Archive of Our Own

Mal died, blood staining Alina's hand and dagger, and her power exploded: outward, reaching into the sky, into the sun the Fold hides, trails of sunlight that make paths around them, halos of light in the darkness around them. She tried to grab into a fragment of it, but it slips through her fingers like the sand at her feet, refusing to obey her will like it used to.

"The sky -" He said, voice a hiss as loud as the one of his dying volcras. "What did you do?"

There was a thread of power between them, and Alina clumsily held onto it, absorbing it into the place where her fragmented power still was leaking out, making space for it inside her ribcage - and Aleksander noticed, grey eyes widening as his hands found her wrists.

"Alina." He called, slow, panic in his voice. The volcras were dying around them. Alina was trying to keep her power, and his touch was calming, making her powers surge inside her. "Alina. Look at me."

She does. Grey eyes meet her brown ones. He's panicking, clearly, a mask slipping: Alina grit her teeth.

"I don't - I don't want it to leave." It's a lie, it's the truth: being a Grisha had never done Alina any good, but the idea of it leaving her is also something that strikes primal fear into her being. Alina fought for them. She wouldn't let them go, not so easily.

Alina's desperation found a barrier in him, and she gently prodded. He nodded, and something in him opened, a deep lake with still dark waters. Alina took it for herself, muddying the waters, shoving the fragments of light she still had in his lake, as a way to keep things balanced, every gulp of it a piece of light she gave over.

Later, she would think of what she was doing, and wonder how she had done it; but at the moment, all Alina could do was let herself sink into the waters, drinking them, giving him pieces of herself as she took his pieces. At some points, his hands left her wrists, their fingers intertwined, and in no moment he made her stop, sweat pouring out of them in thick rivulets.

When both collapsed in an exhausted pile, the sky was blue, and the sun warmed her face. Alina rose a hand in a familiar movement, trying to dim the sunlight - but instead, a cover of darkness coated her, and that was enough to shock her into sitting.

He stared at her through half-lidded eyes, gave her a cat-like smile, and with a fluid movement, dissipated her darkness: a ball of light in his hand, familiar and distant, stood.

"Isn't it curious, Alina, how much we can know about Grisha powers, without knowing at all?" He asked, as if it was all planned, and Alina did not reply, staring at her blood-crusted, trembling hands.

The sun shone above her, but Alina did not feel its warmth inside her anymore; no, all she felt was that deep still lake she had taken in willingly.

Nikolai, scarred Nikolai, stared at both of them like the disappointed matron of the orphanage would after Alina and Mal (dead, dead Mal) would get in trouble, except it was still Alina, and Aleksander was old enough to be ancient.

"Why is he alive." Nikolai, clutching a book as if it were a shield, asked. Well, his tone did not indicate a question, but Alina shuffled as if he had asked her one anyway, his gloved fingers tapping on the leather cover of the book he had been reading.

"I assume it is because Alina, who was holding the dagger, was too busy stealing my powers. See." As if giddy to be summoning light, he made some appear in the room, and Alina wasn't sure if it was the extra light or the fact a man widely known for his shadow summoning was now, well, the Sun Saint. It stung, and she'd never admit it.

Nikolai's eyes whipped to Alina, who nodded, letting shadows gather at her feet. She wanted it to swallow her, instead, but she dropped them all when a thin sheen of sweat covered Nikolai's skin.

The shadows were always slow to answer to her: reluctant puddles of darkness, as if aware that she was not the man that commanded them for so long. They moved, yes, but at a glacial pace that would have her killed in battle, if Ravka were still in war.

Alina sat down in front of him. Aleksander followed, close to Nikolai, and Nikolai made a pointed movement to bring his chair closer to Alina.

"Look, it wasn't - on purpose. I was desperate. I wanted my power."

"So you just…" There was a handwave, and Alina shrugged. She couldn't explain it either: all she knew is that now, between her third and fourth rib, there was a deep well of shadows. "Can it be undone?"

Alina looked at Aleksander. Her hands were clean, none of the third amplifier (Mal's blood, she distinctly recalled, remember that. He saved her by dying) under her nails. She still reached her hands to Aleksander, and he did the same, amused at it.

She knew him too well, Alina decided, to be able to say he was amused by the little smile he wore. They intertwined their fingers together once more, and Alina tried to once more reach that deep well of water inside him, using the little bits of shadow, but they refused to cooperate.

Shadows engulfed the room as Alina focused, trying to pierce his armor, but it didn't happen. She couldn't reach inside him. Alina rose her head, opening eyes she didn't realize she closed, and he looked at her like the most curious thing in the world. Nikolai, though, watched the shadows, expecting something to come crawling out of it.

"I can't. You do it." Alina said, and he nodded. She could feel warmth coming from his hand, tiny little dots pin-pricking at the place where she could sense, rather than feel, the Grisha powers coming from. It wasn't very much small science at that moment, something that had to be navigated with tactile and feeling instead of cold, hard logic.

There was a resistance to it. Alina could feel shadow batting away his light, and the more she tried to hold it back, the more color was seeped from the world, the darker the ambient got, as if Alina's shadows were a physical presence.

"That's enough." He said, softly, and the pinpricks of light from him left her as he retreated, bathing the world in light. It was weird to see him, all the familiar features, and see light - but Alina supposed it was just as weird to see Sun Saint Alina Starkov and see shadows pooling at her feet, waiting to do her bidding.

"So we have a Shadow Summoner and a Sun Summoner still, except reversed." Nikolai said, his voice shaky, and Alina looked at him. She let the shadows retreat away, the fireplace once more warming the small room, and Nikolai kept clutching his book. "Okay. Great."

"I wouldn't say it's great, but at least the Fold is gone, and I don't plan on making it again." Alina glared at Aleksander, who shrugged graciously. "What do we do now?"

Nikolai paused for a moment, and Alina stared at him. He fidgeted with something in his pockets, and took out the Lantsov Emerald. Alina wanted to bang her head on the table.

"If you say anything, Darkling, I'll have you killed where we stand." Nikolai said, as a warning, and Aleksander made a sign that his mouth was closed. Nikolai's eyes went to Alina, who knew what was coming.

"The answer is no." Alina said, and Nikolai visibly deflated. "I'm not going to be queen, Nikolai."

"But it'd be very beneficial to Ravka, I'd say." Aleksander piped in, and both of them glared at him. "The Sun Summoner who vanquished the Fold marrying the king would be very good for both royals and the public. Who wouldn't trust you two? It also would be beneficial to stabilizing Ravka."

Alina groaned. Of course he had already thought all of it just by seeing the damn ring. Saints, he probably had been there when the Emerald had been first used.

"Who died and made you my political advisor?" Nikolai replied, and Aleksander opened his mouth. "Nevermind. I don't want that answer. Alina."

Alina crossed her arms, realized Aleksander was doing the same, and uncrossed her arms, setting her hands on the table instead. She took a deep breath.

"Again, no. I'm not going to be queen, and I will not be a political and religious pawn." Nikolai opened his mouth. "If I'm queen of Ravka, Nikolai, every party we go to, I'm going to be asked to do a light show, and even if I still could control the sun, I'd hate it."

Nikolai nodded in agreement, but the ring was still on the table. He then looked from Alina to Aleksander, and back again.

Aleksander, seemingly, also could read minds - or maybe it was his centuries of knowledge seeing through a boy king.

"If you're going to suggest that Alina will marry me for the optics of a reformed villain through the power of love, sure." He drawled, and Alina choked. Nikolai, for his part, seemed faint. "The king who tamed his torturer, the Summoner who ended the Fold, and the Ravkan monster who can and will kill anyone. Fantastic angle. Fantastic, propaganda-wise."

Alina put her head in her hands, elbows on the table, so she wouldn't have to look at Nikolai, who was clearly considering it. For all the Saints. No.

"Why don't you two marry each other and leave me single?" Alina threw her hands in the air, and took a deep breath as two pairs of eyes went to her. "Look. I am not marrying either of you. Can't we just, I don't know, rebuild Ravka, then I fuck off to somewhere else and you chain Aleksander to the dungeon?"

Nikolai looked at her for a long, long moment. Then:

"Aleksander?" He asked, and Aleksander simply smiled as Alina let her head hit the wood.

They faked his death - as Aleksander so charmingly put it, it'd be hard to redeem him in the eyes of the people without a marriage, and from the ashes of the Darkling appeared General Kirigan, come from the depths of the permafrost to help Ravka, but that was for later. Right now, Alina cut his hair, while the pyre for him was built. Nikolai hung in candlelight, nervously making sure his gloves fit.

Genya had been there. She'd slapped Aleksander, who'd said it was fair enough, worked while fuming on Nikolai, made Alina look slightly healthier, and then left without a second word to go find Alina a kefta. Aleksander touched the spot where Genya had hit him, and then passed a hand through his hair, overlong from months without a regular haircut. Alina sighed, grabbed his wrist, and he gave her a curious look.

