Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“It hurts to look at.”

Aleks jumped as Mal slung an arm around his shoulders. Still, he couldn’t help but laugh as the two made their way down the hill with the rest of the First Army.

“Not any worse than looking at the sun,” Aleks said, “and as I seem to recall, you did that all the time when we were kids.” Mal gasped in fake offense and shoved him away. Aleks took the movement in stride, jogging in a small arc to shoulder check Mal in return.

Mal laughed, draping his arm back over Aleks’ shoulders with a smile. “I only did that to try and prepare myself for…” he trailed off, shaking his head.

Aleks got it, in a way. The Sun Split was hard to describe. As a kid, he’d even thought it was a joke. But no, the fabled wall of sunlight was real, splitting their country in two.

It had been created centuries ago, by the Golden Heretic, the first Sun Summoner. And now, it was inhabited by Solcra, beings made almost entirely of light that lunged with burning claws and empty eyes. Aleks shivered despite the heat.

He had always been more comfortable in the darkness. Light just made him feel… exposed. But still, here he was, camping right next to the damn split.

“Everyone seems worked up,” Aleks commented lightly. Mal glanced around and scoffed.

“It’s cause of the damn Second Army. They want more training space, and everyone’s pissed about it.” Aleks hummed, watching as Lilia, a fellow cartographer, nearly got into a shouting match with a dark haired squaller. Or, forget nearly. The only reason Lilia didn’t hit her was because Vitya, a medic, bodily dragged her away.

“People are rather mean to them,” Aleks mused, the many insults whispered among the First Army coming to mind.

“That’s because they act like right dickheads.” Aleks choked out a laugh. The dark haired squaller shot him a deadly glare before spinning on her heel and marching to the a group of summoners practicing on a row of dummies.

“Might have a point there,” Aleks muttered under his breath. The two of them continued down the hill and through the camp, various First and Second Army members running around, preparing the skiff for launch.

It would run from Kribirsk to Novokribirsk, and hopefully not fail. They didn’t often anymore, thanks to more and more fabrikator inventions, but Aleks knew several people who would be aboard the skiff. He was just lucky it wasn’t Mal.

They slowed as they passed the trackers tent. Mal cast him a tentative glance. Aleks rolled his eyes and ducked out from under Mal’s arm. “Get moving, private.”

Mal rolled his eyes and saluted him, turning away. Aleks smiled as he went, then turned and kept walking, using his hand to shield his eyes from the split.

The cartographers tent was rather small, smaller than most of the others, and dark. Aleks could appreciate that. He settled next to Lilia, who was still red-cheeked.

He carefully withdrew his rough draft from the barrel and unrolled it, weighing it down with small paperweights. It was a map of Ulensk, and Aleks was quite proud of it. He slowly darkened the ink of the town belfry, adding details to the large pond just southwest of the town.

“Pretty good,” Alexei, another apprentice, said, peering at Aleks’ map across the table. His map of Caryeva was quite good as well. Aleks had half a mind to tell him that the mountains were slightly too south, but decided to let it go. After all, the distance was marked correctly, so it wouldn’t exactly hurt whoever was using it.

The tent flaps swished as Sehren dashed in, hands slamming on the table. “Did you hear?” she asked, her Shu accent heavy. “Did you hear, did your hear, did you hear?”

“Probably not,” Alexei said, a small smile twitching on his lips. Lilia giggled, twirling a brown curl around her finger as she stared at Sehren.

Sehren grinned, settling down next to alexei and leaning forward, her eyes sparkling. “They say that the General will be here,” she whispered.

Aleks shivered despite himself. The Sun Queen, the Gilded General, leader of the Second Army. Aleks wasn’t sure of her name, wasn’t sure if anyone knew her name. But he had heard stories, everyone had.

“Really? Why?” Lilia asked, staring a bit too intently at Sehren to be normal. He and Alexei shared a knowing look.

“The new sandskiff is supposed to be special. Some sort of dome, like a greenhouse, but made of fabrikator-made mirrors to divert the sunlight.”

