Aleksandra had been imprisoned for two weeks before anyone came for her.

At first, the cell she was in had been relatively comfortable, as cells go, with a clean floor, a small window and a bed, albeit an uncomfortable one. It had been on the upper levels of the dungeons, so there were plenty of people walking past. She had time to reflect on things such as being glad her cat Olga was safe in the kitchens rather than shut away alone in her room. But then came that dreadful noise - like the building was collapsing around her - the floors shaking, stones shifting, dust falling from the ceiling. People were screaming in the distance, and the guards had all rushed to see what had happened.

After that, everything changed. She had been roughly dragged from her cell that night, down, down, down, deep under the ground, to a saintsforsaken pit where people had rotted for hundreds of years. There were still skeletons chained to the walls by iron manacles, which she could only see when they brought her in; once they left with their lanterns, she was in total darkness. It was cold and damp, stinking of mould, filth and stale blood.

And she had just been left there. No one told her what happened. No one came in with food or water, other than the loaf of stale bread and canteen of dirty water she had been left with when they brought her here. It felt like everyone had abandoned her. Alina, the Grisha, even those who put her in here in the first place. With no daylight, she had no idea of how much time had passed. Her stomach felt like it was eating itself, and the limited water in that canteen was dwindling fast despite her rationing attempts. Surely they weren't going to leave her here to starve to death? It was like something out of a horrible tale from centuries ago; though, she realised, perfectly fitting for the aristocracy above, who pretended to be refined and civilised but were rotten to the core.

When the door opened fully, Aleksandra thought someone had come to kill her, and that it might have been a blessing. But then she realised the light - which she flinched away from, squinting, so used to darkness - was from a Fabrikated lantern, saw the outline of the slender figure stood in the doorway, and had to bite back a sob of relief.

"Saints," Mila Tarasova's lip curled in disgust as she looked around. "This place is worse than I remember. Though lucky for you, it's much easier getting you out of here than upstairs,"

Having been reporting to the woman for months, now, she was used to her unnerving presence. They got along well, in fact. And after the hell she had been through, the sight of another person, let alone someone she liked and respected, was so sweet it broke her heart. That initial relief quickly passed, though, and her rage at being abandoned surged to a head. "I don't feel fucking lucky," Aleksandra ground out, hastening to her feet, staggering at the weakness in her muscles from lack of food. Her voice was hoarse from disuse and dehydration, and her mood incredibly sour.

The woman's eyes flashed. "Lucky you're good at your job, and kept your mouth shut, or I'd have left you here to rot,"

The first day she had been imprisoned upstairs, the guards had tried to intimidate her into spilling Alina's secrets. She played the foolish young maid, and then they left her alone. All imprisoning her was really meant to accomplish was trying to keep Alina in line, after all. No doubt the reason she was left to die in this pit was just to punish the Sun Summoner, which was truly maddening. Was that all her life was worth?

"If I was better, would you have got me out after one day, instead of however long I've been down here?" She snapped. Her head was spinning, and she felt rather delirious, swaying where she stood, enough to have to lean against the wall. A skeleton crunched under her hand and she jerked back with a small cry of disgust and frustration.

"Here," Mila moved forward to steady her, her touch surprisingly gentle. "Eat," She pressed a bar of something into Aleksandra's hand.

"What is it?"

"The Fabrikators claim it's a miraculous substance to stop your energy flagging. It's meant for soldiers or travellers, an emergency ration. Really, it's just pure sugar with mint flavour. Works, though. Unless you want to stagger out of here like a newborn foal, eat it,"

Aleksandra had never eaten sugar before; it was expensive and had to be imported from Novyi Zem, so was reserved for the nobility. She took a bite and pulled a face at the overwhelming sweetness, but was so hungry she practically inhaled the whole bar. "I was meant to die down here, wasn't I? What did Alina do?"

"Killed the Prince," The woman said, like she was talking about the weather. "And tore the palace in half,"

Her eyes widened. "What?"

Mila actually smiled at that, briefly. "I'll show you. Come on - it's easier getting you out of here than getting you out of upstairs would be, but not easy. If this is done right, no one will notice you're gone,"

She barely recalled the details of sneaking through dark tunnels, dodging past guards, Mila like a ghost in front of her. Aleksandra had no doubt that if she had fallen behind, or got caught, the spymaster would have left her without a second thought. Thankfully, her entire working life had been spent blending into the background, avoiding attention and moving quietly, so that did not occur.

