Chapter Text
Alina’s first instinct, of course, is to burn Vasily to a crisp. But then she remembers the other shapes standing just outside the door, and she has to assume that the Tsarevich brought at least one squad of drüskelle with him, possibly more. This isn’t a social visit: Vasily must have come here in order to win the battle before it’s even begun. To emerge with Aleksander as his prize.
It’s not that she and Aleksander together couldn’t take on a squad of drüskelle, especially with his nichevo’ya to help, but she doesn’t like this, being caught off-guard. They don’t know how many more witch-hunters might have approached from the rear, or surrounded the chapel in the dark. Attacking them right now would be a risk, one Alina’s not certain she’s willing to take.
“Of course,” Vasily is saying, his smirk almost unbearable, “you are the Sun Summoner. You do still have…a use. So I suppose if you came along with me now and begged for forgiveness, I might be inclined not to mention your presence here to the Tsar." He pauses, and Alina tries not to think about what that begging might involve, for fear that she’ll lose what little dinner she had managed to force down earlier.
Then the prince shrugs. “Not that he’ll care much, once I bring him the Darkling’s head.”
So this is what it comes down to, Alina thinks. She’s not foolish enough to think Vasily and his drüskelle will spare any of the other grisha here - even the children. Really, she had been fooling herself all along to think she could have negotiated anything else. Once Vasily had negotiated this treaty with Fjerda, this was really the only way things could end.
Vasily turns back to confer with the men he’s arrived with, apparently so convinced of his victory, that she’ll be coming back with him, that he’s willing to turn his back on the two most powerful grisha in Ravka. What a fool.
Aleksander, at her side but not touching her, is watching the doorway, his face completely blank. Alina is unnerved by it: she has only ever seen him in action, in command, in control. Has this - facing down an unknown number of drüskelle, with the lives of children and injured grisha in his hands - finally undone him? Or is he planning something behind that empty facade?
Lost in these thoughts, another familiar voice on her other side nearly makes her jump: “Quick. While they’re distracted. We can sneak you out the back.”
Of course, she thinks with some annoyance. There was no way Nikolai wouldn’t have kept watch on his brother, especially tonight. A few months ago, Alina might have been thrilled at the knowledge that the younger prince had arrived to get her out of a sticky situation.
But now? Now that she’s seen how powerless he is at court? Now that she knows, if she went with him, she would be returning in a weaker position than ever: the Darkling defeated, drüskelle operating freely throughout Ravka? Now that she knows there are grisha children here who have to be protected?
She elbows him, and mutters, “Not now, Nikolai,” but it’s too late. Vasily has turned back toward her and spotted him.
“Brother,” the elder prince drawls, “how nice of you to join us. Now run along before someone gets hurt.”
Alina has already seen this play out, and she knows the ending isn’t pleasant. Nikolai may be smarter and better than Vasily in every way, but the older prince will always win. Vasily’s birthright, his favor in the eyes of the Tsar, will always matter more. It’s as she had thought: Nikolai will not be a useful ally. So she considers her choices. Returning with Nikolai is not one.
Nor is turning tail and returning to camp with Vasily. She already knows what will happen next, if she chooses that path.
She could stay and fight by Aleksander’s side, make a bid for the throne. This group would have a better chance with her fighting on their side, but the risk of casualties would still be too high. Artillery and repeating rifles alone could do a lot of damage without even factoring in the drüskelle. And if Jarl Brum’s men were able to kill either one of them…she shudders at the thought.
And even if they won, Alina isn’t certain their rule would be an improvement over the Tsar’s. If she and Aleksander took the throne, they could make life better for grisha, but Alina still doesn’t trust that she alone can keep Aleksander from becoming a tyrant. From using the Fold to kill more innocent people, to create more blight on the land.
Or she and Aleksander could flee, as Baghra urged them to. Run like hunted creatures, into the night, until they found some dark hole to take refuge in. If they brought these grisha with them, at least they would be saving these lives, and she would be dragging Aleksander farther away from the throne.
She looks at the three men before her: the arrogant crown prince with the power of witch-hunters behind him; the crafty younger son who has little but his wits; and the ancient Shadow Summoner, backed into a corner but still baring his teeth. And in that moment, she knows who she will choose; has always known.