“Wouldn’t being grisha be something,” Alexei pondered, spinning his pen mindlessly. “Magic like that…”

“It’s not magic,” Aleks corrected. “And really, it’s either be a soldier or be hunted. I’m fine as i am.” Alexei shook his head disbelievingly. Aleks looked at his map carefully and added in the small cluster of trees by the belfry.

“Oh, and did you hear?” Sehren suddenly said, perking up again. Aleks’ fond irritation was beginning to grow less fond, and not for the first time, he found himself wishing that Sehren Kir-Yuqui was less of an utter gossip.

“No, what?” Lilia asked. Aleks huffed, swearing to himself to never be that pathetically whipped for someone.

“One of the trackers - Mikhael, i think - took a tumble off a wagon and broke a leg. Now that pretty one is taking his place.” Aleks froze, dropping his pen.

“‘Pretty on-‘ do you mean Mal?” Sehren bit her lip, suddenly turning bashful. Alexei and Lilia both turned more serious, looking down.

Aleks swore and raced from the tent, abandoning his friends. He slammed into someone and fell to the dirt in a tangle of limbs. He coughed out dust, trying to pull himself free.

“Could you watc- wait, Aeks?” Aleks blinked as Mal grabbed his shoulders, shaking him only a little.

“Is it true? Are you really-“

“I didn’t know, I swear. It just happened, and you know that healers don’t bother with First Army, and-“ Aleks covered Mal’s mouth with his hand.

“I know, I know, just… stay safe?” Mal smiled against Aleks’ hand. really, Mal was like Aleks’ brother. The two had grown up together in an orphanage in Keramzin, meeting when they were 8 and never separating since.

People said it was weird. Mal was broad and tan and athletic. Aleks - full name Aleksander - was skinny and pale and almost sickly, something that didn’t improve with age. If anything, it had gotten worse.

“I promise, I will,” Mal said, voice slightly muffled. Aleks withdrew his hand, wiping it on his pants. When he examined his hand, he couldn’t stop his eyes from stalling on the scars.

Four small crescents in his palm, silver and raised. Aleks pushed away the memories, standing up and helping Mal to his feet even if he didn’t need it.

“I better get ready,” Mal said, casting a glance at the split. He glanced at Aleks awkwardly, shifting on his feet. Aleks shooed him off, and Mal darted away. Aleks watched him go with a sinking feeling.

Mal wasn’t getting on that skiff. Not alone, at least.

Not if Aleks had something to say about it.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t nearly as hard as Aleks had thought it would be.

Really, just a couple matches thrown into the barrel of maps and a hurried conversation with his boss and he was packing his stuff along with Sehren, Alexei, and Lilia.

“This is so exciting,” Sehren whisper-shouted, a smile threatening to break her face in two. “The Split, us, now, I- gah!”

“Are you having a stroke?” Alexei asked, rolling his eyes. Aleks could at least count on Alexei to be a voice of reason, in between Sehren’s gossip and Lilia’s fawning.

“Piss off,” Lilia snapped, swinging her bag over her shoulder.

Sehren giggled. “Yeah, piss off!” She linked her arm with Lilia’s and pulled her out of the tent, laughing all the way.

“Those two give the cartographer unit a bad name,“ Alexei muttered. He had always been the most caught up with reputations among the cartographers. Perhaps it was because Aleks was used to people not liking him, to the point where it didn’t bother him much anymore.

“They’re young and dumb and in love,” Aleks said, packing up his pens and inks and papers. “Let them live.” Alexei huffed, shaking his head.

“We’re just as young and not half as stupid.” Aleks snorted.

“We’re not in love, though.”

“And thank the Saints for that,” Alexei said, shaking his head. Aleks hummed in agreement. Love was something to be admired in stories, where you could laugh at the characters inane behavior. You were meant to learn your lessons from those stories, not willfully ignore them.

The two of them made their way through the camp, eyes low. The Second Army might like to think it was respect, but it was more because Aleks didn’t fancy burning the eyes out of his head.

“Have you ever seen a Solcra?” Alexei suddenly asked. Aleks scoffed.

“When would I have seen that? I’ve just seen pictures, same as you.” Alexei sighed. Aleks could see him shifting in his peripheral vision.

