Chapter Text
The snow was black with blood. Zoya’s blood. Her back burnt against the frozen ground; the cold seeped into her wounds. The white tiger had pierced her kefta, her jumper, her skin, leaving her bleeding and exposed to the frost. The mythical beast’s body lied a few feet from her, sprawled against thick roots. Its spine was bent in half, broken. Zoya hadn’t intended to kill it when she’d summoned a desperate gust of wind. She hadn’t intended anything except to survive.
That impulse seemed very distant, now.
Is this how I die? Alone in the cold, my blood in the snow?
She was barely thirteen years old. There was so much more she’d wanted to do, so much more she had to prove, but the frostbites were spreading up her limbs. The Darkling’s grisha were sleeping, or they simply didn’t care. No one was coming to help her.
The tiger cubs were long gone. At least they would be free to grow as strong as their mother — not reduced to a greedy grisha’s trophy or a male tiger’s meal. The thought was strangely comforting. The cubs would live.
Then, Zoya felt sunlight.
Warm, gentle on her skin. It had to be death coming to claim her — why else would she feel the heat of the sun in the middle of this winter night? Even during the day the sun wasn’t this warm, this close to the Permafrost.
This is a nice way to go, she thought. Zoya had always been more suited for warm weather.
“Come on, please,” a little voice begged. “Please don’t die.”
Zoya struggled to flutter open her frozen lashes. “What…”
Above her leaned a girl with tears pearling from her eyes — and they were such beautiful eyes, dark as trees and oceans in the night. She looked Zoya’s age or thereabout, with silky black hair and a pale, delicate face.
And impossibly, the girl was glowing.
“Oh thank the Saints, you’re awake,” she said with a laugh that shuddered in relief. “Y-you’ve lost a lot of blood, but it’s going to be okay, alright? You’re going to be okay, I promise. Mal went to get some bandages—”
Zoya could barely hear any of her words. She was glowing. Her light was bright and warm, as though the sun was trapped under her skin. Zoya had been around grisha power for years, surrounded by every prowess of the Small Science, and she had never seen anything like this.
“Why are you…” But Zoya’s voice trailed off, weak. Even with the soothing warmth, it hurt. It hurt so much.
The girl said something else, something that sounded panicked, but suddenly, she stopped. Silence engulfed the clearing. The sounds of the forest vanished, all at once — even the wind quieted, even the distant howls of animals.
At the edge of her vision, Zoya noticed the Darkling.
The girl’s sunlight died like a snuffed candle, throwing the world back in darkness, and just as quickly she was bolting out of the clearing into the thick of the forest. The Darkling shouted something, his shadows thrusting outward, chasing after the girl.
Dimly, Zoya hoped he wouldn’t catch her.
The thought was confusing, inexplicable, but she didn’t have the strength to examine it now.
All she could do was close her eyes, and lie in the snow.
Soon, everything was dark again.
When Zoya first woke, she was under a healer’s care in the Corporalki’s tent. He helped her with the blood loss and the pain, and though she still felt wretched, she appreciated the improvement.
He must have put her back to sleep after that, because daylight welcomed her the next time she opened her eyes. She lied on her own cot, thick blankets weighing on her.
“Wake up, Zoya,” spoke a cool baritone. “We have much to talk about.”
The Darkling stood in the tent’s opening, watching her with an unreadable expression.
Zoya swallowed and quickly sat up, ignoring the jolt of dizzy pain. She’d already disobeyed him yesterday; she would never do so again if he let her stay.
If he let her stay. Saints. And what if he didn’t? What if he banished her from the Little Palace? Where would she go? Would her aunt still welcome her, without the money from the Little Palace? She couldn’t go, not when she’d finally found where she belonged, anything but that—
“Such a terrified face,” he commented, almost sounding amused. “You were braver yesterday when you acted against my direct orders. Weren’t you?”
“I’m sorry,” she quickly said, eyes cast down. Perhaps not sorry enough to act differently, if she’d had the chance — she still couldn’t bear the thought of innocent cubs being slaughtered for nothing — but damn all the Saints, she wished it hadn’t meant crossing the Darkling.
“You should be,” he said. “The tiger you so unceremoniously killed was the amplifier we’ve been tracking for weeks.”
Zoya’s heart hammered in her chest. She’d suspected as much — had felt the tiger’s power when he’d faced her the magic thrumming through his body, calling to her — but she’d hoped to be mistaken. This was so much worse than freeing a couple of cubs.
“As you know,” the Darkling continued, “an amplifier’s power can only belong to the one who kills it. I’d intended this honour to go to one of my most faithful grisha — one of my loyal soldiers, who have stood by my side for decades and proven their worth. You took that from them.” His voice was slow and terribly cold, letting each word sink like steel. “My only choices, now, are to disrespect an ancient creature’s life by letting its bones go to waste, or to give power to a child who disobeyed me.”
Zoya’s cheeks burnt. Her stomach twisted in sickening knots. She hated this. This trip was supposed to be her chance to impress the Darkling — instead, she’d gone and disappointed him. Hastily, she wobbled to her feet, containing a wince at the ache in her back.
