Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She looked at the street as she blew the smoke out of her nose before taking another drag. She wasn’t sure why she’d taken up the habit, or why she hadn’t kicked it still. Maybe she just didn’t care enough. Not like it would kill her. A man was standing in front of the window of the shop on the other side of the road, looking at the estate agent’s display. He was tall and dark-haired, looked like someone from Os Alta rather than this small town in his sharp suit and shiny shoes. The streetlamps were on, bravely fighting the dark on this dreary January afternoon. She crushed the cigarette under her boot, returned inside her shop. Maybe she’d close early today. Grab one of the books, read it in front of the fire for the hundredth time. She chose one of the records, letting the aggressive music flow between the otherwise peaceful shelves. How much the world had changed. How she used to long for days when she could sit and listen to music, instead of pouring over maps, or waiting for news from the front, or working the fields from dusk till dawn. So much had changed. She flipped a page of her accounting book, not having read a single number. She could still see the man standing outside, now looking through a notebook before jotting something down and walking off. Nobody else was outside in this dreadful cold. She took a sip of her tea. It was cold too, and she carefully put the cup down again.

The anniversary of Mal’s death always made her moods worse, no matter how many years it had been now, and she was aware. Perhaps she should’ve stayed in bed, left the shop closed for a day. No one would have questioned it in these backwaters. It was why she’d come here, because time seemed to have stopped. In Os Alta, everything was fast-paced and short-lived. Here, people seemed to live by their own rules, in their own time. There was little need for a bookstore here, but the youths seemed to appreciate her record collection and the two computers on the desk available for their use. It was a quiet life. One she’d led half a dozen times now, never staying in one place too long, never letting people get too close. But she hadn’t been here long, and she was torn between wanting to stay and wanting to run and never look back, to start over with not just a new name, but a new personality too. Nobody was looking for her, but would they if they knew? It was better not to find out. She flipped another blank page, just as the bell above the door rang.

She closed the book, let it disappear underneath the counter. The man from earlier nodded at her, then rummaged through her record collection. He pulled one from the pile, kept looking. After a few minutes, he walked over to the counter.

“Do you have any more of theirs?” he asked her. She took a quick glance at the cover. Dark and moody. She shook her head.

“They’re hard to get around here.” She took another sip of her cold tea, pulling a face at the bitter taste.

“I see.” He was quiet for a few seconds, glanced at her. He looked vaguely familiar. Very handsome, very tall, clad in black, definitely not from around here.  “I’ll take this.”

She nodded, started typing it into the register while he rummaged in his pocket for coins. She put the vinyl in a paper bag and handed it to him. His black leather gloves touched her skin as he handed her the money, and he left, letting a gust of cold air into the room before he closed the door. She wondered where she’d seen him before. It couldn’t have been here, in this small town just north of Arkesk. His height, his clothing, even his beautiful face stood out too much here. Usually she wouldn’t worry about it, but if he'd been looking for a place to stay in the area, it was better to know what he was planning, who he was. She’d made it her business to know everyone else’s business here, which made her no different from all the other elderly women in town, but she was more discreet about it. And better, too. Very few people wore Fabrikator-made leather gloves today. Even fewer people made them.

“So Jesper made only two pairs?” Kaz nodded.

“One for me, one for the stranger.” Alina frowned. How unhelpful. A man matching his description, paying in cash, only communicating in person, picking up the goods himself, but not revealing a name. She sighed, slid the small package over the counter.

“Thank you.” Kaz inclined his head in answer and weighed the brown paper in his hand, seemed satisfied. He provided information, she provided anything else he needed. After well over a hundred years and a lot of reading, she had enough resources, knew where to find rare materials or documents. He knew how to work the wonders of modern technology, how to find people who didn’t want to be found – and how to let them disappear. By forging papers in her case, or through… other methods. She preferred not to ask questions. He was one of the few people she trusted. Not enough to tell him the truth, but enough not to lie to him.

“Anything else you need?” Alina shook her head. If she needed him, his wraith would find her. He nodded once more, and the dull sound of his cane accompanied him to the door.

Maybe the stranger didn’t have anything to hide, but he acted like someone who did. If he really was moving to this town, she needed to know what.

Alina sipped her hot chocolate, watched the people walking past the small café. Nina was picking apart her waffle, popping the pieces into her mouth with relish.

“So,” she ended her story, “I just asked him out.” She finished the last of her waffle with a happy expression. Alina shook her head with a sigh.

“You’re the only one I know who’d ask a man out because he insulted her. A trained drüskelle!” Nina just shrugged happily.

“He was trained, but he got out, and I’d know if he were lying. I don’t see the issue.” Alina shot her friend an incredulous look.

“They’re a hate group that wants you dead. That he was even in there is worrying enough.”

“You haven’t asked if he said yes,” Nina whined, ignoring her comment.

“He didn’t. He doesn’t like you.” A man not liking Nina was rare, but not unheard of. Occasionally, her brazen manner gave offense to upstanding citizens like this apparently reformed but uptight guy. Her friend pouted.

“You’re no fun. You could at least pretend not to know.”

“Should I also pretend not to know that you’ll ask him out again tomorrow?” Nina just giggled. She worked at the local bakery and had apparently decided to pursue the new guy in town, the carpenter’s apprentice, a young man who came from Fjerda and was hopefully not a murderer. Alina just rolled her eyes at her young friend’s enthusiasm. When she’d been young herself, Fjerdans had still been burning Grisha. It was illegal now, of course, but that didn’t stop all of them. The drüskelle were still set in their ways, and Grisha disappearances or killings were not taken seriously by the Fjerdan government. One of theirs appearing here was a bad sign. And until Alina had confirmed the opposite herself, she would operate under the assumption that he was dangerous. It was what had kept her safe all those years, and what would keep her safe now.

“The house on Sadovaya Ulitsa is sold now.” Nina changed the topic, probably noticing the darkening of Alina’s mood. Could it be the stranger? Sadovaya was a nice street, on the edge of town, and the house had been for sale for a long time now.

“Do you know who bought it?” Her friend was privy to the best gossip at the bakery, and would have made an excellent spy back in Alina’s youth. She always managed to get the right intel, knew how to get the little old ladies to talk more. But she shook her head.

“Nobody knows. Some guy from Os Alta, seems to have gotten a job in Arkesk. The old Petrova who lives across the street just said he was too tall and wants to move in before summer. Then she complained that he didn’t talk to her more. I couldn’t get anything from her after that.” Not a talkative one then, at least not when it came to hunchbacked old babushkas. Maybe it was time to take a little walk through town.

Chapter Text

It was a Thursday like any other when the stranger walked in again. Alina looked up from the new books she’d been sorting when the bell above the door rang out. She gave him a professional smile, and just like before, he greeted her with a simple nod. While he browsed the shelves, she took the time to observe him out of the corner of her eye. He wore a black coat that was probably too warm for the May sun over simple black trousers, paired with the leather gloves from last time. His shiny shoes from back then were replaced with less shiny boots, also black. He was tall enough to reach the highest shelves without issues, and something about him still felt familiar, like they’d met before. She racked her brain for a handsome tall man in black with a stern face. It must have been a while ago. She kept sorting the books, barely registering what she was doing, keeping a discreet eye on the stranger. He pulled a thick tome from the top shelf and set free a cloud of dust. He coughed once, cleared his throat, and there it was. The memory.

