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Alina had only briefly glimpsed in the Little Palace chapel during her tour with Genya, but she never felt any inclination to go back and spend any time there.
The truth of it was that she didn’t like churches. She never did. With her being regarded as a saint by the believers of the Ravkan church, it was probably not the right thing to feel, but that didn’t change how she felt.
She remembered hating that Ana Kuya forced all the orphans under her charge to wake up early on a Sunday — the one day they didn’t have classes and could actually sleep in — so that they could trot over to the village church and sit on the hard, unforgiving benches, forced to listen as the old priest droned on and on in his dull and lifeless voice. In Ana Kuya’s eyes, going to church was what made them good Ravkan citizens, but it had an adverse effect on Alina.
From the day she had left for her First Army training, she hadn’t stepped into a church, at least until today.
The chapel looked better fit for the Grand Palace than the Little Palace. The white walls were covered with gilded embellishments, the candles in the four massive chandeliers — also in gold — were burning, and the size of the altarpiece made sure that everyone could clearly see what it was about from the moment they entered. It was a depiction of Sankt Daniil, patron saint of Ravka, in his final moments before being executed by the worshippers of the old polytheism faith that used to be the main religion of Ravka before the reformation and the birth of the Ravkan church. The artist’s use of light made it look like the saint was looking up into the light of heaven as he was dying for his faith.
But she wasn’t here for spiritual guidance or to become more devout. Alina remembered Genya once told her that the fallen Grisha, who they could bring back home, were cremated, and their ashes were then buried underneath the chapel in the catacomb. And that’s why she was here today, to say goodbye to Marie.
The cold air hit her as she walked towards the door that led to the catacomb, causing her to shiver. Rubbing her arms, she wondered what it was about churches and chapels that made them so cold. Even the Keramzin church during the summer felt chilled. She wished that she was wearing her kefta instead of just her bodice and skirt. The warm, wool fabric would have kept her warm in here, but since she returned to Os Alta, both the blue and black keftas had been hanging in her closet, waiting for her to make a decision on what to do with all the things she had learned in the last few days.
The door didn’t creak as she opened it. Holding onto the handrail, she descended, accompanied only by the echo of her own footsteps.
Her trepidation of finding her way in a dark unwelcome place left her as she stepped off the stairs and went into the first room and saw the gentle Durast lights that were hanging against the white stone walls. It made the place look warm and peaceful instead of eerie, as places like this usually felt to her.
Stepping towards the wall on her right, she began to read the text that was engraved into the slab of stone. The Grisha were organised by their order; next to their name was the year of their birth (for some, there stood only unknown) and the year they died.
From what she had learned in her history books, these Grisha died soon after the Little Palace was built, but what was surprising was that even centuries after their deaths, their names were still legible. Was this the General’s work? Ensuring that even the oldest part of the catacomb remained well maintained?
That night in his rooms, he’d told her he buried so many soldiers, friends, and his letter that Genya had given her two days ago, told her about his struggles of convincing the then Tsar that the Grisha could help him protect his country and that they needed a place where they could live and train. How he wanted this to be a safe place for their people. But the names engraved here told her that not even the tall walls could protect them indefinitely, and looking around this first room, she began to feel a pit in her stomach as she thought of all the Grisha that died in the fold, or who were captured and killed by their enemies. Not even in death were they granted the mercy of being buried with their Grisha family.
Was this what the General felt every day? Like everywhere he walked, he would see the empty spaces the fallen Grisha used to occupy? The Grisha he had watched grow up, get strong and confident in their power, sent out as the Tsar commanded, only for them to never return home?
Leaving the first room, Alina began to search for Marie’s last resting place. She wasn’t in the second room, or the third, or even the fourth. Continuing her search, she saw in one of the following rooms the first time a name of the Oprichniki was engraved; she vaguely remembered that it was around the time the guard’s order first came into being.
In this windowless place, time lost all meaning. She could have been walking here for ten minutes or five hours. There was only the sound of her footsteps and the faint beating of her own heart.
Walking further and further, she began to see names of people who died in the year it was estimated she was born, the year the testers came to test her, the year she entered into the First Army, and then she found the room she was looking for.
She wondered which of the Grisha who died last year were with her when she first came to the Little Palace. Who died at the hands of the Drüskelle. The Fjerdans had only changed their original mission to capture and kill her.
Standing still for a moment in remembrance, she thought back to how angry and resentful she felt then, to be ripped from the life she knew, and that before this moment, she hadn’t grieved or even considered that they had died to protect her. Her shame rose, and she remained standing a bit longer in penance, promising them she wouldn’t be this self-centred again.
It was on the next slab of stone that she saw Marie’s name, placed above those of Pavel and Polina.
She slowly moved the tip of her finger over her friend’s name. It felt unreal that Marie’s name was engraved here. She remembered the morning of the Winter Fete. How hard she laughed at her friend’s unfortunate reaction to being asked to go to the Fete by Sergei. How excited she was to be her double and wondering if there was going to be a chocolate dessert at the dinner.
