She wasn't expecting it to be a Heartrender. Perhaps that was foolish of her, to expect that no Grisha would harm her, that no Grisha would side with the Lantsovs. However, the moment Alina felt that telltale grip on her heart - and saints, this wasn't like Fedyor or Nina's teasing, this hurt - she knew she had made a mistake. The feeling was so crushing, so overwhelming, that she couldn't even begin to think about summoning, let alone do it. For a moment, falling to her knees, she was certain that death was here to take her, her heart close to bursting.

Then her father, who had been invisible but now suddenly was not due to her... distraction, smashed the Heartrender over the head with a nearby antique sword hanging on the wall. He didn't even bother to take it out the scabbard, but it worked. The assassin was clearly not a soldier, not Second Army, for they had not been prepared for a physical attack. Gasping and in pain on the velvet carpet, Alina did not even wait for the breath to return to her before bringing her hands together to Cut the now-staggering man in half. Hot, red blood spattered over both of them, and her armed escort, as the man's head and torso separated from the rest of him, falling into a bloody mess on the ground.

For a moment, the world stood still.

Then Alina came to her senses. She was in an all-but-empty corridor surrounded by a dozen or so guards, whom she wasn't sure knew about the plot to kill her or not. Judging from their expressions, she guessed not, but you never knew. Hauling herself to her feet despite the tremors still running through her from the Heartrender's attack, leaning heavily on her father who offered a calloused hand, she summoned a ball of light.

"Anyone else?" She glanced around, still covered in blood. No one moved a muscle. "No? Then let's go. I'm going to be late. The Prince is waiting,"

Rather shellshocked - from the attack, the sudden appearance of her father, or that she had not only survived but was walking - they obeyed.

"A fucking Grisha," Her father was muttering, helping her along. "Why did you not consider it would be a fucking Grisha?" There was no point making him invisible now they'd all seen him.

"Because any rogue Grisha tend to stay as far from the Little Palace as possible," She said through gritted teeth. "For good reasons. Come on, we need to move,"

Having dealt with the assassin, they should definitely leave now; their supplies for travel were packed in a bag on her father's back. But first, she wanted to make Vasily squirm. A ride through the bustling city, during which she would conjure an image of her own death at the hands of a Lantsov guard, would be sufficient to turn everyone even more against the royals than they already were. And give her a public excuse to leave without the risk of being demonised. It was a complicated plan, thought up very quickly, and one that would require the utmost attention.

Perhaps Alina should have considered that she was not quite thinking straight after her near-death experience with the Heartrender. That this plan was not well thought out in the first place, and her ability to summon might be compromised. That despite her father's quick thinking, by all rights she should be dead by now, as the Heartender's crushing grip normally killed much quicker than that. That she felt light-headed, dizzy, nauseous, hot and flushed all over, her heart pounding in her chest like it had something to prove.

The Prince was waiting by the obnoxiously grand carriage in the main courtyard of the palace. Alina had wondered if he would even bother to show, though she supposed if the Sun Summoner had mysteriously dropped dead in a remote wing of the palace, it would pay for him to have an alibi. The carriage had even been prepared and wheeled out, for appearances sake.

His face dropped almost comically when he saw her, clearly having not expected her to survive. It was obvious he was struggling to recover the situation and pretend he had no idea what happened. "Saints, Alina, what happened? Is that blood? Are you hurt?"

"You tell me," She said sourly, letting go of her father's arm and striding (staggering) forward. "You'll find your Heartrender assassin in two pieces in a first-floor hallway,"

"Assassin - what?" Vasily was doing a poor job of acting. "You think I sent someone to kill you? If I wanted you dead, why would I have agreed to marry you? It must have been the Darkling - he doesn't want you to grow more powerful than him,"

"The Darkling could have had me slaughtered a thousand times if he wanted to,"

"He commands all Grisha, does he not? Does that not point the finger of blame in one direction?"

"The finger of blame points only to you, and your hateful parents,"

There was a beat of silence. Then, the Prince's tone changed slightly. "How many men attacked you, Alina? Just one?"

Something about the forced-casual way he asked that made her pause. "What do you mean, just one?"

There was a beat of silence. Vasily's lip curled slightly, and a cold feeling gripped her stomach, right before the gunshot rang out across the courtyard. Alina's hand was already flinging up, summoning light to melt the bullet before it struck her head, but it wasn't quick enough, she was still weak from the Heartrender's grip, she wasn't wearing a kefta, she was too late to stop it -

"Move, Lina!" Someone barrelled hard into her side, shoving her painfully onto the cobbled ground and falling on top of her.

