Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Ana Kuya fell ill, Alina’s life changed. She put aside being the woe-is-me, insecure, orphan girl whose biggest concerns were whether her friends really liked her or anyone thought she was pretty. It was Ana who was truly helpless.

Ana had spent her life caring for children when no one else would. She wasn’t the warmest woman. Life with her was hard chores, church on Sundays (even though Ana knew Alina didn’t believe in the Saints), and ritual shaming. But she never abandoned Alina.

The night Ana’s doctor called with her diagnosis, Alina declined a spot at Os Alta University and enrolled in Keramzin Community College.

It wasn’t so bad.

Ravkan social security checks were barely anything and Alina turning 18 meant she lost the income she got for housing a ward of the state. So Alina got two jobs. She did illustrations for Aleksei, a local comic book writer who ran his father’s little shop. When he didn’t need her, she babysat.

Most people who went to Keramzin High ended up at the community college, so it wasn’t like she was alone.

She had friends.

She had Mal.

Mal.

Mal had spent every summer visiting his grandmother in the house down the road. Her fondest childhood memories were of Mal. Running wild in the Ravkan countryside.

As they got older, Alina’s feelings towards him started to change. When he punched her shoulder or slung his arm around her, her heart fluttered. It didn’t even bother her when her friends (who fell for Mal instantly) started to refer to her as Mal’s shadow. She wanted to be attached to him always.

She was so happy when Mal decided to do two years at Keramzin Community. Though it baffled her. Alina wasn’t ignorant to the fact that Mal lived an affluent lifestyle Fall through Spring. His grandfather was the CEO of some successful pharmaceutical company. Or something like that.

During those two years, Mal started to see her the same way. They fought and got distracted from each other sometimes. But they always seemed to gravitate towards each other.

Alina was happy enough with her life, she really was.

Then Ana got worse.

Alina spent more time taking care of Ana than any of the neighborhood children. She begged Ana to take her medicine. Held the water to her lips when Ana was too weak to hold the cup. She bathed Ana. Cooked for her. Prayed with her at Sankta Anastasia’s altar when she was too sick for church. Woke up from a cold sweat every other night, needing to know if Ana was still breathing.

One night she wasn’t.

Ana was revived in the ambulance and hospitalized. It was clear she wasn’t going to get better. Everyone could sense how close to death she was.

And Alina felt close to death too. She was certain that when Ana died she would die with her. No, Ana wasn’t a mother to her. Still, she was so many other things that Alina would not forsake over any gripe.

Ana was her teacher. Her hard rock in the storm. The only person who had never left her.
Alina didn’t know who she would be without Ana.

Four years after Ana’s passing, she is still trying to figure it out.

Chapter Text

After Ana Kuya’s death, there wasn’t anything left in Keramzin for her. Except memories of course. So many ghosts it felt like she was drowning.

Some distant relative, Konstantine, flew in from West Ravka to sell the house and pay off Ana’s debts. He acted horribly burdened to be forced to stay in a “one horse town” to deal with his distant aunt’s estate and her sad Shu ward. As instructed in Ana’s will he-begrudgingly- gave Alina enough money to move to Balakirev and pay for a couple’s months rent.

A lot of people she knew in Keramzin have ended up here. They attended 4-year schools nearby and got shitty-decent apartments in the city. Aleksei, Ruby, and her usual company, some of Mal’s friends. Mal doesn’t technically live in Balakirev but he’s here all the time to see friends. And after all, Balakirev has way better nightlife than Os Alta.
Alina pulls her hair up into a bun, ignoring how dull and stringy it looks. During the morning shift, she can’t afford to focus on her smaller problems like her lifeless hair or dry skin.

She puts on her apron and exits the break room. It fits looser than last month. The perils of trying to stay fed in a tourist trap/trust fund playground.

“Good Morning!” Marie beams.

Alina can only sigh.

As much as she prefers working shifts with Marie over their co-workers, who are mostly pretentious college students, Alina is not a morning person. Marie is. Though really, Marie can go on and on any time of day.

“Someone’s grumpy. Mal still hasn’t called to hang out?”

Alina rolls her eyes.

So much for enjoying some peace and quiet before the morning rush.

Admittedly, Balakirev wasn’t the only place Alina considered going after Keramzin. When she could bear to think about her parents, Alina thought of going to Dva Stolba (her birthplace) and retracing every step they’d taken there. Discovering what they loved about it. She’d heard good things about West Ravka too. Not to mention she’d always wanted to go to Ketterdam. But Mal was here.

She’d been excited to spend more time with Mal like she used to.

They used to spend summers playing in the meadow. Sun beating down on her skin, turning her sickly pallor a light bronze. High grass tickling their legs. The smell of morning dew.

When the weather was ugly he still came over. Despite insisting Mal stay the summer in her home, and that her daughter stay at least a week, his grandmother didn’t seem to be a fan of kids. Even Ana found her too severe. So Mal would come over and they would get into all sorts of trouble.

“He just got back from a business trip to Ketterdam. I don’t expect him to come running to my front door from the airport.”

“Hmmm, how long ago?”

“A week or so”, she says nonchalantly.

Maybe it bothers her a little that Mal hasn’t called her, barely texted, or done more than like her stories since he got back. Two weeks ago.

Maybe it bothers her, just a little, that he says he’s too busy with work and his family drama to come over and talk like he promised he would when he got back from his trip. After they slept together, for the first time since he took her virginity- not that she buys into virginity as more than a social construct.

Maybe it bothers her that he was out getting wasted with Mikael, Dubrov, and some girls she went to high school with. Who have always been on his dick no matter how much Mal pretended not to notice.

But she won’t admit that to Marie who is decidedly anti-Mal.

“A week? But I thought-

“How are things with Nadia?”

At least she knows how to distract Marie.

Marie is with Nadia, who is supportive of Marie also being with Sergei. Except that Nadia met Sergei recently and hates him. Marie is constantly biting her nails about it. Whenever there’s a lull they like to suggest preposterous schemes to get the two to like each other.

“Bad”, she whines.

The bell on the door rings and the first customer orders. A business type orders a black coffee and a danish. Alina gives him the biggest one for not complicating their lives so early in the morning.

Alina turns back to Marie as the man leaves.

“What?” she snorts,” Throuple’s Twister didn’t work?”

That one was Marie’s idea. Alina had worried she wasn’t completely joking.

Marie pouts and shakes her head.

“Sergei elbowed Nadia in the face and he apologized but you know… Sergei’s love language is acts of service. Nadia didn’t think he was sorry enough so she kicked him out of our apartment.”

Marie has two people who hate each other jumping through hoops to stay in her life and make her happy. She’s happy for Marie but it only serves to remind her how different their lives are. From relationships to other prospects.

“Yikes. I’m sorry, babe.”

“Yeah, thanks”, Marie sighs.

The rush picks up and they have no time to talk.

Professionals, college students, and clearly hungover people (some still in last night's clothes) flood the shop.

Taking drink orders, Alina imagines herself on the opposite side of the counter. In another world, Ana got better. Alina moved to Balakirev or Poliznaya to attend university too. She would be a newly minted professional. Some nervous intern caffeinating before a grueling workday. Or, since she might’ve been in grad school by now, she’d be like these students. They were clearly stressed and distracted by thoughts of their day but they were so shiny with hope for the future.

Every so often she thinks about going back to school. Maybe if she did she would stop feeling like she’s living in the aftermath of a disaster. But how will she pay tuition? Ravkan student loans are usually done through banks and they aren’t keen on lending to orphans. How will she pay the 30,000 vlachki?

Her acceptance to Os Alta University’s cartography years ago had come with a full scholarship. OAU has the best cartography program in Ravka. Mapmakers have trained there since Ravka’s centuries of wars came to an end. It's the luckiest Alina has ever been. She doesn’t anticipate getting that lucky again.