“I’m so sorry,” Alina whispers against the stone. “You shouldn’t be here, Marie. You should have spent that evening dancing with Sergei and probably feel nervous that you might accidentally set him on fire again.” She could feel a small smile appearing on her face as she imagined this fantasy. “You wouldn’t, naturally. The adoring gaze that wouldn’t leave your eyes would have kept you calm. Trusting that with him, everything was going to be alright. You should have had the chance to live to an old age, to have years of happiness, and… you would have had that chance if…if I hadn’t been discovered.”
“Marie would have wanted you to be safe here, Alina,” a voice suddenly spoke up from nearby.
Swinging her head around, she watched as Nadia entered the room. She hadn’t seen her friend since the Winter Fete, which already began to feel like a distant memory. Something that seemed almost unreal.
Nadia smiled at her softly and with compassion. “I went to your room to see how you are. When I couldn’t find you there, I thought that you might have come here,” she said as she came to stand beside her. “You know, it didn’t matter to Marie that you are the Sun Summoner. She was aware that there was a higher threat level than during any previous fete we attended, and because of that, she could be in danger. But that didn’t deter her. She wanted to make sure her friend was safe, and she was happy to be your double that evening. What happened to her wasn’t your fault, Alina.”
“The General said something similar when he found me,” Alina told her mournfully. “It still doesn’t make the pain go away.”
“One of the old teachers here told me after my grandmother died — she raised me until I was tested, that pain shows you that you loved someone very much, and there will come a day where it will no longer hurt you, but it comforts you.”
Alina could feel a small, tentative smile appear on her face. “I like the thought of that,” she said as she turned back to look at the lists of names.
“What are you thinking of?” Nadia asked.
Alina swallowed thickly. “That morning…the morning of the Winter Fete, life seemed so simple. I knew who I was and what I wanted.” For a moment, she fell silent. “But the last four days have changed everything. All of it feels so messy and confusing, and it now feels so selfish of me to think how it has all affected me when there is so much death,” she said as she gestured at the wall. “So many people have died, and here I am feeling sorry for myself!”
“You are allowed to want things, Alina, to think of yourself,” Nadia insisted. “Your feelings aren’t something you should ever feel ashamed of. And if someone ever makes you feel bad about them, you send them to me! Master Botkin has trained me well.”
The fire in Nadia’s eyes and the downright devilish smile coaxed a laugh out of her.
Nadia’s smile broadened as she took hold of one of Alina’s hands and entwined their fingers. “There, that’s better,” she said as she squeezed her hand. “Now listen, you’re going to take the time you need to figure things out. Don’t feel pressured to spend time with anyone you don’t want to; after what happened, no one will begrudge you if you want to eat your meals in your room. And with time, you will once again know who you are and what you want to do.”
Alina nodded as she turned back to look at Marie, Pavel and Polina’s names.
Despite all that she was promised to be, she hadn’t done much to really get to know what it was like to be Grisha. What did she really know about what they faced outside these walls, the political history between Ravka and their neighbouring countries? When she spoke with Fedyor yesterday, she told him she wanted to learn what Grisha were taught from the moment they first arrived here, but she hadn’t felt confident enough to, at Fedyor’s recommendation, ask for Ivan’s help with her lessons.
How many more people’s names would be engraved into these walls before she could be the person they had waiting for?
“Come, it’s time we left,” Nadia said and together, while holding hands, they walked through the rooms and back up the stairs.
The chapel was still as quiet as when she entered it, and thankfully Nadia didn’t seem to want to spend any more time in there than she did. Out in the hallway, Nadia turned towards her.
“I have to go to my lesson by the lake, but if you want, we can talk more after lunch?” she suggested.
Alina smiled warmly at her. “I would like that,” she said.
Nadia pulled her into a hug before they said their goodbyes and went their separate ways. Slowly walking up the stairs and through the hallways, Alina’s mind was awhirl with her memories since her first arrival and what she could do next.
Entering her room, she walked straight to her closet and opened it. The blue and the black keftas were still there, waiting for her to decide who she wanted to be. The blue one was comfortable and familiar. In it, she was one of many, simply an Etherealki. Only if someone would look closer would they see the gold thread.
But she wasn’t like everyone else. In truth, there was only one person she was similar to in terms of uniqueness. And the fact was that she didn’t want to move back, to hide who she was. She wanted more than to be the entertainer that only appeared at fetes to charm the royals and the nobles. She wanted to learn, to grow stronger, to protect the Grisha as she wished she could have protected Marie. To find the people who attacked her and Pavel and Polina.
Pulling the black kefta off the clothing hanger, she shrugged it on and buttoned it up. Looking in the mirror, she knew this was the right decision.
Black was no longer his colour. It was now hers as well.