GRISHAVERSE
The Darkling/Alina Starkov (side Alina Starkov/Mal Oretsev)
CW: unhealthy relationship(s), not really a love story, the Darkling being an ambiguous mastermind manipulator (and using his brain, thank you, I’m still bitter), Mal being his usual resentful self
COW-T #12, w2, m2: Cattiva fede
Notes on the story: I’ve read the Shadow and Bone trilogy, I’ve read the Six of Crows duology and I’ve watched like three episodes of the tv show.
I haven’t even touched King of Scars/Rule of Wolves yet, but I’ve spoiled myself something in the wiki (too much for my own liking but whatever that’s my fault). The point is, I’m probably butchering Leigh Bardugo’s world building on Shu Han, because it’s in the books I haven’t read yet (yep, I was about to give them an Emperor, then I read online they have a Queen and it’s a matriarchy state, and I just want to read the books now!)
- - -
She’s dignified. As a Saint should be.
She walks right by his side, her hands folded on her abdomen, her chin held up, her bone collar exposed for everyone to see, the golden embroidery on her black kefta almost shining of its own light.
She never smiles.
Neither does the Darkling.
(Even if he won).
You can have the Sun Summoner. You can have the Sankta Alina. You won’t have me.
We’ll see.
He takes her to the little cell and opens the door for her. She slides in, summoning her power to see better in the dim light of the candles, and the Darkling closes the door behind his back as he follows her in. They are already there, because the Darkling and the Sun Summoner are too important to be the ones made to wait.
Alina throws herself at Mal immediately, hugging him, clinging to his shoulder. “Mal,” she whispers in the crook of his neck, “How are you? Did they treat you well?”
Mal smiles, tiredly, and then nods. “As usual, you know,” he says.
She knows.
It’s part of the deal - part of the blackmail. Mal gets to live a normal life - no tracking, no marching to battle in the snow, no crossing Fjerdian borders - and Alina keeps being the Darkling little puppet. A misstep by any of them and the Heartrender that the Darkling has assigned him, officially as a guard, will end his life. But if she behaves, no harm will come to the tracker.
“How is it going at the farm?” She asks because she can’t stand the silence.
Mal lets out a dry laugh, “How do you think it goes? It’s always the same. We just finished sowing the wheat. Fedor here was incredibly useful. I never thought a Grisha could do something more than their magic.”
Fedor, the Heartrender, doesn’t even flinch, but Alina can feel the amusement through her connection with the Darkling. He never speaks at these meetings. She can see Mal once a month, under his supervision - because he doesn’t want them to get ideas - but at least he’s gracious enough to shut up.
“I hope you know I can do more than summon light,” she says, piqued. Alina knows Mal never accepted that she’s a Grisha, but despite everything that happened, her ability to summon is the only thing that’s keeping her sane some days.
“Yes, of course,” Mal looks slightly uncomfortable, almost as if taking in that he’s in a room with other three persons, all Grisha, “I wasn’t talking about you.”
Alina lets it slide, shakes her head and tries to make the best of this meeting - there’s no point in spending it arguing, just to leave angry and not see each other for another month. Alina has learned through experience how awful that is.
So she asks him about something else, anything - she asks him and he replies, never the other way around because there are things she can’t say, things he doesn’t want to hear.
They don’t talk about what happened at the Fold so many months before, they dance around her role at court and her black kefta and the antlers around her neck, they avoid anything that could hurt. And when they run out of topics, they simply stare at each other trying to convey all they cannot say with their eyes.
The Darkling clears his throat. “We need to meet the Kerch ambassadors in twenty minutes, Alina.”
She nods, not looking away from Mal and leans into his touch. She doesn’t want to say goodbye, doesn’t want to wait for another month to see him, and she surely doesn’t want to do it with the Darkling in the same room. She knows they’re not giving them any privacy because they’re afraid they’ll try something as soon as they’re alone - even if no plan to escape can be put in action, they’ll talk about it, they’ll have hope, and even if hope is the only thing that’s keeping Alina under his thumb, the Darkling knows he can’t let that feeling bloom too much.
