#on alina's sainthood

[angkapatidnikapayapaan]

on alina’s sainthood and her power

I think people really underestimate that Alina’s greatest strength is her resistance to her own power. 

She doesn’t run from it because she wants to be small, as the Darkling insists, or because of Mal, as Nikolai insists. Those things factor in, but the main reason is because she doesn’t want to follow the Darkling’s path. The climactic moment of the trilogy is when she realizes what the Third amplifier truly is and instead of killing Mal immediately, her solution is to look for another way. She has already slain two sacred creatures (or, at least in the case of the stag, been complicit in it’s death) because of her quest for power. 

Mal isn’t just the threshold because she loves him romantically, he is the threshold because he is her companion. Despite the divide created by her discovery as Grisha and his status as otkazat’sya, she still has the strength to resist her destiny for power when his life is on the line. 

As an unreliable narrator, it is unclear from the direct reading of the text if Alina stabbed Mal of her own volition. However, based on the events leading up to her killing him as the third amplifier, it’s fairly obvious that Alina’s thirst for power would not drive her to do that. Her thirst is not like the Darkling’s, who believes when he is ruler, he will make a better world for Grisha, will make Ravka unbeatable. Her thirst is for a way to rule that removes her from the picture, where she will not fall victim to the whims of politics the way the Darkling has, even though he is so sure that he is a revolutionary with the oppressed in mind. 

Alina is a mediator. Alina is the Christ figure of the Grishaverse trilogy, but her journey reinvents what it means to be a savior. Alina Starkov’s journey, eventual martyrdom, and legacy throughout the Grishaverse series reads similarly to the Virgin Mary’s journey, but challenges Jesus’ position as sole savior. 

(More on the parallels between Alina and the Virgin Mary later)

[lingeringscars]

The apparat keeping alina locked up, isolated from the people she loves. Alina being forced into solitary, disconnecting them from those that know them. Alina being forced into sainthood. Alina becoming sankta Alina because the apparat took away everything that made her Alina, leaving them only with what makes them a figure to believe in for those that do not.

[magpiesbones]

would you say mal was being and acting like a traumatized young man and lashing out accordingly or would you say he's . a misogynist who hated seeing alina be more powerful than him-

I’d say I’d like some more context for this ask????

Alina spends MOST of the trilogy being much more powerful than Mal and he seems to have for the most part no issue with this. She also spends most of the trilogy on a scale from mildly to suicidally depressed, which he takes a lot more issue with. He is essentially an accessory to her, and a symbol of stability and getting out of politics.

If you could perhaps send something with what part of what book you’re basing these interpretations off of, I’d appreciate it, since most of what I remember of these books is Alina’s arc and essentially nothing about anyone else.

[potatosaresweet]

something that will forever piss me off about the netflix shadow and bone is how little religion affected the story in contrast to the books. religious fanaticism is such a major part of the story- the way the people desperately clinged into alina's supposed sainthood and how it TERRIFIED her, how unsafe this 17 year old girl felt because of it since she was seen as a saint and a savior and not even human, how the apparat wanted to control the smallfolk with this new saint in times of crisis. it was such an interesting part of the narrative and netflix took one look at it and its implications and went nah we're skipping that.

[stromuprisahat]

“... Did you ever stop to think of what it would mean for me, for all of Ravka, if you just disappeared?” “You didn’t give me much choice.” “Of course you had a choice. And you chose to turn your back on your country, on everything that you are.” “That isn’t fair.” “Fairness!” he laughed. “Still she talks of fairness. What does fairness have to do with any of this? The people curse my name and pray for you, but you’re the one who was ready to abandon them. I’m the one who will give them power over their enemies. I’m the one who will free them from the tyranny of the King.” ... I gave a single shake of my head. He slumped back in his chair. “Fine,” he said with a weary shrug. “Make me your villain.”

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 21

After his resurrection, Aleksander finds a group of people seemingly admitting his merits, only to grow disenchanted by their foolishness and once again be forced to accept the role of the monster for the good of his ungrateful country.

“Lies!” said the Apparat. “Lies from a heretic!” But as he spoke, shadows began to bleed from his mouth. The people in the chamber gasped, backing away, trying to put distance between themselves and the priest. Zoya’s eyes focused on the Darkling’s hands, tucked into his sleeves but moving. “I believe this is your cue,” whispered Nikolai. One she was happy to take. Zoya slashed her arm through the air and thunder broke in an enormous boom. “Enough,” she said. “Seize him.”

Rule of Wolves- Chapter 46

Both times it's his actions deigned to save Ravka, earning a Sainthood or the Crown to a person, who didn't lift a finger for it, merely used his work to build on, or in Alina's case- had someone else, who did it for them.

[is-today-tomorrow-in-nz]

The Many pitfalls of Grishaverse - Part 1

The Grishaverse had a very interesting premise but as we delve deeper into the trilogy and later the duology we see that it just stops there. There are no laws and limitations clearly mapped out to make the universe work. Everything is pretty much left up to the interpretation of the readers who has to piece together the information scattered throughout the books only to find out that they contradict a lot. This totally disrupts the immersive experience of the readers who are left scratching their heads because the premise no longer makes sense.

Let me share my analysis.

The Undefined Magic System:

Brandon Sanderson lays out three rules for creating a cohesive magic system. (a)An author's ability to solve conflict with magic is directly proportional to how well the reader understands said magic. (b) Weaknesses, limits and costs are more interesting than powers. (c)The author should expand on what is already a part of the magic system before something entirely new is added, as this may otherwise entirely change how the magic system fits into the fictional world.

The magic in Grishaverse exists for the sake of existing.

The source of the power is called the Making but the rules and laws of it is not called out. The book vaguely says that the Grisha powers are something as integral as breathing and a Grisha who does not use it dies. And yet somehow, when something so inherent is stripped away from Alina, she continues to live without falling into sickness. It tells Grisha magic has limitations but somehow, it is used as band-aid to fix any major catastrophes within the universe. They entire magic system is conflicting and contradicting.

We do not know the abilities and the limitations of the other Grisha powers either. Eg: How high can a Tidemaker create a wave? can a squaller perfect a storm? why corporalki need their targets to be within their line of vision? Why do they need their hands for summoning? How does a Fabrikator operate?

None of these are clearly outlined. Instead, the books simply make vague claims that Tidemakers calm the seas and waves, heartrenders are put in one-way mirror cells so they cannot attack, Fabrikators create crafts which seems do not make sense in the 19th century. Do they conjure up weaponry in their sleep? So many questions and receive very little answers and vague statements.

Then there is this vague concept of merzost which seem to randomly pick the author's favourites and leave them with a slap on the wrist while her unfavourites are literally put through hell. Alina's power were stripped away for being against the law, Zoya's was raised to sainthood and Aleksander's was called corrupt.

Even if the Grisha magic is akin to molecular chemistry, understanding something and applying it are very different things. If that wasn't the case, then Grisha would be the powerful entities in that universe. And yet somehow they are victims of genocide.

Without actually establishing any of the above the author goes on the introduce 'parem' which makes the magic system even more chaotic. Why does the parem affect the Grisha that way? Why do they become addictive? Why does the parem allow the Grisha to conjure up something that can only be done via merzost. So simply a drug is all that is needed to create merzost level damage? Then if the addictive qualities are removed then parem can be used instead of amplifiers and merzost?

This unclear magic system, makes the world of Grishaverse constricted rather than making us believe in its vastness. It further weakens the plot, as the magic or rather science of the Grisha is the reason why conflicts exists within the said universe.