“Well?” Vasily looks impatient, but still confident, as if the idea she might refuse him hasn’t even entered his head. He turns fully toward her, and in that moment, as he turns his back on Aleksander once more, he collapses - dead or in a dead faint, she isn’t immediately sure which. Behind him, the soldiers who had been lurking outside the door seem to have vanished entirely, swallowed up by the darkness.
She looks up at Aleksander to see a look of grim satisfaction on his face.
On his other side, Ivan, who had definitely not been standing there a few minutes earlier, still has his hand raised in a Heartrending gesture. The Heartrender nods at Alina. “Not dead. For now.”
Before this moment, she might have been horrified that one of Aleksander’s men has incapacitated the crown prince. That the absence of a response from the men outside tells her they have been dispatched, too…by nichevo’ya? She hadn’t seen Aleksander Summon, after all. She might have once been frightened or angry or at least indignant, but now all she can feel is relief.
Unfortunately, Nikolai is still at her other side, the disgust clear on his face. Now she can see Tamar and Tolya standing behind him too, each of them holding an axe. Just the two of them, even outnumbered, would be formidable opponents.
“Sorry to interrupt the party,” Nikolai is saying, louder now, “but I think it’s time for the Sun Summoner to make an exit.”
The answer is simple. It comes to her, unbidden, without hesitation. “No.”
Aleksander squeezes her hand, just the slightest pressure, the only response she’s gotten from him since Vasily appeared. She doesn’t look at him.
“Alina.” Nikolai’s hand is suddenly firm on her other shoulder, pulling her away.
She turns on him, shoving him off, sending him off-balance. “Nikolai,” she snaps, “get out of here before you get hurt.”
“I could say the same to you,” he says drily, and although his tone is light, his expression is the darkest she’s ever seen it. Apparently he wasn’t expecting her to fight him.
She imagines it: walking out of here with Nikolai, the meek little Sun Summoner, tool of the Crown. Closing her eyes and her ears tomorrow morning when the drüskelle attack, forcing herself not to think of the innocents who will be slaughtered here, and all over Ravka, because she was a coward.
Alina doesn’t answer. Instead, she looks over at Vasily, an unpleasant taste in her mouth. “Do you want us to kill him?” she asks Nikolai, her voice surprisingly even.
It takes the younger prince a moment to realize what she’s asking. Aleksander stands beside her, stone-still. He’s waiting to see what she will do, she now realizes, and she doesn’t want to disappoint him. She will not have her first act as part of their strange new partnership betray any weakness.
“Kill…my brother?” Nikolai splutters. “What the f*ck are you asking, Alina?” The horror on his face should make her feel guilty, but it doesn’t. Not anymore.
Instead she looks at Nikolai squarely. “Do you want the throne?”
Nikolai shakes his head, his face looking slightly green. “Not that much…not like that.”
So Nikolai will not make this choice. Aleksander wouldn’t hesitate, she thinks.
Alina looks over at Ivan, but before she can signal the Heartrender, Nikolai too drops to the ground in a faint. Alina spins around to see Tamar with her hands raised, holding Nikolai unconscious.
“Why?” is the only question Alina can manage. “I thought you were loyal to Nikolai?”
“We are,” Tolya says matter-of-factly, “but you’re the Sun Summoner. You are Ravka’s salvation. If you intend to escape, then we’ll help you.”
“Besides,” Tamar adds wryly, “I don’t trust that mean-looking piece of sh*t over there not to give our Captain a big bump on the head.”
Ivan looks displeased at the insult, but says nothing.
“But…” Alina searches for words. “Won’t Nikolai be angry with you when he wakes up?”
Tamar shrugs. “It won’t be the first time we knocked him out before he could do something stupid.”
So this is it. This is their chance. But there is one more choice to be made. Alina doesn’t like it - she doesn’t like violence of any sort, not really - but unlike Nikolai, she now knows what needs to be done. What will give the grisha of Ravka, those she can’t protect herself, the best chance at survival. She looks at Ivan again.
“Kill him,” she says quietly.
With a small twist of his hand, Vasily’s body goes very still where it lies on the ground. Aleksander nods at her - he approves of her choice. She doesn’t know whether she should be pleased or frightened by that.
And now it’s time. She nods at Aleksander, and he announces, loud enough for all the grisha to hear him, “Time to go. Let’s put as much space between us and this army as we can before dawn.”
