The Darkling and Alina had not spoken for over a week. There had been no battles in that time - the Shu had backed off after a humiliating series of defeats (massacres, really) - so there was no need to discuss strategy. She attended his meetings, but neither of them exchanged a word with each other. He had the bruise on his jaw healed without a trace, of course. No doubt the oprichniki stood outside had heard their argument, but they were discreet; there was no reason for anyone else to know that the Sun Summoner had punched the General of the Second Army in the face.

Their regiment's next move was to travel further east along the border, anticipating the Shu's next attack, more as a precaution than anything. A route that would, completely incidentally of course, take them through the Dva Stolba valley.

Alina appeared in his tent the morning the orders were issued. "Dva Stolba. That was just a coincidence, was it?" Her tone was short, eyes narrowed, the first words she had spoken to him since their... argument. Yes, let's call it an argument.

"Not a coincidence, no. You know enough about strategy to realise the benefit of such a move,"

"I know enough about strategy to realise that it would be a stronger move to send us west. If the Shu were to attack - which I know you know won't happen for a long while yet, they need to regroup and recover - they would go for easier terrain. The eastern mountains are far harder to travel through,"

"Why are you here, Alina?" He asked her, weary.

"You ordered us east on purpose. To - to mess with my head, to either unfoot me by shoving me into the path of the troubled family I haven't seen in years, or trying to win me over. I can't tell which,"

It was both, if he was honest with himself, but she did not need to know that. "I have told you before, you overthink things too much and seem determined to make me your villain when I have given - " and would give " - you everything. If you have anything more important to discuss than paranoid ramblings, by all means go ahead. If you are only here to accuse me, then leave,"

She left, though not after glaring at him for a good long moment. He wasn't sure what he had expected.

They rode east a few days later. Their journey was relatively free from trouble, until they came within a few miles of the town of Sikursk. The Darkling did not miss how Alina blanched at the sight of the ragged group of pilgrims on the road ahead, blocking their path, bearing banners emblazoned with a familiar sun symbol. The Soldat Sol were camped on either side of the road, swarming everywhere; even with the oprichniki forging a path ahead of them, they were soon surrounded.

"Sankta!" Many voices began to cry, eyes fervent as they stared at Alina. "Sankta Alina! Sol Koroleva!" Sun Queen? That was new, and concerning.

Some of the pilgrims had tears in their eyes. Some chanted and sang. Some dropped to their knees, whilst others pressed closer and closer, jostling the oprichniki that had moved in around them.

"Get them back," The Darkling snarled, at both his Grisha and his guards, who hastened to obey, but there were so many of them that this task was difficult without causing serious damage. He could move them all back with his power in an instant, of course, but it was in his best interest to not murder a considerable amount of feeble otkazat'sya without them actually attacking anyone. Grisha were mistrusted enough as it was, even in Ravka.

Alina looked like she wanted to be sick. No, she looked like she was seconds away from losing control of her power. She flinched away from the hands grasping and clawing to touch her, tugging at her clothes, her shoes, her hair, and tried to avoid all eye contact with her worshippers, clearly having gone away someplace inside. No doubt memories of her kidnapping were rising to the surface. Or whatever that vile Prince had done.

Thankfully they soon broke free with the help of the Squallers and Tidemakers, as well as the brute force of the oprichniki. The Darkling immediately nudged his horse into a gallop, Alina wordlessly following suit. He could sense that she needed to run, to get away as fast as possible and let the adrenaline ebb away slowly.

When the horses tired, and they slowed to a walk, they were a considerable distance from the pilgrims, and the rest of their escort, who had hung back slightly.

Alina's hands were shaking, her breath coming in shallow, too-rapid gasps. Her horse halted as both hands were pressed to her nose and mouth in an attempt to hide her panic, to control her breathing, but it didn't seem to be working.

"Here," The Darkling took off his glove and moved his horse alongside her own. She let him sweep back her hair and place his hand against her neck, sending waves of surety and calm through her. It said a lot that the stubborn girl was willing to accept his help at all, especially when she was still furious at him.

Slowly, her breathing calmed, and her shame kicked in. "I'm be - being pathetic," She ducked away from his touch, eyes still distant; Alina tended to shut herself off when she was upset, hating to show any kind of weakness. "I just - I just - can't - can't stand their hands all over me, that sickening look in their eyes. I keep seeing them tearing me apart for relics, stealing my hair, my bones. One of them might actually have my finger, and the rest would happily take the others,"

"Those filthy otkazat'sya should never have got close enough to lay hands on you. That will not happen again, I promise you Alina," He would be having strong words with the oprichniki after that fiasco.

