Work Text:
Containment.
A word that really ought to be incapable of rousing unease within her by now.
The dread threatening to drown her heart proves otherwise.
It feels more palpable right now, as she stands in a roomy cabin occupied by just one other person at this very moment. That other person being the most abominable person in this entire saintsforsaken world. She detests just how at ease he appears, as though he can bend time itself through willpower alone. As though he possesses every right to treat her as if she exists to serve whatever purpose it is that he wishes for her to serve.
Shame is, and surely always has been, a foreign concept to him.
Aleksander.
No, she has forbidden herself from using that name. A name, after all, humanizes its bearer. Although he may benefit from the form of a human being, he is far more of a monster than a man. She will both address and think of him in a matter reflecting that unforgettable reality.
The Black Heretic.
The Darkling.
He’s already mused about topics including the persuasive power of fear and the discriminating appetite of the creatures of his haunting the Fold. She weathered the icy storm that arose during talk of his absent mother. After all this time, despite Baghra’s impossibly resilient love of her only son, he expresses no warm sentiments when thinking of her aloud. For the barest second, she could have sworn that she’d caught something akin to regret dart across his countenance. As though he’s done something to her that even he can hardly stomach. But she knows better. Whatever it is that nearly betrayed him was likely artificial. And if it somehow was real to an extent, its potency is severely limited. If he feels anything similar to love for his mother, it is so weak that it failed to stop him from doing whatever it is that he has undoubtedly done to her.
Still, nothing that he has said thus far has truly vexed her.
His flagrant disparagement of Mal changes that. She doesn’t even bother to scrutinize the sentiments lying beneath his disdainful comment that depicts Mal as being weak and ordinary. She doesn’t bother to think upon the envy lurking there. Rather, she rushes to turn the metaphorical blade of hate away from Mal and toward him, the monster who has been nothing but a blight upon this world.
Through a glare burning with the unrelenting heat of loathing, she conveys her contempt. That same contempt, the product of a festering wound of the heart, readily coats her tongue. “You know nothing about love. Or compassion,” she asserts. A claim to which she holds fast, because she must. Monsters are callous creatures, incapable of genuinely caring for anyone.
Gaze betraying nothing interpretable, he arches an obsidian brow. With his voice adopting a tone that is just as unreadable, he asks, “Have you truly convinced yourself of that?”
Easily, she yields to the impulse to roll her eyes. Why wouldn’t she? After all…
“I don’t need to convince myself of what’s obviously true.” Within him, the very absence of compassion and anything akin to it exists. He cannot begin to fathom the pricelessness of companionship. He knows not the warmth that blooms within a beating heart when loved ones are present. What she shares with Mal exists far beyond his understanding.
“Is it so obvious, then, that you find heartlessness appealing?” It is a question that immediately catches her off guard. An irrelevant question, it has no place here.
Right?
It would certainly be easier to pretend that that is the truth. It would be so much easier to feign ignorance than directly face and try to dismantle the implication that he has set forth. So, she picks the former of those two options.
Although she cannot prevent the subtle twitch that she feels occur at the corner of her right eye, she does not avert her gaze. Verbally, she sidesteps his question with, “...I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Silence takes its time in stretching between them, with neither daring to look elsewhere. The untrained eye would miss the minute change that occurs upon his face. Just as the untrained ear would miss the trace of that change that rests just beneath the single word that he releases. “No?”
That tiny smile teasing his lips immediately earns her disfavor. She hates the unchecked confidence that it represents. Though, honesty would have her confess that it is actually his perceptiveness that she despises. He sees her far better than she will ever care to admit. Far better than she’d like him to.
Despite that, she does not falter in her rejection of his point. “No.” What else is there to say without confronting the truth?
Without missing a beat, he brushes her answer aside. “You do. You simply don’t care to admit that you know.”