Several curses spilled from her lips as she wriggled out from underneath whoever had pushed her, bruised and aching, her head spinning. She saw the man who had saved her had been shot, in her place. Shot in the back of the head. A nasty way to go, her mind noted absently. Blood, brains and skull everywhere. Just like Alyona in the carriage, from all those years ago.

Oh, Alina realised then. That man is wearing Da's clothes.

It was as though her body realised before she did, a strangled gasp coming from her throat before she had even consciously acknowledged why. Alina felt her eyes bulge, her whole body freeze, as she realised that the man who had shoved her out the way of a bullet to the head - because who else in this cursed place would? - the man who currently decorated her skirts with the inside of his head, was her father.

She didn't scream. There wasn't time; the gunman was still alive, likely loading another shot. Where was he? A window overlooking the courtyard? A hidden doorway? After a moment of consideration, Alina realised she did not care. Her light could melt any bullet, now she knew there was one coming. Almost unconsciously, in a shocked daze, she let the walls of light form like a shield around her, and turned back to the body in her lap, hands shaking as she tried to see if she could salvage... salvage anything.

It was like a bad dream. Surely this could not be real? Alina had been in many situations where she felt like that, but they all paled in comparison to this. Her father was dead, because he had shoved her out of the way of a bullet. Her father was dead, because he had come all the way to Os Alta to make sure she was alright. Her father was dead, because she was arrogant enough, foolish enough, to threaten a King.

What was she supposed to do now? What could she do? Her mind drew a blank.

Idly, distractedly, Alina realised that it wasn't just a shield forming around her. It wasn't just light, not like she had always used it before. The golden tendrils... whispered, in a way they never had until now. They seemed... alive. And they were growing, in size and speed, starting to whirl around her faster and faster, brighter and larger, deeper and wilder, fed by her pain, rage, confusion and grief.

Merzost. The dreaded word came to mind, and part of her revelled in it. This uncontrolled tempest of magic, magic not science, was addictive, intoxicating, quite unlike anything she had ever felt before. Surely it should burn? Her father's body in her lap had burnt to ashes, swirling around in the whirlwind of light, yet her own skin was untouched. The light was whispering to her more loudly now, calling to her, howling, roaring, figure-like shades of... something moving around in its depths. What would happen if she continued to let it consume her, feed off her, take whatever it wanted?

Part of Alina wanted to find out - fuck it, fuck it all - but that word latched onto her mind. Taking. Taking, taking, taking. Merzost took. She didn't want to lose any of herself, not after she had lost her father. That, and the hot tears running down her cheeks, brought her back to reality, with a sharp sob. It felt like hitting the ground after a long fall.

Alina did not hesitate, and cut the connection to the abomination of magic. But the light did not go out. It almost... condensed, solidified, became a separate entity without her feeding it. There was a sound like a thunderclap, like the sound the Cut made but amplified by a hundred, swiftly followed by the sounds of shattering stone and glass, as though a mountain had just crumbled to the earth. Knelt on the ground, she had no sense of what was going on, head bowed and fists clenched against clouds of dust and detritus.

It felt like an age - an age of confusion, ringing ears and pounding headache - before the dust began to settle and she saw what had happened. A scar cut through the courtyard. But not just the courtyard. The entire palace. The Grand Palace had been entirely bisected by a wide, jagged chasm, saints know how deep, filled with the same whirling, whispering, howling light. Except now, the light wasn't drawing on Alina. It was apart from her. Completely out of her control.

The only thought in her overwhelmed, grief-stricken head was to run, as far and as fast as she could.

*

She barely remembered leaving Os Alta, nor the days after. All she knew was that no one tried to stop her. Brief flashes of staggering out of the destroyed, smoking palace gates; of hordes of people crowding by the palace walls; slipping unnoticed through the city. It was a nice day, the sun was shining. Her father's bag was on her back, and his leather hunting coat, though she didn't remember taking either of them, and hadn't his body burned? She remembered ashes slipping through her fingers in place of a heavy corpse. Her ears didn't stop ringing for a long while, and her body felt weak and sluggish for longer.

Alina decided she must have stolen or bought a horse at some point, for she noticed she was riding a large grey one through the Ravkan countryside, about two days from Os Alta. Maybe she had robbed a guard, for the saddle and bridle bore the royal livery; she scratched that off with her father's hunting knife - his own one, from the bag, not the one she had carried at her belt for so long - as soon as she was lucid enough to notice. Royals... Had Vasily survived? She hoped not. He had killed her father. Her father was dead.

Her memory became patchy again after that thought.

