Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They tie her to the deck.

Of course they do. What better way to minimise the risk of her doing something despite all the threats, everything they have over her head, the stranglehold Aleksander believes he has over her powers that she can’t wait to prove him wrong about.

But that doesn’t matter. Not really. He still has to get within arm’s reach to use her light. He has to touch her. And that’s really all she’ll need when it comes right down to it.

She’s not intending to run.

Ivan stands from checking the tie and Fedyor, right behind him mouths something that might be “I’m sorry” but Alina doesn’t care to look at him long enough to confirm. He can claim to care about her all he likes: he may have comforted her last night, and maybe he even passed along her message to Mal, but despite the way her heart screams that he’s family too, Alina does not forgive him and she won’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him while he contributes to her bondage.

Kirigan approaches her and hovers behind her after Ivan moves away to the side and Fedyor follows. Alina lets the snarl that she’s been hiding in her throat slip out with her words as she lashes out at him with the viciousness that she’s spent so long trying to hide. “This isn’t a good look for you.”

There’s no need for any kind of pretence any more. The course is set and nothing anyone else does can change it now. Not unless the Darkling decides not to go through with this after all and cancels the trip. And he won’t do that. He’s too confident in his winning hand, too close to what he’s spent centuries planning for. He’d never dream that the little slip of an orphan he’s bound to himself with intangible chains could find a way to turn the tables and win the game. And she’ll use that until he learns better or it kills them both.

“Everyone will see that I’m your prisoner.” She tells him as he comes up behind her and reaches for the fastening of her cloak in a mockery of a lover’s caress. She doesn’t think for a moment that anyone will actually care that she’s tied to the deck. She’s not nearly naïve enough for that. At most it will just be a rumour that spreads when they speculate about it later. None of them have either the guts or the idiocy to challenge the Darkling here, surrounded by his people.

But that doesn’t mean that Alina’s not willing to try and distract him with the concept anyway. It probably won’t work, but it’s not like that’s stopped her before or like it will change anything to come.

“I doubt very much they’ll notice your feet.” He says, his tone low and his breath grazing her ear as he takes his time with the fastening. Alina cannot stop the way her entire body tenses at the proximity and the threatening intimacy of their positions. To any outsider they probably look like lovers or two people dancing around the possibility. She doubts that anyone other than the Heartrenders on board will notice the way her muscles have gone rigid, her breath caught, and her heartbeat increased in panic and fear at his proximity.

She can’t stop the involuntary flight or fight reaction that courses through her body at the threat she feels from his position.

She fights it and forces herself to calm down by distancing herself from the sensation and instead focusing on the way the antlers press down on her collarbones and threaten to burst out of her skin.

Although… the Heartrenders… that’s interesting. She only sees Corporalki in black and scarlet, not a hint of Healer’s grey embroidery anywhere.

She’s distracted and has to physically close her eyes for a moment when he whips away the comforting covering of the cloak to expose her dress and bare the awful collar around her neck to the world.

She can almost feel the heaviness of the stares on her back when everyone turns to look. She’d almost think that she’s imagining it - that she’s convinced herself of something not actually there, but the hyperawareness she has of Ivan as he steps back into her orbit to take her cloak from Aleksander gives away the truth. His smug footsteps and confident body language turned to the skiff passengers prove that they’re all looking at her.

The Darkling circling around to her other side is almost a few moments of relief as his body blocks hers from view. But only almost. He’s too close. And she might need him close for her plan to work, but until that moment comes she wants him nowhere near her and as far away as possible. Even the weight of his gaze, the faint touch of his breath on her neck, her ear, is too much.

She almost wants to be sick at everything. Him, his excuses, his presence, the people, the awe directed her way. Mal’s imprisonment, the collar around her neck, this dress that is almost suffocating in its cut and style and colour. The black embroidery that Aleksander has used to mark her as his. She hates it, she hates it so much she wants to be sick with it.

But she can’t. She can’t lose her cool. Not now. Not when she’s so close to kicking him where it hurts and winning back her freedom the only way she can.

So she breathes in quietly, as deeply as she can without Kirigan noticing, ignoring the press of the antlers on her chest when she does. She feels her heartbeat skip again and knows that the Corporalki onboard all noticed but prays to whatever saints might still be listening that none of them say or do anything about it.

She feels the General move further away, giving her just a little bit of distance while still hovering close enough that she can’t ignore him and does her best to block out his presence. Instead, she focuses on the Fold. The shadow in so many of her nightmares that’s stolen so much from her, so much from everyone. She knows what look she’s wearing; it’s the one Mal likes to refer to as the one where she’s picked her next bully.

One way or another, this is the end. As the Sun Summoner, she’s pretty sure she’s only got one job, and this is it. So she’s decided: by the end of the day either the Fold will be destroyed or she will. There are no other options and she’s going to go through Aleksander to do it. And he’s really not going to like how she does.

She steels herself as she feels him give the order and the skiff starts to move towards the all-encompassing darkness.

He moves back around to stand almost but not quite over her left shoulder: he seems to like that position; it probably makes him feel powerful. Just like any other bully. She doesn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear or falter.

