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“What have you done?”
Aleksander stares, horrified, at Alina.
Their tether is torn to shreds, the remaining connection a fragile, tenuous thing that he can scarcely sense.
All around them, on the sandy remains of what was once the Shadow Fold, he can feel small sparks of light. But they are just that, small and weak sparks, a pale imitation of his true Sun Summoner.
“I …”
Alina falls silent, eyes wide and surprised.
Trembling, she looks down at her hands, and her expression is so achingly heartbroken that he knows he will forgive her all the trouble she has caused him.
“I feel … empty,” she whispers, tears dripping down her face, “like part of me is missing.”
And of course she does. Her light is a fundamental part of her, and to have it torn away is the most horrific of violations.
“The amplifiers,” she says, “it’s my fault. I took too much power.”
“No!” he protests, because those amplifiers were always meant for her, “no, my Alina. this is just a side-effect, a temporary displacement.”
The Shadow Fold was formed using merzost and only merzost could destroy it. Alina had called on it once before, when she brought the ceiling down on his head, and she has done it again now. But the merzost has exacted a terrible price in return.
It is not the end, though.
“I can still feel it,” he takes her hands, brushes his thumb over her pulse point, “the tether is badly damaged, but it remains. You are still my Sun Summoner, the light is still yours.”
He tugs her close and wraps his arms around her. More docile than he has seen her in a long time – probably from the shock – she allows his embrace.
“I will fix this, my Alina,” he promises her, “whatever it takes.”
Aleksander won’t be alone. And neither will Alina.
“Ivan,” he calls, and his loyal second appears.
“Subdue everyone on the Fold,” he orders the Heartrender, “especially the Soldat Sol. No executions, not yet, just get them all under control and do not let them flee.”
Ivan nods, gesturing to the rest of Aleksander’s Grisha and oprichniki.
Aleksander turns his own attention to the more dangerous opponents. Even holding onto Alina, he can direct his shadows to bind those closest to him.
Unlike the rag-tag group in front of him, Aleksander had planned for victory.
He has more of his people stationed around the Fold, and transportation standing by to get them back to Os Alta.
There are cuffs too, to prevent summoning. It hurts him to have to use them on Grisha, but some of them cannot be trusted right now, like seething, shouting Zoya, the twins who had worked for the bastard prince, and even Genya, David and Fedyor.
Those Soldat Sol who have somehow become vessels for Alina’s light are not powerful enough to stand against him. While his Alina has always been a beacon of blinding light, their glow is so faint it is almost non-existent. They are pathetic enough that he would laugh if he wasn’t so furious at what has been done to his Alina.
She is still shaking in her arms, his poor Sun Summoner.
He cannot blame her. It must be disorienting and disturbing to be cut off from the Making this way.
“Aleksander, I …” she breaks off, voice trembling, tears trailing down her wan cheeks.
He takes off his cloak and wraps it around her. A message, a sign of his protection and his affection. Also, practically, a comforting warmth for her, since she is shivering with cold.
“Come with me, Alina,” he guides her towards one of the carriages he has ready. He doesn’t trust she won’t fall off a horse and he wouldn’t put her in the carts with those radical, unruly Soldat Sol, not when they’ve been so influenced by the Apparat and his love of martyrs.
“Is it over now?” she asks quietly, a thread of resignation in her voice.
“Yes, my Alina, the war is finished now.”
And it is. The Fold is destroyed, which is not what he wished, but he can adjust his plans accordingly. His Sun Summoner is in no position to mount any sort of opposition to his rule and, despite what they might arrogantly think, the so-called resistance will flounder without their figurehead, especially with his Grisha under his control and the bastard prince turned monster of no real use to anyone.
Alina lets out a little sigh. He thinks it sounds a bit like relief.
He remembers how she had struggled trying to run the remnants of the Second Army and how frustrated she had grown politicking with the useless nobles and old tsar. She deserved better, ought to have learned at her own pace with his centuries of experience to guide her and share the burden of ruling.
That’s alright, though. He’s here now and she won’t be alone. He’ll teach her all she needs to know so that she can one day stand by his side as his equal.
Of course, he needs to help her reclaim her sunlight first. That might become a little messy, but Aleksander has never been afraid to get his hands dirty when necessary.
Alina must be exhausted, sleeping for large parts of the journey back to Os Alta.
Aleksander is glad. He wants her to be well-rested and he doubts she’s had a truly good night’s sleep since before the Winter Fete.
It is easier, too, that she avoids some of the unpleasantness caused by those who haven’t yet accepted the inevitable. Zoya, in particular, is difficult, ranting and raving, frustratingly enamoured of the missing monster prince.