She knows it, but sometimes she has the foolish idea that they keep watching them to make them feel embarrassed, as if she wouldn’t kiss the love of her life just because she has some audience. The Alina Starkov that had arrived in the Little Palace a year prior wouldn’t have, too reserved, too used to not be the center of attention to put herself in the spotlight.
The Sun Summoner doesn’t have the luxury of modesty. If she has to do it in front of the Darkling and a Heartrender, she’ll do it and she’ll thank the Saints for the small mercy that she hasn’t to do it in front of the whole Second Army, not that it would stop her either.
So she kisses him goodbye. She does it while the Darkling and Fedor watch, and ignores the spike of anger and jealousy that pulses in her heart through the collar. She feels petty at the idea of hurting him, twisting the metaphorical knife.
It might be the only satisfaction she has in her condition. Collared, captive, enslaved. She kisses him deeper, twisting her fingers in his hair and he kisses back, moaning on her lips. She forgets where she is, the only thing she’s aware of is her body pressed against his, Mal’s hands on her hips and the throbbing knot of malice around her neck that tells her that if he didn’t need Mal to keep her here the Darkling would have already killed him. Painfully.
She pants as she gets away, and Mal looks at her bewildered. “I’ve missed you, too,” he says, and he believes it’s because of him. Guilt coils in her stomach. That was awful of her, Saints, what was she thinking?
The Darkling smirks, reads her like an open book and she feels herself blushing.
She’s about to blab something - she doesn’t know what, but she needs to make things right, make this about Mal again.
“Mr. Oretsev,” the Darkling interrupts her before she could even open her mouth, and all eyes snap to him, “I was made to believe you’re the best tracker of the First Army.”
Mal looks wearily at him. “I was, yes.”
The Darkling nods to himself, “If you’d like, I have the need to track something.”
Alina feels the blood drain from her face, “You said he wouldn’t have to anymore. It was part of the deal!”
“He doesn’t have to, it’s a mere offer, not an order.”
He seems sincere, but he always does. Alina doesn’t trust him. “And how long until he’ll fall from an incident?”
“Why would I do something like that? He’s not a threat, and he’s decidedly more useful to me alive than dead. He would have all the protection I could offer him,” she knows he’s right, they both know the only thing that’s keeping her compliant and subdued is the threat dangling over Mal’s head, “But that is, unless he prefers staying at the farm. As I said, it’s his choice, not an order.”
Before Alina can protest any further, Mal asks, “What do you want me to track?”
He has been forced in that damn farm for too long. He was born to hunt, to fight, he had actually enjoyed being part of the First Army. He needs to go away, even if it might be a trap.
“Rusalye.”
“The Ice dragon?” he almost drops his jaw.
“Another amplifier?” Alina yells, “It’s madness.”
“It’s a fairy tale for children,” Mal shakes his head, but his fingers are already hitching to embrace a bow again.
“Just as Morozova’s stag was.”
It hits him then, what the Darkling really wants. Another amplifier for Alina, another shackle to put on her.
“I won’t do it,” he shakes his head. No, he won’t help him, even if it means to die of boredom in a farm.
“Fair enough,” the Darkling takes it graciously, as if he had expected it, “Let’s go, Alina. We have a court to entertain. Mr. Oretsev, Fedor, we’ll see you in a month.”
Alina glares at him, but he’s keeping the door open for her and she has to go.
She wants to ask him a million questions, but she won’t - what’s the point if she won’t believe his answers. She takes her place by his side, her mask of imperturbability slides back in place, and she’s a piece of the chessboard again.
*
The Darkling is polite, impeccably so. He opens her doors and takes her arm to guide her through the hallways and always asks for her insights when he needs to make a decision.
She’s smarter than she was the first time, she knows now that it’s just a performance to show her off. She’s the Saint and she’s his.
It’s not different now, she thinks, as he pulls out the chair for her and lets her sit at his right. It’s always the same, and Alina has lost counts of how many dignitaries they have met.
It’s the Shu Han ambassadors this time. They bow and sit across them without waiting for the Darkling to sit too. Alina doesn’t need the collar to sense his annoyance. She’d smirk at that, pettily happy for any thing that doesn’t go his way, as small as that could be, but this meeting is too important to focus on silly things like that.