"If they'd pushed things much further, one or more of them would have died," She said, clearly in two minds about whether that was a good or bad thing. "I couldn't hold it in much longer,"

"Those moronic cultists would likely consider there to be no better honour than being burnt to a crisp by the Sun Summoner's light," He said with disdain, and she snorted humorlessly.

A rather tense silence fell between them.

"Sorry I hit you," She ground out, surprising him. In typical Alina fashion, she ploughed forward to hide her own discomfort, glaring at him. "I shouldn't have done that, even if you can get it fixed with a click of a Healer's fingers. But you shouldn't have... done what you did either,"

"Perhaps not," He granted, the closest thing to an apology that she would get. Alina's jaw set and looked away, evidently unsatisfied with that. He closed his eyes briefly, taking a breath, and forced out the words that had been unable to form in his anger. "And Alina?" She looked back with a scowl. "I would want anyone if they were the Sun Summoner, granted, but not the same way I want you,"

Her eyes widened in shock. "Oh," Was the only response, as she clearly tried to assess if he was being truthful. "I didn't expect that,"

No more words were spoken between them on the matter, and though the weight of something hung over both their heads, they set off in a much more companionable silence when the rest of the group caught up.

"This is where we met," The Darkling remarked as they rode through the foothills of the Sikurzoi.

"How do you know?"

"We just passed the mass grave,"

She laughed. "Fitting,"

*

Once they were into the true Sikurzoi range, Alina started to recognise various features of the landscape. Rugged, snow-capped mountains, thick forests, gorges, rivers, all of them part of her childhood memories from hunting with her father. Saints, she was going to see her family soon. All of them, for the first time in almost nine years. And she was arriving with a sizable military escort, as well as the Darking himself.

When she had stormed out of his tent after he kissed her - the fact that had happened at all was something she was still struggling to get her head around - she had gone to find Artur. The boy knew her well enough to realise she was in a terrible mood, and tried to get the reason for it out of her, but she'd made sure they just fucked instead. No need to scare the life out of him, when the Darkling did not even know who she had been with the night before. He had held her afterwards, had been very sweet and caring, and she found herself wishing that she was the type of person who could fall in love with someone like him.

Instead, Alina was well aware that part of her was only doing it to feel like she had some level of control over her own life, despite the weight of the Darkling's desire for her hanging over her head. For the first time, she had to acknowledge that this was not just one of his mind games, not just a way to get into her head; he wanted her, in more ways than one. She had never even let herself consider wanting him back, having no desire to give him any kind of upper hand, because surely he saw her as a child, with childish emotions to take advantage of? A foolish, one-sided infatuation definitely qualified as that.

But that kiss had shown that was not the case at all. Her knees should not have gone weak remembering how his lips felt on her own, how his hand had gripped her throat, his arms holding her against his chest. She should not be wondering what it would be like to kiss him again... and more. It was so fucking confusing, given how the words he had said both before and after made her blood boil, even after the semblance of an apology she had received. Although perhaps Alina should be glad for her anger. Whenever she felt self-conscious around him, knowing he wanted her, allowing herself to notice for the first time how attractive he truly was, all she had to do was focus on the feelings of rage she felt towards him and that snapped her out of it.

As her old village came into sight, she shoved any thoughts of the Darkling to the back of her mind. She would need all her focus to deal with what was to come.

Temgora was smaller than Alina remembered. More likely she had grown; the last time she had been here, she had been nine years old, after all. But aside from that, the village remained almost exactly as it was in her head. Memories spilled over with every new direction she looked in. There was the old schoolhouse, where she had learned to read and write. There was the baker's, whose wife had been vile to Alina and her mother for their Shu heritage. There was the alley where she and Mal had hidden from their parents after skiving off chores, in fits of silent giggles, their only care in the world getting caught.

The party of Second Army and oprichniki she had travelled with were decidedly out of place. None more so than the Darkling (who had insisted on not letting her travel without him, even a small detour from their main route like this one). But just as he did, Alina wore a black kefta. Did that make her out of place as well?

Who was she kidding? She had always been out of place here.

People looked at them with wariness and suspicion as ever, but also with interest too. Especially Alina. She heard many whispers about the Sun Saint, their Sun Saint, about how she had come home at last.

"Pardon, Miss, but are you Sankta Alina?" She did not recognise the young man who approached her, the only one of the villagers bold enough to do so (though even so, he cast a wary look at the Darkling and her guards).

"Alina Starkova, yes," She narrowed her eyes.