"There's a mirror here." Alina said, and Nikolai's eyes snapped to her. She nudged Aleksander towards it, grabbing a razor for shaving that had been left lying around. Alina did not know where they were: it looked half like a bedroom, half like a library. "I'm not good at it, but I think I can make you look a little less Darkling. Unless, of course, Nikolai wants to explain that you have a normal, good twin."

"I've faked my death countless times. This is nothing." Still, he sat down with his back turned to her, and Alina, for a moment, considered slashing his throat, finish what she had started.

The idea of her powers abandoning the world - the sun was not hers to command anymore, but the powers were still hers - saddened Alina, and as such, she simply cut his hair, shaping it into something she'd see in the First Army instead. Not a fully shaved head, but… More contained. Slicked back, he almost looked like an arrogant scion who had bought his way into the army, rather than getting his titles in a legitimate way.

Wow, she was rather good at it. Maybe after Ravka was stable, Alina could become a barber, or something like that.

Nikolai watched the two with hazel eyes full of caution. His arms were full of dark scars that went to his elbow, carefully hidden away in his military uniform, but they still darkened his skin with shadows. Alina half-expected to see his nails turn to claws, breaking free from the confines of the gloves. He looked ragged, but that was expected - he had, after all, spent the last few months flying around Ravka as a half-mad monster. Saints, even Alina looked like she'd been spat out by something before Genya had worked her magic on her.

"I guess I could use your expertise, Darkling." Nikolai conceded, and Aleksander, in the mirror, had a brief flash of surprise. So did Alina, actually. "Perhaps I should keep you around."

"Someone's not afraid of a coup." He tutted, and Nikolai huffed. "Oh, don't worry. Just keep the Grisha safe, and I won't try anything."

"I wouldn't let you." Alina said, and Aleksander did not answer her, simply smiling. "Very brave to smirk at the person holding a razor and with easy neck access."

"I'd call it stupid, particularly." Nikolai chirped, and Alina laughed.

Genya knocked, and Alina stepped back, letting Aleksander admire her work.

They tailored Mal to look like Aleksander. Alina wouldn't have noticed, really, but Genya had let out a small spot on the side of his jaw where Alina knew was a beauty spot, and she had wanted to throw up and step back and create the Fold herself in grief. Shadows gathered at her feet, twirling without her notice, and she closed her fists.

"Hey." Nikolai called, softly, and Alina felt the tension leave her body as she looked at him. "Are you okay?"

No. How could she be?

"I will be." Alina replied, taking a deep breath. She wanted to nudge him with her boot, ask Mal if he was just playing pretend at being asleep, but the pallor of his skin told her the truth Alina so dearly wanted to ignore.

There was blood on her hands, and it would never activate her powers again.

She stared at the flames. Nikolai held her hand, and a glance at the crowd told her of Aleksander hanging in the shadows, looking at her oddly. What did he see, she wondered? The girl who stole his powers in a fit of desperation to keep hers? A girl, bathed in flames? A murderer, an innocent, a saint, a Grisha?

Alina would never know. But she knew what she saw: a man who had allowed her into the deepest part of his powers, and had allowed her to drink her fill of them. For what reason, she'd never understand - what if she had ended up with both powers, and he with none? What if she killed him by accident? What had been the purpose?

The heat of the flames licked her face, and Alina's eyes snapped to where Mal's tailored corpse burnt. He seemed at peace - or maybe that was just her hope, that he was at peace.

They traveled to Os Alta, Aleksander in the royal retinue. He'd presented himself as a general, and anyone with a pair of eyes accepted it. How, she'd never know: perhaps the First Army was such a big beast anyone could claim a rank, and no one would be any the wiser.

Nikolai had played nice, had joked around as if they were old friends, and everyone had accepted him. Zoya, sure, had stared at Aleksander with half-lidded eyes, and Alina prayed to all Saints that might've heard her that she wouldn't make the connection.

Of course, no Saint would ever listen to another Saint, and so, on that first night, around a campfire, Zoya approached the spot where Alina was with Nikolai and Aleksander. Alina was half-asleep, but seeing Zoya stalk close made her sit up straighter, wanting to use shadows to keep her away.

Aleksander touched the back of her hand, and so Alina did nothing, seeing Zoya sit casually, regarding Aleksander with open contempt for twelve seconds before opening her mouth.

"Are you the Darkling's son?" She asked, and Nikolai choked on air. Alina took a deep, deep breath, and looked at the starry sky. That was it. Their cover would be blown, and Alina would have to be regarded as a traitor, and Zoya would kill them both, and -

"Oh, yes. He's got a bunch around." Aleksander replied, with a smile. Alina's eyes went straight to him, who seemed good humoured and used to the question, as if it was a regular occurrence. "I can't do any summoning, though. They have thoroughly tested me for that, so he kinda left me with my mom. Really good dad, that man. I'm glad he's gone. See, I'll show you - "

For effect, as if he was someone who'd never been a Grisha, Aleksander made an exaggerated motion, and no sparks flew from his palms. Alina was surprised at his absolute control of powers he had for less than a day.

Zoya still stared at him, though.

"He never said anything about children." To that, Aleksander rolled his eyes, amused. Alina could guess why. "But yes, I suppose he was getting on with the years. Do any of you siblings have…?"

He laughed, a sound that startled both Alina and Nikolai. Zoya seemed surprised at it, too, but she controlled her expression better.

"Oh, no, not at all! He was very frustrated about it, mother told me. Not sure what became of my other siblings, actually…" A pause, and he looked at Zoya. Zoya stared at him back, as if she could decipher his well-told lies. "I'm just a general from Tsibeya who happens to look like someone that I never saw for more than a few minutes in my entire life."

Zoya still stared, and Nikolai threw his gloved hands in the air.

"Zoya, for Saints' sake, do you think I'd keep a Shadow Summoner after everything that happened?" Zoya's blue eyes went to Nikolai, and she conceded the point. Alina pretended she still could summon the sun very, very quietly, not looking at anyone.

"No." Zoya replied, and still stared at a very pleasant-looking Aleksander. "It is nice to meet you, general Kirigan."

"It's my pleasure." He replied, then, he leaned into Alina as Zoya turned back. "And who is she?"

Zoya paused, then kept walking. Alina elbowed his side, and all she gained was a grin from him.

"You don't have to be rude." Alina hissed, and he cocked his head. "It's understandable for anyone who was close to you to be, you know, in doubt."

Aleksander stared at her for a long moment, his grey eyes scanning her face.

"She called me old." Alina threw her hands in the air to not strangle him.

"You are old." Nikolai pointed out. Aleksander huffed.

"I look twenty-five, at best. I'm not an old, withered man." What if she finished what she had started, her sun summoning still in him be damned? She could kill him. Easy. The Darkling, dead in truth and in lie, and she could simply wrap his corpse in shadow, and -

Nikolai laughed at it, though, and Alina let her feelings soften. It had been a while since she had heard him laugh that earnestly.

Alina settled in Aleksander's old war room, deciding to lead the Grisha, and Aleksander got a room in the palace for himself. She, Genya and Zoya worked hard to restructure the remaining Grisha, trying to make an army out of the handful they still had.

That first night, Alina discovered she hated sleeping alone. The shadows seemed to be shaped as people, the phantoms of the ones dead in her name reaching for her, but she knew it was her mind playing tricks on her - after all, it got dark when she wanted to. Right?

Nikolai, meanwhile, talked with nobles, seemingly all day, in and out of meetings, trying to see if he could settle Ravka into a degree of normalcy. Alina barely saw him, and sometimes, she could swear she saw glimpses of gold hair in sunlight, through windows.

Aleksander had the easiest life: all he did was taking part in the occasional military meeting, read the books in the royal library, and soak up in the sun. Sometimes, when Alina had to give classes to the new Sun Summoners that seemingly popped up every day, he'd help - Alina would suppress the shadows inside her and he'd make it seem as if she could still be the sun.

It was odd, to be honest, to not be the one doing the summoning - it was too much like her time deep underground for her comfort -, but between that and revealing she was now the only Shadow Summoner alive, well, her discomfort was not a priority.

Alina vented in other ways: she tore down all of the war room's black decor, and Aleksander, who had gotten the invisibility trick very quickly, looked in horror at his stripped war room now with the walls in a pale shade of white, and small golden suns were being painted by her there, decoration all covered by white sheets or in the process of being replaced.

It was nice. It was a mockery. It was her new life: white paint atop black paint, showing through cracks.

Sometimes she ate dinner with Nikolai. It always was a quiet affair, the two in her war room, steaming plates placed in between hastily made places.

Aleksander never joined. There was a fraught tension about it, as if he was allowing Nikolai time with her, as if seeing if he was going to convince her to be queen of Ravka.

"Managing the Grisha seems like a grand affair." Nikolai commented, once and Alina shrugged. "Maybe historically, when times were harsher."