She had just buried Mal, and stood, head bowed, when someone almost bumped into her. A tall man in black garb cleared his throat as he passed her with a nod, his face set in stone, but grief surrounding him like a palpable cloud. She returned the nod, turned back to Mal’s headstone. Other mourners wandered between the graves, and the smell of ashes permeated the cold air. She wiped her face free from tears, took a few more breaths, and wondered when she’d join him. If she would ever. As he returned, so would she? Or did the Saints receive him, but not her? She turned and walked away without looking back. Time to start a new life.

It had been so long. The man looked different, yet the exact same. The same face, but longer hair, no beard. He couldn’t be the same person. Mal had been dead for longer than he’d been alive now. Not even Grisha would stay so youthful, looking the exact same, for over seventy years. Maybe he was a descendant of the man from back then. Someone who looked exactly like his grandfather. Or maybe he was like her. The man walked towards her now, having chosen a few books. She plastered another smile on her face, but his expression didn’t change. He set the books down on the counter. Alina started the transaction, then smiled at him again.

“Do you read much?” He looked up from his wallet, and she managed a quick glimpse. No ID on display, no pictures of family, no visible credit cards. He took out a bill.

“A fair amount,” he replied, handing her the money.

“If you’re new in the area, you could open account with the store. You’ll get a discount after a certain number of books or records bought.” He seemed suspicious, but Alina just smiled innocently.

“I’m not sure I’d need an account here.” His voice was low and smooth, pleasant.

“I’d just need your name for the card, and,” she showed him an unused account card “I’d stamp in your purchases. Ten books bought and you get ten percent on the next one.”

“How come you need a name for the card?”

“I keep them here so the cards aren’t shared. Learned from my mistakes, bad for business. Do you want one?” She had to look up at him.

“How do you know people aren’t giving you the wrong name?” Alina couldn’t tell if he was suspicious or curious. His face wasn’t giving anything away.

“I have a good memory.” Did he? Would he remember her if it were him? He seemed to hesitate.

“Alright,” he finally allowed. “Books and records, you say?” She nodded, digging a pen out of the mess in the drawer below the counter, and handing it to him with the card. His handwriting was neat and somewhat old-fashioned. He looked on as she stamped the little card four times with the designated tool.

“Are you the owner?” She nodded again as she put the card away and finalised the transaction.

“Been for over a year now.” She handed him the brown paper bag with his books. “Enjoy your reading.” He took the bag, looked at her for a few more heartbeats, and left, holding the door open for the next customer.

When it was finally time to close, she locked up and went straight to her small stack of cards. She had them sorted alphabetically and found his within seconds. Kirian Ivanov. She put it back, then went upstairs to her flat and her private computer. Once it was finally running, she typed his name in, watched a few hits pop up, then tried a few different iterations. None of them seemed promising, so she closed the browser and logged out. Next week she’d meet with Nina. Maybe her friend had heard something new from the old Petrova. Alina put on comfortable joggers, braided her long hair new, took off her makeup and jewellery, and set some water to boil on the stove. She went out on the roof when her porridge was done and ate slowly, looking out across the town and the fields beyond. It would be a little while until the sun would set, and she enjoyed the last sunshine on her face. It was getting warmer.

“It has been almost two months, are you really surprised he agreed on a date?” Alina twirled the cord of her phone between her fingers.

“Of course I am! I haven’t asked him out in weeks, and now he does? Do you think he missed me?”

“Yes, I’m sure he missed your flirtation and your pretty face and your subtle harassment.” Nina’s carefree laugh sounded through the line. It was nice to talk to young people, their easy-going love affairs lifting her spirits. Much better than listening to the older generations complaining about their partners. One good thing at least about looking young.

“So you’re meeting him tonight?”

“Yes! We’re going to Arkesk, to a restaurant.” Alina frowned, though her friend couldn’t see it.

“Our restaurants aren’t good enough for him?”

“Oh come on, you’re such an old hag sometimes. He’s not taking me to some backwater to murder me, he’s taking me to a middling town to wine and dine! Nothing is going to happen. At least nothing to worry about.” Alina could vividly picture her friend sticking her tongue out at her. She sighed. She still hadn’t seen met the young man.

“If you don’t call me until noon, I’ll assume you’re dead in a ditch or being carted off to Fjerda.”

Nina just giggled and hung up on her. No news on Kirian Ivanov then. Out of boredom, she grabbed a cigarette and headed outside. Lighting it as usual after making sure there was no one around. If someone saw her, she could claim to be an Inferni, but she preferred to masquerade as an otkazat’sya. She wasn’t registered as an Etherealki, so there would be trouble waiting if she were caught by the authorities. She blew the smoke out, watched it disappear into the sky when footsteps drew near. She turned and watched the man occupying her thoughts walk closer. He came to a halt in front of her, and she grinned up at him.

“Already read your books?” She took another drag, careful not to blow the smoke in his face. He shook his head. She crushed the last of the cigarette under her heel.

“I’m in need of new music,” he said. Alina held the door open for him before following him inside. The light in the store was always a bit dim. She didn’t like cleaning windows, and it gave the room a kind of charm that suited the old shelves and floors, the tattered books between the less beloved ones, the few new and packaged ones between them. Sorted by genre and alphabetically by author. The records, which he was looking through, were not sorted by genre. They too were a mix of both used and new. Most items in her store were second-hand, small treasures she found on little markets or in big warehouses, estate sales or the internet.

“I just got some new vinyls in,” she told her customer, “I just haven’t gotten around to putting them out yet.” She hadn’t felt like it. “Do you want to take a look?”

“Sure.” He walked closer while she heaved a large box onto the counter. She pushed it towards him, and he started filing through it.

“You have a lot of different genres here,” he remarked absentmindedly, looking at an LP from at least forty years ago. Alina shrugged, leaning against the table while he pulled out Bloody Kisses by Type O Negative from between Beethoven and Madonna. He seemed impressed.

“They’re not sorted either,” Alina supplied helpfully.

“I hadn’t noticed,” he muttered as he kept combing through. She grinned. For some reason, she felt like he was in a better mood than last time.

“Are you the one who bought the place in Sadovaya?” He glanced up at her, almost surprised.

“This is a very small town, isn’t it.”

“Oh, so you noticed that?” He gave a sardonic smile, and she observed again how handsome he was. “It stood empty for a long time,” she explained, “and people like to talk. Is it the roof?” He nodded, pulling out another record.

“It was leaking.”

“Do you like it here?” Smalltalk was not usually her favourite, but she wanted to keep talking to him for some reason. He sighed.

“It’s alright so far.” He pushed one of the records towards the till. “I’ll take this one for today. Do you know everything about everyone here?” She smiled innocently while she looked for his account card.

“Of course.” She made a gesture encompassing the whole store. “I deal in knowledge. The more I know, the better.” He didn’t look impressed. Alina beamed up at him, held out her hand. “I’m Alya.” He shook it once.