"I'm Igor. Igor Popov. Do you remember me? We were friends when we were children,"

Ah yes, she knew who he was now. "Friends? I remember stabbing you with this after you tried to beat me," She said, fixing a smile on her face and pulling her father's old knife out of its holster. "You were a nasty little shit back then,"

Whilst he struggled to bluster his way out of that one, his boldness inspired others, who all started to come forward. Thankfully they had more restraint than the cultists from Sikursk, and the oprichniki were on strict orders to not let anyone get too close, but there were enough of them to make Alina's chest tighten.

In many ways, returning home was a lot like court. People had lots of different reactions to her. There were those who glowered from a distance and spat on the ground. Whether that was for her Shu looks or her kefta, Alina was not sure; likely both this close to the border, and there were equal numbers of various racial slurs as there were mutters of 'witch'. Now she had gotten older (or rather, since she had turned thirteen), 'whore' seemed to have found its way into the mix too, particularly when she appeared alongside the Darkling. Where she had once laughed that one off, after recent events she was more resentful of it.

There were also those who tried to befriend her, flatter her, get in her good graces, ask for favours. They saw her apparent wealth and power, and wanted a piece of it for themselves. Others were awed in religious fervour, muttering Sankta Alina and bowing their heads, glaring at those who muttered insults. She hated the latter most of all. One man in particular was persistent, the local priest. She did not recognise him; his face was covered by an awful, ragged blonde beard, patchy over a nasty-looking burn scar on one side. It had taken two oprichniki pushing him back from Alina several times - less gently each time - for him to get the hint and skulk off into the crowd.

Seeing her childhood home had been jarring, to say the least. It was clear the money from Alina's stipend had helped her family immensely. The place that had once could have been described as an actual hovel was now a respectable, if modest, house. Everything had been repaired, repainted, replaced. It could still be recognised as the same building, but barely.

"This is... different," She had stared at the front of it. "It was a lot more... rotten when I lived here. There's no holes in the roof anymore. It looks like it might outlast a strong wind,"

The Darkling had no time to reply, however, before the front door was flung open. Alina staggered as her mother rushed forward and flung her arms around her, sobbing, pressing her face into her shoulder.

"Oh, Lina!" The woman cried, and Alina awkwardly returned the embrace. "I'm so glad you're home. Things were never the same after you left. I've missed you so much, my sweet daughter,"

Saran Starkova had not changed much in the years she had been gone, then. Her embrace was more smothering than comforting. Alina had been too used to her mother's hugs being a trap. She was taller than her now, by about half a foot. In fact, she was taller than most of the women and girls here. Clearly Grisha vitality and proper nutrition went a long way.

The woman stepped back, still holding her wrists. "Let me look at you. Oh, you're actually a little pretty now you've grown up. I'm so relieved - you were such an odd-looking child," Charming. "But look at you! You might have my eyes and colours, but you look just like your father. Though could you not have worn a brighter shade? Those purple Grisha coats would look much nicer on a young girl than black,"

"Purple is for Materialki, Mother," Alina spoke for the first time, already weary. She dared a glance at the Darkling, who was watching them interact with an expression that reminded her of how most people looked at their cat when it brought in a small, dead animal. She did not feel bad for him at all; he had insisted on coming.

Her mother laughed. "Are Sun Summoners not Materaki? I don't know any of these silly Grisha customs,"

"Materialki. And no. I'm Etherealki. As is the General here," It was polite, after all, to at least acknowledge all of your guests. Never mind if one of those guests was the leader of the Second Army. Alina would normally not care if people showed respect to the Darkling or not, but the last thing she wanted was him making things more difficult than they already were with her family.

Her mother seemed to notice the Darkling for the first time, though Alina knew that was deliberate on her part. The games she played were just as petty as those at court. The woman did not appear awed or afraid. Far from it. She looked him up and down, then smiled in a way that made Alina blink in surprise. Her mother dropped into a small curtsey, peering up through her lashes.

"An honour to meet you, General," There was no mistaking her tone as anything but flirtatious.

You've got to be joking.

"Mrs Starkova," He nodded in response, glancing at Alina, a small smirk playing at his lips. She shook her head minutely, glaring. He continued, placing a hand on Alina's shoulder; he had done so many times before, and it should not have made her stomach clench. "This will be a short visit only, I am afraid. Alina has other responsibilities to return to," The air between them was oddly heavy, after the violent argument where she had thrown it in his face that he wanted her. Particularly after his half-apology, where he admitted something she did not care to examine.

