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The relief and elation at her reunion with Mal is short lived. The few precious moments they take to hug in the desolate frozen woodland are all it takes for the First Army soldiers to close the gap. Alina can only scream as one of the dogs takes a vicious grip on Mal and drags him to the ground and armed soldiers surround them. Her power responds naturally to the threat, sunspheres blooming in her hands. Before she can make use of her power however there’s a loud bang and then a searing pain in her shoulder sends her crashing to the ground. The pain is all she knows as the sound of the dogs, soldiers, and Mal desperately yelling her name fade into the narrowing distance.
The soldiers aren’t gentle as they drag her and Mal back to the village, both of them bleeding from the injuries inflicted in their capture, the pain of the rough handling keeping her from losing consciousness. Once again the word spy is used and Alina can only weakly protest.
“No! I’m not a spy! You’ve made a mistake!”
It all falls on deaf ears, and she is thrown, bleeding, nauseous and shivering into a cellar in the Army headquarters building, shuttered in the dark and too weak to Summon.
Any hope that Mal might join her is in vain as she hears another door slam and retreating footsteps. She is entirely alone.
She’s not sure how long she spends in the dark; perhaps a few hours, certainly long enough for night to have fallen as the door opens and several figures enter, backlit by light in the corridor. She recognises Ivan’s voice before she can focus on his face.
“She’s badly injured,” the stern Corporalki says, “It’s a miracle she’s even conscious.”
“Heal her.”
The sound of his voice jolts her from her stupor.
The Darkling has found her. Surely he will be furious with her for running. She remembers how he dealt with the Druskelle who chased them from Kibrisk. There could be no way he could forgive her this treachery.
“I’m sorry!” Alina begins to grovel. “Don’t hurt me!”
His hands are on her arms, holding her steady as Ivan works on her wounds.
“It’s alright,” The Darkling says. “It’s me, Alina. You’re safe.”
She doesn’t hear him at first, as she struggles to free herself from his inevitable wrath. It’s only when he cups her cheek and lifts her face so she will meet his gaze that he isn’t mad, not at her at least.
“You were very brave,” he tells her. “To escape the men who snatched you from the palace.”
He doesn’t know. She can’t quite believe it. He doesn’t know.
“I didn’t know what to do,” she says, and it’s the truth.
“You knew to defend yourself,” he tells her.
His voice is gentle and comforting, full of the warmth he had shown to her last night in his rooms after the fete. She feels better, safer, although that may just be the effects of Ivan’s healing which is already giving her relief from her injuries and the hours lying on the freezing cold ground.
As The Darkling personally carries her to his carriage, assuring her all the way that Mal is alive and will be reunited with her after his own treatment, Alina feels a little ridiculous for running away. After all, moments before she fled in fear of him she had been very ready to make love to him. Perhaps Baghra had put her under some kind of spell? Perhaps she had simply turned hysterical in the moment? She’s almost ready to convince herself that this was all just some terrible mistake. At least until she starts to ask questions.
“Are we going back to The Little Palace?”
“No,” The Darkling says, his jaw tensing. “Not until I know exactly who was involved in the attempt on your life.”
“They were Kerch weren’t they?” Alina frowns.
“But they weren’t the ones who removed you from my rooms were they?” he says cooly, pinning her with his intense gaze. “Very few people could get in and out of my rooms undetected like that. None of them outsiders.”
This is The Darkling that Baghra spoke of. This is the man that Alina ran from only 24 hours ago. The ancient and powerful creature she glimpses between flirtations and sweet nothings.
“I know Baghra was involved,” he says.
“Not with the Kerch,” Alina says. “She told me to take one passage, that people would be waiting for me, but I went a different way.”
“You didn’t trust her,” he says.
“No,” she says. “I suppose I didn’t.”
“How do you know she didn’t want you to take the other passage?” The Darkling asks, sitting back into the folds of his great black fur-lined cloak, watching her with a cat-like intensity.
“Well,” Alina starts awkwardly, “Because she said…”
She trails off.
“If she wants you to do something she often tells you to do the opposite thing doesn’t she?”
Alina nods, that strange feeling of foolishness creeping back in.
“Why would she want to sell me to a Merchant in Ketterdam?” Alina asks. “She said she wanted to protect me.”
“Protect you?” The Darkling says, something like amusement crossing his face. “From what exactly?”
Alina can’t answer him. She feels almost like she’s under the control of a heartrender as The Darkling lets out a sharp laugh.
“From me? Yes, I thought so.”
“I didn’t know what to think,” Alina says quietly, still as true as it was before, but feeling more honest in her meaning.
“Am I really a threat to you Alina?” he asks.
The question snaps her out of her stupor, like she’s waking from a dream. He is dangerous, she knows that. But in this moment she knows he will not, can not harm her.
She meets his gaze defiantly and she thinks that she almost sees him flinch.
“You tell me, Aleksander,” she says.