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TableofContentsTitlePageBEFORECHAPTERICHAPTER2CHAPTER3CHAPTER4CHAPTER5CHAPTER6CHAPTER7CHAPTER8CHAPTER9CHAPTER10CHAPTER11CHAPTER12CHAPTER13CHAPTER14CHAPTER15CHAPTER16CHAPTER17CHAPTER18CHAPTER19CHAPTER20CHAPTER21CHAPTER22
AFTERACKNOWLEDGMENTSCopyrightPage
Formygrandfather:Tellmesomelies.
BEFORETHESERVANTSCALLED themmalenchki, little ghosts, because theywerethesmallestandtheyoungest,andbecausetheyhauntedtheDuke’shouselikegiggling phantoms, darting in and out of rooms, hiding in cupboards toeavesdrop,sneakingintothekitchentostealthelastofthesummerpeaches.The boy and the girl had arrived within weeks of each other, two more
orphans of the border wars, dirty-faced refugees plucked from the rubble ofdistanttownsandbroughttotheDuke’sestatetolearntoreadandwrite,andtolearn a trade.Theboywas short and stocky, shybut always smiling.Thegirlwasdifferent,andsheknewit.Huddledinthekitchencupboard,listeningtothegrownupsgossip,sheheard
theDuke’s housekeeper,AnaKuya, say, “She’s an ugly little thing.No childshouldlooklikethat.Paleandsour,likeaglassofmilkthat’sturned.”“Andsoskinny!”thecookreplied.“Neverfinisheshersupper.”Crouched beside the girl, the boy turned to her andwhispered, “Whydon’t
youeat?”“Becauseeverythingshecookstasteslikemud.”“Tastesfinetome.”“You’lleatanything.”Theybenttheirearsbacktothecrackinthecupboarddoors.Amomentlatertheboywhispered,“Idon’tthinkyou’reugly.”“Shhhh!”thegirlhissed.Buthiddenbythedeepshadowsofthecupboard,she
smiled.INTHESUMMER,theyenduredlonghoursofchoresfollowedbyevenlongerhours of lessons in stifling classrooms.When the heat was at its worst, theyescapedintothewoodstohuntforbirds’nestsorswiminthemuddylittlecreek,or they would lie for hours in their meadow, watching the sun pass slowlyoverhead,speculatingonwhere theywouldbuild theirdairy farmandwhethertheywouldhavetwowhitecowsorthree.Inthewinter,theDukeleftforhiscityhouseinOsAlta,andasthedaysgrewshorterandcolder,theteachersgrewlaxin theirduties,preferring tositby thefireandplaycardsordrinkkvas.Bored
andtrappedindoors,theolderchildrendoledoutmorefrequentbeatings.Sotheboyandthegirlhidinthedisusedroomsoftheestate,puttingonplaysforthemiceandtryingtokeepwarm.OnthedaytheGrishaExaminerscame,theboyandthegirlwereperchedin
thewindowseatofadustyupstairsbedroom,hopingtocatchaglimpseof themailcoach.Instead,theysawasleigh,atroikapulledbythreeblackhorses,passthrough thewhite stonegatesonto theestate.Theywatched its silentprogressthroughthesnowtotheDuke’sfrontdoor.Three figures emerged in elegant fur hats and heavy wool kefta: one in
crimson,oneindarkestblue,andoneinvibrantpurple.“Grisha!”thegirlwhispered.“Quick!”saidtheboy.Inaninstant,theyhadshakenofftheirshoesandwererunningsilentlydown
thehall,slippingthroughtheemptymusicroomanddartingbehindacolumninthe gallery that overlooked the sitting roomwhereAnaKuya liked to receiveguests.AnaKuyawasalreadythere,birdlikeinherblackdress,pouringteafromthe
samovar,herlargekeyringjanglingatherwaist.“Therearejustthetwothisyear,then?”saidawoman’slowvoice.Theypeeredthroughtherailingofthebalconytotheroombelow.Twoofthe
Grishasatbythefire:ahandsomemaninblueandawomaninredrobeswithahaughty, refined air. The third, a young blond man, ambled about the room,stretchinghislegs.“Yes,” saidAnaKuya. “Aboy and a girl, the youngest here byquite a bit.
Botharoundeight,wethink.”“Youthink?”askedthemaninblue.“Whentheparentsaredeceased…”“Weunderstand,”saidthewoman.“Weare,ofcourse,greatadmirersofyour
institution.Weonlywishmoreof thenobility tookan interest in thecommonpeople.”“OurDukeisaverygreatman,”saidAnaKuya.Up in the balcony, the boy and the girl nodded sagely to each other. Their
benefactor, Duke Keramsov, was a celebrated war hero and a friend to thepeople.Whenhehadreturnedfromthefrontlines,heconvertedhisestateintoanorphanageandahomeforwarwidows.Theyweretoldtokeephimnightlyintheirprayers.“Andwhataretheylike,thesechildren?”askedthewoman.“Thegirlhassometalentfordrawing.Theboyismostathomeinthemeadow
andthewood.”
“Butwhataretheylike?”repeatedthewoman.Ana Kuya pursed her withered lips. “What are they like? They are
undisciplined,contrary,fartooattachedtoeachother.They—”“Theyarelisteningtoeverywordwesay,”saidtheyoungmaninpurple.Theboyandthegirljumpedinsurprise.Hewasstaringdirectlyattheirhiding
spot.Theyshrankbehindthecolumn,butitwastoolate.AnaKuya’s voice lashedout like awhip. “AlinaStarkov!MalyenOretsev!
Comedownhereatonce!”Reluctantly,AlinaandMalmadetheirwaydownthenarrowspiralstaircaseat
the end of the gallery.When they reached the bottom, thewoman in red rosefromherchairandgesturedthemforward.“Doyouknowwhoweare?”thewomanasked.Herhairwassteelgray.Her
facelined,butbeautiful.“You’rewitches!”blurtedMal.“Witches?”shesnarled.ShewhirledonAnaKuya.“Isthatwhatyouteachat
thisschool?Superstitionandlies?”AnaKuyaflushedwithembarrassment.ThewomaninredturnedbacktoMal
andAlina,herdarkeyesblazing.“Wearenotwitches.WearepractitionersoftheSmallScience.Wekeepthiscountryandthiskingdomsafe.”“Asdoes theFirstArmy,”AnaKuyasaidquietly,anunmistakeableedge to
hervoice.Thewomaninredstiffened,butafteramomentsheconceded,“Asdoesthe
King’sArmy.”Theyoungmaninpurplesmiledandkneltbeforethechildren.Hesaidgently,
“Whentheleaveschangecolor,doyoucallitmagic?Whataboutwhenyoucutyour hand and it heals?Andwhenyouput a pot ofwater on the stove and itboils,isitmagicthen?”Malshookhishead,hiseyeswide.ButAlinafrownedandsaid,“Anyonecanboilwater.”AnaKuyasighedinexasperation,butthewomaninredlaughed.“You’reveryright.Anyonecanboilwater.Butnotjustanyonecanmasterthe
SmallScience.That’swhywe’vecome to testyou.”She turned toAnaKuya.“Leaveusnow.”“Wait!” exclaimedMal. “What happens if we’re Grisha?What happens to
us?”Thewoman in red lookeddownat them.“If,by somesmall chance,one of
you is Grisha, then that lucky child will go to a special school whereGrishalearntousetheirtalents.”“You will have the finest clothes, the finest food, whatever your heart
desires,”saidthemaninpurple.“Wouldyoulikethat?”“It is thegreatestway that youmay serveyourKing,” saidAnaKuya, still
hoveringbythedoor.“Thatisverytrue,”saidthewomaninred,pleasedandwillingtomakepeace.Theboyand thegirlglancedateachotherand,because theadultswerenot
payingcloseattention,theydidnotseethegirlreachouttoclasptheboy’shandor the look that passed between them. TheDukewould have recognized thatlook. He had spent long years on the ravaged northern borders, where thevillageswere constantly under siege and thepeasants fought their battleswithlittle aid from the King or anyone else. He had seen a woman, barefoot andunflinchinginherdoorway,facedownarowofbayonets.Heknewthelookofamandefendinghishomewithnothingbutarockinhishand.
CHAPTERISTANDINGONTHEEDGEofacrowdedroad,Ilookeddownontotherollingfieldsandabandonedfarmsof theTulaValleyandgotmyfirstglimpseof theShadow Fold. My regiment was two weeks’ march from the militaryencampment at Poliznaya and the autumn sun was warm overhead, but Ishivered in my coat as I eyed the haze that lay like a dirty smudge on thehorizon.A heavy shoulder slammed into me from behind. I stumbled and nearly
pitchedface-firstintothemuddyroad.“Hey!”shoutedthesoldier.“Watchyourself!”“Whydon’tyouwatchyourfatfeet?”Isnapped,andtooksomesatisfaction
from the surprise that came over his broad face. People, particularly bigmencarryingbigrifles,don’texpectlipfromascrawnythinglikeme.Theyalwayslookabitdazedwhentheygetit.The soldier got over the novelty quickly and gave me a dirty look as he
adjustedthepackonhisback,thendisappearedintothecaravanofhorses,men,carts,andwagonsstreamingoverthecrestofthehillandintothevalleybelow.I quickened my steps, trying to peer over the crowd. I’d lost sight of the
yellowflagofthesurveyors’carthoursago,andIknewIwasfarbehind.AsIwalked,Itookinthegreenandgoldsmellsoftheautumnwood,thesoft
breezeatmyback.WewereontheVy,thewideroadthathadonceledallthewayfromOsAltatothewealthyportcitiesonRavka’swesterncoast.ButthatwasbeforetheShadowFold.Somewhere in the crowd, someone was singing. Singing? What idiot is
singingonhiswayintotheFold?Iglancedagainatthatsmudgeonthehorizonandhadtosuppressashudder.I’dseentheShadowFoldonmanymaps,ablackslash that had severed Ravka from its only coastline and left it landlocked.Sometimes itwasshownasastain,sometimesasableakandshapelesscloud.And then there were the maps that just showed the Shadow Fold as a long,narrow lakeand labeled itby itsothername,“theUnsea,”aname intended toputsoldiersandmerchantsattheireaseandencouragecrossings.Isnorted.Thatmightfoolsomefatmerchant,butitwaslittlecomforttome.Itoremyattentionfromthesinisterhazehoveringinthedistanceandlooked
downontotheruinedfarmsoftheTula.ThevalleyhadoncebeenhometosomeofRavka’s richest estates.Oneday itwasaplacewhere farmers tendedcropsand sheep grazed in green fields. The next, a dark slash had appeared on thelandscape,aswathofnearlyimpenetrabledarknessthatgrewwitheverypassingyear and crawledwith horrors.Where the farmers had gone, their herds, theircrops,theirhomesandfamilies,nooneknew.Stop it, I toldmyself firmly.You’reonlymaking thingsworse.Peoplehave
beencrossingtheFoldforyears…usuallywithmassivecasualties,butallthesame.Itookadeepbreathtosteadymyself.“No fainting in themiddle of the road,” said a voice close tomy ear as a
heavyarmlandedacrossmyshouldersandgavemeasqueeze.IlookeduptoseeMal’sfamiliarface,asmileinhisbrightblueeyesashefellintostepbesideme.“C’mon,”hesaid.“Onefootinfrontoftheother.Youknowhowit’sdone.”“You’reinterferingwithmyplan.”“Ohreally?”“Yes.Faint,gettrampled,grievousinjuriesallaround.”“Thatsoundslikeabrilliantplan.”“Ah,butifI’mhorriblymaimed,Iwon’tbeabletocrosstheFold.”Malnoddedslowly.“Isee.Icanshoveyouunderacartifthatwouldhelp.”“I’ll think about it,” I grumbled, but I felt my mood lifting all the same.
Despitemybestefforts,Malstillhad thateffectonme.AndIwasn’t theonlyone.Aprettyblondgirlstrolledbyandwaved,throwingMalaflirtatiousglanceoverhershoulder.“Hey,Ruby,”hecalled.“Seeyoulater?”Rubygiggledandscamperedoffintothecrowd.Malgrinnedbroadlyuntilhe
caughtmyeyeroll.“What?IthoughtyoulikedRuby.”“Asithappens,wedon’thavemuchtotalkabout,”Isaiddrily.Iactuallyhad
likedRuby—atfirst.WhenMalandIlefttheorphanageatKeramzintotrainforourmilitary service inPoliznaya, I’dbeennervousaboutmeetingnewpeople.Butlotsofgirlshadbeenexcitedtobefriendme,andRubyhadbeenamongthemosteager.ThosefriendshipslastedaslongasittookmetofigureoutthattheironlyinterestinmelayinmyproximitytoMal.NowIwatchedhimstretchhisarmsexpansivelyand turnhis faceup to the
autumn sky, looking perfectly content. There was even, I noted with somedisgust,alittlebounceinhisstep.“Whatiswrongwithyou?”Iwhisperedfuriously.“Nothing,”hesaid,surprised.“Ifeelgreat.”“Buthowcanyoubeso…sojaunty?”
“Jaunty?I’veneverbeenjaunty.Ihopenevertobejaunty.”“Well, thenwhat’sall this?” Iasked,wavingahandathim.“You look like
you’re on your way to a really good dinner instead of possible death anddismemberment.”Mallaughed.“Youworrytoomuch.TheKing’ssentawholegroupofGrisha
pyrostocovertheskiffs,andevenafewofthosecreepyHeartrenders.Wehaveourrifles,”hesaid,pattingtheoneonhisback.“We’llbefine.”“Ariflewon’tmakemuchdifferenceifthere’sabadattack.”Mal gave me a bemused glance. “What’s with you lately? You’re even
grumpierthanusual.Andyoulookterrible.”“Thanks,”Igroused.“Ihaven’tbeensleepingwell.”“Whatelseisnew?”Hewasright,ofcourse.I’dneversleptwell.Butithadbeenevenworseover
thelastfewdays.SaintsknewIhadplentyofgoodreasonstodreadgoingintothe Fold, reasons shared by every member of our regiment who had beenunluckyenoughtobechosenfor thecrossing.But therewassomethingelse,adeeperfeelingofuneasethatIcouldn’tquitename.IglancedatMal.TherehadbeenatimewhenIcouldhavetoldhimanything.
“Ijust…havethisfeeling.”“Stopworryingsomuch.Maybethey’llputMikhaelontheskiff.Thevolcra
willtakeonelookatthatbigjuicybellyofhisandleaveusalone.”Unbidden,amemorycametome:MalandI,sittingsidebysideinachairin
the Duke’s library, flipping through the pages of a large leather-bound book.We’dhappenedonanillustrationofavolcra:long,filthyclaws;leatherywings;androwsofrazor-sharpteethforfeastingonhumanflesh.Theywereblindfromgenerations spent living and hunting in theFold, but legend had it they couldsmellhumanbloodfrommilesaway.I’dpointedtothepageandasked,“Whatisitholding?”IcouldstillhearMal’swhisperinmyear.“Ithink—Ithinkit’safoot.”We’d
slammedthebookshutandrunsquealingoutintothesafetyofthesunlight….Withoutrealizingit,I’dstoppedwalking,frozeninplace,unabletoshakethe
memoryfrommymind.WhenMalrealizedIwasn’twithhim,hegaveagreatbeleagueredsighandmarchedbacktome.Herestedhishandsonmyshouldersandgavemealittleshake.“Iwaskidding.Noone’sgoingtoeatMikhael.”“Iknow,”Isaid,staringdownatmyboots.“You’rehilarious.”“Alina,comeon.We’llbefine.”“Youcan’tknowthat.”“Lookatme.”Iwilledmyselftoraisemyeyestohis.“Iknowyou’rescared.I
am,too.Butwe’regoingtodothis,andwe’regoingtobefine.Wealwaysare.Okay?”Hesmiled,andmyheartgaveaveryloudthudinmychest.Irubbedmythumboverthescarthatranacrossthepalmofmyrighthandand
tookashakybreath.“Okay,”Isaidgrudgingly,andIactuallyfeltmyselfsmilingback.“Madam’sspiritshavebeenrestored!”Malshouted.“Thesuncanoncemore
shine!”“Ohwillyoushutup?”Iturnedtogivehimapunch,butbeforeIcould,he’dgrabbedholdofmeand
liftedmeoffmyfeet.Aclatterofhoovesandshoutssplittheair.Malyankedmetothesideoftheroadjustasahugeblackcoachroaredpast,scatteringpeoplebeforeitastheyrantoavoidthepoundinghoovesoffourblackhorses.Besidethewhip-wieldingdriverperchedtwosoldiersincharcoalcoats.TheDarkling.Therewasnomistakinghisblackcoachortheuniformofhis
personalguard.Another coach, this one lacquered red, rumbled past us at amore leisurely
pace.I looked up at Mal, my heart racing from the close call. “Thanks,” I
whispered.Malsuddenlyseemedtorealizethathehadhisarmsaroundme.Helet go and hastily stepped back. I brushed the dust frommy coat, hoping hewouldn’tnoticetheflushonmycheeks.Athirdcoachrolledby,lacqueredinblue,andagirlleanedoutthewindow.
She had curling black hair and wore a hat of silver fox. She scanned thewatchingcrowdand,predictably,hereyeslingeredonMal.You were just mooning over him, I chided myself. Why shouldn’t some
gorgeousGrishadothesame?HerlipscurledintoasmallsmileassheheldMal’sgaze,watchinghimover
hershoulderuntilthecoachwasoutofsight.Malgoggleddumblyafterher,hismouthslightlyopen.“Closeyourmouthbeforesomethingfliesin,”Isnapped.Malblinked,stilllookingdazed.“Didyouseethat?”avoicebellowed.IturnedtoseeMikhaellopingtoward
us,wearinganalmostcomicalexpressionofawe.Mikhaelwasahugeredheadwithawidefaceandanevenwiderneck.Behindhim,Dubrov,reedyanddark,hurriedtocatchup.TheywerebothtrackersinMal’sunitandneverfarfromhisside.“OfcourseIsawit,”Malsaid,hisdopeyexpressionevaporatingintoacocky
grin.Irolledmyeyes.“Shelookedrightatyou!”shoutedMikhael,clappingMalontheback.
Malgaveacasualshrug,buthissmilewidened.“Soshedid,”hesaidsmugly.Dubrovshiftednervously.“TheysayGrishagirlscanputspellsonyou.”Isnorted.Mikhaellookedatmeasifhehadn’tevenknownIwasthere.“Hey,Sticks,”
hesaid,andgavemealittlejabonthearm.Iscowledat thenickname,buthehadalreadyturnedbacktoMal.“Youknowshe’llbestayingatcamp,”hesaidwithaleer.“IheartheGrishatent’sasbigasacathedral,”addedDubrov.“Lotsofniceshadowynooks,”saidMikhael,andactuallywaggledhisbrows.Malwhooped.Without sparingme another glance, the three of them strode
off,shoutingandshovingoneanother.“Greatseeingyouguys,”Imutteredundermybreath.Ireadjustedthestrapof
the satchel slungacrossmy shoulders and startedbackdown the road, joiningthelastfewstragglersdownthehillandintoKribirsk.Ididn’tbothertohurry.I’d probably get yelled at when I finallymade it to theDocuments Tent, buttherewasnothingIcoulddoaboutitnow.IrubbedmyarmwhereMikhaelhadpunchedme.Sticks. Ihated thatname.
Youdidn’tcallmeStickswhenyouweredrunkonkvasandtryingtopawmeatthespringbonfire,youmiserableoaf,Ithoughtspitefully.Kribirskwasn’tmuchtolookat.AccordingtotheSeniorCartographer,ithad
beenasleepymarkettowninthedaysbeforetheShadowFold,littlemorethanadustymain square and an inn for weary travelers on the Vy. But now it hadbecomeakindoframshackleportcity,growinguparoundapermanentmilitaryencampment and the drydockswhere the sandskiffswaited to take passengersthroughthedarknesstoWestRavka.IpassedtavernsandpubsandwhatIwasprettysurewerebrothelsmeanttocatertothetroopsoftheKing’sArmy.Therewere shops selling rifles and crossbows, lamps and torches, all necessaryequipment for a trek across the Fold. The little church with its whitewashedwallsandgleamingoniondomeswasinsurprisinglygoodrepair.Ormaybenotsosurprising,Iconsidered.AnyonecontemplatingatripacrosstheShadowFoldwouldbesmarttostopandpray.Ifoundmywaytowherethesurveyorswerebilleted,depositedmypackona
cot, and hurried over to the Documents Tent. To my relief, the SeniorCartographerwasnowhereinsight,andIwasabletoslipinsideunseen.Enteringthewhitecanvastent,Ifeltmyselfrelaxfor thefirst timesinceI’d
caughtsightoftheFold.TheDocumentsTentwasessentiallythesameineverycampI’dseen,fullofbrightlightandrowsofdraftingtableswhereartistsandsurveyorsbenttotheirwork.Afterthenoiseandjostleofthejourney,therewassomething soothing about the crackle of paper, the smell of ink, and the soft
scratchingofnibsandbrushes.I pulled my sketchbook from my coat pocket and slid onto a workbench
beside Alexei, who turned to me and whispered irritably, “Where have youbeen?”“NearlygettingtrampledbytheDarkling’scoach,”Ireplied,grabbingaclean
pieceofpaperandflippingthroughmysketchestotrytofindasuitableonetocopy.AlexeiandIwerebothjuniorcartographers’assistantsand,aspartofourtraining, we had to submit two finished sketches or renderings at the end ofeveryday.Alexeidrewinasharpbreath.“Really?Didyouactuallyseehim?”“Actually,Iwastoobusytryingnottodie.”“Thereareworsewaystogo.”Hecaughtsightofthesketchofarockyvalley
I was about to start copying. “Ugh. Not that one.” He flipped through mysketchbook to an elevation of amountain ridge and tapped it with his finger.“There.”IbarelyhadtimetoputpentopaperbeforetheSeniorCartographerentered
thetentandcameswoopingdowntheaisle,observingourworkashepassed.“Ihopethat’sthesecondsketchyou’restarting,AlinaStarkov.”“Yes,”Ilied.“Yes,itis.”AssoonastheCartographerhadpassedon,Alexeiwhispered,“Tellmeabout
thecoach.”“Ihavetofinishmysketches.”“Here,”hesaidinexasperation,slidingoneofhissketchesovertome.“He’llknowit’syourwork.”“It’snotthatgood.Youshouldbeabletopassitoffasyours.”“Now there’s theAlexei Iknowand tolerate,” Igrumbled,but Ididn’tgive
backthesketch.Alexeiwasoneofthemosttalentedassistantsandheknewit.Alexeiextractedevery lastdetail frommeabout the threeGrishacoaches. I
wasgratefulforthesketch,soIdidmybesttosatisfyhiscuriosityasIfinishedupmyelevationofthemountainridgeandworkedinmythumbmeasurementsofsomeofthehighestpeaks.Bythetimewewerefinished,duskwasfalling.Wehandedinourworkand
walkedtothemesstent,wherewestoodinlineformuddystewladledoutbyasweatycookandfoundseatswithsomeoftheothersurveyors.Ipassedthemealinsilence,listeningtoAlexeiandtheothersexchangecamp
gossipandjitterytalkabouttomorrow’scrossing.AlexeiinsistedthatIretellthestoryoftheGrishacoaches,anditwasmetbytheusualmixoffascinationandfearthatgreetedanymentionoftheDarkling.“He’snotnatural,”saidEva,anotherassistant;shehadprettygreeneyesthat
didlittletodistractfromherpiglikenose.“Noneofthemare.”Alexeisniffed.“Pleasespareusyoursuperstition,Eva.”“ItwasaDarklingwhomadetheShadowFoldtobeginwith.”“Thatwashundredsofyearsago!”protestedAlexei.“AndthatDarklingwas
completelymad.”“Thisoneisjustasbad.”“Peasant,” Alexei said, and dismissed her with a wave. Eva gave him an
affrontedlookanddeliberatelyturnedawayfromhimtotalktoherfriends.Istayedquiet.IwasmoreapeasantthanEva,despitehersuperstitions.Itwas
only by the Duke’s charity that I could read and write, but by unspokenagreement,MalandIavoidedmentioningKeramzin.Asifoncue,araucousburstoflaughterpulledmefrommythoughts.Ilooked
overmyshoulder.Malwasholdingcourtatarowdytableoftrackers.Alexeifollowedmyglance.“Howdidyoutwobecomefriendsanyway?”“Wegrewuptogether.”“Youdon’tseemtohavemuchincommon.”Ishrugged.“Iguessit’seasytohavealotincommonwhenyou’rekids.”Like
loneliness,andmemoriesofparentsweweremeanttoforget,andthepleasureofescapingchorestoplaytaginourmeadow.Alexei looked so skeptical that I had to laugh. “He wasn’t always the
AmazingMal,experttrackerandseducerofGrishagirls.”Alexei’sjawdropped.“HeseducedaGrishagirl?”“No,butI’msurehewill,”Imuttered.“Sowhatwashelike?”“Hewasshortandpudgyandafraidofbaths,”Isaidwithsomesatisfaction.AlexeiglancedatMal.“Iguessthingschange.”Irubbedmythumboverthescarinmypalm.“Iguesstheydo.”Weclearedourplatesanddriftedoutofthemesstentintothecoolnight.On
theway back to the barracks,we took a detour so thatwe couldwalk by theGrishacamp.TheGrishapavilionreallywasthesizeofacathedral,coveredinblack silk, its blue, red, and purple pennants flying high above. Hiddensomewhere behind it were the Darkling’s tents, guarded by CorporalkiHeartrendersandtheDarkling’spersonalguard.WhenAlexei had looked his fill,wewended ourway back to our quarters.
Alexei got quiet and started cracking his knuckles, and I knewwewere boththinking about tomorrow’s crossing. Judging by the gloomy mood in thebarracks,weweren’talone.Somepeoplewerealreadyontheircots,sleeping—ortryingto—whileothershuddledbylamplight,talkinginlowtones.Afewsatclutchingtheiricons,prayingtotheirSaints.
Iunfurledmybedrollonanarrowcot, removedmyboots,andhungupmycoat.ThenIwriggleddownintothefur-linedblanketsandstaredupattheroof,waitingforsleep.Istayedthatwayforalongtime,untilthelamplightshadallbeenextinguishedand thesoundsofconversationgaveway tosoft snoresandtherustleofbodies.Tomorrow, if everythingwent as planned,wewould pass safely through to
WestRavka,andIwouldgetmyfirstglimpseoftheTrueSea.There,Malandthe other trackerswould hunt for redwolves and sea foxes and other covetedcreatures that could only be found in the west. I would stay with thecartographers in Os Kervo to finish my training and help draft whateverinformationwemanagedtogleanintheFold.Andthen,ofcourse,I’dhavetocross theFold again inorder to returnhome.But itwashard to think that farahead.IwasstillwideawakewhenIheardit.Taptap.Pause.Tap.Thenagain:Tap
tap.Pause.Tap.“What’sgoingon?”mumbledAlexeidrowsilyfromthecotnearestmine.“Nothing,” Iwhispered, already slippingout ofmybedroll and shovingmy
feetintomyboots.I grabbedmy coat and crept out of the barracks as quietly as I could.As I
openedthedoorIheardagiggle,andafemalevoicecalledfromsomewhereinthedarkroom,“Ifit’sthattracker,tellhimtocomeinsideandkeepmewarm.”“Ifhewants tocatch tsifil, I’msureyou’llbehis first stop,” I said sweetly,
andslippedoutintothenight.ThecoldairstungmycheeksandIburiedmychininmycollar,wishingI’d
takenthetimetograbmyscarfandgloves.Malwassittingonthericketysteps,hisback tome.Beyondhim, IcouldseeMikhaelandDubrovpassingabottlebackandforthbeneaththeglowinglightsofthefootpath.I scowled. “Please tell me you didn’t just wake me up to inform me that
you’regoingtotheGrishatent.Whatdoyouwant,advice?”“Youweren’tsleeping.Youwerelyingawakeworrying.”“Wrong. I was planning how to sneak into the Grisha pavilion and snag
myselfacuteCorporalnik.”Mal laughed. I hesitated by the door. This was the hardest part of being
aroundhim—otherthanthewayhemademyheartdoclumsyacrobatics.Ihatedhidinghowmuchthestupid thingshedidhurtme,butIhated the ideaofhimfinding out even more. I thought about just turning around and going backinside.Instead,Iswallowedmyjealousyandsatdownbesidehim.“Ihopeyoubroughtmesomethingnice,”Isaid.“Alina’sSecretsofSeduction
donotcomecheap.”
Hegrinned.“Canyouputitonmytab?”“Isuppose.ButonlybecauseIknowyou’regoodforit.”I peered into thedark andwatchedDubrov take a swig from thebottle and
then lurch forward.Mikhael put his armout to steadyhim, and the sounds oftheirlaughterfloatedbacktousonthenightair.Mal shook his head and sighed. “He always tries to keep upwithMikhael.
He’llprobablyenduppukingonmyboots.”“Serves you right,” I said. “Sowhatare you doing here?”Whenwe’d first
startedourmilitaryserviceayearago,Malhadvisitedmealmosteverynight.Buthehadn’tcomebyinmonths.Heshrugged.“Idon’tknow.Youlookedsomiserableatdinner.”I was surprised he’d noticed. “Just thinking about the crossing,” I said
carefully. Itwasn’t exactly a lie. Iwas terrified of entering theFold, andMaldefinitely didn’t need to know that Alexei and I had been talking about him.“ButI’mtouchedbyyourconcern.”“Hey,”hesaidwithagrin,“Iworry.”“Ifyou’relucky,avolcrawillhavemeforbreakfasttomorrowandthenyou
won’thavetofretanymore.”“YouknowI’dbelostwithoutyou.”“You’veneverbeenlostinyourlife,”Iscoffed.Iwasthemapmaker,butMal
couldfindtruenorthblindfoldedandstandingonhishead.Hebumpedhisshoulderagainstmine.“YouknowwhatImean.”“Sure,”Isaid.ButIdidn’t.Notreally.Wesatinsilence,watchingourbreathmakeplumesinthecoldair.Malstudiedthetoesofhisbootsandsaid,“IguessI’mnervous,too.”InudgedhimwithmyelbowandsaidwithconfidenceIdidn’tfeel,“Ifwecan
takeonAnaKuya,wecanhandleafewvolcra.”“If I remember right, the last timewecrossedAnaKuya,yougotyourears
boxedandwebothendedupmuckingoutthestables.”I winced. “I’m trying to be reassuring. You could at least pretend I’m
succeeding.”“Youknowthefunnything?”heasked.“Iactuallymisshersometimes.”Ididmybesttohidemyastonishment.We’dspentmorethantenyearsofour
lives inKeramzin, but usually I got the impression thatMalwanted to forgeteverything about the place, maybe even me. There he’d been another lostrefugee,anotherorphanmadetofeelgratefulforeverymouthfuloffood,everyusedpairofboots.Inthearmy,he’dcarvedoutarealplaceforhimselfwherenooneneededtoknowthathe’doncebeenanunwantedlittleboy.“Metoo,”Iadmitted.“Wecouldwritetoher.”
“Maybe,”Malsaid.Suddenly,hereachedoutandtookholdofmyhand.Itriedtoignorethelittle
joltthatwentthroughme.“Thistimetomorrow,we’llbesittingintheharboratOsKervo,lookingoutattheoceananddrinkingkvas.”IglancedatDubrovweavingbackandforthandsmiled.“IsDubrovbuying?”“Justyouandme,”Malsaid.“Really?”“It’salwaysjustyouandme,Alina.”Foramoment,itseemedlikeitwastrue.Theworldwasthisstep,thiscircle
oflamplight,thetwoofussuspendedinthedark.“Comeon!”bellowedMikhaelfromthepath.Malstartedlikeamanwakingfromadream.Hegavemyhandalastsqueeze
beforehedroppedit.“Gottago,”hesaid,hisbrashgrinslidingbackintoplace.“Trytogetsomesleep.”Hehoppedlightlyfromthestairsandjoggedofftojoinhisfriends.“Wishme
luck!”hecalledoverhisshoulder.“Goodluck,”Isaidautomaticallyandthenwantedtokickmyself.Goodluck?
Havealovelytime,Mal.HopeyoufindaprettyGrisha,falldeeplyinlove,andmakelotsofgorgeous,disgustinglytalentedbabiestogether.Isatfrozenonthesteps,watchingthemdisappeardownthepath,stillfeeling
thewarmpressureofMal’shandinmine.Ohwell,IthoughtasIgottomyfeet.Maybehe’llfallintoaditchonhiswaythere.I edged back into the barracks, closed the door tightly behind me, and
gratefullysnuggledintomybedroll.Wouldthatblack-hairedGrishagirlsneakoutofthepaviliontomeetMal?I
pushedthethoughtaway.Itwasnoneofmybusiness,andreally,Ididn’twanttoknow.Malhadneverlookedatmethewayhe’dlookedatthatgirloreventheway he looked at Ruby, and he never would. But the fact that we were stillfriendswasmoreimportantthananyofthat.For how long? said a nagging voice in my head. Alexei was right: things
change.Malhadchangedforthebetter.He’dgottenhandsomer,braver,cockier.AndI’dgotten…taller. I sighedandrolledontomyside. Iwanted tobelievethatMalandIwouldalwaysbefriends,butIhadtofacethefactthatwewereondifferentpaths.Lying in thedark,waiting for sleep, Iwondered if thosepathswould just keep taking us further and further apart, and if a daymight comewhenwewouldbestrangerstoeachotheronceagain.
CHAPTER2THEMORNINGPASSED in a blur: breakfast, a brief trip to theDocumentsTent topackadditional inksandpaper, then thechaosof thedrydock. I stoodwiththerestofthesurveyors,waitingourturntoboardoneofasmallfleetofsandskiffs. Behind us, Kribirsk was waking up and going about its business.Aheadlaythestrange,shiftingdarknessoftheFold.Animals were too noisy and scared too easily for travel on the Unsea, so
crossings were made on sandskiffs, shallow sleds rigged with enormous sailsthatletthemskatealmostsoundlesslyoverthedeadgraysands.Theskiffswereloadedwith grain, timber, and rawcotton, but on the trip back theywouldbestockedwithsugar,rifles,andallmanneroffinishedgoodsthatpassedthroughtheseaportsofWestRavka.Lookingoutattheskiff’sdeck,equippedwithlittlemore than a sail and a rickety railing, all I could thinkwas that it offered noplacetohide.Atthemastofeachsled,flankedbyheavilyarmedsoldiers,stoodtwoGrisha
Etherealki,theOrderofSummoners,indarkbluekefta.ThesilverembroideryattheircuffsandthehemsoftheirrobesindicatedthattheywereSquallers,Grishawho could raise or lower the pressure of the air and fill the skiffs’ sailswithwindthatwouldcarryusacrossthelongmilesoftheFold.Soldiers armedwith rifles andoverseenbyagrimofficer lined the railings.
BetweenthemstoodmoreEtherealki,buttheirbluerobesboretheredcuffsthatindicatedtheycouldraisefire.At a signal from the skiff’s captain, the Senior Cartographer herded me,
Alexei,andtherestoftheassistantsontotheskifftojointheotherpassengers.Thenhe tookhis placebeside theSquallers at themast,where hewouldhelpthemnavigatethroughthedark.Hehadacompassinhishand,butitwouldbeoflittleuseoncewewereontheFold.Aswecrowdedondeck,IcaughtaglimpseofMalstandingwiththetrackersontheothersideoftheskiff.Theywerealsoarmedwithrifles.Arowofarchersstoodbehindthem,thequiversontheirbacksbristlingwitharrowstippedinGrishasteel.Ifingeredthehiltofthearmy-issueknifetuckedintomybelt.Itdidn’tgivememuchconfidence.Ashoutrangoutfromtheforemanonthedocks,andcrewsofburlymenon
the ground began pushing the skiffs into the colorless sand that marked the
farthest reachesof theFold.They steppedbackhurriedly, as if thatpale,deadsandwouldburntheirfeet.Then it was our turn, and with a sudden jolt our skiff lurched forward,
creaking against the earth as the dockworkers heaved. I grabbed the railing tosteadymyself,myheartbeatingwildly.TheSquallersliftedtheirarms.Thesailsbillowedopenwithaloudsnap,andourskiffsurgedforwardintotheFold.Atfirst,itwaslikedriftingintoathickcloudofsmoke,buttherewasnoheat,
nosmelloffire.Soundsseemedtodampenandtheworldbecamestill.Iwatchedthe sandskiffs aheadofus slide into thedarkness, fading fromview,oneafteranother.IrealizedthatIcouldnolongerseetheprowofourskiffandthenthatIcouldnotseemyownhandontherailing.Ilookedbackovermyshoulder.Thelivingworld had disappeared. Darkness fell around us, black, weightless, andabsolute.WewereintheFold.Itwaslikestandingattheendofeverything.Iheldtighttotherailing,feeling
thewooddigintomyhand,gratefulforitssolidity.Ifocusedonthatandthefeelof my toes in my boots, gripping the deck. To my left, I could hear Alexeibreathing.I tried to thinkabout thesoldierswith their riflesand theblue-robedGrisha
pyros.Thehope in crossing theFoldwas thatwewouldpass through silentlyand unnoticed; no shot would sound, no fire would be summoned. But theirpresencecomfortedmeallthesame.Idon’tknowhowlongwewentonthatway,theskiffsfloatingforward,the
onlysoundthegentleraspofsandontheirhulls.Itseemedlikeminutes,butitmight have been hours.We’re going to be okay, I thought to myself.We’regoingtobeokay.ThenIfeltAlexei’shandfumblingformine.Heseizedholdofmywrist.“Listen!”hewhispered,andhisvoicewashoarsewithterror.Foramoment,
all I heard was his ragged breathing and the steady hiss of the skiff. Then,somewhereoutinthedarkness,anothersound,faintbutrelentless:therhythmicflappingofwings.IgrabbedAlexei’sarmwithonehandandclutchedthehiltofmyknifewith
theother,myheartpounding,myeyes straining to see something, anything intheblackness.Iheardthesoundoftriggersbeingcocked,thetapofarrowsbeingnotched.Someonewhispered,“Beready.”Wewaited,listeningtothesoundofwingsbeatingtheair,growinglouderastheydrewnearer,likethedrumsofanoncoming army. I thought I could feel thewind stir againstmy cheek as theycircledcloser,closer.“Burn!”Thecommandrangout,followedbythecrackleofflintstrikingstone
andanexplosivewhooshasripplingbloomsofGrishaflameeruptedfromeach
oftheskiffs.Isquintedinto thesuddenbrightness,waitingformyvisiontoadjust. In the
firelight, I saw them.Volcraweresupposed tomove insmall flocks,but theretheywere…nottensbuthundreds,hoveringandswoopingintheairaroundtheskiff.Theyweremore frightening than anything I had ever seen in any book,thananymonsterIcouldhaveimagined.Shotsrangout.Thearchersletfly,andtheshrieksofvolcrasplittheair,highandhorrible.Theydove.Iheardashrillwailandwatchedinhorrorasasoldierwaslifted
from his feet and carried into the air, kicking and struggling. Alexei and Ihuddledtogether,crouchedlowagainsttherailing,clingingtoourflimsyknivesandmutteringourprayersastheworlddissolvedintonightmare.Allaroundus,menshouted,peoplescreamed,soldierswerelockedincombatwiththemassive,writhing forms of winged beasts, and the unnatural darkness of the Fold wasbrokeninfitsandstartsbyburstsofgoldenGrishaflame.Thenacryrenttheairbesideme.IgaspedasAlexei’sarmwasyankedfrom
mine.Inaspurtofflame,Isawhimclutchingattherailingwithonehand.Isawhis howlingmouth, hiswide, terrified eyes, and themonstrous thing that heldhiminitsglisteninggrayarms,itswingsbeatingtheairasitliftedhimfromhisfeet, its thick claws sunk deep into his back, its talons already wet with hisblood.Alexei’sfingersslippedontherailing.Ilungedforwardandgrabbedhisarm.“Holdon!”Icried.Then the flame vanished, and in the darkness I felt Alexei’s fingers pulled
frommine.“Alexei!”Ishouted.Hisscreamsfadedintothesoundsofbattleasthevolcracarriedhimintothe
dark.Anotherburstofflamelitthesky,buthewasgone.“Alexei!”Iyelled,leaningoverthesideoftherailing.“Alexei!”Theanswercameinagustofwingsasanothervolcraswoopeddownonme.I
careenedbackward,barelyavoidingitsgrasp,myknifeheldoutbeforemewithtremblinghands.Thevolcralungedforward,thefirelightglintingoffitsmilky,sightless eyes, its gaping mouth crowded with rows of sharp, crooked blackteeth.Isawaflashofpowderfromthecornerofmyeye,heardarifleshot,andthevolcrastumbled,yowlinginrageandpain.“Move!”ItwasMal,rifleinhand,facestreakedwithblood.Hegrabbedmy
armandpulledmebehindhim.Thevolcrawasstillcoming,clawingitswayacrossthedeck,oneofitswings
hanging at a crooked angle.Malwas trying to reload in the firelight, but thevolcrawastoofast.Itrushedatus,clawsslashing,itstalonstearingacrossMal’s
chest.Hescreamedinpain.I grabbed hold of the volcra’s broken wing and stabbed my knife deep
between its shoulders. Its muscled flesh felt slimy beneath my hands. Itscreeched and thrashed free ofmy grip, and I fell backward, hitting the deckhard.Itlungedatmeinafrenzyofrage,itshugejawssnapping.Anothershotrangout.Thevolcrastumbledandfellinagrotesqueheap,black
bloodpouringfromitsmouth.Inthedimlight,IsawMalloweringhisrifle.Histornshirtwasdarkwithblood.Therifleslidfromhisfingersasheswayedandfelltohisknees,thencollapsedontothedeck.“Mal!”Iwasathissideinaninstant,myhandspressingdownonhischestin
a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. “Mal!” I sobbed, the tears streamingdownmycheeks.The airwas thickwith the smell of blood and gunpowder.All around us, I
heardriflefire,peopleweeping…andtheobscenesoundofsomethingfeeding.TheflamesoftheGrishaweregrowingweaker,moresporadic,andworstofall,I realized theskiffhadstoppedmoving.This is it, I thoughthopelessly. IbentlowoverMal,keepingpressureonthewound.Hisbreathingwaslabored.“They’recoming,”hegasped.I looked up and saw, in the feeble, fading glow of Grisha fire, two volcra
swoopingdownuponus.IhuddledoverMal,shieldinghisbodywithmine.Iknewitwasfutile,butit
wasallIcouldoffer.Ismelledthefetidstenchofthevolcra,felttheairgustingfromtheirwings. Ipressedmyforehead toMal’sandheardhimwhisper,“I’llmeetyouinthemeadow.”Somethinginsidemegaveway,infury,inhopelessness,inthecertaintyofmy
own death. I feltMal’s blood beneathmy palms, saw the pain in his belovedface.Avolcrascreechedintriumphasitstalonssankintomyshoulder.Painshotthroughmybody.Andtheworldwentwhite.I closed my eyes as a sudden, piercing flood of light exploded across my
vision.Itseemedtofillmyhead,blindingme,drowningme.Fromsomewhereabove,Iheardahorribleshriek.Ifeltthevolcra’sclawsloosentheirgrip,feltthethud as I fell forward and my head connected with the deck, and then I feltnothingatall.
CHAPTER3IWOKEWITHASTART.Icouldfeeltherushofaironmyskin,andIopenedmyeyestoseewhatlookedlikedarkcloudsofsmoke.Iwasonmyback,onthedeck of the skiff. It took me only a moment to realize that the clouds weregetting thinner, givingway todarkwisps and, between them, a bright autumnsun.Iclosedmyeyesagain,feelingreliefwashoverme.We’reonourwayoutoftheFold,Ithought.Somehow,wemadeitthrough.Orhadwe?Memoriesofthevolcraattackfloodedbacktomeinafrighteningrush.WherewasMal?Itriedtositupandaboltofpainshotthroughmyshoulders.Iignoreditand
pushedmyselfup.Ifoundmyselflookingdownariflebarrel.“Getthatthingawayfromme,”Isnapped,battingitaside.Thesoldierswungtheriflebackaround,jabbingitthreateninglyatme.“Stay
whereyouare,”hecommanded.Istaredathim,stunned.“What’swrongwithyou?”“She’s awake!” he shouted over his shoulder. He was joined by twomore
armed soldiers, the captain of the skiff, and a Corporalnik. With a thrum ofpanic,Isawthatthecuffsofherredkeftawereembroideredinblack.WhatdidaHeartrenderwantwithme?I looked around.ASqualler still stood by themast, arms raised, driving us
forwardonastrongwind,asinglesoldierbyhisside.Thedeckwasslickwithbloodinplaces.MystomachturnedasIrememberedthehorrorofthebattle.ACorporalkiHealerwastendingtothewounded.WherewasMal?ThereweresoldiersandGrishastandingbytherailings,bloodied,singed,and
considerablyfewerinnumberthanwhenwehadsetout.Theywereallwatchingmewarily.With growing fear, I realized that the soldiers and theCorporalnikwereactuallyguardingme.Likeaprisoner.Isaid,“MalOretsev.He’satracker.Hewasinjuredduringtheattack.Where
ishe?”Noonesaidanything.“Please,”Ibegged.“Whereishe?”Therewasa joltas theskiffcameaground.Thecaptaingesturedatmewith
hisrifle.“Up.”I thought about simply refusing to get up until they told me what had
happenedtoMal,butaglanceat theHeartrendermademereconsider. Igot tomyfeet,wincingatthepaininmyshoulder,thenIstumbledastheskiffstarted
tomoveagain,pulledforwardby thedrydockworkerson land. Instinctively, Ireachedouttosteadymyself,butthesoldierItouchedshrankbackfrommeasifburned.Imanagedtofindmyfooting,butmythoughtswerereeling.Theskiffhaltedagain.“Move,”thecaptaincommanded.Thesoldiers ledmeatriflepointfromtheskiff. Ipassedtheothersurvivors,
acutely aware of their curious and frightened stares, and caught sight of theSeniorCartographerbabblingexcitedlytoasoldier.IwantedtostoptotellhimwhathadhappenedtoAlexei,butIdidn’tdare.As I steppedonto thedrydock, Iwas surprised to see thatwewereback in
Kribirsk. We hadn’t even made it across the Fold. I shuddered. Better to bemarchingthroughcampwitharifleatmybackthantobeontheUnsea.Butnotmuchbetter,Ithoughtanxiously.Asthesoldiersmarchedmeupthemainroad,peopleturnedfromtheirwork
togawk.Mymindwaswhirring,searchingforanswersandfindingnothing.HadI done somethingwrong in the Fold?Broken some kind ofmilitary protocol?AndhowhadwegottenoutoftheFold,anyway?Thewoundsnearmyshoulderthrobbed.ThelastthingIrememberedwastheterriblepainofthevolcra’sclawspiercingmyback,thatsearingburstoflight.Howhadwesurvived?These thoughtswere driven frommymind aswe approached theOfficers’
Tent.Thecaptaincalledtheguardstoahaltandsteppedtowardtheentrance.TheCorporalnikreachedoutahandtostophim.“Thisisawasteoftime.We
shouldproceedimmediatelyto—”“Takeyourhandoffme,bloodletter,”thecaptainsnappedandshookhisarm
free.For amoment, theCorporalnik stared at him, her eyes dangerous, then she
smiledcoldlyandbowed.“Da,kapitan.”Ifeltthehaironmyarmsrise.Thecaptaindisappearedinsidethetent.Wewaited.Iglancednervouslyatthe
Corporalnik, who had apparently forgotten her feudwith the captain andwasscrutinizingmeonceagain.Shewasyoung,maybeevenyoungerthanIwas,butthathadn’tstoppedherfromconfrontingasuperiorofficer.Whywouldit?Shecouldkillthecaptainwherehestoodwithouteverraisingaweapon.Irubbedmyarms,tryingtoshakethechillthathadsettledoverme.Thetentflapopened,andIwashorrifiedtoseethecaptainemergefollowed
byasternColonelRaevsky.WhatcouldIpossiblyhavedonethatwouldrequiretheinvolvementofaseniorofficer?Thecolonelpeeredatme,hisweatheredfacegrim.“Whatareyou?”“AssistantCartographerAlinaStarkov.RoyalCorpsofSurveyors—”
Hecutmeoff.“Whatareyou?”Iblinked.“I…I’mamapmaker,sir.”Raevskyscowled.Hepulledoneofthesoldiersasideandmutteredsomething
tohim that sent thesoldier sprintingback toward thedrydocks.“Let’sgo,”hesaidtersely.I felt the jabofariflebarrel inmybackandmarchedforward. Ihadavery
badfeelingaboutwhereIwasbeingtaken.Itcan’tbe,Ithoughtdesperately.Itmakesnosense.Butasthehugeblacktentloomedlargerandlargerbeforeus,therecouldbenodoubtaboutwherewewereheaded.TheentrancetotheGrishatentwasguardedbymoreCorporalkiHeartrenders
and charcoal-clad oprichniki, the elite soldiers who made up the Darkling’spersonalguard.Theoprichnikiweren’tGrisha,buttheywerejustasfrightening.TheCorporalnik from the skiffconferredwith theguardsat the frontof the
tent, then she and Colonel Raevsky disappeared inside. I waited, my heartracing,awareofthewhispersandstaresbehindme,myanxietyrising.High above, four flags fluttered in the breeze: blue, red, purple, and above
them all, black. Just last night, Mal and his friends had been laughing abouttrying toget into this tent,wonderingwhat theymightfind inside.AndnowitseemedIwouldbetheonetofindout.WhereisMal?Thethoughtkeptreturningtome,theonlyclearthoughtIseemedtobeabletoform.After what seemed an eternity, the Corporalnik returned and nodded at the
captain,wholedmeintotheGrishatent.Foramoment,allmyfeardisappeared,eclipsedbythebeautythatsurrounded
me.Thetent’sinnerwallsweredrapedwithcascadesofbronzesilkthatcaughtthe glimmering candlelight from chandeliers sparkling high above. The floorswerecoveredinrichrugsandfurs.Alongthewalls,shimmeringsilkenpartitionsseparated compartments where Grisha clustered in their vibrant kefta. Somestood talking, others lounged on cushions drinking tea. Twowere bent over agame of chess. From somewhere, I heard the strings of a balalaika beingplucked.TheDuke’sestatehadbeenbeautiful,but itwasamelancholybeautyof dusty rooms and peeling paint, the echo of something that had once beengrand.TheGrishatentwaslikenothingIhadeverseenbefore,aplacealivewithpowerandwealth.The soldiersmarchedme down a long carpeted aisle at the end ofwhich I
couldseeablackpaviliononaraiseddais.Arippleofcuriosityspreadthroughthe tent as we passed. Grishamen andwomen stopped their conversations togapeatme;afewevenrosetogetabetterlook.By the timewereached thedais, the roomwasallbutsilent,andI felt sure
thateveryonemusthearmyhearthammeringinmychest.Infrontoftheblack
pavilion, a few richly attiredministerswearing theKing’s double eagle and agroupofCorporalkiclusteredaroundalongtablespreadwithmaps.Attheheadof the tablewas an ornately carved, high-backed chair of blackest ebony, anduponitloungedafigureinablackkefta,hischinrestingononepalehand.Onlyone Grisha wore black, was permitted to wear black. Colonel Raevsky stoodbesidehim,speakingintonesfartoolowformetohear.I stared, torn between fear and fascination.He’s too young, I thought. This
DarklinghadbeencommandingtheGrishasincebeforeIwasborn,butthemanseatedabovemeonthedaisdidn’tlookmucholderthanIdid.Hehadasharp,beautiful face, a shockof thickblackhair, andcleargrayeyes thatglimmeredlikequartz. Iknew that themorepowerfulGrishaweresaid to live long lives,andDarklingswerethemostpowerfulofthemall.ButIfeltthewrongnessofitandIrememberedEva’swords:He’snotnatural.Noneofthemare.Ahigh,tinklinglaughsoundedfromthecrowdthathadformednearmeatthe
base of the dais. I recognized the beautiful girl in blue, the one from theEtherealkicoachwhohadbeensotakenwithMal.Shewhisperedsomethingtoherchestnut-hairedfriend,andtheybothlaughedagain.MycheeksburnedasIimaginedwhat Imust look like ina torn, shabbycoat,aftera journey into theShadowFoldandabattlewithaflockofhungryvolcra.ButIliftedmychinandlookedthebeautifulgirlrightintheeye.Laughallyouwant,Ithoughtgrimly.Whateveryou’rewhispering,I’veheardworse.Sheheldmygazeforamomentand then looked away. I enjoyed a brief flash of satisfaction before ColonelRaevsky’svoicebroughtmebacktotherealityofmysituation.“Bring them,” he said. I turned to seemore soldiers leading a battered and
bewilderedgroupofpeopleintothetentanduptheaisle.Amongthem,Ispottedthe soldierwho had been besidemewhen the volcra attacked and the SeniorCartographer, his usually tidy coat torn and dirty, his face frightened. Mydistressgrewas I realized that theywere the survivors frommysandskiff andthattheyhadbeenbroughtbeforetheDarklingaswitnesses.WhathadhappenedoutthereontheFold?WhatdidtheythinkIhaddone?My breath caught as I recognized the trackers in the group. I sawMikhael
first,hisshaggyredhairbobbingabovethecrowdonhisthickneck,andleaningon him, bandages peeking out from his bloodied shirt, was a very pale, verytired-lookingMal.MylegswentweakandIpressedahandtomymouthtostifleasob.Malwasalive.Iwantedtopushthroughthecrowdandthrowmyarmsaround
him, but it was all I could do to stay standing as relief flooded through me.Whateverhappenedhere,wewouldbeallright.WehadsurvivedtheFold,andwewouldsurvivethismadness,too.
Ilookedbackatthedaisandmyelationwithered.TheDarklingwaslookingdirectly at me. He was still listening to Colonel Raevsky, his posture just asrelaxed as it had been before, but his gazewas focused, intent.He turned hisattentionbacktothecolonelandIrealizedthatIhadbeenholdingmybreath.Whenthebedraggledgroupofsurvivorsreachedthebaseofthedais,Colonel
Raevskyordered,“Kapitan,report.”The captain stood at attention and answered in an expressionless voice:
“Approximately thirtyminutes into the crossing,wewere set upon by a largeflock of volcra.Wewere pinned down and sustaining heavy casualties. Iwasfightingon thestarboardsideof theskiff.At thatpoint, Isaw…”Thesoldierhesitated,andwhenhespokeagain,hisvoicesoundedlesssure.“Idon’tknowexactlywhatIsaw.Ablazeoflight.Brightasnoon,brighter.Likestaringintothesun.”Thecrowderuptedintomurmurs.Thesurvivorsfromtheskiffwerenodding,
andIfoundmyselfnoddingalongwiththem.Ihadseentheblazeoflight,too.The soldier snapped back to attention and continued, “The volcra scattered
andthelightdisappeared.Iorderedusbacktodrydockimmediately.”“Andthegirl?”askedtheDarkling.Withacoldstaboffear,Irealizedhewastalkingaboutme.“Ididn’tseethegirl,moisoverenyi.”TheDarklingraisedaneyebrow,turningtotheothersurvivors.“Whoactually
sawwhathappened?”Hisvoicewascool,distant,almostdisinterested.Thesurvivorsbrokeintomuttereddiscussionwithoneanother.Thenslowly,
timidly,theSeniorCartographersteppedforward.Ifeltakeentwingeofpityforhim.I’dneverseenhimsodisheveled.Hissparsebrownhairwasstandingatallanglesonhishead;hisfingerspluckednervouslyathisruinedcoat.“Telluswhatyousaw,”saidRaevsky.The Cartographer licked his lips. “We … we were under attack,” he said
tremulously. “Therewas fighting all around. Such noise. Somuch blood… .Oneoftheboys,Alexei,wastaken.Itwasterrible,terrible.”Hishandsflutteredliketwostartledbirds.Ifrowned.If theCartographerhadseenAlexeiattacked,thenwhyhadn’the
triedtohelp?Theoldmanclearedhisthroat.“Theywereeverywhere.Isawonegoafterher
—”“Who?”askedRaevsky.“Alina…AlinaStarkov,oneofmyassistants.”Thebeautifulgirlinbluesmirkedandleanedovertowhispertoherfriend.I
clenchedmy jaw.Hownice to know that theGrisha could stillmaintain their
snobberyinthemidstofhearingaboutavolcraattack.“Goon,”Raevskypressed.“I sawonegoafterherand the tracker,” theCartographersaid,gesturing to
Mal.“Andwherewereyou?”Iaskedangrily.Thequestionwasoutofmymouth
before I could think better of it.Every face turned to look atme, but I didn’tcare.“Yousawthevolcraattackus.YousawthatthingtakeAlexei.Whydidn’tyouhelp?”“Therewas nothing I could do,” he pleaded, his hands spreadwide. “They
wereeverywhere.Itwaschaos!”“Alexeimightstillbealiveifyou’dgottenoffyourbonyasstohelpus!”Therewasagaspandaburbleoflaughterfromthecrowd.TheCartographer
flushedangrilyandIfeltinstantlysorry.IfIgotoutofthismess,Iwasgoingtobeinverybigtrouble.“Enough!”boomedRaevsky.“Telluswhatyousaw,Cartographer.”The crowd hushed and the Cartographer licked his lips again. “The tracker
wentdown.Shewasbesidehim.Thatthing,thevolcra,wascomingat them.Isawitontopofherandthen…shelitup.”TheGrishaeruptedintoexclamationsofdisbeliefandderision.Afewofthem
laughed. If I hadn’t been so scared andbaffled, Imight havebeen tempted tojointhem.MaybeIshouldn’thavebeensohardonhim,Ithought,lookingattherumpledCartographer.Thepoormanclearlytookabumptotheheadduringtheattack.“Isawit!”heshoutedoverthedin.“Lightcameoutofher!”Some of theGrishawere jeering openly now, but otherswere yelling, “Let
him speak!” The Cartographer looked desperately to his fellow survivors forsupport, and tomy amazement, I saw some of them nod.Had everyone gonemad?DidtheyactuallythinkIhadchasedoffthevolcra?“Thisisabsurd!”saidavoicefromthecrowd.Itwasthebeautifulgirlinblue.