The days of travel gained more clarity the longer they went on. It was a good thing it was only autumn; being alone on a horse in the depths of a Ravkan winter, slowly riding north with just one small bag of supplies, wearing nothing but a court dress, would likely not have been possible. Though even then, she may not have noticed from how numb she felt anyway. That first week was spent in a daze, existing without really living, just going through the motions, not letting herself feel anything at all because emotions meant pain. At the same time, her heart cried out for someone to come for her, because all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and give up. It wasn't going to be her father, and no one else knew where she was. So if Alina could get her empty carcass of a body to her friends, they could look after it whilst she let herself check out for a while.

It was halfway through the journey, some time after she had skirted the edges of the town of Ryevost, that a hunter and his young son crossed paths with her in the forest one evening.

"Miss!" The rugged-looking man called to her in a friendly tone (nothing like her father, who would glower at a stranger until they left him in peace, hand on his gun). "Are you alright? Are you lost?"

'Miss', not 'my lady'. Alina had bought a roughspun peasant dress from a farmer's wife when she became lucid enough to realise her tattered court gown was impractical, giving her a large gold earring as payment. The gown had been burnt to a crisp; on a campfire, not using her light. She hadn't tried to reach for her powers since whatever had happened with the merzost. She wasn't sure she trusted herself.

"I'm fine. Thank you," Her own voice sounded hollow, a wraith in the shape of a person. She was going to continue on without another word, but something made her wait. "What's your name?"

"Bram. And this is my son, Andrei," He looked down at the boy with a fond smile, ruffling his hair, warm and affectionate. "What's yours? Are you sure we can't offer you a bed for the night? It's near dark, and my wife would welcome the company. Would talk your ear off if you give her half the chance, my Lina,"

At that, to her eternal shame, Alina burst into tears. She cried even harder when she let the kind man help her down from her horse without question, the little boy taking the reins to lead it whilst he assisted her to his small cottage. A tiny, rosy-cheeked woman greeted them initially with good cheer, then concern as she took in the state of her.

"What on earth has happened?" The woman could be no more than five years older than Alina herself. "Who's this poor girl?"

"Not sure," Her husband said, worried. "We met on the road, and she was all alone, looking a state,"

"Are there bandits in the area again?" The woman said with a hint of dread, and Alina knew what she was thinking.

"Nothing like that," She managed to get out, voice hoarse. "It's just - my father," She broke off, threatening to sob again, but got a hold of herself. "I saw him shot dead last week in Os Alta,"

"Oh, saints," The woman gasped in sympathy. "You poor thing, travelling all that way. Have you nowhere to go?"

"I'm on my way to Ulensk,"

"Not many heading there these days," The man, Bram, said rather grimly. "Not after the battle,"

"Do you have family there?" His wife sounded concerned.

She shook her head. "No. But my... friend is staying there at the moment,"

"Army?" The woman guessed shrewdly. Alina nodded. "Sweetheart?"

That made her smile weakly, for the first time in over a week. "Not quite,"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Husband?"

"Saints, no," At least there was enough of her left to feel revulsion at that particular thought.

She laughed. "If you say so. What's your name, again? You've met Bram and Andrei - I'm Melina,"

"I'm Alina," Alina admitted. It was a common name, after all, and she didn't have the energy or will to lie. She turned to Bram. "Sorry - I wouldn't have started crying like a baby if you hadn't mentioned your Lina. That's... that's just what my father calls me. Called me. I hadn't cried, until now," More tears fell down her cheeks, but thankfully the sobs seemed to have subsided. And some part of her relished in the grief and sadness, for it was better than whatever ghost-like state she had been in for the past week. Never had she felt less like herself.

"Well, Alina is a fine name," The woman said with good humour. "Especially since you share it with the future Queen. Did you see her in Os Alta? The Sun Summoner?"

The only way Alina would ever be Queen now was if she married the Darkling. Fighting a shudder at the thought, she replied, "A few times. I was there for when she got dragged off for speaking publicly against the King after the battle of Ulensk,"

"Were you?" Bram leaned in, eager for any snippet of news. "What did you think of her? Do you think she really is a saint, the church people say?"

This was a very odd situation indeed.

"No," She said. "Just a Grisha. A powerful Grisha, but not a saint. She hates the royals, there's no doubt, and seems brave, I suppose, but how can anyone be brave if they have no fear? I don't know if that's bravery or stupidity,"

"What has she got to be afraid of?" Bram chuckled. "I daresay I wouldn't be scared of much, if I could summon the sun,"

"Saint or no saint, she seems a decent sort," Melina said. "I've heard from my sister she visits the city and talks to common people like she's one of them - no airs and graces, like,"

That made her smile faintly. "I heard she grew up in a hovel in the Sikurzoi," Alina said. "She really wasn't born any better than anyone else, I suppose, so why would she act it?"

"Should be more people like that in power, if you ask me," Melina said. "All these nasty things that've been coming out about the King and Prince, lately, this country could do with having a common peasant girl ruling things,"

She had nothing to say to that.