"When they were more persecuted, you mean." Alina reached for some bread, warm and soft, freshly delivered. "I just feel like I'm sending children to the butcher."

Nikolai paused at that, but kept eating, although slower.

"We need to rebuild the Second Army." Every word seemed a struggle for him to pick, as if he didn't want to even think of them.

Alina huffed.

"We? You mean I have to." A flash of hurt in his eyes, and Alina cringed. "I know. I know. Ravka needs to be shown as strong, after a period of instability. I've heard your discourses, you know."

He seemed surprised at that, and Alina smiled at him, softly, going back to eating in silence.

"You paid attention?" He asked quietly. "I didn't think anyone did. Or, at least, only cared about what to pick me apart."

Alina reached to touch his perpetually gloved hands, and he let her. She had an inkling of what laid under it - sometimes, his gloves were too short and his sleeves rode up, showing a dark, intricate web of scars that resembled her new summoning -, but if he did not want to show it, she would not ask to see it.

The people knew, though. Korol Rezni, they called him: scarred king. But what did the people know? They still called her the Sun Saint.

"Of course I did. You are great at giving speeches." Alina replied, and a small smile graced his face. "Very impassioned. Did being a pirate teach you that?"

Nikolai seemed excited at the prospective subject, and Alina wanted to hear him speak like he used to.

"Privateer, and yes, sort of. Can't keep a crew if you can't keep them charmed." A wink, and Alina laughed. "You also do very rousing speeches."

Alina looked at him, and Nikolai, eyes wide, blushed. She was unsure how he knew of her speeches: it wasn't a formal affair for Alina to do a few of them, and she wouldn't even call them speeches anyway; it was just moments Alina found herself having to support a Grisha, or a teaching rant, or, hell, even in the war room with Aleksander, just going on and on and on about whatever issue that had roused, usually with the new batches of Grisha Zoya was bringing in, the ones clearly traumatized by a lifetime of running and now having to face a new reality.

Alina knew too damn well what the new reality was like.

"Sometimes the sound carries out. Through the lake." Nikolai explained, and Alina nodded, averting her eyes for a moment. Was he genuinely listening to her fake classes? "If I'm near a window and I happen to catch it, I always listen to the end. It's… Interesting."

"Thank you, Nikolai."

"And besides, maybe I should be glad we didn't marry. They'd make you rule, if your passion is anything to go by." He joked, and Alina, with a roll of her eyes, gave his shins a light kick.

"The black suited your new powers." He said, softly, and Alina threw herself on the chair. "Such a shame."

"They're not mine. They're yours." Alina said, arms crossed, and Aleksander sat in front of her. "I'm just borrowing them until I figure out how to get them back."

Nikolai groaned at it. Aleksander pointedly ignored it.

The three were together in the safest room of all Os Alta for a meeting that Nikolai had asked for, approaching Alina with a calm smile she, after months of observation, knew meant he was not doing well in negotiations.

Aleksander, her shadow, appeared a moment after from some dark corner, and he gave Nikolai a quick nod before stepping by Alina's side.

Once, they had been in inverted positions: Alina the soldier, Aleksander the Darkling. Now he was the soldier, and she was the Sun Saint.

Alina wasn't sure how she felt about it.

Nikolai had been brief: he had asked if maybe they could meet in the war room, and when. Hopefully, as soon as possible, he added, looking around, before leaving once more.

Alina and Aleksander shared a glance. He had shrugged, and Alina had mentioned she had a free hour in the following afternoon - and now, here they were.

Aleksander spoke, and Alina's line of thought was broken:

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Alina." He turned to Nikolai, who admired the, honestly, really good map of Ravka he'd had on his desk probably for centuries. "So, moi soverenyi, what makes you come ask for both of us?"

Nikolai did not reply. His fingers traced the edge of the Fold, all the way from Shu Han to Fjerda, as if picturing the best way to cross it, were it still standing.

"I have been thinking." Nikolai started, slowly, weaving words together. "I think I need to see Ravka for Ravka. So, instead of sitting in Os Alta, like every ruler before me, I should… Tour the country."

"Fantastic for optics." Aleksander commented, and Nikolai gave him a very short nod. "So, why are you telling us this? I am pretty sure I'm, so to speak, housebound."

"Alina." Nikolai ignored his question, hazel eyes staring at Alina's brown ones. She nodded, waiting for him to go on. "You may not want to be queen of Ravka, which, fair, I've accepted that, who wants to be, really, but I need you. Will you tour Ravka with me?"

At least he hadn't shown the ring. Alina stared at Nikolai, whose bags under his eyes grew with every passing night, and Alina wondered, with the way he had trembled when she had used her shadow powers unconsciously, if he was afraid of the dark.

It would make sense. After all - who wouldn't fear the thing that had made you into a monster?

"Okay." Alina replied, and Nikolai, who had clearly been expecting a negative, blinked quickly. "You look like you need someone with you."

He relaxed, shoulders falling, and Alina tapped her fingers on the solid, wooden table.

"So, why's he here?" She asked, and Aleksander did his best face of innocence, which wasn't convincing. Nikolai paused, picking at the seams of his gloves - which seemed like a permanent feature of his now.

"If I'm to tour the country with the Sun Saint, the people will expect her to bring the light." He started, and Alina groaned, head in hands.

"Ah, so my presence is required as smoke and mirrors." Aleksander mused, and Nikolai nodded, vaguely uncomfortable. "Well. It'll be a pleasure to work with you two."

"I wish I could say the same." Nikolai replied. Alina did not speak.

Nikolai left first, and Alina used a shadow to close and lock the room from the outside. Aleksander said nothing: he merely rose an eyebrow at her. Alina crossed her arms, stared at him.

"Why are you here?" She asked, accusatory, and he sat down once more. "I mean it. You wanted to kill me, and then suddenly I take your powers and you're just… Easy-going? As if you didn't try to establish a coup? As if your entire existence wasn't..."

Her words trailed off. Aleksander considered Alina, stared at her up and down, up and down: what did he see? She looked like normal, on her blue and gold kefta, her hair loose and unbound. Sure, maybe there was a hardness to her face there wasn't before, but when you had your childhood best friend's blood in your hands, one's face did not tend to stay unchanged.

"Answer me, Aleksander."

Another long pause. Alina did not fidget under his gaze. She had become good at it.

"I'm curious." He said, slowly. "I've been alive for a long time, Alina, and it's the first time I've felt where Grisha powers are stored. You saw it too, didn't you?"

The deep lake of power, impossibly profound. Alina nodded. He rested against the chair, staring at her.

"So it's just plain curiosity? No deep desire to control Nikolai so you can control Ravka?"

He smiled.

"Why, Alina, do you think Nikolai is easy to manipulate?" Scarlet took her face, and Alina kept her mouth shut. "No. Nikolai isn't that easily controlled. I won't interfere in his reign as long as he won't hurt my Grisha."

Alina blinked, not believing her ears.

"Your Grisha. The ones you had killed? The ones who see you, General Kirigan, and flinch because it's like a ghost is walking around the palace?" He cringed at her words, but they were true: these Grisha weren't his anymore. "They're my Grisha to command."

He smiled, as if he held the secrets of the world behind his lips.

"Yes, Darkling."

Alina gritted her teeth, and made a shadow open the door for him. He left without commentary, but he did not need to.

Nikolai announced the tour the following day, and Alina made preparations to leave her Grisha safe with Zoya, Genya and David. The entire preparations for the voyage took a month, but those were just the initial ones; they'd send missives to counts and dukes and other royals as they went around the country, Nikolai mentioning something or another about setting up a stage.

Alina's job there was both security detail, alongside Tamar and Tolya, and morale booster. After all, who better than the girl who had vanquished the Fold to bring hope to the people, and who better to protect the new king? She'd show the light, watch plays dramatizing it, and it'd be a grand merry time if not for the looming shadow of the man she had stolen powers from and who'd be the one doing all the actual summoning.

The night before they left, Alina cloaked herself in his shadows and left the Little Palace, slinking inside an open window of the palace and looking, quietly, steps muffled by the thick carpet, for Aleksander's room. She had been analyzing her memories of the event, and she had a good idea why it hadn't worked when they tried it in the room with Nikolai.

It was easy to find it: the unguarded room with light spilling under the door, warming her feet. She sent a sliver of shadow to unlock the door, and the door opened with a brief touch of hers, revealing a bare room, free of decorations. In the bed, pristinely made, Aleksander laid down, still in his military uniform, as if he slept on it. His hands were cupped around the light, making it shapeless, and it would be an idyllic scene to draw if she had paper and ink.

"Ah." He said, when Alina stepped out of the shadow. He held the light in his hand, seemingly enamoured by it. "Alina."

"I want to try again." She said, taking a knife from her kefta's pockets, and he raised an eyebrow. He sat down on the bed, made a sweeping gesture for Alina to join him, and so she did, sitting by his side.