She felt her mother's eyes narrow in on that hand on the shoulder, for all the wrong reasons. "Very well," Her smile did not falter. "Best come inside, then,"

The inside of the house was vastly different to what Alina remembered, too. Nothing compared to the Little Palace, but far from the tumbledown peasant's shack she had left years ago. Though the Darkling still had to duck his head under the beams, it was light, and clean, with nice furnishings, warm rugs and - she smiled at the sight - a small shelf of well-used books. Many of them she had sent herself, for her brother who loved to read. There was a warm smell of the midday meal cooking on the stove.

"Hello Misha," She said to the twelve-year-old boy who had just come down the stairs and froze at the sight of them.

He did not rush to hug her, but his smile made her heart sing. He was still recognisably her little brother, despite not having seen him for most of his life. She knew him a little, from what he had written in letters, but it was not the same as seeing him in the flesh.

"You look different to how I thought you would," He said, then hastily added. "Better, though. Taller," He cast a wary look at the Darkling, with a respectful nod, clearly not having any idea how to address him. "Sir,"

"Where's Da?" Alina asked. "And Mal?"

"Malyen left a week before your letter arrived," Her mother said, lips twisting slightly. "For Poliznaya. He's joined the First Army as a tracker. A good thing he's not here, too. You two were always trouble together. Saints only know what you would get up to now you are both grown,"

"Mother," Alina glared, as she felt the Darkling's eyes on her.

"Why so defensive?" The woman said, with a look in her eyes that Alina misliked. "Are you spoken for by another?"

Well that was not subtle at all, and could not have come at a worse time.

"No," Alina said, jaw clenched, refusing to look to her left. "Absolutely not,"

"I heard that the Grisha get up to all sorts of depraved - "

"Mother, stop it," It was Mikhail who had spoken, clearly used to this kind of thing. He had put up with it for longer than Alina had, now.

There was an uneasy silence.

"Where's Da?" Alina asked again.

"Here," Came the gruff voice as her father scuffed his feet on the doormat, coming in behind them. "What's he doing in my house?" He glowered at the Darkling.

Alina grabbed the man's wrist out of instinct, to stop him replying first. "I've been fighting a war, Da. Every soldier in Shu Han wants me dead. The General is here for my protection,"

The Darkling raised an eyebrow at her slightly, no doubt remembering her indignant protests (curses) at the idea of his 'protection'. She let go of his wrist hurriedly.

"You sent her into battle without her being able to defend herself against a few measly Shu soldiers?" Her father was clearly looking for an excuse to be a crotchety old git.

"I can defend myself,"

"We heard stories," It was her mother who spoke, eyes darting nervously. "Of the Sun Summoner in battle. They make you sound... scary. You truly killed all those people, Lina?"

"They were trying to kill me," She shrugged, not willing to go deeper into that one.

Her father let out a short, humourless laugh, addressing the Darkling. "You took her and turned her into a killer. And I can't even complain. It'll keep her alive where I could not,"

The silence threatened to stretch into something terrible, so Alina broke it, turning to the Darkling. "No one's going to kill me if you leave me alone until this evening. Station guards outside if you like. Saints, stand there yourself if you've got nothing better to do, but I need some time here alone,"

It was likely a mark of how her mother had irritated him (or not wanting to break the fragile peace between them) that after a moment or two considering her, the Darkling nodded. "You have until sundown tomorrow," He said, and left.

The moment the door shut behind him, her mother rounded on her accusingly. "You're sharing his bed, aren't you,"

"Jealous?" Alina said before she could stop herself, hastily adding at the look on her father's face, "No, I'm not sharing the General's bed, Mother,"

"Pah. Well at least you're not a whore, but that wretched mouth of yours hasn't changed," Her mother sniffed. "You'd have thought you'd have to mind your tongue, living in a palace,"

"I do in court, or else the King would've had me flogged by now,"

"But not to him? The Black General?" It was Misha who asked, though thankfully he seemed more concerned for her, rather than whatever the hells was going through her mother's head.

"No. I punched him in the face not too long ago, and I'm still here,"

"Why?" Her father's eyes narrowed.

"He deserved it," Was all she said. "He needs me too much to make me hate him, and I've already threatened to leave before. I could if I wanted, you know. Those guards he's left outside, I could get through them and run away if I really had to. I've left before. I spent nearly half a year in Fjerda hunting Druskelle,"

"Was that why we didn't see hide nor hair of your money for two months, or your letters for longer?" Her mother accused.

"Yes," She admitted. "Sorry. I knew he'd be angry, just not that spiteful. Things weren't too hard, were they?"