And then there is the tracker, who unfortunately survived the battle on the Fold – Aleksander had seriously contemplated killing the boy there on the sands of what was once the Fold, but things with Alina are delicate at the moment and he doesn’t want to give her a reason to pull away. Besides, he’s sensed that she has become disillusioned with the tracker over recent months, and it doesn’t help that, during one of her rare conscious periods as they head back to the capital city, his Sun Summoner overhears the boy speaking of his joy that things could be normal now, as if it is Alina’s light that is unnatural and not the loss of it.
Aleksander splits his time between sitting in the carriage, watching over Alina as she dozes fitfully and comforting her when nightmares distress her, and riding outside it, keeping an eye on the captives they are bringing back.
Ivan is an able leader, directing the Grisha and oprichniki watching over the prisoners, but it doesn’t hurt for Aleksander to be among them too, reminding those who might seek to become unruly of the power they are up against.
Once or twice, he senses the presence of the bastard price nearby, but Nikolai is still more monster than man right now and does not have the reasoning or sense to be of any use to Zoya or the others who might cause trouble.
They make good time back to Os Alta.
There are no signs of the mercenaries, Shu soldiers or Drüskelle that they might normally encounter on the road. Aleksander expects they’ve all been spooked by the recent activity near the Fold, retreating to the borders until they can assess the situation.
It won’t last, he knows, especially now the deterrent of the Shadow Fold is gone. It would have been better if Alina hadn’t managed to destroy it, or if he had been able to persuade her to simply make pathways through to West Ravka, but he has contingency plans for every likely scenario and he will figure things out soon enough.
“Put the prisoners in the dungeons and have them carefully guarded,” he tells Ivan when they arrive back at the palace, “and ensure that someone arranges for quarters to be prepared for the Grishenka who will arrive in a few days.”
It still stings that Alina thinks he would ever have harmed the Grishenka, the future of the Grisha. They are safe and sound with a contingent of Grisha and guards to look after them, their caravan moving slower and so a few days behind.
Ivan nods, but the Heartrender pauses then, looking uncharacteristically nervous, “moi soverenyi, regarding Fedyor …”
Ah. Of course Ivan would be concerned about his partner, who had gone to Alina’s side during the recent conflict. He admires Ivan’s refusal to follow after the man he loves and his devotion to Alekander’s cause, but he knows it has been very difficult for Ivan. And his favourite Heartrender deserves a reward for all his work, especially during their moment of victory.
“Separate him from the other prisoners and bring him to me in the War Room,” he tells Ivan, “I will speak with him once I have settled Alina.”
Ivan breathes an obvious sigh of relief, “thank you, moi soverenyi.”
Ignoring the bustle around him, Aleksander lifts Alina from the carriage, cradling her in his arms and carrying her towards his old set of rooms in the Little Palace.
Even without Heartrender assistance, she barely stirs at all. It worries him, how exhausted she is, as if the loss of her light is beginning to leach the life from her too.
He tucks her into his bed, brushing his fingers over her clammy forehead, frowning when she barely reacts to the pull of his amplification.
She mumbles his name as he steps away and he sends his shadows to caress her softly, “it’s alright, my Alina. I’ll just be next door. You rest now.”
She settles, soothed by the weight of his shadows, and he goes back into the War Room, leaving the bedroom door slightly ajar so he can hear Alina if she needs him.
Waiting for Ivan, he tidies the papers and books as best as he can.
The whole room has been ransacked in his absence, but – checking his hidey-holes – it seems no one found anything of real importance. The Grand Palace guards have always been lazy, incompetent sorts.
Pulling out one of the ancient texts he has on merzost, Aleksander settles down to peruse it. He’s read all these books multiple times, but he’d like to refresh his knowledge considering Alina’s current circumstances. There are the beginnings of a plan forming in his mind but it wouldn’t do to be sloppy with the execution.
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There’s a knock at the door, followed by “moi soverenyi?”
“Ah, yes, come in Ivan,” he says, putting down the book on top of his own handwritten notes. He trusts Ivan, of course, but Fedyor is sadly an unknown quantity right now.
The two Heartrenders enter, Fedyor still in the cuffs that all of Alina’s Grisha have been wearing.
He points to the seats in front of him and, as a gesture of goodwill, he flicks his fingers, his shadows unlocking Fedyor’s cuffs.
“Thank you, moi soverenyi,” Fedyor nods his head stiffly and Ivan echoes his words.
“I hope, Fedyor, that you have now seen the error of your ways.”