“I know,” he said, “but you can’t help but worry. The stories you hear…” Aleks had to give it to Alexei: his fears were not entirely unfounded. He had seen a woman in Keramzin that was attacked by a Solcra. She steered clear of all sunlight, a shawl wrapped around herself at all times. When the shawl slipped, you could see gold-tinged scars raking across her shoulders and upper arms.

“We’ll be fine,” Aleks said instead. “This skiff is supposed to be the best yet, and we’ll have an entire platoon of Second Army with us if things go south.”

“Right,” Alexei said. “Okay. You’re probably right.”

“When am I not?” Aleks teased lightly. In truth, the Split terrified him more than he could say, but he knew that Alexei was influenced by people. If he saw Aleks freaking out, then he was going to all but have a nervous breakdown.

Aleks and Alexei were friends, somewhat. They got along well, in any case. Alexei’s worrying and Aleks’ wit matched well. It was odd, really, because with Mal, he was always the worrier. Probably because Alexei wasn’t half as reckless as Mal.

The skiff was certainly impressive. A large ship mostly made of sun-bleached wood, with a large mirrored dome, just like Sehren had said, covering the top. It hurt to look at almost more than the Split. Aleks squeezed his eyes shut, and colors danced across the backs of his eyelids.

“Hey, you can open your eyes,” Alexei said, “they lowered the sails. Or… I think that’s what they’ve done.” Aleks huffed a laugh, tentatively cracking his open.

The masts were painted with the Ravkan double eagle crest, and they must be Fabrikator made, or else they’d be bleached white by the Split within seconds. Aleks tapped his fingers against the leather strap of his bag.

A shoulder knocked into his, making Aleks stumble. “Watch it!” The dark haired Squaller from before walked past, casting him an unsavory glance. Two more Grisha, one Inferni and one Healer, followed behind. Aleks swallowed a curse. Had it been an otkazats’ya, he would’ve thrown an insult right back at her. But Aleks knew better than to start a fight with a Grisha, no matter how strong his pride was.

“What’s her problem?” Alexei muttered, crossing his arms and glaring at the Squallers back.

“Ask Sehren,” Aleks suggested, “she’ll probably know.” As annoying as Sehren could be, she had dirt on practically everyone. That was one reason why he hadn’t snapped at her yet; he had no desire for people to know all his secrets.

“Yeah,” Alexei sighed, “probably.” They head up the loading dock, feet thumping against the wood. The glass of the dome warps everyone inside, and Aleks can’t help but think of a butterfly house, with red and blue and grey flitting around together.

The air inside the dome is hot and humid, and Aleks can immediately feel his hair start to sag. He groaned and tugged on it. Aleks seemed more concerned svith his maps, quickly pulling one from his bag and examining it.

“Aleks?” He turned to see Mal, his classically handsome features scrunched up. “What the hell…”

“Oh, something happened to the maps,” Aleks said, waving his hand. He was unable to stop a mischievous smile from curling onto his face. “They needed all the cartographers to come along, so-”

“Get off!” Mal grabbed the strap of his bag and tugged. Aleks tugged it back, grin twisting into a scowl. “Aleks!”

“Mal!” Aleks shot back, almost a little petulantly. “What, am I supposed to sit back while you risk your life? At least now we’re together, Mal, and we can protect each other.” Unconsciously, Aleks ran his thumb over the scars on his palm. Mal caught the motion and pressed his lips together.

“Just- stay behind me if something happens, okay?” Aleks sighed, partly out of exasperation and partly out of relief, and nodded. It was logical, after all. Mal was stronger and trained and had a gun. Aleks was spindly and the best weapon he had was his fountain pen.

And yet, he couldn’t help but remember when they were kids. Aleks had been the protector, with his sharp wit and dirty fighting. Mal had cowered behind Aleks, preferring to chase after rabbits and read fairy stories rather than fight. Aleks hadn’t liked the fighting either, truthfully, but Mal wasn’t going to protect himself.