“Whatareyousuggesting,oldman?Thatyou’vefoundusaSunSummoner?”“I’mnotsuggestinganything,”heprotested.“I’monlytellingwhatIsaw!”“It’snot impossible,” said aheavysetGrisha.Hewore thepurplekefta of a
Materialnik,amemberoftheOrderofFabrikators.“Therearestories—”“Don’t be ridiculous,” the girl laughed, her voice thick with scorn. “The
man’shadhiswitsrattledbythevolcra!”Thecrowderuptedintoloudargument.Isuddenlyfeltverytired.Myshoulderthrobbedwherethevolcrahaddugits
talonsintome.Ididn’tknowwhattheCartographeroranyoftheothersontheskiff thought they had seen. I just knew this was all some kind of terrible
mistake, and at the end of this farce, I would be the one looking foolish. Icringedwhen I thought of the teasing I would takewhen thiswas over. Andhopefully,itwouldbeoversoon.“Quiet.” The Darkling barely seemed to raise his voice, but the command
slicedthroughthecrowdandsilencefell.I suppresseda shiver.Hemightnot find this joke so funny. I justhopedhe
wouldn’t blame me for it. The Darkling wasn’t known for mercy. Maybe Ishould be worrying less about being teased and more about being exiled toTsibeya.Orworse. Eva said that theDarkling had once ordered a CorporalkiHealer to seal a traitor’s mouth shut permanently. The man’s lips had beengrafted together and he had starved to death. At the time, Alexei and I hadlaughedanddismisseditasanotherofEva’scrazystories.NowIwasn’tsosure.“Tracker,”theDarklingsaidsoftly,“whatdidyousee?”Asone, the crowd turned towardMal,who lookeduneasily atme and then
backattheDarkling.“Nothing.Ididn’tseeanything.”“Thegirlwasrightbesideyou.”Malnodded.“Youmusthaveseensomething.”Malglancedatmeagain,hislookweightedwithworryandfatigue.I’dnever
seenhimsopale,andIwonderedhowmuchbloodhehadlost.Ifeltasurgeofhelplessanger.Hewasbadlyhurt.Heshouldberestinginsteadofstandinghereansweringridiculousquestions.“Justtelluswhatyouremember,tracker,”commandedRaevsky.Malshruggedslightlyandwincedatthepainfromhiswounds.“Iwasonmy
backonthedeck.Alinawasnexttome.Isawthevolcradiving,andIknewitwascomingforus.Isaidsomethingand—”“Whatdidyousay?”TheDarkling’scoolvoicecutthroughtheroom.“I don’t remember,”Mal said. I recognized the stubborn set of his jaw and
knewhewas lying.He did remember. “I smelled the volcra, saw it swoopingdownonus.Alina screamedand then I couldn’t see anything.Theworldwasjust…shining.”“Soyoudidn’tseewherethelightwascomingfrom?”Raevskyasked.“Alinaisn’t…Shecouldn’t…”Malshookhishead.“We’refromthesame
… village.” I noticed that tiny pause, the orphan’s pause. “If she could doanythinglikethat,Iwouldknow.”TheDarklinglookedatMalforalongmomentandthenglancedbackatme.“Weallhaveoursecrets,”hesaid.Malopenedhismouth as if to saymore, but theDarklingputup ahand to
silencehim.AngerflashedacrossMal’sfeaturesbutheshuthismouth,hislips
pressedintoagrimline.TheDarklingrosefromhischair.Hegesturedandthesoldierssteppedback,
leaving me alone to face him. The tent seemed eerily silent. Slowly, hedescendedthesteps.Ihadtofighttheurgetobackawayfromhimashecametoahaltinfrontof
me.“Now,whatdoyousay,AlinaStarkov?”heaskedpleasantly.Iswallowed.Mythroatwasdryandmyheartwascareeningfrombeattobeat,
butIknewIhadtospeak.IhadtomakehimunderstandthatI’dhadnopartinanyof this.“There’sbeensomekindofmistake,” Isaidhoarsely.“Ididn’tdoanything.Idon’tknowhowwesurvived.”TheDarklingappearedtoconsiderthis.Thenhecrossedhisarms,cockedhis
headtooneside.“Well,”hesaid,hisvoicebemused.“IliketothinkthatIknoweverythingthathappensinRavka,andthatifIhadaSunSummonerlivinginmyowncountry,I’dbeawareof it.”Softmurmursofassentrosefromthecrowd,butheignoredthem,watchingmeclosely.“ButsomethingpowerfulstoppedthevolcraandsavedtheKing’sskiffs.”Hepausedandwaitedasifheexpectedmetosolvethisconundrumforhim.Mychinrosestubbornly.“Ididn’tdoanything,”Isaid.“Notonething.”Thesideof theDarkling’smouthtwitched,as ifhewererepressingasmile.
His eyes slid overme from head to toe and back again. I felt like somethingstrangeandshiny,acuriositythathadwasheduponalakeshore,thathemightkickasidewithhisboot.“Isyourmemoryas faultyasyour friend’s?”heaskedandbobbedhishead
towardMal.“Idon’t…”Ifaltered.Whatdid I remember?Terror.Darkness.Pain.Mal’s
blood.Hislifeflowingoutofhimbeneathmyhands.Theragethatfilledmeatthethoughtofmyownhelplessness.“Holdoutyourarm,”saidtheDarkling.“What?”“We’vewastedenoughtime.Holdoutyourarm.”Acoldspikeoffearwentthroughme.Ilookedaroundinpanic,buttherewas
nohelptobehad.Thesoldiersstaredforward,stone-faced.Thesurvivorsfromtheskifflookedfrightenedandtired.TheGrisharegardedmecuriously.Thegirlin blue was smirking.Mal’s pale face seemed to have gone even whiter, buttherewasnoanswerinhisworriedeyes.Shaking,Iheldoutmyleftarm.“Pushupyoursleeve.”“Ididn’tdoanything.”I’dmeanttosayitloudly,toproclaimit,butmyvoice
soundedfrightenedandsmall.TheDarklinglookedatme,waiting.Ipushedupmysleeve.Hespreadhisarmsand terrorwashed throughmeas Isawhispalmsfilling
withsomethingblackthatpooledandcurledthroughtheairlikeinkinwater.“Now,”hesaid in thatsamesoft,conversationalvoice,as ifweweresitting
togetherdrinking tea, as if Ididnot standbeforehimshaking, “let’s seewhatyoucando.”He brought his hands together and there was a sound like a thunderclap. I
gaspedasundulatingdarknessspreadfromhisclaspedhands,spillinginablackwaveovermeandthecrowd.Iwasblind.Theroomwasgone.Everythingwasgone.Icriedoutinterroras
I felt the Darkling’s fingers close around my bare wrist. Suddenly, my fearreceded. It was still there, cringing like an animal insideme, but it had beenpushed aside by something calm and sure and powerful, something vaguelyfamiliar.Ifeltacallringthroughmeand,tomysurprise,Ifeltsomethinginmeriseup
toanswer.Ipusheditaway,pusheditdown.SomehowIknewthatifthatthinggotfree,itwoulddestroyme.“Nothingthere?”theDarklingmurmured.Irealizedhowveryclosehewasto
me in thedark.Mypanickedmind seizedonhiswords.Nothing there.That’sright,nothing.Nothingatall.Nowleavemebe!And tomy relief, that struggling thing insideme seemed to lie back down,
leavingtheDarkling’scallunanswered.“Notsofast,”hewhispered.Ifeltsomethingcoldpressagainsttheinsideof
myforearm.InthesamemomentthatIrealizeditwasaknife,thebladecutintomyskin.Painandfearrushedthroughme.Icriedout.Thethinginsidemeroaredtothe
surface,speedingtowardtheDarkling’scall.Icouldn’tstopmyself.Ianswered.Theworldexplodedintoblazingwhitelight.Thedarknessshatteredarounduslikeglass.Foramoment,Isawthefacesof
thecrowd,theirmouthswidewithshockasthetentfilledwithshiningsunlight,theairshimmeringwithheat.ThentheDarklingreleasedhisgrip,andwithhistouchwent that peculiar senseof certainty that hadpossessedme.The radiantlightdisappeared,leavingordinarycandlelightinitsplace,butIcouldstillfeelthewarmandinexplicableglowofsunshineonmyskin.MylegsgavewayandtheDarklingcaughtmeupagainsthisbodywithone
surprisinglystrongarm.“I guess you only look like a mouse,” he whispered in my ear, and then
beckonedtooneofhispersonalguard.“Takeher,”hesaid,handingmeoverto
theoprichnikwhoreachedouthisarmtosupportme.Ifeltmyselfflushat theindignityofbeinghandedoverlikeasackofpotatoes,butIwastooshakyandconfusedtoprotest.BloodwasrunningdownmyarmfromthecuttheDarklinghadgivenme.“Ivan!”shouted theDarkling.AtallHeartrenderrushedfromthedais to the
Darkling’sside.“Gethertomycoach.Iwanthersurroundedbyanarmedguardat all times.Take her to theLittle Palace and stop for nothing.” Ivan nodded.“AndbringaHealertoseetoherwounds.”“Wait!” I protested, but the Darkling was already turning away. I grabbed
holdofhisarm,ignoringthegaspthatrosefromtheGrishaonlookers.“There’sbeensomekindofmistake. Idon’t…I’mnot…”Myvoice trailedoffas theDarklingturnedslowlytome,hisslateeyesdriftingtowheremyhandgrippedhissleeve.Iletgo,butIwasn’tgivingupthateasily.“I’mnotwhatyouthinkIam,”Iwhispereddesperately.TheDarklingsteppedclosertomeandsaid,hisvoicesolowthatonlyIcould
hear,“Idoubtyouhaveanyideawhatyouare.”ThenhenoddedtoIvan.“Go!”The Darkling turned his back on me and walked swiftly toward the raised
dais,where hewas swarmed by advisers andministers, all talking loudly andrapidly.Ivangrabbedmeroughlybythearm.“Comeon.”“Ivan,”calledtheDarkling,“mindyourtone.SheisGrishanow.”Ivanreddenedslightlyandgaveasmallbow,buthisgriponmyarmdidn’t
slackenashepulledmedowntheaisle.“Youhavetolistentome,”IgaspedasIstruggledtokeepupwithhis long
strides.“I’mnotGrisha.I’mamapmaker.I’mnotevenaverygoodmapmaker.”Ivanignoredme.Ilookedbackovermyshoulder,searchingthecrowd.Malwasarguingwith
thecaptainfromthesandskiff.Asifhefeltmyeyesonhim,helookedupandmetmy gaze. I could seemy own panic and confusionmirrored in hiswhiteface.Iwantedtocryouttohim,toruntohim,butthenextmomenthewasgone,swallowedupbythecrowd.
CHAPTER4TEARSOFFRUSTRATIONwelledinmyeyesasIvandraggedmeoutofthetentand into the late-afternoonsun.Hepulledmedowna lowhill to the roadwheretheDarkling’sblackcoachwasalreadywaiting,surroundedbyaringofmountedGrishaEtherealki and flankedby lines of armed cavalry.Twoof theDarkling’sgray-cladguardswaitedbythedoortothecoachwithawomanandafair-hairedman,bothofwhomworeCorporalkired.“Getin,”commandedIvan.Then,seemingtoremembertheDarkling’sorder,
headded,“ifyouplease.”“No,”Isaid.“What?” Ivan seemed genuinely surprised. The other Corporalki looked
shocked.“No!” I repeated. “I’m not going anywhere. There’s been some kind of
mistake.I—”Ivancutmeoff,takingafirmergriponmyarm.“TheDarklingdoesn’tmake
mistakes,”hesaidthroughgrittedteeth.“Getinthecoach.”“Idon’twant—”Ivanloweredhisheaduntilhisnosewasjustinchesfrommineandpractically
spat,“DoyouthinkIcarewhatyouwant?Inafewhours’time,everyFjerdanspyandShuHanassassinwillknowwhathappenedontheFold,andthey’llbecomingforyou.OuronlychanceistogetyoutoOsAltaandbehindthepalacewallsbeforeanyoneelserealizeswhatyouare.Now,getinthecoach.”He shoved me through the door and followed me inside, throwing himself
down on the seat opposite me in disgust. The other Corporalki joined him,followedbytheoprichnikiguards,whosettledoneithersideofme.“SoI’mtheDarkling’sprisoner?”“You’reunderhisprotection.”“What’sthedifference?”Ivan’sexpressionwasunreadable.“Prayyouneverfindout.”I scowled and slumped back on the cushioned seat, then hissed in pain. I’d
forgottenmywounds.“Seetoher,”IvansaidtothefemaleCorporalnik.Hercuffswereembroidered
inHealer’sgray.
Thewomanswitchedplaceswithoneof theoprichniki so that shecould sitbesideme.Asoldierduckedhisheadinsidethedoor.“We’reready,”hesaid.“Good,”repliedIvan.“Stayalertandkeepmoving.”“We’ll only stop to change horses. If we stop before then, you’ll know
somethingiswrong.”The soldier disappeared, closing the door behind him. The driver didn’t
hesitate.Withacryandthesnapofawhip,thecoachlurchedforward.Ifeltanicytumbleofpanic.Whatwashappeningtome?Ithoughtaboutjustthrowingopenthecoachdoorandmakingarunforit.ButwherewouldIrun?Weweresurrounded by armedmen in themiddle of amilitary camp. And even if weweren’t,wherecouldIpossiblygo?“Pleaseremoveyourcoat,”saidthewomanbesideme.“What?”“Ineedtoseetoyourwounds.”Iconsidered refusing,butwhatwas thepoint? I shruggedawkwardlyoutof
my coat and let the Healer ease my shirt over my shoulders. The CorporalkiweretheOrderoftheLivingandtheDead.Itriedtofocusonthelivingpart,butI’dneverbeenhealedbyaGrishaandeverymuscleinmybodytensedwithfear.Shetooksomethingoutofalittlesatchelandasharpchemicalscentfilledthe
coach.Iflinchedasshecleanedthewounds,myfingersdiggingintomyknees.Whenshewasdone,Ifeltahot,pricklingsensationbetweenmyshoulders.Ibitdown hard on my lip. The urge to scratch my back was almost unbearable.Finally,shestoppedandpulledmyshirtbackintoplace.Iflexedmyshoulderscarefully.Thepainwasgone.“Nowthearm,”shesaid.I’dalmostforgottenthecutfromtheDarkling’sknife,butmywristandhand
werestickywithblood.Shewipedthecutcleanandthenheldmyarmuptothelight.“Trytostaystill,”shesaid,“ortherewillbeascar.”Ididmybest,butthejostlingofthecoachmadeitdifficult.TheHealerpassed
herhandslowlyoverthewound.Ifeltmyskinthrobwithheat.Myarmbegantoitchfuriouslyand,asIwatchedinamazement,myfleshseemedtoshimmerandmoveasthetwosidesofthecutknittogetherandtheskinsealedshut.The itching stopped and theHealer sat back. I reachedout and touchedmy
arm.Therewasaslightlyraisedscarwherethecuthadbeen,butthatwasall.“Thankyou,”Isaidinawe.TheHealernodded.“Giveheryourkefta,”Ivansaidtoher.Thewomanfrownedbuthesitatedonlyamomentbeforesheshruggedoutof
herredkeftaandhandedittome.“WhydoIneedthis?”Iasked.“Justtakeit,”Ivangrowled.I took thekefta from theHealer.Shekepther faceblank,but I could tell it
painedhertopartwithit.BeforeIcoulddecidewhetherornottoofferhermybloodstainedcoat,Ivan
tappedtheroofandthecoachbegantoslow.TheHealerdidn’tevenwaitforittostopmovingbeforesheopenedthedoorandswungoutside.Ivanpulledthedoorshut.Theoprichnikslippedbackintotheseatbesideme,
andwewereonourwayoncemore.“Whereisshegoing?”Iasked.“BacktoKribirsk,”repliedIvan.“We’lltravelfasterwithlessweight.”“Youlookheavierthanshedoes,”Imuttered.“Putonthekefta,”hesaid.“Why?”“Becauseit’smadewithMaterialkicorecloth.Itcanwithstandriflefire.”I stared at him. Was that even possible? There were stories of Grisha
withstandingdirectgunshotsandsurvivingwhatshouldhavebeenfatalwounds.I’dnever taken themseriously,butmaybeFabrikatorhandiworkwas the truthbehindthosepeasanttales.“Doyouallwearthisstuff?”IaskedasIpulledonthekefta.“Whenwe’reinthefield,”saidanoprichnik.Inearlyjumped.Itwasthefirst
timeeitheroftheguardshadspoken.“Justdon’tgetshotinthehead,”Ivanaddedwithacondescendinggrin.Iignoredhim.Thekeftawasfartoolarge.Itfeltsoftandunfamiliar,thefur
liningwarmagainstmyskin.Ichewedmylip.Itdidn’tseemfairthatoprichnikiandGrishaworecoreclothwhileordinarysoldierswentwithout.Didourofficerswearit,too?Thecoachpickedupspeed.InthetimeithadtakenfortheHealertodoher
work,duskhadbeguntofallandwehadleftKribirskbehind.Ileanedforward,strainingtoseeoutthewindow,buttheworldoutsidewasatwilightblur.Ifelttears threatening again and blinked them back. A few hours ago, I’d been afrightened girl onmyway into the unknown, but at least I’d knownwho andwhatIwas.Withapang,IthoughtoftheDocumentsTent.Theothersurveyorsmightbeattheirworkrightnow.WouldtheybemourningAlexei?WouldtheybetalkingaboutmeandwhathadhappenedontheFold?Iclutchedthecrumpledarmy-issuecoatIhadbundleduponmylap.Surely
thisallhadtobeadream,somecrazyhallucinationbroughtonbytheterrorsofthe Shadow Fold. I couldn’t really be wearing a Grisha’s kefta, sitting in the
Darkling’scoach—thesamecoachthathadalmostcrushedmeonlyyesterday.Someonelitalampinsidethecoach,andintheflickeringlightIcouldbetter
see the silken interior. The seatswere heavily cushioned black velvet.On thewindows, theDarkling’s symbol had been cut into the glass: two overlappingcircles,thesunineclipse.Acrossfromme,thetwoGrishawerestudyingmewithopencuriosity.Their
red kefta were of the finest wool, embroidered lavishly in black and lined inblack fur. The fair-haired Heartrender was lanky and had a long, melancholyface.Ivanwastaller,broader,withwavybrownhairandsun-bronzedskin.NowthatIbotheredtolook,Ihadtoadmithewashandsome.Andknowsit,too.Abighandsomebully.Ishiftedrestlesslyinmyseat,uncomfortablewiththeirstares.Ilookedoutthe
window,buttherewasnothingtoseeexceptthegrowingdarknessandmyownpalereflection.IlookedbackattheGrishaandtriedtoquashmyirritation.Theywerestillgawkingatme.Iremindedmyselfthatthesemencouldmakemyheartexplodeinmychest,buteventuallyIjustcouldn’tstandit.“Idon’tdotricks,youknow,”Isnapped.TheGrishaexchangedaglance.“Thatwasaprettygoodtrickbackinthetent,”Ivansaid.Irolledmyeyes.“Well,ifIplanondoinganythingexciting,Ipromisetogive
fairwarningsojust…takeanaporsomething.”Ivan looked affronted. I felt a little snap of fear, but the fair-haired
Corporalnikletoutabarkoflaughter.“IamFedyor,”hesaid.“AndthisisIvan.”“Iknow,”Ireplied.Then,picturingAnaKuya’sdisapprovingglare,Iadded,
“Verypleasedtomeetyou.”Theyexchangedanamusedglance.Iignoredthemandwriggledbackinmy
seat, trying toget comfortable. Itwasn’t easywith twoheavilyarmedsoldierstakingupmostoftheroom.Thecoachhitabumpandjoltedforward.“Isitsafe?”Iasked.“Tobetravelingatnight?”“No,”Fedyorsaid.“Butitwouldbeconsiderablymoredangeroustostop.”“Becausepeopleareaftermenow?”Isaidsarcastically.“Ifnotnow,thensoon.”I snorted. Fedyor raised his eyebrows and said, “For hundreds of years, the
ShadowFoldhasbeendoingourenemies’work,closingoffourports,chokingus,makingusweak.Ifyou’retrulyaSunSummoner,thenyourpowercouldbethekeytoopeninguptheFold—ormaybeevendestroyingit.FjerdaandtheShuHanwon’tjuststandbyandletthathappen.”
Igapedathim.Whatdidthesepeopleexpectfromme?AndwhatwouldtheydotomewhentheyrealizedIcouldn’tdeliver?“Thisisridiculous,”Imuttered.Fedyorlookedmeupanddownandthensmiledslightly.“Maybe,”hesaid.Ifrowned.Hewasagreeingwithme,butIstillfeltinsulted.“Howdidyouhideit?”Ivanaskedabruptly.“What?”“Yourpower,”Ivansaidimpatiently.“Howdidyouhideit?”“Ididn’thideit.Ididn’tknowitwasthere.”“That’simpossible.”“Andyethereweare,”Isaidbitterly.“Weren’tyoutested?”Adimmemoryflashedthroughmymind:threecloakedfiguresinthesitting
roomatKeramzin,awoman’shaughtybrow.“OfcourseIwastested.”“When?”“WhenIwaseight.”“That’s very late,” commented Ivan. “Why didn’t your parents have you
testedearlier?”Because they were dead, I thought but didn’t say. And no one paid much
attentiontoDukeKeramsov’sorphans.Ishrugged.“Itdoesn’tmakeanysense,”Ivangrumbled.“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” I leaned forward, looking
desperatelyfromIvantoFedyor.“I’mnotwhatyouthinkIam.I’mnotGrisha.WhathappenedintheFold…Idon’tknowwhathappened,butIdidn’tdoit.”“AndwhathappenedintheGrishatent?”askedFedyorcalmly.“I can’t explain that. But it wasn’t my doing. The Darkling did something
whenhetouchedme.”Ivanlaughed.“Hedidn’tdoanything.He’sanamplifier.”“Awhat?”FedyorandIvanexchangedanotherglance.“Forgetit,”Isnapped.“Idon’tcare.”Ivanreachedinsidehiscollarandremovedsomethingonathinsilverchain.
Hehelditoutformetoexamine.Mycuriositygotthebestofme,andIedgedforwardtogetabetterview.It
lookedlikeaclusterofsharpblackclaws.“Whatarethey?”“My amplifier,” Ivan said with pride. “The claws from the forepaw of a
Sherborn bear. I killed itmyselfwhen I left school and joined theDarkling’sservice.”Heleanedbackinhisseatandtuckedthechainintohiscollar.
“AnamplifierincreasesaGrisha’spower,”saidFedyor.“Butthepowermustbetheretobeginwith.”“DoallGrishahavethem?”Iasked.Fedyorstiffened.“No,”hesaid.“Amplifiersarerareandhardtoobtain.”“Only theDarkling’smost favoredGrisha have them,” Ivan said smugly. I
wassorryI’dasked.“TheDarklingisalivingamplifier,”Fedyorsaid.“That’swhatyoufelt.”“Liketheclaws?That’shispower?”“Oneofhispowers,”correctedIvan.Ipulledthekeftatighteraroundme,feelingsuddenlycold.Irememberedthe
suretythathadfloodedthroughmewiththeDarkling’stouch,andthatstrangelyfamiliarsensationofacallechoingthroughme,acallthatdemandedananswer.Ithadbeenfrightening,butexhilarating,too.Inthatmoment,allmydoubtandfearhadbeenreplacedbyakindofabsolutecertainty.Iwasnoone,arefugeefrom an unnamed village, a scrawny, clumsy girl hurtling alone through thegatheringdark.ButwhentheDarklinghadclosedhisfingersaroundmywrist,I’dfeltdifferent,likesomethingmore.Ishutmyeyesandtriedtofocus,triedtoremember that feeling of certainty, to bring that sure and perfect power intoblazinglife.Butnothinghappened.I sighedandopenedmyeyes. Ivan lookedhighlyamused.Theurge tokick
himwasalmostoverwhelming.“You’reallinforabigdisappointment,”Imuttered.“Foryoursake,Ihopeyou’rewrong,”saidIvan.“Foralloursakes,”saidFedyor.
ILOSTTRACKOFTIME.Nightanddaypassed throughthewindowsof thecoach. I spent most of my time staring out at the landscape, searching forlandmarks to giveme some sense of the familiar. I’d expected thatwewouldtake side roads,but insteadwestuck to theVy,andFedyorexplained that theDarklinghadoptedforspeedoverstealth.HewashopingtogetmesafebehindOsAlta’sdoublewallsbeforerumorofmypowerspreadtotheenemyspiesandassassinswhooperatedwithinRavka’sborders.Wekeptabrutalpace.Occasionally,westoppedtochangehorsesandIwas
allowedtostretchmylegs.WhenIwasabletosleep,mydreamswereplaguedbymonsters.Once,Iawokewithastart,myheartpounding,tofindFedyorwatchingme.
Ivanwasasleepbesidehim,snoringloudly.
“Who’sMal?”heasked.IrealizedImusthavebeentalkinginmysleep.Embarrassed,Iglancedatthe
oprichnikiguards flankingme.Onestared impassively forward.Theotherwasdozing.Outside,theafternoonsunshonethroughagroveofbirchwoodtreesaswerumbledpast.“Noone,”Isaid.“Afriend.”“Thetracker?”Inodded.“HewaswithmeontheShadowFold.Hesavedmylife.”“Andyousavedhis.”I opened mymouth to disagree, but stopped. Had I savedMal’s life? The
thoughtbroughtmeupshort.“It’sagreathonor,”saidFedyor.“Tosavealife.Yousavedmany.”“Notenough,”Imurmured,thinkingoftheterrifiedlookonAlexei’sfaceas
hewaspulledintothedarkness.IfIhadthispower,whyhadn’tIbeenabletosave him? Or any of the others who had perished on the Fold? I looked atFedyor. “If you really believe that saving a life is an honor, then why notbecomeaHealerinsteadofaHeartrender?”Fedyor considered the passing scenery. “Of allGrisha, Corporalki have the
hardestroad.Werequirethemosttrainingandthemoststudy.Attheendofitall,IfeltIcouldsavemorelivesasaHeartrender.”“Asakiller?”Iaskedinsurprise.“Asasoldier,”Fedyorcorrected.Heshrugged.“Tokillor tocure?”hesaid
with a sad smile. “We each have our own gifts.” Abruptly, his expressionchanged.HesatupstraightandjabbedIvanintheside.“Wakeup!”Thecoachhadstopped. I lookedaround inconfusion.“Arewe—,”Ibegan,
buttheguardbesidemeclappedahandovermymouthandputafingertohislips.Thecoachdoorflewopenandasoldierduckedhisheadin.“There’safallentreeacrosstheroad,”hesaid.“Butitcouldbeatrap.Bealert
and—”Heneverfinishedhissentence.Ashotrangoutandhefellforward,abulletin
hisback.Suddenly,theairwasfullofpanickedcriesandtheteeth-rattlingsoundofriflefireasavolleyofbulletsstruckthecoach.“Getdown!”yelledtheguardbesideme,shieldingmybodywithhisownas
Ivankickedthedeadsoldieroutofthewayandpulledthedoorclosed.“Fjerdans,”saidtheguard,peeringoutside.Ivan turned toFedyor and theguardbesideme. “Fedyor,gowithhim.You
takethisside.We’lltaketheother.Atallcosts,defendthecoach.”Fedyorpulledalargeknifefromhisbeltandhandedittome.“Staycloseto
thefloorandstayquiet.”TheGrishawaitedwiththeguards,crouchingbythewindows,thenatasignal
fromIvan they leapt fromeithersideof thecoach,slamming thedoorsbehindthem. Ihuddledon the floor,clutching theknife’sheavyhilt,myknees tomychest,my back pressed against the base of the seat.Outside, I could hear thesounds of fighting,metal onmetal, grunts and shouts, horseswhinnying. Thecoach shook as a body slammed against the glass of thewindow. I sawwithhorrorthatitwasoneofmyguards.Hisbodyleftaredsmearagainsttheglassasheslidfromview.The coach door flew open and a man with a wild, yellow-bearded face
appeared. I scrambled to theother sideof thecoach, theknifeheldoutbeforeme.Hebarkedsomething tohiscompatriots inhis strangeFjerdan tongueandreached formy leg.As I kickedout at him, thedoorbehindmeopenedand Inearly tumbled into another bearded man. He grabbed me under the arms,pullingmeroughlyfromthecoachasIhowledandslashedoutwiththeknife.Imusthavemadecontact,becausehecursedandloosenedhisgriponme.I
struggledtomyfeetandran.WewereinawoodedglenwheretheVynarrowedto pass between two sloping hills. All around me, soldiers and Grisha werefightingwithbeardedmen.Treesburstintoflames,caughtinthelineofGrishafire.IsawFedyorthrowhishandout,andthemanbeforehimcrumpledtotheground,clutchinghischest,bloodtricklingfromhismouth.Iranwithoutdirection,clamberingupthenearesthill,myfeetslippingonthe
fallenleavesthatcoveredtheforestfloor,mybreathcomingingasps.ImadeithalfwayuptheslopebeforeIwastackledfrombehind.Ifellforward,theknifeflyingfrommyhandsasIputmyarmsouttobreakmyfall.I twisted andkicked as the yellow-beardedmangrabbedholdofmy legs. I
lookeddesperatelydowntotheglen,butthesoldiersandGrishabelowmewerefighting for their lives, clearly outnumbered and unable to come tomy aid. Istruggledandthrashed,buttheFjerdanwastoostrong.Heclimbedontopofme,usinghiskneestopinmyarmstomysides,andreachedforhisknife.“I’llgutyourighthere,witch,”hesnarledinaheavyFjerdanaccent.At thatmoment, Iheard thepoundingofhoovesandmyattacker turnedhis
headtolookdownattheroad.Agroupofridersroaredintotheglen,theirkeftastreamingredandblue,their
handsblazingfireandthunder.Theleadriderwasdressedinblack.The Darkling slid from his mount and threw his hands wide, then brought
themtogetherwitharesoundingboom.Skeinsofdarknessshotfromhisclaspedhands,snakingthroughtheglen,findingtheFjerdanassassins,thenslitheringuptheir bodies to swathe their faces in seething shadow. They screamed. Some
droppedtheirswords;otherswavedthemblindly.I watched in mingled awe and horror as the Ravkan fighters seized the
advantage,cuttingdowntheblinded,helplessmenwithease.The beardedman on top ofmemuttered something I did not understand. I
thoughtitmightbeaprayer.Hewasstaring,frozen,at theDarkling,his terrorpalpable.Itookmychance.“I’mhere!”Icalleddownthehillside.TheDarkling’sheadturned.Heraisedhishands.“Nej!”bleatedtheFjerdan,hisknifeheldhigh.“Idon’tneedtoseetoputmy
knifethroughherheart!”Iheldmybreath.Silencefellintheglen,brokenonlybythemoansofdying
men.TheDarklingdroppedhishands.“Youmustrealizethatyou’resurrounded,”hesaidcalmly,hisvoicecarrying
throughthetrees.Theassassin’sgazedartedrightandleft,thenuptothecrestofthehillwhere
Ravkansoldierswereemerging,riflesattheready.AstheFjerdanlookedaroundfrantically,theDarklingedgedafewstepsuptheslope.“Nocloser!”themanshrieked.TheDarklingstopped.“Givehertome,”hesaid,“andI’llletyouscurryback
toyourking.”Theassassingaveacrazedlittlegiggle.“Ohno,ohno.Idon’tthinkso,”he
said, shakinghis head, his knife heldhigh abovemypoundingheart, its cruelpointgleaminginthesun.“TheDarklingdoesn’tsparelives.”Helookeddownatme.Hislasheswerelightblond,almostinvisible.“Hewillnothaveyou,”hecroonedsoftly.“Hewillnothavethewitch.Hewillnothavethispower,too.”Heraisedtheknifehigherandyowled,“SkirdenFjerda!”The knife plunged down in a shining arc. I turnedmy head, squeezingmy
eyes shut in terror, and as I did, I glimpsed the Darkling, his arm slashingthrough theair in frontofhim. Iheardanothercrack like thunderand then…nothing.Slowly, I opened my eyes and took in the horror before me. I openedmy
mouthtoscream,butnosoundwouldcome.Themanontopofmehadbeencutintwo.Hishead,hisrightshoulder,andhisarmlayontheforestfloor,hiswhitehandstillclaspingtheknife.Therestofhimswayedforamomentaboveme,adarkwispofsmokefadingintheairbesidethewoundthatranthelengthofhisseveredtorso.Thenwhatremainedofhimfellforward.I foundmyvoiceandscreamed.Icrawledbackward,scramblingawayfrom
themutilatedbody,unabletogettomyfeet,unabletolookawayfromtheawfulsight,mybodyshakinguncontrollably.
TheDarklinghurriedupthehillandkneltbesideme,blockingmyviewofthecorpse.“Lookatme,”heinstructed.Itriedtofocusonhisface,butallIcouldseewastheassassin’sseveredbody,
his blood pooling in the damp leaves. “What…what did you do to him?” Iasked,myvoicequavering.“WhatIhadtodo.Canyoustand?”Inoddedshakily.Hetookmyhandsandhelpedmetomyfeet.Whenmygaze
slidbacktothecorpse,hetookholdofmychinanddrewmyeyesbacktohis.“Atme,”hecommanded.InoddedandtriedtokeepmyeyestrainedontheDarklingasheledmedown
thehillandcalledoutorderstohismen.“Cleartheroad.Ineedtwentyriders.”“Thegirl?”Ivanasked.“Rideswithme,”saidtheDarkling.HeleftmebyhishorseashewenttoconferwithIvanandhiscaptains.Iwas
relieved to see Fedyor with them, clutching his arm but looking otherwiseuninjured. I patted the horse’s sweaty flank and breathed in the clean leathersmellofthesaddle,tryingtoslowthebeatingofmyheartandtoignorewhatIknewlaybehindmeonthehillside.Afewminuteslater,IsawsoldiersandGrishamountingtheirhorses.Several
menhadfinishedclearingthetreefromtheroad,andotherswereridingoutwiththemuch-batteredcoach.“Adecoy,”saidtheDarkling,comingupbesideme.“We’lltakethesouthern
trails.It’swhatweshouldhavedoneinthefirstplace.”“Soyoudomakemistakes,”Isaidwithoutthinking.Hepausedintheactofpullingonhisgloves,andIpressedmylipstogether
nervously.“Ididn’tmean—”“Of course Imakemistakes,” he said. Hismouth curved into a half smile.
“Justnotoften.”Heraisedhishoodandofferedmehishandtohelpmeontothehorse.Fora
moment, I hesitated. He stood before me, a dark rider, cloaked in black, hisfeaturesinshadow.Theimageoftheseveredmanloomedupinmymind,andmystomachturned.Asifhe’dreadmythoughts,herepeated,“IdidwhatIhadto,Alina.”Iknewthat.Hehadsavedmylife.AndwhatotherchoicedidIhave?Iputmy
handinhisandlettheDarklinghelpmeintothesaddle.Heslidupbehindmeandkickedthehorseintoatrot.Aswelefttheglen,Ifelttherealityofwhathadjusthappenedsinkintome.“You’reshaking,”hesaid.
“I’mnotusedtopeopletryingtokillme.”“Really?Ihardlynoticeanymore.”I turned to look at him. That trace of a smile was still there, but I wasn’t
entirelysurehewaskidding.Iturnedbackaroundandsaid,“AndIdidjustseeamangetslicedinhalf.”Ikeptmyvoicelight,butIcouldn’thidethefactthatIwasstilltrembling.TheDarklingswitchedhisreinstoonehandandpulledoffoneofhisgloves.I
stiffenedasIfelthimslidehisbarepalmundermyhairandrestitonthenapeofmyneck.Mysurprisegavewaytocalmasthatsamesenseofpowerandsuretyfloodedthroughme.Withonehandcuppingmyhead,hekickedthehorseintoacanter.Iclosedmyeyesandtriednottothink,andsoon,despitethemovementofthehorse,despitetheterrorsoftheday,Ifellintoatroubledsleep.
CHAPTER5THENEXT FEWDAYS passed in a blur of discomfort and exhaustion.WestayedoffoftheVyandkepttosideroadsandnarrowhuntingtrails,movingasquickly as the hilly and sometimes treacherous terrain would allow. I lost allsenseofwherewewereorhowfarwehadgone.Afterthefirstday,theDarklingandIhadriddenseparately,butIfoundthatI
wasalwaysawareofwherehewasinthecolumnofriders.Hedidn’tsayawordtome,andasthehoursanddaysworeon,IstartedtoworrythatI’dsomehowoffendedhim.(Though,givenhowlittlewe’dspoken,Iwasn’tsurehowIcouldhavemanagedit.)Occasionally, Icaughthimlookingatme,hiseyescoolandunreadable.I’d never been a particularly good rider, and the pace theDarkling setwas
taking its toll.Nomatterwhichway I shifted inmy saddle, some part ofmybodyached.Istaredlistlesslyatmyhorse’stwitchingearsandtriednottothinkofmyburninglegsorthethrobbinginmylowerback.Onthefifthnight,whenwestoppedtomakecampatanabandonedfarm,Iwantedtoleapfrommyhorsein joy.But Iwas so stiff that I settled for sliding awkwardly to the ground. IthankedthesoldierwhosawtomymountandwaddledslowlydownasmallhilltowhereIcouldhearthesoftgurgleofastream.Ikneltbythebankonshakylegsandwashedmyfaceandhandsinthecold
water.Theairhadchangedoverthelastcoupleofdays,andthebrightblueskiesofautumnweregivingwaytosullengray.Thesoldiersseemedtothinkthatwewould reachOsAlta before any realweather came on.And thenwhat?Whatwould happen tomewhenwe reached theLittle Palace?Whatwould happenwhen I couldn’t dowhat theywantedme to do? It wasn’twise to disappointkings.OrDarklings.Idoubtedthey’djustsendmebacktotheregimentwithapat on the back. I wondered if Mal was still in Kribirsk. If his wounds hadhealed,hemightalreadyhavebeensentbackacrosstheFoldorontosomeotherassignment.IthoughtofhisfacedisappearingintothecrowdintheGrishatent.Ihadn’tevenhadachancetosaygoodbye.In the gathering dusk, I stretchedmy arms and back and tried to shake the
feeling of gloom that had settled over me. It’s probably for the best, I toldmyself.HowwouldIhavesaidgoodbyetoMalanyway?Thanksforbeingmy
bestfriendandmakingmylifebearable.Oh,andsorryIfellinlovewithyouforawhilethere.Makesuretowrite!“Whatareyousmilingat?”Iwhirled,peeringintothegloom.TheDarkling’svoiceseemedtofloatoutof
the shadows.Hewalked down to the stream, crouching on the bank to splashwateronhisfaceandthroughhisdarkhair.“Well?”heasked,lookingupatme.“Myself,”Iadmitted.“Areyouthatfunny?”“I’mhilarious.”The Darkling regarded me in what remained of the twilight. I had the
disquieting sensation that Iwas being studied.Other than a bit of dust on hiskefta, our trek seemed to have taken little toll on him.My skin prickledwithembarrassmentas Ibecamekeenlyawareofmy torn, too-largekefta,mydirtyhair,andthebruisetheFjerdanassassinhadleftonmycheek.Washelookingatmeandregrettinghisdecisiontodragmeallthisway?Washethinkingthathe’dmadeanotherofhisinfrequentmistakes?“I’mnotGrisha,”Iblurted.“Theevidencesuggestsotherwise,”hesaidwithlittleconcern.“Whatmakes
yousocertain?”“Lookatme!”“I’mlooking.”“Do I look like aGrisha to you?”Grishawere beautiful. They didn’t have
spottyskinanddullbrownhairandscrawnyarms.Heshookhisheadandrose.“Youdon’tunderstandatall,”hesaid,andbegan
walkingbackupthehill.“Areyougoingtoexplainittome?”“Notrightnow,no.”Iwas so furious I wanted to smack him on the back of his head. And if I
hadn’t seen him cut a man in half, I might have done just that. I settled forglaringatthespacebetweenhisshoulderbladesasIfollowedhimupthehill.Insidethefarm’sbroken-downbarn,theDarkling’smenhadclearedaspace
ontheearthenfloorandbuiltafire.Oneofthemhadcaughtandkilledagrouseandwasroastingitovertheflames.Itmadeapoormealsharedamongallofus,buttheDarklingdidnotwanttosendhismenrangingintothewoodsforgame.I took a place by the fire and ate my small portion in silence. When I’d
finished,Ihesitatedforonlyamomentbeforewipingmyfingersonmyalreadyfilthykefta. Itwasprobably thenicest thingI’deverwornorwouldwear,andsomething about seeing the fabric stained and torn made me feel particularly
low.Inthelightfromthefire,Iwatchedtheoprichnikisittingsidebysidewiththe
Grisha.Someofthemhadalreadydriftedawayfromthefiretobeddownforthenight. Others had been posted to the first watch. The rest sat talking as theflames ebbed, passing a flaskback and forth.TheDarkling satwith them. I’dnoticedthathehadtakennomorethanhisshareofthegrouse.Andnowhesatbesidehissoldiersonthecoldground,amansecondinpoweronlytotheKing.Hemusthavefeltmygaze,becauseheturnedtolookatme,hisgraniteeyes
glimmering in the firelight. I flushed. Tomy dismay, he rose and came to sitbesideme,offeringmetheflask.Ihesitatedandthentookasip,grimacingatthetaste.I’dneverlikedkvas,buttheteachersatKeramzinhaddrunkitlikewater.MalandIhadstolenabottleonce.Thebeatingwe’dtakenwhenwewerecaughthadbeennothingcomparedtohowmiserablysickwe’dbeen.Still,itburnedgoingdown,andthewarmthwaswelcome.Itookanothersip
andhandedtheflaskbacktohim.“Thankyou,”Isaidwithalittlecough.Hedrank,staringintothefire,andthensaid,“Allright.Askme.”Iblinkedathim,takenaback.Iwasn’tsurewheretobegin.Mytiredmindhad
beenbrimmingwithquestions,whirringinastatebetweenpanicandexhaustionanddisbeliefsincewe’dleftKribirsk.Iwasn’tsurethatIhadtheenergytoforma thought, andwhen Iopenedmymouth, thequestion thatcameout surprisedme.“Howoldareyou?”Heglancedatme,bemused.“Idon’tknowexactly.”“Howcanyounotknow?”TheDarklingshrugged.“Howoldareyouexactly?”Iflashedhimasourlook.Ididn’tknowthedateofmybirth.Alltheorphans
atKeramzinweregiventheDuke’sbirthdayinhonorofourbenefactor.“Well,then,roughlyhowoldareyou?”“Whydoyouwanttoknow?”“BecauseI’veheardstoriesaboutyousinceIwasachild,butyoudon’tlook
mucholderthanIam,”Isaidhonestly.“Whatkindofstories?”“Theusualkind,”Isaidwithsomeannoyance.“Ifyoudon’twanttoanswer
me,justsayso.”“Idon’twanttoansweryou.”“Oh.”Thenhesighedandsaid,“Onehundredandtwenty.Giveortake.”“What?” I squeaked. The soldiers sitting across from me glanced over.
“That’simpossible,”Isaidmorequietly.Helookedintotheflames.“Whenafireburns,itusesupthewood.Itdevours
it,leavingonlyash.Grishapowerdoesn’tworkthatway.”“Howdoesitwork?”“Using our power makes us stronger. It feeds us instead of consuming us.
MostGrishalivelonglives.”“Butnotonehundredandtwentyyears.”“No,”headmitted.“ThelengthofaGrisha’slifeisproportionaltohisorher
power. The greater the power, the longer the life. And when that power isamplified…”Hetrailedoffwithashrug.“Andyou’realivingamplifier.LikeIvan’sbear.”Thehintofasmiletuggedatthecornerofhismouth.“LikeIvan’sbear.”Anunpleasantthoughtoccurredtome.“Butthatmeans—”“That my bones or a few of my teeth would make another Grisha very
powerful.”“Well,that’scompletelycreepy.Doesn’tthatworryyoualittlebit?”“No,” he said simply. “Nowyou answermy question.What kind of stories
wereyoutoldaboutme?”Ishifteduncomfortably.“Well…our teachers toldus thatyoustrengthened
theSecondArmybygatheringGrishafromoutsideofRavka.”“Ididn’thave togather them.Theycame tome.Othercountriesdon’t treat
theirGrishasowellasRavka,”hesaidgrimly.“TheFjerdansburnusaswitches,andtheKerchsellusasslaves.TheShuHancarveusupseekingthesourceofourpower.Whatelse?”“TheysaidyouwerethestrongestDarklingingenerations.”“Ididn’taskyouforflattery.”Ifingeredaloosethreadonthecuffofmykefta.Hewatchedme,waiting.“Well,”Isaid,“therewasanoldserfwhoworkedontheestate…”“Goon,”hesaid.“Tellme.”“He…he said thatDarklings are bornwithout souls. That only something
trulyevilcouldhavecreated theShadowFold.” Iglancedathiscold faceandaddedhastily, “ButAnaKuya senthimpackingand toldus itwas all peasantsuperstition.”TheDarklingsighed.“Idoubtthatserfistheonlyonewhobelievesthat.”Isaidnothing.NoteveryonethoughtlikeEvaortheoldserf,butI’dbeenin
the First Army long enough to know that most ordinary soldiers didn’t trustGrishaandfeltnoallegiancetotheDarkling.Afteramoment,theDarklingsaid,“Mygreat-great-great-grandfatherwasthe
BlackHeretic,theDarklingwhocreatedtheShadowFold.Itwasamistake,an
experimentbornofhisgreed,maybehisevil.Idon’tknow.ButeveryDarklingsince then has tried to undo the damage he did to our country, and I’m nodifferent.” He turned to me then, his expression serious, the firelight playingovertheperfectplanesofhisfeatures.“I’vespentmylifesearchingforawaytomakethingsright.You’rethefirstglimmerofhopeI’vehadinalongtime.”“Me?”“Theworldischanging,Alina.Musketsandriflesarejustthebeginning.I’ve
seen theweapons they’re developing inKerch and Fjerda. The age ofGrishapoweriscomingtoanend.”Itwasaterrifyingthought.“But…butwhatabouttheFirstArmy?Theyhave
rifles.Theyhaveweapons.”“Wheredoyouthink their riflescomefrom?Theirammunition?Every time
wecross theFold,we lose lives.AdividedRavkawon’t survive thenewage.Weneedourports.Weneedourharbors.Andonlyyoucangivethembacktous.”“How?”Ipleaded.“HowamIsupposedtodothat?”“ByhelpingmedestroytheShadowFold.”Ishookmyhead.“You’recrazy.Thisisallcrazy.”I lookedup through thebrokenbeamsof thebarn’s roof to thenightsky. It
was fullofstars,but Icouldonlysee theendless reachesofdarknessbetweenthem.IimaginedmyselfstandinginthedeadsilenceoftheShadowFold,blind,frightened,withnothingtoprotectmebutmysupposedpower.IthoughtoftheBlackHeretic.He had created the Fold, aDarkling, just like the onewho satwatchingmesocloselyinthefirelight.“Whatabout that thingyoudid?”IaskedbeforeIcould losemynerve.“To
theFjerdan?”Helookedbackintothefire.“It’scalledtheCut.Itrequiresgreatpowerand
greatfocus;it’ssomethingfewGrishacando.”Irubbedmyarms,tryingtostaveoffthechillthathadtakenholdofme.He glanced atme and then back to the fire. “If I had cut himdownwith a
sword,wouldthatmakeitanybetter?”Wouldit?Ihadseencountlesshorrorsinthelastfewdays.Butevenafterthe
nightmares of the Fold, the image that stayed with me, that reared up in mydreams and chasedme into waking, was of the beardedman’s severed body,swayinginthedappledsunlightbeforeittoppledontome.“Idon’tknow,”Isaidquietly.Somethingflashedacrosshisface,somethingthatlookedlikeangerormaybe
evenpain.Withoutanotherword,heroseandwalkedawayfromme.Iwatchedhimdisappearintothedarknessandfeltsuddenlyguilty.Don’tbea
fool,Ichastisedmyself.He’stheDarkling.He’sthesecondmostpowerfulmaninRavka.He’sonehundredandtwentyyearsold!Youdidn’thurthisfeelings.But I thoughtof the look thathadflickeredoverhis features, theshame inhisvoicewhenhe’dtalkedabouttheBlackHeretic,andIcouldn’tshakethefeelingthatIhadfailedsomekindoftest.TWODAYSLATER,justafterdawn,wepassedthroughamassivegateandthefamousdoublewallsofOsAlta.MalandIhadtakenourtrainingnotfarfromhere,inthemilitarystronghold
atPoliznaya,butwehadneverbeeninsidethecityitself.OsAltawasreservedfor theverywealthy, for thehomesofmilitaryandgovernmentofficials, theirfamilies,theirmistresses,andallthebusinessesthatcateredtothem.I felt a twinge of disappointment as we passed shuttered shops, a wide
marketplace where a few vendors were already setting up their stalls, andcrowdedrowsofnarrowhouses.OsAltawascalled thedreamcity. Itwas thecapital of Ravka, home to the Grisha and the King’s Grand Palace. But ifanything, it just looked like a bigger, dirtier version of the market town atKeramzin.Allthatchangedwhenwereachedthebridge.Itspannedawidecanalwhere
littleboatsbobbedinthewaterbeneathit.Andontheotherside,risingfromthemist,whiteandgleaming,laytheotherOsAlta.Aswecrossedthebridge,Isawthatitcouldberaisedtoturnthecanalintoagiantmoatthatwouldseparatethedreamcitybeforeusfromthecommonmessofthemarkettownthatlaybehind.Whenwereachedtheothersideofthecanal,itwasasifwehadpassedinto
anotherworld.EverywhereIlooked,Isawfountainsandplazas,verdantparks,and broad boulevards lined with perfect rows of trees. Here and there, I sawlightsoninthelowerstoriesofthegrandhouses,wherekitchenfireswerebeinglitandtheday’sworkwasstarting.The streets began to slope upward, and as we climbed higher, the houses
became largerandmore imposing,until finallywearrivedat anotherwall andanother setofgates, thesewrought ingleaminggoldandemblazonedwith theKing’s double eagle. Along the wall, I could see heavily armedmen at theirposts,agrimreminder that forall itsbeauty,OsAltawasstill thecapitalofacountrythathadlongbeenatwar.Thegateswungopen.Werodeupabroadpathpavedinglitteringgravelandborderedbyrowsof
eleganttrees.Totheleftandright,stretchingintothedistance,Isawmanicured
gardens,richwithgreenandhazyinthemistofearlymorning.Aboveitall,atopaseriesofmarble terracesandgoldenfountains, loomedtheGrandPalace, theRavkanKing’swinterhome.When we finally reached the huge double-eagle fountain at its base, the
Darklingbroughthishorseupbesidemine.“Sowhatdoyouthinkofit?”heasked.I glanced at him, then back at the elaborate facade. It was larger than any
building I had ever seen, its terraces crowded with statues, its three storiesgleamingwithrowafterrowofshiningwindows,eachornamentedextensivelyinwhatIsuspectedwasrealgold.“It’svery…grand?”Isaidcarefully.He looked atme, a little smile playing on his lips. “I think it’s the ugliest
buildingI’veeverseen,”hesaid,andnudgedhishorseforward.Wefollowedapaththatcurvedbehindthepalaceanddeeperintothegrounds,
passingahedgemaze,arollinglawnwithacolumnedtempleatitscenter,andavast greenhouse, its windows clouded with condensation. Then we entered athick stand of trees, large enough that it felt like a small wood, and passedthrough a long, dark corridor where the branchesmade a dense, braided roofaboveus.The hair rose onmy arms. I had the same feeling that I’d had aswewere
crossingthecanal,thatsenseofcrossingtheboundarybetweentwoworlds.Whenweemergedfromthetunnelintoweaksunshine,Ilookeddownagentle
slopeandsawabuildinglikenothingI’deverseen.“WelcometotheLittlePalace,”saidtheDarkling.Itwasastrangename,becausethoughitwassmallerthantheGrandPalace,
the “Little” Palace was still huge. It rose from the trees surrounding it likesomething carved from an enchanted forest, a cluster of darkwoodwalls andgolden domes.Aswe drew closer, I saw that every inch of itwas covered inintricatecarvingsofbirdsandflowers,twistingvines,andmagicalbeasts.Acharcoal-cladgroupofservantswaitedonthesteps.Idismounted,andone
ofthemrushedforwardtotakemyhorse,whileotherspushedopenalargesetofdoubledoors.Aswepassedthroughthem,Icouldn’tresisttheurgetoreachoutandtouchtheexquisitecarvings.Theyhadbeeninlaidwithmother-of-pearlsothattheysparkledintheearly-morninglight.Howmanyhands,howmanyyearshadittakentocreatesuchaplace?We passed through an entry chamber and then into a vast hexagonal room
withfourlongtablesarrangedinasquareatitscenter.Ourfootstepsechoedoffthe stone floor, and a massive gold dome seemed to float above us at animpossibleheight.
TheDarkling took aside one of the servants, an olderwoman in a charcoaldress,andspoketoherinhushedtones.Thenhegavemeasmallbowandstrodeoffacrossthehall,followedbyhismen.Ifeltasurgeofannoyance.TheDarklinghadsaidlittletomesincethatnight
inthebarn,andhe’dgivenmenoideawhatImightexpectoncewearrived.ButIdidn’thavethenerveortheenergytorunafterhim,soImeeklyfollowedthewomaningraythroughanotherpairofdoubledoorsandintooneofthesmallertowers.WhenIsawallthestairs,Ialmostbrokedownandwept.MaybeI’lljustaskif
Icanstaydownhereinthemiddleofthehall,Ithoughtmiserably.Instead,Iputmy hand on the carved banister and dragged myself upward, my stiff bodyprotestingeverystep.Whenwereachedthetop,Ifelt likecelebratingbylyingdownandtakinganap,but theservantwasalreadymovingdownthehallway.We passed door after door, until finallywe reached a chamberwhere anotheruniformedmaidstoodwaitingbyanopendoorway.Dimly, I registered a large room, heavygolden curtains, a fire burning in a
beautifullytiledgrate,butallIreallycaredaboutwasthehugecanopiedbed.“CanIgetyouanything?Something toeat?”asked thewoman. I shookmy
head.Ijustwantedsleep.“Verygood,”shesaid,andnoddedtothemaid,whocurtsiedanddisappeared
downthehall.“ThenI’llletyourest.Makesuretolockyourdoor.”Iblinked.“As a precaution,” said thewoman and left, closing the door gently behind
her.Aprecautionagainstwhat?Iwondered.ButIwastootiredtothinkaboutit.I
lockedthedoor,peeledoffthekeftaandmyboots,andfellintobed.
CHAPTER6I DREAMEDTHAT I was back in Keramzin, slipping through the darkenedhallwaysonstockingedfeet,tryingtofindMal.Icouldhearhimcallingtome,buthisvoiceneverseemedtogetanycloser.Finally,Ireachedthetopfloorandthedoortotheoldbluebedroomwherewelikedtosit inthewindowseatandlook out at ourmeadow. I heardMal laughing. I threw open the door… andscreamed.Therewasbloodeverywhere.Thevolcrawasperchedonthewindowseatand,asitturnedonmeandopeneditshorriblejaws,Isawthatithadgrayquartzeyes.Iboltedawake,myheart thuddinginmychest,andlookedaroundin terror.
For amoment I couldn’t rememberwhere Iwas.Then I groaned and floppedbackontothepillows.I had just started to doze off again when someone began pounding on the
door.“Goaway,”Imumbledfrombeneaththecovers.Butthepoundingonlygrew
louder.Isatup,feelingmywholebodyshriekinrebellion.Myheadached,andwhenItriedtostand,mylegsdidnotwanttocooperate.“Allright!”Ishouted.“I’mcoming!”Theknockingstopped.Istumbledover
tothedoorandreachedforthelock,butthenIhesitated.“Whoisit?”“I don’t have time for this,” a female voice snapped from behind the door.