There was still light he produced, illuminating them, warming Alina's cold insides. He offered her his palm, and Alina, carefully, cut him. She watched blood pool in his palm, and he stared at it as if not expecting it to be bright red. She cut her palm, and he watched it, too, placid, as if expecting all of this, even if it made no sense to her.

Alina held his hand, intertwined their fingers, and tried to use shadow to pierce him gently, using blood as a connector, warm in her hand, dripping down her elbows, staining her clothes. She could feel her shadows prodding at something inside him, and Alina felt, rather than heard, herself growling to tell him to let her in.

Inside her, there was a fear: what if she was never able to summon light again? Once her reviled powers, she had accepted and grown used to them, a warm presence coiled around her ribs.

Now, instead: a coldness in her chest, a deep lake of still, dark waters between her third and fourth rib, one that Alina could feel herself sinking in with every passing day. Was she even Alina Starkov anymore? She didn't know. She didn't want to know.

"I don't think it'll work, Alina." He said, quietly, and Alina ignored him. "There were four amplifiers present that day, and I'm just one. The boy's -"

Her nails dug into his skin. He did not flinch.

"He had a name." Shadows flickered all over the room, but the light he commanded with perfection stood still.

"Of course he did." He let her in, and Alina fell: not in the deep lake, but at a cave, full of light - no, not light. Fireflies, floating lazily, tiny dots of light that were warm and familiar.

She stepped ahead, and the fireflies buzzed away, disappearing from Alina's grasp, little shards of light that she had shoved inside him and now refused to return to her. Alina stepped forward, going deeper inside the cave, but the light stayed always a step ahead of her. Aleksander, if aware, did not comment.

The fireflies passed by an immobile form, going deeper inside, but it made Alina's feet pause. The cave looked lived in: a nest of blankets, a dead campfire, and the form that shook under the covers, as if afraid of the dark, as if unaware of the light of the fireflies.

She kneeled, reached down and uncovered a boy with grey eyes, a mop of black hair in his head.

"That's enough, I think." Aleksander's voice said, ethereal and distant and Alina gasped, her vision returning to Aleksander's room as he took his hand from hers, tearing the linen in strips. Blood splotched the white as he did, and his grey eyes did not look at hers.

"Was that…?" Alina asked, and he grabbed her cut hand, wrapping it in silence.

She had never been able to imagine him as a child. To Alina, Aleksander always had been this: a grown man with sullen silences and powers with no explanation, but to see that, in his deepest insides, he was just a child trembling under the covers made the world tilt slightly.

"I was a child once." He said, distantly, as a means for an answer, almost reading her thoughts. The cut in her hand stung a little. "The world was not as kind to us, Alina."

Us - them, or the Grisha? Alina bit her lower lip, and when he made a move to, one-handedly, wrap his own hand, she stopped him, a hand on his wrist.

He let her, and Alina carefully wrapped his hand in the linen, blood soaking the fabric, and when their eyes met, Alina leaned in to kiss him.

He did it first, mouth crashing on hers with a fervency Alina found that she had missed, hands on her arms bringing her closer to him, and Alina wrapped her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. His body formed a familiar shape around hers, and Alina, Saints, Alina missed him, missed his heat, missed his presence: she missed Aleksander close to her, end of sentence.

In the morning, when she rose earlier than him to return to her rooms, Alina would find a bloody handprint in her kefta, long discarded on the floor, and she knew, without checking, that his pristine military uniform would also have blood on it.

It took her until the time night arrived to realize that the shadows had not jumped at her while she slept the day before, and she cloaked herself in shadows again, going to his rooms once more.

Mal had died. Alina did not know when death was coming to claim her - so she allowed herself this little slice of pleasure, of debauchery, of living it a little, since Mal couldn't. That was her internal justification, at least, although Alina ignored the nagging thought Mal wouldn't have liked how easily she'd given herself up to Aleksander.

"You look tired. Have you been resting?" Nikolai asked, and Alina, still covering her mouth from a yawn, looked at him. She had been busy at night.

The bags under his eyes had never been darker, which made his skin look pale. His fingers fidgeted under the gloves, holding the reins to his horse as if afraid that, if he let go, everything would come crashing down and he'd still be the monster.

"Have you?" Alina asked. Nikolai shrugged.

They were on their way north, a long procession led by the newly crowned king and the Sun Saint, with Aleksander riding in front like a madman, scouting ahead. She liked his smile when he rode, as if freedom was in the back of a horse, just waiting to be reached.

Nikolai brought his horse closer, and Alina cocked her head. Their legs touched for a moment, and heat bloomed in the touch. She couldn't, possibly, be this starved for touch: she had been regularly sleeping with Aleksander, for Saints' sake.

"Promise you won't laugh." He said softly, and Alina nodded quickly, trying to bring her head closer to hear him.

In the distance, Aleksander stared at them, and Alina ignored his grey eyes for a moment, the heat of them undeniable, especially in the sun. What did he think of the scene in front of him, Alina and Nikolai, heads bent together as if lovers?

"I'd never laugh, Nikolai. We are friends." He looked pained at the word, and opened his mouth, a sliver of pink tongue peeking between white teeth. His fingers twitched nervously again.

The sound of the procession muffled the world around them, but Alina made sure to watch as his mouth spoke.

"I'm unsettled by the dark." He said, after a careful moment of picking his words. "I can't seem to sleep unless there's a light on, and isn't that pathetic, really? A king, afraid of the dark?"

"You were tortured by the dark. It's inevitable to be afraid of it." Alina replied, and her hand reached for his. The cut had faded away already, leaving a faint scar in her hand, but it still stung, sometimes. "I control it now, though."

"You do." Nikolai said, but his shoulders did not relax. "Can I be honest?"

Alina nodded. The horses kept their pace, a bit ahead of the others, and with a nervous glance around, he spoke again.

"Do you trust him? The Darkling, I mean." Nikolai clarified, as if there was any other person they'd talk about in such secrecy. "I don't… Know what to make of him, sometimes. He has good advice, but he still tortured me and Genya and so many others. There are days I want to send him to the dungeons, and days where all I want to do is listen to him speak."

Alina looked at Nikolai, whose words were earnest and face was troubled. She paused to think about it, but her horse kept moving, lurching her forward step by step.

Of course she trusted Aleksander: they had been through too much together for her to not trust him. Of course she distrusted Aleksander: they had been through too much to trust him. He was still the Black Heretic, he was still the Darkling.

He was still the kid shaking under the covers.

"I don't know if I trust him." Alina decided, in the end. "But he has my powers, and I don't think he'd make a second Fold."

Nikolai stared at her, disbelief in hazel eyes.

"Sun summoning does not make a person good, Alina." Something must've shown in her face, a crack she did not catch before it showed, because he flinched. "Sorry."

"Nikolai -" Alina called, but he spurred his horse on faster, ending the conversation.

They rested that night on the grounds of a minor noble whose name Alina was told, but never caught. Romanov, maybe? She did not know, so she avoided titles and smiled politely when talked to. They had given her a room that had a door that led to Nikolai's room, and she half-wondered if they thought her his mistress and the separate rooms just a veneer of propriety.

In the morning, she and Nikolai would meet peasants and artisans alike, and Alina wondered if she'd be asked to do any sort of light trick.

She prayed to any Saint that she wouldn't, then laughed: a Saint, calling for the intervention of other Saints, when she knew they would never answer. Alina rolled her eyes at herself, and went to change her kefta into a nightgown, ready for sleep.

Or, at least, she'd be, if there wasn't a knock on the door between their rooms. Alina rose her head, and treaded carefully on the fur carpets, opening the door to find Nikolai, face red and pupils wide, holding a bottle of brandy as if it were a peace offering.

They had not talked after their earlier chat. Nikolai had been prim and proper all day, yes, but he hadn't come close and asked Alina anything but the most educated questions he could ask, all sense of propriety and none of Nikolai.

"Sorry about earlier." He started, words slurring together slightly. Alina reached a hand for him, touched his face, warm as the sun. "I might've been a bit harsh with you."

"Completely fair. How much have you drank already?" Alina asked, and Nikolai's eyes averted from hers. "Nikolai."

"Maybe a bit. Are you going to let me get blackout drunk alone?" Alina stepped back from her door, rolled her eyes as she made way for him.

"Be my guest, moi tsar." He entered her room cautiously, as if afraid of the shadows - which, well, he was. Alina made the shadows retreat, the candles making the room brighter by their absence, and Nikolai whipped to look at her. "An absence of shadow makes the room brighter."

His shoulders fell, and he took a swig from the bottle, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. Alina watched it for a long moment, then closed the door behind her, stalking to be nearer to him, taking the bottle and drinking from it.

The rim was still warm where his lips had touched, and as she drank, it was like it was his warmth on her chest, making the still lake move in waves, an ocean for a pirate to navigate in.