Mal had joked about returning the favor the first time he came to Aleks’ rescue, getting into a minor tussle with a private for him. Aleks had just laughed then, fully expecting it to be a one off occurrence. But now that was their dynamic. Aleks usually didn’t mind, but right now…

It was probably the Split, he reasoned. He had never liked it. If the light made him feel exposed, the Split made him feel like he was being cut open, all his blood and problems spilling out for everyone to see. It was making him on edge. That was it.

“Alright!” The Inferni the Squaller was with stepped on top of a crate, catching the attention of everyone on the skiff. “Here’s how this works: Squallers and gunmen are outside. Second Army, stay at the ready. First Army… stay out the way,” she finished, a smirk flashing on her face for a second.

The Second Army tittered, while the First Army sighed and, sparingly, muttered mutinously. Mal scoffed, running a hand through his hair. Aleks just looked at the floor.

He could understand why some Grisha didn’t want to be friendly with otkazats’ya, given history. But did they need to be such assholes about it? Mal took more issues with it than Aleks; perhaps it was the culture at the orphanage. The superior looks the Grisha who were discovered sent the rest of the kids as they left in a glittering carriage, fresh kefta draped over their shoulders.

Mal was incredibly stubborn, even more than Aleks, and part of that stubbornness was an inane ability to hold grudges far longer than necessary.

Mal swore under his breath, and fiddled with his rifle. He wasn’t technically a gunman - not experience enough - but he looked ready to smash through the dome and stand with them.

The soldiers all bustled around, both inside and out, and then the Inferni sent up a shower of golden sparks. The skiff started moving, nearly knocking Aleks off balance.

“How do you think they see? The Squallers, I mean,” Aleks said, hoping to distract Mal at least a little from- well, from whatever it was that was making the vein in his forehead pop out like that.

“Fabrikator-made glasses, I think,” Mal said. “Probably made of the same stuff this is made out of.” He knocked his hand lightly against the dome.

It was strange. Now, they could look directly at the Split, without their eyes burning out. It wasn’t even golden, like the suns Aleks had drawn in his picture as a kid. It was pure white, pure light, standing as if it were a solid wall.

And yet, it seemed to curve around them, pressing close against and the skiff and swallowing it whole. It felt like Aleks’ nerves were sparking, everything in his body screaming dangerdangerdanger.

Alexei had settled down on the floor, intently studying a map. Sehren and Lilia were huddled together rather close by, chattering on, and Aleks could see Alexei’s eye twitching.

“That’s the first marker,” the Inferni said, pointing it out. It was a large black marble pillar with a 1 carved into it.” It was slightly tilted, the sand it was stood on having shifted since it was placed there.

“How many more are there?” Aleks asked, squinting at it as it slowly moved backwards and out of sight. The Inferni sighed, her braids swinging back and forth as she shook her head.

“Twenty-seven.” She turned away, back to the Healer from earlier. Aleks sighed, wrapping his arms around himself. Mal shuffled closer, almost instinctively, and Aleks couldn’t help but smile.

“I didn’t get the chance to show you this earlier,” Mal said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wad of bills. “I won these gambling against Leonid and all them.” Aleks took the wad and studied it.

It wasn’t Ravkan vlachki, with Os Alta and the Lanstov crest. It was purple-blue, with an image of a poet on it. He flipped it over to see three fish.

Aleks laughed. “What the hell are you going to do with some kruge? We’re not in Kerch, you know.” Mal bumped their shoulders together, taking the money back.

“We have a couple weeks downtime before we come back. I’m planning on sailing across the ocean and hitting up a couple Kerch gambling halls. Wanna come?”

“I’ll come, but I’m not gambling. You know better than anyone that I suck at cards.” Mal chuckled.

“Well, for your troubles…” He dropped a couple kruge coins into Aleks’ hand. He studied the designs: a fish, some ships, a sailor’s knot.

“I don’t think this will buy me anything but dust.” Mal laughed harder at that.

“I’ll buy you something,” he said, “the finest beer Ketterdam has to offer.”

“How kind of you,” Aleks deadpanned. The tension in his shoulders was draining. Mal and him had always felt like two magnets: opposite yet attracting, bound together by something deeper than friendship.

The skiff plodded along, more markers passing by until they were at fourteen, halfway into the Split. Mal and Aleks watched in silence, shoulder to shoulder.