"Oh, Lina," The woman's tone changed from shrewish and cruel to soft and motherly in an instant. "Don't you worry about us, we had enough saved. Now, enough of such talk. Come and help me with this, like a good daughter should,"

Disturbed by the abrupt change, Alina obliged nonetheless. She helped her mother cook the midday meal, conversing idly with her family. Saran Starkova kept up a constant stream of mindless gossip about people Alina didn't know and had no care for, but she managed to get a few words in with Misha around it. Her father sat at the table, mostly silent and clearly brooding.

The meal was pleasant enough. Nicer than what they ate in the Little Palace, actually, seeing as the Darkling still insisted on the Grisha eating peasant food to keep them humble. Her mother's moods still went up and down, smothering kindness interspersed with bitter spite, but her father livened up a bit, and Misha was quietly spoken but good company.

"Watch out for that priest if you go outside," Dmitri Starkov added darkly. "He's practically started a cult here. Has near half the villagers obsessed with you, convinced you're a saint that needs to be worshipped,"

"I saw him," Alina pulled a face. "What's his name? He wasn't here before I left, was he?"

"He calls himself Father Stepan Sharapov. Arrived, what, three, four years after you left?"

"He doesn't like us," Her mother said with a scowl. "We refused to go to his silly little sermons and hear how we failed to protect you from the forces of darkness taking you away,"

"Oh, he's one of those preachers," Alina rolled her eyes.

"Da shouted at him, once," Misha said with a grin. "Said that you nearly died when you got kidnapped by a cult, that you lost a finger, and that we were nearly stuck with the Fold forever because of it. That turned quite a few of the townsfolk away from him and his lot,"

"Not enough to drive him out, though," The man grunted. "The man probably wet himself when he heard you were coming in person. No doubt that's why he's been lurking around so long, waiting,"

Well that was a useful warning to know. Dinner was soon over, but Alina wanted a chance to talk to her brother on his own, away from listening ears. After she had helped their mother clean up, she turned to him. "I want to see how upstairs has changed," She said brightly. "Misha, you show me,"

Her brother looked surprised but nodded. "We've got proper beds, now," He led her towards the steep stairs; stairs, not a ladder! "And two rooms,"

"Don't the raiders ransack everything every year or so?" She asked, curious.

"There haven't been so many raids for the last five years," Misha said. "Don't know why. People round here don't seem to care so long as the Shu stop coming over the border. A group of First Army came through a few months ago and said it's because they're focusing further west, where you were. Another said it's because their Queen is sick and weak. Who knows, though,"

There was a pause. Alina looked around her brother's small bedroom, large enough for a single bed, dresser and single chair. It was simple, but miles from the mouldering attic where they had once slept on the floor with their parents, with holes in the ceiling and terrible drafts that their mother blocked up with rags.

"Do you like it here?" She asked Misha, for she had realised upon coming here that this place was no longer her home. No, home was the Little Palace, and it had been for a while.

"I've not known anywhere else," The boy said neutrally. "We have more money than most here, now. I have a few friends,"

"That's not what I asked," Alina smiled. "Go on, I won't judge. I hated it here. The other children were vile, and so were most of their parents,"

Her brother let out a small laugh at that. "I was never as... wild as you," He said. "People don't treat me so bad if I just keep my head down. They all want to know me, actually, because I'm your brother. Mother's a lot better to me than she ever was to you, too. Don't know if that's because I'm a boy or because I don't shout back. You're Father's favourite by far, though. I'm bad at hunting and hate going into the mountains. That's the trouble. Everyone in this place is happy with a simple life, ploughing fields, hunting, weaving. But I want more than that. I've read your letters, heard about everywhere you've been, how other people live,"

"Do you feel trapped?" She asked. "I'd probably feel trapped here, if I'd stayed,"

Alina thought on what her life would have become if she was not the Sun Summoner. She would have married Mal by now, most likely, and they'd have spent their days hunting together. Until she ended up with child and he went to join the army. She'd have been stuck in Temgora raising a brood of squalling brats, with her mother just down the road to offer helpful advice. The idea was horrifying.

Or they'd have both been killed by Shu by now, dead and buried in the ground. The Darkling would never have known she existed.

"Could you - " Misha broke off. "Could I come back to Os Alta with you?"

