Work Text:
In her younger years, Inej sometimes used to lie, arms outstretched in the sweet-smelling grass and let the warmth of the sun sink into her skin. The glow lit up her eyelids and her mother used to scold her for risking burns, but Inej never paid her much mind.
As she grew, Inej would come to learn stories of the Sun Summoner, the Saint who was promised to them. With bated breath and her lip between her teeth, Inej would listen to the tales her family would tell her. The Sun Summoner would be dazzling, they had said.
As her life crumbled around her and a knife made its way into her hand, Inej clung to the promise of a light to come. In the shadows of the Barrel, Inej had always taken the time to look up to the bright blue expanse of sky and seek the sun. More often than not, a thick layer of cloud obscured her view, but Inej knew that the warm glow was just beyond it, just out of reach.
Eventually, it became a habit of hers to watch the sunrise from the rooftops. Stolen roll of bread in her hand, she would watch pink and gold and purple edge its way over the horizon. It was beautiful, painting the sky in glorious colour. With the sunrise would come the warming of the air, the bustling sounds of a city coming to life. Windows would bang open and voices would rise in houses. Children would pour out onto the street, seeking their friends in a slowly awakening crowd.
The promise of the sun returning would always remain, no matter what.
When Inej hears the words “it was a Sun Summoner”, she can barely breathe. To hear tales of the Sun Summoner is one thing, to be sent to find her is another. It feels impossible, it feels like a task she is wholly unqualified for. What foolish forces of fate have pressed this task into her hands?
Kaz believes they can find the Sun Summoner; Kaz has a plan. Between them, Jesper and Inej share their half-hearted doubts, though they both know that Kaz’s plan is more intricate than either of them realise. The way to Ravka is full of sleepless nights and a lump in Inej’s throat that never seems to clear. The one question turning over and over in her mind is what do you say when you finally meet a living, breathing Saint?
It is joined with more questions, as they face the task of crossing the Fold. Inej begins to wonder if they will survive this, though she trusts in her friends, knows that they will catch her if she falls.
The Little Palace is far more foreboding than Inej had expected. Most have learned of the training grounds of the Grisha. Walking through the grounds, she is struck by the sudden realisation that anywhere around them the Sun Summoner could be waiting. Around any corner, there could be a glimpse of her light.
The hours tick by as they await the demonstration, Inej dresses herself in silks and performs as she is told, keeping one eye on the stream of guests for some kind of sign, for one sight of the Sun Summoner. Could she be passing right now? Could she be lurking and watching and waiting in the bustle of dresses and keftas and swelling music?
When Inej finally takes her place in the main hall to watch the demonstration, she feels her hands grow clammy and her face burning red. It can’t be long now. Whispers spread through the room, rippling out and turning heads towards a young woman walking through the crowd.
Even without the light of the sun under her skin, the Sun Summoner is beautiful, dressed in a black kefta glittering with gold. Inej thinks she looks a little like the night sky itself. As the room darkens, Inej feels her heart pulse in her throat.
When the Sun Summoner cups a sphere of light in her hands, the floor almost drops out from beneath Inej’s feet. The captured sunlight floods the room and for a minute, the crowd can barely see, dazzled by the brightness before them.
“Sankta Alina,” Inej murmurs under her breath. Within her, something flickers and burns, something sings .
When Sankta Alina climbs out of their carriage and looks at her with wide, fearful eyes, Inej wants to shrink into herself. In front of her, right here, is a Saint with sunlight in her veins. It feels too impossible to be here, hearing her speak and close enough to touch. When she runs, Inej can do nothing but stare, feeling a slight smile tilt up the edges of her mouth.
Kaz berates her for letting the Saint go, but Inej doesn’t let it get to her. In her truest of hearts, she knows that she is right. Sankta Alina is not currency for them to be passing between hands. Far from it.
Upon the skiff, when they enter the Fold for the second time, Inej watches Sankta Alina’s face as she lights up a shield around them. She looks scared; The Saint herself looks human. Inej wants to help her.
After the chaos is over and they finally burst free of the darkness, Inej has never felt more relief. Alina is crumpled on the deck and they finally, finally can breathe easy as they take her from the skiff and into the cold wilderness.
Over a fire, Alina smiles at her and lays a hand on her arm.
“I’ve never met a Saint before,” Inej confesses and Alina shakes her head a little.
“I’ve never been a Saint before,” she admits. They look at each other for a long while before Inej finds the courage to bring her own hand up to cover Alina’s. She expects her skin to be warmer, but in the biting chill of the wind, it is cool to the touch, strikingly real.
“Wherever you are, whatever you need, my hand is yours,” Inej tells her, low and honest and true. She would follow Alina to the edge of the world, she thinks.
“I think I like that hand with a dagger in it,” Alina smirks, reaching within her cloak and kefta to retrieve a shining blade. “I couldn’t hold onto yours, so take mine as a replacement. It’s not much, but it’ll fend off a bully or two.” Alina offers the knife shyly, cautious that Inej will not take it. With a century's worth of gratitude, Inej takes the offered blade and turns it over in her hand.
It’s a golden colour, fitting for the Sun Summoner, Inej thinks. The firelight glances off the metal as she tests it in her hand. Well-balanced, functional, simple.
“I know just what to name it,” Inej smiles to herself and runs her thumb over the hilt.
Sankta Alina.