She wondered if the corporalnik had fully healed her. She wondered if the Darkling had asked him not to.
“It wasn’t what I meant,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to kill…”
“Oh, I know.” The Darkling cupped her cheek, a gesture that would almost be tender if his eyes weren’t so icy. “You selfless thing, you wanted to save those little cubs — and doomed them in the process, imprinting your scent on them. Their mother will never take them back, now.”
Zoya fought back tears. She hoped this wasn’t true — hoped to any Saint that might listen that the Darkling was only saying that to hurt her, to punish her.
“It does not change what you did, nor the result of your actions,” he said, thumb caressing her cheek. “But for now, Zoya, I’d like to offer you the chance to redeem yourself.”
Zoya nodded eagerly, because yes, yes. Firmly, she said, “I’ll do it.”
“Good.” He retrieved his hand. “Walk with me.”
They got out of the tent, into the cluttered expanse of the snowy camp-site. Silence weighed on them, broken only by the crunches of boots on snow and the first murmurs of the early morning. Finally, the Darkling began speaking again.
“Do you remember what happened yesterday night, before I found you?”
“It’s… a bit of a blur, honestly.”
He nodded, unsurprised. “But do you remember the young girl who was leaning over you?”
Zoya frowned. She hadn’t been sure that part of the night had been real — it had felt more like an agonizing fever dream than a memory.
Feeling foolish, she reluctantly admitted, “I’m not sure, but I think… it looked like… it looked like she was glowing.”
And against all expectations, the Darkling smiled.
It was such a shockingly honest expression, with dimples and a flash of teeth. Zoya felt a little breathless. She thought she’d seen him smile before, but no, those had only been half-smirks and hints on mirth — never anything this open and true.
“Yes,” he whispered, sounding so much younger. “Yes, she glowed, Zoya. You found us a Sun Summoner.”
Zoya gaped.
Of course, she’d heard of Sun Summoners, in theory — their power was supposed to be possible, and in the complex entropy of the world, anything that was possible usually existed. But such power had never been found, and after centuries, the idea of a Shadow Summoner’s opposite began to sound less like a plausible hope, and more like a bed-time story.
But the girl had glowed. Zoya had seen it. Most importantly the Darkling had seen it, and how could he be mistaken about something like that?
“It’s…” Zoya hesitated. “It’s more like she found me, Moi Soverenyi.”
“Yes, indeed,” said the Darkling. “And this is where I need you, Zoya.”
She straightened up, eager to be helpful, to make this right — maybe even to see the Darkling’s youthful smile be directed at her, instead of some miracle in the forest.
“You see, we caught the girl,” he said, which wasn’t surprising— she hadn’t stood a chance against the Darkling and his personal guard — though for some reason, something sank in Zoya’s chest. Disappointment. Why had she wanted the girl to escape? “Of course I would have preferred this meeting to happen more voluntarily, but she was very eager to run away from us. I’m afraid my powers might have spooked her.”
Only an idiot would not be spooked by your powers, Zoya thought, but said instead, “I understand.”
“The problem, now, is that she’s still somewhat… well, the girl is terrified. She won’t talk to any of us, and she’s already attempted to escape twice during the night. She won’t even tell us her name.”
Zoya nodded, failing to see what any of this has to do with her.
“It’s even worse when I’m in the room. She started crying.” The Darkling huffed, as though offended by the whole situation. He clearly hadn’t intended for things to go this way. “But there was one topic we did get her to talk about — only one.”
Now she could feel where this was going. “…Me?”
“Precisely. She’s asked after you. Wanted to know if you were okay.”
They stopped walking, having reached the Darkling’s imposing black tent.
“I guess that makes sense,” Zoya muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “She thought I was dying, last she saw me.”
“Indeed, and you were not chasing after her. She does not see you as a threat.”
A glint in the Darkling’s eyes made Zoya think he saw her differently.
“…What do you want me to do?”
“If you could get her to talk, that would be a start. Get her to come with us to the Little Palace willingly… and I’ll forget everything about your disobedience yesterday.”
Meaning I won’t be punished.
Meaning I won’t be sent away.
Zoya nodded, and gave him a deep bow.
“Thank you, Moi Soverenyi. I will not disappoint you.”
The girl was a lot scrawnier than Zoya remembered.
She hadn’t gotten the best look at her, what with the blood loss and tilting on the verge of death (not to mention the glowing) but she was getting a good look now. She was frail, with wrists so slender a careless grip might break them. Her skin was pale as milk, the kind that must bruise easily, and indeed, small clouds of purple specked her calves where they peeked from her skirt. She was tied up for some ridiculous reason, and bruises were forming where the ropes touched her skin, too.
Her almond eyes were shadowed with dark circles — really, she looked exhausted. She’d likely had a tiring night, but it seemed to be something deeper than that, a kind of tiredness that had carved its way into her bones, like she’d never had a good night’s sleep in her life. She also looked like she might be Shu, at least in part.
Overall, with some sleep and a hot meal, the girl could pass for pretty. And scrawny.
Mostly scrawny.
Zoya cleared her throat. “What is your name?” she asked, imperious.
