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The Winter Fete had been a spectacular success. Every doubt about Alina’s powers had been laid to rest. Where at the beginning there had been mocking and derision in the delegates and nobles eyes, now there was adoration and hope. She had felt hope as well, for the future and in the war room with Aleksandr, it had been joined by a sort of giddy happiness that had before always eluded her.
Baghra had smashed all those dreams with a few simple words.
Aleksandr was the Black Heretic. He wanted to use the Fold, not destroy it. And if Baghra, his mother of all things, was to be believed then he would enslave her to do it.
The warmth and light inside Alina had been steadily dying the deeper into the caverns they went, but a tiny, stubborn spark remained and refused to give up.
Alina believed that he was the Heretic, she even believed that he wanted to use the Unsea as a weapon, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that it hadn’t been his plan at the beginning. His regret had been too sincere at the fountain, he may have pretended to only be his descendant, but he hadn’t lied about his intentions. Nor had he used this perfect opportunity to twist her tale into a more sympathetic version of events and Alina was sure that there had been more to the story, had nearly asked him about it back then.
Propaganda had been an often-used tool in Ravka, before and after the Fold. The posters of Shu Han and Fjerda lied and exaggerated, why not the centuries old story of their greatest enemy, who supposedly was long dead and buried anyway.
And could she truly fault Aleksander for wanting to use the Fold against their enemy. She wasn’t strong enough, she probably wouldn’t be for many years still and while she trained more Grisha and Otkazat’sya would die.
She remembered the attack of the Fjerdan witch hunters, the axe and the stench. Alina also remembered how she had survived and who hadn’t.
The heartrender Grigori had been killed, he had died protecting her and his fellow Grisha. She hadn’t known him well, had spent barely half an hour in his company during their short rest.
Grigori was a rare name in Ravka, for the simple reason that its nickname was Grisha. There had only been two during Alina’s whole time in the First Army. They had been teased and mocked endlessly. Grigori the heartrender had been teased as well, but in good spirit, the joke had been on the fun coincidence, like Grisha the bravest Grisha.
In the First Army the mocking had been cruel, the fact that one shared a name with witches was the joke, they laughed at them not with. Alina had never noticed it before she too had been Grisha.
How could she fault Aleksandr for wanting to protect them, when even in Ravka, the enlightened paradise, most people hated their kind. But they didn’t hate Alina, no they worshiped her and if she wasn’t careful, they would martyr her like all other saints before her.
But Aleksandr had promised he would protect her, would stand by her side no matter what, even if they would both be branded the new heretics. A kiss had sealed this promise and the many afterwards had only strengthen it.
She wouldn’t leave him alone, she owed him at least the chance to explain himself.
While Alina had been lost in thought Baghra had raged on, misinterpreting her silence for agreement.
“You nearly gave him the Stag. And I’m telling you, you must hide,” her voice was beseeching, but all Alina could focus on were her eyes, black, just like her son.
“No.”
Anger filled Baghra’s features mixed with another emotion she couldn’t identify.
“No?” her tone had turned icy cold and the disguise of concerned had vanished completely. “Didn’t you listen to a single word I said? Aleksandr is the Black Heretic and he will-“
“I heard you.” There was no need for the old woman to repeat her whole spiel. “But I don’t believe you, not entirely.”
“And what, do you plan to do instead?”
“I will ask him about it myself,” maybe it was stupid and she would curse herself for this decision for decades to come, but Alina could still feel his lips on hers, see the sparkle in his eyes, the reverence with which he had spoken her name. She would risk it, just so she could have it again.
Even if that wasn’t the case, she wouldn’t leave her fellow Grisha behind. If he truly was such a monster as Baghra claimed, then she had to warn Genya and her friends.
Conviction filled the hollow in her stomach and with it came the return of her light, a flame that had been fed new oxygen after nearly drowning. Alina turned to leave, seeing no further use to this conversation, but the surprisingly strong hand on her arm stopped her.
She had underestimated the old crone and would now have to pay for it.
“Stupid girl,” every word oozed disdain and her eyes, if possible, had darken even more. No light reflected in them anymore. “You leave me no choice.”
All at once the shadows grew in the old cellar, like vicious beast ready to devour her. Alina ripped her arm out of Baghra’s grasp and without thinking ran to where they came from. If she was quick, she would have a chance.
She hadn’t.
Alina had barely crossed half the room when the shadows raced towards her, twisted around her ankles like wines and threw her in a corner. Her head hurt, her left foot even more and blood was slowly trickling down her face. She had to blink rapidly to stop it from getting into her eye.
Baghra stalked towards her, every step slow and measured, revelling in Alina’s defeat. She felt like that stag in her dreams, cornered by a hunter, every escape closed. Her heart raced so fast its beats bled into each other and she couldn’t seem breath fast enough to fill her lungs with air.