“Kirian. But you knew that.” She stamped the card and put it back in its place, then started putting the item into the register.

“It’s still nice of you to tell me.” She smirked, handed him the paper bag with his vinyl. “I’ll see you soon then.”

She had been right. He came back the following week, on a sunny Wednesday afternoon, looking for another book. She had been dusting the shelves and made her way over to what he was looking at this time.

“Are you looking for something specific?” He pulled a book from the shelf, flipped through the pages before putting it back. He had nice hands, she noticed, with elegant fingers. It was the first time she’d seen him without gloves.

“Just something to pass the time,” he replied, running his hand over the spine of another.

“Do you like history, then?” He shrugged.

“No more than other genres.” Alina observed him as he read the summary on the back of a different book.

“I have some new non-fiction. Biographies and the like. And,” she gestured a different shelf, “I moved all the Old Ravkan literature over there. Sorted by title, not author.” Many of the books had no known author. He seemed to perk up a little, looking at her with something like interest. He walked over to the shelf she had indicated, perused the titles on the spines.

“I’m not surprised that you read Old Ravkan.” She smiled. His tastes, from what she could tell, were pretty eclectic. Kirian looked at her over his shoulder.

“I teach literature.”

“In Arkesk?” He nodded, continued looking at the books. It explained his broad interest in them.

“Some of these are quite hard to come by. Where do you get them?”

“Anywhere I can find them.” She watched as he pulled out a particularly old edition of Istorii Sankt’ya. It wasn’t as old as the one in her private collection, which had been ancient by the time she’d acquired it decades ago, but still a rare find. She could see the questions on his face, but she shook her head. “If I told everyone, I’d be out of business soon.” He didn’t react, distracted by the book he was holding. She glanced at it; Grisha myths, a blonde, blue-eyed Sun Summoner depicted on the cover. Not very old, not very rare, but only available in Old Ravkan, as if that made it somehow more special, gave it more weight when it spoke of mythical Etherealki or special amplifiers.

“Ah, that one.” She smirked. “Good thing I found a better place for it than the historical shelf. Most would rather consider it fantasy.” Kirian’s face was unreadable.

“You don’t believe in a Sun Summoner?” Alina laughed.

“Prophesied for centuries and no sign of them? No, not until there’s one standing in front of me.” Was the mirror proof enough? “Do you?” The corner of his mouth quirked up as he leafed through the pages.

“They say there was a Shadow Summoner, hundreds of years ago. Why wouldn’t there be an equal, a Sun Summoner?” She leaned against the bookcase, looked up at him.

“If he really did exist, he’s long dead. No need for his opposite now, is there?” Kirian just hummed, still fixated on the work in his hands. She was not very surprised when he decided to buy it. As she rang him up, she stretched her powers again, felt for the dark corners of the room, the blind spots in her ability’s vision, careful to feel without moving them. Their hands touched briefly when she handed him the bag, and, concentrated as she was, she didn’t notice the widening of his eyes, the slight surprise on his face, before he hid it behind a polite expression. She was focused on the light flowing through the windows, seeping into the carpet, shining on the books. It was as she’d thought. There were deeper shadows than usual between them. They were writhing, moving with him as he left the store, following his footsteps out the door.

Chapter Text

It should be impossible. As a living amplifier, he was used to the strange feeling of sensing another Grisha’s power whenever he touched one, but this was different. It hadn’t been a spark, it had been a burning inferno on his skin. Something he’d expect from a Grisha actively summoning, utilising their whole strength, possibly even amplified, not from a young woman simply operating an outdated cash register. But something about her had made him suspicious. Maybe it was his intuition, or simply the experience accumulated over a long life, but he had known she was hiding something. Aleksander stared at the long list in front of him. All of Ravka’s Grisha had to be registered in their district, a document usually only accessible to government officials. But with the right contacts and the necessary financial expense, he had managed to get a copy, and as he had suspected, Alya Belova was not on it. He triple-checked, then closed it back up, handed it back to the man in front of him.

“Found what you were looking for?” The man smirked, leaning heavily on his cane, as if he knew exactly what it was. Aleksander just nodded, walked back to his car and drove off. Had he?

When he returned to her bookstore the next time, almost a month had passed. He hadn’t been sure if he wanted to return there, but he’d long run out of books, and her shop was an unexpected treasure trove. The ones in Arkesk couldn’t hold a candle to hers, filled to the brim with rare and old books stuffed between ordinary ones, a truly wild mix of vinyls next to them. When he stepped over the threshold, he took a second to breathe in the scent of old books, welcoming him like an old friend. The light was dim as usual, and there she was, sat on a chair behind the counter, her long black hair obscuring her pretty face from view. She looked up at the sound of the bell, a smile spreading across her face when she saw him, and leaned forward, her elbows on the counter.

“I was starting to think I wouldn’t see you again,” she said, clearly in a good mood. Did she know how beautiful she was when she smiled like that? He wondered what her real name was. “Did you run out of reading material? Or are you in need of some new music?”

“Both,” he answered honestly. The bracelets on her wrists tinkled quietly as she gestured around the room.

“I have plenty of new stuff since last time. Take a look around, you know where to find me if you need anything.” Her face was open and honest, too honest. He kept a firm grip on his shadows, making sure not to let them shift more than they were supposed to as he moved about the room, looking at various books, pulling one or the other out just to put them back again, none of them capturing his attention. He could feel her eyes on his back almost as if she were touching him again, observing him, burning him. He wandered over to the corner where she kept the records, browsed those for a few minutes. He could feel her approach silently before she propped her hip against the table, looking up at him through her darkened lashes, holding a book out at him. It looked old and well-loved, tattered and yellowed but cared for. He glanced at her face before taking it from her, cautiously flipping through the illustrated pages. From his estimation, it must be over two hundred years old.

“I’ve had that one in storage for a long time.” He felt her eyes on his face as she spoke. “But you might like it if you’re so interested in Grisha fairy tales.”

“Why did you take it out now?” She looked young, maybe in her mid-twenties, and had run the bookshop for just over a year. But how long had this book really been in storage? She smiled at him again.

“It was getting dusty. Books are made to be read, not to sit in a box.” Aleksander nodded, knowing she had some other reason she wouldn’t tell him.

“I’m surprised you have a piece like this on the Sun Summoner. I thought you didn’t believe they existed?” She was about to reply when the sound of the doorbell interrupted her, followed by the sound of a cane accompanying quick steps on the stone floor. Surprise registered on her face.

“Alya,” a familiar voice called, “I need to talk to you.” The man stopped in front of them, barely giving Aleksander a look before turning back to her. Behind him stood a girl, still as one of his shadows. Her steps had made no sound. Alya shot him an apologetic look. “Now,” Kaz Brekker barked, clearly impatient. Alya sighed as she walked past him.

“About what?” Brekker looked at him once more before following her.

“Helvar,” Aleksander heard him mutter, and Alya’s shoulders straightened. She nodded towards the curtain behind the counter, and her friends moved into the back of the shop. She disappeared with them, after an anxious look and a nod to Aleksander. He sat in one of the comfortable armchairs in the middle of the room, opened the book he was still holding, and concentrated on their voices.