It was the middle of the night when they emerged from the palace. Aleksandra was glad; she would have been blinded by such bright light, after so long in the dark. Her white servant's dress was stained and torn, which would be less noticeable at night. But it did not seem as dark as it should have been, even with a full moon.

"What is that?" She craned her neck, trying to see the bright source of light coming from around a corner.

Mila appeared at her side, a silent shadow, hand on her arm. "Take a look,"

Aleksandra peered around the corner, leaning against the wall, and had to stifle a gasp. Sure enough, the Grand Palace had been split entirely in half, crumbling either side of a gouge right through the middle. And in the ground was a long, jagged chasm, filled with light.

"People are calling it the Scar of Os Alta," Mila murmured, close to her ear. "Alina and her father were attacked in the courtyard, by order of the King. Her father was shot dead in front of her. The few witnesses who survived claim she let out an unearthly scream and, well - it doesn't pay to anger a Sun Summoner,"

Dmitri Starkov was dead? That was a shame; Aleksandra had only known the man a few weeks, but had liked him a lot. And Alina clearly loved him, respected him, despite the way they bickered. No wonder his death had triggered... this. "What is it?" The golden light within was swirling tantalisingly, beautiful and alluring.

"No one is sure. Who's going to go in and check? I'm sure in time, Grisha theorists will be all over it, like they were the Fold. But it came from merzost, which likely means death to all those stupid enough to touch it. Vasily got a little too close, and ended up as ashes,"

Saints. Aleksandra tore her eyes away from the magnificent, terrible Scar, looking back at Tarasova. "Did Alina survive?"

"To my knowledge, yes. I've got people looking for her, but they've been warned not to go near. She was never the most stable, let alone now," The woman laughed, then. "The Apparat advised the Queen to open the palace gates and allow pilgrims to pay homage to the place where her son died. Of course, he knew they would come to pay homage to the miracle of Sankta Alina instead - they love her, and don't know or care that three dozen people died when she made that Scar, or that many more were injured. People are swarming all over it during the day, celebrating - the Queen is most enraged that no one cares about her dearly departed Prince,"

"The Queen?" Aleksandra raised an eyebrow. "Why not the King?"

Mila's smile was wicked. "He's confined to his chambers, gravely ill, as though his heart broke with grief at the death of his eldest son. He refuses to let any Grisha near him, so the only Healers that could save him are forbidden from the palace,"

"You poisoned him," Aleksandra could not help but smile back as they slipped back into the shadows, heading across the lawns for the Little Palace. Finally, justice for all those girls.

"Who said poison?" She shrugged, the look on her face all but screaming the word. "All that is certain is the King is dying, and the Queen is acting as Regent - hence your nasty predicament underground, the woman is truly spiteful. Royal messengers recently discovered that the heir apparent, Prince Nikolai, never attended university in Kerch and instead hired a stand-in to act as him. He's gone with the wind, so council meetings are spent squabbling over which royal cousin deserves the throne. Nevermind the fact that Fjerda is regathering its forces on the border. I just came from Ulensk - that was why I didn't come for you sooner. I don't trust anyone enough to tell them this way in,"

Was that almost... an apology? Strange. "Was Ulensk as bad as everyone said?"

"From the aftermath I saw, yes, and then some," Mila said. "A large nail in the Lantsov coffin. Driving off the beloved Sun Summoner may be the final one,"

They could only hope.

*

Aleksandra had never been into the Little Palace before. Few who weren't Grisha ever did. It was somehow more beautiful than the ostentatious grandeur of the Grand Palace; older, with wooden walls, Fabrikated artwork, simple but warm and comfortable. She was very aware she stank of the dungeons, and looked the worst she had ever looked. At this time of night, only the oprichniki were awake, and let Mila through after she answered a specific question.

"If Genya Safina can be a Tailor, so can someone else," The woman said, at Aleksandra's questioning look. "Even if something tries to get in that looks like me, they won't be let through unless they can answer correctly,"

Mila showed her to a small room on an upper floor of the Little Palace, not unlike the servant's room she had shared with Kira, except this one only had one slightly larger bed, and furnishings of a much better quality. "The servants here are hired separately to those in the Grand Palace. None of them will know you. They are all loyal to the Second Army, and well aware of the consequences of a loose tongue - no one should even know you escaped, and if they realise, they have far too many problems at hand to waste time looking for a missing servant. There are new clothes in the drawer, a plate of bread and butter over there, and a wash basin on the dresser. Feel free to use the communal banya in the grounds tomorrow, and take breakfast from the kitchens if you're hungry,"

The prospect of all that sounded like luxury. "Thank you. Truly, thank you. Do you do this for everyone you break out of a dungeon?"