It was tempting to say yes. She likely would've done, if the political situation wasn't so tense, if the Darkling wasn't blatantly (to her, at least) plotting. "Give it two more years," Alina said, wincing as his face fell. "Things are... tricky there right now, and you might not be safe. But in two more years I'll write to you. You wouldn't be able to stay at the Little Palace unless you wanted to train to be an oprichnik, but I'll try and find a good, rich, childless merchant for you to apprentice to. Most would trip over themselves to help me. In the meantime, practise your sums, read as much as you can - I'll send you books on anything you like - and make sure you're sure,"

"Alright," Misha had a look of resolve on his face. "I will. Thank you. I wish you could stay longer, Alina,"

She couldn't reply to that honestly without being a terrible person, so just grinned. "You'll see me again before you know it,"

"Alina!" Her father hollered up the stairs, and she felt eight years old again as she scrambled to obey.

"Yes?"

"Can that invisibility trick of yours get you and me through those guards?"

She grinned. "Easily,"

"Can you hunt in that thing?" He gestured dismissively at her kefta.

"I fight battles in that thing,"

"Good. Come on then, get your boots,"

Under a shield of her invisibility, Alina and her father moved silently past the guards; thankfully oprichniki, not Heartrenders. They did not speak as they moved through trees and she dropped their cover, heading up the mountainside. They didn't need to talk much to come to an understanding, however. She was determined to hunt using her own skills with a gun, rather than relying on her summoning.

"You can still be stealthy, at least," The man observed with a critical eye. "But can you still shoot?"

"I'm better at hand-to-hand, or bladework," She said. "But yes, I can shoot,"

She wasn't bad, but wasn't anywhere near as good as her father. He collected six rabbits in the time they were out, whilst she only brought down one measly bird and a squirrel.

"Are you happy there?" The question (echoing her words to Misha) came out of nowhere, and was very uncharacteristic of Dmitri Starkov.

"Yes," She replied after a moment's shock. "I am," She had her friends, she was never bored - especially now she was actually part of the war effort - and though there were aspects she highly disliked, namely the Lantsovs and court in general, it was worth putting up with. Just as the good side of the Darkling was worth putting up with the bad for, she realised with a start.

"No one getting too forward with you?"

She thought of Yuri, of Artur, of the two other men she had slept with whose faces she could barely remember, let alone their names. She thought of the Darkling, the look in his eye at certain times, the way he had kissed her, how she had punched him right after, her own forbidden thoughts late at night. Her father didn't need to know about any of that.

But as always, Alina's mouth was ahead of her brain. "The Prince. Vasily, not Nikolai. I scared him off the only time he tried, though," Why did she say that?

Her father looked furious. "That General is supposed to protect you - "

"He doesn't know," She lied hastily. "I didn't tell him. Because then he'd kill the Prince, and we'd have a whole civil war on our hands. It doesn't matter - Vasily won't try it again, I made sure of that,"

"Never lose that spine of yours, Lina," The man grumbled. "Could you do that with anyone? Threaten them into leaving you be? Or forcing them to?"

"Yes," She lied once more. All but one.

Alina and her father returned to Temgora just before sundown. The sky was streaked with vivid red and orange, already darkening over the mountains. As they reached the edge of the village, she saw a robed figure limping towards them, having been waiting under a tree; the priest with the burned face from when they had arrived.

Her father's hand was instantly on his gun. "Fuck off, Sharapov,"

The man did not even look at him. "Sankta," His tone was fervent, reverent, and strangely familiar, in a way that made Alina's spine crawl. Father Stepan was looking at her like she hung the moon, his burnt, bearded face appearing somehow young with those big blue eyes staring out of it. He couldn't actually be more than seven or eight years older than her, now she looked more closely. "I have wanted to see you for a long time. That is why I came here, your birthplace,"

"She wasn't born here," Her father said roughly. "She was born as we travelled through the Sikurzoi from Shu Han. Now scuttle off back to your church and leave her the fuck alone,"

Alina had not known that - she knew very little about her parents' lives before they married, in fact - and made a mental note to question him later. "I'm not a saint," She said, trying to keep things civil. "Just a Grisha. I think it would be best if you went home. I've had bad experiences with your sort in the past,"

"That's what I wanted to speak to you about," The man insisted, stepping closer. "Some time ago, my faith was sorely tested," His hand lightly traced the deep scars on his face. "It was a dark time, and yet holiness prevailed in the end. I was convinced of the error of my ways, and now wish to right a wrong that was done to you," He smiled, the burn scars distorting his lips. "You have grown a lot since then, Sankta Alina,"

A horrible wave of realisation washed over her, and Alina stepped sharply back, drawing her pistol from her belt; she was too used to holding her light back around religious people like this, as it always made the situation more frenzied and insane. Her heart was pounding almost hard enough to hear. She knew she recognised that smile, those blue eyes, round cheeks, even the straggly hair that had once been beautiful blonde ringlets.