Anyway, she’d be older than all her classmates. It’s embarrassing enough working with college students and recent college grads like Marie. She’s 24 and leagues behind these kids.

Her dreams look different than they did at 18. They now consist of: Pay the rent, Get health insurance somehow, Hope Mal sees how good they could be together.

***

She hears the bell ring and the soft thud of a cane against the tiled floors. Ilya smiles gently as he makes his way to the counter. He always comes to the counter to order even though Alina knows his order by heart. Even though she always serves him at his usual table.

“Good morning, Alina. How are you?”

“Good, Ilya. How are you?”

“Old.”

Alina laughs.

“Oh please. You don’t look a day over 60.”

“We both know I haven't been 60 for a good while but it’s kind of you to lie Alinochka.”

“Any time. I’ll get started on your coffee.”

Ilya moves to his usual seat, a wooden chair at a low table between the register and the window. She knows the owners chose the uncomfortable chairs with the intention of driving customers off as soon as possible. Still, he insists the cushier window seats are for couples on dates and that he refuses to ruin the vibes.

So different from Ana and yet he always makes Alina think of her.

Alina busies herself making Ilya’s usual drink.

She pours syrup and a shot of espresso into a metal cup while Marie takes the next customer’s order.

“You know who would text you back?”

Alina raises a brow while she adds the cream and vanilla sugar. Of course, she doesn’t respond. Marie will say what’s on her mind anyway.

“Ilya”, Marie smirks.

Alina sends a nearby disposable cup tumbling to the ground.

“Marie! What’s wrong with you? He’s old enough to be my grandfather!”

She throws away the cup, pours her customer’s drink into a new one, and shrugs.

“Or a low-maintenance sugar daddy.”

“You’re demented.”

“Ilya would text you back. Plus he does come here every day and sit in that uncomfortable chair.”

“Ilya doesn’t text.”

“I’m just saying almost anything would be better than sitting around waiting for Mal to text you.”

“Your customer is waiting”, Alina huffs.

She busies herself finishing Ilya’s drink. After pouring it into a glass she puts a little dessert on the side.

He’s waiting patiently, turning the pages of a newspaper.

“No drawing today?”

Ilya first came into the coffee shop a little over 4 months ago. He struggled to peer up at the menu overhead before asking Alina to choose for him. Alina served him a Coffee Raf with a napkin doodle of the sun in eclipse. Some people didn’t even notice or glanced and wiped their mouths on it. She almost felt embarrassed when noticed and tucked the napkin in the pocket of his coat. His heartfelt thank you came with 100 vlachki. When her landlord came around for the rent that week it finally wasn’t paid at the expense of a meal.

Since, he’s come in at least once a week, asked how she’s doing, complimented her drawings, and left 100 vlachki behind.

Needless to say, Ilya is her favorite regular.

“My manager sent out a memo about appropriate napkin use.”

“Someone’s jealous, hm?”

Alina snorts.

Like her doodle of a magical deer made Anton green with envy.

“Can I get you anything else?”

Of course, she knows the answer to that question. He knows she does by the look he gives her. Marie isn’t wrong that she’s more in sync with Ilya these days than Mal.

The shop is pretty much dead after the rush. Just writers and people who work from home clacking away on their computers. Around this time Anton goes to the back to work on his dissertation. So Ilya always tries to lure her into conversation.

For a while, she did think he was the typical old Ravkan man who found the attention of a young barista flattering. Now she thinks maybe he’s lonely or purposeless. If anyone can understand that it’s Alina.

She settles into the chair across from him.

"You're too modest Alina. You're a wonderful artist. I wish you would believe me."

"I haven't done more than napkin doodles in a long time."

“Why not?”

"Oh I don’t know, I’ve been busy.”

"Still working two jobs", he tsks.

“I have to pay for my rat-infested apartment somehow.”

"The world takes much from us Alina, but we can't let it take our passion. If I had, my family might’ve wasted away in our own rat-infested apartment."

The image of a sketchy neighborhood and family crowded into a shoebox apartment clashed with the man before her, his fine clothes and genteel mannerisms.

"Surprised?"

"Yes, it's... Ravka."

Most wealthy Ravkans come from long lines of merchants or are distant relatives of royals. Upward mobility isn’t really a thing in Ravka. Rags to riches stories are the stuff of fairy tales.

"I wasn't always so well off."

He shakes his head, smiling ruefully.

“We lived between two rooms which I suspect was just one room walled in half. I worked nights and during the day the apartment was my workshop. Food in metal canisters to deter the rats. Prepackaged to deter the roaches.”

“Oh, my wife hated it. She missed the country where they used to burn people like me.”

At that, he scoffs.

“We were a miserable little family. But we couldn’t fight. In those days landlords didn’t need much reason to throw a strange Grisha family out on the street.”

“That’s awful. I'm sorry.”

For their longer life spans and lasting beauty, Grisha in Ravka are the subject of strong distrust if not disdain. Alina remembers how Ana would examine a child’s hands and arms for a Grisha mark. Allegedly to know if she’d have a child with wasting sickness on her hands, but before bed she paid more mind that those children prayed at the altar of the Saints.

"The joke is on them”, he smirks, raising his coffee cup.

“It clearly is.”

“I hope you find time for your passions.”

He reaches under his chair and slides the large gift bag across the table.

Tentatively she reaches into it.

It’s a hardcover book, deep blue with a gold inlaid design. She’s so mesmerized by the way the golden lines swirl and curve that at first she doesn’t recognize the design on both covers. The first thing she drew for him. Her drawing of a sun in eclipse.

The sound of the book cracking open and the smell of fresh sheets of paper almost brings tears to her eyes. She feels like a girl again. Sitting in Ana’s study, laying out old maps and trying to copy them in her sketchbook- the only thing of hers, that’s brand new and not a hand-me-down.

Alina looks up from the blank creamy sheets.

Ilya smiles softly.

“One less obstacle, my dear.”

“I can’t-

“ Please. Accept my gift.”

Shit, now she really is crying.

She tries to swipe away the warm tears rolling down her cheek before any of the customers notice.

“Okay”, she whispers.

Ilya takes a final sip of his coffee and stands.

He squeezes her shoulder.

“Good.”

“ Thank you.”

It doesn’t feel like enough but he seems to grasp the depth of her gratitude.

He nods and starts to leave but stops.

“Would you do me just one more favor?”

“What?”

“Eat my blini. You’re too thin these days.”

She laughs and pulls the plate in front of her.

They bid each other a good day and Ilya leaves the shop.

Alina flips back to the front page of the book. On the inside of the cover there’s a message penned in smooth fountain ink:

Somewhere in the chaos of the Making Alina Starkov, there is a grand plan for you.

Chapter Text

It’s almost midnight when Alina gets home from work. 

She kicks off her shoes by the door before collapsing onto her couch with a sigh. The sketchbook from Ilya and some graphite pencils she later found in the gift bag sit on her coffee table. Like they have since he gave it to her on Monday. Tracing the gilded lines on the cover helps soothe her. 

Most days of the week, she works mornings or afternoons at the coffee shop and evenings at the Shu restaurant a few blocks from her apartment. It’s not a bad job. Her manager isn’t a haughty Ph.D. student on a power trip like Anton. Her co-workers are nice, though she isn’t friends or even acquaintances with them. Plus, the kitchen staff lets her fill a take-out box with whatever’s left at the end of the night. Some nights, like tonight, it’s the only food in her fridge.

Yet, some days working there is a punch in the gut. Usually, it's that she catches a whiff of a dish she can’t name and it tugs at a memory that feels so distinctly old that she feels certain it’s something her parents must’ve cooked for her when she was small. But she can’t identify the smell and she doesn’t really have the memory. So, she keeps her mind perfectly blank and doesn’t truly breathe until the end of her shift. 

