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Their neighbours didn’t know what to make of them.
They were a strange pair. The girl, with her snow-white hair, and the boy, with curls as dark as shadow. They had come to Solnepol not long after the Fold had been destroyed, and Ravka had been reunited again. Both of them had looked too tired for their young age.
But still, the townspeople rarely spoke to them, the two hardly left their hone most of the time. The girl had introduced herself as Ana, the boy as Maxim the last time they were seen at the marketplace. That’s what Ludmila Kerazova had told everyone, anyway.
The two lived in a small log cabin just outside the main town, down a winding dirt path in the woods. Always keeping to themselves, as though they were afraid someone would ask too many questions, or that they would be found by some mysterious person.
Aleksander had no taste for otkazat'sya life. It felt too boring, too much at a standstill, the silence that never graced the Darkling’s life now filled Aleksander’s. But Alina was happy, so he was happy too. For now.
Alina was glad that finally, she had the chance to paint again. She missed the sketching of her map-making days.
“Perhaps I’ll become a cartographer again,” She said jokingly one night. It was dark outside, and they sat in their respective chairs near the roaring fire.
Aleksander looked up, a mildly amused expression shining in the firelight. “You would want to do that?”
“I’ve got eternity to go travelling around and make the most accurate maps anyone could possibly want,”
“Where would you start?” He asked, shifting in his seat.
Alina got up and made her way slowly across the space that separated them. She stopped in front of him, and hesitantly sat down on the floor with her back to him, so her hair rested in his lap. He reached for it with his hands, his fingers toying with the ends. She leaned her head back, eyes finding his. He looked at her gently, waiting for her to continue. But there was uncertainty clouding his eyes.
“I’d start right here, in Ravka,” She said thoughtfully. “Then maybe I'll go to Kerch, then to Novyi Zem. See Cofton again,” Alina giggled, thinking of the time she and Mal had fled to Cofton, which truly wasn't even that long ago.
“Would you go by yourself, o wise mapmaker?” Aleksander asked. He meant for it to come out dripping in sarcasm, but Alina could hear the uneasiness in his tone.
She shifted so she was fully facing him.
“No, you big oaf. You'd come with me.”
“Really?” His voice betrayed his relief, but again he tried to hide it.
“Of course, I'd need someone to carry my inks and things,” She replied very seriously.
“That's the only reason why, then?” He asked mildly, twirling a lock of white around his index finger.
“Yes. The only reason, yes,”
“You must think you're very funny,”
“I have always been hilarious,” Alina replied. Aleksander laughed a soft throaty sound and bent down to kiss the top of her head.
“I'd follow you to the ends of the world if need be, solnishka,”
.
The couple, because the people of Solnepol had long deduced they were more than simple travelling companions, made their longest public appearance on the anniversary of the destruction of the Fold. A year had passed.
Ana and Maxim walked through the village square, hand in hand, practically melting into each other. The townspeople never missed how Maxim looked at her like she was the sun. When the fireworks went off, Ana kissed him, ever so softly. He smiled at her, before kissing her back. It looked like they were shrouded in shadows, hidden by where the firework light didn't reach them.
Some looked at them with jealous longing, others with wistful memories of their youth. Something was different about them, though. Ana seemed to glow with the light of the sun, and Maxim walked out of nonexistent shadows. But they always played it off as a trick of the light.
Six months later, Father Manyov was resting in the pews of his small church, hands pressed against the back of the pew in front of him, deep in prayer. He barely noticed two figures standing in the aisle.
The boy cleared his throat. The Father startled, his hands flying up from his praying position.
“Yes?” He asked. He recognized them immediately: Ana and Maxim, the mystery couple everyone liked to gossip about.
“We'd like to get married,” Maxim said.
“What?”
“We'd like to get married,” He repeated. Father Manyov did his best to ignore the boy’s annoyed tone, and steel gaze, as if he was challenging the priest to deny their request.
“What he means,” Ana said cautiously, shooting Maxim a warning look and wrapping an arm around his own, “Is if you'd consider marrying us. Now, preferably,”
“Why now? Don't you want to plan something? Invite guests?”
Ana laughed. “There's no one we could invite. Or anyone who'd show up,”
Father Manyov looked at them for a long second. He took in her white hair that looked like a veil, and her grey cloak she had hastily wrapped around her figure. Maksim, in contrast, was dressed in all black, his coat looking like one of those Grisha kefta he heard stories about. The only difference was this jacket had no embroidery, and certainly didn't look like it could deflect bullets.
“Alright,” He said, and walked them up to the altar. They grinned at each other, Maxim’s right hand cupping Ana's cheek. She smiled into his palm.