“If you had only listened, then it wouldn’t have come to this.” Alina felt her blood on her tongue, was once more brought back to the field where she was attacked. She had been sure she would die there, the same feeling was rushing through her now. “At least you will meet your tracker now.”
The warmth inside Alina was growing hotter with every step Baghra took, until it seemed to burn her from the inside.
The old woman raised her arms, like her son had done when he had saved her. “Goodbye”
The shadows were coming towards her and Alina threw her hands up to protect herself, her power rushing out of her, propelled by a singular thought: I won’t die yet.
For a short moment the room was flooded with light so bright not even Alina could see, but when her vision returned, she was greeted by a horrid sight.
Baghra lay dead on the flood. Her head had been cut clean off. Blood poured out of the wound, first slowly then faster, like a spring. It seemed to never end.
Where only moments before the woman’s shadows had been, her blood replaced it, spreading towards Alina. When it finally touched her feet, she must have lost her shoes in the fight, tears started to fall down.
Before Alina knew it, she was sobbing uncontrollably. She had murdered her. She was a horrible witch. The new heretic.
Time flew by quickly without her notice, the blood soaking into her cloths and the one on her face, not entirely her own, started to dry.
There were footsteps. Alina heard them in the back of her head. They rushed towards her before stopping abruptly. They must have found the corpse.
“Ivan, wait outside.”
Aleksandr. He was here. He was seeing the dead body of his mother and it was all Alina’s fault.
Cautiously he came towards her, before kneeling in front of her, disregarding the sea of blood he now sat in. His fingers, warm and calloused wiped the red away from her face, far more gently than she deserved.
“I’m sorry.” It was mumbled and nearly swallowed by all her tears, but he heard it.
Alina knew that she could expect no forgiveness. She had ruined everything again.
His hand moved away from her face, but instead of hitting her, killing her like she deserved, they wound around her instead, drawing her to him, pressing her face to his chest. She started to sob even more, the dam now irrevocably broken.
Aleksandr’s face was in the crook of her neck. She could feel his shuttering breath, the tears that joined her own.
They sat together in the dark chamber for what felt like hours, grieving together. The blood had long turned cold and congealed beneath her feet.
“I’m sorry,” Alina kept repeating it under her breath like a mantra.
“I know,” his voice was quite but firm, squeezing her heart even further. They parted, unsure and the general sat down next to her, leaning against the cold wall of stone. “What happened?”
“I,” she had to take a deep breath before she could continue. “She came after you left, dragged me down here. She told me how you were the Black Heretic, that you didn’t want to destroy the Fold and that,” his hand griped hers and she felt like her heart broke all over. “She said that I had to flee or you would enslave me to use my powers.”
“Did you believe her?”
“Yes, no, I mean parts of it, but I refused to leave without talking to you first and she attacked me,” Alina shuddered remembering how icy cold the shadows had felt on her. “I don’t know what I did, suddenly it was just very bright and she just lay there.”
Aleksandr was quiet for a while, but he didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, his thumb started to stroke her knuckles, caressed the broken skin there. She shouldn’t, but she could feel hope rise in her again, hope that she hadn’t lost everything, but she also felt shame at that notion. She had made orphans out of them both.
“You used the cut.” His voice was soft, more than she deserved. “It is very difficult, but it seems that when we are pushed into a corner, we do it unconsciously to defend ourselves. You are not the first to have killed someone accidentally with it.”
His grip on her hand became firmer and under his touch she started to shine, only dimly but in the dark room it seemed all the more brighter.
“When I was very young, a friend of mine attacked me, she and another boy tried to drown me, to take my bones as amplifiers,” he spoke calmly, but under it, there seemed to be a mountain of unsaid feeling buried and half forgotten. “They nearly succeeded, but in my panic, I used the cut, murdering them, splitting them in two.”
His free hand griped her chin, made her look up towards him, into his mournful eyes. “It was an accident then, “ he pulled her closer, conviction plain on his face to see. “And it was an accident now.”
“But she was your mother?” That was to Alina maybe even worse than the murder itself. Sha had taken from Aleksandr what she had always wished and longed for.
“Yes,” he smiled down on her sadly, tear tracks glistened on his face still. “But you may have done her a favour. She had wanted to die for centuries, but she hated suicide even more than life itself.”
Alina didn’t know what she should say to that. They leaned against each other and the stone for a little while longer. Both lost in thought or the aftereffects of shock. Hundreds of questions buzzed through her head, but she didn’t have the energy to even think about them, let alone say them out loud, until she remembered something Baghra had said.
“Baghra,” it hurt to say her name. “She mentioned a tracker, why?”
Aleksandr raised an eyebrow but answered her, nonetheless. “Your friend, Mal, he is here. He found the stag for me, though I must say he was very,” He stopped, froze in the middle of his sentence. His eyes widened and he stared first at her and then the corpse of his mother. “He found you an amplifier.” He seemed to have come to an epiphany.
