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“You will have to wait.” Ivan cast a long look to Fedyor, wishing to be anywhere but where he currently was standing guard, outside the General's quarters. Waiting before him with tight fists and pursed lips, Alina pleaded, “I only need a moment of his time.”
“And you shall have it… once General Kirigan has finished his meeting.” She opened her mouth to protest, but Fedyor beat her to it. “Please, Ms. Starkov. He has asked to not be disturbed until the sun has set. You understand this, yes?”
She looked over her shoulder, eyeing the bright, yellow sun, slow in its descent on the horizon. “But I thought,” she said, facing Ivan once more, “he was no longer ill.”
“General Kirigan’s health is not your concern, Ms. Starkov. But if he were to hear of your pestering, I doubt he would be kind to you in return.” Fedyor nudged his husband with a deeply furrowed brow, shaking his head as one would to a disobedient child.
Alina shook her head, black locks flying through the air. Her foot came down on the ground, hard, refusing to give up. Genya would have her head, she just knew it, and Zoya would make that face where she scrunches her nose and sighs like the world has personally inconvenienced her.
Saints, Mal would be so disappointed too. All her friends had been looking forward to leaving the Little Palace and venturing into Os Alta, to the nearby little village.
Fedyor straightened up, head tilted to the side, and Alina knew he was listening to something far off, his ears could pick up whispers from miles away. Though her human nature could never match theirs, nor most of the creatures that inhabited the Little Palace, fear no longer surged through her heart when they exhibited their otherworldly traits.
“Ivan.” Fedyor nodded sharply. “Let her through.”
Though it looked like it pained him, Fedyor unlocked the doors and pushed them open, stepping aside as Alina gave him a nod of thanks, which he did not return. If his grimace was anything to go by, Ivan and anyone willing to listen would never hear the end of this.
Gusts of wind rustled her hair as the doors locked shut behind her, immersing her eyes in absolute darkness.
Years of navigating General Kirigans office allowed her to be mindful of the desk, skirting the center of the room with outstretched hands. Only once did she falter, bumping a lone stool resting out of place. It teetered precariously on its withered legs before crumpling to the ground. She cringed at the noise it made. No doubt that would alert the Darkling to her presence.
And, as luck would have it, a tired, withered voice from the closed-off room called her room, beckoning her to enter. She gulped.
Covered in a thin layer of sweat, her slick palm grasped the handle and pushed. Instantly, the shadows were upon her. Tendrils of darkness pet her soft cheeks, nipping at her ankles and running along any exposed flesh they could reach. She no longer flinched away from them, smiling and leaning into them, embracing them and their curious touches.
When the inky hands finally pulled away, she felt a stray grip tug her deeper into the room, the door slamming shut in her wake. She held in a gasp and instead turned her attention to the enormous bed dominating the floor, seeing through the thin, threadbare curtains that protected the sleeper from unwanted voyeurs.
Intricate bars covered the windows— enchanted, on a night such as this— and she could see the dark swirls lingering there, waiting.
“Do not be afraid, Alinochka."
Alina felt familiar shadows encircle her wrists and tug her closer to the bed, lifting her onto the sheets and crawling deeper into the cage of silken sheets and feathers. Each press of her palm felt as soft as a cloud, her knees threatening to collapse and sink into the comforts of the finest bed in Os Alta.
Only upon reaching the mountain of pillows did she allow her body to crumble, no longer being tugged by the shadows nor willing her body to remain on her knees, finally sinking into the warm threads below.
The scent of leather and wood assaulted her senses, enveloping her in memories involving promised whispers and phantom touches. But still, she found her eyes drawn to the window.
“They cannot come in, you know that, Alina. Pay them no mind.” Alina’s brows furrowed at the Darkling’s appearance; sunken eyes, pale skin, and a rough, gravelly voice.
“You said you weren’t sick anymore,” Alina whined, her nails sinking into the fine sheets. “You lied to me, Aleksander.”
Aleksander hesitantly moved up on the bed, mindful of the ache in his ribs and side. He too paid mind to the hateful specters outside his window, waving a quick hand through the air that prompted his shadows to drop the blinds.