So LB created a magic system which is chaotic, conflicting, constricting and exists only to do the bidding of the author and not the story.

[marvelmusing]

Total Eclipse

Pairing: Darklina x Fem!Reader

My Masterlist

Over one hundred years ago, the Fold was destroyed by Alina Starkov, martyring herself and Ravka’s current Darkling in the process.

Santka Alina was established as a figure for the prayer books, as was the Starless Saint though many chose to ignore his sainthood, keeping his altar out of sight in a shadowed nook.

In the present day, Lord Morozova manages the Ravkan army as their General, winning the centuries long war against Fjerda and Shu Han.

Growing up in Keramzin, you and your friends had often snuck into the General’s summer house on the outskirts of your town. He rarely ever used it, save for a month or so in the height of summer.

As you had grown up, the only way you could afford to follow your passion for painting was to work for the local churches, creating murals and retouching the decorative features.

Working for the church is difficult for many reasons. It put you at odds with your non-believer childhood friends, Mikhael and Dubrov. As a follower of both Sankta Alina and the Starless One, you will never quite fit in amongst either the Ravkan Church or the Cult of the Starless Saint.

There is nowhere you truly belong.

That is until Lord Morozova arrives at his estate earlier in the year than expected, accompanied by his new wife, and they both take a particular interest in you.

[itstwoamandimcursingyourname]

thinking about how they learnt that saints were only people whose pain was noteable, noted. Thinking about how you must suffer to be a saint and you had to be in pain while you were living externalized. Thinking sankta alina of the fold and her suffering when she was a saint but it wasn't really suffering was it? It was power it was purpose it was a punishingly joyous victory where she won the war against herself and her true nature but by the standards of the story and the narrative she should've *then* been sick and not before or after should've then been grieving should've then been a husk of herself but that was when she was her strongest self. Thinking Abt how her story is sainthood in reverse.

[heliads]

So, Before You Go Chapter Four: War on the Spinning Wheel

Hellas is gone; so too is your life as a cartographer. You and the Darkling must quell Alina Starkov’s attempt at an uprising in order to protect the Grisha of Ravka. However, your gods are not as dead as they seem, and that which you have taken for granted will soon prove to be quite unpredictable indeed.

previous / series masterlist / next

Not quite at the start of it all, but very far from today, the race of man was far past saving. The king of the gods, Zeus, told a rare good man named Deucalion to save himself and his wife from the soon-to-come end of days. After nine days of flooding, all was destroyed, and Deucalion barely survived in his ark atop Mount Parnassus. One race of men was destroyed and a new one took his place, an entire population remade from stone. Sometimes, when the world does not suit you, you must make another. A better one. One who knows enough to fear you.

You can hear whispering whenever you shut your eyes, and when you open them, too. It is a familiar sound, voices you recognize in dreams and memories, but not here. Never here. Never here, until you saw one of them at sea and another in your own home, and suddenly nothing was safe at all. You have screamed to the empty, derelict heavens that you do not fear the ghosts of your past, but they know enough to not believe you.

Aleksander is tense. So are you. You’ve finally gathered enough information to know with certainty of Alina’s survival as well as her location. She’s collecting allies like gemstones, and if there’s one thing you’ve learned from centuries of warfare, it’s that it’s best to nip things like this in the bud before they grow too quickly. It would not do for Alina Starkov to rally an army. You would rather kill her while she is still killable, even if more and more people are clamoring by the day that her Sainthood is not to be questioned.

You don’t fault Alina for the title, though. The urge to imagine yourself as something wondrous is astonishingly powerful. No matter how much she says that all she wants is a quiet life with her tracker from the orphanage, there will always be some part of her that lingers over the gold threaded keftas, the shouts of her supporters, the thrumming need to be important. We all have it. Alina is no exception, even if she’d like to be.

You and Aleksander plot your attack carefully, thoroughly, leaving no room for error. There are too many places for things to go wrong, and you will not have this attempt foiled. You have allies that would die for your version of what Ravkan Grisha should be, you have Aleksander’s merzost creations, and you have your spells. All good things, all capable of tearing Alina’s resistance to shreds.

The timing of it all is a different story. You need everyone there but distracted. The Ravkan soldiers should be tipsy, they should be distracted at their watch. No one should know you’re coming until you’re already there, until their base runs red with blood. Only then will you be able to end this.

The perfect bit of information reaches you soon enough. Alina may have found a strong ally in Nikolai Lantsov, younger son of the Ravkan king and infinitely more wily, but she is hemmed in by the other Lantsov brother, Vasily. Vasily, who is smarting every second that he is in the same hiding place as all of them, who cannot avoid the fact that his brother is a thousand times better at everything than him.

Vasily has spread invitations to esteemed Ravkan nobles, encouraging them to all travel to a place called the Spinning Wheel for the engagement party of Nikolai and Alina. Given that sort of occasion, it should be quite the spectacle indeed, the perfect opportunity for you and Aleksander to strike.

You watched Aleksander’s face as one of your scouts relayed the news of Alina’s engagement. It was a surprise; you expected Alina to never leave her little tracker, but you suppose politicking is important, too. This is a superb union. A saint and a prince? You couldn’t write a better story yourself.

He’s surprised too, you think. Aleksander. He prides himself on knowing Alina better than she knows herself, but you don’t miss the way his hands clench at his sides. It makes your stomach turn, and when you force yourself to switch the topic of conversation to war planning again before either of you can make a mistake, you swear you hear Hera’s cold laughter in the back of your head.

You leave in the dead of night, nichevo’ya in tow and ready to kill. A combination of your spells and Aleksander’s living shadows is all that is necessary to cover your presence; on a cloudy night like tonight, with all eyes fixated on the festivities within, no guard is looking hard enough to spot you. Even if they did, all they would see would be shapeless shadow, not the killers within.

It is an easy, easy thing to break inside. Almost like opening the unlocked door of a friend’s house. A slow grin crosses your face as you descend. You can see the scene playing out:  a blond prince’s perfect poise transforming to panic as he realizes what his brother has done, an elder brother making a nuisance of himself for that one final chance to get in the last word.

And then there is the shatter of breaking glass, the piercing din of screams, the thick, heavy scent of copper in the air as blood is shed. Aleksander’s merzost creatures snatch up the elder Lantsov prince with ease, ripping off an arm before brutally killing him. Some of Alina’s Grisha attempt to fight off the shadowy monsters, but they’re stopped by thick cords of emerald magic. You have not had the chance to fight like this in a long time, and your spells revel in the chance to take control at last.

Aleksander’s eyes flash to a hallway on the opposite side of the grand chamber, where you can just see a small crowd of Grisha tugging Alina to safety. You shout for him to follow her, and he disappears in a flash, walking calmly after them like a predator pursuing limping, bloodied prey. You have seen Aleksander hunt before, both at his side and as his target. He does not let anything escape him, not when he craves it like this.

That leaves the rest of the enemy Grisha and First Army as your victims. You descend upon them in a storm, a symphony of shouted spells and raised hands. They never stood a chance. They will fall easily, easily. 

Just as your confidence is certain, though, you see something. Someone. It comes in flickers, so slow you half think you’re hallucinating until you see it again. There, across the room, the flash of an ancient bronze weapon, the style of which hasn’t been used for centuries. There is a Heartrender currently trying to kill you, and when his kefta rises with his raised hands, his exposed shins flash with greaves. A moment later, they’re gone. Then they’re back, coming and going until you slice off his legs and they vanish for good. 