Firmly, she says, “I don’t find heartlessness appealing.” That part is unquestionably true. Unfortunately, it is also precisely what he wanted her to say. She’s sure of that. The broadening of his self-assured smile is proof enough. It lingers there, showing no sign of imminent departure, as he replies. “You can’t have it both ways, Alina.”
“What grew between us during the time that you spent at the Little Palace was real. It wouldn’t have grown had you not allowed it. It wouldn’t have grown had you not felt drawn,” he confidently claims, taking an unhurried step in her direction. Stirring nerves would have her take a step back in retreat, but the shut door at her back would prevent the distance from growing much. Besides, her pride is practically yelling at her to stand her ground. She will not grant him the sight of her behaving cowardly because of him.
Save for the sound of his dark boots meeting the wooden floor as he continues walking toward her, his voice is the only sound filling the silence. “Either you thought me to be some unfeeling creature and you liked that. Or, you’ve known since then that I’m not the heartless monster that you now insist on trying to perceive me as.”
Halting about two feet away, he cants his head ever so slightly. His gaze slowly travels across her countenance, scanning for something unspecified. “Which is it?,” he asks, wearing a tiny smile that now bespeaks triumph. He thinks that he’s effectively backed her into an inescapable corner. A corner that she will not leave without unveiling at least a sliver of truth that she would rather conceal from them both.
One would think that he has learned by now that his arrogance should be restrained. In the past, it has contributed to the thwarting of his schemes. Especially when she has been involved. It seems that for both of them, expectations and reality simply are misaligned on occasion. Holding her head high, she says, “Just because you see limited possibilities, doesn’t mean that more don’t exist.”
“What other explanation do you see?,” he asks, choosing to indulge her.
Although she gives a flippant shrug of her shoulders, she does not answer dispassionately. Enduring resentment coils beneath the words that she voices. “Anyone would be tempted by a mirage crafted specifically for them. I saw the illusion that you wanted me to see.” She’s well aware that in accusing him of effective deceit, she’s also acknowledging her lack of invulnerability. She is acknowledging that even she is not immune to beguilement. It does not please her to admit her faults, but she will not let that stop her from trying to hold him accountable.
Noticeably, his smile shrinks in response to her thorny claims. Not out of guilt. Surely not. Simply out of dislike, because he is not fond in the slightest of those assertions. Coolly arching a single brow, he asks, “Which was?”
“A person with a compassionate heart. Someone who wanted the best for Ravka. Someone who-,” she promptly seals her lips, denying herself the opportunity to say something that she’ll later wish to retract. Denying herself a chance to unveil a stubborn heart that continues to bleed and yearn. She adjusts her sentence internally before uttering, “Someone who wanted the best for Ravkans.” Not someone who made her feel like she belonged. Not someone who made her feel like she was genuinely wanted and cared for. Never something so...personal.
“Crafting an illusion specifically for someone requires knowing them. When you and I met, I knew nothing more about you than your name and the fact that you were a cartographer.” Strangely, he pauses there, as though tempted to add something else. If the curious mix of frustration and bitterness that flares within his eyes is anything to go by, whatever remark it is that he feels tempted to utter pertains to her previous status as a cartographer. Yet, it remains unspoken as he carries on. “I knew a couple of things about you. I did not know you.”
Taking a step forward, further reducing the distance separating them, he says, “I have always wanted the best for Ravka. For Grisha. The realization of that future demands choices that others may find difficult to stomach.”
Wholly bereft of any semblance of humor, a laugh escapes her. Entwined with derision, incredulity finds a home in her voice as she replies. “Difficult to stomach? Is that really how you’re going to refer to killing entire populations?” Oh, but she is hardly done. Upon what could nearly pass for a hiss, she asks, “Is that how you refer to trying to needlessly kill an innocent Ravkan?”
Reminiscent of an unforgiving winter, a disquieting coldness sinks into his eyes. It invades his voice as well as he responds with, “Innocent? You forget that your tracker is a traitor to Ravka. A deserter.” The ice remains as he adds, “One who attempted to rob Ravka of her future.”