Mila smiled, for once not looking predatory. She was quite pretty, when she smiled like that. "Like I said - you've been very useful,"

Thank the saints. "Who do I report to for work tomorrow? Is there a head housekeeper or butler?"

"You report to me, in two days time. I didn't break you out for you to work as a maid, Sasha," Aleksandra blinked in surprise at the unexpected nickname. "Rest, and recover some strength - you'll need it,"

With that, she slipped away, the door shutting silently behind her.

Aleksandra had been confined in boredom, dread, darkness and filth for what had to be at least a week, and was longing to sink into those warm, clean blankets. She spent half an hour scrubbing the dirt from her skin, washing out her blonde hair until the water turned grey, before pulling open the drawer to see a clean set of clothes laid out for her. It was not a white servant's dress; rather, a dress that a modest woman of the town would wear, neither rich nor poor, in a nice shade of pale green. She was going to stick out like a sore thumb around here, where everyone wore either servant's white or a Grisha kefta, but it had to be the nicest item of clothing she had ever owned.

She cried that night, when the candles had been blown out and the curtains opened, so she could feel the cold autumn night air on her face, and see the night sky. Cried silently and out of pure, unfettered relief that she was not going to die in a dark, damp hole in the ground, buried under the weight of a royal palace, a spiteful queen and an unwilling saint.

*

Mila, as it turned out, did not give her two days to recover.

That first morning in the Little Palace, Aleksandra had ventured out of her room to find the kitchens for some food; the hallways were thronging with both young and older Grisha, none of whom looked twice at her. After getting her breakfast, she had sought peace in the nearest quiet room, which turned out to be a magnificent library; the librarian, an ancient-looking man named Konstantin, had been helpful in finding her a good book to read, and she had sat in a window alcove, looking over the grounds. It was a luxury she had never experienced before, just being able to sit down and read like this. Alina had let her do what she liked within the safety of her chambers, but it wasn't the same as openly sitting in a public place, somewhere she was used to having to work.

It was well into the afternoon when a summons came from a servant to attend a meeting at the spymaster's request. The room she was shown to - and wasn't it strange, being the one shown instead of the one doing the showing? - was in a quiet wing of the palace, and there were already a dozen or so people inside, sat down, some of them wearing keftas, some of them not. Mila stood at the door.

"There you are. Sit down,"

Aleksandra sat next to an older woman dressed like a servant.

"Genya Safina has been arrested," Mila started with no introduction, causing a stir of dismay around the room. "Accused of poisoning the King. Whether she did it or not is irrelevant - draw your own conclusions from the fact she was caught tipping a suspicious bottle of liquid down the man's throat while he was too weak to fight back - " That got a few harsh laughs; it occurred to Aleksandra that these people must be Mila's network, or at least part of it. " - but regardless, they will not let her walk free. We are not sure where she was taken, what guards her, or whether or not they've made her talk,"

"Genya won't talk," A gruff man said. "She's put up with that pig for years,"

"If it's tortured out of her, however, then that endangers everything," Mila continued. "Needless to say, we need her out of there as soon as possible. I want all of you who are able in the palace, watching and listening - do what you normally do. Admittedly our numbers are currently spread thin - the people here are the only ones operating in the palace grounds - but we'll have to make do. If you see an opportunity, run it past me first, no matter how certain you might be. Any failed attempts will have them increasing security,"

Everyone nodded, or hummed in agreement.

