidently this grisha magic’s gotten into your head. It made you think and see things that aren’t really happening.” He scoffed.
“Besides, how could anyone really love you? You’re just some weak stick from Kermazin who got lucky one day. You’re probably half mad with hysteria. You of all girls know how easy it is to get one's humors unbalanced.” He added, turning on his heel. Alina’s eyes swam with tears and she vainly threw a hand over her mouth to suppress her broken sobs.
“N-no, I am not mad!” She cried, lurching after him on her unsteady feet. “I’m not! Please, Mal, I’m sorry!”
“Besides, what do you matter to me anyways? You seem to have settled in nicely in this grand palace and forgotten all about us in the First Army. Typical, bratty Alina, always doing what’s best for her and no one else.” He sniffed, his hand on the door. As he watched her limp towards him, Mal laughed cruelly.
“Still trailing after me like some wet, damp, floundering puppy. Enjoy the rest of your Saint Nikolai feast day , Sobachka .” He winked, then slammed the door shut. The strength of his movement extinguished the lamps and Alina fell to her knees in tears. She pressed her forehead to her sweating palms and wept openly. Her pain made her curl in on herself as the rage and sadness of so many months in splendid isolation crept over her like some dark fog.
Raising her head, Alina glared up at the skylight to the moon overhead, and opened her palm. A faint glimmer of light pulsed there, and she closed her fist around it. Tucking her hand to her chest, she leaned forwards and laid her head against the cold obsidian and marble checkered floor. The coldness of the stone leached the warmth from her skin, and Alina briefly wondered if she could die here of a broken heart.
Yet, a movement got her up. She was barely able to register what was happening, but suddenly strong arms wrapped around her. Alina found herself being dragged through a hidden bookshelf doorway in the Darkling’s library. Down a steep set of spiral staircases she was carried, her booted feet hitting the step at each turn. Whoever was carrying her groaned from the pain.
“W-where are you taking me?” She asked.
“Away.” The voice replied, and Alina realized that Baghra was carrying her.
“Baghra?” Alina breathed, craning her head.
“Put your head down, or your jugular will get cut open when we get down to the basem*nt. There’s stalagmites down here, girl.” With a swift wrench of her hand, Baghra had yanked Alina’s gloves off and dumped her like a sack of potatoes onto the floor. Looking up at her, Alina breathed in wide-eyed amazement. She’d seen Baghra looking younger the day her power had finally manifested, but this… this was different .
Inky black curls poured down the woman’s back and her face was youthful, perhaps a few years Alina’s senior. She adjusted her mourning sarafan and paisley shawl, then leaned forwards in her black leather button-boots.
“Get up and do cease looking so gormless. Now, what can you tell me, girl?”
“A-about what?” Alina looked confused, glancing around her. A flickering candle lent them only a little light, and she had to squint to see. Baghra’s expression remained hardened and her lips thinned into a line. Suddenly, the stick that the old woman had so recently used as a crutch came down upon Alina’s leg with a hard thwack
“Ow!”
“The stag, Girl! I don’t care if the Darkling tried to rid your head of conscious thought, but you must’ve learned something! ”
Alina blinked, remembering the words before Mal’s outburst. She blinked rapidly, trying to recall it, then the memories came unbidden and she lurched forwards. Gripping her kefta’s skirts in her hand, Alina shuddered and shook her head.
“H-he found the herd. The trackers he sent… did.” She breathed, then noted Baghra’s whitened face. “I-is that bad? I thought that the stag was a good thing-”
“No, you foolish girl, it is not ! If the Darkling gains power over the stag and places it on your neck, he controls your power. What is given freely is also taken freely. Like calls to like and all of that old nonsense.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and paced back and forth.
“Nikolai! Genya!” She called out suddenly. Alina’s eyes widened as Nikolai emerged first, brushing shadows from his coat like they were lint dust. At his shoulder, Genya emerged secondly, dressed in a peasant’s sarafan and brightly colored shawl. Both of them were dressed in peasant clothes and looked entirely joyous about it.
“We don’t have much time. I need you out of these clothes. Put on the sarafan and hide your hair. The moment you’re ready, I’ll explain.” Baghra shoved Alina behind a worn wooden changing screen, and the sun summoner quickly tore off her kefta and pulled on the weathered peasant dress and matching shoes. Her hair was left untouched, though she did pull a headscarf over it.
As soon as she was done, Alina poked her head out and blinked owlishly at Baghra.
“Yes?”
“Right. Your main job is to get to West Ravka, and from there, safety.” Baghra explained, casting a pointed glance at Nikolai, who nodded and offered her a courtly bow and grin. “Oh, do stop it, Sobachka. ” She smacked his arm fondly, though a grim smile did cross her face.
“W-what about the Stag?” Alina asked. “Shouldn’t we intercept the hunting part-”
“Not a chance.” Baghra snapped, looking now to Genya. “Your job is to get to safety as quickly as you can. The travelling troupes are leaving before the midnight bell. There’s a caravan of Kerch who’ve come to replay the Komedie Brute. Their carriage is large enough to hide three peasant adults.” She pulled out three small coin bags and passed them each to their respective owners, then handed off three different items.
For Nikolai, she gave him a collapsible long-glass, which he slipped into a pants pocket. Genya received several vials of plant matter, which she tied to her own belt alongside her coin purse. Alina received a new pair of gloves, except not fitted with mirrors. Hers were fingerless, and stitched with gold thread in the shapes of little sunbeams.
“Fabrikator made. They’ll help dull your light when you cast.” Baghra explained gruffly. She made a vague shooing motion, a soft smile finally cracking her face. “Travel well, you three. May the saints watch over your wretched souls.” She paused, then looked to Nikolai.
“Nikolasha?” She asked as Genya helped Alina button her coat. Nikolai turned from examining his new long-glass and stared Baghra in the eye. “Keep an eye out for hawks in the trees, and shadows in your path.” She kissed his cheek, and to his ears alone, added: “I love you, Moi Lyubov. I will always be your mother whenever you need me.”
Her face hardened again and she nodded curtly at Alina. “Travel safely, Sun Summoner. May good fortune find you in the West.” She murmured, the traditional parting greeting for travelers. Alina smiled, bowed her head.
“And may peace find you in the eastern rays of the morning sun.” She repeated, giving the old woman a little wave of farewell. Genya kissed both of Baghra’s cheeks and received a whispered exchange of adoration. Then, something else:
“I’ll ensure that he never comes to touch you again. You are safe now, Moya Milaya .”
Genya sniffled, and gently kissed Baghra’s cheek affectionately. Then, with a wave of her hand, Alina led them off into the darkness of the caverns below the palace. Before them lay West Ravka, and behind lay only pain, fear and the threat of loss of everything dear.
It was with heavy hearts and light feet that the three misfits and bastards fled to the sanctuary they so deserved - Os Kervo, and beyond that, the whole world.
End of chapter 5.
End of Act I: It's a Long way to Tipperary