"I called you Choirboy, in my head," Her own voice sounded distant. "I never knew your real name. Stepan Sharapov, is it?"

He nodded, eagerly. "It is, Sankta,"

Alina laughed, slightly hysterical with disbelief at the situation. "You cut off my finger,"

Her father's glare turned murderous, and he unsheathed the long knife at his belt, the pair of the smaller one Alina still carried.

"For which I was grievously mistaken," The priest placed a hand on his heart, drawing the other out of the pocket of his robe, to reveal a jar. "I felt the burning rays of the sun, and I saw wisdom. And, like I said, Sankta - I wish to make amends, and receive your holy blessing and forgiveness, if you will grant it,"

He held the jar out towards her. Upon realising what it contained, Alina retched, clapping a shaking hand to her mouth. Her head was ringing, memories of her own finger being sawn off in the cover of night rising to the forefront, memories that she had blocked out long ago for her own sanity, that only arose in her darkest nightmares. She tried to hold in the contents of her stomach, but to her eternal shame had to double over and vomit in a nearby bush.

When she next spoke, her voice was hoarse. "Forgiveness?" She straightened up, spitting for good measure, wiping her mouth with her sleeve even as her stomach churned once more. Her eyes were wild, her skin clammy, and her hair a mess. Alina laughed again, sounding insane even to herself. "You want forgiveness, and a blessing?"

"I have seen the error of my ways, and come to terms with the fact that what I did was wrong. I became a priest, sought you out, and punished myself every day, forever doomed to live in guilt at my actions. Please, Sankta, relieve me of my burden,"

I was twelve, a terrified child screaming in pain for her father to come and save her. Alina tilted her head to one side, a deathly calm settling over her along with the ringing in her ears. "I don't care,"

For the first time, fear flashed across Father Stepan's face. "Sankta, mercy - "

The bullet sailed through the air, blowing a hole clean through his chest, and she had the pleasure of seeing the horrified look of realisation on his face before he died. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough, and would never undo what had been done to her. His death felt like an anticlimax. But it wasn't in Alina to draw things like this out. She would find no more satisfaction in sadistic revenge.

"People will have heard that," Her father's voice cut the silence. "They know what guns sound like, round here,"

"It's fine. There's an army regiment camped outside the village. Could be target practice,"

"They'll find the body at some point,"

"Tell them it was me, then," Alina forced her legs to work, moving forward towards the corpse. "What the fuck are they going to do?" Trying not to throw up again, she bent down and grabbed the jar from the priest's loose grip. Her severed finger was preserved inside. It seemed too small, smaller than its equivalent on her right hand; then she remembered her hands had grown since she was twelve. This was a child's finger, taken as a trophy. Part of her wanted to destroy it, burn it to ashes so she never had to look upon it again. But for once, she held back from the most impulsive option, and simply held the jar.

"If I'd known, I'd have killed him sooner," Her father said.

"You couldn't have known," She shrugged, continuing on to the house, trying to gather herself together.

Having snuck both of them past the guards and into the house, she dropped the cover of invisibility the moment the door closed behind her. Only to stop dead upon seeing the Darkling stood in the opposite corner like a ghoulish shade, her mother hovering in the room wringing her hands.

"Been busy?" He raised an eyebrow, none too pleased that she'd left. "I heard you went hunting?"

"Don't even start," Alina said. "I'm not in the mood,"

His eyes landed on the jar in her hands, the blood on her face, and her no doubt grey expression. "What happened? That blood is not from shooting deer,"

"It's from a priest," She held up the jar. "I found my lost finger, though. And the man who cut it off," Her mother gasped (over)dramatically. "And I've already thrown up once and I really, really don't want to hold it any more, please, I can't - " Her tone had turned rushed and imploring; she cut herself off when he crossed the room and took the jar from her hand blessedly fast, hiding it in his kefta pocket, out of sight.

"Sit, Alina," He pulled out one of the wooden chairs from the table. "Don't argue - you look ready to pass out,"

"No, I'm fine, he's dead, none of the blood is mine - "

"Sit down, for fuck's sake," Her father growled.

Alina sank down into the chair with a scowl, pretending it was not a relief to take the weight of her still shaky legs. She took a deep breath, feeling the Darkling's hand on the back of her neck, the waves of surety calming her somewhat.

"Get your hands off her," Dmitri Starkov glared at him. Alina felt like groaning. Saints, not now...

The Darkling raised an eyebrow. "Not that I would expect an otkazat'sya to understand - "

"Oh, stop it, both of you," She snapped. "Da, he's an amplifier - he has calming abilities. It helps,"

"I bet it does," Her mother muttered.