"Second, I have it on good authority from Magda that soldiers have been sent to Dva Stolba to capture Alina Starkova's mother and younger brother," Tarasova nodded at the woman next to Aleksandra. "By order of the Queen, vindictive bitch that she is," More laughter. "Now, chances are they are intended to be hostages, but we have all seen what happened the last time a member of the Sun Summoner's family was killed, so just in case - Artur, Jemina and Pavel, go on fast horses and try to cut them off. They left two days ago, in secret - do your best to get there first, and take Saran Starkova and Mikhail Starkov to safety. If they get there before you, which is likely, then watch and only intervene if it looks like their lives are in danger. Avoid a fight, if possible. You're all dismissed,"

The three people addressed - two Heartrenders and a Squaller - nodded, getting to their feet and leaving the room with haste, presumably to get going as soon as possible. The others took their time a little more. Mila, however, looked right at her. "Aleksandra, stay behind a moment,"

She did as asked. "I'm assuming you're not sending me back into the palace. Unless you want me arrested again,"

"I'd have Genya Tailor you, but that's obviously not an option," The woman said. "I've got another job for you,"

*

Mikhail Starkov did not fit in in Temgora. It was fortunate that his sister was who she was, or else he would no doubt have been mercilessly bullied by the other children, for a multitude of reasons; his Shu mother, his irritable loner father, his quiet disposition, skinny frame, and lack of practical skills. As it was, people tried way too hard to befriend him and his family; either to curry favour from Alina, who had visited exactly once in the ten years since she'd been gone, or benefit from the Starkovs having more money then everyone else due to Alina's stipend.

Of course, he was well aware that his life could be much worse; he still remembered the days of his early childhood, curled up in with Alina in the loft for warmth, both of them shivering under thin blankets and a leaky roof, hungry and thin, with Ma and Da on the other side of a curtain. He had blurred memories of his sister, tiny and half-feral, snarling at two village boys trying to kick them around, threatening them with Da's knife until they got scared and ran off; not without a few hateful taunts like 'mongrels', of course, stretching their eyes sideways to mimic theirs. Alina had grabbed his hand afterwards and dragged him home, muttering a colourful stream of curses learned from Da. He had thought she was the best person in the world, and longed to go out playing with her and Mal when they ran off into the woods.

But then Alina was taken away. In many ways, life got better. Misha had never gone hungry a day in his life since the first stipend had come in, nor did anyone dare say anything bad, to his face at least. He had nice clothes, good shoes, and, most importantly, books that Alina sent him every month. He even had friends, though he was certain none of them would bother with him if he wasn't from one of the richest families in the village and his sister wasn't the Sun Summoner. All except Mal, who was as good as an elder brother to him even after Alina left.

Mal left as well, though, to join the army, like every boy did at sixteen, as the draft dictated. Misha would not have to go. Having a Grisha in the family excluded all other siblings from the draft. Part of him wished he did have to, just to get out of Dva Stolba; he wasn't brave enough to sign up without the threat of punishment. Alina was the brave one, as their father often grumbled; more of a son than Misha ever was. All the letters his sister sent from Os Alta proved that was true, the way she spoke of throwing herself into terrifying situations with such carelessness.

Misha was furious, when Da disappeared for a month then came back saying he'd visited Alina in the capital. It was one of the few occasions he had tried to stand up to his father. "I wanted to see her too!" He had protested, despite only being a young child. "I wanted to see Os Alta!"

His father had smacked him and sent him to bed without dinner, saying that if he showed any skill at living in the wild he might've taken him. Then the man was sidetracked by Ma throwing a fit that had been brewing since his return. That involved a lot more shrieking. Misha did what he always did when his mother got into one of her moods, and went upstairs to read by candlelight.

Alina's visit back home had been long-awaited. Seeing her, in their house, in the flesh, was surreal. She looked just like he remembered, yet nothing like it at the same time. She took after Da in looks, but had the same dark colouring and eyes as himself and their mother. Both of them were tall for their age, though Alina was toned and strong where Misha was lean and lanky. She was not the sullen, angry, half-feral child anymore; she carried herself with confidence, a slight swagger, eyes glinting, daring whoever she was talking to to do, well, anything. It was like the terrifying man in black behind her was not even there.

But she had smiled widely and genuinely to see him, and her eyes had lit up, full of promises of taking him back to Os Alta with her. He believed her, and did not resent her for taking so long - everything they heard from the city at the moment was troubling, and she did say it would not be right away - although he did fear she had forgotten. There had not been any letters from her in a while. Not even to say that Da had reached the city; he had set off the moment he heard she was to marry Prince Vasily. Misha was not sure what to make of that, or even know if it were true.

He was half tempted to leave and head to the city himself, except he could not leave Mother alone. She was pregnant, unexpectedly, fourteen years after his own birth had left her supposedly unable to have any more children. She was in her late thirties; some women in the village did have children at that age or later, but there was a much higher risk of something going wrong. He had read all about it the moment he heard, and went around asking the village midwives for information. If Alina was their father's favourite, he was their mother's; she was never quite as harsh with him, or as smothering, as she was with his sister.