She stares up at the Fold, the wall of darkness so tall it blots out the sky, and idly observes in what she hopes comes across as carelessness, “I didn’t see any Healers boarding earlier. Isn’t it protocol that no skiff leaves the docks without at least two on board?” If she’s remembering her regulations correctly then there should be an additional Healer for every additional six passengers over the minimum, every two Diplomats or foreign officials, and every additional ranking Officer on board. She’s not sure what she or the Black General would count as, but even from her brief observations of the passengers earlier there should be at least three extra Healers on top of the standard two if she counts herself and Kirigan as important enough to rank one between them.

She feels the weight of his attention when he turns to focus on her rather than the monstrosity that he created. “They won’t be necessary on this trip.” He tells her with a confidence that doesn’t quite seem impenetrable and with the faintest hint of confusion in his voice that could well be her own imagination, “We have the Sun Summoner on board to keep us safe after all.” He pauses for a breath before continuing in what she could almost believe is an attempt at reassurance if she hadn’t already seen straight through that lie, “Besides, Fedyor has Healer training - he chose to switch tracks to become a Heartrender really rather late, you know. And Ivan can more than make up for any strength that he lacks.”

Alina doesn’t say a word in response. If his misplaced arrogance in his control over her means he’s stupid enough that there are no Healers aboard for this then she’s not going to give him a reason to doubt that that’s the right decision. If that makes what she’s going to do just that little bit easier with no Healers to fix the damage she’s intending on causing then so much the better for her. It’s the Darkling’s problem then, not hers.

The false thunder of the Fold echoes above them as she looks back at it and she narrows her focus until it’s all she sees.

She knows her face is hardening into the same expression she wears right before she hits someone or threatens to knife them, and she twitches her wrist to feel the assurance of the blade in her sleeve right before the Fold swallows them all whole.

Aleksander waits until they’ve been in the Fold for a while before he speaks. Alina doesn’t react. She doesn’t let herself focus on anything but counting. She has to wait until they’re halfway through the Fold before she can put her plan into action. She needs to be as close to its centre as she can be for maximum effect.

“Can you feel them?” He asks.

Alina doesn’t know what he’s talking about or who he’s talking to, and she doesn’t care. She’s still counting and breathing and focusing on the feel of the cool steel pressed between her sleeve and her wrist.

Eight Oprichniki, four Heartrenders, two Squallers, an Inferni, and a Shadow Summoner. And about half a dozen or so Diplomats with their entourages and personal guards. It’s not enough to stop her from what she’s going to do but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t feel just a little bit guilty about the crossfire they’re all about to get caught in when she makes her move. It really just depends whose side they take at that point. And if it’s his? Well then she’s not about to let herself feel guilty about what might happen to them.

“No heartbeats yet, sir.” Ivan says, and it must have been him that Kirigan was talking to.

She distantly hears a woman asking something about the markers but she isn’t really listening over the sound of her heartbeat and the rumbling of the Fold and the too-loud sound of her own breathing that she’s pretty sure is just in her head.

They’ve been lucky so far, to have not been approached by volcra yet. By her count they’re nearly to marker six. The thirty-eight markers aren’t quite evenly spaced out if she’s remembering her brief training on the geography of the Fold correctly, but she’s going to take marker nineteen as her cue to act anyway. It’s as close to halfway as she can be sure of and she can’t risk making her move any closer to Kribirsk than that.

That’s when she hears the subvocal growls that aren’t quite the same pitch as the Fold’s thunder and a chill goes straight through to her bones. She’s only heard that noise once before but she’d know it by instinct alone even decades from now. Volcra.

“They’re coming.” She whispers, more to herself than anything else.

“Yes.” Kirigan says from where he’s suddenly right next to her, something almost satisfied in his voice and just like that she knows that this is a show as much as anything else. He’s not going to get her to use her light to protect them until the very last moment. This is about power and showing off what they - he - can do with it.

“I should just tear this down now!” She spits out, only half meaning it.

But it seems her sincerity is enough for Aleksander to snap back, “And what can you really do on your own?” The venom in his voice is designed to undercut her and if she was the girl that he thought she was then it might have even worked. But she has come too far and done too much and survived for too long to let him get to her that easily.

She’s going to win this. But not yet. Not with the fear the volcra are causing her. She’s stronger than that. Stronger than him and far stronger than he knows. She has her mother’s unconditional love, and Mal’s unwavering faith, and her Stag’s full, never-ending, never-doubting trust. She has steel in her spine and a mouth full of teeth and the survivor’s determination that carried her from a sickly childhood through basic training that should have killed her all the way through the Fold and the Little Palace and running away and brought right back here to where everything started.

She’ll die before she lets him and his monstrous Fold win. And taking away his prize pawn, the tool he needs to control the Fold and the masses? That’s a win too.

So she bites her tongue and doesn’t respond and lets him think he’s scored a hit. Because only one of them doesn’t understand the ramifications of the antlers he put around her neck and used to bind them together. And it isn’t her.