“Open.Now!”Ishrugged.Letthemkillmeorkidnapmeorwhatevertheywanted.Aslong
asIdidn’thavetorideahorseorclimbstairs,Iwouldn’tcomplain.Ihadbarelyunlockedthedoorwhenitflewopenandatallgirlpushedpast
me,surveyingtheroomandthenmewithacriticaleye.Shewaseasilythemostbeautiful person I’d ever seen. Her wavy hair was deepest auburn, her iriseslargeandgolden;herskinwassosmoothandflawlessthatshelookedasifherperfect cheekbones had been carved from marble. She wore a cream-coloredkeftaembroideredingoldandlinedinreddishfoxfur.“AllSaints,” she said, lookingmeover. “Haveyouevenbathed?Andwhat
happenedtoyourface?”I flushedbright red,myhand flying to thebruiseonmycheek. Ithadbeen
nearly aweek since I’d left camp, and longer since I’d bathed or brushedmy
hair.Iwascoveredindirtandbloodandthesmellofhorses.“I—”Butthegirlwasalreadyshoutingorderstotheservantswhohadfollowedher
intotheroom.“Drawabath.Ahotone.I’llneedmykit,andgetheroutofthoseclothes.”Theservantsdescendeduponme,pullingatmybuttons.“Hey!”Ishouted,battingtheirhandsaway.TheGrisharolledhereyes.“Holdherdownifyouhaveto.”Theservantsredoubledtheirefforts.“Stop!”Ishouted,backingawayfromthem.Theyhesitated,lookingfromme
tothegirl.Honestly,nothingsoundedbetterthanahotbathandachangeofclothes,butI
wasn’tabouttoletsometyrannicalredheadpushmearound.“Whatisgoingon?Whoareyou?”“Idon’thaveti—”“Make time!” I snapped. “I’ve covered almost two hundred miles on
horseback. Ihaven’thadagoodnight’s sleep in aweek, and I’venearlybeenkilledtwice.SobeforeIdoanythingelse,you’regoingtohavetotellmewhoyouareandwhyit’ssoveryimportantthatyougetmyclothesoff.”Theredheadtookadeepbreathandsaidslowly,asifshewerespeakingtoa
child, “My name isGenya. In less than an hour, youwill be presented to theKinganditismyjobtomakeyoulookpresentable.”Myangerevaporated.IwasgoingtomeettheKing?“Oh,”Isaidmeekly.“Yes,‘oh.’So,shallwe?”Inoddedmutely,andGenyaclappedherhands.Theservantsflewintoaction,
yankingatmyclothesanddraggingme into thebathroom.Lastnight I’dbeentoo tired tonotice the room,butnow,evenshiveringandscaredwitlessat theprospectofhavingtomeetaking,Imarveledatthetinybronzetilesthatrippledover every surface and the sunken oval tub of beaten copper that the servantswere filling with steaming water. Beside the tub, the wall was covered in amosaicofshellsandshimmeringabalone.“In!In!”saidoneoftheservants,givingmeanudge.Iclimbedin.Thewaterwaspainfullyhot,butIenduredit rather thantry to
easeinslowly.Militarylifehadlongagocuredmeofmostofmymodesty,butthere was something very different about being the only naked person in theroom,especiallywheneveryonekeptshootingcuriousglancesatme.I squeaked as one of the servants grabbed my head and began furiously
washingmyhair.Anotherleanedoverthetubandstartedscrubbingatmynails.Once I adjusted to it, the heat of thewater felt good onmy aching body. I
hadn’t had a hot bath inwell over a year, and I had never even dreamed that
theremightbe sucha tub.Clearly,beingGrishahad itsbenefits. I couldhavespentanhourjustpaddlingaround.ButonceIhadbeenthoroughlydunkedandscrubbed,aservantyankedmyarmandordered,“Out!Out!”Reluctantly, Iclimbedfromthe tub, letting thewomendrymeroughlywith
thicktowels.Oneof theyoungerservantssteppedforwardwithaheavyvelvetrobeandledmeintothebedroom.Thensheandtheothersbackedoutthedoor,leavingmealonewithGenya.Iwatchedtheredheadwarily.Shehadthrownopenthecurtainsandpulledan
elaboratelycarvedwoodentableandchairoverbythewindows.“Sit,”shecommanded.Ibridledathertone,butIobeyed.Asmall trunk layopenbyherhand, itscontents spreadouton the tabletop:
squatglass jarsfullofwhat lookedlikeberries, leaves,andcoloredpowders.Ididn’thaveachancetoinvestigatefurther,becauseGenyatookholdofmychin,peeringcloselyatmyfaceandturningmybruisedcheektowardthelightfromthewindow.Shetookabreathandletherfingerstravelovermyskin.Ifeltthesame prickling sensation I’d experienced when the Healer took care of mywoundsfromtheFold.Long minutes passed as I clenched my hands into fists to keep from
scratching.ThenGenyasteppedbackandtheitchingreceded.Shehandedmeasmall goldenhandmirror.Thebruisewas completelygone. I pressed the skintentatively,buttherewasnosoreness.“Thankyou,”Isaid,settingthemirrordownandstartingtostand.ButGenya
pushedmerightbackdownintothechair.“Wheredoyouthinkyou’regoing?We’renotdone.”“But—”“IftheDarklingjustwantedyouhealed,hewouldhavesentaHealer.”“You’renotaHealer?”“I’m not wearing red, am I?” Genya retorted, an edge of bitterness to her
voice.Shegesturedtoherself.“I’maTailor.”I was baffled. I realized I’d never seen a Grisha in a white kefta. “You’re
goingtomakemeadress?”Genyablewoutanexasperatedbreath.“Nottherobes!This,”shesaid,waving
herlong,gracefulfingersbeforeherface.“Youdon’tthinkIwasbornlookinglikethis,doyou?”IstaredatthesmoothmarbleperfectionofGenya’sfeaturesasrealizationset
inand,withit,awaveofindignation.“Youwanttochangemyface?”“Notchangeit.Just…freshenyouupabit.”I scowled. I knew what I looked like. In fact, I was acutely aware of my
shortcomings.But I reallydidn’tneedagorgeousGrishapointing themout to
me.AndworsewasthefactthattheDarklinghadsenthertodoit.“Forgetit,”Isaid,jumpingtomyfeet.“IftheDarklingdoesn’tlikethewayI
look,that’shisproblem.”“Do you like the way you look?” Genya asked with what seemed to be
genuinecuriosity.“Not particularly,” I snapped. “But my life has gotten confusing enough
withoutseeingastranger’sfaceinthemirror.”“Itdoesn’tworkthatway,”Genyasaid.“Ican’tmakebigchanges,justsmall
ones. Even out your skin. Do something with that mousy hair of yours. I’veperfectedmyself,butI’vehadmywholelifetodoit.”Iwantedtoargue,butsheactuallywasperfect.“Getout.”Genyacockedherheadtooneside,studyingme.“Whyareyoutakingthisso
personally?”“Wouldn’tyou?”“Ihavenoidea.I’vealwaysbeenbeautiful.”“Andhumbletoo?”Sheshrugged.“SoI’mbeautiful.Thatdoesn’tmeanmuchamongGrisha.The
Darklingdoesn’tcarewhatyoulooklike,justwhatyoucando.”“Thenwhydidhesendyou?”“Because theKing lovesbeautyand theDarklingknows that. In theKing’s
court,appearancesareeverything.Ifyou’retobethesalvationofallofRavka…well,itwouldbebetterifyoulookedthepart.”Icrossedmyarmsandlookedoutthewindow.Outside,thesunwasshining
offasmalllake,atinyislandatitscenter.IhadnoideawhattimeitwasorhowlongI’dslept.Genyawalkedovertome.“You’renotugly,youknow.”“Thanks,”Isaiddrily,stillstaringoutatthewoodedgrounds.“Youjustlookalittle…”“Tired?Sickly?Skinny?”“Well,”Genyasaidreasonably,“yousaidyourself,you’vebeentravelinghard
fordaysand—”I sighed. “This is how I always look.” I restedmy head on the cool glass,
feelingtheangerandembarrassmentdrainoutofme.WhatwasIfightingfor?IfI was honest with myself, the prospect of what Genya was offering wastempting.“Fine,”Isaid.“Doit.”“Thankyou!”exclaimedGenya,clappingherhandstogether.Ilookedather
sharply,but therewasno sarcasm inhervoiceorexpression.She’s relieved, Irealized.TheDarklinghadsetGenyaa task,and IwonderedwhatmighthavehappenedtoherifI’drefused.Iletherleadmebacktothechair.
“Justdon’tgetcarriedaway,”Isaid.“Don’t worry,” said the redhead. “You’ll still look like yourself, just like
you’vehadmorethanafewhoursofsleep.I’mverygood.”“Icanseethat,”Isaid.Iclosedmyeyes.“It’sokay,”shesaid.“Youcanwatch.”Shehandedmethegoldmirror.“But
nomoretalk.Andstaystill.”IheldupthemirrorandwatchedasGenya’scoolfingertipsdescendedslowly
overmyforehead.Myskinprickled,andIwatchedwithgrowingamazementasGenya’shands traveledovermyskin.Everyblemish,everyscrape,everyflawseemed to disappear beneath her fingers. She placed her thumbs beneath myeyes.“Oh!” I exclaimed in surprise as thedark circles that hadplaguedme since
childhooddisappeared.“Don’tgettooexcited,”Genyasaid.“It’stemporary.”Shereachedforoneof
therosesonthetableandpluckedapalepinkpetal.Sheheldituptomycheek,andthecolorbledfromthepetalontomyskin,leavingwhatlookedlikeaprettyflush.Thensheheldafreshpetal tomylipsandrepeatedtheprocess.“Itonlylastsafewdays,”sheinformedme.“Nowthehair.”Shepluckedalongcombmadeofbonefromhertrunkalongwithaglassjar
fullofsomethingshiny.Stunned,Iasked,“Isthatrealgold?”“Of course,”Genya said, lifting a chunk ofmy dull brownhair. She shook
someof thegold leafonto thecrownofmyheadand,as shepulled thecombthroughmyhair,thegoldseemedtodissolveintoshimmeringstrands.AsGenyafinishedwitheachsection,shewounditaroundherfingers,lettingthehairfallinwaves.Finallyshesteppedback,wearingasmugsmile.“Better,no?”Iexaminedmyselfinthemirror.Myhairshone.Mycheeksheldarosyflush.
Istillwasn’tpretty,butIcouldn’tdenytheimprovement.IwonderedwhatMalwould think if he saw me, then shoved the thought away. “Better,” I agreedgrudgingly.Genyagaveaplaintivesigh.“It’sreallythebestIcandofornow.”“Thanks,”Isaidtartly,butthenGenyawinkedatmeandsmiled.“Besides,” she said, “you don’twant to attract toomuch attention from the
King.”Her voicewas light, but I saw a shadowpass over her features as shestrodeacrosstheroomandopenedthedoortolettheservantsrushbackin.Theypushedmebehindanebonyscreeninlaidwithmother-of-pearlstarsso
thatitresembledanightsky.Inafewmoments,Iwasdressedinacleantunicandtrousers,softleatherboots,andagraycoat.Withdisappointment,Irealized
it was just a clean version of my army uniform. There was even a littlecartographer’s patch showing a compass rose on the right sleeve.My feelingsmusthaveshownonmyface.“Notwhatyouexpected?”Genyaaskedwithsomeamusement.“I just thought…”ButwhathadI thought?DidI really thinkIbelongedin
Grisharobes?“TheKingexpectstoseeahumblegirlpluckedfromtheranksofhisarmy,an
undiscovered treasure. Ifyouappear inakefta,he’ll think theDarkling’sbeenhidingyou.”“WhywouldtheDarklinghideme?”Genyashrugged.“For leverage.Forprofit.Whoknows?But theKing is…
well,you’llseewhattheKingis.”Mystomachturned.IwasabouttobepresentedtotheKing.Itriedtosteady
myself, but asGenyahurriedmeout thedoor anddown thehall,my legs feltleadenandshaky.Near the bottomof the stairs, shewhispered, “If anyone asks, I just helped
yougetdressed.I’mnotsupposedtoworkonGrisha.”“Whynot?”“Because the ridiculousQueen and hermore ridiculous court think it’s not
fair.”I gaped at her. Insulting theQueen could be considered treason, butGenya
seemedunconcerned.Whenweenteredthehugedomedhall,itwascrowdedwithGrishainrobesof
crimson,purple,anddarkestblue.Mostofthemlookedtobearoundmyage,butafewolderGrishaweregatheredinacorner.Despitethesilverintheirhairandtheir lined faces, theywere strikingly attractive. In fact, everyone in the roomwasunnervinglygood-looking.“TheQueenmayhaveapoint,”Imurmured.“Oh,thisisn’tmyhandiwork,”saidGenya.Ifrowned.IfGenyawastellingthetruth, thenthiswasjustfurtherevidence
thatIdidn’tbelonghere.Someonehadseenusenterthehall,andahushfellaseveryeyeintheroom
fastenedontome.Atall,broad-chestedGrishainredrobescameforward.Hehaddeeplytanned
skin and seemed to exude good health. Hemade a low bow and said, “I amSergeiBeznikov.”“I’m—”“Iknowwhoyouare,ofcourse,”Sergeiinterrupted,hiswhiteteethflashing.
“Come, letme introduceyou.You’ll bewalkingwithus.”He tookmeby the
elbowandbegantosteermetowardagroupofCorporalki.“She’saSummoner,Sergei,” saidagirl in abluekeftawith flowingbrown
curls. “She walks with us.” There were murmurs of assent from the otherEtherealkibehindher.“Marie,” said Sergei with an insincere smile, “you can’t possibly be
suggestingthatsheenterthehallasalower-orderGrisha.”Marie’salabasterskinwentsuddenlyblotchy,andseveraloftheSummoners
gottotheirfeet.“NeedIremindyouthattheDarklingishimselfaSummoner?”“Soyou’rerankingyourselfwiththeDarklingnow?”Mariesputtered,andinanattempttomakepeace,Iinterjected,“Whydon’tI
justgowithGenya?”Therewereafewlowsnickers.“WiththeTailor?”Sergeiasked,lookingaghast.IglancedatGenya,whosimplysmiledandshookherhead.“Shebelongswithus,”protestedMarie,andargumentbrokeoutallaroundus.“She’llwalkwithme,”saidalowvoice,andtheroomwentsilent.
CHAPTER7ITURNEDANDSAWtheDarkling standing inanarchway, flankedby IvanandseveralotherGrishawhomIrecognizedfromthejourney.MarieandSergeibacked away hastily. The Darkling surveyed the crowd and said, “We areexpected.”Instantly, theroombustledwithactivityas theGrisharoseandbegantofile
through the largedoubledoors that ledoutside.Theyarranged themselves twoabreast in a long line.First theMaterialki, then theEtherealki, and finally theCorporalki,sothatthehighest-rankedGrishawouldenterthethroneroomlast.Unsure ofwhat to do, I stayedwhere I was, watching the crowd. I looked
around for Genya, but she seemed to have disappeared. A moment later, theDarkling was beside me. I glanced up at his pale profile, the sharp jaw, thegraniteeyes.“Youlookwellrested,”hesaid.Ibristled.Iwasn’tcomfortablewithwhatGenyahaddone,butstandingina
room full of beautiful Grisha, I had to admit that I was grateful for it. I stilldidn’t look like I belonged, but I would have stuck out much worse withoutGenya’shelp.“ArethereotherTailors?”Iasked.“Genyaisunique,”heanswered,glancingatme.“Likeus.”Iignoredthelittlethrillthatwentthroughmeatthewordusandsaid,“Why
isn’tshewalkingwiththerestoftheGrisha?”“GenyamustattendtotheQueen.”“Why?”“When Genya’s abilities began to show themselves, I could have had her
choosebetweenbecomingaFabrikatororaCorporalnik.Instead,IcultivatedherparticularaffinityandmadeagiftofhertotheQueen.”“Agift?SoaGrishaisnobetterthanaserf?”“Weallservesomeone,”hesaid,andIwassurprisedbytheharshedgeinhis
voice.Thenheadded,“TheKingwillexpectademonstration.”IfeltasifI’dbeendunkedinicewater.“ButIdon’tknowhowto—”“Idon’texpectyouto,”hesaidcalmly,movingforwardasthelastofthered-
robedCorporalkidisappearedthroughthedoor.
Weemergedontothegravelpathandintothelastoftheafternoonsunshine.Iwasfindingithardtobreathe.IfeltasifIwerewalkingtomyexecution.MaybeIam,Ithoughtwithasurgeofdread.“This isn’t fair,” Iwhispered angrily. “I don’t knowwhat theKing thinks I
can do, but it isn’t fair to throwme out there and expectme to just…makethingshappen.”“I hope you don’t expect fairness from me, Alina. It isn’t one of my
specialties.”Istaredathim.WhatwasIsupposedtomakeoutofthat?TheDarklingglanceddownatme.“Doyoureallybelieve Ibroughtyouall
thiswaytomakeafooloutofyou?Outofbothofus?”“No,”Iadmitted.“Andit’scompletelyoutofyourhandsnow,isn’tit?”hesaidaswemadeour
way through the dark wooded tunnel of branches. That was true too, if notparticularlycomforting. Ihadnochoicebut to trust thatheknewwhathewasdoing.Ihadasuddenunpleasantthought.“Areyougoingtocutmeagain?”Iasked.“IdoubtI’llhaveto,butitalldependsonyou.”Iwasnotreassured.Itriedtocalmmyselfandtoslowthebeatingofmyheartbut,beforeIknew
it, we had made our way through the grounds and were climbing the whitemarble steps to theGrandPalace.Aswemoved througha spacious entryhallintoa longcorridor linedwithmirrorsandornamented ingold, I thoughthowdifferent this place was from the Little Palace. Everywhere I looked, I sawmarbleandgold,soaringwallsofwhiteandpalestblue,gleamingchandeliers,liveriedfootmen,polishedparquetfloorslaidoutinelaborategeometricdesigns.It wasn’t without beauty, but there was something exhausting about theextravagance of it all. I’d always assumed that Ravka’s hungry peasants andpoorlysuppliedsoldiersweretheresultoftheShadowFold.Butaswewalkedbyatreeofjadeembellishedwithdiamondleaves,Iwasn’tsosure.The throne roomwas three stories high, everywindow sparklingwith gold
doubleeagles.Along,palebluecarpetranthelengthoftheroomtowherethemembers of the court milled about a raised throne. Many of the men woremilitary dress, black trousers andwhite coats ladenwithmedals and ribbons.Thewomensparkled ingownsof liquidsilkwith littlepuffedsleevesand lownecklines.Flankingthecarpetedaisle,theGrishastoodarrangedintheirseparateorders.Ahushfellaseveryface turned tomeand theDarkling.Wewalkedslowly
toward thegolden throne.Aswedrewcloser, theKingsatupstraighter, tense
with excitement.He looked to be in his forties, slender and round-shoulderedwith bigwatery eyes and a palemustache.Hewore fullmilitary dress, a thinsword at his side, his narrow chest covered with medals. Beside him on theraiseddais stoodamanwitha long,darkbeard.Heworepriest’s robes,butagolddoubleeaglewasemblazonedonhischest.The Darkling gave my arm a gentle squeeze to warn me that we were
stopping.“Your highness,moi tsar,” he said in clear tones. “Alina Starkov, the Sun
Summoner.”Arushofmurmurscamefromthecrowd.Iwasn’tsureifIshouldboworcurtsy.AnaKuyahadinsistedthatalltheorphansknowhowtogreettheDuke’s few noble guests, but somehow, it didn’t feel right to curtsy in army-issue trousers.TheKing savedme frommaking a blunderwhen hewaved usforwardimpatiently.“Come,come!Bringhertome.”TheDarklingandIwalkedtothebaseofthedais.TheKing scrutinizedme.He frowned, and his lower lip jutted out slightly.
“She’sveryplain.”Iflushedandbitmytongue.TheKingwasn’tmuchtolookateither.Hewas
practically chinless, and close up, I could see the broken blood vessels in hisnose.“Showme,”theKingcommanded.Mystomachclenched.IlookedattheDarkling.Thiswasit.Henoddedatme
and spread his armswide.A tense silence descended as his hands filledwithdark,swirlingribbonsofblacknessthatbledintotheair.Hebroughthishandstogether with a resounding crack. Nervous cries burst from the crowd asdarknessblanketedtheroom.Thistime,Iwasbetterpreparedforthedarkthatengulfedme,butitwasstill
frightening.Instinctively,Ireachedforward,searchingforsomethingtoholdonto.TheDarklingcaughtmyarmandhisbarehandslidintomine.Ifeltthatsamepowerful certainty wash through me and then the Darkling’s call, pure andcompelling, demanding an answer. With a mixture of panic and relief, I feltsomethingrisingupinsideme.Thistime,Ididn’ttrytofightit.Iletithaveitsway.Light flooded the throne room, drenching us in warmth and shattering the
darknesslikeblackglass.Thecourteruptedintoapplause.Peoplewereweepingandhuggingoneanother.Awomanfainted.TheKingwasclappingtheloudest,risingfromhisthroneandapplaudingfuriously,hisexpressionexultant.TheDarklingletgoofmyhandandthelightfaded.“Brilliant!” the King shouted. “A miracle!” He descended the steps of the
dais, the bearded priest gliding silently behind him, and tookmy hand in his
own, raising it tohiswet lips. “Mydeargirl,”he said. “Mydear,deargirl.” Ithought of what Genya had said about the King’s attention and felt my skincrawl,but Ididn’tdarepullmyhandaway.Soon, though,hehadrelinquishedmeandwasclappingtheDarklingontheback.“Miraculous, simply miraculous,” he effused. “Come, we must make plans
immediately.”AstheKingandtheDarklingsteppedawaytotalk,thepriestdriftedforward.
“Amiracleindeed,”hesaid,staringatmewithadisturbingintensity.Hiseyeswere so brown theywere almost black, and he smelled faintly ofmildew andincense.Likea tomb, I thoughtwithashiver. IwasgratefulwhenheslitheredawaytojointheKing.Iwasquicklysurroundedbybeautifullydressedmenandwomen,allwishing
tomakemyacquaintanceandtotouchmyhandormysleeve.Theycrowdedonevery side ofme, jostling and pushing to get closer. Just as I felt fresh panicsettingin,Genyaappearedbymyside.Butmyreliefwasshort-lived.“TheQueenwantstomeetyou,”shemurmuredintomyear.Shesteeredme
throughthecrowdandoutanarrowsidedoorintothehall,thenintoajewel-likesittingroomwheretheQueenreclinedonadivan,asnufflingdogwithapushed-infacecradledonherlap.The Queen was beautiful, with glossy blond hair in a perfect coiffure, her
delicatefeaturescoldandlovely.Buttherewasalsosomethingalittleoddabouther face.Her irises seemed a little too blue, her hair too yellow, her skin toosmooth.IwonderedjusthowmuchworkGenyahaddoneonher.Shewassurroundedbyladiesinexquisitegownsofpetalpinkandsoftblue,
theirlownecklinesembroideredwithgildedthreadandtinyriverpearls.Andyet,theyallpaledbesideGenyainhersimplecreamwoolkefta,herbrightredhairburninglikeaflame.“Moya tsaritsa,”Genya said, sinking into a low, graceful curtsy. “The Sun
Summoner.”Thistime,Ihadtomakeachoice.Iexecutedasmallbowandheardafewlow
tittersfromtheladies.“Charming,”saidtheQueen.“Iloathepretense.”Ittookallmywillpowernot
tosnortatthis.“YouarefromaGrishafamily?”sheasked.IglancednervouslyatGenya,whonoddedencouragement.“No,”Isaid,andthenquicklyadded,“moyatsaritsa.”“Apeasantthen?”Inodded.“Wearesoluckyinourpeople,”theQueensaid,andtheladiesmurmuredsoft
assent. “Your familymust be notified of your new status. Genya will send a
messenger.”Genya nodded and gave another little curtsy. I thought about just nodding
rightalongwithher,butIwasn’tsureIwantedtostartlyingtoroyalty.“Actually,yourhighness,IwasraisedinDukeKeramsov’shousehold.”Theladiesbuzzedinsurprise,andevenGenyalookedcurious.“Anorphan!”exclaimedtheQueen,soundingdelighted.“Howmarvelous!”Iwasn’tsurethatIwoulddescribemyparentsbeingdeadas“marvelous,”but
atalossforanythingelsetosay,Imumbled,“Thankyou,moyatsaritsa.”“Thisallmustseemsoverystrangetoyou.Takecarethat lifeatcourtdoes
notcorruptyouthewayithasothers,”shesaid,herbluemarbleeyesslidingtoGenya.Theinsultwasunmistakeable,butGenya’sexpressionbetrayednothing,afactwhichdidnotseemtopleasetheQueen.Shedismisseduswithaflickofherring-ladenfingers.“Gonow.”AsGenya ledmeback into thehallway, I thought I heardhermutter, “Old
cow.”ButbeforeIcoulddecidewhetherornottoaskheraboutwhattheQueenhadsaid,theDarklingwasthere,steeringusdownanemptycorridor.“HowdidyoufarewiththeQueen?”heasked.“Ihavenoidea,”Isaidhonestly.“Everythingshesaidwasperfectlynice,but
thewholetimeshewaslookingatmeasifIweresomethingherdogspitup.”Genyalaughed,andtheDarkling’slipsquirkedinwhatwasnearlyasmile.“Welcometocourt,”hesaid.“I’mnotsureIlikeit.”“Noonedoes,”headmitted.“Butweallmakeagoodshowofit.”“TheKingseemedpleased,”Ioffered.“TheKingisachild.”MymouthfellopeninshockandIlookedaroundnervously,afraidsomeone
had overheard. These people seemed to speak treason as easily as breathing.Genyadidn’tlookremotelydisturbedbytheDarkling’swords.TheDarklingmusthavenoticedmydiscomfort,becausehesaid,“Buttoday,
you’vemadehimaveryhappychild.”“Who was that beardedman with the King?” I asked, eager to change the
subject.“TheApparat?”“Isheapriest?”“Ofasort.Somesayhe’safanatic.Otherssayhe’safraud.”“Andyou?”“Isayhehashisuses.”TheDarklingturnedtoGenya.“Ithinkwe’veasked
enoughofAlinafor today,”hesaid.“Takeherbacktoherchambersandhaveherfittedforherkefta.Shewillstartinstructiontomorrow.”
Genyagavealittlebowandlaidherhandonmyarmtoleadmeaway.Iwasovercome by excitement and relief.My power (my power, it still didn’t seemreal)hadshownupagainandkeptmefrommakingafoolofmyself.I’dmadeitthroughmy introduction to theKing andmy audiencewith theQueen.And IwasgoingtobegivenaGrisha’skefta.“Genya,”theDarklingcalledafterus,“thekeftawillbeblack.”Genya drew a startled breath. I looked at her stunned face and then at the
Darkling,whowasalreadyturningtogo.“Wait!” I calledbefore I could stopmyself.TheDarklinghaltedand turned
thoseslate-coloredeyesonme.“I…Ifitwouldbeallright,I’dprefertohavebluerobes,Summoners’blue.”“Alina!”exclaimedGenya,clearlyhorrified.But the Darkling held up a hand to silence her. “Why?” he asked, his
expressionunreadable.“IalreadyfeellikeIdon’tbelonghere.IthinkitmightbeeasierifIweren’t
…singledout.”“Areyousoanxioustobelikeeveryoneelse?”Mychinlifted.Heclearlydidn’tapprove,butIwasn’tgoingtobackdown.“I
justdon’twanttobemoreconspicuousthanIalreadyam.”The Darkling looked at me for a long moment. I wasn’t sure if he was
thinkingoverwhatI’dsaidortryingtointimidateme,butIgrittedmyteethandreturnedhisgaze.Abruptly,henodded.“Asyouwish,”hesaid.“Yourkeftawillbeblue.”And
withoutanotherword,heturnedhisbackonusanddisappeareddownthehall.Genyastaredatme,aghast.“What?”Iaskeddefensively.“Alina,”Genyasaidslowly,“nootherGrishahaseverbeenpermittedtowear
aDarkling’scolors.”“Doyouthinkhe’sangry?”“That’shardlythepoint!Itwouldhavebeenamarkofyourstanding,ofthe
Darkling’sesteem.Itwouldhaveplacedyouhighaboveallothers.”“Well,Idon’twanttobehighaboveallothers.”Genyathrewupherhandsinexasperationandtookmebytheelbow,leading
mebackthroughthepalacetothemainentrance.Twoliveriedservantsopenedthelargegoldendoorsforus.Withajolt,Irealizedthattheywerewearingwhiteandgold, the samecolorsasGenya’skefta, a servant’scolors.Nowonder shethoughtIwascrazyforrefusingtheDarkling’soffer.Andmaybeshewasright.Thethoughtstayedwithmethroughthelongwalkbackacrossthegroundsto
the Little Palace. Duskwas falling, and servantswere lighting the lamps that
linedthegravelpath.Bythetimeweclimbedthestairstomyroom,mystomachwasinknots.Isatdownbythewindow,staringoutatthegrounds.WhileIbrooded,Genya
rangforaservant,whomshesenttofindaseamstressandorderupadinnertray.Butbeforeshesentthegirlaway,sheturnedtome.“Maybeyou’dprefertowaitanddinewiththeGrishalatertonight?”sheasked.I shookmy head. Iwas far too tired and overwhelmed to even think about
beingaroundanothercrowdofpeople.“Butwouldyoustay?”Iaskedher.Shehesitated.“Youdon’thave to, of course,” I saidquickly. “I’msureyou’llwant to eat
witheveryoneelse.”“Notatall.Dinnerfortwothen,”shesaidimperiously,andtheservantraced
off. Genya closed the door and walked to the little dressing table, where shestartedstraighteningtheitemsonitssurface:acomb,abrush,apenandpotofink.Ididn’trecognizeanyofthem,butsomeonemusthavehadthembroughttomyroomforme.With her back still tome, Genya said, “Alina, you should understand that,
when you start your training tomorrow … well, Corporalki don’t eat withSummoners.Summonersdon’tdinewithFabrikators,and—”I felt instantly defensive. “Look, if you don’t want to stay for dinner, I
promisenottocryintomysoup.”“No!”sheexclaimed.“It’snot thatatall! I’mjust trying toexplain theway
thingswork.”“Forgetit.”Genyablewoutafrustratedbreath.“Youdon’tunderstand.It’sagreathonor
tobeaskedtodinewithyou,buttheotherGrishamightnotapprove.”“Why?”Genya sighed and sat down on one of the carved chairs. “Because I’m the
Queen’spet.Becausetheydon’tconsiderwhatIdovaluable.Alotofreasons.”Iconsideredwhattheotherreasonsmightbeandiftheyhadsomethingtodo
withtheKing.IthoughtoftheliveriedservantsstandingateverydoorwayintheGrandPalace, all of themdressed inwhite andgold.Whatmust it be like forGenya,isolatedfromherownkindbutnotatruememberofthecourt?“It’sfunny,”Isaidafterawhile.“Ialwaysthoughtthatbeingbeautifulwould
makelifesomucheasier.”“Ohitdoes,”Genyasaid,andlaughed.Icouldn’thelpbutlaugh,too.Wewereinterruptedbyaknockonthedoor,andtheseamstresssoonhadus
occupied with fittings and measurements. When she had finished and wasgatheringuphermuslinandpins,Genyawhispered,“Itisn’ttoolate,youknow.
Youcouldstill—”ButIcutheroff.“Blue,”Isaidfirmly,thoughmystomachclenchedagain.Theseamstressleft,andweturnedourattentiontodinner.Thefoodwasless
alienthanI’dexpected,thekindoffoodwe’deatenonfeastdaysatKeramzin:sweetpeaporridge,quailroastedinhoney,andfreshfigs.IfoundIwashungrierthanI’deverbeenandhadtoresistpickingupmyplatetolickit.Genya maintained a steady stream of chatter during dinner, mostly about
Grishagossip.Ididn’tknowanyofthepeopleshewastalkingabout,butIwasgrateful not to have to make conversation, so I nodded and smiled whennecessary. When the last servants left, taking our dinner dishes with them, Icouldn’tsuppressayawn,andGenyarose.“I’llcomegetyouforbreakfastinthemorning.Itwilltakeawhileforyouto
learn your way around. The Little Palace can be a bit of a maze.” Then herperfectlipsturnedupinamischievoussmile.“Youshouldtrytorest.TomorrowyoumeetBaghra.”“Baghra?”Genyagrinnedwickedly.“Ohyes.She’sanabsolutetreat.”BeforeIcouldaskwhatshemeant,shegavemealittlewaveandslippedout
thedoor.Ibitmylip.Exactlywhatwasinstoreformetomorrow?As thedoorclosedbehindGenya, I felt fatiguecreepoverme.The thrillof
knowing thatmy powermight actually be real, the excitement ofmeeting theKingandQueen,thestrangemarvelsoftheGrandPalaceandtheLittlePalacehad kept my exhaustion at bay, but now it returned—and, with it, a huge,echoingfeelingofloneliness.Iundressed,hungmyuniformneatlyonapegbehindthestar-speckledscreen,
andplacedmyshinynewbootsbeneathit.Irubbedthebrushedwoolofthecoatbetweenmyfingers,hopingtofindsomesenseoffamiliarity,butthefabricfeltwrong,toostiff,toonew.Isuddenlymissedmydirtyoldcoat.I changed into a nightdress of soft white cotton and rinsed my face. As I
patteditdry,Icaughtaglimpseofmyselfintheglassabovethebasin.Maybeitwasthelamplight,butIthoughtIlookedevenbetterthanwhenGenyahadfirstfinished her work on me. After a moment, I realized I was just gawking atmyselfinthemirrorandhadtosmile.Foragirlwhohatedlookingatherself,Iwasatriskofbecomingvain.Iclimbedonto thehighbed,slidbeneath theheavysilksandfurs,andblew
outthelamp.Distantly,Iheardadoorclosing,voicescallingtheirgoodnights,the sounds of the Little Palace going to sleep. I stared into the darkness. I’dneverhadaroomtomyselfbefore.InKeramzin,I’dsleptinanoldportraithallthathadbeenconvertedintoadormitory,surroundedbycountlessothergirls.In
the army, I’d slept in the barracks or tentswith the other Surveyors.My newroomfelthugeandempty.Inthesilence,alltheeventsofthedayrushedinonme,andtearsprickedmyeyes.Maybe I wouldwake tomorrow and find that it had all been a dream, that
AlexeiwasstillaliveandMalwasunhurt,thatnoonehadtriedtokillme,thatI’d nevermet theKing andQueen or seen theApparat, or felt theDarkling’shand on the nape of my neck. Maybe I would wake to smell the campfiresburning,safeinmyownclothes,onmylittlecot,andIcouldtellMalallaboutthisstrangeandterrifying,butverybeautiful,dream.I rubbedmythumbover thescar inmypalmandheardMal’svoicesaying,
“We’llbeokay,Alina.Wealwaysare.”“I hope so,Mal,” Iwhispered intomy pillow and letmy tears carryme to
sleep.
CHAPTER8AFTERARESTLESSNIGHT,Iwokeearlyandcouldn’tgetbacktosleep.I’dforgotten toclose thecurtainswhenIwent tobed,andsunlightwasstreamingthroughthewindows.Ithoughtaboutgettinguptoclosethemandtryingtogobacktosleep,butIjustdidn’thavetheenergy.Iwasn’tsureifitwasworryandfearthathadkeptmetossingandturning,ortheunfamiliarluxuryofsleepinginarealbedaftersomanymonthsspentonwobblycanvascotsorwithnothingbutabedrollbetweenmeandthehardground.Istretchedandreachedouttorunafingerovertheintricatelycarvedbirdsand
flowersonthebedpost.Highaboveme,thecanopyofthebedopenedtorevealaceiling painted in bold colors, an elaborate pattern of leaves and flowers andbirdsinflight.AsIwasstaringupatit,countingtheleavesofajuniperwreathandbeginningtodozeoffagain,asoftknockcameatthedoor.Ithrewofftheheavycoversandslidmyfeetintothelittlefur-linedslipperssetoutbythebed.WhenIopenedthedoor,aservantwaswaitingwithastackofclothing,apair
ofboots,andadarkbluekeftadrapedoverherarm.Ibarelyhadtimetothankherbeforeshebobbedacurtsyanddisappeared.I closed thedoor and set theboots andclothingdownon thebed.Thenew
keftaIhungcarefullyoverthedressingscreen.Forawhile,Ijustlookedatit.I’dspentmylifeinclothespasseddownfrom
older orphans, and then in the standard-issue uniform of the First Army. I’dcertainlyneverhadanythingmadeforme.AndI’dneverdreamedthatIwouldwearaGrisha’skefta.Iwashedmyfaceandcombedmyhair.Iwasn’tsurewhenGenyawouldbe
arriving,soIdidn’tknowifIhadtimeforabath.Iwasdesperateforaglassoftea,butIdidn’thavethecouragetoringforaservant.Finally,therewasnothingleftformetodo.Istartedwiththepileofclothesonthebed:close-fittingbreechesofafabric
I’d never encountered that seemed to fit andmove like a second skin, a longblouseofthincottonthattiedwithadarkbluesash,andboots.Buttocallthemboots didn’t seem right. I’d ownedboots.Thesewere something else entirely,madeof the softest black leather and fittedperfectly tomy calves.Theywerestrangeclothes,similar towhatpeasantmenandfarmerswore.But thefabrics
werefinerandmoreexpensivethananypeasantcouldeverhopetoafford.WhenIwasdressed,Ieyedthekefta.WasIreallygoingtoputthaton?WasI
reallygoingtobeaGrisha?Itdidn’tseempossible.It’sjustacoat,Ichidedmyself.Itookadeepbreath,pulledthekeftaoffthescreen,andslippediton.Itwas
lighter than it looked, and like theother clothes, it fit perfectly. I fastened thelittlehiddenbuttonsinthefrontandsteppedbacktotrytolookatmyselfinthemirrorabove thebasin.Thekeftawasdeepestmidnightblueandfellnearly tomy feet.The sleeveswerewide, and though itwasa lot likea coat, itwas soelegantIfeltasifIwerewearingagown.ThenInoticedtheembroideryatthecuffs. Like all Grisha, the Etherealki indicated their designation within theirorder by color of embroidery: pale blue for Tidemakers, red for Inferni, andsilverforSquallers.Mycuffswereembroideredingold.Iranmyfingeroverthegleamingthreads,feelingasharptwingeofanxiety,andnearlyjumpedwhenaknocksoundedatthedoor.“Verynice,”saidGenyawhenIopenedthedoor.“Butyouwouldhavelooked
betterinblack.”Ididthegracefulthingandstuckmytongueoutather,thenhurriedtofollow
as she sweptdown thehallwayanddescended the stairs.Genya ledme to thesame domed room where we had gathered the previous afternoon for theprocessional.Itwasn’tnearlyascrowdedtoday,buttherewasstillalivelybuzzofconversation. In thecorners,Grishaclusteredaroundsamovarsand loungedondivans,warmingthemselvesbyelaboratelytiledovens.Othersbreakfastedatthe four long tables arranged in a square at the room’s center. Again, a hushseemedtofallasweentered,butthistimepeopleatleastpretendedtocarryontheirconversationsaswepassed.Two girls in Summoners’ robes swooped down on us. I recognized Marie
fromherargumentwithSergeibeforetheprocessional.“Alina!”shesaid.“Weweren’tproperlyintroducedyesterday.I’mMarie,and
this isNadia.” She gestured to the apple-cheeked girl beside her,who smiledtoothilyatme.Marieloopedherarmthroughmine,deliberatelyturningherbackonGenya.“Comesitwithus!”Ifrownedandopenedmymouthtoprotest,butGenyasimplyshookherhead
andsaid,“Goon.YoubelongwiththeEtherealki.I’llfetchyouafterbreakfasttogiveyouatour.”“Wecanshowheraround—”beganMarie.ButGenyacutheroff.“TogiveyouatourastheDarklingrequested.”Marieflushed.“Whatareyou,hermaid?”“Somethinglike that,”Genyasaid,andwalkedoff topourherselfaglassof
tea.“Faraboveherself,”saidNadiawithalittlesniff.“Worseeveryday,”Marieagreed.Thensheturnedtomeandbeamed.“You
mustbestarving!”She ledme to one of the long tables, and as we approached, two servants
steppedforwardtopulloutchairsforus.“Wesithere,attherighthandoftheDarkling,”saidMarie,prideinhervoice,
gesturingdownthelengthofthetablewheremoreGrishainbluekeftasat.“TheCorporalkisitthere,”shesaidwithadisdainfulglanceatthetableoppositeours,where a glowering Sergei and a few other red-robed figures were eatingbreakfast.It occurred to me that if we were at the right hand of the Darkling, the
Corporalkiwerejustasclosetohimontheleft,butIdidn’tmentionthat.TheDarkling’stablewasempty, theonlysignofhispresencealargeebony
chair.When I asked if hewouldbe eatingbreakfastwithus,Nadia shookherheadvigorously.“Ohno!Hehardlyeverdineswithus,”shesaid.Iraisedmyeyebrows.AllthisfussaboutwhosatnearesttheDarkling,andhe
couldn’tbebotheredtoshowup?Platesofryebreadandpickledherringwereplacedinfrontofus,andIhadto
stifleagag. Ihateherring.Luckily, therewasplentyofbreadand, I sawwithastonishment, sliced plums that must have come from a hothouse. A servantbroughtushotteafromoneofthelargesamovars.“Sugar!”Iexclaimedashesetalittlebowlbeforeme.MarieandNadiaexchangedaglanceandIblushed.Sugarhadbeenrationed
inRavka for the last hundred years, but apparently it wasn’t a novelty in theLittlePalace.AnothergroupofSummoners joinedusand,afterbrief introductions,began
pepperingmewithquestions.Wherewas I from?TheNorth. (Mal and I never lied aboutwherewewere
from.Wejustdidn’ttellthewholetruth.)WasIreallyamapmaker?Yes.HadIreallybeenattackedbyFjerdans?Yes.HowmanyvolcrahadIkilled?None.Theyallseemeddisappointedbythislastanswer,particularlytheboys.“But I heard you killed hundreds of them when the skiff was attacked!”
protestedaboynamedIvowiththesleekfeaturesofamink.“Well,Ididn’t,”Isaid,andthenconsidered.“Atleast,Idon’tthinkIdid.I…
um…kindoffainted.”
“Youfainted?”Ivolookedappalled.I was exceedingly grateful when I felt a tap on my shoulder and saw that
Genyahadcometomyrescue.“Shallwe?”sheasked,ignoringtheothers.I mumbled my goodbyes and quickly escaped, conscious of their stares
followingusacrosstheroom.“Howwasbreakfast?”Genyaasked.“Awful.”Genyamadeadisgustedsound.“Herringandrye?”I’dbeenthinkingmoreabouttheinterrogation,butIjustnodded.Shewrinkledhernose.“Vile.”Ieyedhersuspiciously.“Whatdidyoueat?”Genyalookedoverhershouldertomakesurenoonewaswithinearshotand
whispered,“Oneof thecookshasadaughterwith terriblespots. I tookcareofthemforher,andnowshesendsmethesamepastriestheypreparefortheGrandPalaceeverymorning.They’redivine.”Ismiledandshookmyhead.TheotherGrishamightlookdownonGenya,but
shehadherownkindofpowerandinfluence.“Butdon’tsayanythingaboutit,”Genyaadded.“TheDarklingisverykeen
ontheideathatwealleatheartypeasantfare.Saintsforbidweforgetwe’rerealRavkans.”Irestrainedasnort.TheLittlePalacewasastorybookversionofserflife,no
moreliketherealRavkathantheglitterandgiltoftheroyalcourt.TheGrishaseemedobsessedwithemulatingserfways, rightdown to theclothesweworebeneath our kefta. But there was something a little silly about eating “heartypeasant fare” off porcelain plates, beneath a dome inlaid with real gold. Andwhatpeasantwouldn’tpickpastryoverpickledfish?“Iwon’tsayaword,”Ipromised.“Good! If you’re very nice tome, I might even share,” Genya said with a
wink.“Now,thesedoorsleadtothelibraryandtheworkrooms.”Shegesturedtoa massive set of double doors in front of us. “That way to get back to yourroom,”shesaid,pointingtotheright.“AndthatwaytotheGrandPalace,”shesaid,pointing to thedoubledoorson the left.Genyastarted to leadmetowardthelibrary.“But what about that way?” I asked, nodding to the closed double doors
behindtheDarkling’stable.“Ifthosedoorsopen,payattention.TheyleadtotheDarkling’scouncilroom
andhisquarters.”WhenIlookedmorecloselyattheheavilycarveddoors,Icouldmakeoutthe
Darkling’s symbol hidden in the tangle of vines and running animals. I toremyself awayandhurried afterGenya,whowas alreadyonherwayoutof thedomedhall.Ifollowedheracrossacorridortoanothersetofenormousdoubledoors.This
pair had been carved to look like the cover of an old book, andwhenGenyapulledthemopen,Igasped.The library was two stories high, its walls lined from floor to ceiling with
books.Abalconyranaroundthesecondstory,anditsdomewasmadeentirelyofglasssothatthewholeroomglowedwithmorninglight.Afewreadingchairsandsmalltablesweresetbythewalls.Attheroom’scenter,directlybeneaththesparklingglassdome,wasaroundtableringedbyacircularbench.“You’ll have to come here for history and theory,”Genya said, leadingme
around the table and across the room. “I finished with all that years ago. Soboring.”Thenshelaughed.“Closeyourmouth.Youlooklikeatrout.”Isnappedmymouthshut,butthatdidn’tstopmefromlookingaroundinawe.
TheDuke’slibraryhadseemedsograndtome,butcomparedtothisplaceitwasahovel.AllofKeramzinseemedshabbyandfadedviewedbesidethebeautyofthe Little Palace, but somehow it made me sad to think of it that way. IwonderedwhatMal’seyeswouldsee.Mystepsslowed.WeretheGrishaallowedguests?CouldMalcomevisitme
inOsAlta?Hehadhisdutieswithhisregiment,butifhecouldgetleave…Thethought filled me with excitement. The Little Palace didn’t seem quite sointimidatingwhenIthoughtofwalkingitscorridorswithmybestfriend.Weleftthelibrarythroughanothersetofdoubledoorsandpassedintoadark
hallway.Genyaturnedleft,butIglanceddownthehalltotherightandsawtwoCorporalki emerge from a large set of red-lacquered doors. They gave usunfriendlylooksbeforetheydisappearedintotheshadows.“Comeon,”Genyawhispered,grabbingholdofmyarmandpullingmeinthe
oppositedirection.“Wheredothosedoorslead?”Iasked.“Totheanatomyrooms.”A chill rippled through me. The Corporalki. Healers … and Heartrenders.
Theyhad topractice somewhere,but Ihated to thinkwhat thatpracticemightentail.IquickenedmystepstocatchupwithGenya.Ididn’twanttogetcaughtbymyselfanywherenearthosereddoors.At theendof thehallway,westoppedatasetofdoorsmadeof lightwood,
exquisitely carved with birds and blooming flowers. The flowers had yellowdiamondsattheircenters,andthebirdshadwhatlookedlikeamethysteyes.Thedoorhandleswerewrought to lookliketwoperfecthands.Genyatookholdof
oneandpushedthedooropen.TheFabrikators’workshopshadbeenpositionedtomakethemostoftheclear
eastern light, and the walls were made up almost entirely of windows. ThebrightlylitroomsremindedmeabitofaDocumentsTent,butinsteadofatlases,stacksofpaper,andbottlesofink,thelargeworktableswereladenwithboltsoffabric,chunksofglass,thinskeinsofgoldandsteel,andstrangelytwistedhunksofrock.Inonecorner,terrariumsheldexoticflowers,insects,and—Isawwithashudder—snakes.TheMaterialki in their dark purple kefta sat hunched over their work, but
looked up to stare their fill at me as we passed. At one table, two femaleFabrikatorswereworkingamoltenlumpofwhatIthoughtmightbecomeGrishasteel, their table scatteredwith bits of diamond and jars full of silkworms.Atanother table, a Fabrikator with a cloth tied over his nose and mouth wasmeasuring out a thick black liquid that stank of tar.Genya ledme past all ofthemtowhereaFabrikatorhunchedoverasetoftinyglassdiscs.Hewaspale,reed-thin,andindireneedofahaircut.“Hello,David,”saidGenya.Davidlookedup,blinked,gaveacurtnod,andbentbacktohiswork.Genyasighed.“David,thisisAlina.”Davidgaveagrunt.“TheSunSummoner,”Genyaadded.“Theseareforyou,”hesaidwithoutlookingup.Ilookedatthedisks.“Oh,um…thankyou?”Iwasn’tsurewhatelsetosay,butwhenIlookedatGenya,shejustshrugged
androlledhereyes.“Goodbye,David,”shesaiddeliberately.Davidgrunted.Genyatookmyarm
and led me outside onto an arched wooden arcade that overlooked a rollinggreenlawn.“Don’ttakeitpersonally,”shesaid.“Davidisagreatmetalworker.Hecanfoldabladesosharpitwillcutthroughfleshlikewater.Butifyou’renotmadeofmetalorglass,heisn’tinterested.”Genya’s voice was light, but it had a funny little edge to it, and when I
glanced at her, I saw that there were bright spots of color on her perfectcheekbones. I looked back through the windows to where I could still seeDavid’s bony shoulders and messy brown hair. I smiled. If a creature asgorgeousasGenyacould fall fora skinny, studiousFabrikator, theremightbehopeformeyet.“What?”shesaid,noticingmysmile.“Nothing,nothing.”Genyasquinted suspiciouslyatme,but Ikeptmymouth shut.We followed
the arcade along the easternwall of theLittlePalace, pastmorewindows thatlooked into the Fabrikators’ workshops. Then we turned a corner and thewindowsstopped.Genyaquickenedherpace.“Whyaren’tthereanywindows?”Iasked.Genyaglancednervouslyat thesolidwalls.Theywere theonlypartsof the
LittlePalaceI’dseenthatweren’tcoveredincarvings.“We’reontheothersideoftheCorporalkianatomyrooms.”“Don’ttheyneedlightto…dotheirwork?”“Skylights,” shesaid.“In the roof, like the librarydome.Theyprefer it that
way.Itkeepsthemandtheirsecretssafe.”“Butwhatdotheydointhere?”Iasked,notentirelysureIwantedtohearthe
answer.“Only theCorporalkiknow.But therearerumors that they’vebeenworking
withtheFabrikatorsonnew…experiments.”Ishiveredandwasrelievedwhenweturnedanothercornerandthewindows
beganagain.ThroughthemIsawbedroomslikemyown,andI realizedIwasseeingthedownstairsdormitories.IwasgratefulthatI’dbeengivenaroomonthethirdfloor.Icouldhavedonewithoutallthosestairstoclimb,butnowthatIhadmyownroomforthefirsttime,Iwasgladthatpeoplecouldn’tjustwalkbymywindow.Genya pointed to the lake I’d seen from my room. “That’s where we’re
going,”shesaid,pointingtothelittlewhitestructuresdottingtheshore.“TotheSummoners’pavilions.”“Allthewayoutthere?”“It’sthesafestplaceforyousorttopractice.Allweneedissomeoverexcited
Infernitoburnthewholepalacedownaroundus.”“Ah,”Isaid.“Ihadn’tthoughtaboutthat.”“That’s nothing.TheFabrikators have anotherplace all thewayoutside the
city where theywork on blast powders. I can arrange for you to have a tourthere,too,”shesaidwithawickedgrin.“I’llpass.”Wedescendedasetofstepstoagravelpathandmadeourwaytothelake.As
we approached it, another building became visible on the far shore. To mysurprise, I sawgroupsof children running and shouting around it.Children inred,blue,andpurple.Abell rang,and they leftoff theirplayingandstreamedinside.“Aschool?”Iasked.Genya nodded. “When a Grisha’s talent is discovered, the child is brought
herefortraining.It’swherenearlyallofuslearnedtheSmallScience.”
AgainIthoughtofthosethreefiguresloomingovermeinthesittingroomatKeramzin.Whyhadn’t theGrishaExaminers discoveredmy abilities all thoseyearsago?Itwashardtoimaginewhatmylifemighthavebeenlikeiftheyhad.Iwouldhavebeencatered tobyservants insteadofworkingsidebysidewiththemat chores. I neverwould have become a cartographer or even learned todrawamap.AndwhatmightithavemeantforRavka?IfI’dlearnedtousemypower,theShadowFoldmightalreadybeathingofthepast.MalandIwouldneverhavehadtofightthevolcra.Infact,MalandIwouldprobablyhavelongforgotteneachother.I looked back across the water to the school. “What happens when they
finish?”“They become members of the Second Army. Many are sent to the great
housestoservewithnoblefamilies,orthey’resenttoservewiththeFirstArmyonthenorthernorsouthernfront,orneartheFold.ThebestarechosentoremainattheLittlePalace,tofinishtheireducationandjointheDarkling’sservice.”“Whatabouttheirfamilies?”Iasked.“They’recompensatedhandsomely.AGrisha’sfamilyneverwants.”“That’snotwhatImeant.Don’tyouevergohometovisit?”Genya shrugged. “I haven’t seen my parents since I was five. This is my
home.”LookingatGenya inherwhiteandgoldkefta, Iwasn’tquiteconvinced. I’d
livedatKeramzinformostofmylife,butI’dneverfeltIbelongedthere.Andevenafterayear, thesamehadbeentruefortheKing’sArmy.TheonlyplaceI’dever felt IbelongedwaswithMal, andeven thathadn’t lasted.Forallherbeauty,maybeGenyaandIweren’tsodifferentafterall.When we reached the lakeshore, we strolled past the stone pavilions, but
Genyadidn’t stopuntilwe reached a path thatwound from the shore into thewoods.“Hereweare,”shesaid.I peeredup thepath.Hidden in the shadows, I could justmakeout a small
stonehut,obscuredbytrees.“There?”“Ican’tgowithyou.NotthatI’dwantto.”Ilookedbackupthepathandalittleshiverranupmyspine.Genyagavemeapityinglook.“Baghra’snotsobadonceyougetusedtoher.
Butyoudon’twanttobelate.”“Right,”Isaidhastily,andscurriedupthepath.“Goodluck!”Genyacalledafterme.Thestonehutwasroundand,Inotedapprehensively,didn’tseemtohaveany
windows. I walked up the few steps to the door and knocked.When no one
answered,Iknockedagainandwaited.Iwasn’tsurewhattodo.Ilookedbackup thepath,butGenyawas longgone. Iknockedoncemore, thenscrewedupmycourageandopenedthedoor.Theheathitmelikeablast,andIinstantlybegantosweatinmynewclothes.
Asmyeyesadjustedtothedimness,Icouldjustmakeoutanarrowbed,abasin,andastovewithakettleonit.Atthecenteroftheroomweretwochairsandafireroaringinalargetileoven.“You’relate,”saidaharshvoice.I looked around but didn’t see anyone in the tiny room. Then one of the
shadowsmoved.Inearlyjumpedoutofmyskin.“Shutthedoor,girl.You’relettingtheheatout.”Iclosedthedoor.“Good,let’shavealookatyou.”Iwantedtoturnandrunintheotherdirection,butItoldmyselftostopbeing
stupid. I forced myself to walk over to the fire. The shadow emerged frombehindtheoventopeeratmeinthefirelight.Myfirstimpressionwasofanimpossiblyancientwoman,butwhenIlooked
closer,Iwasn’tsurewhyI’dthoughtthatatall.Baghra’sskinwassmoothandtautoverthesharpanglesofherface.Herbackwasstraight,herbodywirylikeaSuliacrobat,hercoal-blackhairuntouchedbygray.Andyetthefirelightmadeherfeatureseerilyskull-like,alljuttingbonesanddeephollows.Sheworeanoldkefta of indeterminate color, and with one skeletal hand she gripped a flat-headedcanethatlookedlikeithadbeenhewnfromsilvery,petrifiedwood.“So,”shesaidinalow,gutturalvoice,“you’retheSunSummoner.Cometo
saveusall.Where’stherestofyou?”Ishifteduneasily.“Well,girl,areyoumute?”“No,”Imanaged.“That’ssomething,Isuppose.Whyweren’tyoutestedasachild?”“Iwas.”“Hmph,”shesaid.Thenherexpressionchanged.Shelookedonmewitheyes
so unfathomably bleak that a chill rippled throughme, despite the heat of theroom.“Ihopeyou’restrongerthanyoulook,girl,”shesaidgrimly.Abonyhandsnakedoutfromthesleeveofherrobesandfastenedhardaround
mywrist.“Now,”shesaid,“let’sseewhatyoucando.”