Aleks glanced over his shoulder, certain that there were eyes watching him. He scanned the small crowd, but no one was looking at him. He gnawed at his lip, turning back to the Split as marker fifteen passed.

“Something wrong?” Mal asked, brow furrowing. He had always had some sort of sixth sense for Aleks’ emotions. Aleks was just frustrated that it didn’t work the other way round as well.

“No, it’s- it’s just a feeling.” Mal’s hand drifted to his rifle. “No! I just-” Aleks shivered, glancing over his shoulder again. “Doesn’t it feel like someone’s watching us?”

“… not really,” Mal said. He didn’t move his hand from his rifle. Aleks turned back to the Split. The dazzling light pressed close. Marker sixteen. Everything was fine. Everything was fine. Everything wa-

Aleks slammed into the dome as the skiff tipped to the side, nearly falling over. Screams rose up as people were thrown to the floor and into each other. One of the Squallers - the dark haired one - was flung to the sand.

Mal’s hand wrapped around Aleks’ wrist. “Something’s wrong.”

“No shit,” Aleks muttered back, voice shaking. The skiff tipped back and forth, trying to stabilize on the sand. Aleks glanced around, trying to see what had happened. "What-"

A loud screech cut him off. It wasn't human, it was... "Solcra," Aleks whispered, squinting up at the dome. Now that he was looking at it closely, he could see hairline cracks in the glass. Vaguely, Aleks registered that the glass must be strong if a Solcra impact strong enough to nearly tip the skiff barely cracked.

Aleks only had the chance to barely register a shape in the light before the glass was struck again, the skiff once again tipping wildly. He stumbled again, falling to the ground. People screamed, and the Inferni was giving hurried orders to the Second Army.His heart thudded in his ears, and Mal's grip on his wrist tightened.

A third blow was the last straw: a hole opened up in the dome, sending shards of glass raining down. More pressing, however, was the Solcra that had punched the hole in the dome. It drew itself to its full height, the wood searing underneath it. Its wings flared and it screeched.

Bullets struck it and whitish blood dripped from the wounds. It screeched again, loud enough to make Aleks' ears ring. It lunged, wrapping its claws around the Healer. She howled in pain as the smell of burning flesh started to spread.

With a crash, another Solcra dove through the dome and snatched up a First Army. The Split’s light fell through the holes and became blinding.

Mal shoved Aleks behind him and backed up. Aleks’ back hit the door of the dome. Everything was moving too fast and too slow at the same time, moments blurring together yet sticking out in painful, gory detail.

Blood splattered across the deck as the first Solcra sunk its teeth into another First Army, their arm nearly falling off. No- not another First Army. That was-

“Alexei!” Aleks tried to lunge forward, but Mal pushed him back. Alexei’s body hit the deck with a wet thunk. The Solcra swung its head, its white eyes fixing on Aleks.

And it lunged.

Aleks braced for burning pain, for claws and teeth splitting open his skin. But it never happened.

What happened was Mal throwing himself at the Solcra. Aleks watched, stunned, as the Solcra dug its claws into Mal’s body, wings beating like it was going to take off.

Body moving before he could realize, Aleks threw himself forward. He wrapped his arms around. Mal’s legs, trying to tug him down. His feet slowly started to leave the wood as the Solcra began take off.

A gust of wind hit them, making the Solcra’s shriek and loosening its hold. Mal and Aleks tumbled to the deck.

“No, no, no, no,” Aleks muttered, trying to stop the bleeding. But Saints the blood was everywhere, drizzling like a waterfall from Mal’s shoulders, stomach, chest, pooling on the wood blow him.

His vision blurred as tears filled his eyes. He tried to brush them away, and he could feel the blood - Mal’s blood - smudging across his cheek.

“Aleks,” Mal muttered weakly. His hand fell on top of Aleks’; on top of his heart. “Aleks.”

“No. No, you’re not leaving, Mal,” Aleks said, voice shaking. “No, no, I-” Aleks looked up, looked for a Healer, medik, anyone.

But everyone else was fighting the Solcra. Dead bodies littered the ship, and the bursts of wind and gunfire didn’t stop them.

