Meant to Be My Balance

Chapter 56

We were an hours away from Os Alta—before the burden of power would fall on us again—curled up in the sheets together. My head was against Aleksander's bare chest, and his fingers threaded through my hair as he stared down at me.

"Why did you kneel?" My voice was quiet, sad—the way I felt every time I thought of Aleksander on his knees.

He needed no context. "Do you remember how you felt? To watch me bring myself so low?"

"Disgusted," I said immediately, but upon thinking, I replied, "Angry. Sad..." My eyes met his. "Terrified."

His lips inched down to meet mine, slow and soft, torturous in their depth of hurt. "I never want you to feel that again. I never want Ravka to feel belittled, Grisha to feel used, innocents to be hurt. Do you understand why I've done what I did?"

"Aleksander, I can never agree with—"

"I'm not asking you to agree." There was some soft sort of vulnerability, a quiet regret. "But you understand, don't you?"

I could barely manage a nod before Aleksander squeezed my hip. "You'll take centuries to get ready if you don't start now. Wear the black silk kefta. I want you stepping out second, summoning your light. Let them wait for you, wonder if you're even here. I want them questioning—"

"Aleksander." His quartz gaze settled on me. "I don't take centuries to get ready."

"Oh, really?" A devilish smirk inched up his fair skin. Saints, that smirk. "Then you'll have plenty of time for this."

And with that, he slammed his lips against mine, and his hand slid beneath the sheets.

***

We returned to Os Alta, king and queen, not solely rulers, but victors of a battle with Fjerda. Nikolai stepped out behind us, ever the grinning blonde prince, eager to please the crowds and placate the people. He wasn't happy with his role as a prop—of course not—but he had more political power now than when he was in a dungeon.

And something about the glimmer of his eyes when he was at sea made me truly wonder whether Nikolai ever would have enjoyed his rule as King. If he wouldn't have given up the crown at the first chance of a replacement.

He had always wanted to help Ravka, to save Ravka. But he did that as Sturmhond too. The only reason he had aimed for the throne, whether he knew it or not, was to defeat the Darkling. An admirable effort, now that I knew the full capabilities of my king.

Aleksander met Ivan with a nod too gracious for the cranky Heartrender. "Bring me the tracker and the sobachka. I have business with them."

"I—"

"You too, Alina," he promised, his hand squeezing mine.

It felt like home to meet the crowds of Ravkans, the Grisha in their colorful keftas, the dignitaries with sticks up their asses. This Palace, still ugly, had become a home to me. Aleksander had become a home to me.

"What is it?" I asked, as soon as we were in the war room. "We just got back, surely if you had to discuss something with my friends, you could've done it on the ship—"

"Trust me, this matter is better handled on Ravkan soil," Aleksander said, leaning back, kefta tight around his shoulders. I missed the way the silk looked on him—I was too used to the bulletproof kefta he had worn into battle. I would be happy if I didn't have to see it much again.

"Then at least tell me—"

"Alina."

I glared at his beautiful face.

"Do you trust me?"

Grudgingly, I said, "Maybe."

He tucked my hair behind my hair, his other hand on my hip. The touch was comforting, reassuring, steadying. I welcomed it with every bit of me, relaxing under his hold.

The door opened, and ever so slowly, Aleksander pulled away to face Mal and Nikolai.

"Tracker," he said, cutting straight to business as his shadows began to circle the doorway, as if searching for a threat. "You knew Alina was in the Palace."

Mal shrugged, like this was no surprise to him. "Of course I did."

"Except," And with this, Aleksander's hand clamped around my bare wrist, lifting it up. "The second you did, Alina's wrist started hurting."

"But—" I started to interrupt. Aleksander was hearing none of it.

"Alina, take the tracker's hand and summon."

"What are you—?"

He leveled his glare at me, the steel in his eyes sharp. Analytical. Knowing. He had figured something out. I glanced at Nikolai, but he simply shrugged.

I walked towards Mal, and without looking at him to save both our dignities, I took his hand.

"Summon," Aleksander ordered.

"I was about to," I grumbled, lifting up a ball of light in my palm. It came easily—my training had been paying off.

"More," he said.

"King Darkles, listen I've got to say, this is kind of weird—" Nikolai said.

But I was already summoning more, and the ball of light grew, more than I had intended. I quickly reeled it back, automatically letting go of Mal's hand.

"And you know nothing about your parents, tracker?" Aleksander sounded almost desperate.

And then it clicked. Every touch of Mal's fingers had been met with some sort of jolt, a surge of power. He was an amplifier. But not simply any amplifier. Baghra's sister... She had not been Grisha after all. And Ilya Morozova had not used his abilities as a Healer to save her. He had use merzost, the art of resurrection.

But Aleksander was an amplifier too. And my closeness to him had prevented some of the ache of powerlessness at my wrist. Then, there was the fact that Mal had been so far away, untouchable, unreachable.

Mal. The firebird.

He was pacing now. "I told you, I don't know anything about my parents—"

"You're clearly just stupid."

"You're the firebird, Mal." And it was the second I whispered it, my voice a bare rasp, my eyes growing watery, flitting between Aleksander and Nikolai and Mal, that I knew it was true. And it was that moment he realized it too.

He shook his head at first, refusing to believe it. But we both knew his affinity for tracking wasn't natural. We had both felt that connection, that soft reliance on each other, even as children. Not because we were soulmates, like I had once thought, but because the universe had played a cruel game on two orphans from Keramzin.

"Mal." I reached out to him, and he did not pull back. Not when I took him into my arms. Not when Aleksander watched, stoic, and locked eyes with Nikolai, sharing the surprise, the fear, the trepidation, with a man he had once considered his greatest enemy.

"Was any of it even real, Alina?" Mal asked, his voice raw.

"All of it was real, Mal. Every bit. For every second it lasted." I hoped I wasn't lying.

And then I realized why Nikolai was here. Because when Mal finally turned from me, it was Nikolai he went to. I could still remember how angry Mal would get at the jokes Nikolai would make, the sly little winks. Oh, how it all felt like so long ago.

When Mal and Nikolai left, without meeting Aleksander's eyes, I said, "What now?"

"You will continue to feel that ache until he dies and you can wear his bones on your wrist."

I offered Aleksander a soft smile, one that told him I wished I could be that cold-hearted, that decisive. That would be the queen Ravka needed, the one Aleksander wanted.

But I could not. "I will never wear Mal's bones."

My husband simply took me into his arms. "I know."