Tonight, a party from Shu Han spotted her and excitedly requested her as their server. It wasn’t long before she had disappointed them by responding to their kind greeting in Ravkan. The excitement dying in their eyes as she said she didn’t speak Shu has burned itself into hers like an after-image.

She doesn’t want to think about this any longer. 

Alina forces herself to get up and take the food from work out of her bag. Lest, she falls asleep and wakes up to the food already eaten.

Her living room is basically a large hallway between the front door, her bedroom, and the adjacent bathroom. Her kitchen is a walled-off cube that interrupts the “large hallway”. When she first moved to Balakirev it was jarring to go from a house in the country to this. These days, now that she mainly uses her apartment to nap between shifts, it feels convenient to be only a few steps from the next necessity. 

She sticks the container in the microwave with one hand and runs the faucet for tea with the other. While the food warms up she fills a kettle and puts it on the stove. Tea is something she always used to make for Ana. It seems she can’t let go of the habit.

The intention is to eat and promptly go to bed but when she re-enters the living room the sketchbook is waiting right where she left it with its usual expectant stare. 

She sighs once more and begrudgingly puts her food on the end table. 

Funny how bougie material makes her little doodle look like something sacred. It’s hard to believe she drew it herself. But it was her. She made it. 

Alina opens the book to the second page. 

If her drawing turns out disastrous she won’t benefit from the reminder of her failure every time she even attempts to use the book. 

Picking up a pencil, she takes a breath to steel herself. 

She’ll try to draw a falcon. She should know how to draw a falcon right? It’s her restaurant's logo after all. The seal of Shu Han. 

Using light, smooth strokes she makes a rough outline of the falcon’s body. She tries to illustrate the breadth of its feathery wings. The fierce set of its eyes, and of course its sharp talons. 

Drawing used to feel like breathing. Though it would never be more than a hobby, she always felt compelled to do it. Imitating maps in Ana’s study, while she avoided the older kids in the home. Scenes from the book of Saints for the younger wards before Ana retired. Superheroes for Aleksei. Princesses and folk tales for the kids she babysat.

But now, it comes out all wrong. The wings look flat and lifeless. Its eyes are uneven and dull. The claws she can barely bring herself to look at. Missing is its fierce grace or even the slightest indication of her familiarity with it. You’d think she’s never seen a falcon before in her life. 

If the universe or anything else out there has a plan for her, then why is she all broken parts that don’t fit together? 

Alina rises from the couch to put her food away. She won’t taste it now. Whatever, chewing sounds like labor now, anyway.

While she’s taking the kettle off the stove, her phone chimes. 

It’s Mal.

Mal 

Come over?

-11:44 pm-

She likes the message. 

Through everything that’s happened, some things still make sense. Some things never change. Alina has never felt like there’s a plan for her life. It’s always been bad luck and small blessings. 

Alina

When?

-11:45 pm-

Mal

Now?

-11:49 pm-

And Mal. 

There’s always been Mal.

***

Seeing as Mal lives on the edge of Os Alta she has to leave home now to be there within an hour. She orders a cab ride she can’t really afford and rushes to the bathroom to freshen up. She’s still in her work uniform: a black long-sleeved button-up and black jeans. The best she can do is wear the shirt open around her gray tank top. Not much can be done about the dark circles around her eyes. Instead, she focuses on making her eyeliner sharp before rushing out the door. 

The cab driver is a burly Fjerdan man who seems annoyed to be out this late. She spies a photo of a wife and children on his dashboard as she slides across the cold vinyl seat. His frown especially makes sense. It makes for a (thankfully) quiet car ride. 

As the car speeds through the night, through residential areas, past warehouses thrumming with music and glowing in the dark, Alina gets lost in a memory.

They lay at the start of the meadow. Close enough that they can see the house and rush back if Ana calls out to them. At 15 their leashes have been severely tightened by Ana’s fear that Mal will “rob Alina of her virtue”. Their quiet rebellion is lying in the tall grass and the wildflowers, almost completely hidden from view. 

“Let’s buy a farm.”

She can’t help but laugh.

“Only husbands and wives own farms together, Mal.”

“And siblings.”

“And we are most certainly not siblings.”

"Okay, then we’ll get married.”

He says it so matter of factly. Girls blush around him all the time and he enjoys it too. But behind their backs, he rolls his eyes. Too easy, he says. She’s glad the grass is tall enough he can’t see her cheeks flame. 

“What will we do every day? Muck stalls and milk cows?”

“We’ll figure it out then.”

Peaceful silence settles in. The grass sways around them and the Earth almost hums beneath their backs. She closes her eyes to focus on sunshine warming her skin.

Alina’s illness is gone. Her body can properly regulate temperature now. Still, she craves the warmth of the sun. It doesn’t matter that it makes her skin more noticeably bronze. It doesn’t help her fit in but she doesn’t need to fit in. Mal will lay beside her beneath the sun. 

He breaks the silence. 

“Have you ever heard of True North?”

“Like north on a compass?”

“No, True North is different. It’s still North even when the compass needle points in a different direction. My dad said it’s like home.”

Looking at Mal, his light freckles, curly brown hair, and matching eyes she thinks she understands what his dad meant. 

She’s working up the nerve to ask him. What’s true north to you? 

“Mal!”

She cranes her head to see who’s calling him. 

When Alina sees her blonde hair, her upturned nose, and her arrogant smirk, she knows she won’t get the chance to ask him. This summer Mal has fallen prey to the Ruby trap. She wishes she could hate him for it but she can’t. Didn’t she fall for it too? Didn’t she fall harder? 

Mal goes to tell her he’ll be her date to the country club dance. He leaves Alina stuck to the spot thinking about True North. How Mal feels like her true north. Listening to Ruby giggle at something Mal says, Alina wonders if she is his. 

Isn’t that the whole concept of true north? Sometimes their compasses point in directions that aren’t each other. Sometimes they wander and stray. At the end of the day, only one direction is home. 

After she and Mal slept together she said she understood that he needed time to think. Maybe that wasn’t true because she knows. She wants him. But she can’t ask him to want her the way she wants him, right?

At least he’s willing to talk. 

***

Mal’s building is nothing impressive on the outside but inside are spacious industrial lofts. He keeps the place pretty shabby but it’s impossible to ignore it’s a really nice apartment. The kind of thing she could never afford. Nor could most of his friends. Whenever she comes here she’s suddenly forced to remember he lived a whole other life outside Keramzin. One of luxury and probably excitement. Is Alina as big a part of his childhood memories as Mal is of hers?

She knocks and the door swings open. 

“Mal”, she breathes. 

He smiles that boyish grin that made all the girls in Keramzin fall in love with him. 

“You’re finally here! Only took you forever.”

“Some of us don’t drive sports cars.”

When their amused eyes meet Alina can’t bring herself to look away.

Mal scratches his head. 

Gone are the curls she used to dream about running her fingers through. He shaved it during his short time in the First Army. He’d complained about it then, how it was one of many freedoms he lacked doing service but even after he somehow got out of it, he kept it shaven. It looked cooler to his crowd, she supposed.

His smile drops. 

“Alina, listen-

“If you're fuckin’ flirtin’ with your neighbor while were dying of thirst…”

When she sees reddish blond hair and sees Mikhael’s large build her heart drops to its lowest place in her chest. 

“Oh hey sticks, didn’t know you were coming.”

Mal can’t seem to meet her gaze. It was supposed to just be the two of them. He promised they would at least talk about what happened. Did she misunderstand?

“What the fuck are we still doing in the hallway?”

Leave it to Mikhael to not notice or completely ignore the presence of complex emotion. 

Mal opens the door wider to let Alina slip past the two. 

His apartment is spacious which, with his sparse decorations, only makes it look more like a sad single-guy apartment. The first floor has an open floor plan. Up modern wooden stairs, with big gaps between each one, is his bedroom. Alina has always loved the exposed brick and big windows on the first floor. If only there were more than a leather couch, two armchairs, and a flat-screen TV in the living room.

