Chapter Text
Alina goes out to check on her horse while Aleksander stirs and adds more spices to the stew. It turns out he had made sure she had food or water when he had taken care of his own mount earlier.
She comes back into the cabin and chops some watercress for the soup, then slices the cheese and bread that Aleksander sets out.
It's a good meal, not too different from the simple fare they have most days at the Little Palace, although they're more likely to have chicken or pork than rabbit. She wonders if Aleksander had designed the menus personally.
It's hard to tell the time of day under the dense tree cover, but Alina guesses it's sometime in the afternoon when they finish. The leftovers are left to simmer over the fire, and they clean up their bowls. When that's done, they go out so Aleksander can take a look at the veil of shadows blocking the hollow, and adjust it. Then they return to the cabin, and Aleksander looks at her with heat in his eyes. She's been watching him too, the exquisite motions of his hands whether preparing food or summoning shadows. Anticipation shivers over her skin, and through the tether their powers call to each other.
“Let me worship you, my little saint,” Aleksander says, his voice soft and wrecked. The shadows are suddenly very deep in the corners of the cabin.
“Yes,” she says, heat pooling in her belly.
He picks her up then, carrying her across the room to the bed. She tries to undress him, but he shakes his head. “No, this is for you,” he says, and slowly begins to undress her .
He kisses every bit of her skin that is revealed, with heat and tenderness both. There's such reverence in his presence through the tether, like he meant what he said about worship.
There was a time when she felt self-conscious about her body, before she understood that she had been suffering from wasting sickness. Now, her skin is smoother and her breasts are more pronounced, now that she gets enough to eat and can actually taste it. No part of her can doubt Aleksander's affection now, as she lies naked before him and he adores her with his fingers and his lips.
And when those lips find her cunt...
Her back arches and she moans as he licks her clit slowly and sweetly. Warm with her pleasure, coaxed and teased by Aleksander's amplifying touch, her light comes out golden, brightening as her arousal builds. He slides one finger, then another into her cunt, and uses his other hand to caress a nipple. The sensations combine into an exquisite counterpoint, underscored by his lust and admiration through the tether.
He licks harder and faster, and all at once her pleasure crescendos, and she moans as she comes even harder than she had the previous night.
He keeps his hands and his mouth on her, slowing and softening his touch, but not stopping in it completely. When the last aftershocks fade, she lets out a long exhale, feeling completely relaxed. Her skin is still glowing.
She opens her eyes slowly. He looks up at her and gives the tiniest of smirks, then dips his head down to tease her sensitive clit again with his tongue.
“Yes,” she breathes, as heat gathers in her core again.
He draws another orgasm out of her, and another, until the cabin is as bright as noon enclosed by the depths of midnight at the edges. After the fourth, when her limbs are liquid and she feels like a cloud of light and bliss barely enclosed in a human form, she pulls him towards her. “I want you inside me,” she purrs. “I want you to feel good too.”
There's a rush of emotion through the tether as he bends over her and she opens her legs. Her cunt is warm and wet and open for him, and he slides right in. His face is still awed as he thrusts into her.
With her thighs, she rolls them over so they face each other on their sides. She holds him tightly as he moans, thrusting harder and faster. He buries his face in her shoulder, kissing and murmuring about how beautiful she is, how good she feels.
She kisses him deeply and hears him groan against her lips as his thrusts lose rhythm. His orgasm washes over her through the tether, and she feels like she's come again herself.
They don't move for a long time after that. She runs her fingers through his hair and his hands trace lazy patterns over her back. He softens inside her but she stays in his arms, nuzzling into his chest. Like the previous night, he eventually gets up and brings a cloth to clean her, and she pulls him close when he comes back to bed.
The tether stays open between them. Aleksander's presence is all contentment, soft and quiet as he tucks his head against her chest and she strokes his hair. They both drift in and out of sleep. He stirs against her and murmurs “Moya dusha,” and then something else she doesn't catch, perhaps in very archaic Ravkan. The affection there is plain, in his voice, and in the sweetness she feels in the back of her mind and curled around her heart.
After some time, Alina contemplates getting up. Her legs are still deliciously boneless. “I don't want to move yet,” she murmurs.
“Then don't,” he says, and shifts so that her head rests against his chest. “Just stay,” he whispers, and she knows he's pleading for more than the present moment.