He flopped onto her bed, and Alina stared at him.

"I don't understand." He started, as if they had been having a much longer conversation, as if Alina had asked him a question his clever mind could not answer. She sat by his side, passed him the bottle, and he cradled it like a baby. "I think it just confuses me."

"What does?" Alina prodded gently, and Nikolai looked at her.

"You're with him, right?" Alina froze, muscles locking in place. "I know you are. The Darkling is many things, and he loves to… Gloat, maybe."

Of course. She should've expected it.

"He talks about us?" Nikolai closed his eyes at her spilled words, and she held his gloved hand. He did not bat her away, which was good.

"Not directly. Not crassly. But he… Well, not him. He doesn't speak with words." A pause, a swig from the bottle. Alina wondered if he could feel the heat of her mouth on it. "You leave marks. On him."

He pointed at his neck, and Alina cringed. Saints, she did, but she thought it was in places the military uniform covered. Scarlet took her face, and Nikolai's hand left hers, touching her face. The fabric felt rough on her, and Alina wanted, so badly, to take off his glove, to see the marks her newfound powers had left on him.

"He shows me. No one sees, but I do, or perhaps I'm just staring too much. He just… Appears, sometimes, in front of me, with his collar ruffled, and there it is." Nikolai continued, and Alina put her hand on top of his. "How? You know what he did. All the people he murdered, Alina, for -"

"I don't have an explanation, Nikolai." Alina interrupted, keeping his hand on her face, brown eyes staring at his. The shadows flickered, but neither noticed. "All I know is that like calls to like, and… We are alike."

Aleksander's words on her mouth had a bitter taste to it, but what other explanation could she give? It never had made much sense: she always floated towards him, and he always reached for her. Like calls to like, and Alina called to Aleksander as he did for her.

Nikolai, though, stared at her with the intensity of a man at the brink of insanity, as if he was wondering his next course of action in uncharted waters. Alina waited, patient, and the world stood still.

"I'm touched by shadows as you are, Alina." He said, so quiet she almost did not hear. "Why not me? We are more like than you are with him, your opposite."

Unless her ears betrayed her, Alina was almost sure she had heard it right. Was Nikolai -

Well, it made sense. Maybe his marriage proposals hadn't been political only; maybe he did have feelings for her. Nikolai did not seem the kind that would offer a loveless marriage to anyone.

She still blushed, though, at the prospect, like some fairytale maiden, and Nikolai's mouth made a turn she did not understand, she did not want to understand but Saints, how she longed to know what he thought. Was he jealous? Did he…?

Did Alina like him? Only one way to know. She grabbed his face, brought it closer to hers, and kissed him. His mouth tasted like the alcohol he had drunk, and he melted against her, Alina pushing him towards the bed, legs straddling his lap as his gloved hands threaded through her white hair.

She did not think of Aleksander; this was not about him. They hadn't even put a name to whatever they had, no ring or contract or even verbal agreement. This moment was about Nikolai, about the warm body that resonated within the lake of her powers, making shadows sing and grow deeper - which went ignored by both. Alina made a move for his shirt, and Nikolai's grip on her hair hesitated as his hands went to her hips. Their mouths separated, and there was a moment of doubt in Nikolai's eyes.

"Are you okay?" She asked, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Nikolai's eyes traveled to the gloves, his hands drumming a beat that Alina did not know. "If it's too fast, we can stop."

There was no answer, but a knock on the door made both go still. Alina recognized the pattern on the wood: it was the one she did every time she cloaked herself in shadows to visit him, it was the one he did every time he entered the war room she had claimed for herself.

"Is that -" Nikolai asked, and Alina climbed from him, going to the door. There was a ruffling of sheets in the bed, Nikolai sitting. "Alina. Alina, won't he..."

Alina opened the door, and no one was there. She still heard his steps, muffled by the carpet, and waited until he was firmly inside to close and lock it again.

"That's new." Said Aleksander, dropping his camouflage, and Nikolai stiffened. "So, what were you two doing?"

"I should be going." Nikolai said, picking up the abandoned bottle of brandy. Alina crossed, once more, the gulf of distance between Aleksander and Nikolai, and a hand on his stopped him, making Nikolai sit down. "Alina."

"I don't want you to go." Aleksander sat down in a chair, hands in his lap. "I like you."

Nikolai eyed Aleksander warily, and he rose his hands with a wry smile on his lips, as if showing he was innocent of his many, many crimes.

"I'm not even here, if it helps." He said, and then, disappeared. Saints, Alina half-hated how easily he'd gotten it. She hadn't even thought about that before someone had told her about it.

"I think I'd rather prefer it if I could see you." Nikolai cringed at his words, and Alina's thumb went back and forth in the back of Nikolai's palm, seeing if he'd relax. Aleksander appeared again, and Nikolai's eyes went to Alina. "Is this a coup? Because if it is, I don't think the books will go into detail."

There was scarlet dusting his cheeks, and Alina laughed.

"I've told you before. I'm only making a coup if you're a terrible king, and so far, you haven't done anything bad." Aleksander kept his hands in his lap, and Nikolai stared at him openly. "I do have to admit, this is a good idea. You handled this… Count… Fantastically tonight. You might end up actually helping the people, instead of leeching off them."

He said count like a curse. Alina wondered about his opinions on nobility, then filed away the information as she saw surprise written, clear as day, on Nikolai's face.

"You think that?" Nikolai asked, then blinked, recomposing himself. "Thank you. I just want what's better for Ravka."

Aleksander smiled, rested against his chair.

"And I suppose being with Alina in a bed is what's better for Ravka?" It was Alina's turn to blush, and she opened her mouth. "Oh, I'm not jealous. I think it'll be interesting."

"Interesting." Nikolai echoed, baffled.

Aleksander cocked his head.

"Why, yes. Interesting." He offered no explanations, and Alina took the bottle of brandy from Nikolai's hands, took a swig, and kissed him again.

His mouth tasted like surprise, instead of the drink, but his hands wrapped around her waist, and they forgot about Aleksander being in the same room as them.

In the morning, Alina woke up with the sun, Nikolai curled around her, and Aleksander was already awake, reading a book that had been in her room and she had thought was mere decoration.

"You are not jealous?" She asked, and his grey eyes looked at her. He closed the book, smiled softly.

"I am. Terribly. But he's going to die one day, Alina, and then I'll have you all for myself once more. So yes, enjoy your time with him." He replied, and Alina stared at him in silence. "Don't be horrified. That's something you'll have to accept. They all die, in the end."

There was a melancholy to his words, and Alina thought, once more, about the boy in the cave, but she did not speak.

Nikolai, by her side, groaned, and Alina looked at him in horror, wondering if he'd heard that - but he opened his hazel eyes lazily, smiled softly, and Alina reached to him, put a hand to his cheeks. He nuzzled into her, the smile still gracing his face, and Alina couldn't help the one that took her lips, too.

"Good morning, Nikolai." Alina murmured, so softly she wasn't sure he heard it.

"Morning." He said, voice thick with sleep. He still wore his gloves, the only piece of clothing he had not taken, and Alina had seen the web of thin, black scars that were thicker from the place his gloves ended, crisscrossing his arms until they faded into nothingness at his shoulders, revealing smooth skin that she knew. When she touched them, they pulsed under her fingers, shadows begging to be pulled into her hands, ready to be molded. "Alina, I -"

"Sobachka really acts like a puppy." Aleksander said, and the dream was broken, reality setting in: Nikolai's eyes widened, and he sat up, staring behind her, where Aleksander was sitting, prim and proper. "Good morning, moi soverenyi. How was your night?"

Nikolai's jaw clenched, and he looked at Alina, who had no answers to give. He shook his head and got out of bed, grabbing his clothes hastily, not bothering to look at the two.

Alina said nothing; she simply glared at the satisfied Aleksander. When the door closed and locked behind him, she spoke.

"It's no use to say you're not jealous and then act like it, you know?"

Aleksander did not reply. He chuckled and rose to leave, to leave Alina alone.

They visited the people. Alina and Nikolai distributed alms, and Nikolai talked with the peasantry excitedly, gauging at their living conditions. Alina hung back, letting him have it, and Aleksander, in his uniform, stayed back with her.

Nikolai still had not talked with her, not more than strictly necessary. He was good at keeping the facade, but she knew not to expect more than that from him. Sankta, Sankta, was all she seemed to hear, though, everyone and no one saying it at the same time.

Alina did not feel holy in the slightest. She felt human, not the living, breathing Saint these people expected her to be. They all asked for blessings - please, Sankta -, and Alina, at first, hesitated when raising her hand over someone's head. Light had poured from her palms, and Alina, who knew it to be a trick, had to do her best to not start sobbing.

No one noticed, and if Aleksander stuck closer to her than needed, well… Alina would not complain at the company.