As if possessed he stood up, seized by an erratic energy and screamed for Ivan.
The heartrender came back inside, stiff and his apprehension could be felt even by Alina.
“Moi Soverenyi.”
“Get David as fast as you can and bring him down her,” the general had started to stalk up and down the room. “And be discreet!”
“But general, I don’t think David would-“
“Ivan, just get him and hurry!” The grisha frowned, looked down at Alina in suspicion, but left without arguing further.
“Why do you need David?” Slowly Alina started to get up, winced when she put weight on her left foot. Everything was spinning, her head pulsed in pain. She must have been more hurt than she realised.
Aleksandr noticed it as well. “And Ivan, get a healer!” he shouted to where the heartrender had vanished, before he turned back to her, his next words carefully chosen, as if not to spook a deer.
“I was looking for an amplifier for you, the stag was the strongest of Morozov’s animals, but he was not his strongest amplifier.” Apprehension was growing inside of her, her heart filled with dread. “He made his daughter into one as well, a far stronger one.”
“But his daughter was drowned with him.”
“His younger daughter was killed by the mob, but the older one survived until you killed her. My Mother.”
“No, you can’t be serious!” Her voice was rising in volume, was becoming hysterical, the trauma of the day finally catching up with her. “I’m not wearing your mothers bones!”
He hurried to her, taking her hands in his, laying them over his heart. “Think about it. We are fighting a war we cannot win, losing more lives every minute that is wasted. West Ravka wishes to secede and they have already brought assassins into our midst, to kill you, to kill our only hope of survival.” They stood so close that Alina could feel his breath on her face, feel his heartbeat through his kefta. “She is already dead, let her at least have died for something.”
“Alright.” Guilt coursed through her, but she felt it for so many different things it was hard to distinguish it sometimes. She could hate herself later if it only meant saving more people.
They didn’t have to wait long. Ivan came back with both David and a healer, Alina didn’t recognise, an older woman with short gey hair and shu features, that mirrored her own. Both paled at the sight in front of them, but the woman recovered faster, went to Alina and started to heal her as if they were in the healing wards and not in a secret cellar with a dead body.
David had turned green. Aleksandr went to him and Ivan to explain, while the healer worked her over. When he mentioned his plans, the fabricator lost even more colour and wouldn’t stop staring at her in horror.
“And what part should we use?” Ivan hid his distaste the best, but even he sounded not entirely convinced.
“I don’t want it to be too noticeable. I want to be able to hide it under my cloths.” That was non-negotiable.
“Maybe the collarbones?” David refused to look into anyone’s eyes, wringing his hands without pause. Ivan nodded in agreement and now everyone was waiting for her answer.
Slowly she brought her hand up to her own ones, felt the bone under her fingers. The idea of someone else’s bones being in such an intimate place was uncomfortable.
“No, maybe a finger bone or something.” The smaller the bone, the smaller her shame would be, she hoped.
Her suggestion was accepted without much resistance and hesitantly Ivan went to Baghra’s corpse, took her wrinkled hand in his and cut off her pinkie with a knife. Carefully he removed the skin and flesh, until only a bloody bone was left. The healer woman gave him a wet piece of cloth to clean it with.
During the whole procedure Aleksandr was turned away and refused to meet her gaze. Only when Ivan called to him, giving the bone to a very pale David did he turn back towards them.
The fabricator walked to Alina holding the piece with only two fingers, desperately trying not to touch more than he had to. “Where should I…?”
„Her ankle,“ Aleksander took her hand again, the gesture more reassuring than it had any right to be. “If that’s alright with you?”
Alina nodded in agreement, lifting her bare foot so that David could better reach it. He kneeled in front of her and gingerly placed the piece of bone a bit above it, so it would not hinder her movements. He frowned and focused his powers on her. A blinding light burst from her core, enveloping the room in white. When it had vanished, the little piece had melted into her flesh, irreversibly.
“Now call the sun.”
A rush of unfathomable power overcame her and Alina glowed so bright it hurt. This time even the general had to avert his eyes. Alina had never felt better.
Aleksander led her out of the dingy rooms, leaving Ivan, David and the woman behind to get Baghra prepared for a funeral. The assassins would most likely be blamed for her death.
When they finally reached the war room again, Alina felt like she could fall asleep on her feet.
“Do you want me to lead you back towards your rooms?” he sounded just as unsure as she did.
“I don’t think I can sleep alone now,” she didn’t want to sound too needy, but she found she couldn’t care less in that moment. “Can I sleep with you?”
“Alright.”
They went into his room. It had deep green wallpaper and dark wooden furniture, she didn’t know why, but she had expected it to be entirely in black. Both undressed mechanically, until they were only in their underwear, huddling under the covers of his bed. They fell asleep like that, pressed against each other, their hearts beating as one. The next day would bring only more grief and questions, but it could wait.
For the first time in forever both Aleksandr and Alina slept peacefully.