And oh, she wants to. Not just for the chance to feel like this again and again, but simply for his company. For the way he sees her. For the chance to fight for her people, beside someone who will never ever be afraid of her.
Still, she doesn't want to think of the wider world just yet. She snuggles against his chest and watches the way little tendrils of shadow arc toward and around them from the darkness that shields her light from view. She touches her hands together where they're tucked against his side, then lifts one to call little swirls of light to play with the shadows. He opens his eyes and smiles, watching their powers intertwine.
Aleksander runs his finger over the Sea Whip's scales in Alina's wrist. She thrums with the resonance of the two amplifiers. She'd wondered once if she'd no longer be able to feel Aleksander's amplification once Morozova's other creatures were part of her, and now she is very glad it isn't true.
She lights up again, a cloud of blue radiance seething around her, illuminating the whole bed. The light shows the black slashes across his face harshly.
“Beautiful,” he says. “But unstable.”
She wants to laugh at that. How dare he call her that when she can feel the trembling edge of merzost in his presence through the tether, even in this moment of calm? But she lets go of that and strokes his hair instead, before he can close himself off. She's enjoying this peace and vulnerability between them. “You say it like there's a solution,” she says. “I don't want you to take control of this amplifier.” It comes off harshly, even as she lays languidly with sweat drying between their bodies.
“I can't. I won't,” he says. “I meant what I said when I swore.”
“Good,” she hums. She won't let him take away her fury, unpredictable though it may be.
Something must have bled through the tether more clearly than she thought because he says. “I can't do that either. Anger has sustained me more than once when I had nothing else left. But the Sea Whip isn't working with the Stag.”
“And you can do something about that?”
“Maybe,” he says. “If you let me.”
“Not merzost,” she says.
“No, not merzost,” he agrees.
“Do it,” she says.
He shifts so he holds her wrist in both of his hands. The amplifier's light is now just a blue glow, illuminating the way a single tendril of shadow caresses the scales, cool and silken. He says something that must be in Old Ravkan, so old she doesn't understand it.
“What are you saying?” she asks.
“I'm talking to Rusalye,” he says. He doesn't elaborate further, but his tone sounds like how he would coax a frightened horse. The light rises in her, warm and strong. For a moment, she worries she'll feel overwhelmed again, but then something slots into place, like the Stag and the Sea Whip are now moving in the same direction.
His amplification recedes and the shadow tendril dissipates. “Is that better?” he asks
She moves her hand away from his reluctantly, and cups her hand to summon a ball of light. She pulls from the stars outside their window, from the memory of all the times his dark, dark eyes had held the reflection of her sun. Her light comes so easily now, and with a light touch she can direct and contain it. She holds it for a few moments, then lets it dissipate.
“Much better,” she says.
“The presences of the Stag and the Sea Whip still linger in the amplifiers, but they do not have to be a burden,” he says. “If they give you trouble again in the future, you could just talk to them.”
“In Old Ravkan?”
He shrugs against her. “It seemed right to me, but they are part of you. I think they'll understand whatever language you might use.”
She nods. “Thank you,” she says.
“Of course,” he says, and folds her into his arms once more.
*
They stay in bed cuddling for a while after that. When they finally do get up, it's to prepare dinner—leftover rabbit stew, and some pickled herring from the cache. Alina lets Aleksander eat most of the herring, and instead has extra sausage herself. She takes out one of the packets of snacks from Tamar to share—dried Zemeni mangoes. She likes the way they taste a bit savory, and she can tell Aleksander enjoys the sweetness.
When it's time for bed, she snuggles against him again, feeling very warm and at home. But then she thinks of something and looks up at him. “Should we each take watches?” She should have thought about it last night, but had been too blissed out and tired from her journey to do so.
He shakes his head. “No, the nichevo'ya will protect me, whether I'm awake or not. And you'll be safe if you're close to me.”
“Oh,” she says, both unsettled and relieved that they can remain in each other's arms. She'd slept better last night than she ever had, even in her luxurious bed in the Vezda suite.
“Goodnight, milaya,” he says, and shadows sweep through the room, putting out all the candles. Once more, only the soft glow of the embers is left.
“Goodnight, Sasha,” she says. There's a feeling of warmth through the tether at her words. She lets it wrap around her and falls into a contented slumber.