You look up and the signs of it are everywhere around you. The woman you’re fighting has eyes of coal, and she laughs when she dies, she laughs like a madman drunk on all the violence you’ve created. You see plumes of red horsehair rising from bronze helmets. The waving scarlet strands spatter and bend like blood, popping up in every corner of the room. 

An Etherealki marches towards you, spear leveled towards your chest. No, not metal, water from their gift, but you cannot tell the difference. You send a spell spiraling at them and they block it with a shield. There’s a head fastened on the front of it, the visage of a monster with waving snakes for hair and fangs jutting from its lips. You kill the Etherealki and the shield clatters to the floor, gone in an instant, but you cannot stop the dread from creeping over your heart like stone.

It is too much, all too much. The ghosts are everywhere, threatening to choke you out. No matter how you look, where you turn your head, you get the sense of someone standing just outside your peripheral vision. A man, leaning against a wall; walking out from around a fallen table; peering at the dead with a grim sense of satisfaction:  Ares. Of course he of all the gods would be here to witness this sort of destruction.

The thought makes you sick with fury. How dare he come here, to mock you or try to stir you from your path? How dare any of them think they have the right to affect you? You prayed for hours, days, when the last of them died. Why is it that they only come to you now when you’ve finally grown out of your need for them?

You spread your arms, feeling your power surge. It occurs to you that you have a say in this too, who shows up to see you. You don’t want any of them anymore. They can crawl back to their Underworld to live out their deaths without bothering you ever again. The scream starts in the back of your throat, building in intensity until you can’t tell whether the walls are shaking from the force of your spell or the magnitude of your voice. No more, you declare, no more. You shall have no hold on me, nor anyone I love. Go back to your deaths. You are gods no longer, only brittle bones to break under my feet.

There’s a ringing in your ears when you finally open your eyes. You’ve sunk to your knees, although you don’t remember the fall. Your pulse leaps, remembering the fight, the danger you should be in, but no attack comes your way.

The reason for that makes itself known soon enough. There is no one left to fight you because there is no one left alive. Scanning the room, you see only broken bodies, arms outstretched and faces locked in horror. You killed them all, slaughtered them like insects. Like the outsiders slaughtered your own people. This is a death like you swore would never happen again.

Yet it did happen, and worse, it happened by your own hands. Didn’t you pledge to Aleksander that you would make a new, better world for the Grisha? Didn’t you promise that you would protect every last one of them? Looking at the fallen bodies, how their blood darkens their clothes and keftas, the terrible thought strikes you that perhaps Alina was right to want you dead. If she had succeeded in murdering you on the sandskiff, all of these Grisha would be alive.

There’s a girl at your feet, eyes wide even in death. She must have been just like you, without a family save for the other practitioners of the Small Science around her in this refuge, and you killed her. You killed all of them. How does that make you better than the ones who murdered the Hellenids? How does this make a better, safer world?

You stand slowly, brushing someone’s blood from your sleeves. Your head is shockingly empty of voices or whispers. Perhaps your attempt to scare them off actually succeeded and the gods can no longer reach you, or perhaps they are so horrified by what you’ve done that they have given up on ever trying to save you.

Aleksander is standing in an empty room, staring at a caved in section of a wall. You take it by the lack of Sun Summoner that Alina and her friends escaped again.

He speaks without looking at you. “I will find her. I will scour the land until I do. She cannot be far.”

It takes everything in you to stand up straight and keep yourself from breaking apart. You wonder why it is that Aleksander is still so fixated on his revenge that he cannot notice that. Didn’t he tell you that he always knew you best? If he did, then why can’t he tell that something is very, very wrong with you?

Aleksander is silent, and you realize that he’s waiting for you to respond, to agree that you’ll hunt Alina down to the ends of the universe. Right now, though, you are tired, and unhappily aware of the fact that you may be doing something wrong.

Instead of giving him the answer he wants, you sigh and tell him otherwise. “I’m going back,” you say, and offer no explanation.

That seems to confuse him, but your expression is resolute and he must be able to tell that he isn’t going to persuade you otherwise, so he nods and says his farewells.

You make your way to the base once more. The few Grisha who dare to look you in the eyes (they fear you and Aleksander both, but even still, the news of your attack on Alina has brought them new worries) give no sign of their current mood regarding your sudden arrival. They won’t know what happened at the Spinning Wheel until you say it, but you think you’re content to let Aleksander break that news. Who knows what twist he’ll put on it. You doubt if even you will know it was a success until he decides that it was.

You decide to take the longer route to your study, the one that takes you outside instead of through the twisting inner passages. On your way over, you turn a corner to see Genya standing before her. One glance past her reveals Baghra hidden in the forest beyond, evidently waiting for the Tailor to follow her to safety.

Genya remains stock still, absolutely petrified. They must have seized the opportunity of you and Aleksander being away to escape their cage. You cannot blame them for trying; since their arrival here, Baghra has lost a finger and Genya has been robbed of her beauty. This was their only chance to find freedom.

You look from Genya to Baghra again. The elder woman’s back stiffens, and her eyes regard you without fear, only curiosity as to what you’ll do next. You’re somewhat ashamed to admit that you haven’t been to visit her once since she was installed at your hideaway. It’s almost as if you knew she would be able to talk sense into you that your gods couldn’t.

Briefly, you remember what had happened when you arrived at the Little Palace months ago, under the guise of Y/N Stassov, resident cartographer and friend of Alina. You had revealed yourself to Baghra almost immediately, and in return, she had protected you from her son. What have you given her in return except for suffering and a life of fear?

You turn back to Genya, and jerk your chin towards the forest. “Take the southern bend around the river. Baghra knows the way. If you stick by the cliff face, he shouldn’t find you. You have time now to avoid him if you hurry.”

Genya stares at you with shock, but when you refuse to attack her, she takes your advice and runs. Baghra remains a moment longer, looking at you with that same cool gaze. She nods slowly at you once before melting back into the trees. You stand there for a long time, even after they leave, but you feel no pang of regret, no sensation that you’ve done the wrong thing. In fact, one thread of guilt seems to unravel itself from your gaudy tapestry. You may have done wrong tonight, but at least it wasn’t by them.

Aleksander comes back some time later. You wordlessly show him the empty cage, and watch as he storms about in rage. He does not suspect you in the slightest. Technically, you were not the one to free them, but you could have brought them back. You didn’t, and he cannot see through you enough to realize that.

Again, you wonder how he could have known you for so long but still be unable to read you when it matters the most. There’s a chink in your armor if he would only look, but instead Aleksander condemns himself to his rage, his revenge. Not yours. Never yours.

The slow, unhappy thought occurs to you that this is another beginning, not of a start but of the end. Pity how the good things never last.

series tag list: @britishbassett, @rogueanschel, @hotleaf-juice, @mxltifxnd0m, @kaqua, @nemesis729, @imma-too-many-fandoms, @cleverzonkwombatsludge, @yourabbymoore, @nemtodd-barnes1923, @heyyitsreign, @ponyboys-sunsets, @slytherinsssss, @fruitymoonbeams-blog, @lakeli, @darlinggbrekker, @rosesberose, @w1shes43, @fairyeunji, @cryinghotmess, @rainbowgoblinfan

grishaverse tag list: @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @thatfangirl42, @amortensie, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy, @auggie2000

[ricardian-werewolf]

9: The Cost of the Crown

(Oh yeah, there's a reason for THIS gif. Totally.) @lordbettany - I almost want (need) to see this gifset on your dash for the sole sake of your unhinged comments.