During dinner, polite conversation was all she got from him: Nikolai seemed more focused on buttering up the count, and okay, Alina could understand it, but it still stung when his eyes glazed over her, as if not seeing her.

She grabbed his arm when they were leaving, and Alina took him to a small niche, hidden from view.

"What's wrong with you?" She hissed, although Alina had a good guess at an answer. She could feel the shadows begging for her, even hidden under his clothes, and Nikolai, too, could sense it when his senses were not clouded. "We have to talk about it."

"There's not much to talk about, is there?" He said, as an answer, and Alina stared at him. "You prefer him. That much is obvious."

"If I had a preference, Nikolai, I wouldn't have kissed you. I wouldn't have slept with you. I would've kicked you out of the room in the morning." His jaw was set, and Alina's grip on him softened, cupping his face. "Believe me. Or just think it over. You know where to find me."

"Alina…" His hand touched her wrist, and they stayed in that position for a long moment, until there was the shuffling of steps, conversation carrying through the air. Both froze, staring at each other. "I don't…"

She kissed him, then: his mouth warm on hers, tasting like the fruity wine the count had served them for dinner, and his hands tangled themselves on her hair with the same ease of breathing, undoing the careful braid that she had pinned in place. Alina brought him closer, pulling him by the lapels of his clothing, and a knee parted her legs open, riding her kefta up, pressing against her.

When they separated, out of breath, Alina smiled, gave him a brief kiss, just to have him closer to her for a second.

"You have time, Nikolai, and so do I, so don't think you have to answer me right now." She said, and slid away from him. "I'll go first. Wait a little so it's not suspicious, yeah?"

She did not wait for his answer; Alina walked away before she could regret not taking off her kefta.

Aleksander came straight to her rooms after dinner - his mouth on hers, his hands on her, as if trying to distract Alina from the day that was about to finish. Either he dimmed the lights or she made the shadows grow - Alina did not know - but the room, even full of lit candles, was bathed in half light.

The bed found Alina's back easily, still comfortable: they'd have to wake up early in the morning to go to the next place, the next town, the next boring dinner with a boring Count or Duke or whatever, and so, Alina was glad for the headstart. Half her clothes already laid on the floor, together with half of his, and Alina was making a move to unlace his stupid riding breeches when a knock sounded on the door between Alina and Nikolai's room, a reverse mirror of the previous night.

The two froze in place, Alina's eyes seeking Aleksander, and he sighed, rolling onto his back. Alina grabbed his shirt from the floor, threw it over her shoulders, and went to see what Nikolai wanted.

"Alina." He started, when she opened the door, and Alina looked at him. "I wanted to…"

His words trailed off when he saw the amount of skin Alina was showing, the marks of last night he'd made on her chest still on prominent display. It seemed he had forgotten about it, as if the kefta she'd worn all day made it inexistent.

"You wanted to…?" She asked, prompting him, and Nikolai's eyes averted from her. Alina reached a hand to touch his face, and that side of the shirt slid off her shoulder. "Nikolai."

"We shouldn't be…" He gulped dryly, and his eyes stayed on hers. He shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts, pressing his eyes tightly closed together for a moment before looking at her again. "Saints, Alina. What does the Darkling have that I don't?"

On the bed, Aleksander snorted, and his eyes snapped to it for a brief moment. Alina grabbed his gloved hand, marched back inside, and Aleksander, still laying in bed, looked lazily at the two.

Nikolai seemed to flush at seeing him half-naked as well, or maybe at the thought he was interrupting. Alina filed the notion away for later, and climbed back in the bed, her hand abandoning his, before she straddled herself on Aleksander's lap, his hands finding her hips with ease. She looked at him, the king with wide eyes, staring at Alina, the way she was sitting in Aleksander.

"Nikolai." Alina started, softly, and he stood by the side of the bed quietly. "You can join, you can watch, or you can leave. I don't want to choose between you two."

Silence from Nikolai, for long seconds that stretched, in her mind, into hours. Alina waited patiently, her hands itching to undo Aleksander's pants, but it all depended on Nikolai's next course of action.

Still, her hands found themselves busying on him, one on Aleksander's hair, gripping his dark hair, another drawing the lines of the muscles of his neck. He exposed it to her, a vein pulsing and begging to be traced, and Alina knew he wanted it as much as her - why, he wouldn't be as hard under her if he didn't. She grind, experimentally, against him, and was pleasantly rewarded with a vibration of his throat, a light dusting of red in his cheeks.

Nikolai, shyly, almost, sat on the bed, approached until he was nearly touching Aleksander, and Alina smiled, leaning to kiss him. Aleksander's hands kept themselves on her, stopping Alina from going too far from him, but she ignored it.

"Thank you." Alina muttered, when they separated, and Nikolai glowered under praise. "Touch me too? Please?"

He glanced at his gloved hands. She rolled her eyes - yesterday, he'd worn gloves too - and Alina grabbed them, put them on her chest. Nikolai got the message pretty quickly.

Aleksander, under her, pressed himself against Alina, and she smiled. Saints, she was about to be in a very, very good place.

Alina winced a little every time her horse passed by a rougher stretch of the road, and Nikolai, by her side, seemed to blush at the reminder of their night activities.

Aleksander still rode at the front, seemingly having the time of his life. At least it allowed Nikolai and Alina some small measure of privacy. The sun shone on his black hair, and she knew it made his grey eyes almost white. What she wouldn't do to be able to stop a while and simply sketch him.

"Should I talk to him about, I don't know, a schedule?" Nikolai asked cautiously, and Alina shrugged. "You seem to be in a terrible shape."

"I held myself up pretty well with you two last night." Alina replied, nonchalant, and Nikolai made a little pained noise that made her chuckle. "Just come when you feel like it, or I'll go to you. It's what I've been doing with him."

"But what if the Darkling is there?" It came in even quieter, dropping his tone to speak his title. Alina stared at him. "I know he was there yesterday as well, and the day before, but both times I was drunk and it didn't seem like having him there was a bad idea, but with a sober head on my shoulders, well. He's still the Darkling, and I'm still me."

"He didn't try to torture you." Alina pointed out, then paused. "Well, maybe not like before, if you catch my gist."

Nikolai made an exasperated gesture, and she accompanied the movement of his white gloves, thinking of how the scars in his arms seemed to want her touch there, wanting to return to her. Was Nikolai, maybe, touched by what were now her powers?

She wondered, then shoved the idea into a corner. Maybe, just maybe… No, probably not. Nikolai was not a Grisha; would he, even if touched by shadow summoning, have the pool of power she had felt on both herself and Aleksander?

She shook her head.

"That's my issue. He does have a knack for being… Provocative." A realization shining in his eyes, a smile. "Why, it's almost like he's jealous."

Alina blushed, and Nikolai laughed, at ease. She hadn't realized that yesterday, but she had missed it.

"He is jealous, but he claims that he isn't." She left off the part he'd claimed that it didn't matter since Nikolai would eventually die. That seemed unnecessarily hurtful. "I think he enjoys watching us."

Nikolai laughed, and some people behind them looked curious. Alina spurred her horse faster, and Nikolai followed suit.

Aleksander still loomed in the distance, shining. Alina was ready to accuse him of using sun summoning to make himself prettier.

"Scandalous. I didn't think that the Darkling would like that, to see people having sex." He made a vague gesture, and Alina's eyes traced his glove.

"He's older than some Saints, Nikolai. You don't think he'd have gained some weirder tastes by now?" Alina quipped, and she got another laugh out of him.

The days bled into weeks and months with ease, a rhythm found as simple as breathing: arrive at a new manor, spend a few days there talking with whatever noble lived inside and touring the surroundings, convincing him to make things better for the people they lorded over and with Nikolai trying as hard as he could to give the peasantry a better life. He convinced them to start schools and apprenticeships, and Alina watched, in a sort of awe she didn't think she'd had in her anymore.

Alina, herself, was more of the people's moral support, really: a lot of blessings and seeing small town churches and praying. Aleksander was always a step behind her, pretending to be interested, but she could see the glint in his grey eyes as he heard some boring explanation of how Sankta Lizaveta once stepped inside its sacred halls.

At night, they found a rhythm as well: Alina always was given rooms by Nikolai's one, and if there wasn't a couple's door, he still came. Aleksander did, too, and she could swear the two men had made some sort of schedule after the first few times, one not appearing if the other did.

It wasn't perfect, of course: there were days Aleksander would come in while Nikolai was there, or the reverse. Aleksander rarely interrupted her and Nikolai when he came over and Nikolai was already there; no, he always sat near them - once cradling Alina's head on his lap and telling her how good she was being - and watched. Nikolai, though, did not have such sensibility when he was the one interrupting, taking off his clothes and touching Alina as if they were alone.