She sees Nadia go over to Tamar, a quick clasping of hands between the two of them, and then Nadia returns to her brother.
And then Baghra is leading the way, a strange echo of that long-ago but also not-so-long-ago day when Aleksander’s mother upended all of their lives - all of Ravka - with a single conversation. Alina supposes that it had to happen that way, though. Would Aleksander ever have told her the truth, if his mother hadn’t? Wouldn’t it have been an even worse betrayal, if he had collared her, without her having any warning or hint of what was happening to her? Who he really was, and what he intended?
The old woman, with surprising strength, slides open a panel behind the little chapel’s altar, and steps appear, leading down into darkness. Alina summons a ball of light to her hand, and she can see the Inferni in the group taking out their flints, preparing to light their way. Aleksander squeezes her other hand, still clasped in his, and down they go.
Their procession is achingly slow, and it grates on Alina, knowing who will soon be pursuing them, whenever the bodies in the chapel are found.Baghra is at the front, a few Inferni walking near her to provide illumination for the group. The injured lie on pallets propelled by Squallers; the children move in a clump, the younger ones holding hands. Nadia and her brother, Adrik, walk directly behind the children, keeping any from going astray.
Alina and Aleksander bring up the end of the line. They don’t speak, but the touch of their hands provides unexpected comfort through the endless tunnels, close and dank and utterly black outside the light provided by their procession.
Time is meaningless here. They might have been walking for hours, or days, or weeks, with only Baghra’s knowledge of the tunnel system preventing them from getting hopelessly lost,
At one point, Ivan steps back to Aleksander’s other side, and they hold a whispered conference Alina can hear almost none of. Then the Heartrender moves forward again, and Alina catches a glimpse of someone familiar.
“Fedyor?” she whispers, barely daring to hope he might be here with them.
Aleksander squeezes her hand and answers softly, “I told you I would punish him, solnishka, not kill him. But…well, I suppose you’ll see for yourself.”
She doesn’t have time to consider what he means by this, because at that moment she realizes Baghra is leading them off the tunnel they’ve been following, into a space - whether just an alcove or another branch off of this tunnel Alina can't tell by sight - the group is stopping and Baghra is turning toward them and signaling something. Aleksander looks at Alina. “Can you conceal all of us?”
Alina doesn’t ask why; there can only be one reason he’s asking this. So she nods and sweeps a hand over the group, noticing before he winks out of view how his eyes widen just a bit at this display of more power than he’s seen from her before. Satisfaction fills her at the idea that she can still impress even him.
The Infernis’ lights now extinguished, there is complete blackness in the tunnel around them. Aleksander’s hand is warm and solid in hers.
At the edges of the invisible cloak she’s laid over the group, she can feel movement as everyone presses toward the walls of the tunnel. The harsh sounds of breathing in the cramped space are soon dampened, so Alina has to assume Nadia or another Squaller is keeping them silent.
Then there is a glow at the mouth of the tunnel they have just come from, faint at first, but growing brighter as it approaches.
It’s a torch - a host of torches - and at its head a person’s features become clear in the light of this new torch, and the whole group nearly flickers back into sight again.
Because it’s Mal. Those f*ckers - the Apparat, Jarl Brum, someone - have sent Mal after them, and Alina knows that it doesn’t matter that they’re invisible and silent, that there’s no reasonable way he could track them down, Mal knows they’re here.
Several shapes appear behind him, First Army officers by their uniforms. And then Mal looks directly at Alina. Because of course he would know her, he would find her, no matter what. And for the first time in their lives, that’s not a comfort - it’s a threat.
She holds her breath. He doesn’t speak or move. His expression is completely blank, unreadable.
Then, finally, he turns to the man beside him, breaking their eye contact. “They’re not here,” he says sharply. “Let’s try the tunnel to the right.”
And then he’s gone, moving on to the next juncture, the other soldiers following behind. Alina sags against the wall, maintaining just enough composure to keep the group out of sight until she feels Aleksander’s hand on her arm, telling her it’s safe to release the cover.
Alina isn’t stupid. She knows Mal hasn’t had a change of heart, hasn’t suddenly decided to support the grisha cause. But something convinced him in that moment not to give her away, and for that she will forever be grateful to him.
