Leigh Bardugo - Shadow and Bone

I shook my head, inching away from him.

“Faith,” he breathed, his black eyes wild. “Faith.”

He reached for me. I groped toward my bedside table and knocked the glass of water to the floor. It shattered loudly. Hurried footsteps pounded down the hall toward us. The Apparat stepped back, melting into the shadows.

The door burst open and a Healer entered, his red kefta flapping behind him. “Are you all right?”

I opened my mouth, unsure of what to say. But the Apparat had already slid soundlessly out the door.

“I… I’m sorry. I broke a glass.”

The Healer called a servant to clean up the mess. He settled me back into bed and suggested that I try to rest. But as soon as he was gone, I sat up and lit the lamp by my bed.

My hands were shaking. I wanted to dismiss the Apparat’s ramblings as nonsense, but I couldn’t. Not if people were really praying to the Sun Summoner, not if they were expecting me to save them. I remembered the Darkling’s dire words beneath the broken roof of the barn. The age of Grisha power is coming to an end. I thought of the volcra, of the lives being lost on the Shadow Fold. A divided Ravka won’t survive the new age. I wasn’t just failing the Darkling or Baghra or myself. I was failing all of Ravka.

WHEN GENYA CAME by the next morning, I told her about the Apparat’s visit, but she didn’t seem concerned by what he’d said or his strange behavior.

“He’s creepy,” she admitted. “But harmless.”

“He is not harmless. You should have seen him. He looked completely mad.”

“He’s just a priest.”

“But why was he even here?”

Genya shrugged. “Maybe the King asked him to pray for you.”

“I’m not staying here again tonight. I want to sleep in my room. With a door that locks.”

Genya sniffed and looked around the spare infirmary. “Well, that, at least, I can agree with. I wouldn’t want to stay here either.” Then she peered at me. “You look dreadful,” she said with her usual tact. “Why don’t you let me fix you up a bit?”

“No.”

“Just let me get rid of the dark circles.”

“No!” I said stubbornly. “But I do need a favor.”

“Should I get my kit?” she asked eagerly.

I scowled at her. “Not that kind of favor. A friend of mine was injured on the Fold. I… I’ve written to him, but I’m not sure my letters are getting through.” I felt my cheeks flush and hurried on. “Could you find out if he’s okay and where he’s been stationed? I don’t know who else to ask, and since you’re always at the Grand Palace, I thought you might be able to help.”

“Of course, but… well, have you been checking the casualty lists?”

I nodded, a lump in my throat. Genya left to find paper and pen so I could write down Mal’s name for her.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes. I didn’t know what to make of Mal’s silence. I checked the casualty lists every single week, my heart pounding, my stomach in knots, terrified that I would see his name. And each week, I gave thanks to all the Saints that Mal was safe and alive, even if he couldn’t be bothered to write.

Was that the truth of it? My heart gave a painful twist. Maybe Mal was glad I was gone, glad to be free of old friendships and obligations. Or maybe he’s lying in a hospital bed somewhere and you’re being a petty little brat , I chided myself.

Genya returned, and I wrote out Mal’s name, regiment, and unit number. She folded the paper and slipped it into the sleeve of her kefta.

“Thanks,” I said hoarsely.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” she said, and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “Now lie back so I can fix those dark circles.”

“Genya!”

“Lie back or you can forget about your little favor.”

My jaw dropped. “You are rotten.”

“I am marvelous.”

I glared at her, then flopped back against the pillows.

After Genya left, I made arrangements to return to my own quarters. The Healer wasn’t happy about it, but I insisted. I was barely even sore anymore, and there was no way I was spending another night in that empty infirmary.

When I got back to my room, I took a bath and tried to read one of my theory books. I couldn’t concentrate. I was dreading returning to my classes the next day, dreading another futile lesson with Baghra.

The stares and gossip about me had died down a bit since I arrived at the Little Palace. But I had no doubt that my fight with Zoya would bring that all back.

As I rose and stretched, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror above my dressing table. I crossed the room and scrutinized my face in the glass.

The dark shadows beneath my eyes were gone, but I knew they would be back in a few days. And it made little difference. I looked the way I always had: tired, scrawny, sick. Nothing like a real Grisha. The power was there, somewhere inside me, but I couldn’t reach it, and I didn’t know why. Why was I different? Why had it taken so long for my power to reveal itself? And why couldn’t I access it on my own?

Reflected in the mirror I could see the thick golden curtains at the windows, the brilliantly painted walls, the firelight glittering off the tiles in the grate. Zoya was awful, but she was also right. I didn’t belong in this beautiful world, and if I didn’t find a way to use my power, I never would.

THE NEXT MORNING wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. Zoya was already in the domed hall when I entered. She sat by herself at the end of the Summoners’ table, eating her breakfast in silence. She didn’t look up as Marie and Nadia called their greetings to me, and I did my best to ignore her, too.

I savored every step of my walk down to the lake. The sun was bright, the air cold on my cheeks, and I wasn’t looking forward to the stuffy, windowless confines of Baghra’s hut. But when I climbed the steps to her door, I heard raised voices.

I hesitated and then knocked softly. The voices quieted abruptly, and after a moment, I pushed the door open and peeked inside. The Darkling was standing by Baghra’s tile oven, his face furious.

“Sorry,” I said, and began to back out the door.

But Baghra just snapped, “In, girl. Don’t let the heat out.”

When I entered and shut the door, the Darkling gave me a small bow. “How are you, Alina?”

“I’m fine,” I managed.

“She’s fine!” hooted Baghra. “She’s fine! She cannot light a hallway, but she’s fine.”

I winced and wished I could disappear into my boots.

To my surprise, the Darkling said, “Leave her be.”

Baghra’s eyes narrowed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

The Darkling sighed and ran his hands through his dark hair in exasperation. When he looked at me, there was a rueful smile on his lips, and his hair was going every which way. “Baghra has her own way of doing things,” he said.

“Don’t patronize me, boy!” Her voice cracked out like a whip. To my amazement, I saw the Darkling stand up straighter and then scowl as if he’d caught himself.

“Don’t chide me, old woman,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.

Angry energy crackled through the room. What had I walked into? I was thinking about slipping out the door and leaving them to finish whatever argument I’d interrupted when Baghra’s voice lashed out again.

“The boy thinks to get you an amplifier,” she said. “What do you think of that, girl?”

It was so strange to hear the Darkling called “boy” that it took me a moment to understand her meaning. But when I did, hope and relief rushed through me. An amplifier! Why hadn’t I thought of it before? Why hadn’t they thought of it before? Baghra and the Darkling were able to help me call my power because they were living amplifiers, so why not an amplifier of my own like Ivan’s bear claws or the seal tooth I’d seen hanging around Marie’s neck?