“The Sun Summoner and the Darkling, we never thought we would meet such honored members of the Court.”
It’s meant to sound flattering, but she can hear the words behind, the ‘why are we talking to you, and not to your king?’. The Darkling had warned her, this would be a battle of wits, and even if they have the upper hand, even if they could destroy their whole country with the Fold, they need to focus on the real target.
“And we are indeed very honored to be the ones appointed by the King to finalize such an important treaty, esteemed ambassador Yul-Ayrat, esteem ambassador Yul-Naran,” the Darkling refuses to give even an inch. “After all, the future of nations rests in our hands.”
He makes a point of taking her hand in his, and the first ambassador, Yul-Ayrat, clenches his jaw, reading between the lines, as the second one, younger and not as skilled, can barely disguise the anger. It’s a threat, and the Darkling delivered it perfectly - after all, he has had centuries to practice.
Alina smiles and behaves even if she feels her skin tingling where he’s touching her.
“As honored as we are to be here, and at the presence of a Saint,” it’s another slight in his regard, but he has dealt with worse than a couple of kids pretending they could sit at the grownups table.
“I know this is very inappropriate,” says the younger ambassador, twisting his hands, “but my family raised me in the faith of the Saints… If I may be so forward as to ask for a blessing, Sankta Alina…”
Yul-Naran seems young enough to be allowed such a breach of protocol, seems sincere enough in his faith, but the Darkling is not an idiot. This is proof they’re asking for. A proof that the Sum Summoner exist, a proof that they really were the ones to change the Fold to Ravka favors, maybe even the confirmation that the new asset of the Fold wasn’t really an accident they played to their favour, but a calculated strategy.
Still, if it’s a display of force they’re asking for, they’ll leave them terrorized of what they can do.
Shadows lurk from the corner, slowly reaching for the center of the room and the Darkling squeezes her hand before letting it go, “Alina, if you please.”
It’s weird how, after shifting the Fold, the Darkling won’t use her power anymore, just asking her to do something instead of taking it with force. It doesn’t mean he won’t use the collar if she doesn’t obey, it doesn’t mean that she has a choice, but still, it deceitfully feels that way.
Alina lets the light gather in her palm, and then she makes it shine even brighter, blinding the Shu Han ambassadors and dissipating the shadows. Unmasking the glint of a blade.
She dodges, but the knife clatters on the table along with the hand that was still gripping it. The younger Shu Han ambassador looks at the stump that was his arm just a few seconds before as if he can’t take in what has just happened.
“Let me make this very clear,” the Darkling snarls, “we don’t take very kindly attempted murder here in Ravka.”
And then he Cuts him down in half, just as he did with the Fjerdan druskelle that tried to kill her the first time.
“Oh, Saints!” The older ambassador has blood on his face and on his clothes and the look of someone about to throw up. “Oh, Saints, I didn’t know! I swear. I didn’t know he wanted to do it!” He pleads and the Darkling ponders whether to believe him, whether to kill him anyway. But he needs to send a message back to Shu Han and their Queen, and what better messenger than their very same ambassador, that thought their power worth nothing more than a cheap trick, to tell the real extent of their summoning.
“Of course you didn’t, ambassador Yul-Ayrat. And we wouldn’t want to believe that the Queen knew anything at all. I’m sure I don’t have to be the one to tell you what the repercussions would be.”
“No, of course, the Queen protests her absolute extraneity to this… this… this inadmissible plot,” Yul-Ayrat is still stumbling on his words, still terrorized by the fact that his compatriot has been cut in half in the span of a minute. He’s still taking in what their powers really mean, what they can do.
“She would,” the Darkling nods, dangerous, then leaves Yul-Ayrat to wonder what does he really mean, going instead to the door and whispering something to the Grisha standing outside.
They patiently wait for servants to take care of the severed body and Alina really doesn’t recognize herself - has it really been that much that she doesn’t flinch at the use of the Cut in such an implacable way? She has lost count of how many people have tried to kill her. Or the Darkling. Sometimes the two of them together.
“Now that all pleasantries are out of the way,” the Darkling’s lips curl upward, sardonic, “I think we should discuss business, esteemed ambassador.”