CHAPTER9ITWAS A COMPLETE DISASTER. When Baghra fastened her bony handaroundmywrist,IrealizedinstantlythatshewasanamplifierliketheDarkling.Ifeltthesamejoltingsuretyfloodthroughme,andsunlighteruptedthroughtheroom,shimmeringoverthestonewallsofBaghra’shut.Butwhenshereleasedmeand toldme tocall thepoweronmyown, Iwashopeless.Shechidedme,cajoledme,evenhitmeoncewithherstick.“WhatamI supposed todowithagirlwhocan’tcallherownpower?”she
growledatme.“Evenchildrencandothis.”Sheslidherhandaroundmywristagain,andIfeltthatthinginsidemerising
up,strugglingtobreakthesurface.Ireachedforit,grasping,sureIcouldfeelit.Then she let go, and the power slipped away from me, sinking like a stone.Finally,sheshooedmeawaywithadisgustedwaveofherhand.Thedaydidnotimprove.Ispenttherestofthemorningatthelibrary,whereI
wasgiven a towering stackof booksonGrisha theory andGrisha history andinformedthat thiswasjustafractionofmyreadinglist.Atlunch,I lookedforGenya,but shewasnowhere tobe found. I satdownat theSummoners’ tableandwasquicklyswarmedbyEtherealki.IpickedatmyplateasMarieandNadiaproddedmewithquestionsaboutmy
firstlesson,wheremyroomwas,ifIwantedtogowiththemtothebanyathatnight.Whentheyrealizedtheyweren’tgoingtogetmuchoutofme,theyturnedto the other Summoners to chat about their classes. While I suffered withBaghra, the other Grisha were studying advanced theory, languages, militarystrategy.Apparently,thiswasalltoprepareforwhentheylefttheLittlePalacenext summer. Most of them would travel to the Fold or to the northern orsouthern front to assume command positions in the Second Army. But thegreatesthonorwastobeaskedtotravelwiththeDarklingasIvandid.I did my best to pay attention, but my mind kept wandering back to my
disastrous lessonwithBaghra.At some point I realized thatMariemust haveaskedmeaquestion,becausesheandNadiawerebothstaringatme.“Sorry,what?”Isaid.Theyexchangedaglance.“Do you want to walk with us to the stables?” Marie asked. “For combat
training?”Combattraining?IlookeddownatthelittlescheduleGenyahadleftwithme.
Listedafterlunchwerethewords“CombatTraining,Botkin,WestStables.”Sothisdaywasactuallygoingtogetworse.“Sure,”Isaidnumbly,andstoodupwiththem.Theservantssprangforward
topullourchairsoutandclearthedishes.IdoubtedI’devergetusedtobeingwaitedonthisway.“Nebrinite,”Mariesaidwithagiggle.“What?”Iasked,baffled.“To ebitizabavno.”Nadiagiggled.“Shesaid,‘Don’tworry.Itwillbefun.’It’sSulidialect.Marie
andIarestudyingitincasewegetsentwest.”“Ah,”Isaid.“Shi si yuyan Suli,” said Sergei as he strode past us out of the domed hall.
“That’sShufor‘Suliisadeadlanguage.’”MariescowledandNadiabitherlip.“SergeiisstudyingShu,”whisperedNadia.“Igotthat,”Ireplied.Marie spent the entirewalk to the stables complainingaboutSergei and the
other Corporalki and debating the merits of Suli over Shu. Suli was best formissions in the northwest. Shu meant you’d be stuck translating diplomaticpapers.Sergeiwasan idiotwhowasbetteroff learning to trade inKerch.Shetookabriefbreaktopointoutthebanya,anelaboratesystemofsteambathsandcold pools nestled in a birch grove beside the Little Palace, then launchedimmediately into a rant about selfish Corporalki overrunning the baths everynight.Maybecombattrainingwouldn’tbesobad.MarieandNadiaweredefinitely
makingmewanttopunchsomething.As we were crossing the western lawn, I suddenly got the feeling that
someonewaswatchingme.Ilookedupandsawafigurestandingoffthepath,nearlyhiddenbytheshadowsfromalowstandoftrees.Therewasnomistakingthelongbrownrobesorthedirtyblackbeard,andevenfromadistance,IcouldfeeltheeerieintensityoftheApparat’sstare.IhurriedtocatchuptoMarieandNadia, but I sensed his gaze followingme, andwhen I looked back overmyshoulder,hewasstillthere.The training rooms were next to the stables—large, empty, high-beamed
roomswithpackeddirtfloorsandweaponsofeveryvarietyliningthewalls.Ourinstructor, Botkin Yul-Erdene, wasn’t Grisha; he was a former Shu Hanmercenarywhohadfought inwarsoneverycontinent foranyarmythatcould
affordhisparticulargiftforviolence.Hehadstragglygrayhairandagruesomescaracrosshisneckwheresomeonehadtriedtocuthisthroat.Ispentthenexttwohourscursingthatpersonfornotdoingamorethoroughjob.Botkinstartedwithendurancedrills,racingusacrossthepalacegrounds.Idid
mybest to keepup, but Iwas asweak and clumsy as ever, and I quickly fellbehind.“IsthiswhattheyteachinFirstArmy?”hesneeredinhisheavyShuaccentas
Istumbledupahill.Iwastoooutofbreathtoanswer.Whenwereturnedtothetrainingrooms,theotherSummonerspairedofffor
sparringdrills,andBotkininsistedonpartneringme.Thenexthourwasablurofpainfuljabsandpunches.“Block!”heshouted,knockingmebackward.“Faster!Maybelittlegirl likes
tobehit?”Thesoleconsolationwasthatweweren’tallowedtouseourGrishaabilities
in the training rooms.Soat least Iwas spared theembarrassmentof revealingthatIcouldn’tcallmypower.WhenIwassotiredandsorethatIthoughtImightjustliedownandlethim
kickme,Botkindismissedtheclass.Butbeforewewereoutthedoorhecalled,“Tomorrow,littlegirlcomesearly,trainswithBotkin.”ItwasallIcoulddonottowhimper.By the time I stumbledback tomy roomandbathed, I justwanted to slink
beneaththecoversandhide.ButIforcedmyselftoreturntothedomedhallfordinner.“Where’sGenya?”IaskedMarieasIsatdownattheSummoners’table.“SheeatsattheGrandPalace.”“Andsleepsthere,”addedNadia.“TheQueenlikestomakesureshe’salways
available.”“SodoestheKing.”“Marie!”Nadiaprotested,butshewassnickering.Igapedatthem.“Youmean—”“It’sjustarumor,”saidMarie.ButsheandNadiaexchangedaknowinglook.I thought of theKing’swet lips, the broken blood vessels in his nose, and
beautifulGenyainherservant’scolors.Ipushedmyplateaway.ThelittlebitofappetiteI’dhadseemedtohavedisappeared.Dinner seemed to last forever. I nursed a glass of tea and endured another
roundof endlessSummoner chatter. Iwasgetting ready to excusemyself andescapebacktomyroomwhenthedoorsbehindtheDarkling’stableopenedandthedomedhallfellsilent.
Ivan emerged and sauntered over to the Summoners’ table, seeminglyoblivioustothestaresoftheotherGrisha.Withasinkingsensation,Irealizedhewaswalkingstraighttowardme.“Comewithme,Starkov,”hesaidwhenhereachedus,thenaddedamocking
“please.”Ipushedmychairbackandroseonlegsthatfeltsuddenlyweak.HadBaghra
told theDarkling that Iwashopeless?HadBotkin toldhimjusthowbadlyI’dfailedatmylessons?TheGrishaweregogglingatme.Nadia’sjawwasactuallyhangingopen.I followed Ivanacross thesilenthalland through thehugeebonydoors.He
led me down a hallway and through another door emblazoned with theDarkling’ssymbol.ItwaseasytotellthatIwasinthewarroom.Therewerenowindows,andthewallswerecoveredwithlargemapsofRavka.Themapsweremade in the old style, with heated ink on animal hide. Under any othercircumstances,Icouldhavespenthoursstudyingthem,runningmyfingersovertheraisedmountainsandtwistingrivers.Instead,Istoodwithmyhandsbunchedintoclammyfists,myheartthuddinginmychest.TheDarklingwasseatedattheendofalongtable,readingthroughapileof
papers. He looked up when we entered, his quartz eyes glittering in thelamplight.“Alina,”hesaid.“Please,sit.”Hegesturedtothechairbesidehim.Ihesitated.Hedidn’tsoundangry.Ivandisappearedback through thedoor, closing it behindhim. I swallowed
hardandmademyselfcrosstheroomandtaketheseattheDarklingoffered.“Howwasyourfirstday?”Iswallowedagain.“Fine,”Icroaked.“Really?”heasked,buthewassmilingslightly.“EvenBaghra?Shecanbea
bitofatrial.”“Justabit,”Imanaged.“You’retired?”Inodded.“Homesick?”Ishrugged.ItfeltstrangetosayIwashomesickforthebarracksoftheFirst
Army.“Alittle,Iguess.”“Itwillgetbetter.”Ibitmy lip. Ihoped so. Iwasn’t surehowmanydays like thisone I could
handle.“It will be harder for you,” he said. “An Etherealnik rarely works alone.
Infernipairup.SquallersoftenpartnerwithTidemakers.Butyou’retheonlyone
ofyourkind.”“Right,”Isaidwearily.Iwasn’treallyinthemoodtohearabouthowspecialI
was.Herose.“Comewithme,”hesaid.Myheart startedpoundingagain.He ledmeoutof thewar roomanddown
anotherhallway.Hepointedtoanarrowdoorsetunobtrusivelyintothewall.“Keeprightand
thiswillleadyoubacktothedormitories.Ithoughtyoumightwanttoavoidthemainhall.”Istaredathim.“That’sit?”Iblurted.“Youjustwantedtoaskmeaboutmy
day?”Hecockedhisheadtooneside.“Whatwereyouexpecting?”I was so relieved that a little laugh escapedme. “I have no idea. Torture?
Interrogation?Asterntalkingto?”Hefrownedslightly.“I’mnotamonster,Alina.Despitewhatyoumayhave
heard.”“Ididn’tmeanthat,”Isaidhurriedly.“Ijust…Ididn’tknowwhattoexpect.”“Otherthantheworst?”“It’s an old habit.” I knew I should stop there, but I couldn’t helpmyself.
Maybe Iwasn’t being fair.But neitherwas he. “Why shouldn’t I be afraid ofyou?”Iasked.“You’re theDarkling. I’mnotsayingyouwould throwme inaditchorshipmeofftoTsibeya,butyoucertainlycould.Youcancutpeopleinhalf.Ithinkit’sfairtobealittleintimidated.”He studiedme for a longmoment, and Iwished fervently that I’d keptmy
mouthshut.Butthenthathalfsmileflickeredacrosshisface.“Youmayhaveapoint.”Alittleofthefearebbedoutofme.“Whydoyoudothat?”heaskedsuddenly.“Dowhat?”Hereachedoutandtookholdofmyhand.Ifeltthatwonderfulsenseofsurety
rushthroughme.“Rubyourthumbacrossyourpalm.”“Oh,” I laughed nervously. I hadn’t even been aware I was doing it. “Just
anotheroldhabit.”Heturnedmyhandoverandexamineditinthedimlightofthehallway.He
draggedhis thumbover thepale scar that ranacrossmypalm.Ashiveryhumshotthroughme.“Wheredidyougetthis?”heasked.“I…Keramzin.”“Whereyougrewup?”
“Yes.”“Thetrackerisanorphan,too?”Idrew inasharpbreath.Wasmind readinganotheroneofhispowers?But
thenIrememberedthatMalhadgiventestimonyintheGrishatent.“Yes,”Isaid.“Isheanygood?”“What?”Iwasfindingithardtoconcentrate.TheDarkling’sthumbwasstill
movingbackandforth,tracingthelengthofthescaronmypalm.“Attracking.Isheanygoodatit?”“Thebest,”Isaidhonestly.“TheserfsatKeramzinsaidhecouldmakerabbits
outofrocks.”“I wonder sometimes how much we really understand our own gifts,” he
mused.Thenhedroppedmyhandandopenedthedoor.Hesteppedasideandgaveme
alittlebow.“Goodnight,Alina.”“Goodnight,”Imanaged.Iduckedthroughthedoorwayandintoanarrowhall.Amomentlater,Iheard
thesoundofadoorclosingbehindme.
CHAPTER10THE NEXT MORNING, my body ached so badly that I could barely dragmyselfoutofbed.ButIgotupanddiditalloveragain.Andagain.Andagain.Eachdaywasworseandmorefrustratingthantheonebefore,butIdidn’tstop.Icouldn’t.Iwasn’tamapmakeranymore,andifIcouldn’tmanagetobecomeaGrisha,wherewouldthatleaveme?IthoughtoftheDarkling’swordsthatnightbeneaththebrokenbeamsofthe
barn.You’rethefirstglimmerofhopeI’vehadinalongtime.HebelievedIwasthe Sun Summoner. He believed I could help him destroy the Fold. And if Icould,nosoldier,nomerchant,no trackerwouldeverhave tocross theUnseaagain.Butasthedaysdraggedon,thatideabegantoseemmoreandmoreabsurd.I spent long hours inBaghra’s hut learning breathing exercises and holding
painfulposesthatweresupposedtohelpwithmyfocus.Shegavemebookstoread, teas to drink, and repeated whacks with her stick, but nothing helped.“ShouldIcutyou,girl?”shewouldcryinfrustration.“ShouldIhaveanInferniburnyou?Should Ihave them throwyouback into theFold tomake food forthoseabominations?”Mydaily failureswithBaghrawerematchedonlyby the torture thatBotkin
putmethrough.Heranmeallover thepalacegrounds, throughthewoods,upand down hills until I thought I would collapse. He put me through sparringdrillsandfallingdrillsuntilmybodywascoveredinbruisesandmyearsachedfromhisconstantgrumbling:tooslow,tooweak,tooskinny.“Botkincannotbuildhousefromsuchlittletwigs!”heshoutedatme,giving
myupperarmasqueeze.“Eatsomething!”ButIwasn’thungry.Theappetitethathadappearedaftermybrushwithdeath
ontheFoldwasgoneandfoodhadlostallitssavor.Isleptpoorly,despitemyluxuriousbed,andfeltlikeIwasstumblingthroughmydays.TheworkGenyahaddoneonmehadwornoff,andmycheekswereonceagainsallow,myeyesshadowed,myhairdullandlimp.Baghrabelievedthatmylackofappetiteandinabilitytosleepwereconnected
tomyfailuretocallmypower.“Howmuchharderis it towalkwithyourfeetbound?Or to talkwith a handover yourmouth?” she lectured. “Whydo you
wasteallofyourstrengthfightingyourtruenature?”Iwasn’t.OrIdidn’tthinkIwas.Iwasn’tsureofanythinganymore.Allmy
life I’dbeen frail andweak.Everydayhad felt like a struggle. IfBaghrawasright,allthatwouldchangewhenIfinallymasteredmyGrishatalent.AssumingIeverdid.Untilthen,Iwasstuck.IknewthattheotherGrishawerewhisperingaboutme.TheEtherealkiliked
topracticeby the lakeside together,experimentingwithnewways tousewindandwaterandfire.Icouldn’triskthemdiscoveringthatIcouldn’tevencallmyown power, so Imade excuses not to join them, and eventually they stoppedinvitingme.Intheevenings,theysataroundthedomedhall,sippingteaorkvas,planning
weekendexcursionsintoBalakirevoroneoftheothervillagesnearOsAlta.ButbecausetheDarklingwasstillconcernedaboutassassinationattempts,Ihadtoremain behind. I was glad for the excuse. The more time I spent with theSummoners,thegreaterthechancethatIwouldbefoundout.I rarelysawtheDarkling,andwhenIdid itwasfromadistance,comingor
going,deepinconversationwithIvanortheKing’smilitaryadvisers.IlearnedfromtheotherGrishathathewasn’toftenattheLittlePalace,butspentmostofhis timetravelingbetweentheFoldandthenorthernborder,orsouth towhereShu Han raiding parties were attacking settlements before winter set in.Hundreds ofGrishawere stationed throughoutRavka, and hewas responsibleforallofthem.Heneversaidaword tome, rarelyevenglancedmyway. Iwassure itwas
becauseheknew that Iwasshowingno improvement, thathisSunSummonermightturnouttobeacompletefailureafterall.WhenIwasn’tsufferingatthehandsofBaghraorBotkin,Iwassittinginthe
library, wading through books on Grisha theory. I thought I understood thebasicsofwhatGrishadid.(Ofwhatwedid,Iamended.)Everythingintheworldcouldbebrokendown into the same smallparts.What looked likemagicwasreallytheGrishamanipulatingmatteratitsmostfundamentallevels.Mariedidn’tmakefire.Shesummonedcombustibleelementsintheairaround
us,andshestillneededaflinttomakethesparkthatwouldburnthatfuel.Grishasteelwasn’t endowedwithmagic, butby the skill ofFabrikators,whodidnotneedheatorcrudetoolstomanipulatemetal.But if I understood what we did, I was less sure of how we did it. The
groundingprincipleoftheSmallSciencewas“likecallstolike,”butthenitgotcomplicated.Odinakovostwasthe“thisness”ofathingthatmadeitthesameaseverythingelse.Etovostwasthe“thatness”ofathingthatmadeitdifferentfromeverythingelse.OdinakovostconnectedGrisha to theworld,but itwasetovost
thatgavethemanaffinityforsomethinglikeair,orblood,orinmycase,light.Aroundthen,myheadstartedswimming.One thing did stand out tome: theword the philosophers used to describe
peoplebornwithoutGrishagifts,otkazat’sya, “theabandoned.” Itwasanotherwordfororphan.LATEONEAFTERNOON,IwasploddingthroughapassagedescribingGrishaassistancewithtraderouteswhenIfeltsomeone’spresencebesideme.Ilookedup and cringed back inmy chair. TheApparatwas looming overme, his flatblackpupilslitwithpeculiarintensity.Iglancedaroundthelibrary.Itwasemptyexceptforus,anddespitethesun
pouringthroughtheglassceiling,Ifeltachillcreepthroughme.Hesatdowninthechairbesidemewithagustofmustyrobes,andthedamp
smelloftombsenvelopedme.Itriedtobreathethroughmymouth.“Areyouenjoyingyourstudies,AlinaStarkov?”“Verymuch,”Ilied.“I’msoglad,”hesaid.“ButIhopeyouwillremembertofeedthesoulaswell
asthemind.Iamthespiritualadvisertoallthosewithinthepalacewalls.Shouldyoufindyourselfworriedorindistress,Ihopeyouwillnothesitatetocometome.”“Iwill,”Isaid.“Absolutely.”“Good,good.”Hesmiled,revealingamouthofcrowded,yellowingteeth,his
gumsblacklikeawolf’s.“Iwantustobefriends.Itissoimportantthatwearefriends.”“Ofcourse.”“Iwouldbepleased if youwould accept agift fromme,”he said, reaching
into the folds of his brown robes and removing a small book bound in redleather.Howcouldsomeoneofferingyouapresentsoundsocreepy?Reluctantly, I leaned forward and took the book fromhis long, blue-veined
hand.Thetitlewasembossedingoldonthecover:IstoriiSankt’ya.“TheLivesofSaints?”Henodded.“TherewasatimewhenallGrishachildrenweregiventhisbook
whentheycametoschoolattheLittlePalace.”“Thankyou,”Isaid,perplexed.“PeasantslovetheirSaints.Theyhungerforthemiraculous.Andyettheydo
notlovetheGrisha.Whydoyouthinkthatis?”
“Ihadn’t thought about it,” I said. Iopened thebook.Someonehadwrittenmynameinside thecover. I flippedafewpages.SanktPetyrofBrevno.SanktIlyainChains.SanktaLizabeta.Eachchapterbeganwithafull-pageillustration,beautifullyrenderedinbrightlycoloredinks.“I think it isbecause theGrishadonot suffer theway theSaints suffer, the
waythepeoplesuffer.”“Maybe,”Isaidabsently.“But you have suffered, haven’t you,Alina Starkov?And I think… yes. I
thinkyouwillsuffermore.”Myheadjerkedup.I thoughthemightbethreateningme,buthiseyeswere
fullofastrangesympathythatwasevenmoreterrifying.I glanced back down at the book inmy lap.My finger had stopped on an
illustrationofSanktaLizabetaasshehaddied,drawnandquarteredinafieldofroses.Herbloodmadeariverthroughthepetals.Isnappedthebookclosedandsprangtomyfeet.“Ishouldgo.”TheApparatrose,andforamomentIthoughthewouldtrytostopme.“You
donotlikeyourgift.”“No,no.It’sverynice.Thankyou.Idon’twanttobelate,”Ibabbled.Iboltedpasthim through the librarydoors,and Ididn’t takeaneasybreath
untilIwasbackinmyroom.ItossedthebookofSaintsintothebottomdrawerofmydressingtableandslammeditshut.WhatdidtheApparatwantfromme?Hadhiswordsbeenmeantasathreat?
Orassomekindofwarning?I took a deep breath, a tide of fatigue and confusion washing over me. I
missedtheeasyrhythmoftheDocumentsTent,thecomfortingmonotonyofmylife as a cartographer, when nothing more was expected of me than a fewdrawings and a tidyworktable. Imissed the familiar smell of inks and paper.Mostly,ImissedMal.I’d written to him every week, care of our regiment, but I hadn’t heard
anythingback.IknewthepostcouldbeunreliableandthathisunitmighthavemovedonfromtheFoldormightevenbeinWestRavka,butIstillhopedthatIwouldhear fromhimsoon. I’dgivenupon the ideaofhimvisitingmeat theLittle Palace. As much as I missed him, I couldn’t bear the thought of himknowingthatIfitintomynewlifeaboutaswellasI’dfitintomyoldone.Everynight,asIclimbedthestairstomyroomafteranotherpointless,painful
day, I would imagine the letter thatmight bewaiting forme onmy dressingtable,andmystepswouldquicken.Butthedayspassed,andnolettercame.Todaywasnodifferent.Iranmyhandovertheemptysurfaceofthetable.“Whereareyou,Mal?”Iwhispered.Buttherewasnoonetheretoanswer.
CHAPTER11WHENITHOUGHTthingscouldn’tgetanyworse,theydid.Iwassittingatbreakfast in thedomedhallwhen themaindoorsblewopen
and a group of unfamiliar Grisha entered. I didn’t pay them much attention.Grisha in the Darkling’s service were always coming and going at the LittlePalace,sometimestorecoverfrominjuriesreceivedatthenorthernorsouthernfront,sometimesonleavefromotherassignments.ThenNadiagasped.“Ohno,”groanedMarie.IlookedupandmystomachlurchedasIrecognizedtheraven-hairedgirlwho
hadfoundMalsofascinatingbackinKribirsk.“Who is she?” Iwhispered,watching thegirlglideamong theotherGrisha,
sayingherhellos,herhighlaughechoingoffthegoldendome.“Zoya,” mutteredMarie. “She was a year ahead of us at school and she’s
horrible.”“Thinksshe’sbetterthaneveryone,”addedNadia.Iraisedmyeyebrows.IfZoya’ssinwassnobbery,thenMarieandNadiahad
nobusinessmakingjudgments.Mariesighed.“Theworstpartisthatshe’skindofright.She’sanincredibly
powerfulSqualler,agreatfighter,andlookather.”I took in thesilverembroideryonZoya’scuffs, theglossyperfectionofher
blackhair,thebigblueeyesfringedbyimpossiblydarklashes.ShewasalmostasbeautifulasGenya. I thoughtofMaland feltapangofpure jealousyshootthroughme.ButthenIrealizedthatZoyahadbeenstationedattheFold.IfsheandMal had…well, she might know if he was there, if he was all right. Ipushedmyplateaway.TheprospectofaskingZoyaaboutMalmademealittlenauseated.Asifshecouldfeelmystare,Zoyaturnedfromwhereshewaschattingwith
someawestruckCorporalkiandsweptovertotheSummoners’table.“Marie!Nadia!Howareyou?”Theystoodtohugher,theirfacesplasteredwithhuge,fakesmiles.“Youlookamazing,Zoya!Howareyou?”gushedMarie.“Wemissedyousomuch!”squealedNadia.
“Imissedyou, too,”Zoyasaid.“It’ssogoodtobebackat theLittlePalace.Youcan’timaginehowbusytheDarkling’skeptme.ButI’mbeingrude.Idon’tthinkI’vemetyourfriend.”“Oh!” Marie exclaimed. “I’m so sorry. This is Alina Starkov. The Sun
Summoner,”shesaidwithalittlepride.Istoodupawkwardly.Zoyasweptmeintoanembrace.“It’ssuchanhonortofinallymeet theSun
Summoner,”shesaidloudly.Butasshehuggedmeshewhispered,“YoustinkofKeramzin.”Istiffened.Shereleasedme,asmileplayingonherperfectlips.“I’ll see you all later,” she saidwith a littlewave. “I’m frantic for a bath.”
Andwith that shesailed fromthedomedhalland through thedoubledoors tothedormitories.Istoodthere,stunned,mycheeksblazing.Ifeltlikeeveryonemustbegaping
atme,butnooneelseseemedtohaveheardwhatZoyasaid.Herwordsstayedwithmetherestoftheday,throughanotherbotchedlesson
with Baghra and an interminable lunch during which Zoya held forth on thejourney from Kribirsk, the state of the towns bordering the Fold, and theexquisitelubokwoodcutsshe’dseeninoneofthepeasantvillages.Itmighthavebeen my imagination, but it seemed like every time she said “peasant” shelookeddirectlyatme.As she spoke, lightglintedoff theheavy silverbraceletgleamingatherwrist.Itwasstuddedwithwhatlookedlikepiecesofbone.Anamplifier,Irealized.ThingswentfrombadtodreadfulwhenZoyashowedupatourcombatlesson.
Botkinhuggedher,kissedbothofhercheeks,andthenproceededtochatterbackandforthwithherinShu.Wasthereanythingthisgirlcouldn’tdo?She’dbroughtalongher friendwith thechestnutcurls,whomIremembered
from the Grisha tent. They proceeded to giggle and whisper as I stumbledthrough thedrillswithwhichBotkinbeganeveryclass.Whenweseparated tospar,Iwasn’tevensurprisedwhenBotkinpairedmewithZoya.“Isstarpupil,”hesaid,grinningproudly.“Willhelplittlegirl.”“Surely the Sun Summoner doesn’t needmy help,” Zoya saidwith a smug
smile.Iwatchedherwarily. Iwasn’t surewhy thisgirlhatedmesomuch,but I’d
hadjustaboutenoughforoneday.Wetookourfightingstances,andBotkingavethesignaltostart.IactuallymanagedtoblockZoya’sfirstjab,butnotthesecond.Itcaughtme
hardonthejawandmyheadsnappedback.Itriedtoshakeitoff.She danced forward and aimed a punch at my ribs. But some of Botkin’s
trainingmusthavesunkinoverthelastfewweeks.Idodgedrightandtheblowglancedoffme.Sheflexedhershouldersandcircled.Outofthecornerofmyeye,Icouldsee
thattheotherSummonershadleftoffsparringandwerewatchingus.Ishouldn’thaveletmyselfgetdistracted.ItookZoya’snextpunchhardtothe
gut.AsIgaspedforbreath,shefollowedwithanelbow.Imanagedtoavoiditmorebyluckthanskill.Shepressedheradvantageand lungedforward.Thatwashermistake. Iwas
weakandIwasslow,butBotkinhadtaughtmetomakeuseofmyopponent’sstrength.Istepped to theside,andasshecame inclose, Ihookedmy legaroundher
ankle.Zoyawentdownhard.TheotherSummonersbrokeintoapplause.ButbeforeIhadachancetoeven
register my victory, Zoya sat up, her expression furious, her arm slashingthroughtheair.IfeltmyselfliftedoffmyfeetasIsailedbackwardthroughtheairandslammedintothetrainingroom’swoodenwall.Iheardsomethingcrack,andallthebreathwentoutofmybodyasIslidtotheground.“Zoya!”Botkinroared.“Youdonotusepower.Notintheserooms.Neverin
theserooms!”Dimly,IwasawareoftheotherSummonersgatheringaroundme,ofBotkin
callingforaHealer.“I’mfine,”Itriedtosay,butIcouldn’tgatherenoughbreath.Ilayinthedirt,
pantingshallowly.EverytimeItriedtobreathe,paintorethroughmyleftside.Agroupofservantsarrived,butwhentheyliftedmeontothestretcher,Ifainted.MarieandNadiatoldmetherestwhentheycametovisitmeintheinfirmary.
AHealerhadslowedmyheartrateuntilIfellintoadeepsleep,thenmendedmybrokenribandthebruisesZoyahadleftonme.“Botkinwas furious!”Marie exclaimed. “I’ve never seen him so angry.He
threwZoyaoutofthetrainingrooms.Ithoughthemighthitherhimself.”“Ivo says he saw Ivan take her through the domed hall to the Darkling’s
councilrooms,andwhenshecameout,shewascrying.”Good, I thoughtwith satisfaction. Butwhen I thought ofmyself lying in a
heapinthedirt,Ifeltaburningwaveofembarrassment.“Why did she do it?” I asked as I tried to sit up. I’d had plenty of people
ignoremeorlookdownonme.ButZoyaactuallyseemedtohateme.MarieandNadiagapedatmeasifI’dtakenacracktotheskullinsteadofthe
ribs.“Becauseshe’sjealous!”saidNadia.“Ofme?”Isaidincredulously.
Marierolledhereyes.“Shecan’tbeartheideaofanyonebeingtheDarkling’sfavorite.”I laughed and then winced at the stab of pain in my side. “I’m hardly his
favorite.”“Ofcourseyouare.Zoya’spowerful,butshe’sjustanotherSqualler.You’re
theSunSummoner.”Nadia’scheeksflushedwhenshesaidthis,andIknewIwasn’timaginingthe
tinge of envy in her voice. Just howdeep did that envy go?Marie andNadiatalkedliketheyhatedZoya,buttheysmiledtoherface.WhatdotheysayaboutmewhenI’mnotaround?Iwondered.“Maybehe’lldemoteher!”squealedMarie.“Maybehe’llsendhertoTsibeya!”crowedNadia.AHealer appeared from the shadows to shush themand send themon their
way.Theypromisedtovisitagainthenextday.Imusthave fallenbackasleepbecause,when Iwokea fewhours later, the
infirmarywasdark.Theroomwaseerilyquiet, theotherbedsunoccupied, theonlysoundthesofttickingofaclock.Ipushedmyselfup.Istillfeltalittlesore,butitwashardtobelievethatI’d
hadabrokenribjustafewhoursbefore.Mymouthwasdry,andIhadthebeginningofaheadache.Idraggedmyself
outofbedandpouredaglassofwater fromthepitcheratmybedside.ThenIpushedopenthewindowandtookadeepbreathofnightair.“AlinaStarkov.”Ijumpedandwhirled.“Who’sthere?”Igasped.TheApparatemergedfromthelongshadowsbythedoor.“DidIstartleyou?”heasked.“A bit,” I admitted. How long had he been standing there? Had he been
watchingmesleep?He seemed to glide silently across the room toward me, his ragged robes
slitheringovertheinfirmaryfloor.Itookaninvoluntarystepbackward.“Iwasvery sorry tohearofyour injury,”he said. “TheDarkling shouldbe
morewatchfulofhischarges.”“I’mfine.”“Areyou?”he said, regardingme in themoonlight. “Youdonot lookwell,
AlinaStarkov.It’sessentialthatyoustaywell.”“I’mjustalittletired.”He stepped closer. His peculiar smell wafted over me, that strange mix of
incenseandmildew,andthescentofturnedearth.Ithoughtofthegraveyardat
Keramzin,thecrookedheadstones,thepeasantwomenkeeningovernewgraves.Iwassuddenlyveryawareoftheemptinessoftheinfirmary.WastheCorporalkiHealer still nearby?Or had he gone somewhere to find a glass of kvas and awarmbed?“Didyouknowthatinsomeofthebordervillages,theyaremakingaltarsto
you?”murmuredtheApparat.“What?”“Ohyes.Thepeople arehungry forhope, and the iconpainters aredoinga
boomingbusinessthankstoyou.”“ButI’mnotaSaint!”“Itisablessing,AlinaStarkov.Abenediction.”Hesteppedevenclosertome.
Icouldseethedarkandmattedhairsofhisbeard,thestainedjumbleofhisteeth.“Youarebecomingdangerous,andyouwillbecomemoredangerousstill.”“Me?”Iwhispered.“Towhom?”“Thereissomethingmorepowerfulthananyarmy.Somethingstrongenough
totopplekings,andevenDarklings.Doyouknowwhatthatthingis?”Ishookmyhead,inchingawayfromhim.“Faith,”hebreathed,hisblackeyeswild.“Faith.”Hereachedforme.Igropedtowardmybedsidetableandknockedtheglassof
watertothefloor.Itshatteredloudly.Hurriedfootstepspoundeddownthehalltowardus.TheApparatsteppedback,meltingintotheshadows.ThedoorburstopenandaHealerentered,hisredkeftaflappingbehindhim.
“Areyouallright?”Iopenedmymouth,unsureofwhattosay.ButtheApparathadalreadyslid
soundlesslyoutthedoor.“I…I’msorry.Ibrokeaglass.”TheHealercalledaservanttocleanupthemess.Hesettledmebackintobed
andsuggestedthatItrytorest.Butassoonashewasgone,Isatupandlitthelampbymybed.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 SunSummoner, not if they were expecting me to save them. I remembered theDarkling’s direwordsbeneath the broken roof of the barn.TheageofGrishapoweriscomingtoanend.Ithoughtofthevolcra,ofthelivesbeinglostontheShadowFold.AdividedRavkawon’tsurvivethenewage. Iwasn’t justfailingtheDarklingorBaghraormyself.IwasfailingallofRavka.
WHENGENYACAME by the next morning, I told her about the Apparat’svisit,butshedidn’tseemconcernedbywhathe’dsaidorhisstrangebehavior.“He’screepy,”sheadmitted.“Butharmless.”“Heisnotharmless.Youshouldhaveseenhim.Helookedcompletelymad.”“He’sjustapriest.”“Butwhywasheevenhere?”Genyashrugged.“MaybetheKingaskedhimtoprayforyou.”“I’mnotstayinghereagaintonight.Iwanttosleepinmyroom.Withadoor
thatlocks.”Genyasniffedand lookedaround thespare infirmary.“Well, that, at least, I
can agreewith. I wouldn’t want to stay here either.” Then she peered atme.“Youlookdreadful,”shesaidwithherusualtact.“Whydon’tyouletmefixyouupabit?”“No.”“Justletmegetridofthedarkcircles.”“No!”Isaidstubbornly.“ButIdoneedafavor.”“ShouldIgetmykit?”sheaskedeagerly.Iscowledather.“Notthatkindoffavor.Afriendofminewasinjuredonthe
Fold.I…I’vewrittentohim,butI’mnotsuremylettersaregettingthrough.”Ifeltmycheeksflushandhurriedon.“Couldyoufindoutifhe’sokayandwherehe’sbeenstationed?Idon’tknowwhoelsetoask,andsinceyou’realwaysattheGrandPalace,Ithoughtyoumightbeabletohelp.”“Ofcourse,but…well,haveyoubeencheckingthecasualtylists?”Inodded, a lump inmy throat.Genya left to findpaper andpen so I could
writedownMal’snameforher.Isighedandrubbedmyeyes.Ididn’tknowwhattomakeofMal’ssilence.I
checkedthecasualtylistseverysingleweek,myheartpounding,mystomachinknots, terrified thatIwouldseehisname.Andeachweek,Igavethanks toalltheSaintsthatMalwassafeandalive,evenifhecouldn’tbebotheredtowrite.Wasthatthetruthofit?Myheartgaveapainfultwist.MaybeMalwasgladI
wasgone,gladtobefreeofoldfriendshipsandobligations.Ormaybehe’slyinginahospitalbedsomewhereandyou’rebeingapettylittlebrat,Ichidedmyself.Genyareturned,andIwroteoutMal’sname,regiment,andunitnumber.She
foldedthepaperandslippeditintothesleeveofherkefta.“Thanks,”Isaidhoarsely.“I’msurehe’sfine,”shesaid,andgavemyhandagentlesqueeze.“Nowlie
backsoIcanfixthosedarkcircles.”“Genya!”“Liebackoryoucanforgetaboutyourlittlefavor.”
Myjawdropped.“Youarerotten.”“Iammarvelous.”Iglaredather,thenfloppedbackagainstthepillows.After Genya left, I made arrangements to return to my own quarters. The
Healerwasn’thappyaboutit,butIinsisted.Iwasbarelyevensoreanymore,andtherewasnowayIwasspendinganothernightinthatemptyinfirmary.WhenIgotbacktomyroom,Itookabathandtriedtoreadoneofmytheory
books. I couldn’t concentrate. Iwas dreading returning tomy classes the nextday,dreadinganotherfutilelessonwithBaghra.ThestaresandgossipaboutmehaddieddownabitsinceIarrivedattheLittle
Palace.ButIhadnodoubtthatmyfightwithZoyawouldbringthatallback.AsIroseandstretched,Icaughtaglimpseofmyselfinthemirrorabovemy
dressingtable.Icrossedtheroomandscrutinizedmyfaceintheglass.Thedarkshadowsbeneathmyeyesweregone,butIknewtheywouldbeback
inafewdays.Anditmadelittledifference.IlookedthewayIalwayshad:tired,scrawny, sick. Nothing like a real Grisha. The power was there, somewhereinsideme,butIcouldn’treachit,andIdidn’tknowwhy.WhywasIdifferent?Why had it taken so long formy power to reveal itself?Andwhy couldn’t Iaccessitonmyown?ReflectedinthemirrorIcouldseethethickgoldencurtainsat thewindows,
thebrilliantlypaintedwalls,thefirelightglitteringoffthetilesinthegrate.Zoyawasawful,butshewasalsoright.Ididn’tbelonginthisbeautifulworld,andifIdidn’tfindawaytousemypower,Ineverwould.
CHAPTER12THENEXTMORNINGwasn’tasbadasI’dexpected.Zoyawasalreadyinthedomed 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 asMarie and Nadiacalledtheirgreetingstome,andIdidmybesttoignoreher,too.Isavoredeverystepofmywalkdowntothelake.Thesunwasbright,theair
cold on my cheeks, and I wasn’t looking forward to the stuffy, windowlessconfines of Baghra’s hut. But when I climbed the steps to her door, I heardraisedvoices.Ihesitatedand thenknockedsoftly.Thevoicesquietedabruptly,andaftera
moment,Ipushedthedooropenandpeekedinside.TheDarklingwasstandingbyBaghra’stileoven,hisfacefurious.“Sorry,”Isaid,andbegantobackoutthedoor.ButBaghrajustsnapped,“In,girl.Don’tlettheheatout.”WhenIenteredandshutthedoor,theDarklinggavemeasmallbow.“How
areyou,Alina?”“I’mfine,”Imanaged.“She’s fine!” hooted Baghra. “She’s fine! She cannot light a hallway, but
she’sfine.”IwincedandwishedIcoulddisappearintomyboots.Tomysurprise,theDarklingsaid,“Leaveherbe.”Baghra’seyesnarrowed.“You’dlikethat,wouldn’tyou?”TheDarklingsighedandranhishandsthroughhisdarkhairinexasperation.
When he looked atme, therewas a rueful smile on his lips, and his hairwasgoingeverywhichway.“Baghrahasherownwayofdoingthings,”hesaid.“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’dcaughthimself.“Don’tchideme,oldwoman,”hesaidinalow,dangerousvoice.Angry energy crackled through the room. What had I walked into? I was
thinking about slipping out the door and leaving them to finish whateverargumentI’dinterruptedwhenBaghra’svoicelashedoutagain.“Theboythinkstogetyouanamplifier,”shesaid.“Whatdoyouthinkofthat,
girl?”ItwassostrangetoheartheDarklingcalled“boy”thatittookmeamoment
tounderstandhermeaning.ButwhenIdid,hopeandreliefrushedthroughme.Anamplifier!Whyhadn’tIthoughtofitbefore?Whyhadn’ttheythoughtofitbefore?Baghraand theDarklingwereable tohelpmecallmypowerbecausetheywerelivingamplifiers,sowhynotanamplifierofmyownlikeIvan’sbearclawsorthesealtoothI’dseenhangingaroundMarie’sneck?“Ithinkit’sbrilliant!”IexclaimedmoreloudlythanI’dintended.Baghramadeadisgustedsound.TheDarklinggaveherasharpglance,butthenheturnedtome.“Alina,have
youeverheardofMorozova’sherd?”“Ofcourseshehas.She’salsoheardofunicornsandtheShuHandragons,”
Baghrasaidmockingly.An angry look passed over the Darkling’s features, but then he seemed to
masterhimself.“MayIhaveawordwithyou,Alina?”heinquiredpolitely.“Of…ofcourse,”Istammered.Baghrasnortedagain,buttheDarklingignoredherandtookmebytheelbow
toleadmeoutofthecottage,shuttingthedoorfirmlybehindus.Whenwehadwalkedashortdistancedownthepath,heheavedahugesighandranhishandsthroughhishairagain.“Thatwoman,”hemuttered.Itwashardnottolaugh.“What?”hesaidwarily.“I’vejustneverseenyouso…ruffled.”“Baghrahasthateffectonpeople.”“Wassheyourteacher,too?”A shadow crossed his face. “Yes,” he said. “So what do you know about
Morozova’sherd?”Ibitmylip.“Just,well,youknow…”Hesighed.“Justchildren’sstories?”Ishruggedapologetically.“It’sallright,”hesaid.“Whatdoyourememberfromthestories?”I thought back, remembering Ana Kuya’s voice in the dormitories late at
night.“Theywerewhitedeer,magicalcreaturesthatappearedonlyattwilight.”“They’re no more magical than we are. But they are ancient and very
powerful.”“They’rereal?”Iaskedincredulously.Ididn’tmentionthatIcertainlyhadn’t
beenfeelingverymagicalorpowerfullately.“Ithinkso.”“ButBaghradoesn’t.”
“Sheusuallyfindsmyideasridiculous.Whatelsedoyouremember?”“Well,”Isaidwithalaugh.“InAnaKuya’sstories,theycouldtalk,andifa
huntercapturedthemandsparedtheirlives,theygrantedwishes.”Helaughedthen.ItwasthefirsttimeI’deverheardhislaugh,alovelydark
soundthatrippledthroughtheair.“Well,thatpartdefinitelyisn’ttrue.”“Buttherestis?”“KingsandDarklingshavebeensearchingforMorozova’sherdforcenturies.
My hunters claim they’ve seen signs of them, though they’ve never seen thecreaturesthemselves.”“Andyoubelievethem?”Hisslate-coloredgazewascoolandsteady.“Mymendon’tlietome.”I felt a chill skitter up my spine. Knowing what the Darkling could do, I
wouldn’tbekeenonlyingtohimeither.“Allright,”Isaiduneasily.“IfMorozova’sstagcanbetaken,itsantlerscanbemadeintoanamplifier.”
Hereachedoutandtappedmycollarbone—eventhatbriefcontactwasenoughtosendajoltofsuretythroughme.“Anecklace?”Iasked,tryingtopictureit,stillfeelingthetapofhisfingersat
thebaseofmythroat.Henodded.“Themostpowerfulamplifiereverknown.”Myjawdropped.“Andyouwanttogiveittome?”Henoddedagain.“Wouldn’t it justbeeasier forme toget a clawora fangor, Idon’tknow,
prettymuchanythingelse?”Heshookhishead.“IfwehaveanyhopeofdestroyingtheFold,weneedthe
stag’spower.”“ButmaybeifIhadonetopracticewith—”“Youknowitdoesn’tworkthatway.”“Ido?”Hefrowned.“Haven’tyoubeenreadingyourtheory?”Igavehimalookandsaid,“There’salotoftheory.”Hesurprisedmebysmiling.“Iforgetthatyou’renewtothis.”“Well,Idon’t,”Imuttered.“Isitthatbad?”To my embarrassment, I felt a lump well up in my throat. I swallowed it
down. “Baghramust have told you I can’t summon a single sunbeam onmyown.”“Itwillhappen,Alina.I’mnotworried.”“You’renot?”“No.AndevenifIwere,oncewehavethestag,itwon’tmatter.”
Ifeltasurgeoffrustration.IfanamplifiercouldmakeitpossibleformetobearealGrisha,thenIdidn’twanttowaitforsomemythicalantler.Iwantedarealone.Now.“If no one’s foundMorozova’s herd in all this time,whatmakes you think
you’llfinditnow?”Iasked.“Becausethiswasmeanttobe.Thestagwasmeantforyou,Alina.Icanfeel
it.” He looked at me. His hair was still a mess, and in the bright morningsunlight,helookedmorehandsomeandmorehumanthanI’deverseenhim.“IguessI’maskingyoutotrustme,”hesaid.Whatwas I supposed to say? I didn’t really have a choice. If theDarkling
wantedmetobepatient,Iwouldhavetobepatient.“Okay,”Isaidfinally.“Buthurryitup.”He laughed again, and I felt a pleased flush creep upmy cheeks. Then his
expressionbecameserious. “I’vebeenwaiting foryoua long time,Alina,”hesaid.“YouandIaregoingtochangetheworld.”Ilaughednervously.“I’mnottheworld-changingtype.”“Justwait,”hesaidsoftly,andwhenhelookedatmewiththosegrayquartz
eyes, my heart gave a little thump. I thought he was going to say somethingmore,butabruptlyhesteppedback,atroubledlookonhisface.“Goodluckwithyourlessons,”hesaid.Hegavemeashortbowandturnedonhisheeltowalkupthepathtothelakeshore.Buthe’donlygoneafewstepsbeforeheturnedbacktome.“Alina,”hesaid.“Aboutthestag?”“Yes?”“Pleasekeepittoyourself.Mostpeoplethinkit’sjustachildren’sstory,and
I’dhatetolookafool.”“Iwon’tsayanything,”Ipromised.Henoddedonceand,withoutanotherword,strodeaway.Istaredafterhim.I
feltalittledazed,andIwasn’tsurewhy.WhenIlookedup,Baghrawasstandingontheporchofhercottage,watching
me.Fornoreasonatall,Iblushed.“Hmph,”shesnorted,andthensheturnedherbackonme,too.
AFTERMYCONVERSATIONwith theDarkling, I tookmyfirstopportunitytovisitthelibrary.Therewasnomentionofthestaginanyofmytheorybooks,butIdidfindareferencetoIlyaMorozova,oneofthefirstandmostpowerfulGrisha.Therewasalsoplentyaboutamplifiers.Thebookswereveryclearonthefact
thataGrishacouldhaveonlyoneamplifierinhisorherlifetimeandthatonceaGrishaownedanamplifier, itcouldbepossessedbynooneelse:“TheGrishaclaims the amplifier, but the amplifier claims the Grisha, as well. Once it isdone,therecanbenoother.Likecallstolike,andthebondismade.”The reason for this wasn’t entirely clear to me, but it seemed to have
somethingtodowithacheckonGrishapower.“Thehorsehasspeed.Thebearhasstrength.Thebirdhaswings.Nocreature
hasallofthesegifts,andsotheworldisheldinbalance.Amplifiersarepartofthis balance, not ameans of subverting it, and eachGrishawould dowell torememberthisorrisktheconsequences.”Anotherphilosopherwrote,“WhycanaGrishapossessbutoneamplifier?I
willanswerthisquestioninstead:Whatisinfinite?Theuniverseandthegreedofmen.”Sittingbeneath the library’sglassdome,I thoughtof theBlackHeretic.The
Darklinghadsaid that theShadowFoldwas the resultofhisancestor’sgreed.Was thatwhat the philosophersmeant by consequences? For the first time, itoccurredtomethattheFoldwastheoneplacewheretheDarklingwashelpless,wherehispowersmeantnothing.TheBlackHeretic’sdescendantshadsufferedforhisambition.Still,Icouldn’thelpbutthinkthatitwasRavkathathadbeenmadetopayinblood.FALL TURNED TOWINTER, and cold winds stripped the branches in thepalace gardens bare. Our table was still laden with fresh fruit and flowersfurnished from theGrishahothouses,where theymade theirownweather.Butevenjuicyplumsandpurplegrapesdidlittletoimprovemyappetite.Somehow I’d thought thatmyconversationwith theDarklingmight change
something inme. Iwanted tobelieve the thingshe’dsaid,andstandingby thelakeshore, I almosthad.Butnothingchanged. I still couldn’t summonwithoutBaghra’shelp.Istillwasn’ttrulyaGrisha.Allthesame,Ifeltabitlessmiserableaboutit.TheDarklinghadaskedmeto
trusthim,andifhebelievedthatthestagwastheanswer,thenallIcoulddowashopehewasright.IstillavoidedpracticingwiththeotherSummoners,butIletMarieandNadiadragmetothebanyaacoupleoftimesandtooneoftheballetsattheGrandPalace.IevenletGenyaputalittlecolorinmycheeks.MynewattitudeinfuriatedBaghra.“You’re not even trying anymore!” she shouted. “You’re waiting for some
magical deer to come saveyou?Foryourprettynecklace?Youmight aswell
waitforaunicorntoputitsheadinyourlap,youstupidthing.”Whenshestartedrailingatme,Ijustshrugged.Shewasright.Iwastiredof
tryingandfailing.Iwasn’tliketheotherGrisha,anditwastimeIacceptedthat.Besides,somerebelliouspartofmeenjoyeddrivingherintoatizzy.I didn’t know what punishment Zoya had received, but she continued to
ignoreme.She’dbeenbarredfromthetrainingrooms,andI’dheardshewouldbereturningtoKribirskafterthewinterfete.Occasionally,IcaughtherglaringatmeorgigglingbehindherhandwithherlittlegroupofSummonerfriends,butItriednottoletitgettome.Still,Icouldn’tshakethesenseofmyownfailure.Whenthefirstsnowcame,
Iwoke to findanewkeftawaiting formeonmydoor. Itwasmadeofheavymidnightbluewoolandhadahoodlinedinthickgoldenfur.Iputiton,butitwashardnottofeellikeafraud.Afterpickingatmybreakfast, Imadethefamiliarwalk toBaghra’scottage.
Thegravelpaths,clearedofsnowbyInferni,sparkledbeneaththeweakwintersun.Iwasalmostallthewaytothelakewhenaservantcaughtupwithme.Shehandedmeafoldedpieceofpaperandbobbedacurtsybeforescurrying
backupthepath.IrecognizedGenya’shandwriting.
MalyenOretsev’sunithasbeenstationedattheChernastoutpostin northern Tsibeya for sixweeks.He is listed as healthy.Youcanwritetohimcareofhisregiment.The Kerch ambassadors are showering the Queen with gifts.
Oysters and sandpipers packed in dry ice (vile) and almondcandies!I’llbringsomebytonight.—G
Mal was in Tsibeya. He was safe, alive, far from the fighting, probablyhuntingwintergame.Ishouldbegrateful.Ishouldbeglad.Youcanwritetohimcareofhisregiment.I’dbeenwritingtohimcareofhis
regimentformonths.IthoughtofthelastletterI’dsent.DearMal,I’dwritten.Ihaven’theardfromyou,soIassumeyou’vemetand
marriedavolcraandthatyou’relivingcomfortablyontheShadowFold,whereyou have neither light nor paper with which to write. Or, possibly, your new
brideatebothyourhands.I’dfilledtheletterwithdescriptionsofBotkin,theQueen’ssnufflingdog,and
the Grisha’s curious fascination with peasant customs. I’d told him aboutbeautifulGenyaandthepavilionsbythelakeandthemarvelousglassdomeinthelibrary.I’dtoldhimaboutmysteriousBaghraandtheorchidsinthehothouseand the birds painted abovemy bed.But I hadn’t told him aboutMorozova’sstagor thefact thatIwassuchadisasterasaGrishaor thatIstillmissedhimeverysingleday.When I was done, I’d hesitated and then hastily scrawled at the bottom, I
don’tknowifyougotmyother letters.Thisplace ismorebeautiful thanIcandescribe,butIwouldtradeitalltospendanafternoonskippingstoneswithyouatTrivka’spond.Pleasewrite.Buthehadgottenmyletters.Whathadhedonewithallofthem?Hadheeven
bothered toopen them?Hadhesighedwithembarrassmentwhen the fifthandthesixthandtheseventharrived?Icringed.Pleasewrite,Mal.Pleasedon’tforgetme,Mal.Pathetic,Ithought,brushingangrytearsaway.Istaredoutatthelake.Itwasstartingtofreeze.Ithoughtofthecreekthatran
throughDukeKeramsov’s estate.Everywinter,Mal and I hadwaited for thatcreektofreezesowecouldskateonit.IcrumpledGenya’snoteinmyfist.Ididn’twanttothinkaboutMalanymore.
IwishedIcouldblotouteverymemoryofKeramzin.MostlyIwishedIcouldrunbacktomyroomandhaveagoodcry.ButIcouldn’t.Ihadtospendanotherpointless,miserablemorningwithBaghra.Itookmytimemakingmywaydownthelakepath,thenstompedupthesteps
toBaghra’shutandbangedopenthedoor.Asusual,shewassittingbythefire,warmingherbonybodybytheflames.I
plunkedmyselfdowninthechairoppositeherandwaited.Baghraletoutashortbarkoflaughter.“Soyou’reangrytoday,girl?Whatdo
you have to be angry about?Are you sick ofwaiting for yourmagicalwhitedeer?”Icrossedmyarmsandsaidnothing.“Speakup,girl.”Onanyotherday,Iwouldhavelied,toldherIwasfine,saidthatIwastired.
ButIguessI’dreachedmybreakingpoint,becauseIsnapped.“I’msickofallofthis,”Isaidangrily.“I’msickofeatingryeandherringforbreakfast.I’msickofwearingthisstupidkefta.I’msickofbeingpummeledbyBotkin,andI’msickofyou.”I thought shewouldbe furious, but instead she just peered atme.Withher
headcockedtoonesideandhereyesglitteringblackinthefirelight,shelookedlikeaverymeansparrow.“No,”shesaidslowly.“No.It’snotthat.There’ssomethingelse.Whatisit?
Isthepoorlittlegirlhomesick?”Isnorted.“Homesickforwhat?”“You tellme, girl.What’s so bad about your life here?Newclothes, a soft
bed,hotfoodateverymeal,thechancetobetheDarkling’spet.”“I’mnothispet.”“Butyouwant tobe,”shejeered.“Don’tbother lyingtome.You’relikeall
therest.Isawthewayyoulookedathim.”Mycheeksburned,andIthoughtabouthittingBahgraovertheheadwithher
ownstick.“Athousandgirlswouldsell theirownmothers tobe inyourshoes,andyet
hereyouare,miserableandsulking likeachild.So tellme,girl.What isyoursadlittleheartpiningfor?”Shewas right,ofcourse. Iknewverywell that Iwashomesick formybest
friend.ButIwasn’tabouttotellherthat.Istoodup,knockingmychairbackwithaclatter.“Thisisawasteoftime.”“Isit?Whatelsedoyouhavetodowithyourdays?Makemaps?Fetchinks
forsomeoldcartographer?”“There’snothingwrongwithbeingamapmaker.”“Ofcoursenot.Andthere’snothingwrongwithbeingalizardeither.Unless
youwereborntobeahawk.”“I’vehadenoughofthis,”Isnarled,andturnedmybackonher.Iwascloseto
tearsandIrefusedtocryinfrontofthisspitefuloldwoman.“Where are you going?” she called after me, her voice mocking. “What’s
waitingforyououtthere?”“Nothing!”Ishoutedather.“Noone!”As soon as I said it, the truth of the words hit me so hard that it left me
breathless.Igrippedthedoorhandle,feelingsuddenlydizzy.In thatmoment, thememoryof theGrishaExaminerscame rushingback to
me.I am in the sitting room at Keramzin. A fire is burning in the grate. The
heavysetmaninbluehasholdofmeandheispullingmeawayfromMal.IfeelMal’sfingersslipashishandistornfrommine.The young man in purple picks Mal up and drags him into the library,
slamming thedoorbehindhim. Ikickand thrash. IcanhearMalshoutingmyname.Theothermanholdsme.Thewomaninredslidesherhandaroundmywrist.I
feelasuddenrushofpurecertaintywashoverme.I stop struggling.A call rings throughme. Somethingwithinme risesup to
answer.I can’t breathe. It’s like I’m kickingup from thebottomof a lake, about to
breakthesurface,mylungsachingforair.Thewomaninredwatchesmeclosely,hereyesnarrowed.IhearMal’svoicethroughthelibrarydoor.Alina,Alina.I know then. I know that we are different from one another. Terribly,
irrevocablydifferent.Alina.Alina!Imakemychoice.Igrabholdofthethinginsidemeandpushitbackdown.“Mal!”Ishout,andbegintostruggleoncemore.Thewomaninredtriestokeepholdofmywrist,butIwriggleandwailuntil
finallysheletsmego.I leanedagainst thedoor toBaghra’shut, trembling.Thewoman in redhad
been an amplifier. That was why the Darkling’s call had felt familiar. ButsomehowI’dmanagedtoresisther.Atlast,Iunderstood.BeforeMal,Keramzinhadbeenaplaceofterrors,longnightsspentcryingin
thedark,olderchildrenwhoignoredme,coldandemptyrooms.But thenMalarrived and all of that changed.The dark hallways becameplaces to hide andplay.Thelonelywoodsbecameplacestoexplore.Keramzinbecameourpalace,ourkingdom,andIwasn’tafraidanymore.ButtheGrishaExaminerswouldhavetakenmefromKeramzin.Theywould
have taken me away fromMal, and he had been the only good thing in myworld.SoI’dmademychoice.I’dpushedmypowerdownandhelditthereeachday,withallmyenergyandwill,withouteverrealizingit.I’dusedupeverybitofmyselftokeepthatsecret.IrememberedstandingatthewindowwithMal,watchingtheGrishadepartin
theirtroika,howtiredI’dfelt.Thenextmorning,I’dwokentofinddarkcirclesbeneathmyeyes.They’dbeenwithmeeversince.Andnow?Iaskedmyself,pressingmyforeheadagainstthecoolwoodofthe
door,mywholebodyshaking.NowMalhadleftmebehind.TheonlypersonintheworldwhotrulyknewmehaddecidedIwasn’tworth
theeffortofafewwords.ButIwasholdingonstill.DespitealltheluxuriesoftheLittlePalace,despitemynewfoundpowers,despiteMal’ssilence,Iheldon.Baghrawas right. I’d thought Iwasmaking such an effort, but deep down,
somepartofmejustwantedtogohometoMal.Somepartofmehopedthatthis
had all been amistake, that theDarklingwould realize his error and sendmeback to the regiment, thatMalwould realize howmuch he’dmissedme, thatwe’d grow old together in our meadow. Mal had moved on, but I was stillstanding frightened before those threemysterious figures, holding tight to hishand.Itwas timeto letgo.Thatdayon theShadowFold,Malhadsavedmylife,
andIhadsavedhis.Maybethatwasmeanttobetheendofus.Thethoughtfilledmewithgrief,griefforthedreamswe’dshared,forthelove
I’dfelt,forthehopefulgirlIwouldneverbeagain.Thatgrieffloodedthroughme, dissolving a knot that I hadn’t even knownwas there. I closedmy eyes,feelingtearsslidedownmycheeks,andIreachedouttothethingwithinmethatI’dkepthiddenforsolong.I’msorry,Iwhisperedtoit.I’msorryIleftyousolonginthedark.I’msorry,butI’mreadynow.I called and the light answered. I felt it rushing toward me from every
direction,skimmingoverthelake,skitteringoverthegoldendomesoftheLittlePalace, under the door and through the walls of Baghra’s cottage. I felt iteverywhere.Iopenedmyhandsandthelightbloomedrightthroughme,fillingthe room, illuminating the stone walls, the old tile oven, and every angle ofBaghra’sstrangeface.Itsurroundedme,blazingwithheat,morepowerfulandmorepurethaneverbeforebecauseitwasallmine.Iwantedtolaugh,tosing,toshout.Atlast,therewassomethingthatbelongedwhollyandcompletelytome.“Good,”saidBaghra,squintinginthesunlight.“Nowwework.”