“I …” the man frowns, clearly still conflicted, “I do regret … how is Alina? Is she well?”
Fedyor has always been a fervent devotee of the saints, and particularly of stories of the Sun Summoner, delighted at Alina’s discovery. A strong loyalty indeed, for him to abandon Ivan over it.
“My Sun Summoner is resting,” Aleksander tells him, “her display on the Fold has left her weakened and unwell. It is a good job I was there, for it is our tether and my shadows that help strengthen her now.”
Not entirely the truth, but not a lie either. He doubts any of Alina’s allies would have any idea of how to care for her in this state. They would simply say her light was gone for good without even trying to reverse the damage. They would leave her to languish in misery and pain, despite all she has suffered on their behalf.
As he’d hoped, Fedyor’s eyes widen.
“There is no need to be unduly concerned,” he looks over towards the bedroom with a slight smile, “she will recover.”
Aleksander will ensure it, after all, no matter what it takes.
“You served me well for years, Fedyor,” he continues, “for that, and in recognition of Ivan’s unwavering presence by my side, I have decided that you can be rehabilitated, your crimes forgiven as being committed in service to my Sun Summoner. Alina has always valued your friendship and I am sure she would be comforted by your presence.”
It will help him, he thinks, to give her a familiar face. After all, the rest of her so-called friends are far trickier cases and she is not likely to see them any time soon.
Fedyor is properly grateful. He, of all the traitor Grisha, is probably the one who was most conflicted about abandoning his former loyalties, especially with Ivan on the opposite side of the conflict. For all his worries and concerns about Alina, it is clear that he is relieved that the fighting is now over.
He dismisses the two of them so he can look through more of his papers, instructing them to have everyone rest once the prisoners are secure and a guard rota establish.
Things will get far more hectic in the next few days, especially when the Grishenka are back. They need to sleep when they can.
Aleksander reads for a while longer, pleased that what he finds tallies with the plans forming in his mind. It is a simple solution, if somewhat bloody, but sometimes the simplest answers are the right ones.
When he hears noise in the bedroom, he leaves his work to go and see how Alina is, bringing with him food that has recently been delivered to the War Room.
Alina is trying to summon when he enters the room, frantic and working herself up as the light fails to appear.
“Aleksander,” her bottom lip trembles when she looks up at him, doe-eyed and weepy, “it won’t come. I thought I’d imagined it, but it won’t come.”
On one hand, he is glad she is fixated on this, not bothering to question how she’s ended up in his bed and where the tracker and her other friends are. On the other hand, though, it pains him to see her struggling, not fully herself.
“It will come in time, my Alina. You’re still recovering from destroying the Fold. You just need rest.”
He strokes her hair, humming an Old Ravkan lullaby he remembers hearing other families sing when he was a child.
When she’s calm, he hand-feeds her small bites from the plate of food, pelmeni and blini, followed by little honey cakes. Three glasses of water that he insists she finish, not wanting her to get dehydrated because of all her tears.
Once she’s finished eating, Aleksander tells her the story of Hou Yi and the Ten Suns until her breathing evens out and she falls asleep.
Finding himself tired too, he strips off and pulls on a pair of sleep trousers, climbing into the bed next to Alina. He tugs her close, pleased when she snuggles into him and then, with his shadows spread out through the room, ready to notify him of any disturbances, he lets himself sleep.
He refuses to see any of the prisoners, still angry enough about the state of poor Alina that he knows he’d be liable to simply Cut them all down on sight.
Fleetingly satisfying as that would be, he doesn’t wish to risk arousing Alina’s ire until she’s more settled with him.
She continues to sleep much of the day, sometimes with Heartrender assistance and sometimes without. He tasks Fedyor with watching over her, entertaining her in his absence and calming her if she worries too much. All the while, Aleksander carries on combing through the most esoteric texts he has in his possession to ensure that his plan to restore her light stands a good chance of success.
Two weeks pass and both palaces begin to function in a semi-normal fashion.
He sets his Fabrikators to work stripping the gaudy Grand Palace of what could be used for weapons or sold to fill the sadly depleted treasury. He summons the nobles to hear them pledge allegiance and the generals to give them orders for the army.
Fjerda and Shu Han have begun to make tentative moves into Ravka and Aleksander gives some of his most experienced Grisha the task of taking a mix of First and Second Army soldiers to secure their borders. It is only a stop-gap, the war will need his own hand and shadows soon enough, but he has enough time to deal with his most pressing concern – the return of Alina’s light.
All the while, he tries to see her and speak to her as often as possible.