Ao3 link

Summary: Eight weeks of travel and troop movements have passed. Finally after over two years, Alina and Nikolai reunite. With that reunion comes tension, a lot of pent up emotion and some very devious plans to get a certain saint into a particular king's bed.

TWs: None, except implied smut in the end, and a church gets blown up (though no one graphically killed).

Chapter below the cut.

The Vy, a week’s ride from Os Alta.

8 weeks later. 

Alina’s fingers found purchase on the spy-glass clutched in her fingers. She rode side-saddle on a calm west-Ravkan mare of the fairest white, her kefta’s skirts tumbling down her legs in a heap of green satin and fox-fur. Her kefta’s top had been closed at the throat and buttoned up against the freezing chill. Her white hair was done up in a braided chignon. Woven through it were strands of gold and green ribbon. She wore a crown of hammered gold fashioned in the style of Morozova’s antlers. A gift for Nikolai to undo when he reached her.

At her side, Olga checked her rifle. The line down her cheek had left a scar, holy anointed. She dipped her head in the presence of the Sankta. Alina’s gloved finger touched her cheek, and she raised a brow. 

“News?”

“They are headed southwards, Moya Tsaritsa.” Olga murmured. Soon, the banners of the double-eagle and fox in splendour would paint the horizon in swathes of babe’s blue and emerald green. With them, at their helm, would be the true king. An open rebellion against the Lantsov pretender who’d been crowned by the Apparat had begun. Starting originally in the eastern reaches, past Os Alta, the peasantry had thrown down their plows and picked up their scythes. They prayed to their saints, begging for an end to the hunger that sickened their stomachs; robbed their cradles and meager coffers. It had been against the new king’s grain quotas, impossible to achieve even in times of peace, and the mood had become a tangible one of rage. When the militia was brought in to quell the uprising, the people lashed out, taking over the grain stores and the city’s Duma, press-house and inn. From there, they used the printing press of the press-house and a learned nobleman held at musket-point, to write an edict of the uprising. It demanded that Nikolai Lantsov, the one true Ravkan king, end centuries of Serfdom, remove the threats of Shu Han and Fjerda, and most amazingly, overturn the choke-hold the nobility had on the land.

Nikolai himself had written these peasants, and while Vasily or his father would have sent more men to crush the uprising - Nikolai acknowledged and allowed it to continue. He congratulated the peasantry on fighting the corruption of their pretender king, and asked them to keep him in their prayers.

Murmurs of the Fox-Saint, the King of Scars, had swept the country already. From inn to ale-house and banyan, the murmurs of King Nikolai returning had swallowed Ravka whole. The Fox Saint and the Sun Saint were said to join together at the center of the Vy and relieve Ravka of the Darkling and Lantsov Pretender. Unto that, their reign would be one of peace and prosperity. Already, a new design of a royal banner was beginning to spread through the villages and smaller towns - an emerald green backing of a red fox under a sunburst. The fox wore a crown. Some of the pieces added the firebird above the sunburst, wings aloft in a baptism of fire that would cleanse the land and air.

Alina herself had created that idea. The new maps she was making as part of her saintly progress were tactical, a way of observing the Darkling’s weak points. As they moved along the Vy, Alina was starkly reminded of how it had been a scant 4 years ago, when she was merely 16. She had been a girl then, unaccustomed to the mantle of Sainthood. The Apparat and White cathedral had marked her 17th name-day with the mantle being a crushing one. Then, her 2 year exile and slumber had forced her to become a woman. Her childishness of girlhood burned in the fire she swore to her followers had purged her of sin, and whitened her hair for eternity. In truth, her hair was going to stay white perhaps centuries more.  

She adjusted the reins of her mare, pulled close to Tamar as the procession began again. The Kefta Alina wore today, while green, would soon be changed to gold as they moved closer to the lands around Os Alta. The Duchy of Udova had sent their to-be Duchess a cape of ermine-fur and purple velvet, which she knew was safely packed into a trunk. The traditional offerings of bread and salt had passed her lips many a time as they’d picked their way north. While old maps of Ravka noted the Vy as being from Kiribirsk to Os Alta, a second wing of the Vy, known as the Yuzhnyy, ran from Dva Stolba to Os Alta, passing Keramzin as the major source of trade and travel for the southern expanse of Ravka.

The crossroads of the two Vy’s was directly west of Os Alta by a good thirty miles. Balakariev loomed before the procession, and Alina raised her hand. They halted, and Alina looked over her shoulder to regard the followers. Entire villages had vacated to follow their savior, and Alina tilted her head to the side to count the number of women, children, and older men. Normally, all of them wouldn’t be the kind to fight a war against the Darkling, but they’d followed her. The Apparat’s claws were in the hand of the Lantsov Pretender. His Soldat sol were hers to command. Indeed, Alina noted their brown robes emblazoned with her sunburst. She nodded to them, drew a line with her pinky finger.

Be covert. Be on the outlook for spies. 

The weeks of training, a scant eight, had turned them from a poor force to a crack fighting team that rivaled any of the top First Army regiments. The 22nd would be their only superior. Alina couldn’t wait to show them off to Nikolai. In those eight weeks, she and her soldiers had developed a sign language of finger symbols and codes that showed who was foe or friend. Her raised hand to pause the procession had in of itself been a symbol - keep the flock together. Amongst her followers, plain-clothes Soldats were herding the faithful into a tighter group.

Their leader, Vladim Ozwal reined in his steed and bowed his head, his hand clenched to his chest.

“Sankta, What do you require?”

“Look out for spies. Disperse some of your men to the town to ensure there are no threats. Send a rider to-” Alina removed her crown and melted one of the antler fronds off it. She tied the bit’s slender tip off with a green hair-ribbon and handed it to Vladim. “-to give this to the Fox-Saint and tell him that I will be awaiting him in the inn’s bed-room.”

Vladim bowed his head, splayed his fingers out and wheeled his horse. Her commands were barked out without a word spoken. The sign-language provided the perfect covert operative in case the Darkling’s spies had slipped amongst her faithful. Alina let a smile touch her lips, and urged her horse forward.

The procession wound its way down the hill and spilled into the town. Alina, reining in her horse, accepted glasses of tea, thick slices black bread and salt. The flour stores were starkly low, but someone had still offered up the loaf to feed her. Another, sadder smile reached her face. She let the sunlight fill the town in thanks, and swung off her horse. Her boots hit the cobblestones with a welcome thud and she reached for Olga’s arm. Even though she was at full strength, her legs wobbled a little.

“Yes, Sankta?”

“Get me the mayor.” 

Olga nodded, and disappeared into the crowd. The town square of Balakariev was war torn and attempting to present as anything but. It succeeded remarkably. Scrappy blue flags painted with crude gold suns waved from the windows, and the double-headed eagle flapped overhead in the town square. The mayor, a major civil servant of Nikolai’s father’s generation came over with Olga on his arm. The two of them were markedly similar, and Olga bowed deeply. 

“My grandfather, Mayor Ivan Alexandrevich of Balakariev is delighted to offer you the use of his town, Sankta Sol.” Olga spoke for her elder, and he pinched her thin cheek, chuckling. “Indeed, Sankta,” He bowed deeply, and spread his arms. “I wish for you to take my home. We have many rooms-”

Alina knew refusing an offer would be sin, but she held up her hand before the mayor could worsen the bulging vein in his temple. “Your offer is most appreciated, good sir, However might I suggest you offer that room to his majesty Prince Nikolai and his General of First Army, Dominik Vertov? I live amongst my flock.” Alina’s voice softened and she folded her hands behind her back. “I am not one much suited for living amongst four walls these days, however-” She needed to offer an olive branch.

