Where The Spirit Meets The Bone

Thirty-four: Aleksander Morozova

Thirty-four:

Aleksander Morozova

He spent the night at his rooms in the Little Palace but rose early. Eager to get home. Eager to get to Alina. The drive to his country home had never seemed long before. But now, it wasn't simply a drive home. It was the drive to her. When the car pulled up to the main drive, he glanced out the window, and frowned when he saw one of his maids standing outside wringing her hands nervously.

"Mary," he said as he got out of the car, "is everything alright?"

The maid shook her head. "The butler told me I was to wait for you sir. Well, something's happened...."

"What's that?" he demanded, placing a hand gently on her elbow.

"Lady Morozova is missing," she said, "we know she was in the library at one point, the butler brought her lunch there but.... we haven't seen her in a while, sir."

"How long is a while?"

"Since yesterday evening at least," she told him, "we've had servants out looking on the grounds in the house. But no one seems to have any idea where she is. We think that she might have been kidnapped, or...."

He clenched his jaw. "Or what, Mary?"

"Or run off," she replied.

He ran his hands through his dark hair. "That's impossible. She wouldn't run. She had no reason to-----" he thought about the last time he had seen his wife. Tired, in the attic, wondering about the portrait that he'd been staring at. "Call off the search."

Mary stared at him. "But sir, she's your wife and if something happens-----"

"I know where she is," he said, "that's why you don't need the search. I'll see to Lady Morozova myself."

"Sir...."

"Call off the search," he ordered again, "go find the butler and tell him now."

Lord Morozova went through the house and he strode up the stairs to the attic. He took the key ring that he kept for the house in his pocket and opened the door. Alina was there, asleep on the floor. Next to her was a black box with his family crest emblazoned with silver. It was opened, and she'd clearly been looking through it. He bent down to pick it up. Inside, he noticed that there was a silver ring, pointed, almost like a sharp claw of sometime.

He bent down and picked it up. "What are you?" he whispered, and he pocketed the ring.

Then, he turned his attention to Alina. "Alina," he said gently, "Alina...."

He reached out and gently stroked her cheek.

She stirred under his touch, and Alina's eyes fluttered open. "Aleksander!" she called. She sat up abruptly. "I'm sorry, I looked at the portrait, and I was curious and I got locked inside and I shouldn't have----"

He pressed a finger to Alina's lips. "You don't have to explain. I should have told you what I was doing in here last night. I'm sorry. Only, I didn't want to frighten you."

Alina pressed her forehead against his. "I didn't mean to get locked in here."

"It's alright. You know that everything I have is yours, don't you? There is nothing you need fear that I would take away from you. This house is our home. You are not a guest here, or a prisoner. You are Lady Morozova, and I am your Lord."

She blushed. "Well, that's good to know."

"I thought you might like that. Now, what did you find?"

She glanced down at the box. "Oh, it's nothing really. Just some trinkets and things. But the stuff on the that's really interesting is on the bottom."

"Bottom?"

She nodded. "When I lived with my Mum, I had a box that I stashed money in, but I made a false bottom. I thought maybe this box would too. But I put them back."

"What was it?" he asked.

"Letters," she said, "Love letters. From one of your ancestors. Well, maybe not from. To. They still smell of perfume."

"Show me," he said.

Alina moved the trinkets in the box, pulled up the bottom, and took out parchment that was aged and yellowed.

"Well," he said, "that's curious."

"I thought so," Alina said with a smile, "they're addressed from the Little Palace. She mentions it. I think she was a grisha."

He reached out and gripped her shoulder. "A grisha, did you say?"

"Yes," she said, "but that's not so unusual, is it? They were much more prevalent then."

"No, it's not so unusual. Does it...does it say what powers she has?"

"She talks about going to see a teacher in one and raising the light," she told him, "she even describes it. She says she felt like she was raising the sun itself."

"A sun summoner," he said, "she must be."

"You don't think..."

"The original Santka Alina. The one that died young."

"I thought that was a myth."

"We're in Ravka, my dear Alina. The lines between the fantastical and the scientific are between hymnals and textbooks. They're very tiny and blurred. Do you mind if I keep these to read for myself?"

"Aleksander," she said, "they're letters that I found in your house."

"Our house," he reminded her, "our house."

"Fine then," she said with a smile, "our house. Alright. If you insist."

"I do," he said, "now my dear, are you ready to be helped up off the floor?"

"I am," she said with a nod.

He helped her up, and he took the box with them. "How do you feel about breakfast?" he asked.

"After a night spent on the floor, I would very much like that. Not the most comfortable of positions."

He took her hand in his and walked with her out of the attic. "Oh, that's where you are wrong my Little Wife. You simply haven't spent it on the floor in the right positions."

"There are right positions to spend a night on the floor on?"

"Yes," he said with a smirk, "anything that involves me and you, my Little Wife."