Clearly, their presence was disturbing his Alina, and that was unacceptable.
“This is no natural sickness, my heart.” Aleksander gently coaxed her into his arms and leaned back on his mountain-like throne, absentmindedly petting her hair as his uncouth shadows thrived with unbridled energy. “It is only for one night.”
“So you’ve said, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Aleksander chuckled under his breath. “I never said you had to, but expecting anything different will only bring unnecessary sorrow.”
“But seeing you like this…” Alina pressed her palm to her chest, feeling her heart thump heavily with each breath. “It hurts me too.”
On All Hallow’s Eve, the Darkling remained in his chambers until sunrise, undisturbed under penalty of death or worse. Every creature knew the Darkling’s story; his practice of dark small science that prompted a deal with… well, he never said with whom he shook hands, but the deal had split his heart in two, a man of such power requiring two life-sustaining organs to live as a regular being with the power of the gods at his fingertips, shadows falling from his palms in a river of mystic blood.
One of his hearts remained in his chest, and the other in an orphan from Kermazin, both beating in tandem, calling to one another— like calls to like. With Alina at his side, a small human girl and the Darkling, no army, no nation, could stand against him and his followers.
But with every gift came a price and on every All Hallow’s Eve, the Darkling felt his power drain, barely able to command his shadows, only a spectator as they attempted to do his bidding until their master could rise again. And the being with whom he bargained came to collect.
Iron, as they learned two years ago, kept the demons away from the Little Palace, forcing them to linger along the walls and wait for an opening. Though their hearts were one, the apparitions knew she was not him and allowed her to pass freely.
Nearly all occupants of the Little Palace had been infected with the Darkling’s knowledge, the malevolence in small science. Some people’s hunger grew desperate and savage, feeding on innocents in the dead of night, and others became master manipulators of the elements. Except for Alina, who remained ignorant of most but aware of some, her skin unblemished by the cruelties installed upon the Darkling’s rule.
His touch upon her skin lay in softer traces. Soft kisses, gentle hugs, sweet murmuring in her ear on cloudy nights. No matter what anyone said, especially Zoya and her stupid smirk. Alina owned the Darkling’s affection.
“And for that, you have my apologies, Alina, but do not think me a fool,” he chided, still petting her locks. “You’ve come here for something, have you not?”
“Well…” She dragged on, “seeing as you’re occupied for the night and it is All Hallow’s Eve, I was wondering if I could take Zoya and Genya— stop that, do not roll your eyes, that’s rude!” She playfully slapped his chest, ignoring the hands grasping at her wrists, tugging her deeper into his chest.
“Have you come to butter me up, Alina?” His nose wormed its way to her neck, and her high-pitched giggles sent his heart beating twice as fast. “I’m weak, you naughty girl, how ever will I defend myself?”
Alina avoided his wiggling fingers, trying her best to not press too hard on his chest. Moments like this allowed her to forget why his normally smooth, flush skin looked greying and old, why his dark, obsidian eyes bordered on milky, and why his laugh sounded less bright than it had yesterday.
“Sasha,” she cooed. Their playing ended when she cupped his cheeks, brushing their noses against one another. “I want to have enough fun for the both of us. And I will have Zoya and Genya at my side, I promise. We’ll see the festival and be back before the night is up.”
“And Malyen?” Her breath hitched and the air in the room grew cold. “I assume he will join you tonight. Tell me if I’m wrong,” his weak hands slipped around her waist in an iron lock, shadows trilling at the edge of the bed, “Alinochka .”
Alina wasn’t a fool to the Darkling’s hatred for Malyen Oretsev, nor the way Mal took great pleasure in taunting her counterpart. Every chance to place a hand on her knee, an arm over her shoulder, Mal took it, hoping his scent remained on her enough to piss off the man in charge— and all three of them knew Alina would never allow Aleksander to hurt Mal, which is exactly why the cycle never broke.
“You’re being silly,” she scolded. “You can hardly leave your bed and you couldn’t come even if you wanted to. Everyone else will either be asleep or at the festival and I will be there, my heart,” she added for good measure, watching the way he sank into her palms like his bones were made of jelly.