He wants to remind her of those brief good times, before she ran, to show her that they can have interesting and amusing conversations and that he can help her learn, giving her books on politics and military strategy to read when she feels strong enough.
Only once does she ask after the tracker and her other friends. He swears to her that they live, but that they are not permitted their liberty at this time, and she seems satisfied by that. Doubtless, she will make more of a fuss when she has the energy for it, but he’s grateful that she is focusing on herself and her own health right now.
He’s reminded of how perplexing he finds her at times. Often, she will behave exactly as expected, but then she will do something strange or spontaneous and he will spend hours or days trying to puzzle out why. He does the same now, wondering what about her deepest and most secret thoughts, what she truly thinks about her current circumstances and whether she plans to try and flee again once she is able. Still, he does not think her gratitude for his comfort is feigned, or her clear horror at the loss of the light that, on initial presentation, she had seemed so keen to be rid of. He is glad she has come to embrace and love her gifts, to accept that they are a fundamental part of her.
“Soon,” he always tells her when she stares off into space or looks down at her hands with damp eyes, “soon you’ll have your light, Alina.”
It’s a solemn, sacred promise he has no intention of breaking.
When he feels ready, the Soldat Sol are packed into carts and taken back to the desolate sands of what was once the Shadow Fold.
Aleksander leaves Ivan in charge of Os Alta and takes a contingent of Grisha and oprichniki as he follows the carts, Alina accompanying him in his carriage.
He has one of his Heartrenders keep her asleep for the most part. She needs her rest, he tells the Heartrender, who believes him easily enough as he frowns over Alina’s waiflike state. It helps that it is true, but he also thinks it will be easier if Alina doesn’t have to witness what will follow.
He’s only brought loyal men and women with him on this journey, ones he trusts not to make a fuss about what must be done. They understand, as he does, that sometimes blood must be spilled for the greater good.
He requisitions the cages that the First Army had once used to try and imprison his Grisha, and he has the Soldat Sol herded into them, trapped on the dry, arid sands.
As a kindness, his Heartrenders are put to work and the Soldat Sol lose consciousness, slumped on the ground, not forced to have a slow realisation of what their fate will be.
Alina is asleep too, laid out on a pallet that four of his oprichniki carry and carefully put down by his side.
Aleksander is the conduit, his own experience with merzost and his status as a living amplifier leaving him uniquely placed to assist.
He puts one hand on Alina’s forehead, feeling for the scraps of the tether remaining between them. With his other hand, he reaches out to sense the sparks of light in the Soldat Sol.
And then he pulls.
The Soldat Sol are too deeply sedated to stir, even as he rips the light right out of them.
It is not an experience they can survive, but it was never their power and it is only proper that they give it back to the true Sun Summoner, whatever the cost. The Soldat Sol have claimed to be willing to die for Alina Starkova’s protection and Aleksander is only having them fulfil that vow.
Besides, this is clearly how it is meant to be. It would not work if Alina was not the Sun Summoner, but the light flows so very easily back where it belongs.
When it is all over, the bodies of the Soldat Sol are crumpled on the ground, but Aleksander ignores them in favour of checking over his Sun Summoner.
“Alina,” he holds her close and presses his hand to her forehead, thankful beyond belief when he feels a surge of power in response to his amplification and Alina begins to glow..
“Aleksander?” her eyes flutter open and she blinks blearily at him, “what … what happened? I’ve had the most horrible dreams, that the light wouldn’t come when I called it, that I was empty inside.”
“Just a nightmare, solnyshka. Your light belongs to you, always.”
She lifts her hands slowly, still weak, and her eyes brighten when she manages to summon a small but powerful orb of light.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers, entranced, happy tears trickling down her cheeks.
Aleksander gathers her up in his arms, not wanting her to see the bodies around them.
She has a tender heart, his Alina, and he worries that she might not understand how necessary this was to ensure balance in the world.
No doubt, she will have plenty of questions for him on the journey back to Os Alta, as her strength returns. Perhaps she’ll even be defiantly argumentative as he considers what is to be done with her friends. He doesn’t mind that, relishing the thought of seeing her spirited and healthy once more, and sure that he can persuade her to work with him rather than against him.
The most important thing, right now, is that Alina is with him and she has her light and that is as it should be.
There is much to do, a whole country to rebuild.
There are traitors to be dealt with and enemies to be pushed back over the border and even the bastard prince in his monstrous form to be hunted down.
For the moment, however, none of that matters to Aleksander.
He has Alina tucked securely into his side, one of her hands clasped in his and the other summoning light that illuminates her bright, happy smile.
Aleksander is not alone. Neither is Alina.
They will always have each other.