He shows off the single slice of antler in his hand and she wants to tear it away from him and rip it out because it doesn’t belong to him. But she doesn’t. Because she still needs it. She still needs him to think he’s winning.

And no matter how she hates it, she has to go through the motions of submission now, so that she can tear him apart later.

So she takes several deep breaths and tries to force herself to calm down. She thinks she feels a whisper of familiar soothing start to creep under her skin, but she rejects it and focuses on her rage to make it leave. She doesn’t want Fedyor’s empty comfort here.

She looks away when he continues talking in a low voice that isn’t quite a whisper, if only because of the noise of the volcra and the Fold making such low tones impossible, “Besides, it would be a monumental waste of power.”

She has to clench her teeth this time to stop a response and only resists curling her lip up to bare them at him by the continuous repetition of not yet, not yet, almost, nearly time that she’s turned into a mantra. She knows her pulse jumped at his words but she wrestles it down to calm and focuses on her resolve.

It’s the only thing keeping her going and the only reason none of the Heartrenders have realised yet that her emotions are off.

She turns back to the front and ignores everything but the Fold and the sound of the volcra. Save her occasional glances upwards, she doesn’t move. She keeps counting, keeps breathing, keeps her focus narrowed to the sound of the Fold, the darkness around them and the cool steel at her wrist. She’s not ashamed to admit, even if only to herself, that the blade in her sleeve is the only thing that’s letting her keep her calm.

She uses the metal to ground herself, as a reminder of what she’s doing and what her goals are.

They keep moving and she keeps counting and keeps an eye out for the markers.

The volcra keep growling and screeching and the Grisha and Oprichniki have all taken defensive stances and are getting twitchy.

By her count they’re getting close to halfway and by the sounds, the volcra are getting closer. She’s so strung out that she can’t bear it anymore, the tension is getting to her, so she finally just whirls on Aleksander, “Do something!” She demands of him.

He just looks up silently in contemplation. She moves to start summoning when he ignores her, half out of desperation to do something and half out of morbid curiosity of what he’ll do when she tries.

“No!” What he’ll do is apparently grab her and manhandle her, all pretences of kindness and civility gone as he snarls at her and forces her sunlight to his bidding the moment it starts to shine, “Remember who’s driving!”

She can’t help the gasp of pain that leaves her as he forces the bubble she was trying to make into a tunnel that connects Kribirsk to Novokribirsk along the skiff’s route.

The shine is almost blinding and it looks beautiful in a way that feels horrifying.

“Your power is mine now.” The Darkling tells her as she looks up and around at the tunnel that they’ve created.

She’s only half listening to the possessiveness in his voice as she focuses on the part of her that is her powers and the faintest, almost imperceptible, thrumming in the antler-bones around her neck.

It hadn’t been intentional, but now she knows exactly how this connection, this bridge, this door between them both works.

She knows how it feels, what happens when he forces the connection, what the power does, what route it follows.

And now she knows how to use it. She’s confident now that she can turn it back on him. The shock and pain of what he’d done? That was a surprise in the split second he’d done it, but now she knows what to expect, and she’s pretty sure she can turn the tables on him so he gets just as blindsided. She’s almost certain that between the two of them she’s the better at pushing through that kind of surprise and pain. Even if he knows how, he’s far more out of practise.

The people behind them, save the Grisha, are all shock and wonder and surprised and confused murmurings. Alina doesn’t have the attention to spare for them.

They’re coming up on the halfway point of the Fold by her count, but something about the General’s actions are ringing alarm bells. Why a tunnel? She’d expected him to make her create a bubble around the skiff - he doesn’t want to destroy the Fold, it’s too valuable to him, but a tunnel? That just doesn’t make sense as a demonstration.

…Unless it’s not the demonstration he has mind.

If the demonstration he alluded to this morning wasn’t her power, but his…

Her blood runs cold. The Fold is his creation, what if he could always control it? She’d assumed he’d lost control, but if he hadn’t…

She can’t let him go through with this demonstration, but she also can’t risk that he’ll use the Fold against her when she tries to burn it up.

Saints damn it all. She’s going to have to wait for him to make his move. She’s certain he’ll make it before they dock at Novokribirsk, she’s got a pretty good idea of how his brain works by now, but she can’t risk his plans interfering with hers so she’s got to wait for him to start it before she can throw it off course and go through with her own plan that’s admittedly more built on spite and pure determination and an instinctive grasp of the Grisha and Amplifier theory that the rest of them all got so wrong than any kind of actual strategy. But it doesn’t matter.

The consequences of her destroying the Fold and going through the Darkling to do it are a later problem. Someone else can deal with it.

Right now what she’s got is her own anger and pettiness, a patience born of necessity, bone-deep determination, and the half solid presence of the dead Stag whose last gift rests fused around her neck.

A mostly dead Stag vs seven Grisha, eight Oprichniki, and whichever of the passengers decide that the Darkling is a better ally than the scared young Sun Summoner. She’s got this. They’ve got no chance. Like Mal said. What do they know? Keramzin builds people differently.