After their vows were said, and a rather passionate sealing kiss was shared, the priest drafted up their marriage certificate.
“You need to give me a last name,” He said. He had forgotten to ask for one. How had he done that?
Ana hesitated, looking at Maxim questioningly, Maxim looked at her, then at him, and back at her.
“Morozova,” He said confidently. Ana blushed pink, taking his arm and wrapping it around her shoulders. Maxim smiled unabashedly down at her, marvelling in her happiness.
“Morozova,” Manyov repeated, writing it down.
It felt like a balance.
-
That night, Alina and Aleksander stumbled home and were quietly sitting in their shared bed, enjoying each other’s company. They were sitting uprights, leg’s next to the other’s hips. Alina breathed in a content sigh, and closed the small distance remaining between them, resting her forehead on his. He smiled slightly, and they just sat there like that for a few minutes.
Aleksander knew he could spend eternity like that, with her.
So long as they weren’t found. Before they fully settled down in their log cabin, they had set a barrier to surround their home, so that if any passersby or nosy neighbours came by, they’d be hit with the sudden remembrance that they forgot to close the chicken coop door, or left their fire unattended. They would leave before they even had the chance to knock on the door.
It was mainly to make sure no one specific from Os Alta would come looking for them. Alina wasn’t sure how she would explain that she went and fell in love then married her supposed sworn enemy.
But it was never like that. Maybe at the beginning, after his initial betrayal. But after that...and that day on the Fold… everything changed completely, an already close to tipping glass turned so violently that it could not be stopped.
And now here they were, a year and a half later, peacefully left alone. She could finally hear herself think again.
Alina was brought back to the present by a short, sweet kiss. He pulled away, studying her eyes.
“They won’t find us,” Aleksander said confidently. He always knew exactly what was on her mind.
“I know,” She replied uncertainly. “But they will, eventually. Then there’ll be noise again,” Usually it was he who had these worries- not her. But for once she felt too happy, and she knew that happiness would be taken away from her like it usually was.
“How can I make you forget?” He asked quietly, pressing their foreheads together again.
“You could kiss me again,”
He didn’t need to be told twice. Raising his hands to cup her cheeks, he leaned giving her slow kisses to her forehead, then to both her cheeks, her nose, her chin before finally landing on her lips. He lingered there for a moment, the kiss sparking in affection, desire and pure love. It made Alina dizzy.
When he pulled away, Aleksander drank in her perfect features: her pink cheeks and lips, still parted from the kiss, and her eyes, still closed, every part off her humming in peaceful contentment.
Alina opened her eyes, and though she didn’t know it, their expressions matched. To her, Aleksander looked ready to sink on his knees for her, she could’ve asked him to do anything, and he would’ve.
“I love you, Aleksander” She whispered, going in to kiss his neck. He stiffened at the contact. She pulled away, unsure what was wrong.
Alina looked at him curiously. His once soft look had been replaced by one that dripped in desire and hunger. Lust. She shivered.
Aleksander said nothing, but gently eased her down into the pillows and blankets. He placed more kisses from her neck to her stomach.
“I love you, Alina,” He said lowly, his breath hovering further and further down. She sighed.
“You are my balance,”
The real worshipping would begin now.
-
She awoke to sunlight, as she so often did. Alina slept on the side facing the window, so she would block the nagging sunlight that bothered Aleksander so early in the morning. But this morning, he was already awake, staring down at her.
“Good morning, wife,” He said. She wrapped herself around him, smelling him, taking him in. Wife. She liked how that sounded.
He wrapped another arm around, holding her closer. Aleksander used to hate intimacy, love. He thought it would make him weak. And maybe it had. But the good kind.
“We should get up,” She said, her voice muffled against his chest.
“Probably,”
“But I don’t want to,”
“Neither do I,”
“I like this a little too much,” Alina said, looking up at him. Sleep still painted his silver eyes, but the once hardness to them had melted away long ago.
He said nothing, humming in agreement, and tucked a stray strand of her white hair behind her ear. She always looked so ethereal in the morning, hair fluffy, eyes dewy. He knew he’d never tire of the sight of her. Not ever.
-
The habitants of Solnepol still talked about the odd Ana and Maxim Morozova. No one had stepped into their home, and no one had ever a long enough conversation with either of them to get to know them any better than their names. Only that they were married. No one knew where they came from, or why, or if they were hiding from someone. Some said they had run away together, that’s what Father Manyov had suspected.
Still, as the years went on, and the townspeople grew older, Ana and Maxim seemed to grow younger. The more they smiled, kissed and talked seemed to lessen the should-be lines of age on their faces.
It was love.
And it was balanced.
As all things should be.