When they returned minutes later, Aleksander had barely understood a few words. Not enough to guess at what the conversation had been about. The girl, who must be Brekker’s wraith, walked out silently. He was not surprised that she managed to slip out without the bell making a sound. Alya looked severe, but it was Brekker who spoke to him.

“Did you hear anything?” Aleksander honestly denied it with a shake of his head. Brekker nodded and followed the wraith out, leaning heavily on his cane. Alya stepped towards him, held her hand out. He handed the book back to her.

“I have to close up now. If you want the book, come back next week.” Aleksander stood, walked towards the door with her behind him, ready to lock up. He stepped outside, but turned when she called his name.

“Be careful,” she said in a low voice, barely audible, “of the drüskelle, Shadow Man.”

She knew. Somehow, she had found what he’d been hiding for centuries. The question remained, how much did she know? If she knew he was a Shadow Summoner, it was one thing. But if she somehow knew who he truly was, or even suspected… no, impossible. Nobody knew. All who had once known him were long dead. Even if she were a living amplifier, she couldn’t know about his exact abilities, just like he didn’t know hers. So how did she know?

His thoughts had been revolving around her ever since last week. Aleksander was certain that she was Grisha, but that wasn’t her only secret. Nowadays, it wasn’t even a secret worth having. He couldn’t hire Dirtyhands to investigate her either – he was fairly sure that the man’s loyalties would lie with Alya over him any day. He had almost reached her store now. The door opened before he reached it, and a young man stormed out. Tall, blond, and muscular. Something about him screamed warrior, screamed drüskelle. With a few quick steps, he had reached the door before it could close again and slipped through without a sound, ready to summon his shadows. He hadn’t expected the scene that waited for him inside.

“Just because he’s Fjerdan! You don’t have to trust him, you don’t even have to like him. But just because you have issues, doesn’t mean you should ruin the one good thing I have!” The woman had her voice raised, and there was tension in her posture, but she seemed remarkably calm.

“I’m telling you to be careful, Nina, not to never see him again. I’m not your mother, I’m your friend.”

“A friend would trust me!”

“A friend would look out for you. I don’t doubt your abilities, but…” She broke off, having noticed Aleksander. She shook her head. “You know I’m not lying, just as you say he is not. But I’m telling you to stay on your guard. I have seen what they can do.” Her friend scoffed, turned on her heel and left, rushing past him without a look. Alya sighed. She looked exhausted.

“Are you here for the book?” He took a cautious step closer, nodded.

“Are you alright?” Alya shrugged, then glanced up at him.

“I meant what I said last time. There’s too many of them here lately.” He watched her attentively.

“We’re close to the border. It should hardly be surprising that there’s some Fjerdans around.” She grabbed the book from underneath the counter and pushed it into his hands while walking past, keys jangling as she locked the door. She lowered the blind halfway before turning to him again, clearly irritated.

“Drüskelle,” she spat out. “They’re planning something. I can feel it.”

“And what makes you think I care about that?” She sat the heavy bundle of keys down with a flourish. He wondered why she’d need so many.

“Don’t pretend. I know you’re Grisha, and I know why you’re hiding it.” She was angry, and it felt as if she were showing her true colours more than she had before, a burning spirit hidden underneath

her polite smile.

“That doesn’t seem fair.” She shot him an incredulous look. “If you know so much about me, you’ll have to tell me something about yourself too.”

“Why would I do that?”

“So I know I can trust you.”

“Trust me or don’t, that’s your business, not mine.” Aleksander stayed silent, simply looked at her. She groaned, a frustrated sound, but she seemed resigned. With a motion of her head, she indicated for him to follow her. They went into the back of the shop, a narrow room with boxes upon boxes piled along the walls, and she unlocked a door at the end, leading him through and locking it behind them again. He silently followed her up a narrow old staircase and into what seemed to be her attic. She pushed the window open and climbed out onto the roof. He manoeuvred his larger body through and sat next to her, looking out over the town. They stayed silent for a few minutes, until she pulled out a pack of cigarettes, but no lighter. He watched as she lit it, turning away from him as she did so. When she pushed her long hair back, a tendril of smoke was rising from it, and she took a deep breath. An Inferni, then. He wondered why she was so secretive about it. She exhaled away from him.

“That’s all you need to know.” They stayed like that for a while, watching as the sun sank lower, neither of them speaking a word. It was almost summer now, and the air was still warm. She had leaned her head back, and he could feel her watching him.

“Have you always been hiding?” she asked suddenly.

“For a very long time.” She nodded, and he felt as if she’d understood more than what he’d meant to say.

“What about you? Or am I not allowed to ask?” She huffed.

“Always.”

“Why?” She stayed silent, and he thought she wouldn’t answer at all this time.

“It’s better this way.”

After that, he went by her store weekly. For books, for records, for company. Summer passed quickly between his work and her companionship. In a way, they had become friends. They didn’t speak of their secrets, but he looked forward to talking to her about literature and music, any topics she came up with really. She was intelligent and interesting, and more and more often he found himself distracted by her dark brown eyes, the soft curve of her lips when she smiled, the lines of her neck when she turned her head, her fresh scent, the pale skin disappearing beneath her neckline, hidden under multiple necklaces that she seemed to have an infinite supply of. Today, she stood in front of the window, talking to the young woman from the bakery. Nina. Aleksander knew they hadn’t talked much since their fight, and was somehow glad to see them hug before her friend walked off. Alya waved at him when she spotted him and it made his heart warm, as if she’d set fire to it. But something told him she was upset, despite the smile on her face. He strolled closer, watched her attentively as she lit her cigarette behind her hand, shoving her hands into her pockets when he reached her.

“What is it?”

“I can tell you’re upset.” She sighed at his words.

“Nina told me that Matthias has finally cut contact with his old friends.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“It would be, but their reaction worries me.”

“And why is that?”

“Apparently it was ‘too early’. They used him for something, some sort of plan. Inej is keeping an eye on Nina for now, but I can’t know if she was their target. It seems unlikely, but I can’t think of another explanation. Kaz hasn’t found anything else either.”

“What if there is nothing to find?” He could hear the doubt in his own voice, and Alya shook her head.

“There is. There’s just no paper trail.” She crushed the stub of her cigarette under her heel. “Tea?” He nodded, and they headed inside. While she was preparing the drink in the back, he browsed the new books. There were some interesting works, but nothing he hadn’t seen before. Since he had started coming here, the Old Ravkan books she found had steadily increased, and he liked to think it was because of him. He looked through those again. Alya put his mug down on the counter, leaned against it with her own in hand.

“There’s a flea market in Arkesk tomorrow.” Aleksander nodded. There had been an advert in the morning paper. “Would you like to come with me?” He looked up at this. She was watching him, a small smile on her lips. He put the book he’d been holding back, walked closer to her. Her smile deepened as he grabbed his tea, took a small sip of the hot liquid, pretended to think about it. He was leaning against the shelf closest to her, could see her heartbeat at her throat quicken. There had been moments like this, when there was a tension between them, an electricity. He resisted the impulse to touch her, took another sip of his tea. Sweet but citrusy.

“Are you asking me on a date?” She grinned, tilted her head up towards him.