Mikhael isn’t the only blast from the past she’s being ambushed with tonight.

It seems that every person she’d hoped to leave behind with Keramzin is in Mal’s living room. There’s Dubrov sitting on the armchair closest to the stairs. He usually ignores her existence, except for when he’s drunk and has no one “better” to bother. Irina Ivanov sits on the armrest, her curtain of dark brown falling around him. The last time she spoke directly to Alina was in middle school to call her a “Shu slut” and make it clear that just because Ruby tolerated her didn’t mean Irina would. But it’s neat blonde curls and a deceptively sweet voice that deals the final blow. 

“Alina, hi! I didn’t think you would make it.”

Her smile is bright but after knowing someone for over a decade disdain isn’t hard to spot.

Once upon a time, she and Ruby were friends. Though maybe to Ruby she was only a sidekick. Alina remembers being confused by Ruby’s interest in her friendship. Everyone liked Ruby, thought she was pretty and wanted to be invited to her yearly birthday party at Keramzin’s country club. When she got an invite, it was perplexing. Against all odds, they became friends. Being friends with Ruby meant people like Mikhael and Dubrov (who lusted after Ruby all through middle school) acknowledged her existence. 

Their friendship ended the summer she introduced Ruby to Mal and she decided Alina was the competition . 

“Ruby.”

Ruby holds out an expectant hand towards Mal. She pulls him into the middle seat beside her. He lets her. 

Sitting on the other side of Mal, she knows she’ll regret this night.

***

Mal wants to drink and Mikhael is dying to get plastered on his high-end kvas. 

Ruby offers to serve them, solely to demonstrate to Alina that she knows where everything in Mal’s apartment is.

Oh, how Alina wishes she could be drunk beyond sight right now. But tomorrow is Monday and she has to open the coffee shop. She can’t handle rising early, serving cranky office workers, and Marie hung over. She’s sure everyone else has to work too. But that's the magic of Mal.

All night she wills Mal to pay attention to her, but the more he drinks the further away he is. 

To make things worse, liquor loosens tongues.

“It sucked!” 

Mal’s trying to convince Mikhael and Dubrov that his work trip was nothing to be envious of.

“My cousin’s such a douche. He sent me to do his errands and he sent a babysitter. It was nothing but meetings he didn’t want to go to.”

“What about those Grisha girls ?” 

Dubrov’s salacious grin earns a slap on the forehead from Irina.

“You’re disgusting.”

“What? You expect me to believe his cousin’s got all these hot Grisha women around and nothing happened .”

He said he needed time to think. She very much doubted he’d been thinking about her while tumbling supernaturally beautiful women. Not only does she feel stupid, but she also feels strange solidarity with Ruby. Two shitty confusing feelings.

“Stop being a jackass”, Mal laughs. 

Mikhael is as drunk as Alina is sober. Maybe he took something. His eyes are on the ceiling tracking movement that isn’t there.

“They creep me out”, he slurs. 

When no one responds he goes on. 

“ ‘not natural the way they stay young for so long. Those weird marks on their arms… I think the reason we think they’re so pretty is cause they’re casting spells with their eyes.”

Everyone laughs it off as Mikhael just being Mikhael. Dubrov and Irina go back to their drunken flirting. Ruby leans in to whisper something in Mal’s ear. 

Mikhael looks at Alina. 

“I don’t blame you guys for dissecting ‘em.”

This was always the point when the boy from childhood would’ve stood up for her. Gotten offended as if someone had personally insulted him. Maybe even picked a fight. 

Mal’s neck tenses but he doesn’t look away from Ruby.

When she stands, she finally has Mal’s undivided attention. 

“I’m going to head out.”

Hopefully, no one sees her eyes crowding with tears. Hopefully, her tone sounds as even as she’s willing it to be. Nothing about tonight could possibly be as bad as letting these people see her cry. 

As she makes her way to the elevator, relief starts to come. Until she checks the time and realizes it’s 2 am. Her shift starts in 3 hours.

The tears start to flow. 

“Alina! Wait!”

Mal rushes to her breathlessly, catching her by the arm and turning her around. 

“Wait.”

“What, Mal?!”

“I’m sorry about Mikhael.”

“You said you wanted to talk!”

The stark lifeless building, Mal’s shaven head, and his silence back there all strike a stark contrast to those summer days in Keramzin.

Is he still the curly-haired boy who protected her? 

Mal’s hands skim her arms. She can feel his warm breath on her cheek and smell his scent. It’s kvas and expensive cologne instead of morning dew and wildflowers. But her eyes flutter shut and her heart fills with hope.

His lips brush gently over hers.

“I’m not ready for you… For us. But I will be.”

“Mal”, she pleads. 

“I will be, Alina. Just wait.”

Saints help her, she kisses him. Maybe he’s shocked because he doesn’t kiss her back the same. But he does kiss her back. And he tucks a tendril of wild hair behind her ear with a small smile. 

She can’t smile back. An unnamed feeling roils in her gut. But why?

He wants her. Mal finally wants her back. They’re going to be together. 

Mal’s phone starts chiming rapidly. 

He steps back from her to check it and Alina knows who it is. 

Mal notices her pulling away and looks up from his phone. 

“I’ll call you.”

She nods and he lets her slip away into the night.

***

Stumbling through her front door everything looks like vague soft shapes. A piece of paper slipped under the door almost sends her careening into what must be her coffee table. She leaves it on the table doubting and not wanting to attempt reading right now. It’s a take-out menu, a notice from her landlord, or-

She falls onto the couch, curling up to let its soft warmth envelop her. Issues that can’t possibly be solved now swirl in the back of her mind. Work in 2 hours. Mal & Ruby. The paper slipped under the door. Darkness swallows every anxious thought.

Chapter Text

The day begins like the worst ones always do. A racing heart. Nausea curling in her gut like smoke. A phone close to dead. And because something out there in the universe loves to laugh at her, a bus to catch in 20 minutes.

Somehow on swaying feet, she manages to shimmy into jeans and throw on a t-shirt without breaking something. There’s no time to look completely decent. Or to charge her phone. Nor is there time to read her landlord’s passive-aggressive nagging. She tucks the notice between the pages of her sketchbook. 

On dead limbs, she barely catches the bus. 

Settling into her seat, she checks her phone. 

20% battery. No text messages. No calls… 

Her stupid heart sinks. 

But what was she expecting? Of course Mal hasn’t called her yet. He’s not even awake. Mal’s probably curled up in bed. Is he alone?

She shuts down her phone.

Instead of thinking of Mal, she tries to focus on her stop. Next to impossible when her eyelids keep fluttering shut. Balakirev passes her by chunks at a time. 

It’s no small blessing she pulls the wire. 

Descending from the platform with a harsh jolt, she just knows. Today is going to be miserable. Memorably so. 

***

Despite the miraculous feat of catching the bus, she still manages to be 5- minutes-

“Late!” Anton lets her through the front door with a huff. 

She takes a steadying breath and bites her tongue.

“Sorry sir.”

Labor is the worst thing to ever happen to her ego.

Alina sweeps past him to the break room. 

“Good morning!” 

Letting her bag plop onto the breakroom table, she makes a noise that hopefully sounds like good morning. 

Alina turns to the break room mirror. Again she ignores her dull, stringy hair and practically gaunt face. She tries to focus on putting her hair up. And she refuses to think about full cheeks, smooth skin, pretty blonde hair-

Marie eyes her warily and shuts the break room door. The break room is the last door at the end of the hall. Three feet from Anton’s office. Which she’s rarely seen used for any actual managerial work. She’d be grateful if she had the energy to even start about Anton.

“You look awful.”

“You always know just what to say.”

“And you’re in a terrible mood. Saints!” 

She’s about to respond when Anton shouts some obnoxious call to action from the hall. At the least, it’s a good excuse to ignore Marie’s disapproving sigh.