She doesn’t bother confronting or questioning the General. She’s not interested in whatever half answers he’d give her. And it doesn’t matter anymore anyway. In less than the time it will take for them to get to Novokribirsk this will all be over and she’ll be free. One way or another.

Aleksander really shouldn’t have underestimated her and assumed he knew her. Whatever kind of mother Baghra was to him, she clearly failed at teaching him the lessons that Ana Kuya taught her.

But that’s really not her problem. It’s now just a matter of time. Her patience isn’t great but it’s enough for this. It’s really not much longer.

She breathes in and out. In and out. Her pulse stays calm and the antlers keep thrumming, in a way that’s almost comforting. She’s only half noticing their intrusive presence anymore.

The blade is still cool against her wrist.

She starts counting again.

Now, it’s a waiting game.

She’s got this all under control.

Of course, he doesn’t let her keep her silence.

“Aren’t you going to ask?”

Alina shuts her eyes for a moment before turning to him. “Why just carve a tunnel?” She says blankly with no feeling behind it, “Why not destroy the Fold, like you said we could?” There’s no emotion, no drive behind the words, Alina doesn’t have the energy to spare for it, she’s going to need it later.

Aleksander turns in triumph to her, she is after all, his captive audience. Behind him, just in front of the stairs to the mainmast, Fedyor eyes her with concern. Of course. He knows her well enough by now to realise that something’s wrong. She’s too compliant and not emotional enough for the girl he’d come to know in the Little Palace. He’s too good not to notice that she’s off.

She ignores him. She ignores the ember of warmth in her heart at the concern that he’s showing at the prospect of something being wrong. It’s probably concern for what it will mean for the General’s plans anyway.

“And why would we destroy the Fold?” The General asks, looking dead at her with almost no emotion in his voice but a smile on his face that almost looks enthralled, “It’s the greatest weapon that we’ve got.”

Alina wants to be sick at the confirmation of her worst fears, the fact that the Fold is a weapon to him, a weapon to be used against his enemies.

She keeps herself calm, not here, not yet, almost, nearly time, she repeats in her head and turns her back on him, not bothering to hide her disgust.

The horror resonates in her but she uses that to fuel the rage and determination that she’s channelling into the part of her that holds the power of the sun. She can use it. And she will.

She ignores him and focuses on her breathing, her pulse, the steel at her wrist that’s just waiting for her to use it. She focuses on counting.

They’re almost to Novokribirsk when the General gives the order to stop. She can literally see the daylight on the other side and she tenses. This is it, the moment he’s been planning for.

Aleksander says something to the other passengers, something about demonstrations and power, but Alina is too busy marking the positions of the Grisha, especially the four Corporalki, to pay attention.

Fedyor catches her eye and tries to communicate something to her, but she has no interest in whatever he’s trying to say and instead turns her attention to Aleksander, where he’s moved closer to her. He’s now the closest person to her and no one else is in either of their reach. She reaches for her wrist, knowing that it’s now or never.

There’s a split second of doubt as he takes a step closer to the front of the skiff, and then he makes a gesture with his hands and the Fold rumbles.

It only takes Alina a split second to identify the horror of what he’s doing. What he’s using her powers to aid in.

And just like that any doubts or second thoughts that she’d had slip away like water and she takes a single step as she pulls the letter opener free of her sleeve.

She hears Zoya cry out in horror from the mainsail and shock from the other passengers as the Fold starts to move, ready to consume everything in its path.

The Fold reaches the dry docks of Novokribirsk before Alina can finish making her move but before it can go any further Alina stabs the blade of the letter opener in and up just like Fedyor taught her and she knows that she’s definitely done it right because all of the feeling in her left arm goes numb. She can’t stop the small punched out noise of pain that she makes, but that’s okay, because it makes Aleksander turn around and stop pushing the Fold, which is what she was aiming for anyway.

“No!” Aleksander immediately moves towards her, but she takes another step away from him and tightens her grip on the blade, glad that no blood has started leaking yet and the handle isn’t slippery.

“Stop.” She says very, very calmly. “Nobody move. Because the only reason I’m not already dying is that I haven’t pulled the knife out yet and if anyone tries to get closer to me or tries anything then I will pull it out.”

Aleksander shakes his head mutely and steps back, spreading his arms apart to show that he’s not going to try anything. But Alina doesn’t miss the twitch of his fingers and she’s seen him do it before and knows exactly what it means.

“I wouldn’t do that Ivan.” She says, right as she feels his power slide under her skin and they both freeze.

Alina takes another step, this one to the side and away from them both, pulling at the last of the slack from the rope tying her to the deck, and turns so that Ivan stands somewhat between her and the rest of the people on the skiff and she can still see Aleksander without turning her head. She catches sight of the way Fedyor has paled from his position under the mainsail and ruthlessly quashes the guilt that rises up in response.

He made his choices. And she’s made hers.

“Right now, the only thing keeping this knife in place is the fact that I haven’t let go.” She informs them all, knowing that if she lets up on the pressure even slightly, the blade will slip out of the wound.