Alina closed her eyes for a moment, taking a breath to stop herself saying something she would regret, then turned to the Darkling. "Why are you here early? You said I had until tomorrow evening,"

"A messenger arrived. The King demands both of us back in Os Alta at the earliest opportunity,"

"That's ominous. Tell him to fuck off and leave us to win more of his battles for him,"

"Alina!" Her mother gasped again; the woman seemed on edge - more so than usual - though Alina didn't have the energy to work out why.

The Darkling gave a harsh laugh. "Do not tempt me. He threatened to withdraw the First Army from a key position on the Fjerdan border if we tarry, leaving the Grisha to defend it alone. Thus, we leave at dawn tomorrow. Once you stop feeling so delicate, you should say your goodbyes so you can get to sleep early,"

Alina could have argued him into letting her stay, if she wanted. "Delicate," She scoffed instead, standing up from the chair. "When have I ever been delicate?"

She hugged Misha goodbye first.

"Bear with me, alright? I won't forget, but it will take some time,"

Her brother just nodded, squeezing her tighter.

"Goodbye Da," She offered him a nod, as she doubted they had shared a hug in her lifetime.

But he actually took her hands in his, moving to murmur in her ear so no one else could hear. "If you ever need to leave, write to me, or run here. I might not be a fancy Grisha, but I know how to disappear," Her father drew back. "Goodbye Lina,"

If only it could be so easy with her mother, who advanced with tears welling in her eyes. Alina's own eyes widened, thinking her heart had been racing less when a Shu battalion advanced on her. "Oh, Lina. Do you have to go? You only just got here! I haven't seen you in nearly nine years, and you're gone within the day,"

"I have to go, Mother," She wriggled in the woman's arms; she was taller and stronger, but somehow detaching herself was harder than it should be. "Did you not hear? The King orders it,"

Common sense and logic had no place here, however, and it was another five painful minutes before Alina was able to break free and get out of the door, with one last wave goodbye at the three of them.

"I think I prefer Baghra," She said to the Darkling, taking his arm as they walked away from her childhood home. The guards fell in step behind them.

"I believe I do, too," He grimaced. But then his lips twisted in amusement. "Your mother tried to proposition me, whilst you and your father were gone,"

Her eyes widened in horror. "She didn't!"

His smirk grew. "Quite persistently, too,"

"Saints," Alina groaned. "Sorry," That explained the strange mood the woman had been in when they left. "That is mortifying," She started to laugh nonetheless, hanging off his arm, enjoying the familiarity, forgetting for a moment the weight hanging over them. "More so for you than me,"

"I fail to see how,"

"Look at it this way. If my mother had been successful, my father would laugh at your expense,"

"Yet he glares as though he is picturing my death every time I touch your arm?"

"Is that not understandable?"

"Why would it be?"

"Don't even try to convince me that you don't know how it looks, especially to my father,"

He raised an eyebrow, mocking her. "How does it look, Alina?"

Instead of answering, Alina trod on the back of his boot to make him trip and stumble.

He glowered down at her. "You are a petulant child,"

She just laughed in his face. "You're the one who kissed me,"

*

"There's no way to reattach the finger, Alina, I'm sorry," The sympathetic Healer told her after they made it back to the Grisha encampment. "The flesh has been dead for far too long, even though it has been well-preserved, and your wound has been healed over for years - the nerves, tendons, blood vessels, would be far too complex to regrow. Not to mention that your whole hand has grown since it was removed - I don't believe you would find a stunted reattached finger any more useful than no finger at all,"

She shrugged. "That's fine. It was a long shot anyway," Having that grey, dead finger reattached would have been repulsive, and she was more than used to operating without it. "Thanks for your help,"

The Healer smiled. "Not a problem. Do you want me to dispose of the finger for you? It might be less upsetting than doing so yourself. Or would you rather keep it as a souvenir?" They were clearly joking, but Alina considered it.

"I think I'll keep it," She said. "For now, at least," Perhaps it was because it had taken so long to find a missing part of her body, she was loath to lose it again, useless and nauseating though it might be? And not everyone could say they had their severed finger in a jar.

*

What do you think of Alina's visit to home, the way the situation with the Darkling (kind-of) resolved, and the long awaited return of her lost finger? I think throwing up is quite a reasonable reaction to seeing a severed appendage of yours in a jar. Apologies for anyone waiting for a Mal reunion this chapter, don't worry it's coming soon!

Hope you enjoyed either way, and I would love to hear feedback. I greatly appreciate every comment I get!!