CHAPTER13THAT VERY AFTERNOON, I joined the other Etherealki by the lake andcalledmypower for themfor the first time. I sentasheetof lightshimmeringoutoverthewater,lettingitrolloverthewavesthatIvohadsummoned.Ididn’thavetheothers’controlyet,butImanaged.Infact,itwaseasy.Suddenly, lots of things seemed easy. Iwasn’t tired all the time orwinded
whenIclimbedthestairs.Isleptdeeplyanddreamlesslyeverynightandwokerefreshed. Food was a revelation: bowls of porridge heaped with sugar andcream,platesofskatefriedinbutter,fatplumsandhothousepeaches,theclearandbittertasteofkvas.ItwasasifthatmomentinBaghra’scottagewasmyfirstfullbreathandIhadawakenedintoanewlife.SincenoneoftheotherGrishaknewthatI’dhadsomuchtroublesummoning,
theywereallalittlebaffledbythechangeinme.Ididn’tofferanyexplanations,andGenyaletmeinonsomeofthemorehilariousrumors.“MarieandIvowerespeculatingthattheFjerdanshadinfectedyouwithsome
disease.”“IthoughtGrishadidn’tgetsick.”“Exactly!” she said. “That’swhy itwas so very sinister.But apparently the
Darklingcuredyoubyfeedingyouhisownbloodandanextractofdiamonds.”“That’sdisgusting,”Isaid,laughing.“Oh that’s nothing. Zoya actually tried to put it around that you were
possessed.”Ilaughedevenharder.MylessonswithBaghrawerestilldifficultandIneveractuallyenjoyedthem.
But I did relish any chance to use my power, and I felt like I was makingprogress.At first, I’d been frightened every time I got ready to call the light,afraidthatitjustwouldn’tbethereandI’dbebacktowhereIstarted.“It isn’t something separate fromyou,”Baghra snapped. “It isn’t an animal
thatshiesawayfromyouorchooseswhetherornottocomewhenyoucallit.Doyou ask your heart to beat or your lungs to breathe? Your power serves youbecausethatisitspurpose,becauseitcannothelpbutserveyou.”Sometimes I felt like there was a shadow in Baghra’s words, a second
meaning she wanted me to understand. But the work I was doing was hard
enoughwithoutguessingatthesecretsofabitteroldwoman.She drove me hard, pushing me to expand my reach and my control. She
taughtmetofocusmypowerinshortbrightbursts,piercingbeamsthatburnedwithheat,andlongsustainedcascades.Sheforcedmetocallthelightagain,andagain, and again, until I barely had to reach for it. She mademe trek to hercottage at night to practicewhen itwas nearly impossible forme to find anylight to summon.When I finally, proudlyproducedaweak threadof sunlight,sheslammedhercanedownonthegroundandshouted,“Notgoodenough!”“I’mdoingmybest,”Imutteredinexasperation.“Pah!” she spat. “Do you think theworld cares if you do your best?Do it
againanddoitright.”MylessonswithBotkinweretherealsurprise.Asalittlegirl,Ihadrunand
playedwithMalinthewoodsandfields,butI’dneverbeenabletokeepupwithhim.I’dalwaysbeentoosicklyandfrail,tooeasytotire.ButasIateandsleptregularlyforthefirsttimeinmylife,allofthatchanged.Botkinputmethroughbrutalcombatdrillsandseeminglyendlessrunsthroughthepalacegrounds,butIfoundmyselfenjoyingsomeofthechallenges.Ilikedlearningwhatthisnew,strongerbodycoulddo.Idoubted I’deverbeable tooutspar theoldmercenary,but theFabrikators
hadhelpedeventhefield.They’dproducedapairoffingerlessleatherglovesforme that were lined with little mirrors—the mysterious glass discs David hadshownmeonthatfirstdayintheworkshops.Withaflickofthewrist,Icouldslide a mirror between my fingers and, with Botkin’s permission, I practicedbouncingflashesoflightoffthemandintomyopponent’seyes.Iworkedwiththem until they felt almost natural in my hands, like extensions of my ownfingers.Botkin was still gruff and critical, and took every opportunity to call me
useless, but once in a while I thought I glimpsed a hint of approval on hisweatheredfeatures.Late in winter, he took me aside after a long lesson in which I’d actually
managed to land a blow to his ribs (and been thanked for itwith a hard cuffacrossmyjaw).“Here,” he said, handing me a heavy knife in a steel and leather sheath.
“Alwayskeepwithyou.”Witha jolt, I saw that itwasnoordinaryknife. ItwasGrishasteel. “Thank
you,”Imanaged.“Not ‘thank you,’” he said. He tapped the ugly scar at his throat. “Steel is
earned.”Winterlookeddifferenttomethaniteverhadbefore.Ispentsunnyafternoons
skatingonthelakeorsleddingonthepalacegroundswiththeotherSummoners.Snowyeveningswere spent in thedomedhall,gatheredaround the tileovens,drinkingkvasandgorgingourselvesonsweets.WecelebratedthefeastofSanktNikolai with huge bowls of dumpling soup and kutya made with honey andpoppyseeds.SomeoftheotherGrishaleftthepalacetogoonsleighridesanddogsleddingexcursionsinthesnow-blanketedcountrysidesurroundingOsAlta,butforsecurityreasons,Iwasstillconfinedtothepalacegrounds.Ididn’tmind.IfeltmorecomfortablewiththeSummonersnow,butIdoubted
I’deverreallyenjoybeingaroundMarieandNadia.IwasmuchhappiersittinginmyroomwithGenya,drinkingteaandgossipingbythefire.Ilovedtohearall thecourtgossip,andevenbetterwere the talesof theopulentpartiesat theGrand Palace.My favorite was the story of themassive pie that a count hadpresentedtotheKing,andthedwarfwhohadburstoutofittohandthetsaritsaabouquetofforget-me-nots.At theendof theseason, theKingand theQueenwouldhosta finalwinter
fetethatalltheGrishawouldattend.Genyaclaimeditwouldbethemostlavishpartyofall.Everynoblefamilyandhighcourtofficerwouldbethere,alongwithmilitaryheroes,foreigndignitaries,andthetsarevitch,theKing’seldestsonandheir to the throne. I’d once seen the Crown Prince riding around the palacegroundsonawhitegeldingthatwasroughlythesizeofahouse.Hewasalmosthandsome,buthehadtheKing’sweakchinandeyessoheavy-liddedthatitwashardtotellifhewastiredorjustsupremelybored.“Probably drunk,” said Genya, stirring her tea. “He devotes all his time to
hunting,horses,andimbibing.DrivestheQueenmad.”“Well,Ravkaisatwar.Heshouldprobablybemoreconcernedwithmatters
ofstate.”“Ohshedoesn’tcareaboutthat.Shejustwantshimtofindabrideinsteadof
gallivantingaroundtheworldspendingmoundsofgoldbuyingupponies.”“What about the other one?” I asked. I knew the King and Queen had a
youngerson,butI’dneveractuallyseenhim.“Sobachka?”“Youcan’tcallaroyalprince‘puppy,’”Ilaughed.“That’s what everyone calls him.” She lowered her voice. “And there are
rumorsthatheisn’tstrictlyroyal.”Inearlychokedonmytea.“No!”“Only the Queen knows for sure. He’s a bit of a black sheep anyway. He
insisted on doing hismilitary service in the infantry, then he apprenticed to agunsmith.”“Andhe’sneveratcourt?”
“Notinyears.Ithinkhe’soffstudyingshipbuildingorsomethingequallydull.He’dprobablygetalongwellwithDavid,”sheaddedsourly.“Whatdoyoutwotalkabout,anyway?”Iaskedcuriously.Istilldidn’tquite
understandGenya’sfascinationwiththeFabrikator.Shesighed.“Theusual.Life.Love.Themeltingpointofironore.”Shewound
acurlofbrightredhairaroundherfinger,andhercheeksflushedaprettypink.“He’sactuallyquitefunnywhenheletshimselfbe.”“Really?”Genyashrugged.“Ithinkso.”Ipattedherhandreassuringly.“He’llcomearound.He’sjustshy.”“Maybe I should liedownona table in theworkroomandwait to see ifhe
weldssomethingtome.”“Ithinkthat’sthewaymostgreatlovestoriesbegin.”Shelaughed,andIfeltasuddenniggleofguilt.Genyatalkedsoeasilyabout
David,butI’dneverconfidedinheraboutMal.That’s because there’s nothing to confide, I reminded myself harshly and
addedmoresugartomytea.ONEQUIETAFTERNOONwhentheotherGrishahadventuredoutofOsAlta,GenyaconvincedmetosneakintotheGrandPalace,andwespenthourslookingthroughtheclothesandshoesintheQueen’sdressingroom.GenyainsistedthatItryonapalepinksilkgownstuddedwithriverpearls,andwhenshelacedmeupinitandstuckmeinfrontofoneofthegiantgoldenmirrors,Ihadtolooktwice.I’dlearnedtoavoidmirrors.TheyneverseemedtoshowmewhatIwantedto
see.ButthegirlstandingnexttoGenyaintheglasswasastranger.Shehadrosycheeks and shiny hair and… a shape. I could have stared at her for hours. Isuddenly wished good oldMikhael could see me. “Sticks” indeed, I thoughtsmugly.Genyacaughtmyeyeinthemirrorandgrinned.“Isthiswhyyoudraggedmeinhere?”Iaskedsuspiciously.“Whateverdoyoumean?”“YouknowwhatImean.”“Ijustthoughtyoumightwanttogetagoodlookatyourself,that’sall.”I swallowed theembarrassing lump inmy throat andgaveher an impulsive
hug.“Thanks,”Iwhispered.ThenIgaveheralittleshove.“Nowgetoutoftheway.It’simpossibletofeelprettywithyoustandingnexttome.”
Wespenttherestoftheafternoontryingondressesandgogglingatourselvesinthemirror—twoactivitiesIneverwouldhaveexpectedtoenjoy.Welosttrackoftime,andGenyahadtohelpmescrambleoutofanaquamarineballgownandbackintomykeftasothatIcouldhurrydowntothelakeformyeveninglessonwithBaghra.IranallthewaybutIwasstilllate,andshewasfurious.The evening sessions with Baghra were always the hardest, but she was
particularlytoughonmethatnight.“Control!” she snapped as the weak wave of sunlight that I’d summoned
flickeredonthelakeshore.“Whereisyourfocus?”Atdinner,Ithoughtbutdidn’tsay.GenyaandIhadgottensocaughtupinthe
distractionsoftheQueen’swardrobethatwe’dforgottentoeat,andmystomachwasgrowling.Icenteredmyselfandthelightbloomedbrighter,reachingoutoverthefrozen
lake.“Better,”shesaid.“Letthelightdotheworkforyou.Likecallstolike.”Itriedtorelaxandletthelightcalltoitself.Tomysurprise,itsurgedacross
theice,illuminatingthelittleislandinthemiddleofthelake.“More!”Baghrademanded.“What’sstoppingyou?”Idugdeeperandthecircleoflightswelledpasttheisland,bathingthewhole
lake and the school on the opposite shore in gleaming sunlight. Though therewassnowontheground,theairaroundusshonebrightandheavywithsummerheat.Mybodythrummedwithpower.Itwasexhilarating,butIcouldfeelmyselftiring,bumpingupagainstthelimitsofmyabilities.“More!”Baghrashouted.“Ican’t!”Iprotested.“More!”shesaidagain,andtherewasanurgencyinhervoicethatsoundedan
alarminsideofmeandcausedmyfocustofalter.Thelightwaveredandslippedfrommy grasp. I scrambled for it but it rushed away fromme, plunging theschool,thentheisland,andthenthelakeshorebackintodarkness.“It’snotenough.”Hisvoicemademejump.TheDarklingemergedfromthe
shadowsontothelamplitpath.“Itmightbe,”saidBaghra.“Youseehowstrongsheis.Iwasn’tevenhelping
her.Giveheranamplifierandseewhatshecando.”TheDarklingshookhishead.“She’llhavethestag.”Baghrascowled.“You’reafool.”“I’vebeencalledworse.Oftenbyyou.”“Thisisfolly.Youmustreconsider.”TheDarkling’sfacewentcold.“Imust?Youdon’tgivemeordersanymore,
oldwoman.Iknowwhathastobedone.”
“Imightsurpriseyou,”Ipipedup.TheDarklingandBaghraturnedtostareatme.Itwasalmostlikethey’dforgottenIwasthere.“Baghra’sright.IknowIcandobetter.Icanworkharder.”“You’vebeenontheShadowFold,Alina.Youknowwhatwe’reupagainst.”Ifeltsuddenlystubborn.“IknowthatI’mgettingstrongereveryday.Ifyou
givemeachance—”Again, theDarklingshookhishead.“Ican’t take thatkindofachance.Not
withRavka’sfutureatstake.”“Iunderstand,”Isaidnumbly.“Doyou?”“Yes,”Isaid.“WithoutMorozova’sstag,I’mprettymuchuseless.”“Ah,soshe’snotasstupidasshelooks,”cackledBaghra.“Leaveus,”saidtheDarklingwithsurprisingferocity.“We’llallsufferforyourpride,boy.”“Iwon’taskyouagain.”Baghra gave him a disgusted glower, then turned on her heel andmarched
backupthepathtohercottage.When her door slammed shut, the Darkling regarded me in the lamplight.
“Youlookwell,”hesaid.“Thanks,”Imumbled,myeyesslidingaway.MaybeGenyacouldteachmeto
takeacompliment.“Ifyou’rereturningtotheLittlePalace,I’llwalkwithyou,”hesaid.Forawhile,westrolledinsilencealongthelakeshore,pastthedesertedstone
pavilions.Acrosstheice,Icouldseethelightsoftheschool.Finally,Ihadtoask.“Hastherebeenanyword?Ofthestag?”Hepressedhislipstogether.“No,”hesaid.“Mymenthinkthattheherdmay
havecrossedintoFjerda.”“Oh,”Isaid,tryingtohidemydisappointment.Hestoppedabruptly.“Idon’tthinkyou’reuseless,Alina.”“Iknow,”Isaidtothetopsofmyboots.“Notuseless.Justnotexactlyuseful.”“NoGrishaispowerfulenoughtofacetheFold.Notevenme.”“Igetit.”“Butyoudon’tlikeit.”“ShouldI?IfIcan’thelpyoudestroytheFold,thenwhatexactlyamIgood
for?Midnightpicnics?Keepingyourfeetwarminthewinter?”Hismouthquirkedupinahalfsmile.“Midnightpicnics?”Icouldn’tsmileback.“BotkintoldmethatGrishasteelisearned.It’snotthat
I’mnotgratefulforallofthis.Iam,truly.ButIdon’tfeellikeI’veearnedanyofit.”
Hesighed.“I’msorry,Alina.IaskedyoutotrustmeandIhaven’tdelivered.”HelookedsowearythatIfeltinstantlycontrite.“It’snotthat—”“It’strue.”Hetookanotherdeepbreathandranahandoverhisneck.“Maybe
Baghra’sright,asmuchasIhatetoadmitit.”Icockedmyheadtooneside.“Youneverseemfazedbyanything.Whydo
youletherbotheryousomuch?”“Idon’tknow.”“Well,Ithinkshe’sgoodforyou.”Hestartedinsurprise.“Why?”“Becauseshe’stheonlyonearoundherewhoisn’tscaredofyouorconstantly
tryingtoimpressyou.”“Areyoutryingtoimpressme?”“Ofcourse,”Ilaughed.“Doyoualwayssayexactlywhatyou’rethinking?”“Notevenhalfthetime.”Thenhelaughedtoo,andIrememberedhowmuchIlikedthesound.“ThenI
guessIshouldcountmyselflucky,”hesaid.“What’sBaghra’spower,anyway?”Iasked,thethoughtoccurringtomefor
thefirsttime.ShewasanamplifierliketheDarkling,buthehadhisownpower,too.“I’mnotsure,”hesaid.“IthinkshewasaTidemaker.Noonearoundhereis
oldenoughtoremember.”Helookeddownatme.Thecoldairhadputaflushinhischeeks,andthelamplightshoneinhisgrayeyes.“Alina,ifItellyouthatIstillbelievewecanfindthestag,wouldyouthinkI’mmad?”“WhywouldyoucarewhatIthink?”Helookedgenuinelybaffled.“Idon’tknow,”hesaid.“ButIdo.”Andthenhekissedme.Ithappenedsosuddenly that Ibarelyhad time to react.Onemoment, Iwas
staringintohisslate-coloredeyes,andthenext,hislipswerepressedtomine.Ifeltthatfamiliarsenseofsuretymeltthroughmeasmybodysangwithsuddenheat and my heart jumped into a skittery dance. Then, just as suddenly, hesteppedback.HelookedassurprisedasIfelt.“Ididn’tmean…,”hesaid.Atthatmoment,weheardfootstepsandIvanroundedthecorner.Hebowedto
theDarklingandthentome,butIcaughtalittlesmirkplayingonhislips.“TheApparatisgettingimpatient,”hesaid.“Oneofhislessappealingtraits,”repliedtheDarklingsmoothly.Thelookof
surprisehadvanishedfromhisface.Hebowedtome,completelycomposed,andwithoutanotherglance,heandIvanleftmestandinginthesnow.
I stood there for a longmoment and thenmademyway back to the LittlePalaceinadaze.Whatjusthappened?Itouchedmyfingerstomylips.DidtheDarklingreallyjustkissme?Iavoidedthedomedhallandwentstraighttomyroom,butonceIwasthere,Ididn’tknowwhattodowithmyself.Irangforadinnertrayandthensatpickingatmyfood.IwasdesperatetotalktoGenya,butshesleptattheGrandPalaceeverynight,andIdidn’thavethecouragetogotrytofindher.Finally,Igaveupanddecidedtogodowntothedomedhallafterall.MarieandNadiahadreturnedfromtheirsleighingexcursionandweresitting
by the fire,drinking tea. Iwasshocked toseeSergeisittingnext toMarie,hisarm looped through hers. Maybe there’s something in the air, I thought inamazement.I sat sipping tea with them, asking about their day and their trip to the
countryside, but I had trouble keeping my mind on the conversation. MythoughtskeptwanderingbacktothefeeloftheDarkling’slipsonmineandthewayhe’dlookedstandinginthelamplight,hisbreathawhitecloudinthecoldnightair,thatstunnedexpressiononhisface.I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, sowhenMarie suggested going to the
banya,Idecidedtojointhem.AnaKuyahadalwaystoldusthatthebanyawasbarbaric, anexcuse forpeasants todrinkkvas andengage inwantonbehavior.ButIwasbeginningtorealizethatoldAnahadbeenabitofasnob.I sat in the steam for as long as I could bear the heat and then plunged,
squealing,intothesnowwiththeothers,beforerunningbackinsidetodoitallover again. I stayed until long pastmidnight, laughing and gasping, trying toclearmyhead.WhenIstumbledback tomyroom,I fell intobed,myskindampandpink,
my hair in wet tangles. I felt flushed and boneless, but my mind was stillwhirring.Ifocusedandsummonedawarmwashofsunlight,makingitdanceinslivers across the painted ceiling, letting the sure rush of power soothe mynerves.ThenthememoryoftheDarkling’skissblewthroughmeandrattledmyconcentration,scatteringmythoughtsandmakingmyheartswoopanddivelikeabirdbornealoftbyuncertaincurrents.Thelightshattered,leavingmeindarkness.
CHAPTER14ASWINTERDREWtoaclose,talkturnedtotheKingandQueen’sfeteattheGrandPalace.TheGrishaSummonerswereexpectedtoputonademonstrationoftheirpowerstoentertainthenobles,andmuchtimewasspentdiscussingwhowouldperformandwhatwouldmakethemostimpressiveshowing.“Justdon’tcallit‘performing,’”Genyawarned.“TheDarklingcan’tstandit.
HethinksthewinterfeteisagiantwasteofGrishatime.”I thoughthemighthaveapoint.TheMaterialkiworkshopsbuzzedmorning
and nightwith orders from the palace for cloth and gems and fireworks. TheSummoners spent hours at the stone pavilions honing their “demonstrations.”Given that Ravka was at war and had been for over a hundred years, it allseemedalittlefrivolous.Still,Ihadn’tbeentomanyparties,anditwashardnottogetcaughtupinthetalkofsilksanddancesandflowers.Baghra had no patience withme. If I lost focus for even amoment, she’d
smackmewithherstickandsay,“Dreamingofdancingwithyourdarkprince?”I ignored her but, too often, she was right. Despite my best efforts, I was
thinkingoftheDarkling.He’ddisappearedonceagain,andGenyatoldmethathe’dleftforthenorth.TheotherGrishaspeculatedthathewouldhavetoputinanappearanceat thewinter fete,butnoonecouldbesure.Againandagain, IfoundmyselfonthevergeoftellingGenyaaboutthekiss,butIalwaysstoppedjustasthewordswereonmylips.You’re being ridiculous, I told myself sternly. It didn’t mean anything. He
probably kisses a lot of Grisha girls. And why would the Darkling have anyinterest in youwhen therearepeople likeGenyaandZoyaaround?But if allthosethingsweretrue,Ididn’twanttoknow.AslongasIkeptmymouthshut,thekisswasasecretthattheDarklingandIshared,andIwantedittostaythatway.All the same, somedays it took everything inmenot to stand up in themiddleofbreakfastandshout,“TheDarklingkissedme!”If Baghra was disappointed in me, it was nothing compared to my
disappointment inmyself.Ashardas Ipushed,my limitationswerebecomingobvious.At the endof every lesson, I kepthearing theDarkling say, “It’snotenough,”andIknewhewasright.Hewantedtodestroytheveryfabricof theFold,toturnbacktheblacktideoftheUnsea,andIsimplywasn’tstrongenough
tomanage that. I’d readenough tounderstand that thiswas thewayof things.All Grisha had limits to their power, even the Darkling. But he’d said I wasgoingtochangetheworld,anditwashardtoacceptthatImightnotbeuptothetask.The Darkling had vanished, but the Apparat seemed to be everywhere. He
lurked inhallwaysandby thepath to the lake. I thoughthemightbe trying totrap me alone again, but I didn’t want to listen to him rant about faith andsuffering.Iwascarefulnevertolethimcatchmebymyself.Onthedayofthewinterfete,Iwasexcusedfrommyclasses,butIwenttosee
Botkinanyway. Iwas tooanxiousaboutmypart in thedemonstrationand theprospectofseeingtheDarklingagain to justsit inmyroom.BeingaroundtheotherGrishadidn’thelp.MarieandNadiatalkedconstantlyabouttheirnewsilkkeftaandwhatjewelstheyintendedtowear,andDavidandtheotherFabrikatorskeptaccostingmetotalkoverthedetailsofthedemonstration.SoIavoidedthedomedhallandwentouttothetrainingroomsbythestables.Botkinputmethroughmypacesandmademedrillusingmymirrors.Without
them, I was still pretty helpless against him. But withmy gloves on, I couldalmost hold my own. Or so I thought. When the lesson was over, Botkinadmittedthathe’dbeenpullinghispunches.“Shouldnothitgirlinfacewhensheisgoingtoparty,”hesaidwithashrug.
“Botkinwillbefairertomorrow.”Igroanedattheprospect.Ihadaquickdinnerinthedomedhallandthen,beforeanyonecouldcorner
me,Ihurrieduptomyroom,alreadythinkingofmybeautifulsunkentub.Thebanya was fun, but I’d hadmy share of communal bathing in the army, andprivacywasstillanoveltytome.WhenI’dhada long, luxurioussoak, I satdownby thewindows todrymy
hairandwatchnightfalloverthelake.Soon,thelampsliningthelongdrivetothe palace would be lit as nobles arrived in their lavish coaches, each moreornate than the last. I felt a little prickle of excitement. A fewmonths ago, Iwould have dreaded a night like this: a performance, playing dress-up withhundredsofbeautifulpeopleintheirbeautifulclothes.Iwasstillnervous,butIthoughtitallmightactuallybe…fun.Ilookedatthelittleclockonthemantelandfrowned.Aservantwassupposed
tobedeliveringmynewsilkkefta,butifshedidn’tarrivesoon,IwasgoingtohavetowearmyoldwooloneorborrowsomethingfromMarie.AlmostassoonasI’dhadthethought,aknocksoundedatthedoor.Butitwas
Genya,hertallframeswathedincreamsilkheavilyembroideredingold,herredhairpiledhighonherheadtobetterdisplaythemassivediamondsdanglingfrom
herearsandthegracefulturnofherneck.“Well?”shesaid,turningthiswayandthat.“Iloatheyou,”Isaidwithasmile.“Idolookremarkable,”shesaid,admiringherselfinthemirroroverthebasin.“You’dlookevenbetterwithalittlehumility.”“I doubt that. Why aren’t you dressed?” she asked, taking a break from
marvelingatherownreflectiontonoticeIwasstillinmyrobe.“Mykeftahasn’tarrived.”“Oh, well, the Fabrikators have been a bit overwhelmed with the Queen’s
requests.I’msureitwillgethere.Now,sitdowninfrontofthemirrorsoIcandoyourhair.”Ipracticallysquealedwithexcitement,but Imanaged to restrainmyself. I’d
been hopingGenyawould offer to domyhair, but I hadn’twanted to ask. “IthoughtyouwouldbehelpingtheQueen,”IsaidasGenyasethercleverhandstowork.Sherolledherambereyes.“Icanonlydosomuch.Herhighnesshasdecided
shedoesn’tfeeluptoattendingtheballtonight.Shehasaheadache.Ha!I’mtheonewhospentanhourremovinghercrow’sfeet.”“Soshe’snotgoing?”“Ofcourseshe’sgoing!Shejustwantsherladiestofussoverhersoshecan
feelevenmoreimportant.Thisisthebiggesteventoftheseason.Shewouldn’tmissitfortheworld.”Thebiggesteventoftheseason.Iletoutashakybreath.“Nervous?”askedGenya.“Alittle.Idon’tknowwhy.”“Maybe because a few hundred nobles arewaiting to get their first look at
you.”“Thanks.Thatreallyhelps.”“You’reverywelcome,”shesaid,givingmyhairahardtug.“Youshouldbe
usedtobeinggawkedatbynow.”“AndyetI’mnot.”“Well,ifitgetstoobad,givemeasignal,andI’llgetuponthebanquettable,
toss my skirt over my head, and do a little dance. That way no one will belookingatyou.”Ilaughedandfeltmyselfrelaxabit.Afteramoment,tryingtokeepmyvoice
casual,Iasked,“HastheDarklingarrived?”“Ohyes.Hearrivedyesterday.Isawhiscoach.”My heart sank a little. He had been in the palace for an entire day and he
hadn’tcometoseemeorcalledforme.
“Iimaginehe’sverybusy,”saidGenya.“Ofcourse.”Afteramoment,shesaidsoftly,“Weallfeelit,youknow.”“Feelwhat?”“Thepull.TowardtheDarkling.Buthe’snotlikeus,Alina.”Itensed.Genyakepthergazestudiouslyfocusedonthecoilsofmyhair.“What do you mean?” I asked. Even to my own ears, my voice sounded
unnaturallyhigh.“Hiskindofpower,thewayhelooks.You’dhavetobemadorblindnotto
noticeit.”I didn’twant to ask, but I couldn’t helpmyself. “Hashe ever…? Imean,
haveyouandheever…?”“No!Never!”Amischievoussmiletwitchedonherlips.“ButIwould.”“Really?”“Who wouldn’t?” Her eyes met mine in the mirror. “But I’d never let my
heartgetinvolved.”IgavewhatIhopedwasanindifferentshrug.“Ofcoursenot.”Genyaraisedherflawlessbrowsandtuggedhardonmyhair.“Ouch!”Iyelped.“WillDavidbetheretonight?”Genyasighed.“No,hedoesn’t likeparties.ButIdid justhappentodropby
theworkroomssohecouldgetapeekatwhathewasmissing.Hebarelylookedatme.”“Idoubtthat,”Isaidcomfortingly.Genyatwistedafinalpieceofmyhairintoplaceandsecureditwithagolden
hairpin.“There!”shesaidtriumphantly.Shehandedmemylittlemirrorandturnedme
aroundsothatIcouldseeherhandiwork.Genyahadpiledhalfofmyhairintoan elaborate knot.The rest cascaded aroundmy shoulders in shiningwaves. Ibeamedandgaveheraquickhug.“Thankyou!”Isaid.“You’respectacular.”“Alotofgooditdoesme,”shegrumbled.HowwasitthatGenyahadfallensohardforsomeonesoseriousandsoquiet
and so seeminglyoblivious tohergorgeousness?Orwas that exactlywhy shehadfallenforDavid?Aknockatthedoorpulledmefrommythoughts.Ipracticallyrantoopenit.I
felt a rush of relief when I saw two servants standing in the doorway, eachcarryingseveralboxes.Untilthatmoment,Ihadn’trealizedhowworriedIwasaboutmykeftaarriving.Ilaidthelargestboxonthebedandpulledoffthelid.Genyasqueaked,andIjuststoodtheregapingatthecontents.WhenIdidn’t
move,shereachedintotheboxandpulledoutyardsofripplingblacksilk.Thesleevesandnecklineweredelicatelyembroideredingoldandglitteredwithtinyjetbeads.“Black,”Genyawhispered.Hiscolor.Whatdiditmean?“Look!”shegasped.Thenecklineof thegownwas lacedwithablackvelvet ribbon,and from it
hungasmallgoldencharm:thesunineclipse,theDarkling’ssymbol.Ibitmylip.Thistime,theDarklinghadchosentosetmeapart,andtherewas
nothingIcoulddoaboutit.Ifeltalittlejabofresentment,butitwasdrownedbyexcitement.Hadhechosen thesecolors formebeforeorafter thenightby thelake?Wouldheregretseeingmeinthemtonight?I couldn’t think about that now.Unless Iwanted to go to the ball naked, I
didn’thavealotofoptions.Isteppedbehindthescreenandslippedintothenewkefta.ThesilkfeltcoolonmyskinasIfumbledwiththetinybuttons.WhenIemerged,Genyabrokeintoahugegrin.“Ooh,Iknewyou’dlookgoodinblack.”Shegrabbedmyarm.“Comeon!”“Idon’tevenhavemyshoeson!”“Justcomeon!”Shepulledmedownthehall,thenthrewopenadoorwithoutknocking.Zoya shrieked. She was standing in the middle of her room in a kefta of
midnightbluesilk,abrushinherhand.“Excuse us!” announced Genya. “But we have need of this chamber.
Darkling’sorders!”Zoya’sbeautifulblueeyesslitteddangerously.“Ifyouthink—”shebeganand
thenshecaughtsightofme.Her jawdropped,and theblooddrainedfromherface.“Out!”commandedGenya.Zoya snapped her mouth shut, but to my amazement, she left the room
withoutanotherword.Genyaslammedthedoorbehindher.“Whatareyoudoing?”Iaskeddubiously.“Ithoughtitwasimportantthatyouseeyourself inapropermirror,notthat
uselesssliverofglassonyourdressingtable,”shesaid.“ButmostlyIwantedtoseethelookonthatbitch’sfacewhenshesawyouintheDarkling’scolor.”Icouldn’trestrainmygrin.“Thatwasprettywonderful.”“Wasn’tit?”Genyasaiddreamily.I turned to the mirror, but Genya grabbed me and sat me down at Zoya’s
dressingtable.Shestartedrootingaroundinthedrawers.“Genya!”
“Justwait…aha!Iknewshewasdarkeningherlashes!”GenyapulledalittlepotofblackantimonyfromZoya’sdrawer.“Canyousummonalittle lightformetoworkwith?”IcalledanicewarmglowtohelpGenyaseebetterandtriedtobepatientas
shemademelookup,down,left,right.“Perfect!” she saidwhen shewasdone. “Oh,Alina, you look likequite the
temptress.”“Right,”Isaid,andsnatchedthemirrorfromher.ButthenIhadtosmile.The
sad,sicklygirlwithhollowed-outcheeksandbonyshoulderswasgone. InherplacewasaGrishawith sparklingeyesand shimmeringwavesofbronzehair.The black silk clung tomy new form, shifting and sliding like sewn-togethershadows.AndGenya had done somethingmarvelous tomy eyes so that theylookeddarkandalmostcatlike.“Jewelry!” shouted Genya, and we ran back to my room, passing Zoya
seethinginthehallway.“Areyoudone?”shesnapped.“Forthemoment,”Isaidairily,andGenyagaveaveryunladylikesnort.Intheotherboxesonmybed,wefoundgoldensilkslippers,glitteringjetand
goldearrings,andathickfurmuff.WhenIwasready,Iexaminedmyselfinthelittlemirror above the basin. I felt exotic andmysterious, like I was wearingsomeother,farmoreglamorousgirl’sclothes.IlookeduptoseeGenyawatchingmewithatroubledexpression.“What’swrong?”Isaid,suddenlyself-consciousagain.“Nothing,” she said with a smile. “You look beautiful. Truly. But…”Her
smilefaltered.Shereachedoutandliftedthelittlegoldencharmatmyneckline.“Alina,theDarklingdoesn’tnoticemostofus.We’remomentshe’llforgetin
hislonglife.AndI’mnotsurethat’ssuchabadthing.Just…becareful.”Istaredather,baffled.“Ofwhat?”“Ofpowerfulmen.”“Genya,”IaskedbeforeIcouldlosemynerve,“whathappenedbetweenyou
andtheKing?”Sheexaminedthetoesofhersatinslippers.“TheKinghashiswaywithlots
ofservants,”shesaid.Thensheshrugged.“AtleastIgotafewjewelsoutifit.”“Youdon’tmeanthat.”“No. I don’t.” She fiddledwith one of her earrings. “Theworst part is that
everyoneknows.”Iputmyarmaroundher. “Theydon’tmatter.You’reworthallof themput
together.”Shegaveaweakimitationofherconfidentsmile.“Oh,Iknowthat.”
“The Darkling should have done something,” I said. “He should haveprotectedyou.”“He has,Alina.More than you know.Besides, he’s asmuch a slave to the
whimsoftheKingastherestofus.Atleastfornow.”“Fornow?”Shegavemeaquicksqueeze.“Let’snotdwellondepressingthingstonight.
Come on,” she said, her gorgeous face breaking into a dazzling grin. “I’m indesperateneedofchampagne!”Andwiththat,sheglidedserenelyfromtheroom.Iwantedtosaymoretoher.
I wanted to ask her what she meant about the Darkling. I wanted to take ahammertotheKing’shead.Butshewasright.Therewouldbeplentyoftimefortroubletomorrow.Itookalastpeekinthelittlemirrorandhurriedoutintothehall,leavingmyworriesandGenya’swarningsbehindme.MYBLACKKEFTAcausedquiteastirinthedomedhallasMarieandNadiaandagroupofotherEtherealkidressedinbluevelvetsandsilksswarmedaroundmeandGenya.Genyamadetoslipawayassheusuallydid,butIheldfasttoherarm.IfIwaswearingtheDarkling’scolor,thenIintendedtotakefulladvantageofitandhavemyfriendbymyside.“YouknowIcan’tgo into theballroomwithyou.TheQueenwouldhavea
fit,”shewhisperedinmyear.“Okay,butyoucanstillwalkoverwithme.”Genyabeamed.Aswewalkeddownthegravelpathandintothewoodedtunnel,Inoticedthat
SergeiandseveralotherHeartrenderswerekeepingpacewithus,andIrealizedwith a start that theywere guarding us—or probablyme. I supposed it madesensewithallofthestrangersonthepalacegroundsforthefete,butitwasstilldisconcerting, a reminder that there were a lot of people in the world whowantedmedead.The grounds surrounding the Grand Palace had been lit up to showcase
tableausofactorsandlittletroupesofacrobatsperformingforwanderingguests.Masked musicians strolled the paths. A man with a monkey on his shoulderambled past, and twomen covered from head to toe in gold leaf rode by onzebras,throwingjeweledflowerstoeveryonetheypassed.Costumedchoirssangin the trees. A trio of redheaded dancers splashed around in the double-eaglefountain,wearinglittlemorethanseashellsandcoralandholdingupplattersfullofoysterstoguests.
WehadjuststartedtoclimbthemarblestepswhenaservantappearedwithamessageforGenya.Shereadthenoteandsighed.“TheQueen’sheadachehasmiraculouslydisappeared,andshehasdecidedto
attend the ball after all.” She gaveme a hug, promised to findme before thedemonstration,andthenslippedaway.Springhadbarelybeguntoshowitself,butitwasimpossibletotellthatinthe
GrandPalace.Music floated down themarble hallways.The air felt curiouslywarmandwasperfumedwiththescentofthousandsofwhiteflowers,growninGrisha hothouses. They covered tables and trailed down balustrades in thickclusters.Marie,Nadia,andIdriftedthroughgroupsofnobles,whopretendedtoignore
us butwhispered aswe passed bywith ourCorporalki guard. I heldmy headhighandevensmiledatoneoftheyoungnoblemenstandingbytheentrancetothe ballroom. I was surpised to see him blush and look down at his shoes. IglancedatMarieandNadia tosee if theyhadnoticed,but theyweregabblingabout some of the dishes served to the nobles at dinner—roasted lynx, saltedpeaches,burntswanwithsaffron.Iwasgladthatwe’deatenearlier.Theballroomwaslargerandgranderthaneventhethroneroomhadbeen,lit
byrowafterrowofsparklingchandeliers,andfullofmassesofpeopledrinkinganddancingtothesoundsofamaskedorchestraseatedalongthefarwall.Thegowns, the jewels, the crystals dripping from the chandeliers, even the floorbeneath our feet seemed to sparkle, and I wondered how much of it wasFabrikatorcraft.TheGrishathemselvesmingledanddanced,buttheywereeasytopickoutin
their bold colors: purple, red, and midnight blue, glowing beneath thechandelierslikeexoticflowersthathadsprungupinsomepalegarden.Thenexthourpassed inablur. Iwas introduced tocountlessnoblemenand
theirwives,high-rankingmilitaryofficers,courtiers,andevensomeGrishafromnoblehouseholdswhohadcomeasgueststotheball.Iquicklygaveuptryingtoremembernamesandsimplysmiledandnoddedandbowed.Andtriedtokeepmyself fromscanning thecrowdfor theDarkling’sblack-cladform.Ialsohadmyfirsttasteofchampagne,whichIfoundIlikedmuchbetterthankvas.Atonepoint,Idiscoveredmyselfface-to-facewithatired-lookingnobleman
leaningonacane.“DukeKeramsov!”Iexclaimed.Hewaswearinghisoldofficer’suniform,his
manymedalspinnedtohisbroadchest.Theoldmanlookedatmewithaflickerofinterest,clearlystartledthatIknew
hisname.“It’sme,”Isaid.“AlinaStarkov?”
“Yes…yes.Ofcourse!”hesaidwithafaintsmile.Ilookedintohiseyes.Hedidn’tremembermeatall.Andwhyshouldhe?Iwasjustanotherorphan,andaveryforgettableoneat
that.Still,Iwassurprisedathowmuchithurt.I made polite conversation for as long as I had to and then took the first
opportunitytoescape.I leaned against a pillar and grabbed another glass of champagne from a
passing servant. The room felt uncomfortably warm. As I looked around, Isuddenlyfeltveryalone. I thoughtofMal,andfor the first time inweeks,myheartgavethatoldfamiliartwist.Iwishedhecouldbeheretoseethisplace.Iwished he could seeme inmy silk kefta with gold inmy hair.Mostly I justwishedthathewasstandingbesideme.Ipushedthethoughtawayandtookabiggulpofchampagne.Whatdifferencediditmakeifsomedrunkoldmandidn’tknowme? Iwasgladhedidn’t recognize the scrawny,miserable littlegirl I’dbeen.I saw Genya gliding through the crowd toward me. Counts and dukes and
wealthymerchantsturnedtostareatherasshepassed,butsheignoredthemall.Don’t waste your time, I wanted to tell them.Her heart belongs to a ganglyFabrikatorwhodoesn’tlikeparties.“Timefortheshow—Imean,thedemonstration,”shesaidwhenshereached
me.“Whyareyouallbyyourself?”“Ijustneededtotakealittlebreak.”“Toomuchchampagne?”“Maybe.”“Sillygirl,”shesaid,loopingherarmthroughmine.“There’snosuchthingas
too much champagne. Though your head will try to tell you otherwisetomorrow.”Shesteeredmethroughthecrowd,gracefullydodgingpeoplewhowantedto
meetmeorleerather,untilwe’dmadeourwaybehindthestagethathadbeensetupalongthefarwalloftheballroom.WestoodbytheorchestraandwatchedasamandressedinanelaboratesilverensembletooktothestagetointroducetheGrisha.Theorchestrastruckadramaticchord,andtheguestsweresoongaspingand
applaudingasInfernisentarcsofflameshootingoverthecrowdandSquallerssentspiresofglitterwhirlingabouttheroom.TheywerejoinedbyalargegroupofTidemakerswho,withtheSquallers’help,broughtamassivewavecrashingoverthebalconytohoverinchesabovetheaudience’sheads.Isawhandsreachup to touch the shining sheetofwater.Then the Inferni raised their armsand,withahiss,thewaveexplodedintoaswirlingmassofmist.Hiddenbytheside
ofthestage,Ihadasuddeninspirationandsentlightcascadingthroughthemist,creatingarainbowthatshimmeredbrieflyintheair.“Alina.”I jumped.The light falteredand therainbowdisappeared.TheDarklingwas
standingbesideme.Asusual,heworeablackkefta,thoughthisonewasmadeof rawsilkandvelvet.Thecandlelightgleamedoffhisdarkhair. I swallowedandglancedaround,butGenyahaddisappeared.“Hello,”Imanaged.“Areyouready?”Inodded,andheledmetothebaseofthestepsleadingtotheplatform.Asthe
crowd applauded and the Grisha left the stage, Ivo punched my arm. “Nicetouch, Alina! That rainbow was perfect.” I thanked him and then turned myattention to thecrowd, feelingsuddenlynervous. I saweager faces, theQueensurrounded by her ladies, looking bored. Beside her, the King swayed on histhrone,clearlywellinhiscups,theApparatathisside.Iftheroyalprinceshadbotheredtoshowup,theywerenowheretobeseen.Withastart,IrealizedtheApparatwasstaringdirectlyatme,andIlookedquicklyaway.Wewaitedas theorchestrabegan toplayanominous, escalating thrumand
themaninsilverboundedontothestageonceagaintointroduceus.Suddenly,IvanwasbesideussayingsomethingintheDarkling’sear.Iheard
theDarklingreply,“Takethemtothewarroom.I’llbethereshortly.”Ivandartedaway,ignoringmecompletely.WhentheDarklingturnedtome,
hewassmiling,hiseyesalivewithexcitement.Whatevernewshe’dgottenhadbeengood.Aburstofapplausesignaledthatitwastimeforustotakethestage.Hetook
myarmandsaid,“Let’sgivethepeoplewhattheywant.”I nodded,my throat dry as he ledme up the steps and to the center of the
stage.Iheardeagerbuzzingfromthecrowd,lookedoutattheirexpectantfaces.TheDarklinggavemeashortnod.Withlittlepreamble,heslammedhishandstogetherandthunderboomedthroughtheroomasawaveofdarknessfellovertheparty.Hewaited,lettingthecrowd’santicipationgrow.TheDarklingmightnothave
likedtheGrishaperforming,buthecertainlyknewhowtoputonashow.Onlywhen the roomwaspracticallyvibratingwith tensiondidhe lean intome andwhisper,sosoftlythatonlyIcouldhear,“Now.”Heartclattering,Iextendedmyarm,palmup.Itookadeepbreathandcalled
upthatfeelingofsurety,thefeelingoflightrushingtowardmeandthroughme,andfocuseditinmyhand.Abrightcolumnoflightshotupwardfrommypalm,gleaming in the darkness of the ballroom. The crowd gasped, and I heard
someoneshout,“It’strue!”Iturnedmyhandslightly,anglingtowardwhatIhopedwastherightspoton
thebalconythatDavidhaddescribedtomeearlier.“Justmakesureyouaimhighenough,andwe’llfindyou,”he’dsaid.I knew I’d gotten it rightwhen the beam frommy palm shot out from the
balcony, zigging and zagging across the room as the light bounced from onelargeFabrikator-mademirrortothenextuntilthedarkballroomwasapatternofcrisscrossingstreamsofgleamingsunlight.Thecrowdmurmuredinexcitement.I closedmy palm, and the beam disappeared, then in a flash I let the light
bloom around me and the Darkling, wrapping us in a glowing sphere thatsurroundeduslikeaflowing,goldenhalo.He looked atme and held out his hand, sending black ribbons of darkness
climbing through the sphere, twisting and turning. I grew the lightwider andbrighter, feeling the pleasure of the power move through me, letting it playthroughmyfingertipsashesentinkytendrilsofdarknessshootingthroughthelight,makingthemdance.ThecrowdapplaudedandtheDarklingmurmuredsoftly,“Now,showthem.”IgrinnedanddidasIhadbeentaught,throwingmyarmswideandfeelingmy
wholeselfopen,thenIslammedmyhandstogetherandaloudrumbleshooktheballroom.Brilliantwhitelightexplodedthroughthecrowdwithawhooshastheguests released a collective “Ahhhh!” and closed their eyes, flinging up theirhandsagainstthebrightness.Ihelditforafewlongsecondsandthenunclaspedmyhands,lettingthelight
fade.Thecrowdburstintowildapplause,clappingfuriouslyandstompingtheirfeet.Wetookourbowsastheorchestrabegantoplayandtheapplausegavewayto
excitedchatter.TheDarklingpulledmetothesideofthestageandwhispered,“Doyouhearthem?Seethemdancingandembracing?Theyknownowthattherumorsaretrue,thateverythingisabouttochange.”MyelationebbedslightlyasIfeltuncertaintycreepin.“Butaren’twegiving
thesepeoplefalsehope?”Iasked.“No,Alina.Itoldyouthatyouweremyanswer.Andyouare.”“Butafterwhathappenedby the lake…”Iblushedfuriouslyandhurried to
clarify.“Imean,yousaidIwasn’tstrongenough.”TheDarkling’smouthquirked in the suggestionof agrinbuthis eyeswere
serious.“DidyoureallythinkIwasdonewithyou?”A little tremor quaked through me. He watched me, his half smile fading.
Then, abruptly, he tookme by the arm and pulledme from the stage into the
crowd.Peopleofferedtheircongratulations,reachedtheirhandsouttotouchus,but he cast a rippling pool of darkness that snaked through the crowd andvanishedas soonaswehadpassed. Itwasalmost likebeing invisible. I couldhearsnatchesofconversationasweslippedbetweengroupsofpeople.“Ididn’tbelieveit…”“…amiracle!”“…nevertrustedhimbut…”“It’sover!It’sover!”Iheardpeople laughingandcrying.That feelingofdisquiet twisted through
meagain.ThesepeoplebelievedthatIcouldsavethem.WhatwouldtheythinkwhentheylearnedIwasgoodfornothingbutparlortricks?Butthesethoughtswereonlydimflickers. Itwashard to thinkofanythingbut the fact that,afterweeksof ignoringme, theDarklinghadholdofmyhand andwaspullingmethroughanarrowdooranddownanemptycorridor.Agiddylaughescapedmeasweslippedinsideanemptyroomlitonlybythe
moonlightpouringinthroughthewindows.Ibarelyhadtimetoregister that itwasthesittingroomwhereIhadoncebeenbroughttomeettheQueen,becauseassoonasthedoorclosed,hewaskissingmeandIcouldthinkofnothingelse.I’d been kissed before, drunken mistakes, awkward fumblings. This was
nothing like that. It was sure and powerful and likemywhole body had justcomeawake.Icouldfeelmypoundingheart,thepressofsilkagainstmyskin,thestrengthofhisarmsaroundme,onehandburieddeepinmyhair,theotheratmy back, pulling me closer. The moment his lips met mine, the connectionbetweenusopenedandIfelthispowerfloodthroughme.Icouldfeelhowmuchhewantedme—butbehind that desire, I could feel something else, somethingthatfeltlikeanger.Idrewback,startled.“Youdon’twanttobedoingthis.”“ThisistheonlythingIwanttobedoing,”hegrowled,andIcouldhearthe
bitternessanddesirealltangledupinhisvoice.“Andyouhatethat,”Isaidwithasuddenflashofcomprehension.He sighed and leaned against me, brushing my hair back from my neck.
“MaybeIdo,”hemurmured,hislipsgrazingmyear,mythroat,mycollarbone.Ishivered,lettingmyheadfallback,butIhadtoask.“Why?”“Why?”he repeated,his lips still brushingovermy skin,his fingers sliding
overtheribbonsatmyneckline.“Alina,doyouknowwhatIvantoldmebeforewe took the stage? Tonight, we received word that my men have spottedMorozova’sherd.Thekey to theShadowFold is finallywithinourgrasp,andrightnow,Ishouldbeinthewarroom,hearingtheirreport.Ishouldbeplanningourtripnorth.ButI’mnot,amI?”
Mymindhadshutdown,givenitselfovertothepleasurecoursingthroughmeandtheanticipationofwherehisnextkisswouldland.“AmI?”herepeatedandhenippedatmyneck.Igaspedandshookmyhead,
unabletothink.Hehadmepushedupagainstthedoornow,hishipshardagainstmine.“Theproblemwithwanting,”hewhispered,hismouth trailingalongmyjawuntilithoveredovermylips,“isthatitmakesusweak.”Andthen,atlast,when I thought I couldn’t bear it any longer, he brought hismouth down onmine.Hiskisswasharderthistime,lacedwiththeangerIcouldfeellingeringinside
him.Ididn’tcare.Ididn’tcarethathe’dignoredmeorthatheconfusedmeorabout any of Genya’s vague warnings. He’d found the stag. He’d been rightaboutme.He’dbeenrightabouteverything.Hishandsliddowntomyhip.Ifeltalittletrillofpanicasmyskirtslidhigher
andhis fingersclosedonmybare thigh,but insteadofpullingaway, Ipushedclosertohim.I don’t knowwhatmight have happened next—at thatmomentwe heard a
loud clamor of voices from the hallway. A group of very noisy, very drunkpeoplewerecareeningdownthecorridor,andsomeonebumpedheavilyintothedoor,rattlingthehandle.Wefroze.TheDarklingshovedhisshoulderagainstthedoorsothatitwouldn’topen,andthegroupmovedon,shoutingandlaughing.In the silence that followed, we stared at each other. Then he sighed and
droppedhishand,lettingthesilkofmyskirtsfallbackintoplace.“Ishouldgo,”hemurmured.“Ivanandtheothersarewaitingforme.”Inodded,nottrustingmyselftospeak.He stepped away fromme. Imoved aside, andheopened thedoor a crack,
glancingdownthehallwaytomakesureitwasempty.“Iwon’treturntotheparty,”hesaid.“Butyoushould,atleastforawhile.”Inoddedagain.IwassuddenlyacutelyawareofthefactthatIwasstandingin
adarkroomwithanearstrangerandthatonlyafewmomentsbeforeI’dnearlyhadmy skirts aroundmywaist.AnaKuya’s stern face appeared inmymind,lecturing me about the foolish mistakes of peasant girls, and I flushed withembarrassment.TheDarkling slipped through the doorway, but then he turned back tome.
“Alina,”hesaid,andIcouldseethathewasfightingwithhimself,“canIcometoyoutonight?”Ihesitated.IknewthatifIsaidyes,therewouldbenoturningback.Myskin
still burned where he’d touched me, but the excitement of the moment wasmeltingaway,andabitofsensewasreturning.Iwasn’tsureofwhatIwanted.Iwasn’tsureofanythinganymore.
Iwaitedtoolong.Weheardmorevoicescomingdownthehall.TheDarklingpulled the door shut, striding out into the hallway as I stepped back into thedarkness. Iwaited nervously, trying to think of an excuse forwhy Imight behidinginanemptyroom.The voices passed and I let out a long, shuddering breath. I hadn’t had a
chance to sayyesorno to theDarkling.Wouldhecomeanyway?Did Iwanthimto?Mymindwaswhirring.Ihadtosetmyselftorightsandgetbacktotheparty.TheDarklingcouldjustdisappear,butIdidn’thavethatluxury.Ipeekedoutintothecorridorandthenhurriedbacktotheballroom,stopping
tocheckmyappearanceinoneofthegiltmirrors.Itwasn’tasbadasI’dfeared.Mycheekswereflushed,mylipsabitbruisedlooking,buttherewasnothingIcould do about that. I smoothedmy hair and straightenedmy kefta.As Iwasabouttoentertheballroom,Iheardadooropenattheotherendofthehallway.TheApparatwashurryingtowardme,hisbrownrobesflappingbehindhim.Ohpleasenotnow.“Alina!”hecalled.“Ihavetogetbacktotheball,”Isaidcheerilyandturnedawayfromhim.“Imustspeakwithyou!Thingsaremovingfarmorequicklythan—”I slipped back into the party with what I hoped was a serene expression.
Almost instantly, I was surrounded by nobles hoping to meet me andcongratulatemeonthedemonstration.SergeihurriedovertomewithmyotherHeartrenderguards,murmuringapologiesforlosingmeinthecrowd.Glancingovermyshoulder,IwasrelievedtoseetheApparat’sraggedformswallowedbyatideofpartygoers.Ididmybesttomakepoliteconversationandtoanswerthequestionsthatthe
guestsasked.Onewomanhadtearsinhereyesandaskedmetoblessher.Ihadno idea what to do, so I patted her hand in what I hoped was a reassuringmanner.AllIwantedwastobealonetothink,tosortthroughtheconfusedmessofemotionsinmyhead.Thechampagnewasn’thelping.Asonegroupofguestsmovedofftobereplacedbyanother,Irecognizedthe
long,melancholyfaceof theCorporalnikwhohadriddenwithmeandIvan intheDarkling’scoachandhelpedtofightofftheFjerdanassassins.Iscrambledtorememberhisname.Hecametomyrescue,bowingdeeplyandsaying,“FedyorKaminsky.”“Forgiveme,”Isaid.“It’sbeenalongnight.”“Icanonlyimagine.”Ihopenot,Ithoughtwithatwingeofembarrassment.“ItseemstheDarklingwasrightafterall,”hesaidwithasmile.“Pardon?”Isqueaked.