“Aleks.” He glanced back down at Mal. His features were creased in a smile, despite the pain that lingered in his eyes. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay! It’s not!” Aleks sobbed, pressing harder. But he only had two hands and Mal had so many wounds.

Mal’s other hand rested on Aleks’, and he what Mal was trying to get him to do. He was trying to pull his hands away. Trying to get Aleks to let him-

“No!”

“Aleks,” he whispered. "We won't leave each other. Never.” Mal being dragged away, Aleks held in place by his hair, Ana Kuya closing the door, fingernails digging into his palm, being left alone alone alone alone-

Aleks screamed. He couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t hear the Solcra or the people dying or the dome shattering. to piece above him, warm sunlight falling over all of them.

It wasn’t pleasant sunlight, though. It wasn’t running through meadows with Mal, hands clasped and giggling.

It was the promise of certain death.

Everything was cold, going mute, Mal couldn’t leave him, people were dying, Mal was leaving, and-

The world went dark.

Chapter Text

Aleks was always wary when new kids came to the orphanage. They would either be friendly enough until they were intimidated by the bullies who hated him, or they would become one of the bullies. Aleks could usually hold his own in a scrap, but long fights or fights against older kids usually ended up with him going to bed bruised.

This kid was different. He could feel it. Aleks wasn’t one to trust his gut, usually because his gut didn’t often have strong opinions. His head was more than adequate to pull him through. But this wasn’t just a gut feeling; this was a whole body feeling.

It was like he had become magnetized, and this boy - the boy being lectured by Ana Kuya about the rules and punishments - was the opposite he was being drawn to. Aleks crept closer to Ana Kuya’s study, jumping from shadow to shadow. He was sure that he would have looked foolish had anyone been watching.

“…your name, then?” Ana Kuya asked of the boy. Aleks waited for an answer. None came. Almost concerned, Aleks peeked around the corner, into the study.

A pair of eyes were waiting for him, staring at him. They were a dark blue that Aleks’ had sometimes seen the night sky turn. His heart seemed to fall into a different rhythm. Not strange, not new, but different. Almost familiar.

“My name is Malyen. Malyen Oretsev. But… you can call me Mal.”

The sky was blue.

It wasn’t the prettiest sky he had ever seen; that had to be the sunset of his sixteenth birthday, a beautiful golden sky with red steaks and dark rain clouds twisting across it.

But after the Split - after golden sunlight that hurt his eyes and monsters lunging at him with bright, hollow eyes - this patchy blue wasn’t bad at all.

It took a couple seconds for that to sink in.

Then he shoved himself upright, frantically taking stock of his surroundings. He wasn’t on the skiff anymore, and the blue above him isn’t the sky; he was all alone in a small tent, blue fabric lightened unevenly by the sun. It looked like the medical tent, but it was smaller and nicer.

There was little medical supplies in the tent. Just a single cabinet that looked foldable. Its open doors revealed various jars and boxes shoved to near bursting on the shelves. On top rested a leather case, so big that it might make the cabinet collapse.

Aleks checked himself for injuries: nothing. He pulled back the starchy, thin duvet and slid out of the bed, bracing himself against the wall as he did so. His legs were shaky- how long had he been asleep? And why? What had actually happened?

He remembered the skiff, of course. The attack. And Mal. Oh Saints, what about Mal? There was no immediate danger but Aleks still felt like a cornered animal. His heart was beating oddly, as if the rhythm had been knocked off-kilter.

“Are you alright?” Aleks whipped around, snatching the nearest thing to him to brandish as a weapon.

A red headed woman stood there, an amused glint in her eyes. Her kefta was red - Corporalnik - with navy blue embroidery that formed the subtle shapes of flowers and hand mirrors. Tailor.

Oh shit, Aleks suddenly realized, this isn’t a Tailor. This is the Tailor. The one who created Tailors in the first place, the one who earned Tailors respect and a kefta. The Golden General’s personal assistant.

Genya Safin.

“Why are you pointing a snuffbox at me?” Aleks glanced down and saw that he was, indeed, holding a silver snuffbox. He set it down where it had been on the cabinet.