It was fun. Alina had no complaints, really. She was enjoying the highest of life, treasuring every sight and touch and moment. She wanted to sketch it so badly, an itch under her nails, but the fear of people seeing it stopped her; how to explain the way Nikolai and Aleksander, deeply asleep, fell into each other's arms, and how much it deserved to be in a drawing, memorialized forever? There was no plausible explanation she'd be able to give of her drawings, and so, to avoid the pain, Alina kept her fingers straight and away from any sort of drawing implements.

There were more fun things to draw on other than paper, anyway. Nikolai's scars still reacted to her touch, pulsating, moving if she traced her way through her arms, as if attracted to her powers. They always returned to their place after a while, as if the attraction was merely temporary, but it was still fun.

One night, as Alina, unable to sleep, drew patterns on his arms, Nikolai stared at her. Aleksander had his chin tucked in her shoulder, sleeping or pretending to, his body warm against hers.

"Does it always do that?" Nikolai asked, voice barely above a whisper - but with so much finery everywhere in the room duke Orlov (maybe? Alina had been doing this for what felt like a small myriad, had seen more nobles in one season than in her entire lifetime, but they all spoke and looked the same) had given Nikolai for their brief stay that all sound was absorbed by it. Alina would know: when she had come into the room, unprompted, she had been surprised to find Nikolai moaning under Aleksander's touch. There had been no sign of it on the outside, so she could guess the room was soundproof. She had joined them, kissed Nikolai as her hands aided Aleksander.

Alina looked at his hazel eyes, but they tracked the movement of scars, the way they fled from under his gloves to create a point, perfectly circular, under her fingertip.

"Yes." A pause. Nikolai stared at her. "I thought you'd noticed. It always seems so… Alive."

"I thought that was just you, honestly." He gave her a wink, and Alina laughed. "No, never had noticed. I wonder if you can remove it completely from…"

His words trailed off, and Alina thought about the deep lake, about the boy in the cave.

"They always return to their place, but…" Alina paused, poked at the place where the glove met the skin. "I never measured how much time it takes."

He nodded, and kissed her, as if wanting Alina to forget about whatever laid in his hands.

In the morning, Nikolai awoke Alina by shaking her, and she groaned at the sunlight pouring from the windows, barely thinking before she cloaked the room in shadows. Nikolai yelped, and Aleksander, with a heavy sigh, made light appear.

"Thank you." He said, as the two sat up, Alina blearily looking at the well-dressed Nikolai.

Well, maybe well-dressed from the waist down; he was hastily taking off his shirt, having abandoned his overcoat a moment ago on the floor.

"Isn't it a bit early?" Alina yawned, and Nikolai grinned. "Oh, my. So early in the day?"

"Oh, my dearest Alina, your mind suits your powers. No, no. I've acquired an hourglass." He gestured to an item on her bedside table, and yeah, it sure was an hourglass. Alina made a vague, insulted noise at the implication. "What you said yesterday got me thinking, and I want to know how much time you can move the scars. So I got an hourglass from our host, remind me to thank him later, and we are going to do some tests."

"The sun barely rose, Nikolai." Aleksander murmured, but his grey eyes were wide open, and Nikolai grinned.

She was going to spend the day in bed, and it wasn't even going to be pleasant.

The tests were conclusive, and by the time they needed to be at the breakfast table, they had a handful of answers. The longer Alina touched him, and if she kept it concentrated at a small point, the longer the scars did not move. With a suggestion of Aleksander, Alina found she could move it at her will, as if they were an extension of her own powers, and Nikolai had hesitated only then, eyeing his hands.

Alina grabbed his gloved hands, the touch familiar yet distant.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to." Alina said, and he took a deep breath.

"If there's a chance I might not need to use these, Alina, I want to try." He freed one hand from hers, touched her face warmly. "If you're not comfortable…"

Alina shook her head, and he gently peeled his gloves off his hands. Alina saw them for the first time in months - almost a year, she realized, distantly -, and understood, sort of, why his hands had been hidden.

The scarring was most prominent in there: scars piled atop scars, dark like her powers, in such a number that Alina did not know how he moved his fingers, so thick they laid upon his joints. Alina reigned in the bristling reaction, knowing it was a delicate moment for Nikolai, and, instead, intertwined her fingers with his.

The scars thrummed under her fingers, alive with power, thick with merzost. Aleksander, by her side, perked up, as if he, too, could sense it - which would make sense, since both of them knew the taste of it very well.

"Fascinating." He murmured, and touched the scar quietly. Nikolai hissed at the touch, the scars getting inflamed in a moment, and Aleksander took his hand from him.

She could feel the glint of his eyes; Alina did not need to face him to know that.

Delicately, Alina took her fingers from his, put her palm over the back of his hands. The scar thrived at the touch, happy to be close to their origin, and Alina, slowly, several times, dragged them into his shoulders, touching him for as long as possible - and little by little, his scars cleared up. Well, not all of them: some, at the tips of his fingers where they'd become claws, remained: raised peaks and low valleys that would feel foreign to her, after a time accustomed to the feeling of cotton in her skin.

She ignored the way his eyes teared up at the way his skin seemed almost normal; some of the darkness refused to move, but compared to before, it was like Nikolai was whole again, like the civil war had never happened, like he was still Sturmhond.

When she was done with both his hands, he cupped her face and kissed her, and Alina was glad for the warmth of him, skin against skin.

The scars in his hands were much quicker to go back to their places than the ones above his wrists, but Nikolai seemed happy to see his hands normal, if only for five minutes, and Alina kept wondering.

She left with Aleksander, cloaked in light, and instead of going into her room alone, she pulled him in. Aleksander rose an eyebrow, and put his hands on her waist.

"I want to try it with Nikolai." She said, slowly weaving words together. "His scars react to my powers."

"They're yours now?" Aleksander asked, and Alina ignored his question.

"So I'm wondering… Maybe he has that internal scene, as well. And I could suck it into me. Maybe he'll be rid of the scars." Aleksander stared at her, and his face went through a series of short-lived expressions, before settling on resignation, lowering himself down a little so their foreheads could touch. "I'll need your help."

Silence from him.

"Have you ever had any idea you did not go through with, Alina?" He asked, with a sigh of someone tired. Alina kissed him briefly, humming with content.

"Killing you." She replied, and he sighed again.

Alina vibrated with energy that day. She blessed more people than she had any right to, and she gave auspicious words she borrowed from sermons she had heard all over the country, and Aleksander had to keep staring at the sky at seeing her go through the day as some sort of hyper excited Sankta, as if it was her first day on the job and Alina was extremely religious.

Nikolai noticed it, too, over dinner - a stew of imported fish and Fjerdan snow vegetables that cost more than a peasant's taxes of two years -, and he smiled at her.

"Alina." He called, softly, that tone she was so used to, and Alina snapped her eyes at him. The count, or duke, or whatever, looked at them, but it was like the world was just Alina and Nikolai. "What got you so excited?"

The fact she was going to get into the shadows from inside him. They thrummed under her touch, and Alina wondered how they'd look on her fingertips, molded to her will, rather than just following her touch.

"I don't know." She lied, rather easily, reaching for some of the soft bread the count was offering. "Just woke up like this, I guess."

Nikolai rose an eyebrow at her. He'd seen her wake up, and knew it was a lie, but it would be her and Aleksander's little secret until they were alone with Nikolai.

"Really? I talked with you earlier and you seemed rather morose."

The count choked on his wine, and it went ignored. Alina shrugged again, and Nikolai, with a heavy sigh, put on a brilliant smile and redirected his attention to working on Ravka's future.

Aleksander was already waiting for her in her room, a knife made of Grisha steel in his hands that he played with distractedly, and she grinned maniacally. He sighed.

"What you want is not tested, and I can't assure you won't lose yourself in Nikolai. I pulled you out twice, Alina, but I don't know if Nikolai would have the same presence of mind. It's very…" He considered his words, and Alina waited patiently for him to gather his words. "Distracting, to have someone rooting inside the deepest parts of you."

She had never considered he'd pulled her out, but in retrospect, it made sense: both times, Alina had been there one moment, and then she had been back, without her wanting to be back. Therefore, the only conclusion was that yes, he was right, and he had led her out.

"I believe in you, and I believe in him." Alina replied, and Aleksander, with another sigh, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, conceded, gesturing for her to lead him out.

"You want to do what?" Nikolai asked, after a patient explanation of what had happened in the Fold. The three were sitting in her bed, Alina in front of Nikolai, with Aleksander at her back, Nikolai resting against the headboard. He had taken off his gloves in front of her, as if Alina not reacting negatively to them in the morning allowed him some small modicum of courage.

Alina blinked thrice, quickly.

"I mean, it's not, you know, exactly a science, but it worked for me, and well, maybe I can…" She made a vague gesture to his arms. "I can take the brunt of it away. Permanently."

A pause from Nikolai, his hazel eyes on the knife that was on her lap, glinting menacingly in candlelight.