“Youweresocertainthatyoucouldn’tpossiblybeGrisha.”Ireturnedhisgrin.“Itrytomakeahabitofgettingthingshopelesslywrong.”Fedyor barely had time to tellme of his new assignment near the southern
borderbeforehewassweptawaybyanotherwaveofimpatientguestswaitingtoget their moment with the Sun Summoner. I hadn’t even thanked him forprotectingmylifethatdayintheglen.Imanagedtokeeptalkingandsmilingforaboutanhour,butassoonasIhad
afreemoment,I toldmyguardsthatIwantedtoleaveandmadeabeelineforthedoors.The instant Iwasoutside, I feltbetter.Thenightairwasblessedlycold, the
starsbrightinthesky.Itookadeepbreath.Ifeltgiddyandexhausted,andmythoughtsseemedtokeepbouncingfromexcitementtoanxietyandbackagain.IftheDarklingcametomyroomtonight,whatwoulditmean?Theideaofbeinghissentalittlejoltthroughme.Ididn’tthinkhewasinlovewithmeandIhadnoideawhatIfeltforhim,buthewantedme,andmaybethatwasenough.Ishookmyhead,tryingtomakesenseofeverything.TheDarkling’smenhad
foundthestag.Ishouldbethinkingaboutthat,aboutmydestiny,aboutthefactthatIwouldhavetokillanancientcreature,aboutthepoweritwouldgivemeand the responsibilityof that,butall Icould thinkaboutwashishandsonmyhips,hislipsonmyneck,thelean,hardfeelofhiminthedark.Itookanotherdeepbreathofnightair.Thesensiblethingwouldbetolockmydoorandgotosleep.ButIwasn’tsureIwantedtobesensible.WhenwearrivedattheLittlePalace,Sergeiandtheothersleftmetoreturnto
theball.Thedomedhallwassilent,thefiresinitstileovensbanked,itslampsglowinglowandgolden.JustasIwasabouttopassthroughthedoorwaytothemainstaircase,thecarveddoorsbehindtheDarkling’stableopened.Hurriedly,Isteppedintotheshadows.Ididn’twant theDarklingtoknowI’dleft thepartyearly, and I wasn’t ready to see him yet anyway. But it was just a group ofsoldierscrossing through theentryhallon theirwayoutof theLittlePalace. Iwondered if theywere themenwhohadcome to reporton the locationof thestag.Asthelightfromoneofthelampsfellonthelastsoldierofthegroup,myheartnearlystopped.“Mal!”Whenheturnedaround,IthoughtImightdissolvefromhappinessatthesight
ofhis familiar face.Somewhere in thebackofmymind, I registeredhisgrimexpression,but itwas lost in thesheer joyI felt. I sprintedacross thehallandthrew my arms around him, nearly knocking him off his feet. He steadiedhimselfandthenpulledmyarmsfromaroundhisneckasheglancedattheothersoldierswhohadstoppedtowatchus.IknewI’dprobablyembarrassedhim,but
I just didn’t care. Iwas bouncing on the balls ofmy feet, practically dancingwithhappiness.“Goon,”hesaidtothem.“I’llcatchuptoyou.”A few eyebrowswere raised, but the soldiers disappeared through themain
entrance,leavingusalone.Iopenedmymouthtospeak,butIwasn’tsurewheretobegin,soIsettledfor
thefirstthingthatcametomind.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”“HellifIknow,”Malsaidwithawearinessthatsurprisedme.“Ihadareport
tomaketoyourmaster.”“My…what?”Thenithitme,andIbrokeintoahugegrin.“You’retheone
whofoundMorozova’sherd!Ishouldhaveknown.”Hedidn’treturnmysmile.Hedidn’tevenmeetmyeyes.Hejustlookedaway
andsaid,“Ishouldgo.”Istaredathimindisbelief,myelationwithering.SoI’dbeenright.Malwas
donewithme.AlltheangerandembarrassmentI’dfeltoverthelastfewmonthscrashed in onme. “Sorry,” I said coldly. “I didn’t realize Iwaswasting yourtime.”“Ididn’tsaythat.”“No, no. I understand. You can’t be bothered to answer my letters. Why
wouldyouwanttostandheretalkingtomewhileyourrealfriendsarewaiting?”Hefrowned.“Ididn’tgetanyletters.”“Right,”Isaidangrily.Hesighedandrubbedahandoverhisface.“Wehavetomoveconstantlyto
tracktheherd.Myunitisbarelyincontactwiththeregimentanymore.”Therewas suchweariness in his voice. For the first time, I looked at him,
reallylookedathim,andIsawhowmuchhehadchanged.Therewereshadowsbeneathhisblueeyes.Ajaggedscarranalongthelineofhisunshavenjaw.Hewas stillMal, but therewas something harder about him, something cold andunfamiliar.“Youdidn’tgetanyofmyletters?”Heshookhishead,stillwearingthatsamedistantexpression.Ididn’tknowwhattothink.Malhadneverliedtomebefore,andforallmy
anger,Ididn’tthinkhewaslyingtomenow.Ihesitated.“Mal, I…Can’tyoustaya littlewhile longer?” Iheard thepleading inmy
voice.Ihatedit,butIhatedthethoughtofhimleavingevenmore.“Youcan’timaginewhatit’sbeenlikehere.”Hegavearoughbarkoflaughter.“Idon’tneedtoimagine.Isawyourlittle
demonstrationintheballroom.Veryimpressive.”“Yousawme?”
“That’s right,”hesaidharshly.“Doyouknowhowworried I’vebeenaboutyou?Nooneknewwhathadhappenedtoyou,whatthey’ddonetoyou.Therewas no way to reach you. There were even rumors you were being tortured.WhenthecaptainneededmentoreportbacktotheDarkling,likeanidiotImadethetrekdownherejustonthechancethatIwouldfindyou.”“Really?”Thatwashardforme tobelieve. I’dgottensoused to the ideaof
Mal’sindifference.“Yes,”hehissed.“Andhereyouare,safeandsound,dancingandflirtinglike
somecossetedlittleprincess.”“Don’tsoundsodisappointed,”Isnapped.“I’msuretheDarklingcanarrange
forarackorsomehotcoalsifthatwouldmakeyoufeelbetter.”Malscowledandsteppedawayfromme.Tearsof frustrationprickedmyeyes.Whywerewe fighting?Desperately, I
reached out to lay a hand on his arm. Hismuscles tensed, but he didn’t pullaway.“Mal,Ican’thelpthewaythingsarehere.Ididn’taskforanyofthis.”He lookedatmeand then lookedaway. I felt someof the tensiongooutof
him.Finally,hesaid,“Iknowyoudidn’t.”Again,Iheardthatterriblewearinessinhisvoice.“Whathappenedtoyou,Mal?”Iwhispered.Hesaidnothing,juststaredintothedarknessofthehall.Iraisedmyhandandresteditonhisstubblycheek,gentlyturninghisfaceto
mine.“Tellme.”Heclosedhiseyes.“Ican’t.”I letmy fingertips trail over the raised skin of the scar on his jaw. “Genya
couldfixthis.Shecan—”Instantly,IknewI’dsaidthewrongthing.Hiseyesflewopen.“Idon’tneedfixing,”hesnapped.“Ididn’tmean—”Hesnatchedmyhandfromhisface,holdingittightly,hisblueeyessearching
mine.“Areyouhappyhere,Alina?”Thequestiontookmebysurprise.“I…Idon’tknow.Sometimes.”“Areyouhappyherewithhim?”Ididn’thavetoaskwhoMalmeant.Iopenedmymouthtoanswer,butIhad
noideawhattosay.“You’re wearing his symbol,” he observed, his glance flicking to the little
goldcharmhangingatmyneckline.“Hissymbolandhiscolor.”“They’rejustclothes.”Mal’slipstwistedinacynicalsmile,asmilesodifferentfromtheoneIknew
andlovedthatIalmostflinched.“Youdon’treallybelievethat.”“WhatdifferencedoesitmakewhatIwear?”“Theclothes,thejewels,eventhewayyoulook.He’salloveryou.”The words hit me like a slap. In the dark of the hall, I felt an ugly flush
creepingupmycheeks.Isnatchedmyhandfromhis,crossingmyarmsovermychest.“It’snot like that,” Iwhispered,but Ididn’tmeethisgaze. Itwasas ifMal
couldseerightthroughme,asifhecouldpluckeveryfeveredthoughtI’deverhadoftheDarklingrightoutofmyhead.Butontheheelsofthatshamecameanger.Sowhatifhedidknow?Whatrightdidhehavetojudgeme?HowmanygirlshadMalheldinthedark?“Isawhowhelookedatyou,”hesaid.“Ilikehowhelooksatme!”Ipracticallyshouted.Heshookhishead,thatbittersmilestillplayingonhislips.Iwantedtosmack
itrightoffhisface.“Justadmitit,”hesneered.“Heownsyou.”“Heownsyou,too,Mal,”Ilashedback.“Heownsusall.”Thatwipedawayhissmile.“Nohedoesn’t,”Malsaidfiercely.“Notme.Notever.”“Ohreally?Don’tyouhavesomeplacetobe,Mal?Don’tyouhaveordersto
follow?”Malstoodupstraight,hisfacecold.“Yes,”hesaid.“Yes,Ido.”Heturnedsharplyandwalkedoutthedoor.For a moment, I stood there, quivering with anger, and then I ran to the
doorway.IgotallthewaydownthestepsbeforeIstoppedmyself.Thetearsthathadbeenthreateningtooverflowfinallydid,coursingdownmycheeks.Iwantedtorunafterhim,totakebackwhatI’dsaid,tobeghimtostay,butI’dspentmyliferunningafterMal.Instead,Istoodinsilenceandlethimgo.
CHAPTER15ONLYWHENIWASinmyroom,thedoorclosedsecurelybehindme,didIletmysobsovertakeme. I slid to the floor,mybackpressedagainst thebed,myarmsaroundmyknees,tryingtoholdmyselftogether.Bynow,Malwouldbe leaving thepalace, travelingback toTsibeya to join
theothertrackershuntingMorozova’sherd.Thedistancewideningbetweenusfelt like a palpable thing. I felt further from him than I had in all the lonelymonthsthathadgonebefore.Irubbedmythumboverthescaronmypalm.“Comeback,”Iwhispered,my
body shakingwith fresh sobs. “Come back.”But hewouldn’t. I’d as good asorderedhimtoleave.IknewIwouldprobablyneverseehimagain,andIachedwithit.Idon’tknowhowlongIsatthereinthedark.AtsomepointIbecameaware
of a soft knocking atmy door. I sat up straight, trying to stiflemy sniffling.WhatifitwastheDarkling?Icouldn’tbeartoseehimnow,toexplainmytearstohim,butIhadtodosomething.Idraggedmyselftomyfeetandopenedthedoor.Abonyhandsnakedaroundmywrist,seizingmeinanirongrip.“Baghra?”Iasked,peeringatthewomanstandingatmydoor.“Come,”shesaid,pullingatmyarmandglancingoverhershoulder.“Leave me alone, Baghra.” I tried to pull away from her, but she was
surprisinglystrong.“Youcomewithmenow,girl,”shebitout.“Now!”Maybeitwastheintensityofhergazeortheshockofseeingfearinhereyes,
ormaybeIwasjustusedtodoingwhatBaghrasaid,butIfollowedheroutthedoor.Shecloseditbehindus,keepingholdofmywrist.“Whatisthis?Wherearewegoing?”“Quiet.”Insteadof turning right andheading toward themain staircase, she dragged
meintheoppositedirectiontotheotherendofthehall.Shepressedapanelinthewall,andahiddendoorswungopen.Shegavemeashove.Ididn’thavethewill to fighther, so I stumbleddown thenarrow spiral staircase.Every time I
lookedbackather,shegavemeanotherlittlepush.Whenwereachedthebottomofthestairs,Baghrasteppedinfrontofmeandledmedownacrampedhallwaywithbarestonefloorsandplainwoodenwalls.Itlookedalmostnakedcomparedto the rest of the Little Palace, and I thought we might be in the servants’quarters.Baghra grabbed hold of my wrist again and tuggedme into a dark, empty
chamber. She lit a single candle, locked and bolted the door, then crossed theroom and reached up on her tiptoes to draw closed the curtain on the tinybasementwindow.Theroomwassparselyfurnishedwithanarrowbed,asimplechair,andawashbasin.“Here,”shesaid,shovingapileofclothesatme.“Puttheseon.”“I’mtootiredforlessons,Baghra.”“Nomorelessons.Youmustleavethisplace.Tonight.”Iblinked.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”“I’mtryingtokeepyoufromspendingtherestofyourlifeasaslave.Nowget
changed.”“Baghra,what’sgoingon?Whydidyoubringmedownhere?”“Wedon’thavemuchtime.TheDarklingisclosetofindingMorozova’sherd.
Soonhewillhavethestag.”“Iknow,” I said, thinkingofMal.Myheartached,but Ialsocouldn’t resist
feelingalittlesmug.“Ithoughtyoudidn’tbelieveinMorozova’sstag.”Shewavedherarmasifbrushingawaymywords.“That’swhatItoldhim.I
hopedthathemightgiveupthestag’spursuitifhethoughtitwasnothingbutapeasanttale.Butoncehehasit,nothingwillbeabletostophim.”Ithrewupmyhandsinexasperation.“Stophimfromdoingwhat?”“UsingtheFoldasaweapon.”“Isee,”Isaid.“Doeshealsoplantobuildasummerhomethere?”Baghraseizedholdofmyarm,“Thisisn’tajoke!”Therewasadesperate,unfamiliaredgetohervoice,andhergriponmyarm
wasnearlypainful.Whatwaswrongwithher?“Baghra,maybeweshouldgototheinfirmary—”“I’mnotsickandI’mnotinsane,”shespat.“Youmustlistentome.”“Then talk sense,” I said. “How could anyone use the Shadow Fold as a
weapon?”Sheleanedintome,herfingersdiggingintomyflesh.“Byexpandingit.”“Right,”Isaidslowly,tryingtoextricatemyselffromhergrasp.“The land that theUnsea coverswas once green and good, fertile and rich.
Nowitisdeadandbarren,crawlingwithabominations.TheDarklingwillpushitsboundariesnorthintoFjerda,southtotheShuHan.Thosewhodonotbowto
him will see their kingdoms turned to desolate wasteland and their peopledevouredbyraveningvolcra.”I gaped at her in horror, shocked by the images she had conjured. The old
womanhadclearlylosthermind.“Baghra,” I said gently, “I think you have some kind of fever.”Or you’ve
gonecompletelysenile.“Findingthestagisagoodthing.ItmeansIcanhelptheDarklingdestroytheFold.”“No!”shecried,anditwasalmostahowl.“Henever intendedtodestroyit.
TheFoldishiscreation.”Isighed.WhyhadBaghrapickedtonighttolosealltouchwithreality?“The
FoldwascreatedhundredsofyearsagobytheBlackHeretic.TheDarkling—”“HeistheBlackHeretic,”shesaidfuriously,herfacemereinchesfrommine.“Ofcourseheis.”Withsomeeffort,Ipriedherfingerslooseandsteppedpast
hertothedoor.“I’mgoingtogofindyouaHealerandthenI’mgoingtobed.”“Lookatme,girl.”Itookadeepbreathandturnedaround,mypatienceatanend.Ifeltsorryfor
her,butthiswasjusttoomuch.“Baghra—”Thewordsdiedonmylips.DarknesswaspoolinginBaghra’spalms,theskeinsofinkyblacknessfloating
intotheair.“Youdo not knowhim,Alina.” Itwas the first time she had ever usedmy
name.“ButIdo.”I stood therewatchingdark spirals unfurl aroundher, trying to comprehend
what Iwas seeing. SearchingBaghra’s strange features, I saw the explanationclearlywritten there. I saw theghostofwhatmusthaveoncebeenabeautifulwoman,abeautifulwomanwhogavebirthtoabeautifulson.“You’rehismother,”Iwhisperednumbly.Shenodded.“Iamnotmad.Iamtheonlypersonwhoknowswhathetrulyis,
whathetrulyintends.AndIamtellingyouthatyoumustrun.”TheDarklinghadclaimedhedidn’tknowwhatBaghra’spowerwas.Hadhe
liedtome?I shookmyhead, trying toclearmy thoughts, trying tomakesenseofwhat
Baghra was telling me. “It’s not possible,” I said. “The Black Heretic livedhundredsofyearsago.”“He has served countless kings, faked countless deaths, bided his time,
waitingforyou.OncehetakescontroloftheFold,noonewillbeabletostandagainsthim.”Ashiverwentthroughme.“No,”Isaid.“HetoldmetheFoldwasamistake.
HecalledtheBlackHereticevil.”
“The Fold was no mistake.” Baghra dropped her hands and the swirlingdarknessaroundhermeltedaway.“Theonlymistakewasthevolcra.Hedidnotanticipatethem,didnotthinktowonderwhatpowerofthatmagnitudemightdotomeremen.”Mystomachturned.“Thevolcraweremen?”“Ohyes.Generationsago.Farmersand theirwives, their children. Iwarned
him that there would be a price, but he didn’t listen. He was blinded by hishungerforpower.Justasheisblindednow.”“You’rewrong,”Isaid,rubbingmyarms,tryingtoshakethebone-deepcold
stealingthroughme.“You’relying.”“Only the volcra have kept the Darkling from using the Fold against his
enemies.Theyarehispunishment,alivingtestimonytohisarrogance.Butyouwillchangeallthat.Themonsterscannotabidesunlight.OncetheDarklinghasusedyourpowertosubduethevolcra,hewillbeabletoentertheFoldsafely.Hewillfinallyhavewhathewants.Therewillbenolimittohispower.”I shook my head. “He wouldn’t do that. He would never do that.” I
remembered thenighthe’dspoken tomeby the fire in thebroken-downbarn,the shame and sorrow in his voice. I’ve spentmy life searching for a way tomakethingsright.You’rethefirstglimmerofhopeI’vehadinalongtime.“HesaidhewantstomakeRavkawholeagain.Hesaidthat—”“Stoptellingmewhathesaid!”shesnarled.“Heisancient.He’shadplentyof
timetomasterlyingtoalonely,naivegirl.”Sheadvancedonme,herblackeyesburning. “Think, Alina. If Ravka is made whole, the Second Army will nolongerbevitaltoitssurvival.TheDarklingwillbenothingbutanotherservantoftheKing.Isthathisdreamofthefuture?”Iwasstartingtoshake.“Pleasestop.”“Butwith the Fold in his power, hewill spread destruction before him.He
will laywaste to theworld, and hewill never have to kneel to another Kingagain.”“No.”“Allbecauseofyou.”“No!”Ishoutedather.“Iwouldn’tdothat!Evenifwhatyou’resayingistrue,
Iwouldneverhelphimdothat.”“Youwon’thaveachoice.Thestag’spowerbelongstowhoeverslaysit.”“Buthecan’tuseanamplifier,”Iprotestedweakly.“He can use you,” Baghra said softly. “Morozova’s stag is no ordinary
amplifier.Hewill hunt it.Hewill kill it.Hewill take its antlers, andonceheplacesthemaroundyourneck,youwillbelongtohimcompletely.YouwillbethemostpowerfulGrishawhohaseverlived,andallthatnewfoundpowerwill
behistocommand.Youwillbeboundtohimforever,andyouwillbepowerlesstoresist.”Itwasthepityinhervoicethatundidme.Pityfromthewomanwho’dnever
allowedmeamoment’sweakness,amoment’srest.Mylegsgaveway,andIslidtothefloor.Icoveredmyheadwithmyhands,
trying to block out Baghra’s voice. But I couldn’t stop the Darkling’s wordsfromechoingthroughmymind.Weallservesomeone.TheKingisachild.YouandIaregoingtochangetheworld.HehadliedtomeaboutBaghra.HehadliedabouttheBlackHeretic.Hadhe
liedaboutthestag,too?I’maskingyoutotrustme.Baghrahadbeggedhimtogivemeanotheramplifier,buthe’dinsistedithad
to be the stag’s antlers. A necklace—no, a collar—of bone. And when I’dpushedhim,he’dkissedmeandI’dforgottenallabout thestagandamplifiersandeverythingelse.Irememberedhisperfectfaceinthelamplight,hisstunnedexpression,hisrumpledhair.Haditallbeendeliberate?Thekissbythelakeshore,theflashofhurtthathad
played across his face that night in the barn, every human gesture, everywhisperedconfidence,evenwhathadhappenedbetweenustonight?Icringedatthethought.Icouldstillfeelhiswarmbreathonmyneck,hearhis
whisperinmyear.Theproblemwithwantingisthatitmakesusweak.Howrighthewas. I’dwantedsobadly tobelongsomewhere,anywhere. I’d
beensoeagertopleasehim,soproudtokeephissecrets.ButI’dneverbotheredtoquestionwhathemightreallywant,whathistruemotivesmightbe.I’dbeentoobusyimaginingmyselfbyhisside,thesaviorofRavka,mosttreasured,mostdesired,likesomekindofqueen.I’dmadeitsoeasyforhim.YouandIaregoingtochangetheworld.Justwait.Putonyourprettyclothesandwaitforthenextkiss,thenextkindword.Wait
forthestag.Waitforthecollar.Waittobemadeintoamurdererandaslave.He had warned me that the age of Grisha power was coming to an end. I
shouldhaveknownhewouldneverletthathappen.Itookashakybreathandtriedtostillmytrembling.IthoughtofpoorAlexei
and all the otherswhohadbeen left to die in theblack reachesof theFold. Ithoughtoftheashensandsthathadoncebeensoftbrownearth.Ithoughtofthevolcra,thefirstvictimsoftheBlackHeretic’sgreed.DidyoureallythinkIwasdonewithyou?TheDarklingwanted touseme.Hewanted to takeaway theone thing that
hadeverreallybelongedtome,theonlypowerI’deverhad.Igottomyfeet.Iwasn’tgoingtomakeiteasyforhimanymore.“All right,” I said, reaching for the pile of clothesBaghra had broughtme.
“WhatdoIdo?”
CHAPTER16BAGHRA’SRELIEFwasunmistakable,butshewastednotime.“Youcanslipoutwiththeperformerstonight.Headwest.WhenyougettoOsKervo,findtheVerloren.It’saKerchtrader.Yourpassagehasbeenpaid.”My fingers froze on the buttons ofmy kefta. “Youwantme to go toWest
Ravka?TocrosstheFoldalone?”“Iwantyoutodisappear,girl.You’restrongenoughtotraveltheFoldonyour
ownnow. It shouldbeeasywork.Whydoyou think I’ve spent somuch timetrainingyou?”AnotherthingIhadn’tbotheredtoquestion.TheDarklinghadtoldBaghrato
leavemebe. I’d thoughthewasdefendingme,butmaybehe’d justwanted tokeepmeweak.I shucked off the kefta and pulled a roughwool tunic overmy head. “You
knew what he intended all along. Why tell me now?” I asked her. “Whytonight?”“We’ve run out of time. I never truly believed he’d findMorozova’s herd.
They’reelusivecreatures,partof theoldestscience, themakingat theheartoftheworld.ButIunderestimatedhismen.”No,IthoughtasIyankedonleatherbreechesandboots.Youunderestimated
Mal.Mal,whocouldhuntandtracklikenoother.Malwhocouldmakerabbitsoutofrocks.Malwhowouldfindthestaganddeliverme,deliverusallintotheDarkling’spowerwithouteverknowingit.Baghrapassedmea thickbrowntravelingcoat lined infur,aheavyfurhat,
andabroadbelt.AsIloopeditaroundmywaist,Ifoundamoneybagattachedtoit,alongwithmyknifeandapouchthatheldmyleathergloves,themirrorstuckedsafelyinside.She ledme out a small door and handedme a leather traveling pack that I
slungacrossmyshoulders.Shepointedacross thegrounds towhere the lightsfrom the Grand Palace flickered in the distance. I could hear music playing.Withastart,Irealizedthatthepartywasstillinfullswing.ItseemedlikeyearshadpassedsinceI’dlefttheballroom,butitcouldn’thavebeenmuchmorethananhour.“Gotothehedgemazeandturnleft.Stayoff thelightedpaths.Someofthe
entertainersarealreadyleaving.Findoneofthedepartingwagons.They’reonlysearchedontheirwayintothepalace,soyoushouldbesafe.”“Shouldbe?”Baghra ignored me. “When you get out of Os Alta, try to avoid the main
roads.”Shehandedmeasealedenvelope.“You’reaserfwoodworkeronyourwaytoWestRavkatomeetyournewmaster.Doyouunderstand?”“Yes.”Inodded,myheartalreadystartingtoraceinmychest.“Whyareyou
helpingme?”Iaskedsuddenly.“Whywouldyoubetrayyourownson?”Foramoment,shestoodstraight-backedandsilentintheshadowoftheLittle
Palace.Thensheturnedtome,andItookastartledstepback,becauseIsawit,asclearlyasifIhadbeenstandingatitsedge:theabyss.Ceaseless,black,andyawning,theunendingemptinessofalifelivedtoolong.“Allthoseyearsago,”shesaidsoftly.“Beforehe’deverdreamedofaSecond
Army, before he gave up his name and became the Darkling, he was just abrilliant,talentedboy.Igavehimhisambition.Igavehimhispride.Whenthetimecame, I shouldhavebeen theone to stophim.”She smiled then, a smallsmileofsuchachingsadnessthatitwashardtolookat.“YouthinkIdon’tlovemyson,”shesaid.“ButIdo.ItisbecauseIlovehimthatIwillnotlethimputhimselfbeyondredemption.”She glanced back at the Little Palace. “I will post a servant at your door
tomorrowmorningtoclaimthatyouareill.I’lltrytobuyyouasmuchtimeasIcan.”Ibitmylip.“Tonight.You’llhavetopost theservant tonight.TheDarkling
might…mightcometomyroom.”IexpectedBaghra to laughatmeagain,but insteadshe justshookherhead
andsaidsoftly,“Foolishgirl.”Hercontemptwouldhavebeeneasiertobear.Lookingoutatthegrounds,I thoughtofwhatlayaheadofme.WasIreally
goingtodothis?Ihadtochokebackmypanic.“Thankyou,Baghra,”Igulped.“Foreverything.”“Hmph,”shesaid.“Gonow,girl.Bequickandtakecare.”Iturnedmybackonherandran.Endless daysof trainingwithBotkinmeant I knew thegroundswell. Iwas
gratefulforeverysweatyhourasIjoggedoverlawnsandbetweentrees.Baghrasent thin coils of blackness to either side ofme, cloakingme in darkness as IdrewclosertothebackoftheGrandPalace.WereMarieandNadiastilldancinginside?WasGenyawonderingwhereI’dgone?Ishovedthosethoughtsfrommymind.IwasafraidtothinktoohardaboutwhatIwasdoing,abouteverythingIwasleavingbehind.Atheatricaltroupewasloadingupawagonwithpropsandracksofcostumes,
theirdriveralreadygrippingthereinsandshoutingatthemtohurrythingsalong.Oneof themclimbedupbesidehim,and theotherscrowded intoa littleponycartthatdepartedwithajingleofbells.Idartedintothebackofthewagonandwiggledmywaybetweenpiecesofscenery,coveringmyselfwithaburlapdropcloth.Aswe rumbled down the long gravel drive and through the palace gates, I
heldmybreath.Iwassurethat,atanymoment,someonewouldraisethealarmand we would be stopped. I would be pulled from the back of the wagon indisgrace. But then the wheels jounced forward and we were rattling over thecobblestonestreetsofOsAlta.ItriedtoremembertheroutethatIhadtakenwiththeDarklingwhenhehad
broughtme through thecity thosemanymonthsago,but I’dbeenso tiredandoverwhelmedthatmymemorywasauselessblurofmansionsandmistystreets.Icouldn’tseemuchfrommyhidingplace,andIdidn’tdarepeekout.Withmyluck,someonewouldbepassingatjustthatinstantandcatchsightofme.Myonlyhopewastoputasmuchdistanceaspossiblebetweenmyselfandthe
palacebeforemyabsencewasnoticed.Ididn’tknowhowlongBaghrawouldbeable tostall,andIwilled thewagon’sdriver tomovefaster.Whenwecrossedoverthebridgeandintothemarkettown,Iallowedmyselfatinysighofrelief.Coldaircreptthroughthecart’swoodenslats,andIwasgratefulforthethick
coatBaghrahadprovided.Iwaswearyanduncomfortable,butmostlyIwasjustfrightened.IwasrunningfromthemostpowerfulmaninRavka.TheGrisha,theFirstArmy,maybe evenMal andhis trackerswouldbeunleashed to findme.WhatchancedidIhaveofmakingittotheFoldonmyown?AndifIdidmakeittoWestRavkaandontotheVerloren,thenwhat?IwouldbealoneinastrangelandwhereIdidn’tspeakthelanguageandIknewnoone.TearsstungmyeyesandIbrushedthemfuriouslyaway.IfIstartedcrying,Ididn’tthinkI’dbeabletostop.Wetraveledthroughtheearlyhoursofthemorning,pastthestonestreetsof
Os Alta and onto the wide dirt swath of the Vy. Dawn came and went.Occasionally,Idozed,butmyfearanddiscomfortkeptmeawakeformostoftheride.WhenthesunwashighintheskyandI’dbeguntosweatinmythickcoat,thewagonrolledtoastop.Iriskedtakingapeekoverthesideofthecart.Wewerebehindwhatlooked
likeatavernoraninn.Istretchedoutmylegs.Bothofmyfeethadfallenasleep,andIwincedasthe
blood rushedpainfullyback tomy toes. Iwaiteduntil thedriverand theothermembersofthetroupehadgoneinsidebeforeIslidoutfrommyhidingplace.IfiguredIwouldattractmoreattentionifIlookedlikeIwassneakingaround,
soIstoodupstraightandwalkedbrisklyaroundthebuilding,joiningthebustleofcartsandpeopleonthevillage’smainstreet.Ittookalittleeavesdropping,butIsoonrealizedIwasinBalakirev.Itwasa
littletownalmostdirectlywestofOsAlta.I’dgottenlucky;Iwasheadedintherightdirection.During the ride, I’d counted the money Baghra had given me and tried to
makeaplan.Iknewthefastestwaytotravelwouldbeonhorseback,butIalsoknew that a girl on her own with enough coin to buy a mount would attractattention.WhatIreallyneededtodowasstealahorse—butIhadnoideahowtogoaboutthat,soIdecidedtojustkeepmoving.On thewayoutof town, I stoppedatamarketstall tobuyasupplyofhard
cheese,bread,anddriedmeat.“Hungry,areyou?”askedthetoothlessoldvendor,lookingatmealittletoo
closelyasIshovedthefoodintomypack.“Mybrotheris.Heeatslikeapig,”Isaid,andpretendedtowaveatsomeone
inthecrowd.“Coming!”Ishouted,andhurriedoff.AllIcouldhopewasthathewouldrememberagirltravelingwithherfamilyor,betteryet,thathewouldn’tremembermeatall.IspentthatnightsleepinginthetidyhayloftofadairyfarmjustofftheVy.It
wasalongwayfrommybeautifulbedattheLittlePalace,butIwasgratefulfortheshelterandforthesoundsofanimalsaroundme.ThesoftlowingandrustleofthecowsmademefeellessaloneasIcurledonmyside,usingmypackandfurhatasamakeshiftpillow.What ifBaghrawaswrong?Iworriedas I lay there.What if she’d lied?Or
whatifshewasjustmistaken?IcouldgobacktotheLittlePalace.Icouldsleepinmyownbed and takemy lessonswithBotkin and chatwithGenya. Itwassuchatemptingthought.IfIwentback,wouldtheDarklingforgiveme?Forgiveme?Whatwaswrongwithme?Hewastheonewhowantedtoputa
collar around my neck and make me a slave, and I was fretting over hisforgiveness?Irolledontomyotherside,furiouswithmyself.Inmyheart, Iknew thatBaghrawas right. I rememberedmyownwords to
Mal:Heownsusall.I’dsaiditangrily,withoutthinking,becauseI’dwantedtohurtMal’spride.But I’dspoken the truth justassurelyasBaghra. IknewtheDarklingwasruthlessanddangerous,butI’dignoredallthat,happytobelieveinmysupposedlygreatdestiny,thrilledtothinkthatIwastheonehewanted.Whydon’tyoujustadmitthatyouwantedtobelongtohim?saidavoiceinmy
head.Whydon’tyouadmitthatpartofyoustilldoes?Ithrustthethoughtaway.Itriedtothinkofwhatthenextdaymightbring,of
what might be the safest route west. I tried to think of anything but the
stormcloudcolorofhiseyes.ILETMYSELFSPENDthenextdayandnighttravelingontheVy,blendinginwith the traffic that came and went on the way to Os Alta. But I knew thatBaghra’sstallingwouldonlybuymesomuchtime,andthemainroadswerejusttoorisky.Fromthenon,Ikepttothewoodsandfields,usinghunters’trailsandfarmtracks.Itwasslowgoingonfoot.Mylegsached,andIhadblistersonthetopsofmytoes,butImademyselfkeepheadingwest,followingthetrajectoryofthesuninthesky.Atnight,Ipulledmyfurhat lowovermyearsandhuddledshiveringinmy
coat,listeningtomybellygrumbleandmakingmyselfpicturemapsinmyhead,themapsIhadworkedonsolongagointhecomfortoftheDocumentsTent.Ipictured my own slow progress from Os Alta to Balakirev, skirting the littlevillagesofChernitsyn,Kerskii,andPolvost,andtriednottogiveuphope.IhadalongwaytogototheFold,butallIcoulddowaskeepmovingandhopethatmyluckheld.“You’restillalive,”Iwhisperedtomyselfinthedark.“You’restillfree.”Occasionally,Iencounteredfarmersorothertravelers.Iworemyglovesand
keptmyhandonmyknifeincaseoftrouble,buttheytooklittlenoticeofme.Iwasconstantlyhungry.Ihadalwaysbeenarottenhunter,soIsubsistedonthemeager supplies I’dboughtback inBalakirev,onwater fromstreams, and theoccasionaleggorapplestolenfromalonelyfarm.Ihadno ideawhat the futureheldorwhatwaited formeat the endof this
grueling journey and yet, somehow, I wasn’t miserable. I’d been lonely mywholelife,butI’dneverbeentrulyalonebefore,anditwasn’tnearlyasscaryasI’dimagined.All the same,when I cameupona tinywhitewashedchurchonemorning, I
couldn’tresistslippinginsidetohearthepriestsayMass.Whenhefinished,heofferedprayersforthecongregation:forawoman’ssonwhohadbeenwoundedin battle, for an infant who was ill with fever, and for the health of AlinaStarkov.Iflinched.“LettheSaintsprotecttheSunSummoner,”intonedthepriest,“shewhowas
senttodeliverusfromtheevilsoftheShadowFoldandmakethisnationwholeagain.”I swallowed hard and ducked quickly out of the church.They pray for you
now, I thought bleakly.But if theDarklinghas hisway, they’ ll come to hateyou.Andmaybetheyshould.Wasn’tIabandoningRavkaandallthepeoplewho
believedinme?OnlymypowercoulddestroytheFold,andIwasrunningaway.Ishookmyhead.Icouldn’taffordtothinkaboutanyofthatrightnow.Iwas
a traitor and a fugitive.Once Iwas free of theDarkling, I couldworry aboutRavka’sfuture.Isetafastpaceupthetrailandintothewoods,chasedupthehillsidebythe
ringingofchurchbells.AsIpicturedthemapinmyhead,IrealizedIwouldsoonreachRyevost,and
thatmeantmaking a decision about the bestway to reach theShadowFold. IcouldfollowtheriverrouteorheadintothePetrazoi, thestonymountains thatloomed to the northwest. The riverwould be easier going, but itwouldmeanpassing through heavily populated areas. The mountains were a more directroute,butwouldbemuchtoughertotraverse.IdebatedwithmyselfuntilIcametothecrossroadsatShura,thenchosethe
mountain route. I would have to stop in Ryevost before I headed into thefoothills.Itwasthelargestoftherivercities,andIknewIwastakingarisk,butIalsoknewIwouldn’tmakeitthroughthePetrazoiwithoutmorefoodandsomekindoftentorbedroll.After somanydaysonmyown, thenoise andbustleofRyevost’s crowded
streets and canals felt strange tome. I keptmyheaddown andmyhat pulledlow, sure that I would find posters of my face on every lamppost and shopwindow.But the deeper I got into the city, themore I began to relax.Maybewordofmydisappearancehadn’tspreadasfarorasfastasI’dexpected.My mouth watered at the smells of roasting lamb and fresh bread, and I
treatedmyself toanappleas I refreshedmysuppliesofhardcheeseanddriedmeat.Iwastyingmynewbedrolltomytravelingpackandtryingtofigureouthow
Iwasgoing to lugall the extraweightup themountainsidewhen I roundedacornerandnearlyranrightintoagroupofsoldiers.Myheartslammedintoagallopatthesightoftheirlongolivecoatsandthe
rifles on their backs. I wanted to turn on my heel and sprint in the oppositedirection,butIkeptmyheadlowandforcedmyselftokeepwalkingatanormalpace.OnceI’dpassedthem,Iriskedaglanceback.Theyweren’tlookingaftermesuspiciously. Infact, theydidn’tseemtobedoingmuchofanything.Theyweretalkingandjoking,oneofthemcatcallingatagirlhangingoutthewash.I stepped intoa side street andwaited formyheartbeat to return tonormal.
Whatwasgoingon? I’descaped from theLittlePalacewelloveraweekago.Thealarmmusthavebeenraisedbynow.I’dbeensuretheDarklingwouldsendriders toeveryregiment inevery town.Everymemberof theFirstandSecondArmiesshouldbelookingformebynow.
AsIheadedoutofRyevost,Isawothersoldiers.Somewereonleave,othersonduty,butnoneofthemseemedtobelookingforme.Ididn’tknowwhattomake of it. I wondered if I had Baghra to thank. Maybe she’d managed toconvince theDarkling that I’d been kidnapped or even killed by Fjerdans.OrmaybehejustthoughtthatI’dalreadymadeitfartherwest.Idecidednottopressmyluckandhurriedtofindmywayoutoftown.IttookmelongerthanI’dexpected,andIdidn’treachthewesternoutskirtsof
thecityuntilwellpastnightfall.Thestreetsweredarkandemptyexcept forafewdisreputable-lookingtavernsandanolddrunkleaningupagainstabuilding,singingsoftlytohimself.AsIhurriedpastanoisyinn,thedoorflewopenandaheavysetmantoppledoutintothestreetonaburstoflightandmusic.Hegrabbedhold ofmy coat andpulledme close. “Hello, pretty!Haveyou
cometokeepmewarm?”Itriedtopullaway.“You’restrongforsuchalittlething.”Icouldsmellthestinkofstalebeeron
hishotbreath.“Letgoofme,”Isaidinalowvoice.“Don’tbelikethat,lapushka,”hecrooned.“Wecouldhavefun,youandme.”“Isaidletgoofme!”Ipushedagainsthischest.“Not for a bit yet,” he chuckled, pulling me into the shadows of the alley
besidethetavern.“Iwanttoshowyousomething.”Iflickedmywristandfeltthecomfortingweightofthemirrorslidebetween
my fingers.My hand shot out and light flared into his eyes in a single quickflash.Hegruntedasthelightblindedhim,throwinghishandsupandlettinggoof
me.IdidasBotkinhadinstructed.Istompeddownhardonthearchofhisfootandthenhookedmylegbehindhisankle.Hislegsflewoutfromunderhim,andhehitthegroundwithathud.At thatmoment, the sidedoor to the tavern flewopen.Auniformedsoldier
emerged,abottleofkvasinonehandandascantilycladwomanclutchedintheother.Withawaveofdread,IsawthathewasdressedinthecharcoaluniformoftheDarkling’sguard.Hisblearyglancetookinthescene:themanonthegroundandmestandingoverhim.“What’sallthis?”heslurred.Thegirlonhisarmtittered.“I’mblind!”wailedthemanontheground.“Sheblindedme!”Theoprichnik lookedathimandthenpeeredatme.Hiseyesmetmine,and
recognitionspreadacrosshisface.Myluckhadrunout.Evenifnooneelsewaslookingforme,theDarkling’sguardswere.“You…,”hewhispered.
Iran.I bolted down an alleyway and into a maze of narrow streets, my heart
pounding in my chest. As soon as I cleared the last few dingy buildings ofRyevost, I hurtled off the road and into the underbrush. Branches stung mycheeksandforeheadasIstumbleddeeperintothewoods.Behindme rose the sounds of pursuit:men shouting to one another, heavy
footfallsthroughthewood.Iwantedtorunblindly,butImademyselfstopandlisten.Theyweretotheeastofme,searchingneartheroad.Icouldn’ttellhowmany
therewere.IquietedmybreathingandrealizedIcouldhearrushingwater.Theremustbe
astreamnearby,atributaryoftheriver.IfIcouldmakeittothewaterIcouldhidemytracks,andtheywouldbehard-pressedtofindmeinthedarkness.I made for the sounds of the stream, stopping periodically to correct my
course.IstruggledupahillsosteepIwasalmostcrawling,pullingmyselfupbybranchesandexposedtreeroots.“There!”Thevoicecalledoutfrombelowme,andlookingovermyshoulder,
Isawlightsmovingthroughthewoodstowardthebaseofthehill.Iclawedmyway higher, the earth slipping beneath my hands, each breath burning in mylungs.WhenIgottothetop,Idraggedmyselfovertheedgeandlookeddown.Ifelt a surge of hope as I spottedmoonlight glimmering off the surface of thestream.Isliddownthesteephill,leaningbacktotrytokeepmybalance,movingas
fastasIdared.Iheardshouts,andwhenIlookedbehindme,Isawtheshapesofmypursuerssilhouettedagainst thenightsky.Theyhadreached the topof thehill.Panicgotthebestofme,andIstartedtorundowntheslope,sendingshowers
ofpebblesclatteringdownthehilltothestreambelow.Thegradewastoosteep.Ilostmyfootingandfellforward,scrapingbothhandsasIhitthegroundhardand,unabletostopmymomentum,somersaulteddownthehillandplungedintothefreezingwater.For amoment, I thoughtmy heart had stopped. The coldwas like a hand,
grippingmybodyinarelentless,icygripasItumbledthroughthewater.Thenmy head broke the surface and I gasped, drawing in precious air before thecurrentgrabbedmeandpulledmeunderagain.Idon’tknowhowfarthewatertookme.AllIthoughtaboutwasmynextbreathandthegrowingnumbnessinmylimbs.Finally, when I thought I couldn’t fight my way to the surface again, the
currentdroveme into a slow, silentpool. I grabbedholdof a rockandpulled
myselfintotheshallows,draggingmyselftomyfeet,mybootsslippingonthesmoothriverstonesasIstumbledundertheweightofmysoddencoat.Idon’tknowhowIdidit,butIpushedmywayintothewoodsandburrowed
underathickcopseofbushesbeforeIletmyselfcollapse,shiveringinthecoldandstillcoughingriverwater.Itwaseasilytheworstnightofmylife.Mycoatwassoakedthrough.Myfeet
werenumbinmyboots.Istartedatanysound,surethatI’dbeenfound.Myfurhat, my pack full of food, and my new bedroll had all been lost somewhereupstream, somy disastrous excursion into Ryevost had been for nothing.Mymoneypouchwasgone.Atleastmyknifewasstillsafelysheathedatmyhip.Sometimeneardawn, I letmyself summona little sunlight todrymyboots
andwarmmyclammyhands.IdozedanddreamedofBaghraholdingmyownknifetomythroat,herlaughadryrattleinmyear.I awoke to the pounding of my heart and the sounds of movement in the
woodsaroundme.Ihadfallenasleepslumpedagainstthebaseofatree,hidden—Ihoped—behind thecopseofbushes.FromwhereIsat, Icouldseenoone,but I could hear voices in the distance. I hesitated, frozen in place, unsure ofwhattodo.IfImoved,Iriskedgivingawaymyposition,butifIstayedsilent,itwouldonlybeamatteroftimebeforetheyfoundme.My heart began to race as the sounds grew closer. Through the leaves, I
glimpsedastocky,beardedsoldier.Hehadarifleinhishands,butIknewtherewas no chance that they would kill me. I was too valuable. It gave me anadvantage,ifIwaswillingtodie.They’renotgoingtotakeme.Thethoughtcametomewithsureandsudden
clarity.Iwon’tgoback.Iflickedmywristandamirrorslidintomylefthand.WithmyotherhandI
pulledoutmyknife, feeling theweightofGrisha steel inmypalm.Silently, Idrew myself into a crouch and waited, listening. I was frightened, but I wassurprisedtofindthatsomepartofmefelteager.Iwatchedthebeardedsoldierthroughtheleaves,circlingcloseruntilhewas
just feet from me. I could see a bead of sweat trickling down his neck, themorninglightgleamingoffhisriflebarrel,andforamoment,Ithoughthemightbe looking right at me. A call sounded from deep in the woods. The soldiershoutedbacktothem.“Nichyevo!”Nothing.Andthen,tomyamazement,heturnedandwalkedawayfromme.I listenedas thesoundsfaded, thevoicesgrowingmoredistant, thefootfalls
more faint. Could I possibly be so lucky? Had they somehow mistaken ananimal’s trail or another traveler’s formine?Or was it some kind of trick? Iwaited,mybody trembling, until all I couldhearwas the relativequiet of the
wood,thecallsofinsectsandbirds,therustleofthewindinthetrees.At last, I slid the mirror back into my glove and took a deep, shuddering
breath. I returnedmy knife to its sheath and slowly rose out ofmy crouch. Ireachedformystill-dampcoatlyinginacrumpledheaponthegroundandfrozeattheunmistakablesoundofasoftstepbehindme.Ispunonmyheel,myheartinmythroat,andsawafigurepartiallyhiddenby
branches,onlya fewfeet fromme. I’dbeensofocusedon thebeardedsoldierthatIhadn’trealizedtherewassomeonebehindme.Inaninstant,theknifewasback inmyhand, themirrorheldhighas the figureemerged silently from thetrees.Istared,sureImustbehallucinating.Mal.Iopenedmymouthtospeak,butheputhisfingertohislipsinwarning,his
gaze locked onmine. He waited amoment, listening, then gestured tome tofollowandmeltedbackintothewoods.Igrabbedmycoatandhurriedafterhim,doingmybesttokeepup.Itwasnoeasytask.Hemovedsilently,slippinglikeashadowthroughthebranches,asifhecouldseepathsinvisibletoothers’eyes.Heledmebacktothestream,toashallowbendwherewewereabletoslog
across.Icringedastheicywaterpouredintomybootsagain.Whenweemergedontheotherside,hecircledbacktocoverourtracks.Iwasburstingwithquestions,andmymindkeptjumpingfromonethoughtto
the next. How had Mal found me? Had he been tracking me with the othersoldiers?Whatdid itmean thathewashelpingme?Iwanted to reachoutandtouchhimtomakesurehewasreal.Iwantedtothrowmyarmsaroundhimingratitude. Iwanted topunchhimin theeyefor the thingshe’dsaid tome thatnightattheLittlePalace.Wewalkedforhours incompletesilence.Periodically,hewouldgesturefor
metostop,andIwouldwaitashedisappearedintotheunderbrushtohideourtracks.Sometimeintheafternoon,webeganclimbingarockypath.Iwasn’tsurewherethestreamhadspitmeout,butIfeltfairlycertainthathemustbeleadingmeintothePetrazoi.Each stepwasagony.Mybootswere stillwet, and freshblisters formedon
myheelsandtoes.Mymiserablenightinthewoodshadleftmewithapoundingheadache,andIwasdizzyfromlackoffood,butIwasn’tabouttocomplain.Ikeptquietashe ledmeup themountainand thenoff the trail,scrabblingoverrocksuntilmylegswereshakingwithfatigueandmythroatburnedwiththirst.WhenMalfinallystopped,wewerehighupthemountain,hiddenfromviewbyanenormousoutcroppingofrockandafewscragglypines.“Here,” he said, dropping his pack. He slid sure-footed back down the
mountain, and I knew he was going to try to cover the traces of my clumsy
progressovertherocks.Gratefully,Isanktothegroundandclosedmyeyes.Myfeetwerethrobbing,
but Iwasworried that if I tookmybootsoff, Iwouldneverget thembackonagain. My head drooped, but I couldn’t let myself sleep. Not yet. I had athousandquestions,butonlyonecouldn’twaituntilmorning.Duskwasfallingby the timeMalreturned,movingsilentlyover the terrain.
Hesatdownacrossfrommeandpulledacanteenfromhispack.Aftertakingaswig, he swipedhis handoverhismouth andpassed thewater tome. I drankdeeply.“Slowdown,”hesaid.“Thathastolastusthroughtomorrow.”“Sorry.”Ihandedthecanteenbacktohim.“We can’t risk a fire tonight,” he said, gazing out into the gathering dark.
“Maybetomorrow.”I nodded. My coat had dried during our trek up the mountain, though the
sleeveswerestillalittledamp.Ifeltrumpled,dirty,andcold.Mostly,Iwasjustreelingoverthemiraclethatwassittinginfrontofme.Thatwouldhavetowait.Iwasterrifiedoftheanswer,butIhadtoask.“Mal.” I waited for him to look at me. “Did you find the herd? Did you
captureMorozova’sstag?”Hetappedhishandonhisknee.“Whyisitsoimportant?”“It’salongstory.Ineedtoknow,doeshehavethestag?”“No.”“They’reclose,though?”Henodded.“But…”“Butwhat?”Mal hesitated. In the remnants of the afternoon light, I saw a ghost of the
cocky smile I knew so well playing on his lips. “I don’t think they’ll find itwithoutme.”Iraisedmyeyebrows.“Becauseyou’rejustthatgood?”“No,” he said, serious again. “Maybe. Don’t get me wrong. They’re good
trackers,thebestintheFirstArmy,but…youhavetohaveafeelfortrackingtheherd.Theyaren’tordinaryanimals.”And you’re no ordinary tracker, I thought but didn’t say. I watched him,
thinkingofwhat theDarklinghadonce said aboutnot understandingourowngifts. Could there be more to Mal’s talent than just luck or practice? He’dcertainly never suffered froma lack of confidence, but I didn’t think thiswasaboutconceit.“Ihopeyou’reright,”Imurmured.“Nowyouansweraquestionforme,”hesaid,andtherewasaharshedgeto
hisvoice.“Whydidyourun?”For the first time, I realized that Mal had no idea why I’d fled the Little
Palace,whytheDarklingwassearchingforme.ThelasttimeI’dseenhim,I’dessentiallyorderedhimoutofmysight,butstillhe’dlefteverythingbehindandcomeforme.Hedeservedanexplanation,but Ihadno ideawhere tobegin. Isighedandrubbedahandovermyface.WhathadIgottenusinto?“IfItoldyouthatI’mtryingtosavetheworld,wouldyoubelieveme?”He stared atme, his eyes hard. “So this isn’t some kind of lovers’ quarrel
whereyouturnaroundandgorunningbacktohim?”“No!” I exclaimed in shock. “It’s not…we’re not…” Iwas at a loss for
wordsandthenIjusthadtolaugh.“Iwishitweresomethinglikethat.”Malwasquietforalongtime.Then,asifhe’dreachedsomekindofdecision,
hesaid,“Allright.”Hestoodup,stretched,andslunghisrifleoverhisshoulder.Thenhedrewathickwoolblanketfromhispackandtossedittome.“Getsomerest,”hesaid.“I’lltakethefirstwatch.”Heturnedhisbackonme,
lookingoutatthemoonrisinghighoverthevalleywehadleftbehind.I curled up on the hard ground, pulling the blanket tight around me for
warmth. Despite my discomfort, my eyelids felt heavy and I could feelexhaustiondraggingmeunder.“Mal,”Iwhisperedintothenight.“What?”“Thanksforfindingme.”Iwasn’tsureifIwasdreaming,butsomewhereinthedark,IthoughtIheard
himwhisper,“Always.”Iletsleeptakeme.
CHAPTER17MALTOOKBOTHwatchesandletmesleepthenightthrough.Inthemorning,hehandedmeastripofdriedmeatandsaidsimply,“Talk.”Iwasn’tsurewheretobegin,soIstartedwiththeworstofit.“TheDarkling
planstousetheShadowFoldasaweapon.”Maldidn’tevenblink.“How?”“He’ll expand it, spread it throughRavka and Fjerda and anywhere else he
meetsresistance.Buthecan’tdoitwithoutmetokeepthevolcraatbay.HowmuchdoyouknowaboutMorozova’sstag?”“Notmuch.Justthatit’svaluable.”Helookedoutoverthevalley.“Andthatit
wasintendedforyou.Weweresupposedtolocatetheherdandcaptureorcornerthestag,butnotharmit.”I nodded and tried to explain the little bit I knew about theway amplifiers
worked, how Ivan had to slay the Sherborn bear, and Marie had to kill thenorthernseal.“AGrishahastoearnanamplifier,”Ifinished.“Thesamethingistrueforthestag,butitwasnevermeantforme.”“Let’s walk,” Mal said abruptly. “You can tell me the rest while we’re
moving.Iwanttogetusdeeperintothemountains.”He shoved the blanket into his pack and did his best to hide any signs that
we’devermadecampthere.Thenheledusupasteepandrockytrail.Hisbowwastiedtohispack,buthekepthisrifleattheready.Myfeetprotestedeverystep,butIfollowedanddidmybesttotelltherestof
thestory.ItoldhimeverythingthatBaghrahadtoldme,abouttheoriginsoftheFold,aboutthecollarthattheDarklingintendedtofashionsothathecouldusemypower,andfinallyabouttheshipwaitinginOsKervo.WhenIfinished,Malsaid,“Youshouldn’thavelistenedtoBaghra.”“Howcanyousaythat?”Idemanded.Heturnedsuddenly,andIalmostranrightintohim.“Whatdoyouthinkwill
happenifyoumakeittotheFold?Ifyoumakeitontothatship?DoyouthinkhispowerstopsattheshoreoftheTrueSea?”“No,but—”“It’s justaquestionof timebeforehefindsyouandslaps thatcollararound
yourneck.”
Heturnedonhisheelandmarchedup the trail, leavingmestanding,dazed,behindhim.Imademylegsmoveandhurriedtocatchup.MaybeBaghra’splanwasaweakone,butwhatchoicehadeitherofushad?I
rememberedherfiercegrip,thefearinherfeverisheyes.She’dneverexpectedtheDarklingwouldreallylocateMorozova’sherd.Thenightofthewinterfete,she’d been genuinely panicked, but she’d tried to help me. If she’d been asruthlessasherson,shemighthavedispensedwithriskandslitmythroatinstead.Andmaybeweallwouldhavebeenbetteroff,Ithoughtdismally.We walked in silence for a long time, moving up the mountain in slow
switchbacks. In somespots, the trailwas sonarrow that I coulddo littlemorethan cling to themountainside, take tiny, shuffling steps, and hope the Saintswerekind.Aroundnoon,wedescendedthefirstslopeandstartedupthesecond,whichwas,tomymisery,evensteeperandtallerthanthefirst.Istaredatthetrailinfrontofme,puttingonefootinfrontoftheother,trying
to shake my sense of hopelessness. The more I thought about it, the more IworriedthatMalmightberight.Icouldn’tlosethefeelingthatI’ddoomedbothofus.TheDarklingneededmealive,butwhatmighthedotoMal?I’dbeensofocusedonmyownfearandmyownfuturethatIhadn’tgivenmuchthoughttowhatMalhaddoneorwhathe’dchosentogiveup.Hecouldnevergobacktothearmy, tohis friends, tobeingadecorated tracker.Worse,hewasguiltyofdesertion,maybeoftreason,andthepenaltyforthatwasdeath.Bydusk,we’dclimbedhighenoughthatthefewscragglingtreeshadallbut
disappearedandwinterfroststill layonthegroundinplaces.Weateameagerdinnerofhardcheeseandstringydriedbeef.Malstilldidn’tthinkitwassafetobuildafire,sowehuddledbeneaththeblanketinsilence,shiveringagainstthehowlingwind,ourshouldersbarelytouching.I had almost dozed off when Mal suddenly said, “I’m taking us north
tomorrow.”Myeyesflewopen.“North?”“ToTsibeya.”“Youwanttogoafterthestag?”Isaidindisbelief.“IknowIcanfindit.”“IftheDarklinghasn’tfounditalready!”“No,”hesaid,andIfelthimshakehishead.“He’sstilloutthere.Icanfeelit.”Hiswords remindedmeeerilyofwhat theDarklinghad saidon thepath to
Baghra’scottage.Thestagwasmeantforyou,Alina.Icanfeelit.“AndwhatiftheDarklingfindsusfirst?”Iasked.“Youcan’tspendtherestofyourliferunning,Alina.Yousaidthestagcould
makeyoupowerful.Powerfulenoughtofighthim?”
“Maybe.”“Thenwehavetodoit.”“Ifhecatchesus,he’llkillyou.”“Iknow.”“AllSaints,Mal.Whydidyoucomeafterme?Whatwereyouthinking?”Hesighedandscrubbedahandoverhisshorthair.“Ididn’t think.Wewere
halfwaybacktoTsibeyawhenwegotorderstoturnbackaroundandhuntyou.So that’s what I did. The hard part was leading the others away from you,especiallyafteryoubasicallyannouncedyourselfinRyevost.”“Andnowyou’readeserter.”“Yes.”“Becauseofme.”“Yes.”My throat ached with unshed tears, but I managed to keepmy voice from
shaking.“Ididn’tmeanforanyofthistohappen.”“I’mnotafraidtodie,Alina,”hesaidinthatcold,steadyvoicethatseemedso
alientome.“ButI’dliketogiveusafightingchance.Wehavetogoafterthestag.”Ithoughtaboutwhathesaidforalongwhile.Atlast,Iwhispered,“Okay.”AllIgotbackwasasnore.Malwasalreadyasleep.