The not so esteemed ambassador still looks a little bit out of himself, but he agrees nonetheless. “Yes. Yes, of course. The Queen - our Queen is very concerned by the way the Fold shifted,” he tries to go on, as if nothing happened, but his hand is frantically wiping away a smear of blood on his cheek and his eye keeps twitching. Alina can smell his fear, and she’s vaguely impressed by the fact that he hasn’t already run from the table.
“Perfectly understandable,” the Darkling nods completely sympathetic, hiding the blade behind the politeness, and then he strikes, “We wanted you to be concerned.”
Yul-Ayrat does a double take, for he hadn’t expected the conversation to shift from perfectly polite and subtly hinting to a complete display of forces.
“Ravka is united again, the Fold is under our control and if the Queen doesn’t want her country to be swallowed by shadows she’ll agree to our requests,” the Darkling goes on implacable. He knows he’s the one who can make demands and have them met, he knows he’s the one with the power, and finally, he might add, for he has worked centuries to achieve it.
“And what are your requests?”
“The Grishas.”
“What - what about them?”
“We want the Grishas. You will no longer experiment on them, you will no longer ambush and capture and torture them. When you find a Grisha, you will send them to Ravka and you will stop persecuting them.”
Alina feels her mouth open in surprise and forces her face back to the impassible expression she has worn until now. She doesn’t understand - why would he ask for this, why isn’t he claiming power or the annexation of Shu Han territories to Ravka or…
Yul-Ayrat is completely at loss too, “We cannot - I don’t the have the decisional power to - I thought we were here to discuss trades route and costumes duties and -”
“And to assess the true intentions of Ravka? Maybe to even put a knife in the Sun Summoner’s chest?” The Darkling adds, and he would look amused by his ramblings, if only the idea of having Alina killed didn’t make his blood boil.
“No!”
“Let me be clear, esteemed ambassador,” the Darkling snarls his title as an insult, “The King is not the one that controls the Fold. Your Queen and my King might talk business all they want, trades and economy and borders. Kings come and go, so do Queens. I want the Grishas safe in the Little Palace. If you don’t deliver, I’ll bring the Fold over your capital and I will swallow your country with shadows and darkness.”
“But - Expanding the Fold over Shu Han will kill the Grishas, too.”
“I expect it to be a kinder death than being cut open and vivisect on some Shu Han scientist table. Someone might even call it mercy.”
Yul-Ayrat doesn’t know what to say. He has heard the tales of what happened in Novikribrisk, he has heard the rumors and the whispers, and he had thought them made up, exaggerated. But then he had witnessed his power, he had seen the Darkling kill his fellow ambassador, cut in half with a wave of his hands, and now Yul-Ayrat is scared. Just as scared as the Darkling wants the rest of Shu Han to be. (He’s doing a wonderful work of it).
“I’ll - I’ll have to report your requests to the Queen.”
“See that she accepts them,” the Darkling nods, then stands up and guides Alina outside the door.
She waits until they’ve reached the privacy of their chambers before confronting him, her heart beating in her chest furiously.
“What was that?” she asks, turning to face him as soon as the door closes behind them.
“What was what?” He smiles and she knows he’s playing with her, “Your attempted murder? Or the fact that I just ensured Ravka a constant flow of Grishas from an otherwise hostile country?”
She shakes her head, “How can you be sure that She Han will comply?”
“I can’t,” he concedes, but doesn’t look distraught in the least, “And they won’t, not completely. They’ll appease us with a portion of them, half of the Grisha they find if we are lucky and we have scared them enough.”
“Half of them?”
“It’s more than we have now.”
“And what will the King say when he’ll found out that you have bargained for the Shu Han Grishas instead of the cost of exporting kvas?” She snarls, even if she should have already gotten used to being taken blindsided by him.
“The King won’t say anything.” At her incredulous expression, he goes on, “He’s too scared of us, I’ve already seen it happen. It won’t take long to have the blade that tries to kill us be sent by him, instead of Shu Han or Fjerda.”
“But if he tries to kill us…”
The Darkling laughs at her, and Alina feels a flare of rage going up in her chest.
“Oh, Alina, for someone who prides herself to know all my evil thoughts you surely lack in imagination if you don’t think we will end up on the top of this.”