"It's not tested. I understand why Nikolai might hesitate." Aleksander added, and Alina glared at him. "It's true. You're doing this, quite literally, as touch-and-go, trying to see how far Grisha powers can be stretched before you lose yourself inside someone else. It's dangerous."

It was true: it was dangerous. Alina had gone as deep on the lake as she could, had swallowed as much of the black water, and now she summoned shadows. She had searched for it inside Aleksander, and had found the boy shivering under the covers. It was dangerous, but maybe not in the way he meant it.

"But it worked." Nikolai muttered, and then took a deep breath. "Okay, what do I have to do? Do I have to lie here and just take… Whatever you're going to do?"

Alina shook her head, and moved so she'd be right in the middle between the two men. She grabbed the knife, and Aleksander, knowing how it went, offered her his hand. There was a faint scar in there, not quite faded, and Alina was careful to cut him there again, opening the old wound. Nikolai hissed, and Aleksander stood still, as if a little more pain meant nothing to him.

Blood pooled on his hand. Alina gestured for Nikolai's hand, and he gave it to her before regret could set in. She cut him carefully, and then, working by instinct rather than sense, maneuvered herself so she could cut both her palms.

Two scars, one for each man. There was a poetry in there her mind could not catch as she held their hands, her blood their only connector.

The shadows in Nikolai's palms greeted her like one would greet a lover long thought lost: with warmth, pulling her inside, stopping her from stepping back even if she wanted to. Alina closed her eyes, and opened them on a rainy battlefield. The rain fell in gross pellets, making her clothes - her old military uniform, Alina realized - stick to her skin, and the mud made her feet sink into it, but she trudged on, watching the ground.

Black puddles that were not mud followed her, puppy-shaped and as large as wolves, waiting for their owner. Alina patted their heads, and they disappeared under her fingertips, swelling in her chest.

In the distance, a vague shape. Alina went after it, some instinct she could not name.

"You're going too far, Alina." Said a voice, and she couldn't pick it apart. Maybe it was a Saint, guiding her path. Alina ignored it as she approached the figure - not one, but two: a man cradling another, a bent head of hair that changed between a deep red and light blonde, holding a man with tanned skin and dark hair, a hand on his stomach as he bled out.

A puddle of darkness reached for Alina. She touched it, and the man, Nikolai in Sturmhond's face, looked at her as she did, watching as the shadow disappeared.

"Are you going to save him?" He asked, despair in every syllable, and Alina kneeled to be at eye height with him. His hands were scarred, still inside him, holding onto the nameless man like a lifeline.

He seemed touched by shadows, too, and it seeped into Nikolai by the points of contact: his hands.

"Alina." The voice from the skies called her, but the rain muffled it, or so she told herself; that was why she ignored it. "Alina, come back. I can't lose you."

She touched the dead man's face, and Nikolai shrieked, loudly. Alina rose to her feet, stepping back, but he was becoming a monster again, that creature that followed Alina around Ravka, the only thing it remembered being her, unable to read, unable to be human.

Logically, she knew she should run, but he called to her, her creature, her monster, her Nikolai. So, Alina, bravery and instinct, opened her arms and let the creature come at her.

He crashed onto her, and Alina held onto him, feeling shadows pulse under his skin, being taken by her, her veins pulsing with shadow, seeping deep into her heart.

When she opened her arms, she was back in the room, and Nikolai was crying quietly. She looked, dazed, at him, and realized, distantly, that his hands looked like they had done so earlier - like she had spent all her time guiding the scars and darkness into his shoulders again, instead of being as deep inside him as she could.

The room was bathed in shadows, and only a small sliver of light that Aleksander kept over their heads illuminated them. Alina distractedly brought them into herself, and they obeyed immediately, without delay, as if glad to return to her.

They hadn't been like that before.

"Alina." Aleksander muttered, heavy once more, and he made her turn to look at her, his grey eyes full of worry. "You're never doing this again."

She nodded, and then the world became shadows as she fainted.

Alina came to on a rainy afternoon, the sound of it hitting the window bringing her slowly into awareness again, unaware of how much time had passed. She was in her bed, surrounded by blankets, and rose her hand experimentally, trying to see how her body would respond - but something caught her eyes, and she brought her wrists closer to her eyes for further inspection.

Where before blue veins passed, disappearing under skin, now she could map all of them: they were rivulets of dark black ink, all the way from the tips of her fingers into her elbows, where they faded into nothing. She knew this: it was merzost scarring, the same that had whitened her hair, the same running through Nikolai's skin.

With a groan, Alina pushed herself up. She was in her own room, in that duke's house, and Nikolai was fast asleep, half-laying on the floor, half laying on the bed. She reached her hand to him, patted his hair experimentally.

Nikolai stirred, looked up, and he sat as if not believing she was awake.

"How long…?" Alina started, voice thick with sleep, and Nikolai, holding her scarred hands - he did not wear gloves, she realized, belatedly, and now their hands sort of matched -, paused for a while, eyes on her hands, too, and Alina wondered if he realized the same.

"Two days." He replied, in the end. "Grisha don't get sick, so we had to invent a few lies. As far as everyone knows, you overused your powers, which had been already depleted since the Fold, and as you were not known for resting, became exhausted and was found already fainted, so we are taking a few days to rest."

A knock on the door, and Nikolai sat up, ramrod straight; Alina quickly threw a blanket over his hands, and he relaxed slightly. He kissed her for a moment, as a quick thank you, before assuming the pretense of being king, eyes directed at the door.

"Come in." He said, and Alina watched the door, revealing Aleksander, who sketched surprise in his expression before smoothing it over. If he walked faster than his usual pace to sit near her, kiss her forehead and hold her, well - did anyone need to know, really? "She just woke up, you didn't miss anything."

There was an ease in his voice; Alina half-wondered what they might've talked about while she slept. She made Aleksander come closer, almost sitting on his lap.

Aleksander did not reply. All he did was thrum behind her, as if satisfied she was awake again, arms protectively around her middle.

"You…" Nikolai said, and Aleksander, behind her, gave her a nod. Had they talked about what to say? That was amusing. "I saw you. Inside me. The battlefield..."

His words trailed off, and Alina held his hand tighter.

"You don't have to explain. I took the infection out. That's all that matters." Alina replied, and Nikolai, once more, relaxed, shoulders sagging with relief.

"And as I'm not sure you heard or not, Alina, you're not doing this again." Aleksander murmured, and Alina relaxed against his chest, sighing contently. "Thrice in a lifetime is enough."

"I don't know, I've never let you inside me." She looked at him, and Nikolai came closer, resting his head on her chest. He wrapped his arms around her, and it felt nice to be cared about by them.

Nikolai laughed.

"Well, I'd say you let him inside you plenty of times?" He quipped, and Alina laughed. "I'm glad you're awake."

"Me too." Aleksander murmured, and Alina brought Nikolai closer to her as she kissed Aleksander, before turning and kissing Nikolai.

She wanted to stay in that bed forever with them, pressed tightly against both of them, but she knew it'd be a hard thing to explain if they were caught like this. On the other hand - who'd ever knowingly step in a room the king was in without knocking? They'd have time to scramble into being proper when that happened, but right now, all she would do was rest in the arms of her two lovers, satisfied with her life for the first time in a while.

"When are we moving?" Alina mumbled, and Nikolai hummed, a noise that reverberated on her ribs. "I hardly think that me being asleep for two days in a noble's house is doing his heart any good."

Nikolai laughed, and Aleksander did too, although not as loud.

"We have healers for that, and if he has complaints, I'm sure Tamar and Tolya wouldn't mind slowing down his heart permanently." Nikolai said, curling himself further into Alina, his hazel eyes never leaving hers. "Marry me."

Alina choked, and Aleksander did not move. The light in the room did flicker, briefly, though, and Alina said nothing.

"You should." Aleksander said, in her ear, and Alina stood still, the world frozen in place, her eyes still on Nikolai's. "Not even for the optics of it, the Saint and the king, but simply because, and let's face it, you can't marry me, the general from nowhere, Alina, and you definitely can't marry both of us."

The words tasted bitter on his tongue. Alina held his arms tightly.

In the end, he'd still have her - long after Nikolai was gone, they'd still stand, shadow and light -, and Alina knew she'd regret it if she didn't. Therefore, there was only one option to be said.

"Of course I'll marry you." Alina said, voice choked, and Nikolai's smile was as bright as the sun she did not command anymore. Nikolai jumped to his feet, kneeled, rummaged through his pockets, and - "Is that the Lantsov Emerald? Have you been carrying it for Saints know how long? Nikolai!"

A blush graced his face, and it was confirmation enough. Alina laughed, and freed one of her hands from Aleksander's grasp - the one she had cut for Nikolai, she realized - to let him slip the ring on her finger.

It felt heavy on her, but was it heavier than a crown? Alina couldn't imagine it. She doubted that the crown would be heavy on her head, though - Nikolai and Aleksander would help her hold it, and she'd be fine.