“You will return to me.” His hand enclosed her wrist, a shackle if nothing else. “I could not bear this without you by my side.”
She rolled her eyes. Always one for dramatics, her Aleksander. Even after all of his time alive, decades, centuries, he was still a petulant child when he wanted to be.
“And you will be right here when I return, alright?” She gingerly cupped his cheeks and pressed a solemn kiss to his greying lips. She pulled away, humming a promise in his ear, “I’ll even bring you back that toffee you keep in your desk. The one with the butterscotch swirl in the center.”
Aleksander let out a pleased groan under his breath and shut his eyes, leaning deeper into the pillows, unable to ignore the call of dreams. He slipped into a deep slumber, and Alina quietly hopped off the bed, tiptoeing to the door.
Shadows nipped at her ankles once more, one daring to slip into her sock and refusing to budge, leaving the strangest sensation against her ankle bone, like an anchovy attempting to meld with her skin. The other loyal shadows remained around the bed, keeping watch over their master and, if possible, glaring at the demonic forces still lingering beyond the iron bars across his window.
Everything had gone wonderfully, Alina thought to herself, clutching the bag of goodies in her hand. Filled to the brim with chocolates, taffies, toffees, caramels, sugar cubes, apple melts, candied peaches and licorice sticks, the bag of sweets would last half a year.
Saints, eating one caramel a night would be like a reward before bed.
“Well, that was fun,” commented Genya as they made their way up to the Little Palace, waving to the oprichniki lingering in the yard. They didn’t wave back. “We should do this again next year, yeah?”
Zoya rolled her eyes. “We should’ve stayed longer.”
Mal snorted under his breath, scarfing down another sticky caramel chew. “Nah, we saw it all, right, Lina?” He threw his arm over her shoulder, pulling her into his chest. She smiled and nudged his brick-like chest.
“Yeah, I guess so.” Zoya scoffed, to which Alina frowned and said, “You didn’t have to leave with us if you didn’t want to.”
“You certain of that, Alina?” Zoya pressed.
Alina abruptly stopped and glared at the other girl. “What’s that supposed to mean? You didn’t have to come, Zoya. No one forced you.”
Rolling her eyes, Zoya folded her arms and let it spill; “I’d ask your Darkling about whether or not I had a choice to be here tonight. It’s not like all of us can protect ourselves.”
Mal’s grip on her tightened. “Shut it.”
“I think she has a right to know that not everyone thinks the Darkling’s little human is worth more than all of us combined —”
Zoya’s voice broke off into a high-pitched squeal. Genya’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth, gazing in horror as Mal held back Alina. All three watched with terrified eyes as a creature from another world, similar to the Darkling’s shadows but more frightening in shape and size, approached Zoya. Alina had never seen one this close before, able to see the way it moved and breathed, each action more frightening than the last.
With every step closer, the grass beneath its feet shriveled and died, leaving a trail of death in its wake.
Alina’s lungs tightened as the figure loomed over her the other girl. Saints, would it… consume her whole?
No one knew what or where they came from, which meant beating it in a fight was useless. And seeing as Genya was frozen in fear, and Mal would likely try to punch his way out— not to mention the fallen oprichniki a few meters away— it was up to Alina to think of something, anything, that could work.
The shadowy monster tilted its head, its inky black shape billowing side to side before striking Zoya, knocking her to her back and hunching down near her face. Tears poured down Zoya’s cheeks, praying to the Saints for a quick, merciful death. Genya turned away and threw up. But Alina’s face scrunched up in wonder at what she saw the monster actually doing.
Zoya’s bag of treats and goodies was being positively pilfered by it. She could even see the little clear-wrapped brown squares traveling down its throat and disappearing, one after the other.
No other candy seemed to make it to its mouth, just toffees with the caramel center, toffee to be precise. Aleksander’s favorite.
Luck or stupidity, Alina couldn’t really say, but something along those lines forced her out of Mal’s arms and over to Zoya’s crying, fallen form. She paid little mind to her fallen friend and dug her hand around her bag, feeling for the right candy just as the monster from Aleksander’s nightmares saw her and rose, stepping over Zoya and moving closer.