HEKEPTABRUTALPACEoverthenextfewdaysbutmypride,andmaybemy fear, wouldn’t let me ask him to slow down.We saw an occasional goatskitteringdown the slopesaboveusand spentonenight campedbyabrilliantbluemountainlake,butthosewererarebreaksinthemonotonyofleadenrockandsullensky.Mal’sgrimsilencesdidn’thelp.Iwantedtoknowhowhe’dendeduptracking
thestagfortheDarklingandwhathislifehadbeenlikeforthelastfivemonths,butmyquestionsweremetwith terseone-wordreplies,andsometimeshe justignored me completely. When I was feeling particularly tired or hungry, I’dglareresentfullyathisbackandthinkaboutgivinghimagoodwhackoverthehead to get his attention.Most of the time, I justworried. Iworried thatMalregretted his decision to come after me. I worried about the impossibility offinding the stag in thevastnessofTsibeya.Butmore thananything, IworriedaboutwhattheDarklingmightdotoMalifwewerecaptured.When we finally began the northwest descent out of the Petrazoi, I was
thrilled to leave the barren mountains and their cold winds behind.My heart
lifted aswe descended below the tree line and into awelcomingwood.Afterdaysofscrabblingoverhardground, itwasapleasure towalkonsoftbedsofpine needles, to hear the rustle of animals in the underbrush and breathe airdensewiththesmellofsap.Wecampedbyaburblingcreek,andwhenMalbegangathering twigs fora
fire,Inearlybrokeoutinsong.Isummonedatiny,concentratedshaftoflighttostarttheflames,butMaldidn’tseemparticularlyimpressed.Hedisappearedintothe woods and brought back a rabbit that we cleaned and roasted for dinner.Withabemusedexpression,hewatchedasIgobbleddownmyportionandthensighed,stillhungry.“You’d be a lot easier to feed if you hadn’t developed an appetite,” he
groused,finishinghisfoodandstretchingoutonhisback,hisheadpillowedonhisarm.Iignoredhim.IwaswarmforthefirsttimesinceI’dlefttheLittlePalace,and
nothingcouldspoilthatbliss.NotevenMal’ssnores.WENEEDEDTORESTOCKoursuppliesbeforeweheadedfarthernorthintoTsibeya,butittookusanotherdayandahalftofindahuntingtrailthatledustooneofthevillagesthatlayonthenorthwestsideofthePetrazoi.Thecloserwegot to civilization, the more nervous Mal got. He would disappear for longstretches, scoutingahead,keepingusmovingparallel to the town’smain road.Early in the afternoon, he appearedwearing an ugly brown coat and a brownsquirrelhat.“Wheredidyoufindthose?”Iasked.“Igrabbedthemfromanunlockedhouse,”hesaidguiltily.“ButI leftafew
coins. It’s eerie, though—thehouses are all empty. I didn’t see anyoneon theroadeither.”“Maybeit’sSunday,”Isaid.IhadlosttrackofthedayssinceI’dlefttheLittle
Palace.“Theycouldallbeatchurch.”“Maybe,”heconceded.Buthelookedtroubledasheburiedhisoldarmycoat
andhatbesideatree.Wewereahalfmileoutfromthevillagewhenweheardthedrums.Theygot
louder as we crept closer to the road, and soon we heard bells and fiddles,clapping and cheering.Mal climbed a tree to get a better view, andwhen hecamedown,someoftheworryhadgonefromhisface.“Therearepeopleeverywhere.Theremustbehundredswalkingtheroad,and
Icanseethedomcart.”
“It’sbutterweek!”Iexclaimed.In theweekbefore thespringfast,everynoblemanwasexpected torideout
amonghispeopleinadomcart,acartladenwithsweetsandcheesesandbakedbreads.Theparadewouldpassfromthevillagechurchall thewaybackto thenoble’s estate,where the public roomswould be thrownopen to peasants andserfs, who were fed on tea and blini. The local girls wore red sarafan andflowersintheirhairtocelebratethecomingofspring.Butterweekhadbeenthebest timeat theorphanage,whenclasseswerecut
shortsothatwecouldcleanthehouseandhelpwiththebaking.DukeKeramsovhadalwaystimedhisreturnfromOsAltatocoincidewithit.Wewouldallrideoutinthedomcart,andhewouldstopateveryfarmtodrinkkvasandpassoutcakes and candies. Sitting beside the Duke, waving to the cheering villagers,we’dfeltalmostlikenobilityourselves.“Canwegolook,Mal?”Iaskedeagerly.Hefrowned,andIknewhiscautionwaswrestlingwithsomeofourhappiest
memories fromKeramzin.Then a little smile appeared on his lips. “All right.Therearecertainlyenoughpeopleforustoblendin.”We joined the crowdsparadingdown the road, slipping inwith the fiddlers
anddrummers,thelittlegirlsclutchingbranchestiedwithbrightribbons.Aswepassed through the village’smain street, shopkeepers stood in their doorwaysringingbells andclapping theirhandswith themusicians.Mal stopped tobuyfursandstockuponsupplies,butwhenIsawhimshoveawedgeofhardcheeseintohispack,Istuckoutmytongue.IfIneversawanotherpieceofhardcheeseagain,itwouldbetoosoon.BeforeMal could tell me not to, I darted into the crowd, snaking between
peopletrailingbehindthedomcartwhereared-cheekedmansatwithabottleofkvas in one chubby hand as he swayed from side to side, singing and tossingbread to the peasants crowding around the cart. I reached out and snatched awarmgoldenroll.“Foryou,prettygirl!”themanshouted,practicallytopplingover.Thesweet roll smelleddivine,andI thankedhim,prancingmywayback to
Malandfeelingquitepleasedwithmyself.He grabbed my arm and pulled me down a muddy walkway between two
houses.“Whatdoyouthinkyou’redoing?”“Nobodysawme.HejustthoughtIwasanotherpeasantgirl.”“Wecan’ttakeriskslikethat.”“Soyoudon’twantabite?”Hehesitated.“Ididn’tsaythat.”“Iwasgoingtogiveyouabite,butsinceyoudon’twantone,I’lljusthaveto
eatthewholethingmyself.”Mal grabbed for the roll, but I danced out of reach, dodging left and right,
awayfromhishands.Icouldseehissurprise,andIlovedit.Iwasn’tthesameclumsygirlheremembered.“Youareabrat,”hegrowledandtookanotherswipe.“Ah,butI’mabratwithasweetroll.”Idon’tknowwhichofushearditfirst,butwebothstoodupstraight,suddenly
awarethatwehadcompany.Twomenhadsnuckuprightbehindusintheemptyalleyway. BeforeMal could even turn around, one of themenwas holding adirty-lookingknifetohisthroat,andtheotherhadclappedhisfilthyhandovermymouth.“Quietnow,”raspedthemanwiththeknife.“OrI’llopenbothyourthroats.”
Hehadgreasyhairandacomicallylongface.IeyedthebladeatMal’sneckandnoddedslightly.Theotherman’shandslid
awayfrommymouth,buthekeptafirmgriponmyarm.“Coin,”saidLongface.“You’rerobbingus?”Iburstout.“That’sright,”hissedthemanholdingme,givingmeashake.I couldn’t help it. I was so relieved and surprised that we weren’t being
capturedthatalittlegigglebubbledoutofme.ThethievesandMalbothlookedatmelikeIwascrazy.“Abitsimple,isshe?”askedthemanholdingme.“Yeah,”Malsaid,glaringatmewitheyesthatclearlysaidshutup.“Abit.”“Money,”saidLongface.“Now.”Malreachedcarefullyintohiscoatandpulledouthismoneybag,handingit
overtoLongface,whogruntedandfrownedatitslightweight.“Thatit?What’sinthepack?”“Notmuch,somefursandfood,”Malreplied.“Showme.”Slowly,Malunshoulderedhispackandopened the top,giving the thievesa
viewofthecontents.Hisrifle,wrappedinawoolblanket,wasclearlyvisibleatthetop.“Ah,”saidLongface.“Now,that’sanicerifle.Isn’tit,Lev?”Themanholdingmekeptonethickhandtightaroundmywristandfishedout
the rifle with the other. “Real nice,” he grunted. “And the pack looks likemilitaryissue.”Myheartsank.“So?”askedLongface.“SoRikovsaysasoldierfromtheoutpostatChernasthasgonemissing.Word
ishewentsouthandnevercameback.Couldbewecaughtourselvesadeserter.”
Longface studiedMal speculatively, and I knewhewas already thinkingoftherewardthatawaitedhim.Hehadnoidea.“Whatdoyousay,boy?Youwouldn’tbeontherun,wouldyou?”“Thepackbelongstomybrother,”Malsaideasily.“Maybe.Andmaybewe’llletthecaptainatChernasttakealookatitandtake
alookatyou.”Malshrugged.“Good.I’dbehappytolethimknowyoutriedtorobus.”Levdidn’tseemtolikethatidea.“Let’sjusttakethemoneyandgo.”“Naw,”saidLongface,stillsquintingatMal.“He’sgonedeserterorhetook
that off some other grunt. Either way, the captain’ll pay goodmoney to hearaboutit.”“Whatabouther?”Levgavemeanothershake.“She can’t beup to anythinggood if she’s travelingwith this lot.Couldbe
she’sdonearunner,too.Andifnot,she’llbegoodforabitoffun.Won’tyou,sweet?”“Don’ttouchher,”spatMal,steppingforward.With one swift movement, Longface brought the handle of his knife down
hardonMal’shead.Malstumbled,onekneebuckling,bloodpouringfromhistemple.“No!” I shouted. The man holding me clamped his hand back around my
mouth, releasing my arm. That was all I needed. I flicked my wrist and themirrorslidbetweenmyfingers.LongfaceloomedoverMal,theknifeinhishand.“Couldbethecaptain’llpay
whetherhe’saliveordead.”Helunged.Itwistedthemirror,andbrightlightshotintoLongface’seyes.He
hesitated, throwing his hand up to block the glare.Mal seized his chance.Heleapt tohis feet andgrabbedholdofLongface, throwinghimhard against thewall.Lev loosened his grip on me to raise Mal’s rifle, but I whirled on him,
bringingthemirrorup,blindinghim.“What the—” he grunted, squinting. Before he could recover, I slammed a
kneeintohisgroin.Ashebentdouble,Iputmyhandsonthebackofhisheadand brought my knee up hard. There was a disgusting crunch, and I steppedbackwardashefelltothegroundclutchinghisnose,bloodspurtingbetweenhisfingers.“Ididit!”Iexclaimed.Oh,ifonlyBotkincouldseemenow.“Come on!”Mal said, distractingme frommy jubilation. I turned and saw
Longfacelyingunconsciousinthedirt.Malsnatcheduphispackandrantowardtheoppositeendofthealley,away
from thenoiseof theparade.Levwasmoaning, but he still had agripon therifle.IgavehimagoodhardkickinthegutandsprintedafterMal.We darted past empty shops and houses and back across the muddy main
road,thenplungedintothewoodsandthesafetyofthetrees.Malsetafuriouspace,leadingusthroughalittlecreekandthenoveraridge,onandonforwhatfelt likemiles. Personally, I didn’t think the thieveswere in any condition tocomechasingafterus,butIwasalsotoooutofbreathtoarguethepoint.Finally,Malslowedandstopped,bendingdouble,handsonknees,hisbreathcomingingasps.Icollapsedtotheground,myheartthuddingagainstmyribs,andfloppedonto
myback.Ilaytherewiththebloodrushinginmyears,drinkingintheafternoonlight that slanted through the tops of the trees and trying to catchmy breath.WhenIfelt likeIcouldtalk,Ipushedmyselfuponmyelbowsandsaid,“Areyouokay?”Gingerly,Maltouchedthewoundonhishead.Ithadstoppedbleeding,buthe
winced.“Fine.”“Doyouthinkthey’llsayanything?”“Ofcourse.They’llseeiftheycangetsomecoinfortheinformation.”“Saints,”Iswore.“There’snothingwecandoaboutitnow.”Then,tomysurprise,hecrackeda
smile.“Wheredidyoulearntofightlikethat?”“Grisha training,” I whispered dramatically. “Ancient secrets of the groin
kick.”“Whateverworks.”Ilaughed.“That’swhatBotkinalwayssays.‘Notshowy,justtomakepain,’”
Isaid,imitatingthemercenary’sheavyaccent.“Smartguy.”“TheDarklingdoesn’tthinkGrishashouldrelyontheirpowersfordefense.”I
wasinstantlysorryI’dsaidit.Mal’ssmiledisappeared.“Another smart guy,” he said coldly, staring out into the wood. After a
minute, he said, “He’ll know that you didn’t head straight to the Fold. He’llknowwe’re hunting the stag.”He sat downheavily besideme, his face grim.We’dhadveryfewadvantagesinthisfight,andnowwe’dlostoneofthem.“Ishouldn’thavetakenusintotown,”hesaidbleakly.Igavehimalightpunchonthearm.“Wecouldn’tknowsomeonewasgoing
totrytorobus.Imean,whoseluckisactuallythatbad?”“Itwas a stupid risk. I should know better.”He picked up a twig from the
forestfloorandthrewitawayangrily.“I still have the roll,” I offered lamely, pulling the squashed, lint-covered
lumpfrommypocket.Ithadbeenbakedintotheshapeofabirdtocelebratethespringflocks,butnowitlookedmorelikearolled-upsock.Maldroppedhis head, covering itwithhis hands, his elbows restingonhis
knees.His shoulders began to shake, and for a horriblemoment, I thought hemight be crying, but then I realizedhewas laughing silently.Hiswhole bodyrocked,hisbreathcominginhitches,tearsstartingtoleakfromhiseyes.“Thatbetterbeonehellofaroll,”hegasped.Istaredathimforasecond,afraidhemighthavegonecompletelymad,and
thenIstartedlaughing,too.Icoveredmymouthtostopthesound,whichonlymademe laughharder. Itwasas if all the tensionand the fearof the last fewdayshadjustgottentobetoomuch.Malputa finger tohis lips inanexaggerated“Shhhh!”andIcollapsed ina
freshwaveofgiggles.“Ithinkyoubrokethatguy’snose,”hesnorted.“That’snotnice.I’mnotnice.”“No,you’renot,”heagreed,andthenwewerelaughingagain.“Doyourememberwhenthatfarmer’ssonbrokeyournoseatKeramzin?”I
gasped between fits. “And you didn’t tell anyone, and you bled all over AnaKuya’sfavoritetablecloth?”“Youaremakingthatup.”“Iamnot!”“Yesyouare!Youbreaknoses,andyoulie.”We laughed until we couldn’t breathe, until our sides ached and our heads
spunwithit.Icouldn’trememberthelasttimeIhadlaughedlikethat.Wedidactuallyeattheroll.Itwasdustedwithsugarandtastedjustlikethe
sweet rollswe’d eaten as children.Whenwe finished,Mal said, “Thatwas areallygoodroll,”andweburstintoanotherfitoflaughter.Eventually,hesighedandstood,offeringahandtohelpmeup.Wewalkeduntilduskand thenmadecampby the ruinsofacottage.Given
ourclosecall,hedidn’tthinkweshouldriskafirethatnight,soweatefromthesupplieswe’d picked up in the village.Aswe chewed on dried beef and thatmiserablehardcheese,heaskedaboutBotkinandtheotherteachersattheLittlePalace.Ididn’trealizehowmuchI’dbeenlongingtosharemystorieswithhimuntilIstartedtalking.Hedidn’tlaughaseasilyasheoncehad.Butwhenhedid,someof thatgrimcoolness lifted fromhimandhe seemedabitmore like theMalIusedtoknow.Itgavemehopethathemightnotbelostforever.Whenitwas timeto turnin,Malwalkedtheperimeterof thecamp,making
sureweweresafe,whileIrepackedthefood.Therewasplentyofroominthepacknowthatwe’dlostMal’srifleandwoolblanket.Iwasjustgratefulthathe
stillhadhisbow.Ibunchedthesquirrel-furhatupundermyheadandleftthepackforMalto
useasapillow.ThenIpulledmycoatclosearoundmeandhuddledbeneaththenewfurs. IwasnoddingoffwhenIheardMalreturnandsettlehimselfbesideme,hisbackpressedcomfortablyagainstmine.AsIdriftedintosleep,Ifelt likeIcouldstill tastethesugarfromthatsweet
rollonmytongue,feelthepleasureoflaughtergustingthroughme.We’dbeenrobbed.We’dalmostbeenkilled.Wewerebeinghuntedbythemostpowerfulman inRavka.Butwewere friends again, and sleep camemore easily than ithadinalongtime.Atsomepointduringthenight,IwoketoMal’ssnoring.Ijabbedhiminthe
backwithmyelbow.Herolledontohisside,mutteredsomething inhissleep,andthrewhisarmoverme.Aminutelaterhestartedsnoringagain,butthistimeIdidn’twakehim.
CHAPTER18WESTILLSAWshootsofnewgrassesandevenafewwildflowers,but therewere fewer signs of spring as we headed north to Tsibeya and into the wildreacheswhereMalbelievedwewouldfindthestag.Thedensepinesgavewaytosparsebirchwoodforestsandthentolongstretchesofgrazingland.ThoughMalregrettedourtripintothevillage,hesoonhadtoadmitthatithad
been a necessity. The nights grew colder as we traveled north, and cookfiresweren’tanoptionaswedrewclosertotheoutpostatChernast.Wealsodidn’twant to waste time hunting or trapping food every day, so we relied on oursuppliesandnervouslywatchedthemdwindle.Something between us seemed to have thawed, and instead of the stony
silenceofthePetrazoi,wetalkedaswewalked.HeseemedcurioustohearaboutlifeintheLittlePalace,thestrangewaysofthecourt,andevenGrishatheory.He wasn’t at all shocked to hear of the contempt with which most Grisha
regardedtheKing.Apparently,thetrackershadbeengrumblingmoreandmoreloudlyamongstthemselvesabouttheKing’sincompetence.“The Fjerdans have a breech-loading rifle that can fire twenty-eight rounds
perminute.Oursoldiersshouldhavethem,too.IftheKingcouldbebotheredtotakeaninterestintheFirstArmy,wewouldn’tbesodependentontheGrisha.But it’ll never happen,” he told me. Then he muttered, “We all know who’srunningthecountry.”Isaidnothing.ItriedtoavoidtalkingabouttheDarklingasmuchaspossible.When I asked about the time Mal had spent tracking the stag, he always
seemedtofindawaytobringtheconversationbacktome.Ididn’tpresshim.IknewthatMal’sunithadcrossedtheborderintoFjerda.Isuspectedthatthey’dhadtofighttheirwayoutandthatwaswhereMalhadacquiredthescaronhisjaw,butherefusedtosaymore.Aswewerewalkingthroughabandofdessicatedwillows,thefrostcrunching
beneath our boots, Mal pointed out a sparrowhawk nest, and I found myselfwishingthatwecouldjustkeepwalkingforever.AsmuchasIlongedforahotmealandawarmbed,Iwasafraidofwhattheendofourjourneymightbring.What ifwe found thestag,and Iclaimed theantlers?Howmightanamplifierthatpowerfulchangeme?WoulditbeenoughtofreeusfromtheDarkling?If
onlywecouldstaythisway,walkingsidebyside,sleepinghuddledbeneaththestars.Maybe these emptyplains andquiet groves could shelter us as theyhadshelteredMorozova’sherdandkeepussafefromthemenwhosoughtus.Theywere foolish thoughts. Tsibeyawas an inhospitable place, a wild and
emptyworld of bitterwinters and grueling summers.Andweweren’t strangeandancient creatureswho roamed theearthat twilight.Wewere justMalandAlina,andwecouldnotstayaheadofourpursuersforever.Adarkthoughtthathadflittedthroughmyheadfordaysnowfinallysettled.Isighed,knowingthatIhadputofftalkingtoMalaboutthisproblemfortoolong.Itwasirresponsible,andgivenhowmuchwe’dbothrisked,Icouldn’tletitcontinue.That night, Mal was almost asleep, his breathing deep and even, before I
workedupthecouragetospeak.“Mal,”Ibegan.Instantly,hecameawake,tensionfloodingthroughhisbody,
ashesatupandreachedforhisknife.“No,” I said, layingahandonhisarm.“Everything’sallright.ButIneedtotalktoyou.”“Now?”hegrumbled,floppingdownandthrowinghisarmbackaroundme.I sighed. Iwanted to just lie there in the dark, listening to the rustle of the
windinthegrass,warminthisfeelingofsafety,howeverillusory.ButIknewIcouldn’t.“Ineedyoutodosomethingforme.”Hesnorted.“Youmeanotherthandesertingthearmy,scalingmountains,and
freezingmyassoffonthecoldgroundeverynight?”“Yes.”“Hmmph,” he grumbled noncommittally, his breath already returning to the
deep,evenrhythmofsleep.“Mal,”Isaidclearly,“ifwedon’tmakeit…iftheycatchuptousbeforewe
findthestag,youcan’tlethimtakeme.”Hewentperfectlystill.Icouldactuallyfeelhisheartbeating.Hewasquietfor
solongthatIbegantothinkhe’dfallenbackasleep.Thenhesaid,“Youcan’taskthatofme.”“Ihaveto.”Hesatup,pushingawayfromme,rubbingahandoverhisface.Isatuptoo,
drawingthefurstighteraroundmyshoulders,watchinghiminthemoonlight.“No.”“Youcan’tjustsayno,Mal.”“Youasked,Ianswered.No.”Hestoodupandwalkedafewstepsaway.“Ifheputsthatcollaronme,youknowwhatitwillmean,howmanypeople
willdiebecauseofme.Ican’tletthathappen.Ican’tberesponsibleforthat.”“No.”
“Youhadtoknowthiswasapossibilitywhenweheadednorth,Mal.”He turnedandstrodeback,dropping intoacrouch in frontofmeso thathe
couldlookintomyeyes.“Iwon’tkillyou,Alina.”“Youmayhaveto.”“No,”herepeated,shakinghishead,lookingawayfromme.“No,no,no.”I tookhis face inmy cold hands, turninghis headuntil he had tomeetmy
gaze.“Yes.”“Ican’t,Alina.Ican’t.”“Mal,thatnightattheLittlePalace,yousaidtheDarklingownedme.”Hewincedslightly.“Iwasangry.Ididn’tmean—”“Ifhegetsthatcollar,hereallywillownme.Completely.Andhe’llturnme
intoamonster.Please,Mal.Ineedtoknowyouwon’tletthathappentome.”“Howcanyouaskmetodothis?”“WhoelsecouldIask?”Helookedatme,hisfacefullofdesperationandangerandsomethingelseI
couldn’tread.Finally,henoddedonce.“Promiseme,Mal.”Hismouthsetinagrimline,andamuscletwitchedinhis
jaw.Ihateddoingthistohim,butIhadtobesure.“Promiseme.”“Ipromise,”hesaidhoarsely.I breathed a long sigh, feeling relief flood through me. I leaned forward,
restingmyforeheadagainsthis,closingmyeyes.“Thankyou.”Westayedlikethatforalongmoment,thenheleanedback.WhenIopened
myeyes,hewaslookingatme.Hisfacewasinchesfrommine,nearenoughthatI could feel his warm breath. I dropped my hands from his stubbled cheeks,suddenlyawareof justhowclosewewere.Hestaredatmeforamomentandthenstoodabruptlyandwalkedintothedark.I stayed awake for a long time, cold andmiserable, gazing into the night. I
knew he was out there, moving silently through the new grass, carrying theweightoftheburdenIhadplacedonhim.Iwassorryforit,butIwasgladthatitwasdone.Iwaitedforhimtoreturn,butfinallyIfellasleep,alonebeneaththestars.WESPENTTHENEXTfewdays in theareassurroundingChernast,scouringmilesofterrainforsignsofMorozova’sherd,drawingasclosetotheoutpostaswedared.Witheverypassingday,Mal’smooddarkened.Hetossedinhissleep
and barely ate. Sometimes I woke to him thrashing about under the fursmumbling,“Whereareyou?Whereareyou?”Hesawsignsofotherpeople—brokenbranches,displacedrocks,patternsthat
wereinvisibletomeuntilhepointedthemout—butnosignsofthestag.Thenonemorning,heshookmeawakebeforedawn.“Getup,”hesaid.“They’reclose, I can feel it.”Hewasalreadypulling the
fursoffmeandshovingthembackintohispack.“Hey!”Icomplained,barelyawake,tryingtoyankbackthecoverstonoavail.
“Whataboutbreakfast?”He tossedme a pieceof hardtack. “Eat andwalk. Iwant to try thewestern
trailstoday.Ihaveafeeling.”“Butyesterdayyouthoughtweshouldheadeast.”“Thatwasyesterday,”hesaid,alreadyshoulderinghispackandstridinginto
the tallgrass. “Getmoving.Weneed to find that stag so Idon’thave tochopyourheadoff.”“I never said you had to chopmy head off,” I grumbled, rubbing the sleep
frommyeyesandstumblingafterhim.“Runyouthroughwithasword,then?Firingsquad?”“Iwasthinkingsomethingquieter,likemaybeanicepoison.”“AllyousaidwasthatIhadtokillyou.Youdidn’tsayhow.”Istuckmytongueoutathisback,butIwasgladtoseehimsoenergized,and
Isupposeditwasagoodthingthathecouldjokeaboutitall.Atleast,Ihopedhewasjoking.Thewesterntrailstookusthroughgrovesofsquatlarchesandpastmeadows
clusteredwithfireweedandredlichen.Malmovedwithpurpose,hissteplightasalways.Theairfeltcoolanddamp,andafewtimesIcaughthimglancingnervously
upattheovercastsky,buthedroveonward.Lateintheafternoon,wereachedalowhillthatslopedgentlydownintoabroadplateaucoveredinpalegrass.Malpacedalong the topof theslope, rangingwestand theneast.Hewalkeddownthehillandupthehill,anddownitagain,untilIthoughtIwouldscream.Atlast,heledustotheleewardsideofalargeclusterofboulders,slidhispackoffhisshoulders,andsaid,“Here.”Ishookafuroutonthecoldgroundandsatdowntowait,watchingMalpace
uneasily back and forth. Finally, he sat down beside me, eyes trained on theplateau,onehandrestinglightlyonhisbow.Iknewthathewasimaginingthemthere,picturingtheherdemergingfromthehorizon,whitebodiesglowinginthegathering dusk, breath pluming in the cold. Maybe he was willing them toappear.Thisseemedliketherightplaceforthestag—freshwithnewgrassand
spottedwithtinybluelakesthatshonelikecoinsinthesettingsun.Thesunmeltedawayandwewatchedtheplateauturnblueinthetwilight.We
waited,listeningtothesoundofourownbreathandthewindmoaningoverthevastnessofTsibeya.Butasthelightfaded,theplateaustayedempty.Themoon rose, obscuredby clouds.Maldidn’tmove.He sat still as stone,
staringoutintothereachesoftheplateau,hisblueeyesdistant.Ipulledtheotherfurfromthepackandwrappeditaroundhisshouldersandmine.Here,intheleeoftherock,wewereprotectedfromtheworstofthewind,butitwasn’tmuchforshelter.Thenhesigheddeeplyandsquintedupatthenightsky.“It’sgoingtosnow.I
shouldhave takenus into thewoods,but I thought…”He shookhishead. “Iwassosure.”“It’sokay,”Isaid,leaningmyheadagainsthisshoulder.“Maybetomorrow.”“Our supplies won’t last forever, and every day we’re out here is another
chanceforustogetcaught.”“Tomorrow,”Isaidagain.“Forallweknow,he’sfoundtheherdalready.He’skilledthestagandnow
they’rejusthuntingus.”“Idon’tbelievethat.”Mal said nothing. I pulled the fur up higher and I let the tiniest bit of light
blossomfrommyhand.“Whatareyoudoing?”“I’mcold.”“It isn’t safe,”hesaid,yanking the furup tohide the light thatshonewarm
andgoldenonhisface.“We haven’t seen another living soul for over aweek.And staying hidden
won’tdousmuchgoodifwefreezetodeath.”Hefrownedbutthenhereachedout, lettinghisfingersplayinthelight,and
said,“That’sreallysomething.”“Thanks,”Isaid,smiling.“Mikhaelisdead.”Thelightsputteredinmyhand.“What?”“He’sdead.HewaskilledinFjerda.Dubrov,too.”I sat frozen in shock. I’d never likedMikhael or Dubrov, but none of that
matterednow.“Ididn’trealize…”Ihesitated.“Howdidithappen?”For amoment, I didn’t know if hewould answer or even if I should have
asked.Hestaredatthelightthatstillglimmeredfrommyhand,histhoughtsfaraway.“We were way up north near the permafrost, way past the outpost at
Chernast,” he said quietly. “We had hunted the stag almost all the way intoFjerda. The captain came upwith this idea that a few of us should cross theborderdisguisedasFjerdansandkeeptrackingtheherd.Itwasstupid,ridiculousreally.Evenifwemanagedtogetthroughthebordercountryundiscovered,whatwerewesupposedtodoifwecaughtupwiththeherd?Wehadordersnottokillthestag,sowe’dhavetocaptureitandthensomehowgetitbackovertheborderintoRavka.Itwasinsane.”Inodded.Itdidsoundcrazy.“Sothatnight,MikhaelandDubrovandIlaughedaboutit,talkedabouthow
it was a suicide mission and how the captain was a complete idiot, and wetoasted the poor bastardswhogot stuckwith the job.And the nextmorning Ivolunteered.”“Why?”Isaid,startled.Mal was silent again. At last, he said, “You savedmy life on the Shadow
Fold,Alina.”“Andyousavedmine,”Icountered,unsureofwhatanyofthathadtodowith
asuicidemissionintoFjerda.ButMaldidn’tseemtohearme.“You savedmy life and then in theGrisha tent,when they ledyou away, I
didn’tdoanything.Istoodthereandlethimtakeyou.”“Whatwereyousupposedtodo,Mal?”“Something.Anything.”“Mal—”Heranahandthroughhishairinfrustration.“Iknowitdoesn’tmakesense.
Butit’showIfelt.Icouldn’teat.Icouldn’tsleep.Ikeptseeingyouwalkaway,seeingyoudisappear.”IthoughtofallthenightsIhadlainawakeintheLittlePalace,remembering
mylastglimpseofMal’sfacevanishingintothecrowdastheDarkling’sguardsledme away,wondering if I would ever see him again. I hadmissed him soterribly, but I had never really believed thatMalmight bemissingme just asmuch.“IknewwewerehuntingthestagfortheDarkling,”Malcontinued.“Ithought
…IhadthisideathatifIfoundtheherd,Icouldhelpyou.Icouldhelptomakethings right.”Heglancedatmeand theknowledgeofhowverywronghehadbeen passed between us. “Mikhael didn’t know any of that. But he was myfriend,so likeanass,hevolunteered, too.And then,ofcourse,Dubrovhad tosignon.Itoldthemnotto,butMikhaeljustlaughedandsaidhewasn’tgoingtoletmegetalltheglory.”“Whathappened?”“Nineofuscrossedtheborder,sixsoldiersandthreetrackers.Twoofuscame
back.”Hiswordshung in theair, coldand final.Sevenmendead inpursuitof the
stag.AndhowmanyothersthatIdidn’tknowabout?ButevenasIthoughtit,adisturbingideaenteredmymind:Howmanylivescouldthestag’spowersave?MalandIwererefugees,borntothewarsthathadragedatRavka’sbordersforsolong.WhatiftheDarklingandtheterriblepoweroftheShadowFoldcouldstopallthat?CouldsilenceRavka’senemiesandmakeussafeforever?NotjustRavka’senemies,Iremindedmyself.Anyonewhostandsagainstthe
Darkling,anyonewhodaresopposehim.TheDarklingwouldmaketheworldawastelandbeforehecededonebitofpower.Mal rubbed a handover his tired face. “Itwas all for nothing anyway.The
herd crossed back into Ravka when the weather turned. We could have justwaitedforthestagtocometous.”I looked atMal, at his distant eyes and the hard set of his scarred jaw.He
lookednothing like the boy I’d known.He’dbeen trying to helpmewhenhewentafterthestag.ThatmeantthatIwaspartiallyresponsibleforthechangeinhim,anditbrokemyhearttothinkofit.“I’msorry,Mal.I’msosorry.”“It’snotyourfault,Alina.Imademyownchoices.Butthosechoicesgotmy
friendskilled.”Iwantedtothrowmyarmsaroundhimandhughimclose.ButIcouldn’t,not
withthisnewMal.Maybenotwiththeoldoneeither,Iadmittedtomyself.Weweren’tchildrenanymore.Theeaseofourclosenesswasa thingof thepast. Ireachedoutandlaidahandonhisarm.“Ifit’snotmyfault,thenit’snotyourseither,Mal.MikhaelandDubrovmade
theirownchoices,too.Mikhaelwantedtobeagoodfriendtoyou.Andforallyou know, he had his own reasons forwanting to track the stag.Hewasn’t achild,andhewouldn’twanttoberememberedasone.”Mal didn’t look atme, but after amoment he laid his hand overmine.We
werestillsittingthatwaywhenthefirstflakesofsnowbegantofall.
CHAPTER19MY LIGHT KEPT US warm through the night in the lee of the rock.
SometimesIdozedoffandMalhadtonudgemeawakesothatIcouldpullsunacrossthedarkandstarlitstretchesofTsibeyatowarmusbeneaththefurs.When we emerged the next morning, the sun shone brightly over a world
blanketedinwhite.Thisfarnorth,snowwascommonwellintospring,butitwashardnottofeelthattheweatherwasjustanotherpartofourbadluck.Maltookonelookatthepristineexpanseofthemeadowandgaveadisgustedshakeofhishead.Ididn’thavetoaskwhathewasthinking.Iftheherdhadbeencloseby,any sign they had left would have been covered by the snow. But wewouldleaveplentyoftracksforanyoneelsetofollow.Withoutaword,weshookout the fursandstowed themaway.Mal tiedhis
bow tohispack, andwebegan the trekacross theplateau. Itwas slowgoing.Maldidwhathecould todisguiseour tracks,but itwasclear thatwewere inserioustrouble.I knewMal blamedhimself for not being able to find the stag, but I didn’t
knowhowtofixthat.Tsibeyafeltsomehowbiggerthanithadthepreviousday.OrmaybeIjustfeltsmaller.Eventually, themeadowgavewaytogrovesof thinsilverbirchesanddense
clustersofpines,theirbranchesladenwithsnow.Mal’spaceslowed.Helookedexhausted,darkshadowslingeringbeneathhisblueeyes.Onanimpulse,Islidmyglovedhandintohis.Ithoughthemightpullaway,butinstead,hesqueezedmyfingers.Wewalkedonthatway,handinhandthroughthelateafternoon,thepineboughsclustered inacanopyhighaboveusaswemoveddeeper into thedarkheartofthewoods.Aroundsunset,weemergedfromthetreesintoalittlegladewherethesnow
layinheavy,perfectdriftsthatglitteredinthefadinglight.Weslippedintothestillness, our footfallsmuffled by the snow. Itwas late. I knewwe should bemakingcamp,findingshelter.Instead,westoodthereinsilence,handsclasped,watchingthedaydisappear.“Alina?”hesaidquietly.“I’msorry.Forwhat I said thatnight,at theLittle
Palace.”Iglancedathim,surprised.Somehow,thatallfeltlikesuchalongtimeago.
“I’msorry,too,”Isaid.“AndI’msorryforeverythingelse.”Isqueezedhishand.“Iknewwedidn’thavemuchchanceoffindingthestag.”“No,”he said, lookingaway fromme. “No,not for that. I…When I came
afteryou, I thought Iwasdoing itbecauseyousavedmy life,because Iowedyousomething.”Myheartgavealittletwist.TheideathatMalhadcomeaftermetopayoff
somekindofimagineddebtwasmorepainfulthanI’dexpected.“Andnow?”“NowIdon’tknowwhattothink.Ijustknoweverythingisdifferent.”Myheartgaveanothermiserabletwist.“Iknow,”Iwhispered.“Doyou?ThatnightatthepalacewhenIsawyouonthatstagewithhim,you
lookedsohappy.Likeyoubelongedwithhim.Ican’tgetthatpictureoutofmyhead.”“Iwashappy,” I admitted. “In thatmoment, Iwashappy. I’mnot likeyou,
Mal. I never really fit in the way that you did. I never really belongedanywhere.”“Youbelongedwithme,”hesaidquietly.“No,Mal.Notreally.Notforalongtime.”Helookedatmethen,andhiseyesweredeepblueinthetwilight.“Didyou
missme,Alina?Didyoumissmewhenyouweregone?”“Everyday,”Isaidhonestly.“Imissedyoueveryhour.Andyouknowwhattheworstpartwas?Itcaught
mecompletelybysurprise.I’dcatchmyselfwalkingaroundtofindyou,notforanyreason,justoutofhabit,becauseI’dseensomethingthatIwantedtotellyouabout or because I wanted to hear your voice. And then I’d realize that youweren’tthereanymore,andeverytime,everysingletime,itwaslikehavingthewindknockedoutofme.I’veriskedmylifeforyou.I’vewalkedhalfthelengthofRavkaforyou,andI’ddoitagainandagainandagainjusttobewithyou,justtostarvewithyouandfreezewithyouandhearyoucomplainabouthardcheeseeveryday.Sodon’ttellmewedon’tbelongtogether,”hesaidfiercely.Hewasveryclosenow,andmyheartwassuddenlyhammeringinmychest.“I’msorryittookmesolongtoseeyou,Alina.ButIseeyounow.”Heloweredhishead,andIfelthislipsonmine.Theworldseemedtogosilent
andall Iknewwas thefeelofhishand inmineashedrewmecloser,and thewarmpressofhismouth.IthoughtthatI’dgivenuponMal.IthoughttheloveI’dhadforhimbelonged
tothepast,tothefoolish,lonelygirlIneverwantedtobeagain.I’dtriedtoburythat girl and the love she’d felt, just as I’d tried to bury my power. But Iwouldn’t make that mistake again. Whatever burned between us was just as
bright, just as undeniable. The moment our lips met, I knew with pure andpiercingcertaintythatIwouldhavewaitedforhimforever.Hepulledbackfromme,andmyeyesflutteredopen.Heraisedaglovedhand
to cupmy face, his gaze searchingmine. Then, from the corner ofmy eye, Icaughtaflickeringmovement.“Mal,”Ibreathedsoftly,gazingoverhisshoulder,“look.”Several white bodies emerged from the trees, their graceful necks bent to
nibble at the grasses on the edge of the snowy glade. In the middle ofMorozova’s herd stood amassivewhite stag.He looked at uswith great darkeyes,hissilveryantlersgleaminginthehalflight.In one swiftmovement,Mal drew his bow from the side of his pack. “I’ll
bringitdown,Alina.Youhavetomakethekill,”hesaid.“Wait,”Iwhispered,layingahandonhisarm.Thestagwalkedslowlyforwardandstoppedjustafewyardsfromus.Icould
seehissidesrisingandfalling, theflareofhisnostrils, thefogofhisbreathinthechillair.Hewatcheduswitheyesdarkandliquid.Iwalkedtowardhim.“Alina!”Malwhispered.Thestagdidn’tmoveasIapproachedhim,notevenwhenIreachedoutmy
handandlaiditonhiswarmmuzzle.Hisearstwitchedslightly,hishideglowingmilky white in the deepening gloom. I thought of everything Mal and I hadgivenup,theriskswe’dtaken.Ithoughtabouttheweekswehadspenttrackingtheherd,thecoldnights,themiserabledaysofendlesswalking,andIwasgladofitall.Gladtobehereandaliveonthischillynight.GladthatMalwasbesideme.Ilookedintothestag’sdarkeyesandknewthefeeloftheearthbeneathhissteadyhooves, the smellofpine inhisnostrils, thepowerfulbeatofhisheart.IknewIcouldnotbetheonetoendhislife.“Alina,”Malmurmuredurgently,“wedon’thavemuchtime.Youknowwhat
youhavetodo.”Ishookmyhead.Icouldnotbreakthestag’sdarkgaze.“No,Mal.We’llfind
anotherway.”Thesoundwas likeasoftwhistleon theair followedbyadull thunkas the
arrowfounditstarget.Thestagbellowedandrearedup,anarrowbloomingfromhischest,andthencrumpledtohisforelegs.Istaggeredbackwardastherestoftheherdtookflight,scatteringintotheforest.Malwasbesidemeinaninstant,his bow at the ready, as the clearing filled with charcoal-clad oprichniki andGrishacloakedinblueandred.“Youshouldhavelistenedtohim,Alina.”Thevoicecameclearandcoldout
oftheshadows,andtheDarklingsteppedintotheglade,agrimsmileplayingon
hislips,hisblackkeftaflowingbehindhimlikeanebonystain.The stag had fallen on his side and lay in the snow, breathing heavily, his
blackeyeswideandpanicked.IfeltMalmovebeforeIsawhim.Heturnedhisbowonthestagandletfly,
butablue-robedSquallersteppedforward,hishandarcingthroughtheair.Thearrowswervedleft,fallingharmlesslyintothesnow.MalreachedforanotherarrowandatthesamemomenttheDarklingthrewhis
hand out, sending a black ribbon of darkness rippling toward us. I raisedmyhandsandlightshotfrommyfingers,shatteringthedarknesseasily.Butithadonlybeenadiversion.TheDarklingturnedonthestag,liftinghis
arminagestureIknewonlytoowell.“No!”Iscreamedand,withoutthinking,Ithrewmyselfinfrontofthestag.Iclosedmyeyes,readytofeelmyselftorninhalfbytheCut,buttheDarklingmusthaveturnedhisbodyatthelastmoment.The tree behindme split openwith a loud crack, tendrils of darkness spillingfromthewound.He’dsparedme,buthe’dalsosparedthestag.All humor was gone from the Darkling’s face as he slammed his hands
togetherandahugewallofripplingdarknesssurgedforward,engulfingusandthe stag. I didn’t have to think. Light bloomed in a pulsing, glowing sphere,surroundingmeandMal,keepingthedarknessatbayandblindingourattackers.Foramoment,wewereatastalemate.Theycouldn’tseeusandwecouldn’tseethem.Thedarknessswirledaroundthebubbleoflight,pushingtogetin.“Impressive,” said the Darkling, his voice coming to us as if from a great
distance.“Baghrataughtyoufartoowell.Butyou’renotstrongenoughforthis,Alina.”IknewhewastryingtodistractmeandIignoredhim.“You!Tracker!Areyousoreadytodieforher?”theDarklingcalled.Mal’s
expressiondidn’tchange.Hestood,bowattheready,arrownocked,turninginaslowcircle,searchingouttheDarkling’svoice.“Thatwasaverytouchingscenewewitnessed,”hesneered.“Didyou tellhim,Alina?Does theboyknowhowwillingyouweretogiveyourselftome?DidyoutellhimwhatIshowedyouinthedark?”A wave of shame rushed through me and the glowing light faltered. The
Darklinglaughed.IglancedatMal.Hisjawwasset.HeradiatedthesameicyangerIhadseen
thenightofthewinterfete.IfeltmyholdonthelightslipandIscrambledforit.I tried to refocus my power. The sphere stuttered with fresh brilliance, but IcouldalreadyfeelmyreachbrushingupagainsttheboundariesofwhatIcoulddo.Darknessbegantoleakintotheedgesofthebubblelikeink.Iknewwhathadtobedone.TheDarklingwasright;Iwasn’tstrongenough.
Andwewouldn’thaveanotherchance.“Doit,Mal,”Iwhispered.“Youknowwhathastohappen.”Mal looked at me, panic flaring in his eyes. He shook his head. Darkness
surgedagainstthebubble.Istumbledslightly.“Quick,Mal!Beforeit’stoolate.”Inonelightningmovement,Maldroppedhisbowandreachedforhisknife.“Doit,Mal!Doitnow!”Mal’s hand was shaking. I could feel my strength ebbing. “I can’t,” he
whisperedmiserably.“Ican’t.”Heletgooftheknife,lettingitfallsoundlesslyintothesnow.Darknesscrashedinonus.Mal disappeared. The clearing disappeared. I was thrown into suffocating
blackness. I heard Mal cry out and reached toward his voice, but suddenly,strongarmshadholdofmefrombothsides.Ikickedandstruggledfuriously.Thedarknesslifted,andthatquickly,Isawitwasover.Twoof theDarkling’sguardshadholdofme,whileMalstruggledbetween
twoothers.“BestillorI’llkillyouwhereyoustand,”Ivansnarledathim.“Leavehimalone!”Ishouted.“Shhhhhh.” The Darkling walked toward me, one finger held to his lips,
whichwerecurledintoamockingsmile.“Quietnow,orIwillletIvankillhim.Slowly.”Tearsspilledontomycheeks,freezinginthecoldnightair.“Torches,” he said. I heard flint striking and two torches burst into flame,
lightingtheclearing,thesoldiers,andthestag,whichlaypantingontheground.TheDarkling pulled a heavy knife from his belt, and the firelight glinted offGrishasteel.“We’vewastedenoughtimehere.”Hestrodeforwardandwithouthesitatingslitthestag’sthroat.Bloodgushedintothesnow,poolingaroundthestag’sbody.Iwatchedasthe
lifelefthisdarkeyes,andasobbrokefrommychest.“Take the antlers,” theDarkling said to one of theoprichniki. “Cut a piece
fromeach.”Theoprichniksteppedforwardandbentoverthestag’sbody,aserratedblade
inhishand.I turnedaway,mystomachheavingasasawingsoundfilled thestillnessof
theclearing.Westoodinsilence,ourbreathcurlingintheicyair,asthesoundwentonandon.Evenwhenitstopped,Icouldstillfeelitvibratingthroughmyclenchedjaw.Theoprichnik crossed the glade and handed the two pieces of antler to the
Darkling.Theywere almost evenlymatched, both ending in double prongs of
roughlythesamesize.TheDarklingclaspedthepiecesinhishands,lettinghisthumbrollovertherough,silverybone.Thenhegestured,andIwassurprisedtoseeDavidemergefromtheshadowsinhispurplekefta.Ofcourse.TheDarklingwouldwanthisbestFabrikatortofashionthiscollar.
Davidwouldn’tmeetmy gaze. Iwondered ifGenya knewwhere hewas andwhathewasdoing.Maybeshewouldbeproud.Maybeshethoughtofmeasatraitornow,too.“David,”Isaidsoftly,“don’tdothis.”Davidglancedatmeandthenhurriedlylookedaway.“Davidunderstandsthefuture,”saidtheDarkling,theedgeofathreatinhis
voice.“Andheknowsbetterthantofightit.”Davidcametostandbehindmyrightshoulder.TheDarklingstudiedmeinthe
torchlight.Foramoment,allwassilence.Twilighthadgone,andthemoonhadrisen,brightandfull.Thegladeseemedsuspendedinstillness.“Openyourcoat,”saidtheDarkling.Ididn’tmove.TheDarklingglancedatIvanandnodded.Malscreamed,hishandsclutching
hischestashecrumpledtotheground.“No!”Icried.ItriedtoruntoMal’sside,buttheguardsoneithersideofme
heldtighttomyarms.“Please,”IbeggedtheDarkling.“Makehimstop!”Again, the Darkling nodded, and Mal’s cries ceased. He lay in the snow,
breathinghard,hisgazefixedonIvan’sarrogantsneer,hiseyesfullofhatred.The Darkling watched me, waiting, his face impassive. He looked nearly
bored.Ishruggedofftheoprichniki.Withshakinghands,Iwipedthetearsfrommyeyesandunbuttonedmycoat,lettingitslideovermyshoulders.Distantly, I was aware of the cold seeping through my wool tunic, of the
watching eyes of the soldiers and the Grisha.Myworld had narrowed to thecurvingpiecesofbone in theDarkling’shands,and I felta sweepingsenseofterror.“Liftyourhair,”hemurmured.Iliftedthehairawayfrommyneckwithboth
hands.TheDarkling stepped forward andpushed the fabric ofmy tunic out of the
way.Whenhis fingertipsbrushedagainstmyskin, I flinched. I sawa flashofangerpassoverhisface.He placed the curving pieces of antler aroundmy throat, one on each side,
lettingthemrestonmycollarboneswithinfinitecare.HenoddedatDavid,andIfelt the Fabrikator take hold of the antlers. In my mind’s eye, I saw Davidstandingbehindme,wearingthesamefocusedexpressionI’dseenthatfirstdayin theworkroomsof theLittlePalace. I saw thepiecesofbone shift andmelt
together.Noclasp,nohinge.Thiscollarwouldbeminetowearforever.“It’sdone,”whisperedDavid.Hedroppedthecollar,andIfelttheweightofit
settleonmyneck.Ibunchedmyhandsintofists,waiting.Nothing happened. I felt a sudden reckless shock of hope. What if the
Darklinghadbeenwrong?Whatifthecollardidnothingatall?ThentheDarklingclosedhisfingersovermyshoulderandasilentcommand
reverberated inside me: Light. It felt like an invisible hand reaching into mychest.Golden light burst through me, flooding the clearing. I saw the Darkling
squintinginthebrightness,hisfeaturesalightwithtriumphandexultation.No, I thought, tryingtoreleasethelight, tosenditaway.Butassoonas the
idea of resistance had formed, that invisible hand batted it away like it wasnothing.Anothercommandechoedthroughme:More.Afreshsurgeofpowerroared
throughmybody,wilderandstrongerthananythingIhadeverfelt.Therewasno end to it. The control I’d learned, the understanding I’d gained collapsedbefore it—houses I’d built, fragile and imperfect, smashed to kindling in theoncomingfloodthatwasthepowerofthestag.Lightexplodedfrommeinwaveaftershimmeringwave,obliteratingthenightskyinatorrentofbrilliance.IfeltnoneoftheexhilarationorjoythatIhadcometoexpectfromusingmypower.Itwasn’t mine anymore, and I was drowning, helpless, caught in that horrible,invisiblegrip.TheDarklingheldmethere,testingmynewlimits—forhowlong,Icouldn’t
tell.IonlyknewwhenIfelttheinvisiblehandreleaseitsgrip.Darknessfellontheclearingonceagain.Idrewaraggedbreath,tryingtoget
mybearings,topiecemyselfbacktogether.Theflickeringtorchlightilluminatedtheawedexpressionsof theguardsandGrisha,andMal, stillcrumpledon theground,hisfacemiserable,hiseyesfullofregret.When I looked back at theDarkling, hewaswatchingme closely, his eyes
narrowed. He looked from me to Mal, then turned to his men. “Put him inchains.”Iopenedmymouthtoobject,butaglancefromMalmademeshutit.“We’llcamptonightand leavefor theFoldat first light,”said theDarkling.
“Sendword to theApparat tobe ready.”He turned tome.“Ifyou try toharmyourself,thetrackerwillsufferforit.”“Whataboutthestag?”askedIvan.“Burnit.”OneoftheEtherealkiliftedhisarmtoatorch,andtheflameshotforwardina
sweeping arc, surrounding the stag’s lifeless body. As we were led from the
clearing, there was no sound but our own footfalls and the crackling of theflamesbehindus.Norustlecamefromthetrees,noinsectbuzzornightbirdcall.Thewoodsweresilentintheirgrief.
CHAPTER20WEWALKEDINSILENCEforoveranhour.Istarednumblydownatmyfeet,watchingmybootsmovethroughthesnow,thinkingaboutthestagandthepriceofmyweakness.Eventually,Isawfirelightflickeringthroughthetrees,andweemerged into a clearingwhere a small camp had beenmade around a roaringfire. I noted several small tents and a groupof horses tethered amid the trees.Twooprichnikisatbesidethefire,eatingtheireveningmeal.Mal’sguardstookhimtooneofthetents,pushinghiminsideandfollowing
after.Itriedtocatchhiseye,buthedisappearedtooquickly.Ivandraggedmeacrossthecamptoanothertentandgavemeashove.Inside,
Isawseveralbedrollslaidout.Hepushedmeforwardandgesturedtothepoleatthecenterof thetent.“Sit,”heordered.Isatwithmybackto thepole,andhetetheredmetoit,tyingmyhandsbehindmybackandbindingmyankles.“Comfortable?”“Youknowwhatheplanstodo,Ivan.”“Heplanstobringuspeace.”“Atwhatprice?”Iaskeddesperately.“Youknowthisismadness.”“DidyouknowIhadtwobrothers?”Ivanaskedabruptly.Thefamiliarsmirk
wasgone fromhishandsome face. “Of coursenot.Theyweren’t bornGrisha.They were soldiers, and they both died fighting the King’s wars. So did myfather.Sodidmyuncle.”“I’msorry.”“Yes,everyoneissorry.TheKingissorry.TheQueenissorry.I’msorry.But
onlytheDarklingwilldosomethingaboutit.”“Itdoesn’thavetobethisway,Ivan.Mypowercouldbeusedtodestroythe
Fold.”Ivanshookhishead.“TheDarklingknowswhathastobedone.”“He’llnever stop!Youknow that.Notoncehe’shada tasteof thatkindof
power.I’mtheonewearingthecollarnow.Buteventually,itwillbeallofyou.Andtherewon’tbeanyoneoranythingstrongenoughtostandinhisway.”AmuscletwitchedinIvan’sjaw.“KeeptalkingtreasonandI’llgagyou,”he
said,andwithoutanotherword,hestrodeoutofthetent.A while later, a Summoner and a Heartrender ducked inside. I didn’t
recognizeeitherofthem.Avoidingmygaze,theysilentlyhunchedintotheirfursandblewoutthelamp.Isatawakeinthedark,watchingtheflickeringlightofthecampfireplayover
thecanvaswallsofthetent.Icouldfeeltheweightofthecollaragainstmyneck,andmyboundhandsitchedtoclawatit.IthoughtofMal,justafewfeetawayinanothertent.I’dbroughtustothis.IfI’dtakenthestag’slife,hispowerwouldhavebeen
mine.I’dknownwhatmercymightcostus.Myfreedom.Mal’slife.Thelivesofcountlessothers.AndstillI’dbeentooweaktodowhatneededtobedone.Thatnight,Idreamedofthestag.IsawtheDarklingcuthisthroatagainand
again.Isawthelifefadingfromhisdarkeyes.ButwhenIlookeddown,itwasmybloodthatspilledredintothesnow.Withagasp,Iwoketothesoundsofthecampcomingtolifearoundme.The
tentflapopenedandaHeartrenderappeared.Shecutmeloosefromthetentpoleanddraggedmetomyfeet.Mybodycreakedandpoppedinprotest,stifffromanightspentsittinginacrampedposition.TheHeartrenderledmeovertowherethehorseswerealreadysaddledandthe
DarklingstoodtalkingquietlytoIvanandtheotherGrisha.IlookedaroundforMalandfeltasuddenjabofpanicwhenIcouldn’tfindhim,butthenIsawanoprichnikpullhimfromtheothertent.“Whatdowedowithhim?”theguardaskedIvan.“Letthetraitorwalk,”Ivanreplied.“Andwhenhegetstootired,letthehorses
draghim.”I openedmymouth to protest, but before I could say aword, theDarkling
spoke.“No,” he said, gracefully mounting his horse. “I want him alive when we
reachtheShadowFold.”TheguardshruggedandhelpedMalmounthishorse, then tiedhis shackled
hands to the saddle horn. I felt a rushof relief followedby a sharpprickle offear.DidtheDarklingintendforMaltostandtrial?Ordidhehavesomethingfarworseinmindforhim?He’sstillalive,Itoldmyself,andthatmeansthere’sstillachancetosavehim.“Ride with her,” the Darkling said to Ivan. “Make sure she doesn’t do
anythingstupid.”Hedidn’tsparemeanotherglanceashekickedhishorseintoatrot.We rode forhours through the forest,past theplateauwhereMaland Ihad
waitedfortheherd.Icouldjustseetheboulderswherewe’dspentthenight,andIwonderedifthelightthathadkeptusalivethroughthesnowstormhadbeentheverythingthatledtheDarklingtous.