His only hope was that Da would return soon, and be able to travel immediately back to get Alina to come to Temgora with a Grisha Healer. And meet their new brother or sister. It would be strange, having a baby in the family, after all this time. Alina was a woman already, of an age to have a child of her own. Not that she would. Misha could not picture his sister as a mother, and thought she would hate the idea of it.

It was a very normal autumn afternoon, until he came back home to find armed men in his house, and his pregnant mother crying, her wrists in chains.

Misha stopped dead in the doorway at the sight. "Who the fuck are you?" Something came from within him that seemed to channel both Alina and his father. "Get your dirty hands off her," They were hard, grizzled men, who wore no uniform.

"Misha, they say your father's dead," Ma sobbed. "They say he was shot for being a traitor, and that Lina ran off and left him to die," It was lucky she was in an emotional, caring mood rather than a psychotic, shrieking one.

"They're lying," He saw through them immediately. "Alina would never do that. Who sent you?"

"Her Majesty the Queen," One of them ground out, pulling out a Lantsov seal. "You are arrested on suspicion of colluding with traitors - we're to take you back to Os Alta to face trial,"

There was no point fighting them. Even if Misha could get free, which was unlikely, he wouldn't be able to leave his mother in the hands of these men. Surely if they wanted them dead, they'd have killed them already? He had no choice but to glare as his hands were shackled, and they were shown to the horses.

"I can't ride a horse," His mother stopped at the sight of them, looking even more scared. Neither could Misha, but he wasn't going to admit that.

"You'll go in front of me," One of the men - the biggest one - grunted. "And the boy in front of him," He nodded to one of the others. "Don't want no stupid escape attempts,"

Misha's stomach sank at the look on his mother's face, as her mood switched in the blink of an eye. "I'm not sitting in the lap of a dirty brute like you," Her voice rose in pitch and volume, eyes widening. "Not the whole way to Os Alta. Why should we go with you? We've done nothing. Get these fucking chains off me, you ugly ... " Her voice descended into rapid Shu, which none of them understood, other than the fact it was clearly a long list of colourful insults. She strained in the grip of the captors holding her back, thrashing about, trying to get free. Obviously it was not going to work - she was tiny, and thin, whilst they were trained soldiers - but even someone so small can be a problem if they move with no inhibitions.

"Shut up and keep still, you jabbering bitch," One of them slapped her, hard enough to split her lip.

Misha yelled out in alarm and anger, but his mother did not hesitate to turn and spit blood in his face, as though she had not even felt the blow. "I'll kill you!" She shouted, hysterical. "I'll kill you, I'll kill you, I'll kill you!"

"Stop Ma, you'll hurt yourself," He tried to talk over her.

"Listen to your son," The big man said, with gritted teeth, to no avail.

It was almost a relief when one of them clapped a foul-smelling rag over her face, and her eyes rolled back in her head, unconscious.

"She'll wake up?" He asked, as they were manhandled onto the horses, his mother propped up like a life-size rag doll in front of the big man.

"Unfortunately," The one who struck her grunted.

There was little to say about the journey, other than it was arduous, long and painful. Misha tried to focus on all the land they passed through, part of him fascinated to be leaving Dva Stolba for the first time. But it was hard to enjoy what he had always dreamed of, when they were heading to the capital to be tried as traitors, when his father may or may not be dead. He was unused to riding a horse, let alone all day, every day; his legs ached, and blisters formed on his thighs from the saddle, as well as on his wrists from the shackles. The weather was cold, and growing colder as winter approached.

His mother was also a lot to deal with. She tended to be in a sad, emotional mood - convinced her husband was dead, and scared by their captivity - though occasionally snapped and got angry at their guards again, which was dangerous for her and the growing baby in her belly. Misha, for the most part, was quiet. He did not complain about the cold, the shit food, his aching legs, or their unjust imprisonment.

Sometimes, however, he asked questions. "How did my sister betray the King?"