“If you want me to.” He took a step closer to set his cup back down on the counter, watched her pupils widen as he took another one towards her.

“To buy books?” He reached for her cheekbone with a featherlight touch, and she nodded. He felt his own heart beat faster at the diminished distance between them, her scent enveloping him, her soft skin at his fingertips, her wide eyes that he could drown in. Aleksander wanted to touch her, kiss her, push her against the shelves, ravage her. Instead, he took a step back, leaned against the bookshelf again.

“When?” She cleared her throat before answering.

“Early. I usually take the first train, get breakfast on the way.” He nodded, played with a strand of her hair.

“I’ll meet you here twenty minutes before, then.”

The next morning dawned bright and sunny, but there was something in the air Aleksander didn’t like. He’d woken up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, feeling ill. Something was wrong. He’d tried to go back to sleep, but no use. It was more than an hour until he was supposed to leave his house, but the dreadful anxiety in the pit of his stomach drove him out shortly before sunrise. Now, with the first rays of sunlight illuminating his path, he found his way to Alya’s bookstore. The door was open.

He felt through his shadows, but there was no movement inside. He gathered them around his feet, ready to strike at any moment, and crept inside. It was still dark, but he had no trouble seeing the path of destruction. Books were strewn about the floor, irregular scorch marks littering the room. Aleksander wrapped himself in his shadows, advancing through the room, careful not to make any noise. The chaos continued into the back of the shop, piles of boxes toppled over, books littering the floor, a carton of broken records blocking the door to the rest of the house. He carelessly pushed it aside, heedless of any noise he made now. If anyone was still lying in wait, they wouldn’t get out of this alive. He pushed through the door and into the stairwell. The smell of burnt wood tickled his nose, and he quickly followed the smell, which led him to her bedroom. The wooden bedframe was charred, and there were more scorch marks around the room. A few splatters of blood on the floor, furniture knocked over, the wardrobe wide open, one of the doors ripped from its hinges. He quickly checked the other rooms, but no sign of anyone, nor of further struggle. Aleksander walked over to her phone in the kitchen, dialled one of the numbers from a sticky note on the fridge next to it. A gruff voice answered.

“What is it, Alya?”

“She’s been taken, Brekker.”

Chapter Text

When Alina woke up, she felt as if she’d been run over by a truck. Her whole body was aching, and she slowly sat up, trying to remember what had happened. She’d been woken in the middle of the night by noise, only to find several large, murderous looking men standing around her. She’d tried to incinerate them, but one of them had stabbed her neck with… something. She tried to concentrate, but the pain behind her eyes made it impossible. She’d bitten him, tasted blood. Struggled. Tried to use her powers. Then… nothing. She opened her eyes to find – nothing. She closed them again, took a deep breath, opened them. Still nothing. Alina swallowed down the panic, tried to feel around. Her hands were shackled, a strong metal bar between them. As her eyes got used to the dark, she was able to make out a small sort of cell. The tiniest sliver of light entered below the door. The room was cold and damp, and she had been laid out on a thin, bare mattress in a corner. There was an open bathroom with a toilet and a sink. Nothing else. She leaned back against the wall, shivering. Drüskelle.

When she woke again, the room was still cold, still dark, still empty. Her limbs were stiff and painful. Her head hurt, if possible, even worse than before, and part of her was glad for the lack of light. It didn’t last long. Heavy steps approached, echoing against bare walls, probably in a narrow passageway. She had to close her eyes as the door opened, flooding the room with bright light. A broad-shouldered man stepped towards her, grabbed her arm with force and pulled her up, ignoring her hiss of pain. He dragged her up and down the narrow corridor, not caring whether her legs could follow. She swallowed down her questions. He wouldn’t answer them. He shoved her into a different room, bare but for a chair bolted to the floor. She sat, and he left, closing the door. She sat for a long time, waiting. Waiting for her interrogator, her torturer, her murderer, her redemption. But nobody came, and for the longest time, she just waited. After what must be hours, the door opened again. A man entered. He too was broad-shouldered and tall, but at least in his sixth decade. He walked proudly, with hate in his eyes and on his lips. He spat out at her feet.

“Witch,” he taunted in broken Ravkan. Alina didn’t react, kept watching him. She didn’t see it coming when he slapped her across the face, with a speed and strength she might not have expected of him. With satisfaction, enthusiasm. She nodded. That was how it was going to be.

At least four days. It was hard to keep track of them here in the dark, head pounding, throat parched, starving, beaten. Tired, so tired. How long would she be made to endure this? She felt her eyes drop closed, but a loud noise jerked her awake. They’d do this in irregular intervals, keeping her on a minimum of sleep, of food, of water. She was too weak to get up, to beg, to do anything but lie on her mattress, now stained with her blood. Everything hurt. More noise outside. Screaming. She closed her eyes. This time, no shrill beeping came from the speaker. She didn’t open them, ignored the commotion outside. Until he world around her seemed to implode. Idly wondering what they had planned now, she left her eyes closed. She needed sleep.

“Alina?” A voice. Mal? She tried to speak his name but only managed a weak cough. Gentle hands held her head, brushed something out of her face.

“We need a healer.” A different voice. No healer, she wanted to say. No healer. Mal is here. I want Mal, want to stay with him. Darkness drowned out the sounds again.

“She’s coming to.” The same voice, the one that knew her name. Not Mal. Emotions tried to assail her, but she didn’t want them. Wanted quiet. Wanted dark.

“Alya?” Another voice. But where was Mal’s?

“Keep her heart steady,” one more voice said. Where was he?

She blinked. Light. Dim, but real light. A room. A window, curtains drawn. Someone sleeping in a chair. A bed, blankets. Tubes in her arm. A door, ajar. Silence.

Her head was pounding again. Still? She couldn’t tell. The light was brighter, but someone had closed the blinds most of the way. The same room. Empty chair. Tubes in her arm. Door, ajar. Hushed voices.

“Did I wake you?” A gentle voice, low and smooth. The voice that had spoken her name. A face, worried. Black eyes meeting hers. She closed them.

The next time Alina opened her eyes, her head felt mostly normal. She was in the same soft bed, still bundled under a mountain of warm blankets, the door ajar, the curtains drawn. Soft light flooded the quiet room. Dawn? She blinked. Someone was sitting in the chair again, his dark eyes on her. There were still tubes in her arm. Her body ached. She sat up slowly. He watched, unmoving.

“Kirian?” He shook his head, but slowly got up, came closer.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was still smooth, but there were emotions underneath, dark like the circles below his eyes.

“I don’t know.” Exhausted. Sore. Frail. Sick. Her throat felt raw. He poured water from a bottle she hadn’t seen earlier, handed the glass to her. She took it, glad that he had only filled it halfway when it almost swapped over, held it with both hands. She was weak, too weak. He took the glass from her when she was finished, set it back on the nightstand. Her head was spinning, and she laid back down. He gently pulled the blanket back up over her chest, sat down on the chair. She fell asleep again.

Voices. Muffled, in the corridor. The door closed now, nobody in the room with her. The light was bright and warm, her head felt as she supposed heads were supposed to feel. She waited.