Grasping Aleksander’s hand in her own, letting him lead her along so her suddenly weak knees don’t give out under her, Alina moves onward.
At some point - maybe minutes, maybe hours, maybe days later, who can tell in this darkness? - Baghra falls back and the rest of the group comes to an uneasy halt, waiting for her guidance to continue. The old woman confers quietly with Aleksander, the two of them so strangely in sync, saying what must be a great deal in just a few words. It's as if their years of being at odds have fallen away to leave only the ancient partnership between them, older even than the resentment and criticism that seems to make up most of their relationship now.
Alina catches only a few words, but it’s enough to understand that they’ve come to a decision point: exit the tunnels here, giving them more freedom to maneuver, or continue on in the relative safety of underground. She knows which she would prefer - the tightness of the tunnels has been grating on her since the moment they entered them - but Aleksander and his mother know the landscape much better than she does.
Finally, decision made, Baghra returns to the front of the procession, Aleksander at her side and bringing Alina along with him. “The Apparat has at least some knowledge of these tunnels,” he whispers as they move, “so there’s a good chance we’ll find someone waiting for us when we emerge.” She nods, and prepares to Summon.
Aleksander ascends a small flight of stairs carved into the tunnel wall beside them, pushes open a trapdoor, and sunlight spills into the tunnel as Alina follows him.This is Alina’s element, but it still blinds her for a moment, after the long hours they’ve spent in total darkness.
And that moment is enough. Her vision still spotty, Alina sees shapes moving toward them, and, barely thinking, lashes out with a Cut. She doesn’t stop to see whether she hit someone, because beside her Aleksander is muttering, “Shield us,” and she does, letting her light rise in front of them as a hard surface, maybe not strong enough to stop a bullet, but enough to at least stop axes and burn any attacker who threw himself at it.
It’s more drüskelle, Alina realizes with a groan as her vision adjusts, along with at least a full squadron of First Army troops. They haven’t used their repeating rifles yet, so they must have orders to capture her alive.
As she settles the shield around them, Alina can see more grisha emerging from the trapdoor, joining the battle as soon as their vision clears.
She sends another Cut toward one of the attackers, then spares a glance at Aleksander.
It’s mesmerizing. She’s rarely seen Baghra Summon, never seen the two of them work together. This is probably the first time they’ve done this in centuries, but they’re so in sync with each other, their bodies must remember how it feels to fight beside one another. Baghra looks younger, the lines around her face receding. The tendrils of shadow swirling around each other would be beautiful, if they weren’t terrifyingly deadly.
The moment of distraction is enough. Alina sees him out of the corner of her eye, the drüskelle who’s snuck around behind her shield and is aiming his rifle at her. Apparently Jarl Brum’s orders must not be absolute, Alina thinks wryly, detached, too late to stop the man with a Cut.
But a wall of shadow rises in front of her, swallowing the bullets that had been heading straight toward her, and then snaking around the attacker and swallowing him as well.
Once the tide of the skirmish has clearly turned, the remaining attackers turn to flee. She looks at Aleksander, and sees resolve on his face. Every part of her that once trained as a soldier rebels against the idea of killing a retreating enemy - especially men who would have once been her comrades - but they can’t allow even one man to escape and bring word of their location back to Jarl Brum and the First Army command. Almost in unison, she and Aleksander raise their arms, and two men are sliced in half as others are felled by ice daggers and cyclones and bursts of flame.
Alina surveys their group and sees a few injuries, already being tended by the Healers who have emerged from the tunnels now.Thankfully, nothing looks terribly grave. Her shield and their offense must have done their work, then.
Aleksander strides over to her, apparently satisfied by the state of their troops, and looks her over. Pushes the hair that has fallen out of her braid back out of her face. Cups her cheek, then kisses her, quickly, softly, barely enough to register before he pulls away, and yet she feels his touch linger on her lips for far longer. The first time he’s kissed her, in the flesh, since she ran from him, all those months ago.
She nearly chases him, nearly grabs the back of his neck to pull him back in, before she remembers where they are.
“Where are we going?” she asks instead, trying to keep her voice even, to betray none of the giddiness her body feels at having him close, having him back.
“To safety,” he says simply, and he takes her hand, leading her toward the hills that loom in front of them.