She breathes in heavily before continuing - she may have underestimated how difficult breathing would be after stabbing herself with the antlers still pushing down on her chest.

“If you try anything, Ivan, then I’m not going to be able to keep holding it. You’re under my skin which means you know exactly where I just stabbed and how bad things will get if the knife comes out. Aleksander, since you don’t seem to quite be getting it, I’ll explain.” Alina bares her teeth at him in what could barely, generously be called a smile, “If I pull this knife out then I will bleed to death in approximately fifteen seconds; unless there is a healer standing right next to me and already working to heal me when it comes out then my chances of survival are approximately zero. And as you so graciously pointed out earlier, there are no healers on board.” Alina’s lip twitches in what could be mistaken for amusement, but is closer to a snarl, “Now you are going to listen to me very closely, or else you will be down a Sun Summoner.”

Where before Aleksander looked alarmed, now he looks downright worried, and he glances towards Fedyor in a movement that Alina would have missed if she wasn’t looking for it. Unfortunately for him, she was looking for it, and she’s not feeling particularly merciful, “Fedyor can’t help.” She juts her chin at him, “He’s all the way over there, by the time he gets over here and past all the passengers and gets his hands on the wound he’ll probably have already lost at least three seconds and I don’t need to tell you how critical even moments can be when it comes to serious injuries like this.” She kindly pretends she doesn’t see the quick glance he shoots at Ivan, or Ivan’s minute grimace and shake of the head in return, confirming that she does indeed know what she’s talking about and he can’t do anything about it.

Aleksander shakes his head again, “Please, Alina, let’s be reasonable about this. You could die.”

Alina bares her teeth at him again, it feels good to let him see the anger and resentment, “I know,” she says slowly, like she’s speaking to a small child, “That’s the whole point. You don’t value anything else. Just the power I possess that you want to use to your own ends. There’s nothing else I could threaten that you would listen to. So. Would you like to talk now?” She asks him, mirroring his own words from this morning back at him.

He looks angry. Good. She doesn’t let him get a word in before he continues. See how he likes being a captive audience.

“Back away from Novokribirsk and go and stand in front of the other passengers. Take Ivan with you.”

He growls almost imperceptibly but does as she asks. She turns so she can keep them in view and when he’s finally standing between her and the other passengers, out of reach, Ivan behind him, over his shoulder like always, she lets herself relax a little.

“There will be no more using the Fold as a weapon.” She tells him, tells the rest of the passengers too. Something moves under the mainsail, and she thinks maybe the trapdoor opens to let someone out but she ignores it. “This is my power. And I’m not about let you use it for such monstrous things.”

“They are traitors,” Aleksander grinds out, “They tried to kill you. It’s just retribution!”

Alina tilts her head at the attempted justification. From the horror she manages to catch on Fedyor’s face, and on the female Heartrender next to him, who Alina doesn’t recognise, she’s not the only one who thinks that attempt at getting her to agree with him was weak. Or maybe they just clocked that her heartrate hasn’t really changed at all between pre- and post-stabbing. It’s really not important either way.

Alina is calm and in control and feels more herself than she has since the last time she was in the Fold and lost one of the only true friends she’d ever had.

“Retribution,” she says with the kind of calm that only ever means cold, icy fury, and warns of danger for the source of that rage, “Would be attempting to assassinate the man who gave the order. Not trying to slaughter an entire. City.” She snarls at Aleksander when he tries to interrupt, “This is the exact kind of mentality that created the Fold in the first place and I will. Not. Accept that.”

“They-” Aleksander tries to interrupt but she cuts him off immediately, not interested in what he has to say.

“I wasn’t finished.” She tells him and the rage must come through in her voice because he sways back like she’s hit him.

“You think that power is all that matters. That being stronger than anyone else makes you right!” Alina shakes her head and doesn’t make eye contact, “But you’re wrong. You’re just another bully, like all the rest. If someone’s different or weaker than you, you’ll just step on them and try and exert your will. You don’t listen until someone makes you. You’re not special.” She practically spits the word out, “There are dozens of men just like you who think that having power or being stronger than their victims means they can do what they want. That don’t care about anything but themselves. And they’re never ever satisfied.” She stares him down coolly, “Nothing will ever be enough, you’ll always want more than what you have.” She ignores the fact that she’s not just talking about herself, that she’s thinking of Genya when she says these things too, at least a little.

She waits just long enough for him to try to formulate a response before she talks again, “You like to talk a big game about how you’re just trying to do what’s best for Grisha, but how many Grisha did you nearly just kill in Novokribirsk? How many Grisha in Second Army uniforms would have been attacked and executed in retribution if you’d gone through with your plan? It’s like I said before: you don’t care who suffers as long as you win.” She sees the way her words score a hit, not just on Aleksander, but on the other Grisha too, Ivan, and Fedyor, and the Inferni and the Heartrender that she doesn’t know.

This time Aleksander waits to be sure she’s done before trying to speak. She raises an eyebrow at him when he hesitates before speaking, still counting in her head until she takes down the Fold. Except now she’s counting down instead of up.