“We?” She raises her eyebrows, challenges him to repeat it.
“You have no idea what it means being what we are. I told you, it takes more than a blade to kill us, Alina.”
She has to believe him on this. She has to trust him, oh, as if she could trust him on anything.
“You didn’t tell me about your plan.”
He leaves her then, he turns his back to her and goes to the cabinet to pour them a glass of kvas.
“You were so set on making me your villain. You wouldn’t have believed me.”
She can’t believe him, “You don’t get to play the poor misunderstood hero,” she scoffs, “Not after you enslaved me.”
“I did, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did.”
“How do you know I wouldn’t have let you kill the stag?”
“You wouldn’t have,” she insists, she keeps her ground, “Baghra told me. It was easier for you to have me at your mercy.”
“Baghra told you and you were so ready to believe her over me.”
“She’s your mother.”
“It doesn’t mean she knows everything.”
“So I’m supposed to believe that you would have let me kill the stag and be at your side and risk me antagonizing you. You would have never taken the chance.”
“I wouldn’t? Well, since you know me so well…” he lets the sentence drop, because it’s perfectly clear she doesn’t understand him at all. She never thought he would ask for Grishas’ safety. But of course, he knew what it meant to be on the run, with no safe place to turn to. He was the one who created the Little Palace and the Second Army, the one who gave up gold and fame to do so.
“Now you’re just trying to manipulate me.”
The Darkling laughs. It’s bitter and dry and it doesn’t sound wrong coming from his lips. “What’s the next thing you’re gonna accuse me of? What’s my next crime? I’m just trying to make you see things my way. I’m not asking your approval, I’m just asking you to see my version of the story, to acknowledge why it makes sense for me.”
“You took my power,” Alina stands her ground, “you destroyed Novokribirsk and its population as an act of force, just to make a point to the Fjerdian and Shu Han and Kerch ambassadors and then you dissolved half the Fold, just the center, enough to reunite Ravka, but you left the threat at the borders. I see that it makes sense. It’s very strategic,” she’s so scathing she could cut him with her words, “It doesn’t mean you had to take me as your slave, blackmail me into complacency and then pretend to be the victim here.”
The Darkling is already shaking his head, ready to spin the truth his way, so Alina stops him.
“Look me in the eye, moi sovereing, and tell me that enslaving me wasn’t your plan from the start.”
“I can’t.” He doesn’t even try to deny it, “I can’t. That was my initial plan, I needed the powers of the Sun Summoner, but, Alina, you -”
She raises her hand and shakes her head. She doesn’t need to hear anything else.
He’s the Darkling, the General of the Second Army, the one who takes care of Ravka, who cares about the Grishas, and protects everyone under his black cloak - he looks the part too well. But she can’t forget who he really is, she can’t.
“You put a collar on me, you bound my powers to you for life.”
“For life? Oh, Alina, you’re so close minded.” He laughs and she takes offense, he sees it in the way her face clouds. “Our lives are long, Alina, so long.”
There’s something she doesn’t understand, something he’s dangling in front of her, just willing her to ask. She shouldn’t, it would be playing into his game, but in the end she needs to know.
“What do you mean?”
“The amplifier choose you. The more you use it the more it binds to you and the more it takes me to use it to channel your powers.”
It’s hope, it’s the life she could have, free herself of his control and run away, break Mal out and take a ship to Novyi Zem. They could be free.
(He could be lying).
“How long…”
“Will it take? It depends. A few decades, a few centuries. I don’t exactly have a precedent.”
He could be lying, she knows, he could be lying about her lifespan, he could be lying about her getting free, she doesn’t trust him. Se can’t trust him. But dread fills her guts anyway. A few centuries? It’s impossible, it’s too long… and how long is she supposed to live, anyway? That seems just absurd, but it’s so easy to forget that he is that old - looking thirty and probably being three hundred. And she’ll get there too, because she’s the Sun Summoner.
“Not the answer you were expecting, I see,” the corner of his lip is tilted in an apologetic smile, as he passes her the liquor. “But you’ll adapt. In time, we all do.”
*
It takes months for Mal to finally ask. Alina sees there’s something he wants to say in the encounters that build up to that, but she thought it would be about the arrangement they have.