“I would be more than happy to dine with you and your esteemed family, sir.”

Ivan’s eyes widened in joy and he kissed Alina’s hand profusely. She sighed inwardly and Olga giggled, mouthing; he’s old fashioned, forgive him, Moya Sankta.

She smiled, and waved her free hand. Once her other hand was free of Ivan’s lips - which reminded her faintly of Vasily’s - Alina found herself swept into a whirlwind tour of the town. As she passed houses, market-squares and fountains, people stopped in their work and fell to their knees. Alina regarded them all coolly and let the light from a passing lantern flare in a sunburst for a moment - a sign of good fortune. 

It was as they were walking amongst the town’s outskirts that Alina’s eyes settled on the town’s church and the line of homeless flowing out from the door. She gathered her skirts, and moved closer to the Mayor. 

“Are there nuns here?”

“Indeed, Sankta. Mainly followers of the Order of Sankta Anastasia.”

Alina nodded. “And what do they line up for?”

“Pottage and tea, Sankta,” Olga’s fingers edged to her pistol. If there was anywhere for the Darkling’s spies, in the former sniper’s eyes, it was here. Alina shot her a glare. Not Here. The hand stilled, and moved back to its place at Olga’s belt. 

“May I be allowed to see them? To offer blessings?”

The mayor’s eyes widened. “Y-you would?”

“Is it not good faith to give unto those who are suffering?” Alina asked, quoting from the Istorii Sankt’ya. 

The Mayor’s eyes almost bulged out of his head as Alina swept off in a trail of skirts, dust, and the smell of unwashed bodies. Weeks amongst her followers, who while suffering from the ruins of starvation, still possessed homes and incomes, no matter how pitiful. These people were devoid of anything. She came up to the simple wooden doors and knocked on them. Gasps went up from the congregation. 

“Is there a reason this isn’t open?” She asked a woman waiting in the queue who held a babe to her chest. The little thing was hollow-eyed with hunger, and the woman wasn’t much older than her twenty years. 

“The Head Sister says they have no pottage to give.”

“Nonsense.” Alina scoffed, refusing to think clearly. She went to rap her fist against the door again, and then her head twisted back as a bugle call rang through the air. The roar of hoofbeats was growing louder with every passing moment, and she stepped down the stairs of the church in shock as the full swell of First Army’s 28 regiments - cavalry and infantry - streamed into the town. At their head was Nikolai, his kepi was bent a little, the uniform he wore covered in smuts from riding hard for evident weeks. He swiveled in the saddle and dismounted from his steed with the speed of a seasoned soldier. 

He was running to her. Alina’s heart stuttered in her chest and she tore up the street to him, not caring for the dust or how her hair looked or her skirts. She threw her arms wide, and ran straight into Nikolai’s waiting grasp. The crushing feeling of the collision with him knocked the air from her lungs, and she gasped in hysteria as he spun her around.

“Alina!” He cried. “We didn’t see your banners! I thought you were still back at Keramzin!” He gasped. 

“We did a lot of hard travel over the past weeks.” Alina breathed. 

Tears were pouring down her cheeks, and she cupped his face in her hands. She smiled, feeling the ghost of stubble against her palm. He’d not been shaving. The exhaustion and burned skin of his face gave her an estimate of the amount of land and time he’d covered from Chernast to Balakariev. Judging by the regiments he’d gathered, he’d amassed quite a mass of men and munitions. There was another bugle blast, and the artillery surged into the town. At the head of the crush of soldiers was Dominik, yelling orders to men and women. Isaak was at his side, snapping at the non-coms to get the lower ranks into file and dig latrines for the massive tent-city that was about to come into existence.

She watched Ivan and Olga head back to the town square to welcome the First Army to their humble town, and she turned her gaze back to the waiting crowd. Nikolai looked up, and his eyes widened at the gathered group. He sniffed, noted the closed blue doors of the church and fished in his pocket for his pocket-watch. Flipping it open, he noted the time - a little after the noon bell.

“Why’re they not open? It’s вторник.”

“Apparently the head sister has no pottage to give.”

Nikolai scoffed. “Let’s see about that.” He slipped his arm through Alina’s and the two of them moved back to the church. Knocking on the massive door, silence emanated back. He made a face. “Not even a priest. Hmm.”

His fingers shifted through his pockets and he pulled out a pair of lockpicks. Bending over, he began to pick the lock while the waiting crowd shifted from foot to foot and fidget. They were evidently used to such depravity as waiting with the patience of divinity. This was evidently not something remiss to them.

With a satisfying click, the lock gave and Nikolai pushed the doors open. He stepped in, and something under-foot twinged. He stopped cold, and held up his hand. 

“Tripwire.”

Alina’s eyes widened as Nikolai dropped to his knees and blindly touched the wire in front of him. With the slightest touch of his finger, he felt the tension in the wire and grimaced.

“Get them into the square.” He could feel the whole church under him being boobytrapped with enough fabrikator-explosive to level the church. He rose to his foot, and was almost free of the church’s doors when one of the congregants closest to him leaped forward. Nikolai moved too slow to catch the man’s fall, and both fell to the ground, right on the wire.

Alina screamed as the explosion rippled outward. What she felt next was the feeling of being lifted off her feet and thrown into the air. Looking down, she saw black wings emerging from Nikolai’s back and the sight of the Merzost flowing over his wounded skin to heal the tissue.

She flew backwards, threw a glass-plated window, and the whole world spiraled into darkness.

When Alina came to, she found herself lying on a cot in what was certainly the mayor’s wife’s bedchamber. She coughed, the stench of plaster and crud in her lungs. She hacked, wheezed, and struggled upright. Steady hands pushed her down, and she fought back wildly, clawing at the air.

“Calm down! Alina, it’s me!” 

Alina’s eyes flew open properly and she settled on Nikolai’s hands on her shoulders. She stopped fighting and stared up at him in shock. Her ears were ringing, blood dripped from her nose. She sneezed, and then her stomach roiled.

“Here.” Nikolai shoved a china basin under her chin and she expelled her stomach contents, all while he pulled back her hair. “Shh. it’ll be alright.” His wings were still looming out from behind his back. She wondered if they were a permanent fixture.

“T-the tripwire?” She wheezed. Nikolai sighed.

“A booby trap. I don’t think whoever did it accounted for the unhoused needing their food-stores of the day.” He noted her wide eyes and rushed to soothe her. “We’ve fed them and made sure they have space in the camp to be tended to and live in. No one died.”

“Except for the man who pushed you onto the wire.” Alina’s voice dropped. She wanted to maim the man, to blind him with her holy light and make him live as an example of what it meant to harm the man she loved.

“He was desperate, Alina.” Nikolai murmured. “I believe he merely panicked.” 

“Or he tried to kill you.” She spat. 

“That is for the saints to determine, not us.” He murmured against her hair. She snorted, and growled;

“I am a saint. I say he meant to kill you.”

“If it soothes you, no one else was hurt. The explosion was a foolish, home-made attempt. I don’t even know if they meant to kill us or anyone. It explains the lack of a priest and nuns. That is unusual. Maybe they retreated to the nunnery for the summer.”