When the door opened again, he walked through, eyes landing on her immediately. He gave a small smile. Relieved? The tubes from her arm were gone, the heavy weight of the blankets reduced. He walked over to the nightstand and poured another glass of water as she watched. She drank slowly, handed the glass back. He pulled the chair closer to the bed before sitting down again.

“Are you feeling better?” She nodded quietly. Had he been here all this time? How long had it been?

“What happened?” He was silent for a minute before answering.

“What do you remember?” Alina swallowed heavily.

“They took me. Asked questions. How did you find me?” He looked at her with a strange expression.

“We tried to follow their trail, and Helvar helped, but they covered their tracks well. I’m sorry it took so long.”

“Why?” Kirian looked confused. “Why did you look for me?”

“How could I not?” His face looked pained. Alina closed her eyes again. The hurt in his eyes was stinging, and she almost felt like he was insulted at her implying that he wouldn’t search for her. She remembered the dark figure in the chair, his voice in the dark.

“Have you been here this whole time?”

“I couldn’t leave you now.”

“Why not?” When he didn’t answer, she opened her eyes to look at him. There was suffering in the depth of his eyes, black and ancient. She wondered how old he was. Usually it didn’t matter. All but the most age-bent Grisha were children to her. But if he was a Shadow Summoner, possibly a descendant of the general working under king Anastas all those centuries ago, maybe he was old too, maybe even older than she was. For the first time, there was something in him that made her consider this possibility. An equal, he’d said about the Sun Summoner. Was he as lonely as she was? Lonelier? The silence between them stretched as they locked eyes. When the door opened, she looked away, but could still feel his burning gaze on her.

“Alya!” She flinched, suddenly remembering a different voice pronouncing a different name. Did he know? “I’m so relieved to see you awake!” Alina focused on Nina standing in front of her, her nervous demeanour contrasting with her cheerful voice. Her friend glanced at Kirian, who had abandoned his chair to stand at the window, his rigid back to them. His posture made it clear; he wasn’t leaving. Nina sat down, hesitated before carefully holding Alina’s hand in her own.

“How are you feeling? Have you been up for long?” Alina shrugged. Her friend’s behaviour was unlike her. Nina was not one to be nervous. “Matthias is outside. He wanted to come see you too. He helped, you know. Felt bad about how his past affected you. Can I... Will you allow him in?” But it hadn’t been his fault. Matthias had been a pawn in a plan conceived long before he was even born, she knew that now. She nodded. Nina got up with a small smile and another glance towards Kirian, and Alina understood. Nina was afraid. The brave, fearless Heartrender, scared of a mere man. Had he used his power? What had it looked like? What was he capable of?

She was tired. Nina and Matthias had been chased out by two nurses after half an hour, but Kirian had stayed, the nurses not even attempting to make him leave. How strange. They took her temperature, her pulse, blood pressure, looked into her eyes with a little light, stung her finger with a tiny needle. The man wrote everything down on her chart, his handwriting neat and slanted, while the older woman asked questions. How was she feeling, did she have a headache, did she know what day it was, did she have blurry vision, did she feel nauseous, did she remember how she got here. She could answer no to most, and was surprised to find out it was a Wednesday. Had all this happened within just five days? When they finally left the room, Kirian closed the door behind them, then returned to his chair.

“We found you in the early hours of the morning, last Friday. It must have taken them maybe a full day to get you there, if their itinerary was planned as meticulously as I believe.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “You’ve been out almost a week.” She looked at her hands. Nails broken, one blackened, skin red and raw. Someone had braided her hair out of the way. She took another sip of water, her lips dry and cracked. She still felt sore and in pain, but it was the ache of healing.

“When can I go home?” Her side stung with every word, bruised. Their kicks had been well-aimed.

“They’ll want to keep you for another day or two.” Alina nodded. She wanted her books, her home, her quiet life. “But I can’t let you go back to your place.”

“Why not?” He didn’t answer immediately.

“It’s not safe.”

His house was not much larger than hers but had a garden out front and was much tidier inside. The furnishings were dark, but large windows let in lots of natural light. Maybe she could have stayed with Nina in her tiny shoe box of an apartment, but she felt safe with Kirian, protected. He had barely even left the hospital room while she’d stayed there. Maybe she should be more worried about his behaviour, bordering on possessive, but he was gentle with her, caring and considerate, and it was like balm for her battered soul. Jesper set down her trunk in the hallway with a loud thud.

“I still can’t believe you have one of those old-fashioned things. Wouldn’t a suitcase be more practical?” Alina shrugged. She didn’t own one that fit enough books. He sighed.

“I have to go, Wylan is waiting for me. Inej will be here Monday morning to keep an eye on you.” He waved, stumbled through the door and was gone, taking his usual wild energy with him. She took a deep breath. His incessant chatter in the car had been grinding down on her nerves. She followed Kirian to the living area, where he was setting up the kettle.

“Tea?” She nodded, sitting down on the sofa. She still felt weak and tired, but now that they were finally alone, she had questions.

“How do you know my name?” He busied himself preparing the drinks, and she waited.

“You once told Inej that it was a nickname. It was the only thing you reacted to when we found you.” He handed her a steaming mug, sat down next to her. “Who’s Mal?”

Chapter Text

She flinched.

“How…?”

“You called for him when you were unconscious. Like you were looking for him.” He felt dejected, downright miserable. Her fingers went to her necklace. It had been the only one she’d been wearing when they’d found her, probably because she didn’t take it off to go to sleep. He had been surprised the drüskelle hadn’t taken it from her, but they likely hadn’t planned on her getting out. Whether she burned with or without jewellery seemed not to matter to them. It was a simple chain with a ring threaded through it. It didn’t look to be worth much, but she clearly treasured it.

“We were married,” she whispered, and the words went through him like a burning dagger.

“Were?” His voice was calm, calmer than he felt.

“He died a long time ago.”

They sat in silence for a while, their tea growing cold.

“What’s your name?” He leaned his head back, closed his eyes. He could feel Alina’s gaze on him, could feel her trepidation like a rope pulled taut around them.

“Aleksander Morozova.” He hadn’t spoken it in years, decades, centuries even.

“Is there anyone who remembers your name, Aleksander?” He liked the way she pronounced it, the way it seemed to be made for her lovely voice to speak it. He shook his head.

“My mother was the only one who knew it.” He gave her a wry smile. “She died a long time ago, too.” An odd expression flickered over her face, and she frowned.

“Winter, seventy-eight years ago.” He sat up and turned towards her, his heart beating faster.

“How do you know that?”

“I saw you.” Her eyes were wide, her voice barely above a whisper. “You were grieving. It was after Mal’s funeral, and­… I remember faces well.” He searched her face for something, anything, but couldn’t remember having seen it before.

“She was old, tired. Stopped summoning. It still took almost a century for death to claim her.” Alina looked thoughtful.

“If she was old almost two hundred years ago… How old are you? Are there others like you?” Her voice, her words were cautious, but he could feel hope underneath. Aleksander shook his head

“There were only ever me and her.” Alina was watching him, eyes wide.

“You’re the Black General.” It wasn’t a question, and he got up, set his cold mug down.

“You should rest.”