*
She dreams of the morning of the Winter Fete. She sees herself, through Aleksander's eyes, in her velvet robe with the light coming through the window. She hears herself talk about belonging, and her heart- Aleksander's heart-swells with hope and affection, that this could be their future. Centuries of mornings like this one, soft with companionship. And then the kiss—Her lips are soft and she knows peace for once with the sun summoner, her beloved Alina in her arms...
Alina wakes up slowly, still snuggled against Aleksander. The feeling of tenderness lingers. He stirs a little, then nuzzles back against her and falls back asleep, and she wondered if he dreamed of the same moment, but through her eyes.
Eventually he wakes up, and looks at her with a soft expression. “Good morning, Alinochka,” he whispers.
“Good morning, Sashenka,” she says, and the tether overflows with his affection at the diminutive. He kisses her sweetly like she kissed him the morning she dreamed about.
“You loved me,” she whispers. “I dreamt about it—about how you felt the first time I kissed you.”
“Yes,” he says, eyes fathomlessly dark and full of emotion. “I did. And I still love you, Alina.”
The tether is open. He's saying nothing but the unadorned truth, terrible and lovely all at once. Terrible, because everything could have been different. Lovely, because it still could be.
She buries her head against his chest. He touches her chin very gently, so that she looks up at him. “I will always love you,” he says, and it's another vow.
She wants to sob at the waste of it all. “I...I left because your mother said you were just trying to manipulate me. I believed her because I couldn't believe that you would actually love me. Not my power, just me. No one ever wanted me like that. Mal...I hid being Grisha, for him. Cut my hand to fail the test. It was a long time before I realized he never would have done the same for me. He's still my friend...my brother really, but I don't think he ever actually wanted me.” It's a relief to admit it to herself, to finally say it out loud.
Aleksander is quiet, simply listening.
“I've...been with a few people,” she continues. “First Army soldiers. But their units moved elsewhere and that was that. It was a way to pass the time, and there was nothing more special about me than anyone else. Less, given the things they would say about me the rest of the time. And then you ...I didn’t understand why you would choose me. And your mother said you'd had centuries of experience manipulating people.”
He sighs. “Alina, lyubimaya...it's true, I have done what I needed to do to survive in the past. I'm not proud of all of it, but it was necessary, for me and for our people. And my mother has had centuries more experience than me, for what it's worth . ” He sighs again. “I made plans for the Sun Summoner long ago, while I waited for one to be found. But when I met you, I didn't want to follow through with any of them. I just wanted you. And when you left—I was so scared I could hardly think. I would have told you the truth, in time. Much sooner than I planned, probably, considering how quickly I gave you my name. But then you were gone, and I despaired—”
Aleksander swallows. “I meant what I said when I swore never to take control of your powers again. That's true, whether I am your enemy or ally. No matter what happens when we leave this place, I will love you through all the time that's left to me.”
There's a note of finality to that that she doesn't like. “What do you mean, the time that's left? You're immortal.”
He caresses her cheek and looks at her with such tenderness she almost looks away. His hands have formed shadows into the deadliest of blades, and now they are gentler than she could have imagined. “Alina, I'm dying,” he says.
“What?” she asks, startled. “No!” This is the future she's supposed to want, and she can't imagine it anymore. She can't imagine a world where he's not in it somewhere, even if they're enemies.
He nods sadly. “It's true. Not this year, maybe not this decade, but I will not see another century.”
“How?” she asks. “I don't understand!” She's been left alone before, and she finds she can't bear the thought of it happening again.
“The merzost,” he says. “It saved my life, in the Fold. But each time I make a nichevo'ya, it drains me. I have terrible headaches now. I'm coughing up blood, or I would be, if blood still ran in my veins.”
She tries not to recoil. “Then stop,” she says. “Can't you stop? Don't make any more nichevo'ya? Find some way to cleanse the merzost from your body?”
“I can't,” he says sadly. “Like I said, they will protect me whether I'm conscious or not. Whether I want them to or not. I can't control them.” His voice is full of horror.
She closes her eyes, then opens them and pulls him close to her again. She has the strangest urge to comfort him. “But you lived four hundred years after you made the Fold!” she says, unclear if she's trying to reassure him or herself.
“Yes,” he says sadly. “The only certain thing about merzost is how unpredictable it is.”
“What if someone healed you?” she asked.
“Genya tried,” he sighed. “She's the reason my face doesn't look worse than it is, although one of my nichevo'ya came out while she worked. Didn't hurt her, but she looked terrified. And she could only alter the surface. Vladim helped by making me the potion, and he theorized that more merzost might heal the damage.”
