Leigh Bardugo - Shadow and Bone

He gave a rough bark of laughter. “I don’t need to imagine. I saw your little demonstration in the ballroom. Very impressive.”

“You saw me?”

“That’s right,” he said harshly. “Do you know how worried I’ve been about you? No one knew what had happened to you, what they’d done to you. There was no way to reach you. There were even rumors you were being tortured. When the captain needed men to report back to the Darkling, like an idiot I made the trek down here just on the chance that I would find you.”

“Really?” That was hard for me to believe. I’d gotten so used to the idea of Mal’s indifference.

“Yes,” he hissed. “And here you are, safe and sound, dancing and flirting like some cosseted little princess.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” I snapped. “I’m sure the Darkling can arrange for a rack or some hot coals if that would make you feel better.”

Mal scowled and stepped away from me.

Tears of frustration pricked my eyes. Why were we fighting? Desperately, I reached out to lay a hand on his arm. His muscles tensed, but he didn’t pull away. “Mal, I can’t help the way things are here. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

He looked at me and then looked away. I felt some of the tension go out of him. Finally, he said, “I know you didn’t.”

Again, I heard that terrible weariness in his voice.

“What happened to you, Mal?” I whispered.

He said nothing, just stared into the darkness of the hall.

I raised my hand and rested it on his stubbly cheek, gently turning his face to mine. “Tell me.”

He closed his eyes. “I can’t.”

I let my fingertips trail over the raised skin of the scar on his jaw. “Genya could fix this. She can—”

Instantly, I knew I’d said the wrong thing. His eyes flew open.

“I don’t need fixing,” he snapped.

“I didn’t mean—”

He snatched my hand from his face, holding it tightly, his blue eyes searching mine. “Are you happy here, Alina?”

The question took me by surprise.

“I… I don’t know. Sometimes.”

“Are you happy here with him ?”

I didn’t have to ask who Mal meant. I opened my mouth to answer, but I had no idea what to say.

“You’re wearing his symbol,” he observed, his glance flicking to the little gold charm hanging at my neckline. “His symbol and his color.”

“They’re just clothes.”

Mal’s lips twisted in a cynical smile, a smile so different from the one I knew and loved that I almost flinched. “You don’t really believe that.”

“What difference does it make what I wear?”

“The clothes, the jewels, even the way you look. He’s all over you. ”

The words hit me like a slap. In the dark of the hall, I felt an ugly flush creeping up my cheeks. I snatched my hand from his, crossing my arms over my chest.

“It’s not like that,” I whispered, but I didn’t meet his gaze. It was as if Mal could see right through me, as if he could pluck every fevered thought I’d ever had of the Darkling right out of my head. But on the heels of that shame came anger. So what if he did know? What right did he have to judge me? How many girls had Mal held in the dark?

“I saw how he looked at you,” he said.

“I like how he looks at me!” I practically shouted.

He shook his head, that bitter smile still playing on his lips. I wanted to smack it right off his face.

“Just admit it,” he sneered. “He owns you.”

“He owns you, too, Mal,” I lashed back. “He owns us all.”

That wiped away his smile.

“No he doesn’t,” Mal said fiercely. “Not me. Not ever.”

“Oh really? Don’t you have someplace to be, Mal? Don’t you have orders to follow?”

Mal stood up straight, his face cold. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do.”

He turned sharply and walked out the door.

For a moment, I stood there, quivering with anger, and then I ran to the doorway. I got all the way down the steps before I stopped myself. The tears that had been threatening to overflow finally did, coursing down my cheeks. I wanted to run after him, to take back what I’d said, to beg him to stay, but I’d spent my life running after Mal. Instead, I stood in silence and let him go.

ONLY WHEN I WAS in my room, the door closed securely behind me, did I let my sobs overtake me. I slid to the floor, my back pressed against the bed, my arms around my knees, trying to hold myself together.

By now, Mal would be leaving the palace, traveling back to Tsibeya to join the other trackers hunting Morozova’s herd. The distance widening between us felt like a palpable thing. I felt further from him than I had in all the lonely months that had gone before.

I rubbed my thumb over the scar on my palm. “Come back,” I whispered, my body shaking with fresh sobs. “Come back.” But he wouldn’t. I’d as good as ordered him to leave. I knew I would probably never see him again, and I ached with it.

I don’t know how long I sat there in the dark. At some point I became aware of a soft knocking at my door. I sat up straight, trying to stifle my sniffling. What if it was the Darkling? I couldn’t bear to see him now, to explain my tears to him, but I had to do something. I dragged myself to my feet and opened the door.

A bony hand snaked around my wrist, seizing me in an iron grip.

“Baghra?” I asked, peering at the woman standing at my door.

“Come,” she said, pulling at my arm and glancing over her shoulder.

“Leave me alone, Baghra.” I tried to pull away from her, but she was surprisingly strong.

“You come with me now, girl,” she bit out. “Now!”

Maybe it was the intensity of her gaze or the shock of seeing fear in her eyes, or maybe I was just used to doing what Baghra said, but I followed her out the door.

She closed it behind us, keeping hold of my wrist.

“What is this? Where are we going?”

“Quiet.”

Instead of turning right and heading toward the main staircase, she dragged me in the opposite direction to the other end of the hall. She pressed a panel in the wall, and a hidden door swung open. She gave me a shove. I didn’t have the will to fight her, so I stumbled down the narrow spiral staircase. Every time I looked back at her, she gave me another little push. When we reached the bottom of the stairs, Baghra stepped in front of me and led me down a cramped hallway with bare stone floors and plain wooden walls. It looked almost naked compared to the rest of the Little Palace, and I thought we might be in the servants’ quarters.

Baghra grabbed hold of my wrist again and tugged me into a dark, empty chamber. She lit a single candle, locked and bolted the door, then crossed the room and reached up on her tiptoes to draw closed the curtain on the tiny basement window. The room was sparsely furnished with a narrow bed, a simple chair, and a washbasin.

“Here,” she said, shoving a pile of clothes at me. “Put these on.”

“I’m too tired for lessons, Baghra.”

“No more lessons. You must leave this place. Tonight.”

I blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m trying to keep you from spending the rest of your life as a slave. Now get changed.”

“Baghra, what’s going on? Why did you bring me down here?”

“We don’t have much time. The Darkling is close to finding Morozova’s herd. Soon he will have the stag.”

“I know,” I said, thinking of Mal. My heart ached, but I also couldn’t resist feeling a little smug. “I thought you didn’t believe in Morozova’s stag.”

She waved her arm as if brushing away my words. “That’s what I told him. I hoped that he might give up the stag’s pursuit if he thought it was nothing but a peasant tale. But once he has it, nothing will be able to stop him.”