“S- sorry.” Genya arched an eyebrow and shook her head. When she stilled, she was smiling. Ir made her look positively radiant.

“No worries. Would you mind dropping it, actually? That pattern’s horrible.” Aleks couldn’t help but laugh. Genya sat down gently on the bed he had been lying in, brushing her hair behind her ears as she studied him with an almost creepy amount of focus.

“Uh…”

“Dear Saints, have you ever eaten properly,” Genya interrupted. Aleks stuttered, unsure of the honest answer - no - would be acceptable. Genya sighed. “Would you bring me my case, dear?” She pointed at the large case on top of the cabinet.

Aleks grabbed it, handling it carefully, and held it out to Genya. She took it and set it on her lap, opening to and surveying the contents. From what Aleks could see, it was row after row of carefully labeled vial. It looked like something a Materialnik, not a Corporalnik.

She selected a vial and withdrew it, holding it to the light. Some sort of charcoal-like substance filled the vial, and seemed to absorb the sunlight. “Perfect,” Genya muttered. She set aside her case and beckoned Aleks closer.

“What exactly is going on?” Aleks asked, edging closer. He was still not totally over his starstruck-ness. “And Mal- what happened to him?”

Genus’s eyebrows furrowed, somehow elegantly. “Mal- is he First Army?”

“Yes, he’s a Tracker, he was on the skiff- what happened on the skiff.” Genya sucked in a breath, hollowing out her cheeks. She stared at Aleks carefully. The clinical aspects of her demeanor softened.

“In due time,” she said, “but I need to get you prepared.”

“‘Prepared’- prepared for what?” Aleks asked. Genya drew closer, the vial clasped tightly in her hands.

“For your meeting with the Sun Queen.”

Genya worked quietly and efficiently, occasionally muttering under her breath. She was funnier than Aleks expected, with very biting humor. Aleks found himself liking her more and more.

It took 10 minutes for Genya to deem Aleks ‘passable’, and began to straighten his collar and uniform, eyeing him critically.

“Genya?” he asked tentatively. She huffed.

“Yes?”

“What’s she like?” Aleks didn’t to have to elaborate. Genya knew who he was talking about.

“She’s… the intense. But she’s not cruel.” Genya paused, deliberating. She shot Aleks a glance. She opens her mouth, rethought what she was going to say, and closed it again. Then she stepped closer. “As far as I’m concerned, she is Tsaritsa more than anyone else.”

Genya drew away quickly, her face pinched. Aleks took a minute to process the words. “What?” he whispered. That was treason. Pure and simple. Genya met his gaze steadily.

“We need to go now,” she said, her voice as steady as it had always been.” She exited the tent, holding open the tent flaps for him. Aleks followed her.

Aleks had known of the reputation that the Golden General had garnered. Among the First Army, she was feared. Rumors spread wildly about what she had done and who she was.

But he hasn’t realized how the Second Army felt about her. They respected her. They loved her. She was the one who made Grisha what they were, who transformed them from dirt. Aleks should have expected this, then, but he hadn’t.

The two of them plodded their way across the camp, which was just as full as he had remembered. It was quieter, though. Small groups huddled together, whispering and muttering about something.

And they kept looking at him. Sometimes it was nothing more than stolen glances, out of the corners of their eyes. But some people were blatantly staring at him.

“Did I do something?” he whispered to Genya. She glanced back at him.

“It’s not what you did,” she whispered back, “it’s who you are.”

“Very reassuring,” Aleks grumbled. Genya made an amused noise in the back of her throat. “But wh-”

“Aleks!” He whipped around. Mal was limping toward him. His uniform was covered in dried blood, more blood caught in his hair, and bandages covered most of the exposed skin. But he was alive.

“Mal,” he whispered, a smile spreading across his face unconsciously. Aleks’ heart finally fell back to normal. Not quite relief - that would come when Mal was walking without a limp - but it was close.

He stepped forward, towards him, but was yanked back. He glanced down. Genya’s pale fingers were wrapped around his shoulder, and she began dragging him forward.

