Beautiful and Broken

19.

I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of screaming or begging. I sat down on the bed, pulling my legs up to my chin, letting my mind wander. I wasn't even sure I had the intention or the power to stop him if he let me go with them, but his mistrust felt like a knife between my ribs. I thought about him, the life he had, the darkness living in him, threatening to break free any moment he looses control, to envelop the world and turn any sentient being into a monster. And looking at the bare walls of the prison cell, never seeing the light of day, it came to me. It fell into place with such ease, the explanation so simple, so obvious – too obvious, this is why it took me so long to see it. I started to laugh, the sound echoing in the empty cell.

I stood up from the bed, summoned a fire born in the depths of a raging volcano, and threw it at the prison door. It melted through the reinforced layers of steel in minutes. I stepped outside, shielding myself from the heat. Two young, wide-eyed guards were standing in front of me. "Are we doing this the easy way or the hard way?" I've asked them. They stepped aside without uttering a sound. 

The corridors were empty, the base showing signs of everyone leaving in a hurry: doors left ajar, a general disorder that wouldn't have been tolerated at any other time. I was afraid they took all the horses, but fortunately the poor mare, that once brought me to this base, was left behind. I touched her neck, reaching in her mind, making her believe that she was the fastest, most fierce steed in history, turning her bones into steel, her muscles into wire. When I was satisfied with the result, I jumped on her back and raced out into the dark pine forests of Fjerda.

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By the time I've reached the outskirts of the capital, the worst of it was already over. The city gates have been torn down, fires burned everywhere, bodies lying on the streets. I raised a thick fog around me, to avoid attracting any attention. I had no idea which way the Little Palace was, so reached out, probing for the unmistakable trace of his power, and as soon as I've felt it, I followed its direction. 

By the time I got closer, I only had to follow the nichevoya, gathering around a building resembling a chapel. The sound of fighting reached me from far away. I dismounted and walked through the door, my eyes taking a few moments to adapt to the light after the darkness outside. It was coming from Alina, pure and unforgiving, the nichevoya shying away from it. She was standing close to Aleksander, their arms around each other, shadow and light surrounding them, fusing into one. 

It was as it should be, it was what the land and its magic needed, and it was what made him happy. I wanted him to be happy, even if it broke my heart in the process. 

I tore my gaze away from them, only to see that they weren't the only people in the chapel: there was Mal, of course – I wondered if it made him feel the same way as me –, Genya, hiding in the arms of a young Fabrikator, and Sturmhond, with a slightly changed face and a uniform worthy of a prince. Could he be the younger one, the royal lost son rumoured to be wandering the seas?

And then it all went wrong. Alina began reaching into the darkness, the same presence I've felt on the ship answering her call, surging through her. Nichevoya appeared one after another, each of them tearing out a piece of life from both of them. Aleksander cried out, tried to break away, Alina stopped him, pulled him closer in some sort of murderous martyrdom. I knelt on the chapel floor, touching the ground, reaching as deep as I could: I needed help, and a lot of it, and there was only one place to get it from. 

I kept reaching, searching, asking an unworded question, deeper and deeper unto the layers of the earth and time of Ravka, until I've found what I was looking for. I've opened myself to it, every nook and cranny, every hidden secret, inviting it, pleading to it. I've felt it probing me, deciding what I was made of, and then, at an end, I've felt it answer. It surged through me, the power at the heart of the creation of this land, the magic of Ravka, ancient, all-knowing, glorious. 

It rushed toward Alina and Aleksander, severing their connection with a force that tore a deep crack into the floor. And then it disappeared, leaving me feeling light as a feather, pure as a stream born in the heart of mountains. Alina was lying on the ground, Mal and Sturmhond running to her. Aleksander was getting on his feet, his nose bleeding, but already reaching for his nichevoya. "Seize them," he commanded, looking in the direction of the Sun Summoner.