***

Marie speeds through taking down chairs with expert speed. She fumbles through it. It takes extra patience to flip the chair and set it down where she actually intended. That’s what she gets for only getting 2 hours of sleep.

Going out last night wasn’t one of her better decisions. Can she regret it, though? Mal finally told her- showed her- that he felt something for her too.

Except she’s exhausted. Her grade school bullies made sure to remind her that they’ll always see an insignificant outsider when they look at her. When she left, Ruby was blowing up Mal’s phone. Like so many times before, he couldn’t resist her call. A mere minute after their kiss-

“-na! Did you hear me?”

“Sorry, I-

“Okay, I’m dying to know what kept you up all night”, Marie grins. 

Alina shrugs and turns to take down another chair.

“Mal called.”

Because it’s exactly the sort of thing Marie would pick apart for meaning, she leaves out that it was really a text. A two-word text.

Marie shrieks. Her loud, sudden reaction almost makes Alina drop the chair. 

“Saints!”

She’s barely resisting the urge to jump up and down.

“So you talked about what happened. Is he finally your boyfriend because even Nadia and Sergei agree it’s about time. This is so exciting. We can all go out together!”

“Thanks for telling your lovers all my business,” she scoffs. 

Marie, done with her section, hops up on a table. Her feet swing eagerly. 

“So?”

“So what?” she says, slamming down another chair. 

“Is he your boyfriend?”

She feels his soft kiss brush against her lips. Remembers that feeling of finally. It felt like a turning point. Now, standing before Marie the turning point slips through her fingers like sand. 

It’s hard to describe. And how could someone like Marie understand?

“We’re not-He’s not ready for yet. But he will be.”

He will. 

“Oh, Alina”, she sighs. 

Well-intentioned as it is, Marie's sympathy chafes. She takes down the last chair stumbling as she flips it. And yes, she tries to slam it down with too much force.

“I’m nothing to pity Marie. We’re adults in the real world, not some silly fantasy.”

The chair hits the floor in a resounding crash. 

“Of course, I didn’t mean-

Anton comes storming out of the office in a huff.

They turn to him shoulder to shoulder, hands behind their backs like errant privates.

“What’s going on out here?”

“Nothing, sir.” 

“I didn’t think it took a college degree to take down chairs, Starkov. Was I wrong?”

She takes a deep breath and wills it not to come out as a sigh. 

Anton taps his foot. 

“No, sir.”

“Good. Get to work and less gossip please.”

The rest of opening is full of stilted silence. 

Marie only speaks a few times. To shoo Alina away from restocking the mini fridge when she almost drops a glass bottle. To remind her about the gloves, when she spies Alina staring blearily at the pastry case for the 1st step. Lastly, to beg her to eat something. But the scent of food overwhelms her empty stomach. 

Before customers start to trickle in, she checks her phone. It's as fruitless and foolish as before. Nothing.

***

The r ing, ring, ring of the door ends their silence.

As Balakirev’s early risers fill Juris Java, the remorse comes.

It wasn’t right to snap at Marie. To Alina’s occasional aggravation, she can be pushy and forward. But she always means well. Even if the judgment of someone whose life is so perfect is irritating.

“Hi, what can I get you?”

Marie takes orders while she makes drinks.

Smack dab in the middle of the rush, Alina’s sleepless night truly catches up with her.

Ring!

Marie slides over a cup. Her eyes struggle to make words out of blurry squiggles. Macchiato with whole milk.

Iced coffee. No milk. Three sugars. About to serve the iced coffee, she reads the cup again. Hot coffee. 

Ring!

Halfway through remaking it, Macchiato-with-whole-milk asks if it’s dairy-free. 

Suddenly, Anton is behind the register while she frantically tries to keep up with orders. 

“What’s wrong with her?” 

“Nothing, sir. She’s just tired,” Marie replies before turning back to her customer.

“Look Starkov, what you do after hours is your own business but right now your little hangover is affecting everyone.” 

Maybe if he didn’t intentionally understaff the shop for a meager bonus the rush couldn’t be single-handedly bogged down by her sleep deprivation. The audacity of Ravkan men never fails to test her patience.

Once again, she thinks of her rent and bites her tongue. 

The second Anton returns to his office, Marie insists on trading places. 

“Hi, what can I get you?” Alina asks with a teaspoon of Marie’s enthusiasm.

There’s another customer and another. Sounds grow soft around her except for a high-pitched ringing sound. She could fall asleep right here. It’s doubtful that she’s taking down orders correctly. Marie is certainly listening to her take orders while making the drinks.

Ring!

A couple steps up to the counter. One woman wears a sharp suit while the other looks more preppy and casual. All wrapped up in each other.

“A black tea with sugar for me and a white mocha with extra whipped cream for my girlfriend, the future doctor”, the suit beams. 

Her preppy girlfriend blushes and tugs her toward the drink counter.

“You have to stop telling people that!”

Alina’s phone feels like lead in her back pocket. Something changed between them last night, right? He said he wants to be with her like them. But what does she have to show for last night? A kiss or two. But more than that has amounted to nothing between them. 60 vlachki less from two long cab rides. A crappy work day.

What did she starve herself of sleep and food for?

Hope , the love-sick voice in her head pipes up , that he could possibly ever love you like you love him. 

How pathetic is it that during the worst shift of her life, she’s thinking about Mal?

***

As soon as the last order in line is finished, Marie is at her side with big pleading eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

It’s her who should be apologizing for being such a bitch to someone who then proceeded to cover for her the entire shift.

“I’m glad you’re not mad at me because now we can talk about how insufferable Anton has been today.” 

Alina laughs.

He has been particularly intolerable today. 

“It’s a miracle I didn’t strike him.”

Now they both laugh.

“Since you’re technically single… you have to let me set you up!”

“Marie…”

“Sergei has some cute friends but Nadia’s friends are way hotter. And Saints, you should see the people in her department. If I were monogamous her job would drive me crazy .”

“I’m sure your educated, well-paid, gorgeous Grisha friends are lining up to date a college drop out”, she scoffs. 

“They wouldn’t care.”

Of course they would care. They’re building great lives for themselves while Alina just gets by. She notices the disapproval if not pity that flashes across people’s faces when they find she never finished college. Never does she bother to explain to them that there was Ana’s illness, then the weight of her death, starting over in a new city, and so little money.

Quietly it gnaws at her that maybe those are just excuses . 

“I’m sure your friends are nice.”

Or at least nicer than Mal’s. 

“They are and they’ll see what I see.”

And what is that?

“It doesn’t matter. I have Mal.”

She tries to ignore how uncertain that feels rolling off her tongue.

Marie returns a dubious look so she tries to explain. 

Alina tries to explain that she’s loved him for a long time but it just occurred to him to love her back. He’s figuring out what he wants to do with his life after bouncing from school to school. Not to mention his stint in the army. Now this push from his family to get involved in the business. How maybe it’s unfair to expect him to be in the same place she is. She leaves out the partying with his awful friends, what happened last night, and of course the Ruby of it all. She leaves in the kisses.

By the time she’s done talking, she believes every word. And yet her mind is fixed on her phone. Is he thinking of her too?

“You’re a Saint, Alina Starkov.”

What a lovely way of calling her delusional.

***

Alina checks her dying phone twice.

The bell rings. 

It’s Ilya for the first time in a week. He looks chipper and more importantly healthy. A weight falls off her chest. She knows how a small health setback can easily spin out of control.

“Long time no see”, he smiles. 

“Good to see you, Ilya.”

And she really means it. 

His joyful expression shifts to concern as he looks her up and down. 

“I see you've been working too much.”

She rolls her eyes with a smile.

“I’ll get you your regular.”

Though he seemingly wants to push the issue he starts to go to his regular table. 

Marie hovers through every step of the drink. Watching to make sure she doesn’t poison the man surely. Or injure herself somehow. She won’t screw it up. Ilya’s coffee is like the tea she doesn’t know how to stop making at the end of a long hard day.