The smell of food seemed to have woken her. She appeared as he was almost done preparing dinner, wiping the remnants of sleep from her eyes, wearing an old t-shirt and faded joggers, feet bare.

“Can I help?” He smiled but shook his head, gesturing for her to sit at the table. She crossed her legs on the chair, looking almost at ease. When he put a bowl down in front of her, steam rising from it, she smiled happily.

“This smells like heaven,” she said, taking up her spoon, “after all that dreadful hospital food.” He was glad she liked it, had chosen an old recipe from what he guessed might have been her youth. But even with all his life experience, he still didn’t know how to ask a woman her age. They ate in silence, and cleared the table together. Aleksander refused her help with the dishes, sat down a plate of candied plums in front of her. It kept her contented while he cleaned up.

“There are no others like me either,” she suddenly announced. He studied her out of the corner of his eyes. She was playing with the ring on her necklace, looking forlorn. “I don’t know if there ever were. Legends, myths, prophesies, yes, but no real people. None. I thought I was alone but,” She smiled at him, and it was sad expression, full of loneliness and pain, “I think you may have been lonely longer than I’ve been alive.” Aleksander sat down next to her.

“You’re the Sun Summoner.” She nodded, not meeting his eyes.

“Is that why they were after you? The drüskelle.” Alina nodded again.

“I joined the First Army when I was sixteen, as a cartographer. Mal was a tracker, and for much of the time, we didn’t see each other. Then we were both stationed at Ulensk, during the border wars. He was assigned to a mission, and they needed a cartographer, so I volunteered. We were supposed to chart the territory north of the city, track a group of Fjerdan spies. Instead, they found us. There were drüskelle with them, and a prisoner. An amplifier. Once they had captured us, they tested us… I don’t know how the Grisha testers didn’t find me as a child when the Fjerdan ones did. I think when I was young, I was just too afraid of being separated from Mal, from being ripped out of the life I knew, no matter how unpleasant it was at times. But then, in the forest, their rifles pointed at him, after they killed our friends, I just… exploded. Their amplifier touched me, and the light burst from me, incinerating them.” She took a sip of water. “Mal was the only one left standing. He had been burned, but it was superficial enough. I don’t think I’d have been able to harm him if I wanted to. We went back, claimed one of their explosives went off and killed them, allowing us to escape. It was the first time I killed anyone.” She finally looked at him. “I really thought I’d gotten away with it. I left the army a year later, and we got a farm in ’76, after Mal left too. We lived in peace, you know, for a long time. After his death, I moved around a lot. I got Genya Safin, the Tailor from the Second Army, to age my face as Mal got older, but I stopped after his death, and the effects wore off quickly. I really thought – I didn’t know someone had survived.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and Aleksander reached for her hand without thinking. “But one of them did. His people found him, and most believed an Inferni had killed his comrades, but a small group saw the truth. They have been after me since then, trying to find the Sun Summoner in secret, isolated from the rest of their drüskelle brothers. They recruited Matthias, but when he left before they revealed their true ideologies, and came where they suspected me to be, they used him to get information without him knowing.” She sniffed. “One of the guards was very talkative. What did you do to them?” He gently wiped her tears with his hands, hate burning behind his sternum.

“Cut them down.”

“Is that why Nina is scared of you? And the others too?” He shrugged.

“I might not have been very good company on our little trip. Not knowing what was happening to you, whether you were even alive, if you were in pain… I’ve never known such anguish, Alina.” He watched her as she played with his fingers. They were still holding hands, and he felt as if she was grounding him, keeping him tethered to her, to reality. Part of him was afraid she’d pull back, tell him he was too intense, too early. If he hadn’t realised the extent of his attachment to her before she’d been ripped from him, how did she feel? There had been moments of flirtation between them, an attraction he knew she couldn’t deny, but this was different. Ardent, earnest, a bottomless hollow in his chest only she’d be able to fill. He didn’t know where it had come from or when it had started, but losing her had been like losing a part of himself, one he may not have been aware of, but one that had kept him alive. Like his heart, beating steadily without his doing.

“I was glad that you were the one there when I woke up. And thank you, for coming to get me. I don’t think I’ve said that yet. I don’t know how much longer I could’ve held out. How much longer they would have kept me alive.”

“I should have killed them slowly for what they did to you.” And he probably didn’t know the half of it. But Alina shook her head.

“That wouldn’t have been any good to anyone.” She yawned, leaned her head against his shoulder. “Will you show me? The shadows?” He leaned his cheek against her head for a second, enjoying her closeness, before lightly pushing her away.

“Tomorrow. You need to sleep.” She nodded reluctantly. A slight blush spread across her cheeks.

“Will you stay with me? Until I fall asleep?” He would stay with her forever if she let him.

“Of course, milaya.”

Chapter Text

The nightmares started that night. She had slept through most of the day peacefully, but the quiet didn’t last. It never did, she knew. They always came back to haunt her. She woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, her heart beating like it was trying to escape from her chest, in a dark, unfamiliar room. It took her a few minutes to get her bearings, to orient herself, and a few hours to calm down. By the time she was able to breathe normally, dawn was creeping through the curtains. She managed to get up and open them, her legs weak and trembling. Alina tried to open the window too, in desperate need of fresh air, but it was stuck. Was it too early to wake Aleksander? He wouldn’t be mad at her for waking him up, would he? But where was his room? She looked towards the door, closed, on the other side of the room, and it seemed to stretch, to loom over her in the darkness, drawing further and further away while the room shrank, the walls threatening to choke her. She sank to the floor, a strangled sob escaping her throat, hands clamped over her mouth. They would find her. They had found her before, hadn’t they? Who were they? Why were they looking for her? She hadn’t done anything, hadn’t hurt anyone. The image of charred bodies floated in front of her inner eye, the smell of burnt flesh, her own sobs deafening in her ears. Steps. Had they found her? Would they take her again, end what she had started all this time ago? She wanted to find the light, to use its heat to keep them away, but she couldn’t find it. There was no light, no heat, only darkness and a freezing cold taking hold of her, pulling her under in waves of pain, clawing at her skin, ripping at her hair.

She flinched when suddenly there were arms around her shoulders, warmth in the cold darkness, holding her, grounding her. Stilling the hands that had been grasping at her own flesh, scratching at scars that had long been healed, tearing the skin from her bones, bones that should long have been burned to ash. Someone was crying, and she realised it was her own voice muttering unintelligible words, her own tears soaking her skin, cooling her red-hot cheeks. A hand softly stroking her hair, gently untangling the knots she had woven into them without noticing. A low voice whispering words she couldn’t make out. She let herself be held, soothed. Saved.

By the time she had calmed down enough to be able to move her head to look around, the sun had climbed up high into the sky, a patch of light warming her skin. Aleksander was sitting next to her, his strong arms around her, keeping the nightmares at a safe distance. The shadows in the corners of the room were moving, agitated, disquieted. She could feel their worry as if it were her own. Or was it Aleksander’s? She looked up at him, and his eyes found hers, the anxiety she could feel writhing in the shadows plain in them, the desperation in her heart reflected back at her in their dark depths. It helped, somehow. To know she wasn’t alone in her suffering, that someone was there to catch her when she would fall, and fall she would, she knew. They had pulled her legs from underneath her, and she’d have to learn to walk on bleeding limbs again. She had been numb, and now she could feel the full effects of what they had done to her, to her mind, her spirit. But he was there. She leaned against Aleksander again, and for a long time they just sat, listening to each other’s slowing heartbeats, on the floor in his guestroom.

