Where The Spirit Meets The Bone

Thirty-one: Alina Starkov

Thirty-one:

Alina Starkov

Here was the truth. Alina Starkov didn't know her husband. They had known each other for less than two weeks, and in that time, they had covered some of their past. But it was all silly little stories of their childhoods, youthful indiscretions. She knew nothing of her husband's past lovers, of his beliefs, his hopes and dreams...well, she knew some of his hopes and dreams. But there were times where she would talk to Aleksander and he would get a distant look on his face. He was there before her, but his head was a million miles away.

Then there were the nightmares. He talked in his sleep, calling out people's names she didn't know, orders as if he were fighting a war in his dreams. He'd grip her tightly to him in his strong arms to his chest as if he were afraid that she would somehow slip away. She didn't want to stir him from what little sleep he got, even if it were troubled, and so she let him grip her tightly in his sleep. Even if her arms hurt a little in the morning from how hard he held her. Alina had her own ghosts to deal with, and so did Aleksander.

When she heard him get up last night, she couldn't help but follow. She found him in the attic, staring at an old family portrait. She hadn't been able to see it in the dark but it wasn't really her business. At the same time, she wanted to truly know Aleksander. Not to have secrets with him. To understand that distant look he got in his eyes.

In the morning when she woke, there was a note from Aleksander on the bed. Something had happened at court it seemed, and he was needed back at the Little Palace briefly. He encouraged her to take a walk in the gallery or to spend her day in the library, and he'd be back tomorrow.

She frowned at the note. She had hoped that they would spend the whole month together. But she knew he was a busy, important man. Busy, important men tended to not have time for their wives or family. That was the one thing she had learned from growing up with her father. He had always been the man that sent a secretary or an assistant, or a note to deal with her. Alina wondered if she should get used to this.

It was the honeymoon phase, she reminded herself. They barely knew each other and were newly married. Everything about it was exciting. What happened when it had been one year? Or two? Or five? Would he put a baby in her, and then that would be it? He would forget all about her? Thoughts like that swirled in her mind, and that was really what had woken her. She hadn't had a dream about the car accident in a long while. But when she thought of what Aleksander dreamed, her worries had seemed silly and foolish. Alina couldn't bring herself to tell him that sometimes, she'd wake up at night and stare at him, wondering how long it would be before she would just be another priceless thing in his home.

With the note in her hand, Alina pondered what to do with her day. The estate was many miles long, with plenty of beautiful places that she could easily spend a morning and an afternoon drawing in if she chose. But her mind kept on coming back to her husband. Strange, how two weeks ago she hadn't even had a boyfriend. Now, she had a husband. A husband who was one of the most important men in Ravka who was trying to bring back the small sciences, end the war, and restore the country to the glory it had once been. It was a beautiful dream and something she wanted too. Perhaps, if she could find a way to help him, Aleksander wouldn't grow tired of her, give her babies, and forget her.....

She needed to find something to help him. Surely, in this old house, there had to be something. Alina got up and dressed, then bounded downstairs to the kitchen where she grabbed a muffin despite the chef's protests, she "eat a proper meal" and went upstairs to the library. She had no doubt Aleksander had probably made his way through every book in there. But surely there had to be something.

That was how Alina spent her day. Looking through shelves, climbing up ladders, trying to find anything to help Aleksander. There was nothing. There was, however, a very large, black, leather-bound book entitled The Biography of General Kirigan Morozova. It was embossed in silver. Curious, Alina picked the book up, and when she opened it she let out a tiny gasp.

There, on the first page, was a sketch. Of her husband.