“And left those people to starve?” She whispered.

“People are unkind.” He examined the disaster of her braided coiffure and sighed. Reaching over, he grabbed her brush and began to run the bristles through the silvery strands. The ribbons were carefully unwound and removed, and as he ran the brush through her curls, Alina realized no one since Genya had done her hair. She’d stuck it in a braid during her exiles and in hiding, and now, she was here, in the mayor of Balakariev’s wife’s bedroom, getting her hair brushed by Nikolai Lantsov.

Her stomach churned and she groaned.

“Tell me it was something I ate.” 

“Not sure on that.” He reached for a silver plate and held up an apple slice. “Here. this’ll help settle your stomach.”

“How? It’s Summer.”

“A little help from the Little Palace greenhouses.”

Alina breathed. 

“The Darkling rules over the Little Palace.”

“He’s neglectful of one of the tenets of building relations with Otkazat’kya. Those in positions even as lowly as gardeners appreciate basic respect and decency. I’ve known the gardeners of both palaces since I could walk.” He slipped the slice between her open lips. She bit down and the tart sweetness caused tears to bud in her eyes.

“Have your soldiers ravaged the town’s stores?” She blinked at him. He rolled his eyes. “I am but a man, Alina. Not even I as king can cease a marauding army from painting the town red.” 

She laughed and then groaned again. 

“No more jokes, you ass.”

He snickered, and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I thought Grisha don’t get sick.”

“We don’t, but getting thrown through a window does leave more wounds than let on.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for the next time I think of ways to dispose of my enemies.” 

“Your most powerful, most dangerous enemies,”

He winked, and traced a line down her cheek. “Mmm.” A dangerous glint entered his eyes and she sighed fondly. Fisting her fingers in his hair, she set the basin aside, and dragged him down into a deep kiss.

His tongue snuck out, pleading entrance, and she let him in without a moment’s hesitation. They’d slept together before this, starting from that night in Os Alta after he’d announced their engagement. It had been a hot night filled with sweaty sheets and sinful words that would burn lesser couples. 

This, however, was different. The kisses from Nikolai’s lips were hungrier, desperate. The monster within him was keening for her light, unafraid of it. She pressed her hand to his chest, feeling the flex of muscle under her palm, and grinned.

“Mind taking that shirt off?”

“Only if I get to-” His lip brushed her earlobe and murmured; “Undress you.”

“Do the wings stay present?”

“Oh, yes. And the claws.” He tore off his gloves with his teeth and she gasped at the sight of his talons, imagining those onyx shards in her thighs.

“Bring it on, Moi Tsarsevich.” She purred, dragging him down with her. He hissed, his inky fangs finding purchase in the tender flesh of her neck. He sucked at the skin, leaving a shining, wet and reddened hickey. 

“That’s Moi Tsar, Sankta.” He growled. “And if you’re not good, I’ll have you begging for me to break you in half.”

“Oh, will you?” Alina teased, slipping a hand under his shirt, watching his eyes darken with that primal hunger. “Remind me, what did you say to me after my awakening?” She purred.

“‘I’ll not let you from my bed, even if you threaten to burn me to a pile of ash.’” Nikolai quoted, nipping her ear-tip with his teeth. 

“And are we staying true to that?” She examined the time on his pocket watch. “Or are you going to at least let me perform my services to my flock?”

Nikolai growled. “I much prefer your services here.”

Alina rolled her eyes and stroked his cheek.

“Then, you might want to get on your knees, Nikolasha.” Her grin turned devilish. 

“And start praying to your glorious Sankta to let you confess.”

The look he gave her was so hungry, so wanting, that Alina purred and shoved him back into the bed. To any listening maid or soldier, the noise the two made would send even the heartiest souls scampering for their prayer books, ears burning. The pent-up wanting of two years of no intimacy (they’d never figured out how to do it through the tether even while awake), made them into wild beasts that raked clawed hands across one another’s flesh and their releases to be violent, sweat-soaked and filled with the guttural cries of two people so deeply hungry for the other that the world and heavens would buckle under them.

As Alina snuggled into Nikolai’s arms, he kissed her soft hair and idly braided it under his fingers. At long last, the monster within him settled, and he splayed his wings out to cocoon them both in its inky embrace. She sleepily pressed her ring-clad hand to his chest and she nuzzled into his pec, murmuring something.

“What was that?” He yawned sleepily.

“I love you.”

Nikolai’s fingers stilled in braiding her hair, and a smile split his face in two. 

“You know, you’ve never said that to me once.”

She reached for a pillow to hit him with, but the wing encircling her trapped her movements. He chuckled at her glare. “Don’t think of burning me. Not after that sinful tongue of mine-”

Alina buried her face in her hands and groaned. “There’s people listening!”

“Let them. You deserve to be worshiped.” He winked at her angry look and ran a thumb down her cheek. “And, you know you loved it.” 

His lips pressed feathery kisses to the tip of her nose, her eyelids and lips in quick succession, like tiny star bursts on the canvas of her face. She giggled, and snuggled closer to him. “Don’t…” she yawned. “Let go of me.”

“No such chance, Moya Sol.”

She smiled, and threw an arm over his stomach, then let out a loud snore and nestled closer. Nikolai stifled a laugh and rolled onto his side, bringing her closer to him so they could spoon. He kissed her neck and nestled his face into the crook of it. 

They both slept easy and for a long, long time. When they woke, a whole day had passed. With their rising, came plans to formulate an attack against the Darkling. However, these were not the half-baked plans of Nikolai and Alina in the attack on the Grand Palace 4 summers ago, but a plan that would work without fail, having no gaps for which the Darkling to poke his fingers into.

It would be perfect, it would work, and no more casualties than the ones naming towns from Os Alta to the Fold would be added. No more men would be cut down by the Volcra, no more women and children made widows and fatherless. 

The Sun Saint had her fox, and the Fox had his queen once more with him. All was right in the world, and all would be so. Even if things went poorly - which they would not - all would be well, and the hell of the Darkling’s rule would end not with a whimper, but a bang.

They would meet him where all of it began - at the Making of the Heart of the World, and from there, send the bastard son of a bitch back to where he truly belonged - hell. And with him would go all of his monstrous kith and kin.

End of chapter 9.

[ilovefredjones]

things i’m scared about from the trailer:

there’s not enough mention of alina’s sainthood? absolutely nothing at all? it’s the main focus of s&s?

also very little about mal’s arc in s&s - the self destruction, the fighting, the alcoholism? him and alina fighting? also a major part

giggles nervously about the crows’ involvement in the plot

is nina in hellgate?? have the 3 og crows met wylan?? please god no

WHO IS ALINA IN BED WITH. OH DEAR GOD

[warmdusks]

These are my theories for Shadow and Bone S3. If you haven’t read the books don’t read this bc spoilers

sorry my thoughts are all over the place this is just me trying to console myself (i know a lot of us are ??? at the changes) but I think there’s a way to bring it close to the original plot if they’re going to adapt KOS for S3:

• The appaRAT was written off until the end, but I think he’ll be a pertinent character in S3. In the last ep, he was trying to ‘caution’ Nikolai about staging the coronation on the same day as Hringkälla and hinting about his bloodline but Nikolai was like go away 🐀 u’re irrelevant and in retaliation, the Fjerdan Grisha attack at the end could be his doing. We know he switches sides a lot because he’s a 🐀 just trying to gain control over the throne. Yes, he gets attacked in the scene as well but I’m pretty sure he wanted to get a reaction out of Alina and start rumors about her attacking a Grisha or smth but instead, he gets a Sun Saint exhibiting shadow power / merzost. Or maybe it was the easiest way to massacre all the important people in Ravka but failed 🤷‍♀️