There was a lull in the conversation, until little Andrei spoke up. "Why is your hair black and white?" His child's voice was brutally honest.

"What?" Alina's hands flew up to the top of her head, alarmed. "My hair isn't white?"

"Andrei," Melina scolded. "You shouldn't make personal remarks," She turned to Alina with sympathy. "I heard that sometimes grief can turn people's hair white. It's only a streak. Most of it's still black. Don't worry, it makes you look rather striking, not old. Especially with your colouring. Was one of your parents Shu?"

Alina was too stunned to speak for a moment. Was it grief, or was it merzost? "My mother," She replied absently, hand running over her hair.

Melina and Bram very kindly allowed her to sleep on a collection of blankets on the floor that night, in front of the dying fire. It was a far cry from her luxurious bedchamber in the Grand Palace, but it was better conditions than she had back in Dva Stolba, and she slept very soundly, as she had done ever since leaving Os Alta; her body was no doubt exhausted, though her dreams were vivid and horrible.

Whilst eating a breakfast of rye bread and pickled vegetables with her hosts the next morning, Melina began to ask more probing questions. "So how old are you, Alina?"

She paused to think. "Eighteen. Nearly nineteen,"

"And you've always lived in Os Alta?"

Alina decided to be truthful today. She would be gone by noon, anyway, and it was mildly entertaining seeing if they'd guess the truth. It was unlikely commoners knew much about the Sun Summoner at all. So little had amused her recently that she thought she might as well. "No. Only since I was nine. I grew up in the Dva Stolba valley, by the Shu border,"

"Why did your family move? That's a long way, and I've heard Os Alta is mighty costly,"

"My family didn't. It was just me,"

"You're Grisha!" The woman explained, catching on remarkably quickly. "You are, aren't you? Why else would you go? My little sister went off the same way - did you know her? Her name is Maria Kuznetsova. We called her Marie,"

She did know her. Marie was a year or so older than Alina, and very irritating, one of the few who never stopped fawning over the Sun Summoner and trying to befriend her, despite Alina's obvious lack of interest. "I am Grisha," She said instead. "Sorry I didn't tell you - some people don't take it well. Marie is a nice girl. I never knew her that well, but she seemed very... sweet," Saints, she hoped that merzost hadn't made her... nice?

"What type of Grisha are you?" Bram asked, speaking for the first time in a while. There was a certain look behind his eyes that suggested he knew.

Alina smiled tightly, avoiding the question, instead reaching into her father's bag. "I wanted to thank you for a bed for the night, and for the food," She brought out the gold necklace she'd been wearing the day she left Os Alta. It was overlarge and gaudy, ugly really, but would be worth a small fortune to most Ravkans.

Melina's mouth had dropped open. "What - ?"

She pressed it into the woman's hands. "Please take it," Alina clasped her hands around the other woman's, closing them around the necklace. "Keep it, sell it, I don't care, but make sure you get a good price. It's real gold. I don't want it, and you've been so kind,"

"But, I - I can't - "

"You can. To be very blunt, I have other necklaces that I like more. This one brings up bad memories,"

Bram looked equally stunned. "Who are you?"

She shrugged. He knew already, and now so did his wife. "Who I said I was. My name is Alina, my father was killed in Os Alta, and I'm travelling to Ulensk to meet a friend in the Second Army," She smiled faintly, for half a second almost like her old self, before she had spent months in the Grand Palace, before she had torn it in half. "Well - a friend who leads the Second Army," Anticipating a fuss, she quickly continued. "I don't mean to flash around riches. You have much better need for that necklace than I do, and I'd like you to have it,"

There was a stunned silence, when Melina and Bram looked at each other.

"We can't thank you enough," He said eventually, meaning it. "I'd call you a saint, but you said you weren't,"

"I wish everyone thought like that,"

After her admittedly generous gift, Melina practically forced her to take warm furs and food supplies with her for the rest of the journey, despite her protests. "Winter is coming on fast," She said, stubborn. "Might be sunny now, but the weather can turn any moment, 'specially up near Ulensk,"

Alina rode away from the little house in the woods feeling warmer and, if not much happier, slightly less lost.

*

I'm so sorry, I wasn't initially going to kill off Alina's father!!! I love him as a character but I eventually came to the sad conclusion that his time in the story has come to an end and the plot is better served by him dying than escaping with Alina. I was really not sure about how this chapter turned out - it kind of took its own form and wrote itself, so please let me know what you think. Yes, Alina was stupid in this chapter. That is the point. She is not as unstoppable as she thinks she is, and there were very serious consequences that will make her rethink a lot of things. Thanks again for reading!!