The guard he usually rode behind was the one who had slapped his mother and split her lip; he'd also given her two black eyes, each on different occasions she had snapped. He also seemed delighted to tell Misha all he could, in the nastiest way possible. "The ungrateful bitch had it all. She was going to marry the Crown Prince, going to be Queen someday. But that wasn't good enough. She was found to be plotting against the King, that she was the Darkling's whore all along. Obviously you can't just order such a powerful Grisha to the gallows - she'd just blast her way free - so from what I gather, they hired an expert assassin. Can't have been too expert, though, or else they'd have shot the bitch through the head first and not the father. In cruel revenge, your fucking sister tore the palace in half. Killed loads of people, the Prince included, and ran. So much for being a saint," The man snorted.

Oh. Maybe his father was dead, after all. He had known it was a possibility from the moment they told them in the cottage. They also could have been lying. But this felt much more definite. Misha did not know what to make of that. It was too much to process all at once. He had loved his father, and his father loved him, despite not liking each other very much. He was still his father. It was almost incomprehensible that he was gone. Misha would never hear his father's grumbling, nor irritable comments, the occasional bark of laughter or brief smile. The man would never stomp his way into the house after a long hunt, always slightly reluctant to return to having a roof over his head.

All of this had to be put out of mind, however. He could not show any kind of emotion in front of men like this, who would quietly disdain it at best, and mock him at worst.

Their captors had continued their conversation. "What's she even meant to be a saint of?" One man asked.

"Heard some pilgrim prick call her Sankta Alina of the Scar," Another shrugged.

"I've heard Sankta Alina the Unwilling be said a lot,"

"What's she unwilling to do, suck the Darkling's cock? Marry the Prince?"

"Unwilling to be a Sankta, apparently. Could be all three,"

"Makes sense. She never acted much like one anyway,"

"Then why call her Sankta at all?"

"That's what the priests have been preaching for hundreds of years, though, isn't it? The Sun Saint will deliver us all from darkness, or some shit like that,"

"Well they must've got it wrong with this one, then,"

"Some people just call her 'Alina, the Unsaint'. Might've been joking, though,"

Misha cut into the conversation. "Where did she run to? After she killed the Prince,"

"How the fuck am I supposed to know?" The man considered it nonetheless. "Probably back to the Black General, like a bitch in heat. So Ulensk. They say he's building an army. Pah. As if any sane man would follow a bunch of witches. And the Second Army could never take Os Alta on their own,"

"Have you ever fought with the Second Army?" The big man said gruffly to his fellow guard. "You've never fought at all, though, have you? Your draft was a nice easy posting in Poliznaya. I was a soldier on the Shu border til last year. Was there to see the Grisha fighting. Normal Grisha alone are fucking terrifying in battle. Add the Darkling and Sun Summoner, and it's something out of a bad dream. I remember thinking, I'm glad I'm on their side. If they march on the city, it'd be a bloodbath. Which is why snaring these two was so important," He nodded to Misha and his mother.

One guard, the quiet one who scared Misha more than any of the others, smiled faintly then. "Best hope your Alina values your lives more than her lover's ambitions,"

"We'd all best hope that," The bigger one glared. "Fucking sadist,"

*

The capitol was not at all what Misha had expected. There was a feeling of tension and unease in the air as they were escorted through the outer city, then into the richer neighbourhoods further in. They got the usual heckles and slurs from onlookers, seeing two Shu-looking people being escorted in with shackled hands. The Grand Palace was... grand. Quite ugly, though, as Alina had said. His mother watched with wide, scared eyes as they were taken within the palace walls; she had not ventured out of the valley since meeting Da, nearly twenty years ago. Her stomach was rounded with pregnancy.

There was something glaringly wrong with the place, though, and that was that it was indeed cut fully in half. Scaffolders and builders were shoring up the damage on either side, over the strangest sight he had ever seen; a huge gorge in the ground, glowing gold. How had Alina done this? Was the building safe to go into? Misha did not quite trust buildings that big anyway, having never seen anything higher than two stories before coming here, despite having read about them in books. Let alone one that was visibly crumbling.

He felt incredibly out of place. Their clothes were amongst the nicest in Temgora, but were dirty with travel, and here even the palace servants seemed to wear better quality garments. Whilst they were escorted through impossibly luxurious halls, lined with riches, the chains on his hand made him feel like a criminal. Misha stuck close to his mother's side, just in case she decided to lash out again.