Alina gulped.
Behind her, Mal dropped his bag and cocked his fists. Genya fainted.
Her hands shaking, Alina held out a tiny square of toffee with a gooey center, a perfect bite of saccharine sweetness that her Darkling loved so much. It felt like a rock in her palm, a meek offering.
With bated breath, she watched the otherworldly horror cautiously lean forward, like she was the frightened animal in all of this, and pluck the candy from her fingertips, swallowing it whole.
Remaining still, Alina watched the shapeless monster disappear from sight, like a magic trick ending in a puff of smoke, leaving nothing but a frightened Zoya, an unconscious Genya, a deeply confused Mal, and a smiling Alina in its wake.
Maybe the monster was just like the Darkling and needed a sweet from time to time to calm it down, or perhaps whatever master had sent it had a sense of humor this year. Ideally, they would never know, at least until next year.
Looking down with faint amusement, Alina said to Zoya, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
With zero hesitation, because this All Hallow’s Eve would be one to remember, Zoya agreed.
As the sun began to rise, Alina approached the Darkling’s chambers, paying no mind to Ivan, though Fedyor held out a waiting hand. He wiggled his fingers and raised a brow, not allowing her passage.
“You can’t be serious.”
“As serious as the dead, Ms. Starkov.” He hummed under his breath. “There is word traveling through the halls that say the creature fled into the night. You would not know more about this tale, Ms. Starkov?”
Wordlessly, she dropped a handful of candies into his palm, eyeing him with contempt. Her pursed lips were enough of a threat to keep his mouth shut or else. Even the Darkling’s most trusted guards were susceptible to bribes in the forms of licorice and taffy chews.
Ivan dropped three pieces in his husband's palm, and Feydor blew him a kiss in return, to which Alina rolled her eyes and continued into the Darkling’s chambers. Unlike earlier that night, the lights were fully lit, no longer dimming the room in darkness.
Alina righted the fallen chair from earlier, making sure not to touch anything else on her way to his chambers. He was particularly possessive of his belongings; clothes, books, war plans—and though she’d never admit it, she remained firmly in that category as well.
No shadows were there to nip at her heels or tug her into the closed-off chambers, though the errant one in her sock sneakily slipped back to the herd.
They all danced around their master's feet, grateful for his return. Alina leaned against the doorway and watched Aleksander dress, eyeing his bare back.
Scars covered him all over, years of hardships and fighting that had earned him the right to rule and conquer as he saw fit.
Alina rarely witnessed the extent of the Darkling’s true power, only witnessing the somewhat sentient shadows and tricks of light. He wanted her to remain innocent, she supposed, of the horrors created by his hand.
“And how was your night, my heart?” asked Aleksander over his shoulder, still facing the closet door. He was running his hands along his black silk shirt when Alina replied, “Fine. Normal. Nothing unusual.”
“Oh?”
When he turned to face her with an uninterested brow, she bite back a smile. “Nothing unusual, you say.” Aleksander righted his coat and turned to his human, eyeing the way her lips twitched at the corners, nearly breaking into a smile the longer he looked. “You know how I feel about lies, Alinochoka,” he chided.
The way he held his head high, the melodic timbre of his voice that could change even the most stubborn minds, his very essence, the foundation of his existence called to her, hearts beating as one. Only when they were close did the pit in her belly soothe, and she was right to assume that only apart did their souls call to each other.
“Was it everything you wanted it to be?” Aleksander asked.
“It could’ve been,” she pouted, “if you were there.”
“One day, Alina.” He went to her side and cupped her cheek. His brow furrowed when the scent of the Oretsev boy assaulted his senses. “I can see you had other company.”
“Oh, stop it, we had fun!” Alina laughed, falling into his coat-covered shoulder, sighing as his arms came to clutch her waist. “You’re terrible. Positively horrid, you know.”
“And you’re mine.”
Under her breath, Alina snickered. “And these—” she held up her bag of sweets, “are mine. No toffees for you.”
Both the shadows and Aleksander’s fingers attacked her sides, relishing in her delighted squeals and definitely not reaching for the toffees.