IknewhewastakingusbacktoKribirsk,butIhatedtothinkwhatmightbewaiting for me there.Whowould the Darkling choose to move against first?WouldhelaunchafleetofsandskiffsnorthtoFjerda?OrdidheintendtomarchsouthtodrivetheFoldintotheShuHan?Whosedeathswouldbeonmyhands?Ittookanothernightanddayoftravelbeforewereachedthewideroadsthat
would lead us south to the Vy. We were met at the crossroads by a hugecontingentofarmedmen,mostof theminoprichnikigray.Theybroughtfreshhorsesand theDarkling’scoach. Ivandumpedmeon thevelvetcushionswithlittleceremonyandclimbedinsideafterme.Then,withasnapofthereins,weweremovingagain.Ivaninsistedwekeepthecurtainsdrawn,butIsnuckapeekoutsideandsaw
thatwewereflankedbyheavilyarmedriders.ItwashardnottoberemindedofthefirsttripI’dmadewithIvaninthissamevehicle.Thesoldiersmadecampatnight,butIwaskeptinisolation,confinedtothe
Darkling’scoach.Ivanbroughtmemymeals,clearlydisgustedathavingtoplaynursemaid.He refused to speak tome aswe rode and threatened to slowmypulseenoughtosendmeintounconsciousnessifIpersistedinaskingaboutMal.But I asked everyday anyway andkeptmy eyes trainedon the little crackofwindowvisiblebetweencurtainandcoach,hopingtocatchaglimpseofhim.Isleptpoorly.Everynight,Idreamedofthesnowyglade,andthestag’sdark
eyes,staringatmein thestillness.Itwasanightlyreminderofmyfailureandthesorrowmymercyhadreaped.Thestaghaddiedanyway,andnowMalandIweredoomed.Everymorning,Iwokewithafreshsenseofguiltandshame,butalsowiththefrustratingfeelingthatIwasforgettingsomething,somemessagethat had been clear and obvious in the dream but that hovered just outside ofunderstandingwhenIwoke.I didn’t see the Darkling again until we reached the outskirts of Kribirsk,
when thedoor to thecoachsuddenlyopenedandheslid into theseatoppositeme.Ivanvanishedwithoutaword.“Where’sMal?”Iaskedassoonasthedoorhadclosed.Isawthefingersofhisglovedhandclench,butwhenhespoke,hisvoicewas
ascoldandsmoothasever.“We’reenteringKribirsk,”hesaid.“WhenwearegreetedbytheotherGrisha,youwillnotsayawordaboutyourlittleexcursion.”Myjawdropped.“Theydon’tknow?”“Alltheyknowisthatyou’vebeeninseclusion,preparingforyourcrossingof
theShadowFoldwithprayerandrest.”Adrybarkoflaughterescapedme.“Icertainlylookwellrested.”“I’llsayyou’vebeenfasting.”“That’swhynoneofthesoldiersinRyevostwerelookingforme,”Isaidwith
dawningunderstanding.“YounevertoldtheKing.”“Ifwordofyourdisappearancehadgottenout,youwouldhavebeenhunted
downandkilledbyFjerdanassassinswithindays.”“And you would have had to account for losing the kingdom’s only Sun
Summoner.”TheDarklingstudiedmefora longmoment.“Justwhatkindof lifedoyou
thinkyoucouldhavewithhim,Alina?He’sotkazat’sya.Hecanneverhopetounderstandyourpower,and ifhedid,he’donlycometofearyou.There isnoordinarylifeforpeoplelikeyouandme.”“I’mnothinglikeyou,”Isaidflatly.His lips curled in a tight, bitter smile. “Of coursenot,”he said courteously.
Then he knocked on the roof of the coach and it rolled to a stop. “Whenwearrive,you’llsayyourhellos,thenpleadexhaustionandretiretoyourtent.Andifyoudoanythingreckless,Iwilltorturethetrackeruntilhebegsmetotakehislife.”Andhewasgone.IrodetherestofthewayintoKribirskalone,tryingtostoptrembling.Malis
alive,Itoldmyself.That’sallthatmatters.Butanotherthoughtcreptin.Maybethe Darkling is letting you believe he’s still alive just to keep you in line. Iwrappedmyarmsaroundmyself,prayingthatitwasn’ttrue.I pulled back the curtains as we rode through Kribirsk and felt a pang of
sadnessasIrememberedwalkingthissameroadsomanymonthsago.I’dnearlybeencrushedbytheverycoachIwasridingin.Malhadsavedme,andZoyahadlookedathimfromthewindowoftheSummoners’coach.I’dwishedtobelikeher,abeautifulgirlinabluekefta.Whenwefinallypulleduptotheimmenseblacksilktent,acrowdofGrisha
swarmed around the coach.Marie and Ivo andSergei rushed forward to greetme.Iwassurprisedathowgooditfelttoseethemagain.Astheycaughtsightofme,theirexcitementvanished,replacedbyworryand
concern. They’d expected a triumphant Sun Summoner, wearing the greatestamplifiereverknown,radiantwithpowerandthefavoroftheDarkling.Instead,theysawapale,tiredgirl,brokenbymisery.“Areyouallright?”Mariewhisperedwhenshehuggedme.“Yes,”Ipromised.“Justwornoutfromthejourney.”I did my best to smile convincingly and reassure them. I tried to feign
enthusiasmastheymarveledatMorozova’scollarandreachedouttotouchit.The Darkling was never far from view, a warning in his eyes, and I kept
movingthroughthecrowd,grinninguntilmycheekshurt.AswepassedthroughtheGrishapavilion,IcaughtsightofZoyasulkingona
pileofcushions.ShestaredgreedilyatthecollarasIpassed.You’rewelcometoit,Ithoughtbitterly,andhurriedmysteps.Ivan ledme to a private tent close to theDarkling’s quarters. Fresh clothes
werewaitingonmycampcotalongwithatubofhotwaterandmybluekefta.Ithadonlybeenafewweeks,butitfeltstrangetowearSummoners’colorsagain.The Darkling’s guards were stationed all around the perimeter of my tent.
Only I knew theywere there tomonitor as well as protectme. The tent wasluxuriously appointed with piles of furs, a painted table and chairs, and aFabrikatormirror,clearaswaterandinlaidwithgold.IwouldhavetradeditallinaninstanttoshiverbesideMalonathreadbareblanket.Ihadnovisitors,andIspentmydayspacingbackandforthwithnothingto
do but worry and imagine the worst. I didn’t know why the Darkling waswaitingtoentertheShadowFoldorwhathemightbeplanning,andmyguardscertainlyweren’tinterestedindiscussingit.Onthefourthnight,whentheflapofmytentopened,Inearlyfelloffmycot.
TherewasGenya,holdingmydinnertrayandlookingimpossiblygorgeous.Isatup,unsureofwhattosay.She entered and set down the tray, hovering near the table. “I shouldn’t be
here,”shesaid.“Probablynot,”Iadmitted.“I’mnotsurethatI’msupposedtohavevisitors.”“No,ImeanIshouldn’tbehere.It’sincrediblydirty.”I laughed, suddenly very glad to see her. She smiled slightly and settled
herselfgracefullyontheedgeofthepaintedchair.“They’re saying you’ve been in seclusion, preparing for your ordeal,” she
said.IexaminedGenya’sface,tryingtogleanhowmuchsheknew.“Ididn’thavea
chancetosaygoodbyebeforeI…wentaway,”Isaidcarefully.“Ifyouhad,Iwouldhavestoppedyou.”SosheknewI’drun.“How’sBaghra?”“No one’s seen her since you left. She seems to have gone into seclusion,
too.”I shuddered. I hoped that Baghra had escaped, but I knew it was unlikely.
WhatpricehadtheDarklingexactedforherbetrayal?I bit my lip, hesitating, and then decided to take what might be my only
chance.“Genya,ifIcouldgetwordtotheKing.I’msurehedoesn’tknowwhattheDarklingisplanning.He—”“Alina,”Genyainterrupted,“theKinghastakenill.TheApparat isrulingin
hisstead.”Myheartsank.IrememberedwhattheDarklinghadsaidthedaythatI’dmet
theApparat:Hehashisuses.And yet, the priest hadn’t just spoken of toppling Kings, but Darklings as
well.Hadhebeen trying towarnme? Ifonly I’dbeen less fearful. Ifonly I’dbeenmorewillingtolisten.Moreregretstoaddtomylonglist.Ididn’tknowiftheApparatwas truly loyal to theDarklingor ifhemightbeplayingadeepergame.Andnowtherewasnowaytofindout.ThehopethattheKingmighthavethedesireorwill toopposetheDarkling
hadbeenaslimone,butithadgivenmesomethingtoholdontooverthelastfew days.Now that hopewas undone, too. “What about theQueen?” I askedwithfaintoptimism.AfiercelittlesmilepassedoverGenya’slips.“TheQueenisconfinedtoher
quarters.Forherownsafety,ofcourse.Contagion,youknow.”ThatwaswhenI realizedwhatGenyawaswearing.I’dbeensosurprised to
seeher,socaughtupinmyownthoughts,thatIhadn’treallytakenitin.Genyawas wearing red. Corporalki red. Her cuffs were embroidered with blue, acombinationIhadneverseenbefore.Achill slidupmyspine.What rolehadGenyaplayed in theKing’ssudden
illness?WhathadshetradedtowearfullGrishacolors?“Isee,”Isaidquietly.“Ididtrytowarnyou,”shesaidwithsomesadness.“AndyouknowwhattheDarklingplanstodo?”“Therearerumors,”shesaiduncomfortably.“They’realltrue.”“Thenithastobedone.”I stared at her. After a moment, she looked down at her lap. Her fingers
pleated and unpleated the folds of her kefta. “David feels terrible,” shewhispered.“Hethinkshe’sdestroyedallofRavka.”“It’snothisfault,”Isaidwithanemptylaugh.“Wealldidourparttobring
abouttheendoftheworld.”Genya looked up sharply. “You don’t really believe that.” Distress was
writtenonherface.Wasthereawarningthereaswell?IthoughtofMalandtheDarkling’sthreats.“No,”Isaidhollowly.“Ofcourse
not.”Iknewshedidn’tbelieveme,butherbrowcleared,andshesmiledhersoft,
beautiful smile at me. She looked like a painted icon of a Saint, her hair aburnishedcopperhalo.Sherose,andasIwalkedwithhertotheflapofthetent,the stag’sdarkeyes loomedup inmymind, theeyes I saweverynight inmydreams.“Forwhat it’sworth,” I said, “tellDavid I forgivehim.”And I forgive you,
too,Iaddedsilently.Imeantit.Iknewwhatitwastowanttobelong.“Iwill,”shesaidquietly.She turnedanddisappeared into thenight,butnot
beforeIsawthatherlovelyeyeswerefulloftears.
CHAPTER21IPICKEDATMYDINNERandthenlaydownonmycotagain,turningoverthethingsthatGenyahadsaid.Genyahadspentnearlyherentirelifecloisteredaway in Os Alta, existing uneasily between the world of the Grisha and theintriguesofthecourt.TheDarklinghadputherinthatpositionforhisowngain,andnowhehadraisedheroutofit.ShewouldneveragainhavetobendtothewhimoftheKingandQueenorwearaservant’scolors.ButDavidhadregrets.And if he did, maybe others did, too.Maybe there would be more when theDarklingunleashedtheShadowFold’spower.Thoughbythen,itmightbetoolate.MythoughtswereinterruptedbyIvan’sarrivalattheentrancetomytent.“Up,”hecommanded.“Hewantstoseeyou.”Mystomachtwistednervously,butIgotupandfollowedhim.Assoonaswe
stepped out of the tent,wewere flanked by guardswho escorted us the shortdistancetotheDarkling’squarters.When they saw Ivan, the oprichniki at the entryway stepped aside. Ivan
noddedtowardthetent.“Goon,”he saidwitha smirk. Idesperatelywanted to smack thatknowing
lookrightoffhisface.Instead,Iliftedmychinandstrodepasthim.Theheavysilksslidclosedbehindme,andI tooka fewsteps forward, then
pausedtogetmybearings.Thetentwaslargeandlitbydimlyglowinglamps.The floor was covered in rugs and furs, and at its center burned a fire thatcrackled in a large silver dish. High above it, a flap in the roof of the tentallowedthesmoketoescapeandshowedapatchofthenightsky.The Darkling sat in a large chair, his long legs sprawled out before him,
staringintothefire,aglassinhishandandabottleofkvasonthetablebesidehim.Without looking atme, he gestured to the chair across from him. Iwalked
overtothefire,butIdidnotsit.Heglancedatmewithfaintexasperationandthenlookedbackintotheflames.“Sitdown,Alina.”Iperchedontheedgeofthechair,watchinghimwarily.“Speak,”hesaid.Iwasstartingtofeellikeadog.
“Ihavenothingtosay.”“Iimagineyouhaveagreatdealtosay.”“If I tell you to stop, you won’t stop. If I tell you you’remad, you won’t
believeme.WhyshouldIbother?”“Maybebecauseyouwanttheboytolive.”AllofthebreathwentoutofmeandIhadtostifleasob.Malwasalive.The
Darklingmightbe lying,but Ididn’t thinkso.He lovedpower,andMal’s lifegavehimpoweroverme.“Tellmewhat to say to savehim,” Iwhispered, leaning forward. “Tellme,
andI’llsayit.”“He’satraitorandadeserter.”“He’sthebesttrackeryouhaveoreverwillhave.”“Possibly,”saidtheDarklingwithanindifferentshrug.ButIknewhimbetter
now,andIsawtheflickerofgreedinhiseyesashetiltedhisheadbacktoemptyhisglassofkvas. Iknewwhat itcosthim to thinkofdestroyingsomethinghemightacquireanduse.Ipressedthissmalladvantage.“Youcouldexilehim,sendhimnorthtothepermafrostuntilyouneedhim.”“You’dhavehimspendtherestofhislifeinaworkcamporaprison?”Iswallowedthelumpinmythroat.“Yes.”“You think you’ll find a way to him, don’t you?” he asked, his voice
bemused.“Youthinkthatsomehow,ifhe’salive,you’llfindaway.”Heshookhisheadandgaveashortlaugh.“I’vegivenyoupowerbeyondalldreaming,andyoucan’twaittorunoffandkeephouseforyourtracker.”I knew I should stay silent, play the diplomat, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Youhaven’tgivenmeanything.You’vemademeaslave.”“That’s never what I intended, Alina.” He ran a hand over his jaw, his
expression fatigued, frustrated, human.But howmuch of itwas real and howmuchwaspretense?“Icouldn’ttakechances,”hesaid.“Notwiththepowerofthestag,notwithRavka’sfuturehanginginthebalance.”“Don’t pretend this is aboutRavka’swelfare.You lied tome.You’vebeen
lyingtomesincethemomentImetyou.”His longfingers tightenedaround theglass.“Didyoudeservemy trust?”he
asked,andforonce,hisvoicewaslessthansteadyandcold.“Baghrawhispersafewaccusationsinyourear,andoffyougo.Didyoueverstoptothinkofwhatitwouldmeanforme,forallofRavka,ifyoujustdisappeared?”“Youdidn’tgivememuchchoice.”“Of course you had a choice. And you chose to turn your back on your
country,oneverythingthatyouare.”“Thatisn’tfair.”
“Fairness!”helaughed.“Stillshetalksoffairness.Whatdoesfairnesshavetodowithanyofthis?Thepeoplecursemynameandprayforyou,butyou’retheonewhowasreadytoabandonthem.I’mtheonewhowillgivethempowerovertheirenemies.I’mtheonewhowillfreethemfromthetyrannyoftheKing.”“Andgivethemyourtyrannyinreturn.”“Someone has to lead,Alina. Someone has to end this. Believeme, Iwish
therewereanotherway.”He sounded so sincere, so reasonable, less a creature of relentless ambition
thanamanwhobelievedhewasdoingtherightthingforhispeople.Despiteallhe’ddoneandallheintended,Ididalmostbelievehim.Almost.Igaveasingleshakeofmyhead.Heslumpedbackinhischair.“Fine,”hesaidwithawearyshrug.“Makeme
yourvillain.”Hesethisemptyglassdownandstood.“Comehere.”Fearshotthroughme,butImademyselfriseandclosethedistancebetween
us. He studied me in the firelight. He reached out and touched Morozova’scollar,lettinghislongfingersspreadovertheroughbone,thenslideupmynecktocradlemyfacewithonehand.Ifeltajoltofrevulsion,butIalsofeltthesure,intoxicatingforceofhim.Ihatedthatitstillhadaneffectonme.“Youbetrayedme,”hesaidsoftly.Iwantedtolaugh.Ihadbetrayedhim?Hehadusedme,seducedme,andnow
enslavedme,and Iwas thebetrayer?But I thoughtofMalandswallowedmyangerandmypride.“Yes,”Isaid.“I’msorryforthat.”Helaughed.“You’renotsorryforanyofit.Theonlythoughtyouhaveisfor
theboyandhismiserablelife.”Isaidnothing.“Tellme,” he said, his grip tighteningpainfully, his fingertips pressing into
my flesh. In the firelight, his gaze looked unfathomably bleak. “Tellme howmuchyoulovehim.Begforhislife.”“Please,”Iwhispered,fightingthetearsthatwelledinmyeyes.“Pleasespare
him.”“Why?”“Because the collar can’t give youwhat youwant,” I said recklessly. I had
only one thingwithwhich to bargain and itwas so little, but I pressed on. “Ihavenochoicebuttoserveyou,butifMalcomestoharm,Iwillneverforgiveyou. I will fight you any way that I can. I will spend every waking minutelooking for away to endmy life, and eventually, I’ll succeed.But show himmercy,lethimlive,andIwillserveyougladly.Iwillspendtherestofmydaysprovingmygratitude.”Inearlychokedoutthelastword.Hecockedhisheadtooneside,asmall,skepticalsmileplayingabouthislips.
Then the smile disappeared, replaced by something I didn’t recognize,somethingthatlookedalmostlikelonging.“Mercy.” He said the word as if he were tasting something unfamiliar. “I
could be merciful.” He raised his other hand to cup my face and kissed mesoftly, gently, and though everything inme rebelled, I let him. I hated him. Ifearedhim.Butstill I felt thestrangetugofhispower,andIcouldn’tstopthehungryresponseofmyowntreacherousheart.He pulled away and looked at me. Then, his eyes still locked onmine, he
calledforIvan.“Takehertothecells,”theDarklingsaidwhenIvanappearedinthedoorway
ofthetent.“Letherseehertracker.”Asliverofhopeenteredmyheart.“Yes, Alina,” he said, stroking my cheek. “I can be merciful.” He leaned
forward, pullingme close, his lips brushingmy ear. “Tomorrow,we enter theShadowFold,”hewhispered,hisvoice likeacaress.“Andwhenwedo, Iwillfeedyourfriendtothevolcra,andyouwillwatchhimdie.”“No!”Icried,recoilinginhorror.Itriedtopullawayfromhim,buthisgrip
waslikesteel,hisfingersdiggingintomyskull.“Yousaid—”“Youmaysayyourgoodbyestonight.Thatisallthemercytraitorsdeserve.”Somethingbrokelooseinsideme.Ilungedathim,clawingathim,screaming
myhate.Ivanwasonmeinmoments,holdingmetightasIthrashedandstrainedinhisarms.“Murderer!”Ishouted.“Monster!”“Allofthosethings.”“Ihateyou,”Ispat.Heshrugged.“You’lltireofhatesoonenough.You’lltireofeverything.”He
smiledthen,andbehindhiseyesIsawthesamebleakandyawningchasmIhadseen inBaghra’s ancient gaze. “Youwillwear that collar for the rest of yourvery,verylonglife,Alina.Fightmeaslongasyou’reable.YouwillfindIhavefarmorepracticewitheternity.”Hewavedhishanddismissively,andIvanpulledmefromthetentanddown
thepath,stillstruggling.Asobtoreloosefrommythroat.ThetearsIhadfoughttoholdbackduringmyconversationwiththeDarklinggavewayandstreameduncheckeddownmycheeks.“Stopthat,”Ivanwhisperedfuriously.“Someonewillseeyou.”“Idon’tcare.”TheDarklingwasgoingtokillMalanyway.Whatdifferencediditmakewho
sawmymiserynow?TherealityofMal’sdeathandtheDarkling’scrueltywerestaringmeintheface,andIsawthestarkandhorribleshapeofthingstocome.
Ivanyankedmeintomytentandgavemearoughshake.“Doyouwanttoseethetrackerornot?I’mnotgoingtomarchaweepinggirlthroughcamp.”Ipressedmyhandsagainstmyeyesandstifledmysobs.“Better,”hesaid.“Putthison.”Hetossedmealongbrowncloak.Islippedit
overmykefta,andheyankedthelargehoodup.“Keepyourheaddownandstayquiet,orIswearI’lldragyourightbackhereandyoucansayyourgoodbyesontheFold.Understand?”Inodded.Wefollowedanunlitpaththatskirtedtheperimeterofthecamp.Myguards
kept theirdistance,walkingfaraheadandfarbehindus,andIquicklyrealizedthatIvandidnotwantanyonetorecognizemeortoknowIwasvisitingthejail.Aswewalkedbetweenthebarracksandtents,Icouldsenseastrangetension
crackling through thecamp.The soldierswepassed seemed jumpy,anda fewglaredat Ivanwithblatanthostility. IwonderedhowtheFirstArmyfeltabouttheApparat’ssuddenrisetopower.Thejailwaslocatedonthefarsideofcamp.Itwasanolderbuilding,clearly
fromatimepredatingthebarracksthatsurroundedit.Boredguardsflankedtheentrance.“Newprisoner?”oneofthemaskedIvan.“Avisitor.”“Sincewhendoyouescortvisitorstothecells?”“Sincetonight,”Ivansaid,adangerousedgetohisvoice.Theguards exchangedanervousglance and steppedaside. “Noneed toget
antsy,bloodletter.”Ivanledmedownahallwaylinedwithmostlyemptycells.Isawafewragged
men,adrunksnoringsoundlyonthefloorofhiscell.Attheendofthehall,Ivanunlockedagate,andwedescendedasetofricketystairstoadark,windowlessroom litbya singleguttering lamp. In thegloom, Icouldmakeout theheavyiron bars of the room’s only cell and, sitting slumped by its farwall, its onlyprisoner.“Mal?”Iwhispered.Inseconds,hewasonhisfeetandwewereclingingtoeachotherthroughthe
ironbars,ourhandsclaspedtightlytogether.Icouldn’tstopthesobsthatshookme.“Shhhh.It’sokay.Alina,it’sokay.”“Youhavethenight,”saidIvan,anddisappearedbackupthestairs.Whenwe
heardtheoutergateclangshut,Malturnedtome.Hiseyesrovedovermyface.“Ican’tbelieveheletyoucome.”Freshtearsspilledovermycheeks.“Mal,heletmecomebecause…”
“When?”heaskedhoarsely.“Tomorrow.OntheShadowFold.”He swallowed, and I could see him strugglewith the knowledge, but all he
saidwas,“Allright.”I letoutasoundthatwashalf laugh,halfsob.“Onlyyoucouldcontemplate
imminentdeathandjustsay‘allright.’”Hesmiledatmeandpushed thehairback frommy tear-stained face.“How
about‘ohno’?”“Mal,ifI’dbeenstronger…”“IfI’dbeenstronger,Iwouldhavedrivenaknifethroughyourheart.”“Iwishyouhad,”Imuttered.“Well,Idon’t.”Ilookeddownatourclaspedhands.“Mal,whattheDarklingsaidintheglade
about…abouthimandme.Ididn’t…Inever…”“Itdoesn’tmatter.”Ilookedupathim.“Itdoesn’t?”“No,”hesaidalittletoofiercely.“Idon’tthinkIbelieveyou.”“SomaybeIdon’tbelieveityeteither,notcompletely,butit’sthetruth.”He
clutchedmyhandsmoretightly,holdingthemclosetohisheart.“Idon’tcareifyoudancednakedon theroofof theLittlePalacewithhim.I loveyou,Alina,eventhepartofyouthatlovedhim.”Iwantedtodenyit,toeraseit,butIcouldn’t.Anothersobshookme.“Ihate
thatIeverthought…thatIever—”“DoyoublamemeforeverymistakeImade?Foreverygirl I tumbled?For
everydumb thing I’ve said?Because ifwe start running tallieson stupid,youknowwho’sgoingtocomeoutahead.”“No,Idon’tblameyou.”Imanagedasmallsmile.“Much.”Hegrinnedandmyheartflip-floppedthewayitalwayshad.“Wefoundour
waybacktoeachother,Alina.That’sallthatmatters.”Hekissedmethroughthebars,thecoldironpressingagainstmycheekashis
lipsmetmine.Westayedtogetherthatlastnight.Wetalkedabouttheorphanage,theangry
rasp of AnaKuya’s voice, the taste of stolen cherry cordial, the smell of thenew-mowngrassinourmeadow,howwe’dsufferedintheheatofsummerandsoughtoutthecoolcomfortofthemusicroom’smarblefloors,thejourneywe’dmadetogetheronthewaytodoourmilitaryservice,theSuliviolinswe’dheardourfirstnightawayfromtheonlyhomeeitherofuscouldremember.ItoldhimthestoryofthedayI’dbeenmendingpotterywithoneofthemaids
in the kitchen atKeramzin,waiting for him to return fromoneof the huntingtripsthathadtakenhimfromhomemoreandmorefrequently.I’dbeenfifteen,standingatthecounter,vainlytryingtogluetogetherthejaggedpiecesofabluecup.When I sawhimcrossing the fields, I ran to thedoorwayandwaved.Hecaughtsightofmeandbrokeintoajog.Ihadcrossedtheyardtohimslowly,watchinghimdrawcloser,baffledbythe
waymyheartwasskitteringaround inmychest.Thenhe’dpickedmeupandspunmeinacircle,andI’dclungtohim,breathinginhissweet,familiarsmell,shockedbyhowmuchI’dmissedhim.Dimly,I’dbeenawarethatIstillhadashardofthebluecupinmyhand,thatitwasdiggingintomypalm,butIdidn’twanttoletgo.Whenhefinallysetmedownandambledofftothekitchentofindhislunch,I
hadstoodthere,mypalmdrippingblood,myheadstillspinning,knowingthateverythinghadchanged.AnaKuyahadscoldedmeforgettingbloodonthecleankitchenfloor.She’d
bandagedmyhandand toldme itwouldheal.But Iknew itwould justgoonhurting.Inthecreakingsilenceofthecell,Malkissedthescaronmypalm,thewound
made so long ago by the edge of that broken cup, a fragile thing I’d thoughtbeyondrepair.Wefellasleepon the floor,cheekspressed together through thebars,hands
clasped tight. Ididn’twant tosleep. Iwanted tosavorevery lastmomentwithhim.ButImusthavedozedoffbecauseIdreamedagainofthestag.Thistime,Malwasbesidemeintheglade,anditwashisbloodinthesnow.Thenext thing Iknew, Iwaswaking to thesoundof thegatebeingopened
aboveusandIvan’sfootstepsonthestairs.Malhadmademepromisenottocry.He’dsaiditwouldonlymakeitharder
onhim.SoIswallowedmytears.IkissedhimonelasttimeandletIvanleadmeaway.
CHAPTER22DAWNWASCREEPINGoverKribirskasIvanbroughtmebacktomytent.Isatdownonmycotandstaredunseeinglyattheroom.Mylimbsfeltstrangelyheavy,mymindablank.IwasstillsittingtherewhenGenyaarrived.ShehelpedmewashmyfaceandchangeintotheblackkeftaI’dworntothe
winter fete. I looked down at the silk and thought of tearing it to shreds, butsomehowIcouldn’tmanagetomove.Myhandsstayedlimpatmysides.Genya steeredme into thepainted chair. I sat still as she arrangedmyhair,
pilingitontomyheadinloopsandcoilsthatshesecuredwithgoldenpins,thebettertoshowoffMorozova’scollar.When she had finished, she pressed her cheek against mine and ledme to
Ivan,placingmyhandonhisarmlikeabride.Notawordhadpassedbetweenus.IvanledmetotheGrishatent,whereItookmyplacebytheDarkling’sside.I
knew that my friends were watching me, whispering, wondering what waswrong.TheyprobablythoughtIwasnervousaboutenteringtheFold.Theywerewrong.Iwasn’tnervousorfrightened.Iwasn’tanythinganymore.TheGrishafollowedusinanorderedprocessionalallthewaytothedrydocks.
There,onlyaselectfewwerepermittedtoboardthesandskiff.Itwaslargerthanany I’d seen and equipped with three enormous sails emblazoned with theDarkling’s symbol. I scanned the crowd of soldiers andGrisha on the skiff. IknewMalmustbeonboardsomewhere,butIcouldn’tseehim.The Darkling and I were escorted to the front of the skiff, where I was
introducedtoagroupofelaboratelydressedmenwithblondbeardsandpiercingblueeyes.Withastart,IrealizedtheywereFjerdanambassadors.Besidethem,incrimsonsilks,stoodadelegationfromtheShuHan,andnexttothem,agroupofKerchtradesmeninshortcoatswithcuriouslybelledsleeves.AnenvoyoftheKingstoodwiththeminfullmilitarydress,hispalebluesashbearingagoldendoubleeagle,asternexpressiononhisweatheredcountenance.Istudiedthemcuriously.ThismustbewhytheDarklinghaddelayedourtrip
intotheFold.He’dneededtimetoassembletheproperaudience,witnesseswhowould attest to his newfound power.But just how far did he intend to go?Afeelingofforebodingstirredinsideme,disturbingthelovelynumbnessthathad
heldmeinitsgripallmorning.Theskiffshudderedandbegantoslideoverthegrassandintotheeerieblack
mistoftheFold.ThreeSummonersraisedtheirarmsandthegreatsailssnappedforward,swellingwithwind.ThefirsttimeI’denteredtheFold,I’dfearedthedarknessandmyowndeath.
Now,darknesswasnothingtome,andIknewthatsoondeathwouldseemlikeagift.I’dalwaysknownIwouldhavetoreturntotheUnsea,butasIlookedback,Irealizedthatsomepartofmehadanticipatedit.Ihadwelcomedthechancetoprovemyselfand—IcringedwhenIthoughtofit—topleasetheDarkling.Ihaddreamed of thismoment, standing by his side. I hadwanted to believe in thedestinyhe’d laidout forme, that theorphannoonewantedwouldchange theworldandbeadoredforit.TheDarklingstaredahead, radiatingconfidenceandease.Thesun flickered
andbegantodisappearfromview.Amomentlater,wewereindarkness.For a long while, we drifted in the black, the Grisha Squallers driving the
skiffsforwardoverthesand.Then,theDarkling’svoicerangout.“Burn.”HugecloudsofflameburstfromtheInfernioneithersideoftheskiff,briefly
illuminating the night sky. The ambassadors and even the guards around mestirrednervously.TheDarklingwasannouncingourlocation,callingthevolcradirectlytous.Itdidn’ttakelongforthemtoanswer,andatremorranupmyspineasIheard
thedistantbeatofleatherywings.IfeltfearspreadthroughthepassengersontheskiffandheardtheFjerdansbegintoprayintheirliltingtongue.IntheflareofGrishafire,Isawthedimshapesofdarkbodiesflyingtowardus.Thevolcras’shriekssplittheair.The guards reached for their rifles. Someone began to weep. But still the
Darklingwaitedasthevolcradrewcloser.Baghrahadclaimedthatthevolcrahadoncebeenmenandwomen,victimsof
theunnaturalpowerunleashedbytheDarkling’sgreed.Itmighthavebeenmymindplayingtricks,butIthoughtIheardsomethingnotjusthorrible,buthumanintheircries.When theywere almost upon us, theDarkling grippedmy arm and simply
said,“Now.”That invisible hand took hold of the power insideme, and I felt it stretch,
reachingthroughthedarknessoftheFold,seekingthelight.Itcametomewithaspeed and fury that nearly knockedme frommy feet, breaking over me in ashowerofbrillianceandwarmth.The Foldwas alight, as bright as noon, as if its impenetrable darkness had
never been. I saw a long reach of blanched sand, hulks of what looked likeshipwrecks dotting the dead landscape, and above it all, a teeming flock ofvolcra. They screamed in terror, their writhing gray bodies gruesome in thebrightsunlight.This is the truthofhim, I thoughtas Isquinted in thedazzlinglight.Likecallstolike.Thiswashissoulmadeflesh,thetruthofhimlaidbareinthe blazing sun, shorn ofmystery and shadow. This was the truth behind thehandsomefaceandthemiraculouspowers,thetruththatwasthedeadandemptyspacebetweenthestars,awastelandpeopledbyfrightenedmonsters.Makeapath. Iwasn’tsure ifhespokeorsimply thought thecommand that
reverberatedthroughme.Helpless,IlettheFoldcloseinaroundusasIfocusedthelight,makingachannelthroughwhichtheskiffcouldpass,borderedonbothsidesbywalls of ripplingdarkness.Thevolcra fled into thedark, and I couldhear them crying in rage and confusion as if from behind an impenetrablecurtain.Wespedoverthecolorlesssands,thesunlightspreadinginglimmeringwaves
beforeus.Farahead,Isawaflashofgreen,andIrealizedIwasseeingtheotherside of theShadowFold.Wewere looking intoWestRavka, and aswedrewcloser, Isawtheirmeadow, theirdrydocks, thevillageofNovokribirsknestledbehind it. The towers of Os Kervo gleamed in the distance. Was it myimagination,orcouldIsmellthesalttangoftheTrueSeaontheair?People were streaming from the village and crowding onto the drydocks,
pointing at the light that had split the Fold open before them. I saw childrenplayinginthegrass.Icouldhearthedockworkerscallingtoeachother.AtasignalfromtheDarkling,theskiffslowed,andheliftedhisarms.Ifelta
spikeofhorrorasIunderstoodwhatwasabouttohappen.“They’reyourownpeople!”Icrieddesperately.He ignoredme and brought his hands together with a sound like a clap of
thunder.Itallseemedtohappenslowly.Darknessrippledoutfromhishands.Whenit
met thedarknessof theFold,a rumblingsoundroseupoutof thedeadsands.The black walls of the path I’d created pulsed and swelled. It’s like it’sbreathing,Ithoughtinterror.Therumblegrewtoaroar.TheFoldshookandtrembledaroundusandthen
burstforwardinaterriblecascadingtide.A frightenedwailwentup from the crowdon thedocks asdarkness rushed
toward them.They ran, and I saw their fear, heard their screams as the blackfabric of the Fold crashed over the drydocks and the village like a breakingwave. Darkness enveloped them, and the volcra set upon their new prey. Awomancarryingalittleboystumbled,tryingtooutrunthegraspingdark,butit
swallowedher,too.Ireachedinsideofmyselfdesperately,tryingtoexpandthelight,todrivethe
volcraoff,tooffersomekindofprotection.ButIcoulddonothing.Mypowerslidawayfromme,pulledfrommebythatinvisible,tauntinghand.IwishedforaknifetodriveintotheDarkling’sheart,intomyownheart,anythingthatwouldmakethisstop.TheDarklingturnedtolookattheambassadorsandtheKing’senvoy.Their
faceswere identicalmasks of horror and shock.Whatever he saw theremusthave satisfied him, because he separated his hands and the darkness stoppedpushingforward.Therumblingfaded.I couldhear the anguishedcriesof those lost in thedark, the shrieksof the
volcra, the sounds of rifle fire. The drydocks were gone. The village ofNovokribirskwasgone.WewerestaringintothenewreachesoftheFold.The message was clear: Today it had been West Ravka. Tomorrow, the
Darklingcould justaseasilypush theFoldnorth toFjerdaorsouth to theShuHan.ItwoulddevourwholecountriesanddrivetheDarkling’senemiesintothesea.HowmanydeathshadIjusthelpedtobringabout?HowmanymorewouldIberesponsiblefor?Closethepath,commandedtheDarkling.Ihadnochoicebuttoobey.Ipulled
thelightbackuntilitrestedaroundtheskifflikeaglowingdome.“Whathaveyoudone?”whisperedtheenvoy,hisvoiceshaking.TheDarklingturnedonhim.“Doyouneedtoseemore?”“Youweremeanttoundothisabomination,notenlargeit!You’veslaughtered
Ravkans!TheKingwillneverstand—”“TheKingwilldoashe’stold,orI’llmarchtheShadowFoldtothewallsof
OsAltaitself.”The envoy sputtered, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. The
Darklingturnedtotheambassadors.“Ithinkyouunderstandmenow.TherearenoRavkans,noFjerdans,noKerch,noShuHan.Therearenomoreborders,andtherewillbenomorewars.Fromnowon,thereisonlythelandinsidetheFoldandoutsideofit,andtherewillbepeace.”“Peaceonyourterms,”saidoneoftheShuHanangrily.“Itwillnotstand,”blusteredaFjerdan.TheDarklinglookedthemoverandsaidverycalmly,“Peaceonmyterms.Or
your precious mountains and your saintsforsaken tundra will simply cease toexist.”With crushing certainty, I understood that he meant every word. The
ambassadorsmighthopeitwasanemptythreat,believethattherewerelimitstohishunger,buttheywouldlearnsoonenough.TheDarklingwouldnothesitate.
He would not grieve. His darkness would consume the world, and he wouldneverwaver.The Darkling turned his back on their stunned and angry expressions and
addressed theGrisha and soldiers on the skiff. “Tell the story ofwhat you’veseen today. Tell everyone that the days of fear and uncertainty are over. Thedaysofendlessfightingareover.Tellthemthatyousawanewagebegin.”Acheerwentupfromthecrowd.Isawafewsoldiersmutteringtoeachother.
Evensomeof theGrisha lookedunnerved.Butmostof theirfaceswereeager,triumphant,shining.They’rehungry for this, I realized.Evenafter they’ve seenwhathecando,
even after watching their own people die. The Darkling wasn’t just offeringthemanendtowar,butanendtoweakness.Afteralltheselongyearsofterrorand suffering, he would give them something that had seemed permanentlybeyondtheirgrasp:victory.Anddespitetheirfear,theylovedhimforit.The Darkling signaled to Ivan, who stood behind him, waiting for orders.
“Bringmetheprisoner.”Ilookedupsharply,afreshboltoffearshootingthroughmeasMalwasled
throughthecrowdtotherailing,hishandsbound.“WereturntoRavka,”saidtheDarkling.“Butthetraitorstays.”BeforeIevenknewwhatwashappening, IvanshovedMalover theedgeof
theskiff.Thevolcrascreechedandbeattheirwings.Irantotherailing.Malwasonhissideinthesand,stillwithintheprotectivecircleofmylight.Hespatsandfromhismouthandpushedhimselfupwithhisboundhands.“Mal!”Icried.Without thinking, I turned on Ivan and punched him hard in the jaw. He
stumbled back against the railing, stunned, and then lunged at me. Good, Ithoughtashegrabbedme.Throwmeover,too.“Hold,”saidtheDarkling,hisvoicelikeice.Ivanscowled,hisfaceredwith
embarrassmentandanger.Herelaxedhisgripbutdidn’tletgo.Icouldsee theconfusionof thepeopleon theskiff.Theydidn’tknowwhat
thisshowwasabout,whytheDarklingwastroublingwithadeserterorwhyhismostvaluedGrishahadjustpunchedhissecond-in-command.Pull itback.ThecommandrangthroughmeandI lookedat theDarklingin
horror.“No!”Isaid.ButIcouldn’tstopit;thedomeoflightbegantocontract.Mal
lookedatmeasthecircleshrankclosertotheskiff,andifIvanhadn’thadholdofme, the lookof regret and love inhisblueeyeswouldhave sentme tomyknees.Ifoughtwitheverythinginsideme,everybitofstrengthIhad,everythingBaghrahad taughtme, and itwasnothing in the faceof theDarkling’spower
overme.Thelightinchedclosertotheskiff.Igrippedtherailingandcriedoutinrage,inmisery,thetearsstreamingdown
mycheeks.Malwasstandingattheedgeofthegleamingcirclenow.Icouldseethe shapes of the volcra in the swirling dark, feel the beat of theirwings.Hecouldhaverun,couldhavewept,couldhaveclungtothesidesoftheskiffuntilthe darkness took him, but he did none of those things.He stood unflinchingbeforethegatheringdark.OnlyIhadthepower tosavehim—andIwaspowerless tosavehim.In the
nextbreath, thedarkness swallowedhim. Iheardhimscream.Thememoryofthestagrearedupbeforeme,sovividthatforamomentthesnowygladeswaminmyvision,theimageofittransposedoverthebarrenlandscapeoftheFold.Ismelledthepines,feltthechillaironmycheeks.Irememberedthestag’sdark,liquideyes,theplumeofhisbreathinthecoldnight,themomentwhenIknewthatIwouldnottakehislife.Andfinally,Iunderstoodwhythestaghadcometomeeverynightinmydreams.I’dthoughtthestagwashauntingme,areminderofmyfailureandtheprice
myweaknesswouldexact.ButIwaswrong.Thestaghadbeenshowingmemystrength—notjustthepriceofmercybut
the power it bestowed. And mercy was something the Darkling would neverunderstand.Ihadsparedthestag’slife.Thepowerofthatlifebelongedtomeassurelyas
itbelongedtothemanwhohadtakenit.I gasped as understanding flooded throughme, and I felt that invisible grip
falter.Mypowerslidbackintomyhands.Oncemore,IstoodinBaghra’shut,callingthelightforthefirsttime,feelingitrushtowardme,takingpossessionofwhatwasrightfullymine.ThiswaswhatIhadbeenbornfor.Iwouldneverletanyoneseparatemefromitagain.Lightexplodedfromme,pureandunwavering,floodingover thedarkplace
whereMal had stood onlymoments before. The volcra that had hold of himshrieked and released its grip.Mal fell to his knees, blood streaming fromhiswoundsasmylightenvelopedhimanddrovethevolcrabackintothedarkness.TheDarklinglookedmomentarilyconfused.Henarrowedhiseyes,andIfelt
hiswilldescendonmeagain,feltthatinvisiblehandgrasping.Ishruggeditoff.Itwasnothing.Hewasnothing.“Whatisthis?”hehissed.Heraisedhishandsandskeinsofdarknessspooled
towardme,butwithaflickofmyhand,theyburnedawaylikemist.TheDarklingadvancedonme,hishandsomefeaturescontortedwithfury.My
mindwasworking frantically. I knewhewouldhave liked to killmewhere Istood,buthecouldn’t,notwith thevolcracirclingoutside the light thatonlyI
couldprovide.“Seizeher!”heshoutedtotheguardssurroundingus.Ivanreachedout.Ifelttheweightofthecollararoundmyneck,thesteadyrhythmofthestag’s
ancient heart beating in time with mine.My power rose up in me, solid andwithouthesitation,aswordinmyhand.I liftedmy arm and slashed.With an ear-splitting crack, one of the skiff ’s
mastssplitintwo.Peoplebleatedinpanicandscatteredasthebrokenmastfelltothedeck,thethickwoodgleamingwithburninglight.ShockregisteredontheDarkling’sface.“TheCut!”Ivangasped,takingastepbackward.“Stayback,”Iwarned.“Youaren’tamurderer,Alina,”saidtheDarkling.“IthinktheRavkansIjusthelpedyouslaughterwoulddisagree.”Panicwasspreadingthroughtheskiff.Theoprichniki lookedwary,but they
werefanningouttosurroundmejustthesame.“You saw what he did to those people!” I cried to the guards and Grisha
aroundme.“Isthatthefutureyouwant?Aworldofdarkness?Aworldremadeinhis image?” I saw their confusion, their angerand fear. “It’snot too late tostophim!Helpme,”Ibegged.“Please,helpme.”Butnoonemoved.SoldierandGrishaalikestoodfrozenon thedeck.They
werealltooafraid,afraidofhimandafraidofaworldwithouthisprotection.Theoprichnikiinchedcloser.Ihadtomakeachoice.MalandIwouldn’thave
anotherchance.Sobeit,Ithought.Iglancedovermyshoulder,hopingMalunderstood,andthenIdovefor the
sideoftheskiff.“Don’tletherreachtherailing!”theDarklingshouted.Theguardssurgedtowardme.AndIletthelightgoout.We were plunged into darkness. People wailed and, above us, I heard the
volcra screeching.My outstretched hands struck the railing. I ducked under itandhurledmyselfontothesand,rollingtomyfeetandrunningblindlytowardMalasIthrewthelightaheadofmeinanarc.Behindme,Iheardthesoundsofslaughterontheskiffasthevolcraattacked
andcloudsofGrishaflameexplodedinthedarkness.ButIcouldn’tstoptothinkofthepeopleI’dleftbehind.Myarcof light flashedoverMal,crouched in thesand.Thevolcra looming
overhimscreechedandwhirledawayinto thedark. Isprinted towardhimandpulledhimtohisfeet.A bullet pinged against the sand beside us and I plunged us into darkness
again.“Holdyour fire!” Iheard theDarkling shoutingover thechaoson the skiff.
“Weneedheralive!”I threw out another arc of light, scattering the volcra that were hovering
aroundus.“Youcan’trunfromme,Alina!”theDarklingshouted.I couldn’t let him come after us. I couldn’t take the chance that he might
survive.ButIhatedwhatIhadtodo.Theothersontheskiffhadfailedtocometomyaid,butdidtheydeservetobeabandonedtothevolcra?“Youcan’tleaveusallheretodie,Alina!”theDarklingshouted.“Ifyoutake
thisstep,youknowwhereitwilllead.”Ifeltahystericallaughburbleupinsideme.Iknew.Iknewitwouldmakeme
morelikehim.“Youbeggedmeforclemencyonce,”hecalledoverthedeadreachesofthe
Fold,overthehungryshrieksofthehorrorshehadmade.“Isthisyourideaofmercy?”Anotherbullethitthesand,onlyinchesfromus.Yes,Ithoughtasthepower
roseupinsideme,themercyyoutaughtme.I raisedmyhandandbrought itdown inablazingarc, slashing through the
air.Anearth-shakingcrackechoedthroughtheFoldasthesandskiffsplitinhalf.Rawscreamsfilledtheairandthevolcrashriekedintheirfrenzy.IgrabbedMal’sarmandthrewadomeoflightaroundus.Weran,stumbling
into thedarkness, and soon the soundsofbattle faded aswe left themonstersbehind.WEEMERGEDFROMTHEFOLDsomewheresouthofNovokribirskandtookourfirststepsinWestRavka.Theafternoonsunwasbright,themeadowgrassgreenandsweet,butwedidn’t stop tosavoranyof it.Wewere tired,hungry,andwounded,butourenemieswouldn’trest,andneithercouldwe.Wewalkeduntilwefoundcoverinanorchardandhidthereuntildark,afraid
of being spotted and remembered. The air was thick with the smell of appleblossoms,butthefruitwasfartoosmallandgreentoeat.Therewasabucketfulloffetidrainwatersittingbeneathourtree,andweused
ittowashtheworststainsfromMal’sbloodiedshirt.Hetriednottowinceashepulledthetornfabricoverhishead,buttherewasnodisguisingthedeepwoundsthevolcra’sclawshadleftacrossthesmoothskinofhisshoulderandback.Whennightcame,webeganourtrektothecoast.Briefly,I’dworriedthatwe
mightbelost.Buteveninastrangecountry,Malfoundtheway.Shortlybeforedawn,wecrestedahill and saw thebroad sweepofAlkhem
BayandtheglitteringlightsofOsKervobelowus.Weknewweshouldgetofftheroad.Itwouldsoonbebustlingwithtradesmenandtravelerswhoweresuretonoticeacut-uptrackerandagirlinablackkefta.Butwecouldn’tresistourfirstglimpseoftheTrueSea.The sun rose at ourbacks, pink light gleamingoff the city’s slender towers
thensplinteringgoldonthewatersofthebay.Isawthesprawloftheport,thegreat ships bobbing in the harbor, and beyond that blue, and blue, and blueagain. The sea seemed to go on forever, stretching into an impossibly distanthorizon.Ihadseenplentyofmaps.Iknewtherewaslandouttheresomewhere,beyond longweeks of travel andmiles of ocean. But I still had the dizzyingsensethatwewerestandingattheedgeoftheworld.Abreezecameinoffthewater,carryingthesmellofsaltanddamp,thefaintcriesofgulls.“There’sjustsomuchofit,”Isaidatlast.Malnodded.Thenheturnedtomeandsmiled.“Agoodplacetohide.”Hereachedoutandslidhishandintomyhair.Hepulledoneofthegoldpins
fromthetangledwaves.Ifeltacurlslidefreeandslitherdownmyneck.“Forclothes,”hesaidashedroppedthepinintohispocket.Adayago,Genyahadplacedthosegoldenpinsinmyhair.Iwouldneversee
heragain,neverseeanyofthem.Myhearttwisted.Ididn’tknowifGenyahadeverreallybeenmyfriend,butIwouldmissherjustthesame.Malleftmewaitingalittlewayofftheroad,hiddeninastandoftrees.We’d
agreeditwouldbesaferforhimtoenterOsKervobyhimself,butitwashardtowatchhimgo.He’d toldme to rest,butoncehewasgone, Icouldn’t seem tofindsleep.Icouldstillfeelpowerthrummingthroughmybody,theechoofwhatI’ddoneon theFold.Myhandstrayed to thecollaratmyneck. I’dnever feltanythinglikeit,andsomepartofmewantedtofeelitagain.And what about the people you left there? said a voice in my head that I
desperatelywanted to ignore.Ambassadors, soldiers,Grisha. I had as good asdoomedthemall,andIcouldn’tevenbesurethattheDarklingwasdead.Hadhebeen torn apart by volcra? Had the lost men and women of the Tula ValleyfinallyhadtheirrevengeontheBlackHeretic?Orwashe,atthisverymoment,hurtlingtowardmeoverthedeadreachesoftheUnsea,readytobringdownhisownkindofreckoning?Ishudderedandpaced,flinchingateverysound.Bylateafternoon,IwasconvincedthatMalhadbeenidentifiedandcaptured.
When I heard footsteps and sawhis familiar form emerge through the trees, Inearlysobbedwithrelief.
“Anytrouble?”Iaskedshakily,tryingtohidemynerves.“None,”hesaid.“I’veneverseenacitysocrowdedwithpeople.Nooneeven
gavemeasecondglance.”He wore a new shirt and an ill-fitting coat, and his arms were laden with
clothesforme:asacklikedressinaredsofadeditlookedalmostorangeandanubblymustard-colored coat.Hehanded them tome and then tactfully turnedhisbacksothatIcouldchange.I fumbled with the tiny black buttons of the kefta. There seemed to be a
thousandofthem.Whenthesilkfinallyslidovermyshouldersandpooledatmyfeet,Ifeltagreatburdenliftfromme.Thecoolspringairprickedmybareskinand,forthefirsttime,Idaredtohopethatwemightreallybefree.Iquashedthatthought.UntilIknewtheDarklingwasdead,Iwouldneverdrawaneasybreath.Ipulledontheroughwooldressandtheyellowcoat.“Didyoudeliberatelybuytheugliestclothesyoucouldfind?”Mal turned to look at me and couldn’t restrain a smile. “I bought the first
clothesIcouldfind,”hesaid.Thenhisgrinfaded.Hetouchedmycheeklightly,andwhenhespokeagain,hisvoicewaslowandraw.“Ineverwanttoseeyouinblackagain.”Iheldhisgaze.“Never,”Iwhispered.He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a long red scarf.Gently, he
wrappeditaroundmyneck,hidingMorozova’scollar.“There,”hesaid,smilingagain.“Perfect.”“WhatamIgoingtodowhensummercomes?”Ilaughed.“Bythenwe’llhavefoundawaytogetridofit.”“No!”Isaidsharply,surprisedbyhowmuchtheideaupsetme.Malrecoiled,
takenaback.“Wecan’tgetridofit,”Iexplained.“It’sRavka’sonlychancetobefreeoftheShadowFold.”Itwas the truth—just not all of it.Wedidneed the collar. Itwas insurance
againsttheDarkling’sstrengthandapromisethatsomedaywe’dreturntoRavkaandfindawaytosetthingsright.ButwhatIcouldn’ttellMalwasthatthecollarbelonged tome, that the stag’spower felt likeapartofmenow,and Iwasn’tsureIwantedtoletitgo.Malstudiedme,hisbrowfurrowed.IthoughtoftheDarkling’swarnings,of
thebleaklookI’dseeninhisfaceandinBaghra’s.“Alina…”Itriedforareassuringsmile.“We’llgetridofit,”Ipromised.“Assoonaswe
can.”Secondspassed.“Allright,”hesaidatlast,buthisexpressionwasstillwary.
Then,hepushedthecrumpledkeftawiththetoeofhisboot.“Whatshouldwedo
withthis?”Ilookeddownattheheapoftatteredsilkandfeltangerandshamerollover
me.“Burnit,”Isaid.Andwedid.Astheflamesconsumedthesilk,Malslowlypulledtherestofthegoldenpins
frommycurls,onebyone,untilmyhairtumbledaroundmyshoulders.Gently,hepushedmyhairasideandkissedmyneck, rightabove thecollar.Whenthetears came, he pulledme close and held me, until there was nothing left butashes.
AFTERTHEBOYANDTHEGIRLstandattherailingoftheship,atrueshipthatrollsandrocksontheheavingbackoftheTrueSea.“Goedmorgen, fentomen!” a deckhand shouts to them as he passes by, his
armsfullofrope.Alltheship’screwcallthemfentomen.ItistheKerchwordforghosts.When the girl asks the quartermaster why, he laughs and says it’s because
theyare sopale andbecauseof theway they stand silent at the ship’s railing,staringattheseaforhours,asifthey’veneverseenwaterbefore.Shesmilesanddoesnottellhimthetruth:thattheymustkeeptheireyesonthehorizon.Theyarewatchingforashipwithblacksails.Baghra’s Verloren was long gone, so they had hidden in the slums of Os
Kervountil theboy coulduse thegoldpins fromherhair tobookpassageonanother ship. The city buzzed with the horror of what had happenedin Novokribirsk. Some blamed the Darkling. Others blamed the Shu Han orFjerdans.AfewevenclaimeditwastherighteousworkofangrySaints.RumorsbegantoreachthemofstrangehappeningsinRavka.Theyheardthat
theApparathaddisappeared, that foreign troopsweremassingon theborders,thattheFirstandSecondArmieswerethreateningtogotowarwitheachother,that theSunSummonerwasdead.Theywaited tohearwordof theDarkling’sdeathontheFold,butitnevercame.Atnight,theboyandthegirlliecurledaroundeachotherinthebellyofthe
ship. He holds her tight when she wakes from another nightmare, her teethchattering,herearsringingwiththeterrifiedscreamsofthemenandwomensheleftbehindonthebrokenskiff,herlimbstremblingwithrememberedpower.“It’sallright,”hewhispersinthedarkness.“It’sallright.”Shewantstobelievehim,butshe’safraidtoclosehereyes.The wind creaks in the sails. The ship sighs around them. They are alone
again,astheywerewhentheywereyoung,hidingfromtheolderchildren,fromAnaKuya’stemper,fromthethingsthatseemedtomoveandslitherinthedark.Theyareorphansagain,withno truehomebuteachotherandwhatever life
theycanmaketogetherontheothersideofthesea.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks tomyagent andchampion, JoannaStampfel-Volpe. I feel luckyeveryday to have her onmy side, as well as the wonderful team at Nancy CoffeyLiterary: Nancy, Sara Kendall, Kathleen Ortiz, JaquelineMurphy, and PouyaShahbazian.Mysharp-eyedand intuitiveeditor,NoaWheeler,believed in this storyand
knewexactly how tomake it better.Many thanks to the remarkable people atHolt Children’s and Macmillan: Laura Godwin, Jean Feiwel, Rich Deas andAprilWardindesign,andKarenFrangipane,KathrynBhirud,andLizzyMasoninmarketingandpublicity.I’dalsoliketothankDanFarleyandJoyDallanegra-Sanger.ShadowandBonecouldnothavefoundabetterhome.My generous readers, Michelle Chihara and Josh Kamensky, lent me their
supergeniusbrainsandcheeredmeonwithrelentlessenthusiasmandpatience.ThanksalsotomybrotherShemforhisartandlong-distancehugs,Miriam“Sis”Pastan,HeatherJoyKamensky,PeterBibring,TraceyTaylor,theApocalypsies(especiallyLynneKelly,GretchenMcNeil,andSarahJ.Maas,whogavememyfirstreview),myfellowWOARTLeslieBlanco,andDanMoulder,whowaslosttotheriver.IblameGamynneGuilloteforfosteringmymegalomaniaandencouragingmy
loveofvillains,JoshMinutoforintroducingmetoepicfantasyandmakingmebelieve in heroes, and Rachel Tejada for way too many late-night movies.Hedwig Aerts, my fellow pirate queen, put up with long hours of late-nighttyping. Erdene Ukhaasai diligently translated Russian and Mongolian for meoverFacebook.MorganFaheykeptmeincocktails,conversation,anddeliciousfiction.DanBraunandMichaelPessahkeptthebeat.ManybookshelpedtoinspireRavkaandbringittolife,includingNatasha’s
Dance:ACulturalHistoryofRussia, byOrlandoFiges;Landof theFirebird:The Beauty of Old Russia, by Suzanne Massie; and Russian Folk Belief, byLindaJ.Ivanits.Andfinally,manythankstomyfamily:mymother,Judy,whosefaithnever
wavered,andwhowasfirstinlinetoorderherkefta;myfather,Harve,whowasmy rock, and whom I miss every day; and my grandfather Mel Seder, whotaughtmetolovepoetry,seekadventure,andthrowapunch.
HenryHolt®isaregisteredtrademarkofHenryHoltandCompany,LLC.Copyright©2012byLeighBardugoMap©2012byKeithThompsonAllrights
reserved.
HenryHoltandCompany,LLCPublisherssince1866
175FifthAvenue
NewYork,NewYork10010
eISBN9780805097108FirsteBookEdition:May2012
LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationDataBardugo,Leigh.Shadowandbone/LeighBardugo.—1sted.
p.cmSummary:OrphanedbytheBorderWars,AlinaStarkovistakenfromobscurityandheronlyfriend,Mal,tobecometheprotégéeofthemysteriousDarkling,
whotrainshertojointhemagicaleliteinthebeliefthatsheistheSunSummoner,whocandestroythemonstersoftheFold.
ISBN978-0-8050-9459-6(hc)[1.Fantasy.2.Magic—Fiction.3.Ability—Fiction.4.Monsters—Fiction.5.Orphans—Fiction.]I.Title.
PZ7.B25024Sh2012[Fic]—dc232011034012FirstEdition—2012/DesignedbyAprilWard