“Since my new job. Bodyguard to a saint.”

Mostly, I missed Mal. I’d written to him every week, care of our regiment, but I hadn’t heard anything back.

“I want to see him,” I managed. “Every day. I want to know he’s safe.”

“I wanted to make you human,” he said. “All they see when they look at you is the Sun Summoner. They see a threat, another powerful Grisha like the Darkling. I want them to see a daughter or a sister or a friend. I want them to see Alina.”

Some part of me hoped that this had all been a mistake, that the Darkling would realize his error and send me back to the regiment, that Mal would realize how much he’d missed me, that we’d grow old together in our meadow.

“Since when have you backed down from a fight?

I knew when he was gone.

“You wanted to wear the second amplifier. You have it. You want to go to Os Alta? Fine, we’ll go. You say you need the firebird. I’ll find a way to get it for you. But when all this is over, Alina, I wonder if you’ll still want me.”

“I’m going to marry Alina,” Mal says.

There was something fierce and almost desperate in the way he held me, as if he could not have me close enough.

This place is more beautiful than I can describe, but I would trade it all to spend an afternoon skipping stones with you at Trivka’s pond.

I know what I saw on the Fold, in the Grisha tent, light pouring from your skin, so bright it was hard to look at, you shining like a star. You were one thing and then you were another. You were Alina and then I didn't know you at all.

I'm not sure why I bothered to write this letter. We're far from any post and I may never have a chance to send it. I don't know that I meant to.

The Darkling wants that stag. He wants it for you, so I'll find it. It's the only thing I can still give you. The only thing.

I kissed him then—with grief and need and years of longing, with the desperate hope that I could keep him here in my arms, with the damning knowledge that I could not.

To hell with it—I miss your scowl.

What would they have done if I'd run after you? Shot me? Stopped my heart? Let me say some kind of goodbye? I'll never know.

The moment our lips met, I knew with pure and piercing certainty that I would have waited for him forever.

Maybe that's why I wrote this letter, Alina. Maybe it's a promise—that I'll survive tomorrow and the day after that, and somehow, no matter what it takes, I'll see you safe again.

“It’s not going to be okay.” He brushed the hair back from my cheeks and cupped my face in his rough hands. “None of this is happening for a reason.” He skimmed his lips over mine. “And Saints help me, Alina, I want to live forever.”