“Are you done with your tantrum?” He asks, like she’s a child, “You have no idea what I’m protecting you from. What I’ve shielded you from. Sycophants and cultists obsessed with possessing you.”

“And that’s different to you how exactly?” She scoffs, narrowing her focus and ignoring the other passengers. Not long now, she just needs him to disregard the danger and take one step closer to her. She mentally reaffirms her control over the power keeping them safe from the Fold and flexes it ever so slightly just to prove to herself that she can.

No one seems to notice.

“It’s you and me, Alina,” Aleksander says earnestly, “We need each other.” He takes one step towards her, hand out in move that’s either an offer or a plea, she doesn’t really care which, “All we need is each other,” another step and he’s just out of her reach, “Please.” He says it in that same tone that is almost but not quite covering his monstrous snarl, with the same false tears welling up in his eyes, reaching out to her with the hand that holds the antler bone keeping them connected.

It’s a mistake. Because now, he’s close enough and she’s done stalling.

She glances behind him to the other passengers, all with very levels of emotion on their face, most with some kind of horror. And there, at the very back, in the kindest dream she’s ever had, is Mal, staring at her and saying her name.

She sends him a small, sad smile. She almost wishes he was really here, but a dream Mal is good enough for her; the real Mal is out of danger.

She turns back to Aleksander and scoffs at him. Then, she mentally takes a firmer grasp on the power encircling the skiff and feels it respond even as it still doesn’t waver.

“You may have needed me,” she tells him scathingly, “But I never needed you. Enjoy eternity alone.”

She tears the knife out and lets it clatter to the deck and flings her arms out in the same movement and pushes.

“NO!” Aleksander roars, leaping towards her but a wave of sunlight so bright it burns throws him back as Alina grabs a hold of the tether that ties them together and pulls.

“I only have one job as Sun Summoner.” She tells him, feeling herself immediately start to grow weaker with every gush of blood out of her wound, even as she distantly registers familiar hands grabbing at her injury and putting pressure on the hole she’s made in her own side, “And I’m going to make sure the Fold dies with me.”

She can practically feel Aleksander’s fury even as she sways slightly, “You will stop this now.” He orders her and tries to reinforce it by grabbing her wrist to force the sunlight back down, momentarily seeming to forget that she’s bleeding out.

Alina doesn’t let him. He’s walked straight into the jaws of the trap that she left wide open for him. If he’d truly cared about her the way he proclaimed, rather than her power, he never would have fallen for it, he’d have been too concerned with the injury. His very actions prove the lie. And now, he’s opened the door that connects him to her and that’s all that she needs. She can see it in her mind’s eye and sweeps in with her sunlight taking his strength and using it to feed the supernova that she’s becoming.

Another wave of light, brighter than the last sweeps out and Alina can feel the Fold fighting back but it cannot compete with the pure sunlight that she pours into it.

Aleksander lets go of her wrist like he’s been burned and staggers back, almost colliding with someone fighting behind him and sways slightly, “Impossible,” he gasps.

Alina shakes her head and looks up to where the first hint of sunlight in centuries shines down on the ground beneath the Fold. A cough wracks her body and she tastes blood and comes to the unwelcome conclusion that she may have accidentally poked a hole in her lung when she stabbed herself, or possibly when she was ripping the knife out. It doesn’t really matter, because she was never intending to survive this anyway, but it’s annoying because coughing up blood will be a distraction. She bares her teeth at Aleksander in a bloody mockery of a smile, “I’m the Sun Summoner. It gets dark when I say it does.”

There are distant sounds of fighting and shouting and even more distant sounds of volcra screeching, but Alina registers none of it, watching Aleksander lose his temper as she continues to burn the Fold away. Black veins start to crawl up his neck as he draws on something else, some other power.

At this point, Alina is still standing upright through will alone and the futile efforts of whoever it is next to her grabbing at her stab wound and trying to fix the damage and replace her blood faster than it kills her. She could have told them not to bother, the power needed to destroy the Fold will kill her anyway, but she doesn’t have the focus to spare as something painful starts to rush through her as she keeps using Aleksander’s power to fuel her own as the Fold burns away and she feels the antlers he’s collared her with start to heat up like they’re branding themselves into her bones.

The Small Science feeds us. Merzost feeds on us. She hears Baghra whispering in the back of her mind as Aleksander cries out and Alina starts to burn with the pain of what she now realises is merzost that she’s stealing from Aleksander and funnelling into the destruction of the Fold.

She grits her teeth and pushes harder, refusing to acknowledge the pain. After all, after years upon years of wasting sickness and denying a part of herself, after a lifetime of illness and weakness and being unable to do things her peers could do with ease, pain and Alina are old friends.

Something gives and the bones around her collar seem to melt and burn with pain and it doesn’t make sense because that’snotwheretheinjuryis. But it’s getting harder to focus between the dizziness and the pain and the Fold trying to fight its own destruction and Aleksander’s fury and hatred and possessive disbelief beating through her skull as she pushes just a bit further.

Because she’s almost done. The Fold’s almost gone. And then she can rest and it will all be over.