• Alina’s Sainthood / Ravka’s First Grisha Queen - I think this is going to be a difficult road. The apparat and the rest of the people in the chapel saw what Alina did. She used Merzost, and the people are going to TALK. The Apparat is going to use this against her being a potential Queen for Ravka. They are going to question where Alina’s loyalty lies and her eligibility to the throne. And with the Sankta Elizaveta foreshadowing in S2, that means the cult of the Starless Saint gonna rise up too. They might possibly claim Alina as their own as she exhibited shadow power? Stir up rumors that General Kirigan is going to be resurrected soon and he and Alina is going to be this power couple taking over the throne? Their Sun Saint isn’t a Sun Saint after all? for sure this is gonna cause distrust among the people, with the blights showing up in random places she might get blamed for it. Will this make her step down as a member of the triumvirate / general of the second army / call off the engagement? Will Mal come running back to Ravka after his soul searching thingy and persuade her to live the anonymous life with him? fake her death and live on a farm? IDK but we have to keep in mind that Alina, Mal, and General Kirigan will have to be major characters still for this series. But I think they can wrap up the Sankta Alina storyline this way. Alina and Mal still had some cameos in KOS and ROW, and the Darkling…we all know what happened

• Alina returning the Neshenyer to Shu Han - The Khergud? Is she going to meet Makhi / Ehri? Will the Crows be a part of this? Or are they going to stick with the Ice Court heist? Not sure if they’ll be completely pulling the Crows out for this season (bc of the spin-off) but the cliffhanger at the end of S2 did hint on the Ice Court Heist. I think their paths will have to cross again for this series’ sake lol

• Nikolai’s 🦇nification. The Apparat would have a lot of blackmail material against the throne if ever he finds out about Nikolai’s little secret. The King’s reputation can withstand a bit of scandal; it would not survive the truth. I guess this is where we’ll get a lot of ZOYALAI action (chaining him to the bed every night, going all over Ravka to investigate, the obisbaya, insert all the close proximity scenes here)

• Zoya of the Lost City - enuf said. And I badly want to see her and Juris. But do they have the budget for a Dragon 😭

• Zoyalai - I think Nikolai’s going to continue pining over Alina but unknowingly falls for Zoya as they work closely together? Then his feelings will be confirmed the moment Sankta Elizaveta drowns Zoya in amber *screams* anyway, we know how rational Zoya is. Might she suggest to Nikolai to call off the engagement with Alina bc the PR team can’t handle all the bad press? Then comes in matchmaker Zoya who secretly yearns for her king </3 i am delusional i just want to see matchmaker zoya 🫶 but really tho, i wish they can build up their work bff relationship first

• Also, do you think David could possibly be alive? No body = no crime but what if the nichevoya was a little hungry…but then we get another David d word scene and we’re going to see Genya’s heart get broken again 😭 i feel so bad for thinking this pls slap me

anyway that’s all for now i am trying to process the mess that is S2

[lingeringscars]

couple gris.haverse (primarily alina) things

big fan of nikolai and alina as a friendship. i did not particularly care for nikolai in s&s (or r&r but i still cried at everything related to him and like props to leigh for that) but i did love the fact that alina had someone else that they could talk to. i still think about them linking arms At All Times. It's not a hard & fast no romantic them for me, i guess, but it would definitely depend on the nikolai writer

Alina is never queen <3 hope that helps <3 i understand the show direction here but alina never wanted to be queen and her saying no to nikolai in the end was sooo important. she has given enough.

alina is not ?? selfish ?? or stupid ?? for being like hey i cannot physically or mentally give anything else right now and i need to go

alina is well aware that there are people that are better equipped for this particular role and it was never something they wanted to begin with. they took on as much as they could. they died for it. they couldn't come back from what happened in destroying the fold and Be A Leader.

sainthood definitely plays into this. alina is so much more than a grisha, so much more than a person. alina will never be fully grisha or fully otkazat'sya. that in between is really something that no one else can understand, either.

i do keep alina losing her powers because i personally thought it was powerful and showcased the fact that she literally gave everything to ravka. it also felt like the apt conclusion to her search for the amplifiers, the warnings about what possessing them would do, and in general the passing of them to otkazat'sya was A lot. following, alina is already hounded by sun saint people ( pls i'm forgetting the names for the groups rn ) and that constant reminder of losing her powers is gutting, and it's another reason that they can't just Go Back

alina doesn't stop caring about ravka? or grisha? the fight just looks different for her now

Also putting out there that alina is In Love With genya & Has Complicated Feelings re Zoya

also complicated feelings about the darkling but i have less than 0 interest in exploring anything romantic between them ever

mal has complicated feelings re nikolai thank u <3

it's actually not that unreasonable that mal would need to adjust to alina being grisha and also that he would have to react to his own trauma. i know this is an extreme take.

mal deserted the army for alina, mal would follow alina, but mal also Good at what he did. he was vital. he was a tracker and was useful and he lost that in part. he got to live despite this, in part because of alina, and there is a part of mal that wishes that they had treated him like any deserter

does mal fuck up? yes. is show!mal somehow better than book!mal because he isn't as traumatized? no? he needs to adjust to everything that has happened, and eventually he needs to adjust to him actually dying (+ also to alina killing him even if he was adamant that it needed to happen). it's part of why i'm very okay with his ending in the show because i do think that he needs to find a purpose and explore without his tracking abilities. this is more complicated with Misha because mal is extremely protective of him, but i think alina going back to keramzin with him helps him. at this point he can also better recognize that he can't just go back and it wouldn't be fair to either of them (or himself)

i honestly do not think inej's trauma has been erased. i definitely understand the gripe with tante heleen being killed off screen and the s1 reaction. inej freezing is very important to me. but so is the fact that inej tells kaz that she struggles too.

inej and kaz have different reactions to touch. inej had to adapt to touch in a way kaz also has not needed to on account of their different circumstances. this is not me saying that kaz would have been able to or any of that, but inej in order to survive DID. kaz became the bastard of the barrel but inej became the wraith. able to disappear in a moment, even if not physically.

inej canonly has to spell out that she struggles even when jesper and nina touch her. idk maybe i'm being too kind but i do think that amita showed hesitation in many cases. we're not in their heads so we need those little context clues; inej hesitating before initiating anything, rarely initiating but responding to the people close to her. the point is just inej is accustomed to swallowing that fear, but that does not mean it is not there. it just presents itself differently! and that's okay! something i care a LOT about in this series is that they show the different manners in which trauma manifests because it is not the same for everyone

i think inej would take issue with nina making a show to turn leoni and adrik into saints

i also think leoni does not particularly like this, she just understands and agreed with the reasoning. however, she was dedicated to the mission in fjerda and thinks that more good could have come if her cover had not been blown, making her and adrik unsafe

she does not resent nina for this and does believe much good comes from it. she chooses to focus on that. they helped people who needed help, and that is worth it in her eyes.

it is a choice, though. leoni chooses to be optimistic. she chooses to see the good. she was saved by someone who was willing to die to save her, who took on the poisons herself so that leoni could live, and she chooses to honor this every day. she was blessed in more ways than one.

she also needs to see the greater good because she knows that she is helping create things that are killing people. this is something that she can struggle with a lot. she needs to believe that the cause is just and that it will end with less suffering overall.

