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In the low lamplight I was free
Heaven and hell were words to me
The others did not like that Alina still often took time to herself after their return to Ravka. The royals took her presence for granted, as ordained for them as their crowns, and it grated at her. Mal had a haunted and hunted look to him more often than not since they’d broken things off, and she’d realized she could not love him into loving her—Mal had not been in love with Alina Starkov the Cartographer, and he was afraid of Alina Starkov the Sun Summoner. She tried to give him his space, willingly losing her only safe haven among the vipers of the court so that she did not lose him entirely. She also found herself skirting Zoya more often than not—the squaller seeming to find a kind of antagonistic kinship with Prince Nikolai that Alina did not have it in herself to imitate.
So to avoid them, to try and keep her head above turbulent waters, she would saddle her horse and go riding out in the grounds. Out there alone she could shake the ribbons from her hair and ride as fast as she could. Alina ignored the ache in her ribs at the memory of Aleksander teaching her to ride in the slightly unreal months when she’d first arrived at the Little Palace.
Every Grisha must know how to ride, even saints, he’d teased, his dark eyes dancing as she’d ridden in circles around the paddock.
The horse had been from his stables, though he’d allowed her her pick. Only following a few paces behind, hands clasped behind his back as he watched her soothe and pet each of the horses she passed, he’d not said a word about her ultimate choice. If her reasoning was good or bad he did not try to influence her either way. Instead he’d told her about the horse, the creature’s foibles as a colt, his amusement at how easy it was to bribe into good behavior against how difficult it had been to train.
The Tsar had taken all of Aleksander’s property after the events in the Fold—and her beloved horse had been sent off to the First Army. When she’d told Nikolai, had asked him to see if he could get it back, he had barely held off scoffing. They did not need the court insinuating that the Sun Summoner still trotted about on the Darkling’s horse, he’d eventually settled on saying.
Alina considered it quite the accomplishment that she didn’t slap the prince or cry. Nothing she’d ever had had ever been hers forever, why would that have changed just because she was the Sun Summoner?
She’d been on the fence if she should tell him about the dreams, after having had Mal dismiss them, but that had settled her resolve. In her dreams Aleksander held her, let her weep into his shoulder, saying nothing. If he was real or not she hadn’t cared.
Today the frustration with her life as it was now boiled very close to the surface and she almost didn’t see the dark form at the tree line until she’d ridden past. With ice in her gut she reined the horse back, turning about a few times as she tried to swallow past her anxiety. She’d fought Aleksander’s power once, and she wasn’t sure she’d be up to the task again without anyone to help her. For a moment Alina wished she’d brought someone with her before a mulish voice whispered that if she gave up the freedom of her rides she might as well let them chain her up and toss her into the Fold like they'd done to Sankta Marya.
“Who are you?” she shouted, keeping her distance as the figure stayed motionless.
Black was an expensive color for most Ravkans, and the nobility avoided it despite being able to pay to buy it from Kerch or to smuggle it from Shu Han.
Alina reached up and touched her collarbone, the power of the Stag curling under her skin, and thought of Aleksander as she’d last seen him. Desperate, frightened, but still unwilling to actually kill her even as she’d tried to kill him. No matter what else he’d done, he’d not tried to kill her. Could she rely on that again?
“Can you hear me?” Alina gently urged the horse up closer to the man on the ground, praying that it was not Aleksander but still hoping that it was. If it was not Aleksander she would get him help, be the saint that people expected her to be. She chose not to examine why her prayers ran against the wishes of her heart. The horse under her was calm, unbothered by her anxiety, and with a shaky sigh she put one leg over the saddle to drop down to the ground.
The man did not stir as she made her way up to him, unmoving as Alina knelt next to him. It was so obviously Aleksander, from the soft wave of his hair to the shape of his ear to the beard that cloaked his cheek. Alina took a deep breath, her prayers fading into the fuzziness of hope.
Tears pricked her eyes as she gently pulled him face up from the loam. Black, infected looking tendrils were spread up his neck while his face was slashed to ribbons. Aleksander’s eyes fluttered open before seeming to catch her face, which had him breathing out her name as he reached a weak hand up toward her. Alina felt the prick of tears only a moment before they burned hot trails down her cheeks, grabbing at his hand and bringing it up to her cheek.
“I thought you were dead, buried in the Fold,” she said, her voice thready and hoarse.
“I thought I would be. But…I’d have sworn I would not, but it seems I can’t—“ he coughed, the sound reminding Alina of the pneumonias of her childhood, “I can’t do other than come to you.” His voice trailed off and his body seemed to release a great deal of tension. There was still a catch to his breathing, but it was as though just the sight of her had given him a measure of strength and rest.
Alina stroked his unmarked cheek and thought of what to do next.
She could not return to the Little Palace with him—even if she had anyone who would hide him, she could not put the Grisha at such a risk. Besides, Baghra’s spies were undoubtedly still passing information to her. Baghra, she’d learned, would stop at nothing to keep herself safe and if Aleksander was perceived as a threat then bringing him alone and injured would consign him to death.
As she sat, the wind stirring the trees around her, Alina glanced at her hands and realized they were glowing with amplification. When she’d first come to the Little Palace the healers had all said to summon, to summon as much as she could, to recover from the Wasting. Aleksander had been able to draw her powers out when she’d struggled. She didn’t need his help anymore but now he needed hers.
Carefully, and as gently as she could, she moved his body so his head and shoulders were situated across her lap. Then she wed the fingers of her right hand with his left, closed her eyes, and reached. She reached past the poison of merzost that crawled through his veins, she reached past his injuries, she reached until she found the shadows deep down in him. He was made of them just as she was made of light.
Aleksander didn’t wake but he still fought her and so Alina called louder. She tried to tell him, from her heart to his, how she forgave him the way the sun forgave the moon.
Alina’s eyes popped open wide when she heard the horse whicker and snort in fright—all around them the air swirled with shadows and sparked with sunlight. She consciously tried to pull the shadows closer, to stop frightening the horse and to also avoid attracting attention from anyone who might also be out in the woods today. Alina had to hope that Nikolai had made good on his promise to leave her to her rides, that Mal had continued to ignore her periodic escapes to get some solitude.
I can’t do other than come to you, Aleksander had said.
He needed her, then, and for more than just her powers. Why else drag himself, half dead, across all of Ravka to the heart of his enemies?
Alina raised his hand, their fingers still knit together, and laid a kiss on his knuckles. He was hers, then, and if she could not keep him then what was the point?
“I’ll keep you safe, Aleksander,” she whispered before laying another kiss at his knuckles, the shadows curling tightly around them as she forced them up from his skin, “I’ll keep you safe.”