She will not stand here while he unjustly disparages her most important loved one. She will not stand here while he tries to depict Mal as some notorious wrongdoer. Rolling her eyes, she angrily says, “It’s not like Mal kidnapped me. I chose to leave.” She was not coerced into leaving the Little Palace. She was not forced to go into hiding. She made those decisions entirely of her own volition, and she bears no regrets.
He’s completely prepared for her argument, though. His iciness survives as he challenges her with incisive questions. “And where was your care for Ravka then, Alina? How does Ravka benefit from you running away and hiding? How does you pretending to be far less than who you truly are bring Ravka closer to her future?” Bitterly, he remarks, “How easy you make it seem to accuse others of doing things that you yourself have done.”
She’s rendered speechless for a moment. She loathes her sudden inability to sufficiently defend herself with haste. Because the truth is that although Novokribirsk would still exist had she succeeded in remaining beyond his reach following her departure from the Little Palace, her priority had not truly been Ravka. Even when she had placed Ravka ahead of herself, she’d done so carelessly. She’d been foolish, utterly foolish, to pursue the stag instead of place as much distance between herself and Ravka as possible.
And the past handful of months? Hiding with Mal as she did? Her priority had been herself. Ensuring that she and Mal survived freely was her top goal.
Just as she begins to turn her face away, intending to deny him an answer, he shrinks the distance even further. Now standing just a little less than a foot away, he firmly grips her chin and returns her head to its normal position so that she’s looking ahead. Still gripping her chin, he tilts her head back by a fraction so that their gazes meet. What she discovers in his causes her to come remarkably close to taking a step back. Coupled with the pure intensity of his gaze, the unrelenting heat that she finds there nearly steals her breath away. It’s a cocktail of strong sentiments muddled together to the point where she cannot distinguish one from another. Collectively, they inform her that she has his attention and will never cease having it. He will allow her to neither vanish from his life nor become a distant memory. Not now; not ever.
“I suppose it hardly matters now. Now that I have you again,” he calmly says, with the faintest smile lounging upon his lips. “There will be no more running, Alina. No more hiding. I will teach you myself how to act with Ravka’s best interests in mind.” She knows, with unassailable surety, that his idea of acting with Ravka’s best interests in mind means acting with his satisfaction in mind. Acting to fulfill his aims.
Without glancing away, she dares to ask, “And if I refuse?”
Her defiance does not irk him. Rather, the growth of his smile makes it seem as though he finds it entertaining. “You and I both know that you won’t. You do understand responsibility. Perhaps not as it applies to our nation. As it applies to other people…,” he trails off, permitting the obvious implication to speak for itself.
Mal.
He’s threatening him. Promising her that something unfortunate will befall the tracker should she withhold her cooperation.
“You see? I understand compassion quite well. How it compels us to act in contradictory ways.” Before she can snarl or sneer to convey the distaste that his distorted interpretation of compassion has begotten within her, he speaks yet again. “Enough of that for now. I believe you still owe me an answer.” Lifting his unoccupied hand, he carefully ghosts wandering fingers across her face. With a false softness blanketing an uncompromising hunger in his voice, he asks, “Do you enjoy heartless creatures? Or am I not the monster you insist upon seeing me as?”
Despite the iron at her wrists and the door behind her, she could still shrug off his traveling hand. She could still avoid his touch by leaning back just a bit or stepping aside.
She chooses not to.
Knowingly, she lies to herself by saying that it is purely the allure that he inherently possesses as an amplifier that keeps her standing precisely where she is. It is the magnetic influence of an amplifier that she feels as his fingers daringly trace the curve of her lips.
She insists to herself that it is not her own foolish desire that sends a shiver running down her spine. It is not desire that she somehow feels inside while outwardly asserting through a hiss, “You are a monster.”
Even nightmares can be gilded.