She does a little doodle on a napkin before bringing Ilya his coffee and pastry. Perhaps she does so more vindictively than out of love. Anton really has been insufferable today.

Settled across from him she melts into the seat. 

She’d worried about his health when she didn’t see him for a week. But he looks better than ever. His grey eyes glint with life. 

“Apologies for my long absence.”

“Have you been well?”

“I think that’s a better question for you, dear.”

“Everyone seems to have a new and creative way of telling me how awful I look today.”

“Nonsense. Lovely is what you are, you can’t look anything but.”

She scoffs but upon his insistent look, thanks him. 

“I had a long night.”

“Young man?”

Her cheeks flush. 

“No”, she sputters, “Sort of…”

“Never settle for sort of.” Ilya tsks and wags his finger. 

“I appreciate youthful misadventure but it should be simple. They want to give you everything and build a life with you, or they let you go.” 

Tears prick her eyes. She blinks them away quickly. He’s probably the only person she knows who doesn't see a mess when he looks at her. It’d be nice to keep it that way. 

Ilya’s hand over hers rouses her from her thoughts. 

“Sorry, I’m tired.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“So, where have you been?”

“I’ve told you about my grandsons, yes?”

“The ones who are destined to die alone?” Alina laughs. 

“The very same”, he smiles. 

“I’ve decided to do something about them and I have to say it’s one of my more ingenious ideas.”

“What?”

She finds herself leaning in. Rich people's drama shouldn’t be so fascinating. It should offend or disinterest her to hear the gossip of people whose lives have very little stakes. And yet… 

“It’s too delicious to spoil but let's just say their youthful misadventures are coming to an end”, he smirks.

His eyes gleam with mischief. 

“How is your sketchbook coming along?” 

“I-

“Starkov!”

She’s on her feet so fast her pulse leaps like it did this morning. 

“Sir.”

“It’s been something with you all day. Hanging out with a customer during your shift?”

As if his time is strictly used to manage Juris Java. 

She glances around at the already-served customers clacking away on their keyboards. A few of them start to peek over their screens at the scene he's making. There’s no line at the register and no roaming customers in Balakirev’s main square. Only Marie at the counter biting her nails. 

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll get back to work.”

She can’t curb her tone’s sarcastic bite.

“You come in late from your night of partying”, he booms, “Slack off all through your shift, and now you want to take a tone with me?!”

The longer he shouts the less she can hear him over the ringing in her ears. She grits her teeth and waits for him to be done. Then she feels her phone vibrate. And Saints help her, she checks it. Not a call or text from Mal but a post. 

A fancy latte held by a manicured hand. 

The caption: Why do they love $15 coffee? 🙄

She’s reeling when a comment uploads.

roseredrubys - I earned it 

Anton snatches the phone out of her hand. 

“You can have this or you can have a job. What’s it gonna be Starkov?”

“Give it back.”

“This isn’t a charity, it’s a place of business. You can have it back at the end of your shift.”

There’s only so much pride she can swallow. She’s too tired, too hungry, too humiliated. Fuck him. It seems her patience is nothing but a cheap joke. And she’s done. 

Alina snatches the phone from Anton’s hands and throws her apron in his face. 

She is the one who’s been far too charitable. 

***

It’s as if nothing around her is real. Not her hands. Even the discordant sounds of traffic fail to ground her.

She rounds a corner, her feet carrying her to her bus stop. 

Slumped against a building is a homeless woman shaking a cup of change. Her face is gaunt and vaguely grimy. She looks so tired. Instead of calling out she only makes eye contact and shakes the cup. 

Alina goes to take cash out of her purse. She left her things at work. Maybe Marie could bring them to her apartment. 

The homeless woman realizes Alina has nothing to give and simply closes her eyes to the world.

Chunks rise up Alina’s throat. 

How will she pay her rent? She can look for another job. But can she get one soon enough to keep her landlord from kicking her out? The hunger and the nausea she feels are nothing . Nothing compared to relying on change in a cup. 

On weak knees, she sinks to the bench. Suddenly she’s gasping for air that never comes. Her chest is tight and her throat feels like it’s closing up. How will she pay? How will she pay? Where will she go? 

The world grows distant around her. Soft hands smooth back her hair and wipe her tears before darkness swallows everything.

***

Alina wakes beneath her quilt warmed by the afternoon sun. The smell of food fills the air. Ground beef, sauteed onions, butter. She’s in the house she grew up in, recovered from a long bout of illness. Ana is making her navy pasta.  

Visceral fear of what the future holds stays on the edge of her consciousness, too vague to be real. It’s all been a bad dream. 

Then she remembers.

She grew up. Mal came and went. Ana died. She moved to Balakirev. Got two jobs. Let hoping for Mal make her look stupid. She quit her job. How could she quit her job?! She doesn’t remember how she got home. And how does she smell food when her fridge is next to empty? 

A cabinet opens and she hears the sound of dishes and utensils. Footsteps approach her door and then stop. She hears the low timbre of an unfamiliar voice but can’t make out the words.

Suddenly the door swings open. 

“Saints”, she gasps.

A buff man in all black wearing an earpiece stands in the doorway. He steps aside to reveal Ilya carrying a steaming bowl of pasta.

“I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to scare you.”

A bodyguard. Sometimes she forgets he’s rich.

He places the bowl on her bedside table. Alina can’t help but scoot away from him. Except she knows the buff man standing at the edge of her bed stoically could catch her easily if she ran.

“What are you doing here?!”

“You didn’t look right when you stormed out so I followed you. You fainted.” 

She’s lucky some random good samaritan didn’t find her instead. Then she’d have an ambulance fee to pay.

“How do you know where I live?”

“Your manager. Ex-manager.”

“He told you where I live?!” 

“For the right sum.”

The violation and the sting of his apathy wash over her. Too ugly to look at. Too much of a kick when she’s down.

“Your friend gave me your things. She wanted to come with me but… 

“She wanted to keep her job.”

Ilya sits on the edge of her bed, passing his cane off to the bodyguard. 

His brow furrows. He clears his throat. 

“May I ask what was so important?”

It’s hard to say now. In another world, she waited until after her boss was done chewing her out to get her heart stomped on. Maybe it was her inner compass pointing towards Mal in the worst of times. Or desperation.

She can’t look Ilya in the eye and tell him that.

Ilya reads her silence and turns to take in her room. His gaze lingers once in a while but he says nothing. 

He shakes away whatever train of thought previously consumed him.

“It’s okay, Alina.”

Kindness for kindness's sake is useless to her right now. It’s not okay. She has to find another job. Try to get as many shifts at Shu Express as she can. And soon, plead with her landlord for an extension. 

“How could I do that?”

“You’re a good girl. People like us just aren’t built for swallowing pride.”

“People like us?”

“Creators. Gifted by the Making.”

Ilya has a habit of saying kind things she wishes were true. She imagines this is what it’s like to have grandparents. Someone who sees you as full of potential. Their great hope for the future. Someone tells you pretty lies to assuage all doubt. 

“All the Making gifted me with is stubbornness.” 

Ilya waves her off. 

“If I could go back in time, I’d quit every job I’ve ever had the exact way you did.”

She laughs and keeps on laughing until she’s out of breath. 

“You need to eat.”

Ilya rises to get a fork presumably and his bodyguard follows. He returns holding her sketchbook.

The soft smile is gone from his face. 

“What is this?”

The sketch isn’t that bad. A sorry falcon but not enough to put such a grim look on Ilya’s face. Her landlord’s notice, she realizes is in Ilya’s other hand. Untucked from the book. 

“I don’t know, I haven’t read it yet.”

He passes it over.