Aleksander screams and collapses, and it seems in this at least the Black Heretic is not Alina’s equal.

She feels the power she’s gaining from him vanish as he loses his grip on his power and loses consciousness in quick succession and she takes a breath to slam the door between them shut and lock it with the bolt from the cellar in the orphanage and the chain to the First Army base in Poliznaya before digging her metaphorical heels in and holding the last remnants of the Fold from surging back with the loss of power.

Alina is stubborn, and she will not lose now.

The Fold and her are both racing to their own destructions and she will not die first. She will not give in. She is the Sun Summoner and an orphan and an outsider and a Grisha and a stubborn, petty, spiteful bitch and this is one challenge that she will not lose.

Care to back down? Zoya’s taunt from her first day of training comes to mind and Alina would laugh if it wasn’t taking everything she has to keep the Fold at bay, barely even aware of how she’s still standing.

I’m not familiar with the concept. Alina has never backed down from a fight in her life, even when she knows she’ll lose, and she’s not going to start now.

But she’s dying, it’s not just the wound she inflicted on herself anymore, it’s not the power that she’s still pouring across the expanse of where the Fold used to be, burning up the volcra and burning out the darkness, keeping the last few remnants at bay as she tries to gather the strength to get rid of the last of it, to make sure that it can’t come back.

It’s the merzost.

Merzost feeds on us.

Aleksander had used merzost to try and stop her and she’d just taken it from him and channelled it to her own purposes. But with the person who summoned it gone, the effects and the price it demands are coming down on her now. And she doesn’t know if she’s strong enough to outlast the Fold before it kills her.

She sways in place, her body not as strong as her will, and she braces herself to fall to the floor.

Blessedly familiar arms catch her and lower her to a lap rather than the ground.

Alina blinks open eyes that she doesn’t remember shutting and beams. “Mal.” She breathes.

He’s here.

He’s flushed and sweaty like he’s just run a marathon, there’s a scrape on his cheek and blood on his face and he looks like he’s going to cry, but Alina’s never seen a more wonderful sight in her life.

“Alina.” He chokes out, sounding wrecked and like he’s on the verge of sobbing.

She frowns and reaches for his face. Her arm is heavier than it should be, but she ignores the warning bells going off in the back of her head and reaches up to cup Mal’s cheek. “What’s wrong?”

He grabs a hold of her wrist when she touches him and a surge of energy goes through her, bolstering her flagging strength and she takes ruthless advantage before it fades and tears through the last few remnants of the Fold clinging to life.

Her light flares brighter for a moment before fading away, leaving behind a clear blue sky and bright sunshine pouring down on land that hasn’t seen the sun in centuries.

But Alina isn’t focussed on that. Because she’s touching Mal. “Oh.” She breathes, “You’re real.” She smiles at him and gently strokes the scrape on his cheek. “You’re hurt.”

He chokes down what sounds like a sob and distantly Alina can hear people giving orders and there is still someone pushing on the stab wound in her side and it’s starting to hurt, but Mal is hurt and upset and that seems more important right now.

“You’re hurt.” He says, holding her wrist just a bit tighter, like he’s scared she’ll vanish if he lets go.

She strokes his cheek again, “It’s okay.” She tells him gently, “I understand now.”

He shakes his head and the tears that have been welling in his eyes finally spill over, “What do you understand?”

“Like calls to like.” She tells him, repeating the words that she’d been told a hundred times over in the Little Palace but hadn’t really understood until she’d seen the Stag again, “And you cannot claim something that was freely given to someone else. It’s not about death, it’s about choice and respect and earning what you’re given and proving your worth…” she loses her train of thought. It’s getting harder to focus and even though she can’t really taste copper on her lips anymore, her breaths are getting harder and she knows that’s a bad sign.

Mal screws up his face like he used to do when he was given a problem he didn’t understand in lessons, but he doesn’t take his eyes off her, darting between staring at her chest and staring at her lips. In other circumstances she’d probably enjoy it and feel flattered. As it is, she’s covered in blood and she’s pretty sure he’s watching to make sure she’s still breathing, the fingers around her wrist resting over her pulse.

She tries to smile at him, having forgotten what she was going to say but gets distracted halfway through when something in her side pulls and abruptly all sensation returns to her left arm and side and all that she can feel is pain and she shrieks as the person pushing on her side pushes harder.

“Sorry,” Fedyor mutters “But if it’s hurting then it’s working.” And she doesn’t know when he got here but she’s kind of glad because even though she lashed out at him yesterday (oh Saints was it only yesterday) and she spent the whole skiff journey ignoring him, she really does care about him and if these two are the last two people she ever sees then she doesn’t really mind because they’re two of her favourite people anyway.

She frowns and tries to focus because it was important what she was going to say, but it’s so hard and it hurts, oh Saints does it hurt, and her collarbone feels heavy and she’s so cold, cold like she hasn’t been since before she was taken to the Little Palace, and there is something wrong and she doesn’t know what it is but she knows she’s dying; she knew it would kill her when she did it but she had to destroy the Fold and she couldn’t let Aleksander steal her light and yes that was it, she had to tell Mal.