The weekend passed in a blur, the arms of the clock on the mantle inching forward with the speed of an aged snail. Alina passed the time in a state between waking and dreaming, startling at every sound, every movement. In turns locked away in her room, unable to face reality, lost in her nightmares, and clinging to Aleksander like a child, afraid to be alone with her thoughts. He held her hand whenever she reached out, sat outside her door when she barred it, coaxed some food into her when she allowed it, soothed her to sleep with fairy tales in Old Ravkan. She refused to let him call her friends to help, refused to talk about what was happening, what had happened. She could feel his distress but couldn’t bring herself to face it. All she could do was survive and all he could do was look on. Monday came, but he didn’t leave for work. He stayed outside her room, Inej like a silent ghost next to him, but Alina stayed under her covers, unable to confront another face. Inej left just as quietly as she’d come, and Alina didn’t see anyone else for days. She knew that someone brought groceries, that hushed voices enquired after her, but none of them were allowed over the threshold. Inside the house there were but her and Aleksander, his shadows and her demons.

The light felt foreign, strange, like it wasn’t part of her anymore. For decades now, the light had been an extension of her senses, something as natural and easy as using her eyes to see, her hands to feel, her ears to hear. Now it was like there was a thick fog between her and this part of her, disconnecting them, separating them ever since she woke up in that cell, hands bounds and unable to summon even the smallest sliver of light. A bitter taste in the back of her throat, tremblings in her fingers as she pushed herself, pushed through the fog, lost and disoriented, looking for something, anything to guide her. But there was no light. Instead, she found shadow, a darkness falling upon her.

She looked up to find Aleksander looming over her, hair tousled and wet, smelling of soap, wearing fresh clothes and a deep frown on his face.

“What are you doing?” His voice was gentle but stern. Alina looked down at her cramped hands, bent in a grotesque imitation of a summoning gesture. She shrugged, stretched her stiff fingers, and he sat down on the couch next to her, a towel still slung over his shoulders. He took her left hand, began massaging it. He must have found a pressure point, and she could feel the tension leaving her bit by bit, aided by his amplifying powers. He switched over to the right one after a few minutes, and she leant her head against his shoulder, breathing in his comforting presence.

“I know you need to summon, but you can’t force it.” He brushed the hair from her face, delicately caressed her cheekbone with his calloused fingers. His body held so much strength, yet he always touched her with such care, such tenderness. But Alina was fragile, as if she might burst and shatter if he so much as looked at her too hard. “Do you want me to help?” He held his hand out to her. An offer. She nodded, and he delicately wrapped his fingers around her wrist. A shiver went through her, but his hand was warm, firm but soft, pliable. He wasn’t restricting her, was helping her, amplifying her powers instead of taking them away. She made the same motion as earlier, banning any thoughts of shackles and metal bars from her mind, and this time, it worked. A small sphere of light appeared in between her hands, and she concentrated on steadying its light before growing it to the size of her head. She didn’t notice when Aleksander let go of her, too distracted manipulating its shape and size, its temperature and colour until she let it explode into a swarm of bright butterflies that dissolved into tiny little stars, moonlight in the darkness of his shadows. They covered the windows, the doors, keeping her safe inside their dark embrace.

“Finally,” she whispered, her voice rough after days of disuse, and burst into tears again.

It was hard being so brittle. Scared of her own reflection, but desperate to see. Afraid of her friends, longing for their unguarded laughter. Too frightened to leave the house but craving the sun on her skin. Still, it got better. Alina sat at the window, even dared to open it a crack. She closed it soon after, locking out the many sounds and smells that threatened to overwhelm her after a short while, but it was progress. She wandered through the house after kicking Aleksander out of his own home, forcing him to go to work. She knew Inej was somewhere, but hadn’t gathered enough courage to interact with another person yet. Solitude was all she could handle for now.

Chapter Text

It was difficult for Aleksander to watch Alina fall apart so thoroughly. But she kept picking up the pieces, and slowly, bit by bit, he saw her return to the woman he’d met all those months ago in that small, dusty bookstore. She smelled different, had not smoked since her abduction because she had been unable to leave the house. He disliked the habit, but the day he came back from work to her smelling faintly of cigarettes felt like a small victory. He hugged her for a long time then.

When she managed to read a whole chapter of a book without starting the same page over and over, another piece fell into place.

One evening, she made dinner, and although it was simple porridge, it was the most delicious meal Aleksander had ever tasted.

The night she fell asleep on the couch during a movie, on his chest, he stayed unmoving until dawn, until she woke up with a shy smile and mussed hair, and he knew the worst was behind them.

From that day on, it was a steady uphill battle. Once the nightmares lessened, so did her other symptoms, and Alina started talking again, smiling and laughing. She helped around the house, she read, she worried about her shop. When she had a bad dream, she knocked on his door, talked to him. They summoned together, light and dark intermingling, his shadows drawn to her light as he was to her. They went to her place one day to finally clean up, and her friends dropped by to help. She was tense around such a large group of people, startled easily, kept her back to the wall and eyes on the doors, but when they had ordered dinner and sat on the floor, eating among the piles of her books, she looked happy, relaxed. And as he saw her sitting, chatting and joking with the people closest to her, he realised that he was one of them.

The only one she’d been able to tolerate for weeks, the only one who knew even part of what had truly happened. And she was the only one who knew his identity, his name. They walked back together that night, back to his place, just the two of them. The streets were dark and quiet and he longed to take her hand, to pull her close. Instead, he buried them in the pockets of his jeans. But she smiled at him, her face open, her eyes warm, and held her hand out to him. He took it, and she leaned her head against his shoulder for a second while they walked on in silence. He unlocked the door, their fingers still intertwined. Didn’t want to let go of her hand, of her. She didn’t seem to want to either, tugged on his hand, tugged him closer. And finally, finally, he felt her lips upon his. A moment that seemed to stretch into infinity, his sun in his arms, his world in balance. He pulled her closer, felt the fire in his veins, her taste on his tongue, her soft moan in his ears as he picked her up. Felt alive.

Two weeks later, she opened her shop again. A month after, he sold his house. And every day he came back to her smile, her kisses, felt like everything was going to be alright. And maybe it was.

Their friends came by on most days, and when they moved away years later and made new friends, they still called and wrote. Every once in a while she’d have a nightmare, and he’d hold her until she would calm down again. She sold books and vinyls and CDs in their new town, and books and antiquities in the one after that, while he taught history and literature and art. They stayed off the records and registries, lived quiet lives, summoned where no one could see them. He’d get into his dark moods sometimes, but she’d be there to guide him through, and they didn’t have to feel lonely again. They enjoyed peaceful days, sat and listened to music together, and while the world evolved around them, they stayed as they had been, always on the move, never on the run, stagnant, ever-changing.