Testament to Time - darklina fanfic

Chapter 9 - Supplicant

Aleksander had known anger in his many years of life, however, he had not experienced fury quite like watching Alina dismantle decades of careful planning in one afternoon.

What would he do with the girl now?

They'd collapsed against each other on the skiff and had been carted out by his Grisha. Word had traveled the land of what had transpired on The Fold – former Fold– and it took no time for alters to sprout once more, dedicated to Sankta Alina. A miracle, her followers called it.

It took him the better part of a week to recover from Alina's miracle.

He'd awoken days later in the Little Palace to his anxious and concerned oprichniki and a near coup at his hands, for once rumours of his death had circled, the vultures of Ravkan nobility had swarmed in.

Then he'd spent another good week quelling those and deciding what he would do with West Ravka's letter of official surrender. As Novokibrisk fell, West Ravka's war was left with no defendants and Lantsov's leftover generals knew better than to continue the fight when Ravka demonstrated such power. Upon reading the letter Aleksander had made a mental note to include the airships in their official terms of surrender.

No word from Fyerda and Shu Han. He imagined they'd be treading very carefully from now on. At least he knew he was unlikely to have to worry about keeping his promises of land to the Fyerdan's. He never specified what state they were to be in, he could leave the Fyerdans to draw their own conclusions.

As for Alina, she'd fared much worse than him. He'd gone to see her nearly as soon as he'd awakened and found her thin, pale, and limp in bed. If he had not known better he would have thought her dead, but the look on his face had the Healers quickly assuring him that in time, she'd make a full recovery.

Mostly, he'd spend his time turning every interaction they'd had in the days preceding the ordeal in his head. He'd realized, with no small annoyance, how easily she'd manipulated him. She'd let him believe she was willing to follow along with his plan, and happy to lend her power to him. Then the little fiend had seduced him so he'd give her the key to using merzost.

He'd be even more furious was he not so impressed.

She'd handled no small amount of power, outmaneuvering him and Lantsov both. He would have been prouder if she had not destroyed Ravka's greatest weapon in the process.

He gave it another week before seeing her once he heard she was awake, the conversation they were due to have demanded her alert and attentive. He monitored her through the reports her staff supplied him, keeping track of her meals and how much she was resting.

Sometimes he thought he felt her, he was yet to test the full extent of it but with her actions in The Fold, it was as if she'd left behind a thread when she pulled from his power with merzost. Occasionally he would be immersed in activities of the day and catch a glint of satisfaction or peace. He wondered if she could feel his anger in return.

Once she'd started taking walks in the garden to regain her strength he knew she was ready.

So after his first meeting of the day, Aleksander made his way to her rooms.

He'd dreamt of her, had envisioned heated arguments and harsh words, much like the fight they'd had after the village. Every vision faded away when he opened the doors to her room and found her sitting at her armchair, a book ar her lap, and the morning sun pouring in through the drawn drapes.

Half turned from him, she sipped from her tea, white hair left loose against her shoulders, a gentle breeze blowing them like threads of silk. That paired with her white nightgown and robe made her glow in the morning light, as if she'd been made entirely out of sunlight. A living Saint.