Please be advised that effective 12/1 the monthly rent for the premises 321 Garden Street, where you are currently a tenant, will be increased to… 

Ilya holds her as she cries. His shoulder muffles her violent sobs. Gently, he strokes her hair and whispers promises meant to comfort her. Like one would a child. And because she hasn’t felt this helpless since Keramzin and Ana, she tries to believe him.

“It’s going to be okay. We’ll take care of you.”

Which is how she finds herself before the iron gates of a storybook castle for dinner with the Morozovas. 

Chapter Text

It's far more intimidating than anything Alina anxiously imagined. Looming spiked gates yawn open to let her cab down the long winding driveway. Ilya's home isn't a house. The tall arched windows, stone and dark wood, double doors, shadows… It’s something out of a dark fairy tale. The kind they use to teach children lessons. In the dark, she can't see where it ends- only its turreted towers with floor-to-ceiling windows shining soft light onto two vast wings.

Alina grudgingly parts with 80 vlachki before getting out in the driveway's large roundabout. She watches the cab turn back up the driveway and disappear into the shadowy edges of the sprawling estate. Images bombard her. Curling lips. Pitying eyes. Questions that kick up lacking answers like dust. That makes ugly understanding dawn and accusations flare. Leech. Gold digger.

Well stop looking around, she chastises herself. The ache in her craned neck before the grand marble fountain is hardly helping. Just because these people have more than she ever has and ever will doesn’t mean they’re better than her. This isn’t Keramzin Middle School and she isn’t sickly little Alina. Well, she is too thin in a cheap dress but that doesn’t matter. Alina instead lets other images wash over herself. The rent notice. The street-worn woman shaking her cup of change. Ilya brushing aside tears and saying "Let me help you."

She smooths her faded blue dress and approaches the heavy wooden double doors. A sharp and gnarled knocker adorns it. Claws, teeth, and menacing eyes remind her this is her last chance to turn back. To avoid this strange detour of aristocrats and castles, and having to recount the awful 24 years she's been having.

She raises the knocker. It's a volcra, she realizes- a creature whose only home is the desolate dark of the fold. She knocks.

***

The old doors float open to reveal a small silver-haired woman in an apron. She smiles brightly brightly and ushers Alina in.

"Welcome to Morozova Manor, Alina Starkov."

"Thank you," she says uncertainly.

It unnerves her that a complete stranger knows her name, and that said stranger is pulling the coat off her back.

"I'm Mrs. Popov, the home's head housekeeper."

"Nice to meet you" is halfway off her tongue when she notices her surroundings.

"Saints", she says instead.

First, she's struck by the tall domed ceilings, the grand staircase, and arched thresholds. The chandelier throws soft light over fine details. Marble tiling, the gleaming wood balcony, and crown molding edging the room’s archways. The chandelier throws soft light over fine details. Marble tiling, the gleaming wood balcony, and crown molding edging the room’s archways. If this is only the foyer what must the rest of the house be like.

Before tonight, Duke Keramsov's estate was the grandest thing Alina had ever seen. It housed hundreds of children during the last war. The biggest, shiniest thing in Keramzin. Ilya's manor with its dark rich design is on a whole other level. She can imagine it as a king's stronghold a millennia ago. 

“A glowing review,” he smirks.

Ilya emerges from the hallway alongside the stairs. He's dressed in his usual vest & suit but his glasses are gone making the grey starkness of his eyes stand out.

Suddenly, she registers Mrs.Popov holding her coat and watching with a smile. All of Ana's had work training the bad manners out of her clearly hasn't panned out.

"Thank you, Yelena. I can take it from here."

"Lovely to meet you, Alina."

"Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Popov."

“You didn’t tell me you basically live in a castle !”

“Do you like it?” He grins. 

“You have a beautiful home.”

“ I knew from the moment I first saw it I wanted to live and die here.”

She laughs and rolls her eyes. He’s usually more subtle. 

"Have you thought about it?"

On account of not wanting to be homeless, she's thought about it a lot. Alina's only other option is to hope she gets a second job quick and that her landlord lets her pay late. Once upon a time, she believed without a doubt Mal would save her. The boy he was would let her stay with him until she saved up enough to move out. These days he's too busy screwing snobby rich blondes to so much as call Alina, let alone save her in her hour of need.

Clicking sounds from the hallway adjacent to the front door. It makes her realize Ilya isn’t using his cane. Anyways that’s the sound of heels. One of Ilya’s daughters. 

Alina steels herself for the moment she's been anticipating since she accepted Ilya's invitation. The image of a well-groomed socialite with Grisha beauty picking her apart almost made her cancel.

His daughter seems to have his warmth. Their features are strikingly different. Her eyes are brown and her hair is a caramel shade. Smiling brightly, though, the resemblance is clear. Still, Alina is expecting that smile to drop when she realizes her old father’s dinner guest isn’t a friend he made at the country club. Nope. A 24-year-old charity case. Alina can hear gold-digger rolling off her tongue.

“You must be Alina”, she gasps.

Alina prepared herself for a range of reactions but not… delight. 

“Y-yes. I’m Alina Starkov. Nice to meet you.”

She grasps Alina’s hands and throws her head back with a laugh. It’s open and politely restrained at the same time. Did she practice that laugh?

“Aren’t you cute”, she laughs, “Sofiya Morozova but you must call me Sofiya.”

“Thank you for having me, Sofiya.”

“Of course!”

“Alina was just saying what a beautiful family home we have.”

“You’re too kind, Alina. It’s a modest, creaky, old thing. No Lantsov estate. But we make due.” 

Ilya knowingly watches her suppress a snort- that knee-jerk reaction that’s bound to get her into trouble someday. Her stupid pride and desperation keep beating her tick to the punch.

***

Back the way Sofiya came, the Morozovas lead her to the parlor. Saints, how are people with parlors instead of a living room just casually walking amongst normal people like Alina? As they walk, Sofiya asks her what she thinks of the Lantsov estate, whether it takes after the original Grand Palace or Tatiana’s ancestral home in Fjerda. Alina is too busy processing that the Morozovas socialize with former royals to respond. Ilya laughs indulgently and finds a merciful way to explain that Alina has never been.

She is familiar with the original Grand Palace from the historical reading she did back when she aspired to mapmaking, but she’s hardly eager to get into her lack of accomplishment. Finally, after passing two branching halls in the same dark wood, they approach frosted glass doors.

And muffled words being rapidly hissed and spat back.

Ilya sighs.

“Just one moment, my dear.”

As he enters, she gets a loud snippet of the fight. The sound of bitter words through gritted teeth stops her. She hears a raised voice. A scoff. Then, a reprimand.

Sofiya lays a hand on Alina’s shoulder. 

“Papa is so glad you’re here and I think you’re lovely.”

Alina nods and tries to smile back.

So even eating at the same table as her offends them. Moving in for a couple months should go over well. What do they think? That she'll eat with her hands and wipe them on the tablecloth?

The doors open to reveal a tense Ilya.

“This is the rest of my family."

The parlor has more of that old-fashioned decadence. Rich floral rugs and tapestries adorn dark wood. Its walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves full of intimidatingly thick tomes. The only interruptions are the frosted glass doors. The room is furnished with sofas and chez lounges. A chandelier hangs over an intricately carved tea table and more antique furniture.

“My eldest daughter Baghra”, Ilya gestures to the woman on the far chez. 

Baghra has Ilya’s grey eyes. Her thick raven hair tied in a severe bun matches her mourner's clothes. One bored glance makes Alina feel like Baghra can see through people. It's like she knows Alina through and through and has already found her lacking.

“My eldest grandson, Aleksander.”

Aleksander. It’s a beautiful name- and totally self-important. It suits him.

Aleksander- his elegant features, his sparkling grey eyes, and long raven lashes- is beautiful. He looks exactly like his mother except for the birthmark high on his left cheek. It looks like a pinprick star. A dark prince for a dark castle.