He tried to calm his nerves, and the sick feeling in his stomach, by wondering how often Alina had passed through these halls. She didn't fit in a place like this any more than they did, even in her fancy black kefta. But it was no use wondering how Alina would cope, because she never had to; she was the Sun Summoner, and would not care about such things. So he tried to focus on the fact he had always wanted to visit Os Alta, and this was a visit, of sorts; right to the heart of the Grand Palace, no less. Never mind that they were surrounded by armed guards.

They were shown to a room that was clearly intended as a cell, despite being on the upper floors of the building. Although aside from the bars on the window and door that locked from the outside, the furnishings - though sparse and basic compared to what he had seen in other areas of the palace - were about the same standard he was used to at home.

An older woman, perhaps ten years his mother's senior, dressed in a sombre but extravagant dark-blue gown, was waiting for them. She gave the impression of someone who did not quite fit their skin; like she had become so haggard in a short space of time. Her face was drawn with what looked like grief, though twisted with dislike and scorn when they entered.

It was only when the guards bowed, and Misha noted the delicate tiara on her head, that he realised this was the Queen. He hastily followed the guards' example and bowed, though his mother did not.

The woman looked at them like she smelled something nasty. "They are just as I expected," She spoke with as high class a voice as Misha had ever heard, though it was tinged with an unfamiliar accent. "If it were up to me, I'd have you both hanged and displayed on the city walls - see how that nasty little Summoner bitch likes it when I take someone precious to her away," She did not have to greet them, here. She had come to gloat.

He saw his mother's expression change moments before she spoke, too quick for him to stop. "Don't call Alina a bitch,"

"Mother, don't - " Misha tried grabbing her arm but she snatched it away.

"No, she has no right!"

"I have every right!" The Queen looked down on them both; Mother was a small woman (Misha was only tall for his age because he ate well as a child), yet did not seem cowed. "I am the Queen of Ravka, and may do as I please. You are just a common traitor's widow and her mongrel brat," Her lip curled cruelly, relishing in their distress.

Weren't her children half-Ravkan, half-Fjerdan? Did that not make them mongrels too? Or was that acceptable because they were blonde-haired and pale-skinned? He was glad, in that moment, that the guards had told them of his father's death before they made it to the palace. Misha was able to steel himself; and, as it turned out, so was his mother, although she went on the offensive.

"And you are a Queen, but I've seen old crones in Dva Stolba less shrivelled and crusted. At least they're not painted up like street whores," She tutted, glancing pointedly at the woman's low neckline. "And don't have their sagging breasts proudly spilling out of their dresses - "

"Mother!"

She did cut off at his alarmed cry, but smirked, pleased with herself; Saran Starkova could be just as spiteful as the Queen even without prompting, never mind after the woman had insulted her and mocked her dead husband. It didn't help that his mother was over a decade younger, looked young for her age, and was pretty too.

It would have been hilarious, if the situation was not so dire. The Queen's eyes actually widened at the vicious insult, taken speechless for a long moment. Alina would have absolutely howled with laughter if she had heard. They were more similar than either would admit, her and mother. The only difference was that Alina was capable of defending herself against an angry royal.

Misha saw murder in Tatiana Lantsov's eyes. Before she could scream for his mother's execution, his tongue spoke without waiting for his mind to catch up. "You can't kill us. We're all you've got against Alina and the Darkling. They'll plough straight through the city, over your walls, unless you can bargain with them,"

"One of you would suffice," The Queen practically snarled.

"I saw what she did to your palace when you killed Father - I heard it killed the Prince. I wouldn't make her that angry again by doing anything to us before you can even strike a deal,"

The woman looked livid, fit to burst with rage, but did consider this. "You wicked boy - how dare you throw the senseless killing of my sweet son in my face?" Like you threw the murder of my father in mine? "Alina Starkova and the Darkling want my throne, but I will not let them have it. You'd better hope that selfish little cunt values you more than a crown. And that she can rein in her cruel master, because he won't care if you live or die,"

Misha had never hated anyone so much in his life. "You'd murder a visibly pregnant woman in cold blood?"

The Queen showed no pity, turning up her nose. "What is the life of a peasant's unborn brat worth compared to the life of a Crown Prince?"

That was not even meant as a cruel jab. That was just what she whole-heartedly believed.

*

Confined to two separate cells as they were - blessedly not the same one (he would have liked to be there to comfort his mother, but may have strangled her himself if they were trapped together) - there was little to do but stare out of the tiny window. Misha's eyes feasted on the palace grounds, and what he assumed was the Little Palace in the near distance; the mysterious place where Alina had grown up, a place he had imagined a hundred times in his head, trying to piece together what it looked like from the information in her letters. Further away were the city walls, and everything in between, houses, mansions, shops, factories.