Instead Mal sets his jaw in determination and turns to the Darkling. “Have you found the dragon? Rusalye?”
“No,” the Darkling looks at him, contemplatively, “not yet.” He doesn’t ask why he’s suddenly so interested, he doesn’t scare him away. He waits to see where he’s going.
Mal nods as if he had known the answer all along and then clicks his tongue, “I’ll do it. I’ll track it.”
“What? No!” Alina turns to him
“Why?” The Darkling doesn’t lose his composure, but his gaze hardens on him, “What would you want?”
He’s asking him to name his price and Mal won’t let this chance go. “Alina kills it. I want your word.”
The Darkling raises his eyebrows surprised, as if he wasn’t expecting anything of the sort, but then he nods, “You have a deal.”
How do you know I wouldn’t have let you kill the stag?
Alina won’t fall for it, and neither should Mal, not after everything he did to them. “No! Mal, you can’t - you can’t track the dragon! And you can’t trust him!”
But Mal ignores her, not taking his eyes off the Darkling, “So easy?”
“Alina is already bound to me, I don’t need more shackles when I already have a collar. She will kill it. If you manage to track it, of course.”
They’re both ignoring her, now and she won’t have it. She puts herself between them and turns to Mal, because he’s the one she can convince to desist.
“Mal, please…”
“I can’t stay there,” he throws his hand up, “I can’t be at the farm anymore, Alina, I can’t stand it.”
“But the farm was our dream. We used to talk about it in Keramzin, we wanted cows and…” her voice falters, under his stare.
“Yes, Alina, it was our dream. But you are not there and all I’m left with is three cows, a field and a damn Heartrender to watch my every step,” he looks away, biting his lips, before bringing his gaze back to her. “I’m the best tracker the First Army has ever had and you’re the Sun Summoner. We were never meant to tend crops. Maybe it’s time we accept it.”
It hits her, hard and painfully, as raw as being gutted. She can’t believe he’s really turning his back at her after all they’ve been through. It wasn’t her choice being a Grisha, it wasn’t her choice being bound to the Darkling, and yes, Mal has to deal with the backlash of it, too, but she’s the one used and paraded around and now he wants to forsake the little they have because it’s not enough.
“You’re breaking up with me?” She asks, and her voice cracks.
“Saints, Alina, we’re not even together!” He shakes his head, “It’s been two years and I can see you once a month under their supervision. I love you, Alina, but…”
She stops him, with her hand, and turns to leave. She doesn’t need to hear him any longer, she knows everything that comes before a ‘but’ is useless. Maybe she’s been too hasty, he’s going away, he’s gonna be who knows where in the continent for who knows how long and this could be the last time she sees him. But it’s his choice, he’s the one who’s leaving and she’s tired of feeling guilty for things that aren’t her fault.
The Darkling follows her out, there will be time to arrange for the tracking expedition. He takes her arm but otherwise he’s uncharacteristically silent - both though words and through the collar. He should be gloating, she thinks, he’s always being jealous and now she won’t see Mal again. On top of that he’ll get the second amplifier. It’s too perfect for him to not rub salt in her wound.
Too perfect.
She turns on her heels and points a finger at him. “You planned this, didn’t you? You set him up.”
“I really didn’t,” the Darkling shakes his head, his complacent patronizing smile carved in his lips and there’s nothing she’d like better than to wipe it away. “I just let things play out as they always would have. Think about it, Alina. He’s a soldier and you’re a Saint. This isn’t a fairy tale.”
She looks away, and he sighs. She hates him, of course she does, he can feel it through their connection. But she won’t hate him forever, time will see to it.
After all, when everyone else around her will age and whiter and die, he’ll be the only thing she has left. In the end, it will be just the two of them, Shadows and Light, two Saints reigning in a world where Grishas won’t be persecuted anymore.
She’ll come around, he knows, she still thinks she’s human, frail and mortal, she has yet to understand what being the Sun Summoner means, she has yet to see how fickle are human lives, how meaningless in the great scheme. But time will show her and he can wait for her, after all, time he has plenty.
In the meanwhile, at his arm, she already looks the part.
She’s dignified. As a Queen should be.