He looks her up and down, his eyes lingering on the faded blue cotton. And clearly, by his tight smile and narrowed eyes, she’s been found wanting. He’s hardly the first trust fund brat to look down their nose at her but it still stirs up that heat she felt in Juris Java when Anton taunted her lack of degree for the last time. Of course. People this good-looking are never equally kind. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms.Starkov.”

Liar.

He shakes her hand, something malicious making his eyes sparkle. Come meet my family. Come on, we don’t bite. This man definitely bites.

“You too, Mr.Morozova.”

He doesn’t insist she call him Aleksander.

She’s so distracted by the Morozovas fighting, Ilya’s tense face, and Aleksander’s clear disdain that she didn’t notice the movement behind him. The back turned to the room hunched over a drink cart with a phone in one hand and headphones in each ear.  Maybe if she hadn’t been so determined not to spiral thinking of him, spied the sway of loose curls, or smelled morning dew, then maybe- No she couldn’t possibly have seen this coming.

As he turns around his charming smile melts. 

There he is completely at ease amongst the trappings of wealth all around them. Right now, she misses the meadow with a fierceness that could turn back time. 

“Mal?”

“Alina? What are you doing here?”

“Do you two know each other?” Ilya's eyes dart between them. 

Alina rips her eyes from Mal. 

A great question. Yes. No. Too well. 

“We’re friends,” she says at the same time Mal says, “old friends.”

Aleksander smirks and takes a sip of kvas. 

“It looks like you’ve kept in touch ,” he says. 

“Not really,” Mal shrugs.

She tries not to flinch like she’s been slapped. Not in front of these people. But something glints in Aleksander’s eyes that makes her think he can see the depths of her hurt. That he’s relishing it.

***

Mercifully, Mrs.Popov opens the dining room doors to announce that dinner is served. With the family in the dining room, she savors one small moment unobserved. Except she isn’t. Aleksander waits holding the door open for her. 

“After you, Ms.Starkov.” The corner of his mouth crooks tauntingly.

Chapter Text

Downtown Os Alta twinkles in the gathering dark. Its light catches gilded frames, bounces off of crystal glasses of kvas, and gleams in the blue sapphires Luda is fastening to her ear. But Aleksander’s eyes are on the darkened edges of the city where aged money and prestige roost.

“I have a good feeling about tonight,” Luda says, catching his eye in the living room mirror. 

Aleksander’s hands glide over black satin and settle on Luda’s hips, rubbing circles until her eyes darken. He’s chosen a strong and loyal ally in Luda. She’s brilliant and poised, not to mention she understands what their success means after centuries of living under otkazat’sya boots.

“A feeling?”

“A certainty,” she smirks, because together they have yet to fail. 

Most importantly she understands hunger. Once Aleksander has his grandfather's blessing, he’ll ask Luda to marry him.

He’s laying kisses against her neck when the phone rings. He lets it ring for a moment longer before picking up. 

“Boy.”

“Madraya.”

“Three rings? I only pushed you out of a 10-centimeter opening in my vagina.”

Aleksander meets Luda’s quizzical gaze and rolls his eyes. His free hand continues to skate up her hip. She shakes her head at him but tracks his touch. 

“We’re expected at a benefit soon, Madraya. Was there anything else, or has it been too long since you’ve humbled me?”

“Don’t bring the scientist to dinner, Friday. Ilya is not right.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t do the excusing in this family.”

This upcoming Friday, Aleksander plans to introduce Luda to his family officially. After years of separate cars and polite distance at work, he can finally make their relationship official but Ilya’s approval is paramount. Aleksander is certain he’ll love her. An intelligent, beautiful, composed Grisha woman? Surely, as the architect of their family’s legacy, Ilya will see how capable she is of building on their family’s greatness.

Luda covers his stilled hand with hers. Aleksander squeezes it and steps away. 

“What do you mean, not right?”

His mother laughs caustically.

“Plain and simple, boy. If you want to stay purring in his lap, leave your little pawn at home.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. 

“We’ll speak on Friday.”

“Arrogant fool,” she chides before hanging up. 

When he turns, Luda’s brow is furrowed. Because he’s trying to be more forthcoming these days, he tells her everything will be fine. It will be. Nothing is changing their plans. 

“Friday?”

He kisses her ring finger. 

“Friday.” 

***

That night, he tells Luda the proposal will have to wait another week just until he’s gotten to the bottom of this. After he drops her off at his apartment he goes to see his mother. 

Ilya has been unsatisfied lately and every few days hours of his time go unaccounted for. It’s a woman, she says. Ridiculous. Ilya isn’t like those leering wealthy patriarchs trying to leach bygone youth from gold-digging tots at the expense of his family. To his relief and pride, his grandfather is greater than that. He lives for his family and their legacy. 

His mother laughs. “Who raised such a sweet naive thing?”

***

Aunt Sofiya weeps against his grandfather’s chest as he murmurs gentle comforts. A firm hand squeezes his cousin’s shoulder. They all see each other twice a year. He and Malyen have never gotten along. As children, Aleksander spent his free time playing his violin and devouring the history of the Darkling’s lineage. His cousin preferred running around outside and coming in muddy- before he found worse messes to track through the house. Now that his father is dead they finally have one thing in common.

His mother is unmoved. 

“Pay attention,” she says,” The world competes for the hearts of men so viciously, because it is a rigid fraying little thing.”

She’s probably wishing they were in the permafrost instead of her mother’s house. Aleksander ignores her. His mother doesn’t snap, only smirks and drums her fingers against her chest. Watch and see. Watch and see. 

***

Alina Starkov. 24 years old. Born in Dva Stolba. Orphaned at age 5 and raised in a Keramzin orphanage. Relocated to Balakirev years ago after the death of her caretaker. College dropout. Waitress, barista, keeper of poor company. If it weren’t his inheritance on the line he wouldn’t begrudge this gambit. After all, everyone in Os Alta is a gold digger, especially the people with gold. But Alina Starkov is in the way.

Malyen stumbles through the door 30 minutes late and disheveled.

“Mal,” Sofiya frets, “Button up your shirt! How many times have I told you to wear a tie to formal dinners?”

Her eyes dart to Aleksander and his mother. 

“Grandpa doesn’t mind. It’s family dinner.”

He plops down into the chair closest to the drink cart. 

“What’s with the family meeting?”

“Ilya is having a woman over for dinner.”

“Good for him”, he shrugs. 

“Mal!”

Sofiya inhales sharply, massaging the wrinkle in her brow. Reliably, she starts rifling through her bag.

Baghra stills her hand without a glance. 

“I know many of your brain cells have been left behind in Balakirev nightclubs but surely even you can see the gravity of the situation,” she says. 

“Seriously guys? So he has a little girlfriend. Honestly, it’s kind of cool that he’s still pulling hot girls at his age.”

Even Sofiya isn’t amused by her darling angel man-child. 

“Gives me hope.”

“ Stop it! ” Sofiya snaps before slipping something under her tongue and washing it down with Kerch rum. 

“Your grandfather takes care of you, darling. Your entertainment, bills, troubles… When Papa passes his widow won’t be so invested in your comfort. We’d best take care of this.”

“We can only hope she’s not already pregnant.”

“Oh, Saints,” Sofiya gasps. 

Mal shakes off the hand gently rubbing his arm. 

“Do you guys hear yourselves? Talking about Grandpa like he’s dead already. Like he’s just some cash cow!”

Madraya rolls her eyes. 

“Such upstanding moral character Malyen. Easy when your funds have never dried up,” Aleksander says. 

“Oh, please. What do you know about dry funds?”

The little brat has had a special role in the family playing on his nerves since the day he moved in. Usually, they bicker until Aleksander gets the last word but Ilya arrives, his guest just past that frosted glass door.

It’s agreed among the adults. The interloper must be taken care of. If anything is going to get in the way of his plans to marry Luda, to lead Small Science, to pilot their family name to greatness it won’t be Alina Starkov.