He considered attempting an escape, for about five minutes, before he realised it would be suicide. The bars on the window were solid, drilled into the brickwork; not to mention a sheer, impossibly high drop below, and the fact it was too small to get through. The heavy door was locked and extensively guarded; the Queen wanted no chance of them getting out. He could not fight, or shoot, or even run that fast, and he had no idea how to even begin to get out of the palace. On top of that, he could not leave his mother.

Other than what he could see from the window, Misha's only news from the outside world consisted of what he could overhear. The guards talked openly amongst themselves, not viewing them as any kind of threat; an accurate assumption to make. It started off awed and disbelieving, but as the days turned into weeks, they became fearful, an air of unmistakable dread seeping in.

Have you heard the news from the west? The Darkling and the Sun Summoner slew the whole Fjerdan army. Yes, the whole army. They moved the Fold itself, and back again, leaving a hundred thousand corpses. Just the two of them. Lucky sods who were meant to fight, that day. Bet they were expecting to be massacred like before, but not one Ravkan died.

The Darkling and the Sun Summoner have gone to West Ravka, struck a deal, and ended the wars with Fjerda and Shu Han - all in just a week or two. Scary to think they've got power like that, isn't it? Wonder what else they can do...

The Darkling has declared himself King. General Zlatan is backing them, and lots of the First Army too apparently. Yes, I know Zlatan is a revolutionary. He gave all that up, because he knew he couldn't beat them. I don't know if she's his Queen too. I suppose so. They're lovers, aren't they? I hope she can keep him in line - light beats darkness, surely? That man has always made my hair stand on end.

Alina Starkova has split the Fold in half. A 'thank you' to Zlatan, I suppose. Seems like she's the nice one. Rewards people, where the Darkling punishes them. That's something, at least.

They're coming here, now. There's an army gathering outside the city walls, flying Ravkan banners. It's a big army, and it's getting bigger, more on the horizon. Like a siege, from the old days. No one can get in or out. There's some powerful lords out there with them, too.

People are getting scared. They're rioting, again. I had to go out and try to subdue it the other day. The outer city is getting out of control. It's chaos out there, lots of looting. Lots of people are praying for the Sun Summoner to save them. People really do love her, not even because they think she's a saint. When she was meant to marry the Prince, she came into the city a lot. I met her - she seemed very down-to-earth. Told me to call her Alina and all. Cracked some right bawdy jokes too.

The Apparat is preaching from the walls again, telling everyone to fight against the darkness and pray for Sankta Alina's support and love. A whole group was heckling, calling her the Unsaint instead. Yeah, he's not brave enough to go into the city itself. All the toffs, anyone with money, has locked themselves into the Inner City. Must be bad, then, if they're all afraid.

It was like hearing stories about a stranger, or a character in a book, rather than his own sister. Misha did not know what to make of any of it. He saw the armies gathering outside the walls, and wondered if Alina was down there in the vast horde of tents. He felt dread too, because whenever they attacked was the day the Queen held a dagger - metaphorical or otherwise - to his neck and his mother's, and tested his sister's will.

It was obvious the day that Alina arrived in the camps, however. A large group was coming from the west, and as they neared the city, an enormous golden moving image of a magnificent stag spearing a Lantsov eagle on its horns was displayed above them so the whole city could see. No doubt as to who did that. It was replaced with an image of the King, a giant axe swinging to separate his head from his body, just in case the previous metaphor was too subtle. And finally a giant sun, rippling with both light and darkness, which roused a cheering roar from the camps outside the walls, and the outer city as well.

The guards did not gossip or crack jokes that night. A hushed silence had settled over the palace and grounds; the sickening weight of fear.

*

This chapter was an absolute bitch to write, so I hope you enjoyed it being longer than usual. What do you think of Aleksandra's arc so far, and Misha as a POV character? Considering I started this chapter disliking Saran Starkova, and now have a healthy respect for her despite the fact she is undoubtedly an absolute nightmare, I suppose that counts for something. Dynamics between mother and son are often so different than between mother and daughter, which is why she is much less spiteful and smothering with Misha than Alina. Thanks so much to all the nice comments, I appreciate them more than you can know.