“Mal.” She says, trying to get him to look at her even though she doesn’t think he’s looked away, and there’s something wrong with her voice, but it’s okay because Mal is focussed on what she’s saying anyway. “I’m not scared. It’s okay. I’m not scared to die.”

“No. Don’t say that! You’re not dying! You’re going to be okay!” Mal says. And his hand around her wrist tightens enough that it hurts and Alina has the idle thought that it would’ve bruised if she wasn’t going to die before it had a chance to.

Darkness starts to creep around the edges of her vision and she hears Fedyor shouting from very far away, which doesn’t make sense because she’s fairly sure that he’s the one touching her where all the blood is leaking down the side of the golden dress that she’s wearing.

“Ivan, I need you over here!”

Words are flying around her and above her and it’s very very hard to stay awake, but she hasn’t finished telling Mal what she needs to yet, so she fights.

“Keep her awake.” Fedyor orders someone, and she thinks it might be Mal and she wants to object because Mal doesn’t work for Fedyor but she gets distracted by someone looming behind Mal and tries to panic when she sees that it’s Ivan, but someone has a grip on her heart and she can’t do anything because her arms are too heavy and everything’s getting so dark even though she can still feel the sun.

“We need her to stay awake, she’s lost too much blood, there’s too many other things wrong with her that I can’t properly identify and don’t know the cause of and I don’t have the focus or time to spare to fix because she’s still bleeding out and if she falls asleep right now then she will never wake up again.” Fedyor says rapidly, almost too quickly for her to understand what he’s saying. He keeps talking but she doesn’t hear the rest because her hearing goes fuzzy and then suddenly her heart starts racing and she feels a surge of adrenaline coming from nowhere.

“Stay awake!” Someone orders, and oh, it’s Ivan and he’s holding her other wrist, that’s where the energy came from, and she wants to scowl at him and ignore him on principle, but she needs to tell Mal so she just makes a face at him instead.

Fedyor pokes at her side and that hurts so she presses her fingers to Mal’s cheek where he’s still holding onto her in a silent plea to give her a second and tries to pull her other wrist out of Ivan’s grasp so that she can get Fedyor’s attention.

Ivan doesn’t let go of her wrist and instead growls at her and insults her and mutters something about Aleksander, so she tries moving her legs instead. That causes something that she would like to call pain, except it’s so much less than everything else going on with her body right now that it doesn’t really register beyond a vague discomfort.

And that’s when she discovers in quick succession that she’s no longer tied to the deck, the three strangers that tried to kidnap her are somehow here, and her movement caused something that made Fedyor curse, which is a novelty because she wasn’t aware that he could curse.

“Don’t do that.” He scolds her, “Stay still-”

“Merzost.” She interrupts him, because she has his attention now and she needs to tell him, “Merzost. It hurts.” She tries to gesture with her hand, but Ivan’s still got it trapped in his grip and she’s got the vague idea that the only reason her heart’s still beating and she’s still awake is because he’s making it so.

There’s a babble of loud talking but Alina zones out for a moment because ow the cold just started biting and not in the frostbite way but in an ‘it feels like it has teeth’ way but hears someone say “How?” And assumes they’re talking to her.

“The door.” She says trying to push away the hurting and the fuzziness and focus because she can’t die until she’s told Mal and also she might just not die on principal because Ivan looks annoyed that he has to touch her arm and keep her alive, except she doesn’t think she can do that because the darkness is creeping in again.

“What door?” It’s Fedyor and he’s looking at her, even though he’s still got his hands in her side and Saints every time she remembers it, it hurts, and Fedyor’s still looking at her and oh, he’s waiting for an answer.

“The door he used. Aleksander. He used merzost. I used the door. Doors open both ways. And I’m very stubborn.” Fedyor looks like he just has more questions which doesn’t make sense because she just told him what’s wrong with her, but the darkness is threatening her again and she needs to tell Mal.

She drags her eyes to his face and taps his cheek to get his attention, idly glad that he’s still holding her wrist up because she would have dropped her arm by now otherwise.

“Alina, you’re not dying, okay?” He tells her, but his face has crumpled and they both know that he’s trying to reassure himself more than her.

“It’s okay.” She tells him softly, “I’ll see you again. You always find me.”

“It’s not that hard.” He says wetly, trying to mirror the joking tone he used all those months ago, the night before everything changed.

Alina smiles sadly, “We’ll see each other again,” she promises hoarsely, “I know we will.”

“Can’t get rid of me.” His voice is shaking and he’s trembling where he’s trying to rub her hand with his thumb in reassurance.

She’s barely holding on now; knows she’s seconds away from going under. She smiles at him and hopes it looks reassuring, “I’ll meet you in the meadow.” She whispers.

The last thing she sees before her vision goes black is Mal calling her name with tears streaming down his face.

She hears a lot of alarmed voices shouting as she sinks into the darkness, and right before she gives in entirely she hears a beloved voice telling her he loves her and won’t she please stay.

Alina thinks she is smiling.