The girl looked from her to the Darkling, and her emotions couldn’t have been more obvious. It was actually ridiculous, how open her expressions were — all her thoughts rolled off of her face like clear water from a river. She was terrified of the Darkling. Her fear was not that of a whimpering little girl, either, but of someone who knew better than to listen to strange men and their crooning words. Someone who hadn’t survived this long in the cold by trusting shadows in the forest.
The way she looked at Zoya was more subtle, a mix of relief and perplexity. Their closeness in age must be helping. The fact that Zoya had almost died yesterday probably did, too — not the most menacing first impression.
But in this setting, the girl would never let her guard down.
“Everyone, get out,” Zoya commanded with a confidence she hadn’t known she had. The guards looked at her, affronted by a teenager’s order, but the Darkling nodded at them to go. Then, Zoya did the most reckless thing of her life — even more reckless than freeing the cubs and unintentionally stealing an amplifier’s death. She turned to the Darkling, and said, “You too, Moi Soverenyi.” Belatedly, she added, “Please.”
A flash of fury struck through his silver eyes, and for a second Zoya considered uttering an apology, begging for his forgiveness and assuring she’d never be this bold again. But the fury passed, replaced by reluctant understanding. He bowed sarcastically, and left the tent.
Zoya’s heart was beating entirely too fast — she couldn’t believe she’d just said that. She couldn’t believe the Darkling had obeyed. At least, if he sent her away after that, she could say she’d ended her time in the Second Army by being the bravest grisha in Ravka.
Or the stupidest, she thought grimly.
In a small voice, the girl murmured, “Thank you.”
Zoya turned her way.
Really, she should be the one thanking her, since it was her light that had kept Zoya from freezing to death, but the words of gratitude stayed stuck in her throat. Instead, she stepped closer and summoned a sharp whistle of wind to cut through her ropes like an arrow.
The girl observed the motion with an awed (if slightly dumb) expression, then stretched out her freed arms in front of her.
“So you’re grisha too…” she said, stating the obvious with honest fascination.
“It’s what you are that matters here,” Zoya replied. She sat on a chair in front of hers. “Let’s start simple. What is your name?”
This time, the girl met Zoya’s gaze, and answered, “Alina. Alina Starkov.”
“Alina,” Zoya repeated. “I’m Zoya. Do you know why you’re here?”
She fidgeted, pulling and knotting her fingers nervously. “Because your Soverenyi is completely crazy?” She sighed. “I don’t know. He’s been telling me the most cryptic, creepy things all night, and I have no idea what he’s talking about.”
Zoya huffed an incredulous laugh, almost impressed by the sheer disrespect. A malicious part of her hoped the Darkling was listening to this. If the look on his face when Zoya had asked him to leave was any indication, he probably was.
“Do you really have no idea?” Zoya asked.
“No.”
“You’re a sun summoner, Alina.”
Her eyes shot wide open. “Come on, not you too!”
“I saw it.” It had felt like a dream after waking up, but her memories were clearer now, reinforced by the Darkling’s confidence. “You must have seen it too — or did you miss the way your skin gleamed in the middle of the night?”
“I…” Alina looked scared again, her face paling even more. “No. No, I can’t be. I’m not grisha. I’m just…”
Annoyance flickered through Zoya. This insecure girl was a waste of her time, and she hated wasting her time. She suspected the Darkling hadn’t wanted to scare her even more by drawing out a blade and forcing her powers out, or this useless argument would be moot already.
“I don’t see why you’d want to deny it,” she snapped. “It’s obvious. You must feel it, deep down, the call of your power — you must have felt its pull when the Darkling touched you. We all do.”
Alina stayed silent.
“Didn’t you?” Zoya insisted.
She did not deny it. That much was answer enough. Instead, sounding small and scared, she said, “They want to take me away.”
Zoya snorted. “To a life where you’ll be cared for, respected, educated, and trained? What a tragedy.”
Alina went red in the face — it was actually a little cute, if Zoya squinted — and retorted, “Well maybe I don’t want any of that! I’m just fine where I am!”
But that was bullshit, because how could this girl not want a better life? On her clothes, Zoya had noticed the emblem of the Duke of Keramzin — likely the reason why Alina had been in the forest in the first place. One of his castles was nearby, they’d passed it on their way here, but Alina could not look less like nobility. Her clothes were clearly second-hand, hurriedly sewn back up in places. She couldn’t be a servant’s daughter, either, not with the Duke’s emblem.
That only left one possibility: an orphan, raised under the Duke’s charity.
What could an orphan dressed in pauper’s clothes so eagerly cling to? How could she not dream of being taken to the luxury of the Little Palace? It couldn’t be a place. It couldn’t be this place.
Then Zoya recalled what Alina had said in the clearing, the name she’d mentioned in passing.
“It’s that Mal, isn’t it?”
Alina flinched, as if struck.
Flush from her accurate deduction, Zoya pushed on. “If Mal were to come with us, would you go?”
For long minutes, the girl said nothing, dark eyes swimming in doubts.
Then she murmured a tiny, “…Go where?”