“No… no. Genya, let go. Genya!” She ignored him. He tried to tug free, but her grip was stronger than expected. They rounded a corner, and Aleks suddenly caught glimpse of where she was taking him. A golden tent, larger than the others, with silver embroidery stretching across it.

“Aleks! Aleks!” Mal rounded the corner behind them. He was favoring his right leg, wincing every time he placed weight in his left.

“Mal!” Genya’s nails dug into his arm tighter. “Mal!” His heart lurched horribly. He knew they were causing a scene, but he couldn’t give a damn, for once.

Genya yanked him harshly, leaning in to whisper in his ear, “Aleks, please. You need to stop.”

“Why?” Aleks asked, voice raised. Genya pressed her lips together, taking a slow breath.

“Keep quiet,” she snapped. “You are about to meet the most esteemed woman in Ravka. You will have time for your soldier boy later.” Aleks wanted to protest, but with a final pull, Genya and Aleks entered the tent. The sounds of Mal’s yells were immediately silenced as the tent flaps swung shut.

“Gen-” Genya placed a finger over his lips.

“I mean it, Aleks. Later. Got it?” Genya waited until he nodded before removing her finger, wiping it on her kefta. “Now.” Genya strode forward briskly and opened a second set of flaps, pushing him inside.

Grisha in colorful kefta surrounded him, but they didn’t seem to care that he was there. They stood or lounged, little dishes or glasses clutched in their hands. It was mostly Corporalki and Etherealki, with some Durasts.

But that wasn’t what Aleks was looking at. Aleks’ attention was caught by the woman on the throne.

Her hair and eyes were dark, and although she looked young - maybe a couple years older than Aleks - there was a certain aura to her that made her seem a lot older. Power or wisdom or both, Aleks couldn’t tell. The lines of her face were sharp, but not defined by hunger, like Aleks’.

She held up a hand. Almost immediately, a hush fell over the room. Genya all but floated across the tent, settling herself on a settee to the right of the throne.

The General rose, her golden kefta swaying as she did. She stepped forward slowly, her eyes never leaving Aleks. “This is him?”

“Aleksander, moya soverenyi,” Genya said. Her voice was lower, almost reverential.

“Aleksander,” the General repeated slowly. He shivered; something about the way she said his name made it sound different. Important. “And- what are you?”

Aleks blinked. “A… a mapmaker?” The Grisha tittered and Aleks felt himself flush. The General smiled slightly, her lips curling up on side.

“A mapmaker,” she again repeated. “Is that all?” Aleks nodded awkwardly. What more was he? “Does anyone else have an answer? Zoya?”

The dark haired Squaller stepped forward, her hands folded behind her back. “It was like a shadow had fallen across the Split,” she said, her sharp blue eyes fixed on Aleks, as if she could murder him with gaze alone. “Darkness- everywhere. The Solcra fled. And the darkness came from him.” She pointed at him.

The General turned back to him, a satisfied arch in her eyebrow. Aleks wanted to laugh. “No- no, I’m
not- I didn’t do that,” he fumbled. “I’m just a-”

“-a mapmaker.” The General surveyed him. Then she reached out and grabbed Aleks arm. He tried to tug it away, but like Genya, her grip was stronger than expected. She rolled up his sleeve, studying his bare forearm. Her touch felt both hot and frigid, something almost like dread twisting in his chest.

She raised her other hand, and the pure white light swirled out. Aleks turned his head away, eyes stinging. The General dug in her fingers in harder. The cold began to freeze over the hot, like ice spreading across his body, freezing everything.

It felt like he was too big for his body. Something inside him itched to break free. And the General’s eyes, like burning obsidian, boring into him didn’t help with the pressure. It felt familiar, but dangerous. He grit his teeth and tried to bush it back, but it was like trying to stop a tidal wave with his bare hands.

Darkness spilled out of his skin, spreading like ink through water. It seemed to swallow the General’s light. Gasps rose from behind him, but Aleks could barely hear it over the howling noise in his ears, like standing in the winds of a tornado.

The General stepped back, her hands falling. The light and shadows both faded. Her dark eyes watch him still, but her smile seemed different. More genuine.

“Nash Korol Teney,” she murmured. She inclined her head. It was respect. It was honor.

Our Shadow King.