She shakes her head violently. “No – that makes no sense!” She took in all that he said. “Wait, Genya is with you? She's safe?”
“Yes,” he says. “David too.”
Alina closes her eyes. She'd looked for them at the Spinning Wheel, and feared the worst when they weren't there. She'd had her disagreements with Genya, but understood her much better now. She'd never wanted her to be harmed.
She opens her eyes again to see Aleksander looking at her. He caresses her cheek like he's trying to comfort her. A lovely sensation shimmers down the tether when they touch. More than just his amplification, it's as if their powers and souls can dance and mingle now.
She considers it. They're both truly powerful Grisha, perfectly balanced. Even now, little sparks of her light chase his shadows in the corners of the room, then curl around each other like contented cats.
He sees where she's looking and smiles softly and sadly. “See, every part of me yearns for you,” he says.
She kisses him deeply. “I have an idea,” she says, when they finally disengage. “You said my light helped you feel better.”
“It does,” he says.
“Then what if I could heal you? Our connection has to be good for something.”
He kisses her forehead. “Oh, moya dusha. Our connection is good for so much.”
“I know,” she says, remembering the ways their pleasure had rebounded through the tether, forming a feedback loop of mutual delight. Or the simple comfort of knowing she could reach for him and be heard. “What I meant...it's unique, right? I've never heard of anyone else having one. So maybe we can do things other Grisha pairs can't.”
“I'm willing to let you try it. I hope you're right,” he says.
“May I try with your face?” she asks. It's visible and the skin is more delicate than elsewhere, but it's also on the surface. She'll be able to see any effect she has, whether for good or ill, more easily.
“Yes,” he says, sitting up in the bed.
She places her palm against his cheek and focuses on calling the light. Not burning but clarifying, driving the stain of merzost out of him. “How is that?” she asks, afraid of harming him.
“That's good,” he says. “You can summon more.”
So she does. She imagines the scars closing fully, healthy skin fusing together.
Aleksander hisses in pain. The shadows move in the room, boiling out into the shape of a large humanoid. “Don't stop,” he says, sounding strained. “This is helping.”
Alina looks at the nichevo'ya. “Stop it!” she says. “I'm trying to heal him.” She half expects it to lunge for her, but instead it sits down, seeming to cock its head like a confused puppy.
“That's right,” she says. After all, Aleksander isn't the only one who can talk to strange beings. “That's good. Just sit there. Sasha's safe with me.”
And it's true. Even the nichevo'ya must believe it, because slowly it subsides and disappears. Through the tether, Alina can almost feel the ragged piece of Aleksander's soul coming back. Not healing fully, but nestling close to him again. And she can feel the edges where it should attach.
She withdraws her light back inside her, and slowly takes her hand away from his face. The scars haven't disappeared, but the black slashes are much thinner. “How do you feel?” Alina asks.
“Better,” he says. “My headache is gone for now, although I didn't need the extra strain of a nichevo'ya manifesting.”
“I think I can call them back to you. No, I know I can. I can feel how to do it, if you'll let me.”
He looks at her, awe and hope in his eyes. Then his expression darkens. “Alina, they keep me safe. So I can keep Grisha safe. Without them, I'll be exposed.”
“They're killing you!” she says sharply. “You said it yourself. And you survived and protected Grisha for hundreds of years without them.”
“Not well enough,” he whispers, his voice utterly haunted.
She holds him close. “You're not alone any more. You don't have to carry this on your own. And you don't need the nichevo'ya—I can protect you.”
He pulls away a little so he can look into her eyes.
“Yes, Sasha. I'm staying with you.”
“You mean it?” he asks, and he looks so young. Tears shine in his dark eyes.
“I mean it,” she says, and hopes her sincerity will flow through the tether. When she'd ridden away from the Spinning Wheel, some part of her knew she wouldn't be coming back to resume her role as their saint. She couldn't just sit there and smile at the prince who had commanded this current wave of persecution, and she couldn't stomach the thought of bowing to his awful father. “I want my friends to be safe, though.”
“I have no desire to kill Grisha,” Aleksander says, sounding immensely weary. “But when it is time to attack, I will not leave the Tsar and Vasily alive.”
“I know,” says Alina.
He looks at her for a long moment, then nods. “Very well. Whether you are healing me or we're discussing strategy, neither option will be very successful without breakfast.”