[ragingstillness]

Grishaverse reference

Hi Grishaverse moots, idk if someone has already done this before and if they have, sorry, guess we've got two cakes now.

I recently finished reading lb's written version of Lives of the Saints and I have many thoughts. The following are my guesses on nation of origin and grisha power for the saints mentioned in the book, based on the stories provided. There isn't a ton of information, but these are my best guesses, feel free to put these interpretations in your fics!

Also lb's grasp on Russian is tenuous at best, so keep in mind that this list is written letter for letter the way the chapters were titled, not the way these names would be properly spelled.

Sankta Margaretha - Kerch, likely Durast

Sanka Anastasia - Ravkan, likely Healer or Alkemi

Sankt Kho - Shu, Durast

Sankta Neyar - Shu, Durast

Sankt Juris of the Sword - presumably Ravkan but he dates back to before Ravka was a country, his story references one of his miracles not his actual story of sainthood so his Grisha designation is unknown, we do know that he's a two-souled Grisha bonded with the Dragon

Sankta Vasilka - probably Ravkan due to her being described as the first firebird, likely a two-souled Grisha with a firebird, maybe a Durast or Squaller 

Sankt Nikolai - unclear nationality due to his being on a ship from an unknown port, potentially Ravkan, Squaller, maybe an Alkemi too 

Sankta Lizabeth of the Roses - Ravkan, maybe a Durast, maybe a two-souled Grisha with bees, maybe an Alkemi with plants

Sankta Maradi - Zemeni, Tidemaker or Squaller

Sankt Demyan of the Rime - Fjerdan, Durast

Sankta Marya of the Rock - Suli, Durast

Sankt Emerens - Kerch, maybe Alkemi or Heartrender

Sankt Vladimir the Foolish - Ravkan, Tidemaker

Sankt Grigori of the Wood - Ravkan, Healer, potential Durast, two-souled Grisha with a bear 

Sankt Valentin - unknown nationality, potential Squaller or Heartrender, potential two-souled Grisha with a snake 

Sankt Petyr - Ravkan, potential Inferni or Heartrender

Sankta Yeryin of the Mill - Shu, likely Durast or Alkemi 

Sankt Feliks Among the Boughs - Ravkan, likely Alkemi, the Thornwood grew where he died, two-souled Grisha with a hawk 

Sankt Lukin the Logical - unknown, potential merzost-using Healer or Heartrender

Sankta Magda - Ravkan, Healer or Alkemi, maybe secondary Squaller gift, saved Grisha children from pyres

Sankt Egmond - Fjerdan, Durast, forced to create the Ice Court 

Sankt Ilya in Chains - Ravkan, merzost-using Durast, potential Healer/Heartrender too

Sankta Ursula of the Waves - from an area in Fjerda where she is called a princess but we known her mother is Baghra and her father a sildroher, making her half-sildroher half Ravkan, Tidemaker

Sankt Mattheus - unknown nationality, Alkemi or Heartrender, turned wolves into dogs, possible merzost using Heartrender or two-souled Grisha with a wolf

Sankt Dimitri - unknown nationality, likely a merzost-using Healer or Heartrender (or a Squaller playing a joke due to his? skeleton being found in a room still praying and also talking)

Sankt Gerashim the Misunderstood - likely Ravkan, potential Durast, his vow of silence makes me think it's more likely that he was attacked and made mute because it says he stopped talking at 15 and didn’t say a word in his defense before he died

Sankta Alina of the Fold - Ravkan, Sun Summoner, obviously 

The Starless Saint - Ravkan, Shadow Summoner, obviously 

Extra thoughts I had reading the book:

“Half of novokribirsk was lost” - this is how the Darkling moving the Fold was described so I guess we have a better grasp on where the Fold moved to and how many people died

The story with Alina isn't about her own sainthood but about people praying to her, specifically Grisha children who are being sold to Kerch slaver, what a surprise that Alina didn't fix everything governing Ravka (I am bitter as hell and this is sarcastic)

Ulla being described as a princess is odd because what is she the princess of?

We know that dragons and sildrohers exist in the grishaverse but nebulous "demons" are also mentioned as taking over people's bodies. It's unclear how real these might be or whether they were trauma responses or mental health issues.

A ton of these people are hermits, likely because it helped hide their powers.

Lots of saints being accused of conspiring with the “demons,” lots of the saints are described as “witches.”

The prose feels like I’m reading propaganda written by the Apparat. ex: All the saints are described as pious and this is what their actions are attributed to despite clearly being the result of Grisha powers.

It's interesting to me personally lb even included Aleksander or allowed a story to exist that showed how his expansion of the Fold benefitted a Ravkan citizen.

Most Saints are described as weak and sickly, wonder why that is (wasting sickness from hiding their powers). 

The Tula valley was desolate before the Fold because Feliks died there and many crops rotted after his death.  

A lot of these stories have townspeople and noblemen turning on the saints, also lots of stories of people fighting for royalty then being betrayed by the same royalty (what a sucky trend for Grisha).

Many saints are said to be monks and scholars, this might be Apparat propaganda but it also might be an extension of them being in hiding about their powers.

Lot of saints are Durasts and Alkemi, likely because Materialki powers are the easiest to hide. Possible Etherealki Saints probably didn't survive long enough to be remembered.

A surprising amount of saints were Squallers. This may be because wind is harder to predict than other natural forces and is more likely to be dismissed as nature rather than Grisha power.

Only one saint is a potential Inferni. Probably because it's arguably the most difficult power to hide.

Some of these legends definitely seem older than others because they reference each other and lb does not make it clear where in the historical timeline they fall in relation to each other.

Some of the saints are only described with their miracles not their stories of sainthood, this is a curious choice and I wonder why it was made.

Some of the saints' deaths are written as fade to black while others are described in excruciating detail. Another weird choice.

[starlsssankt]

@sankta-alina-s sent an ask //

❛ overreacting is throwing a tantrum when someone eats the last sweet roll. you were out for blood."

Shoulders tense, the Darkling turned to look hard at Alina. Like her words barely made any sense at all. ❝ Would you have rather me not do it? And leave you to their fate? ❞ He nodded at the body--now in two pieces of course--that had fallen before her when he'd Cut them down.

There were others, too, scattered about the clearing. But this particular one had gotten the closest to harming her and-- Well, that hadn't sat right with him.

He wouldn't examine the reasons why that was. Not right now.

❝ While most of the populace seems to believe in your sainthood, Alina, there are still plenty who would wish you dead. Or worse. I will never apologize for stopping them before harm befalls you. ❞

[stromuprisahat]

Siege and Storm- Chapter 14 (Leigh Bardugo)

I'm sick and tired of this "motif". It's half-assed at best, shaming and restraining. It's a hurtful philosophy to both individuals and all of Grisha as a group. It's the dichotomy between noble poor suffering and greedy shameful thriving. Ravkan Saints vs. Aleksander's Second Army.

Not only Alina's ending validates it, the narrative doesn't bother to challenge such view as faulty even in later books.

Hell, if Leigh won't ignore her own previous writing, Zoya's power should come at the price of her own mind. While her arc's often described as "What should've been Alina's", she should pay for her undeserved Sainthood by becoming an unwanted guest in her own body. Grisha, punished for "greed" once more, although objectively it should be about her unwillingness to truly stand on her own two legs, inclination to hide behind others as soon as her temper isn't sufficient solution.