Shadow and Bone gt-1 Read online

  “What difference does it make what I wear?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  That wiped away his smile.

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

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

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

  He turned sharply and walked out the door.

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

  CHAPTER 15

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “What is this? Where are we going?”

  “Quiet.”

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

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

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

  “I’m too tired for lessons, Baghra.”

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

  I blinked. “What are you talking about?”

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

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

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

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

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

  I threw up my hands in exasperation. “Stop him from doing what?”

  “Using the Fold as a weapon.”

  “I see,” I said. “Does he also plan to build a summer home there?”

  Baghra seized hold of my arm, “This isn’t a joke!”

  There was a desperate, unfamiliar edge to her voice, and her grip on my arm was nearly painful. What was wrong with her?

  “Baghra, maybe we should go to the infirmary—”

  “I’m not sick and I’m not insane,” she spat. “You must listen to me.”

  “Then talk sense,” I said. “How could anyone use the Shadow Fold as a weapon?”

  She leaned into me, her fingers digging into my flesh. “By expanding it.”

  “Right,” I said slowly, trying to extricate myself from her grasp.

  “The land that the Unsea covers was once green and good, fertile and rich. Now it is dead and barren, crawling with abominations. The Darkling will push its boundaries north into Fjerda, south to the Shu Han. Those who do not bow to him will see their kingdoms turned to desolate wasteland and their people devoured by ravening volcra.”

  I gaped at her in horror, shocked by the images she had conjured. The old woman had clearly lost her mind.

  “Baghra,” I said gently, “I think you have some kind of fever.” Or you’ve gone completely senile. “Finding the stag is a good thing. It means I can help the Darkling destroy the Fold.”

  “No!” she cried, and it was almost a howl. “He never intended to destroy it. The Fold is his creation.”

  I sighed. Why had Baghra picked tonight to lose all touch with reality? “The Fold was created hundreds of years ago by the Black Heretic. The Darkling—”

  “He is the Black Heretic,” she said furiously, her face mere inches from mine.

  “Of course he is.” With some effort, I pried her fingers loose and stepped past her to the door. “I’m going to go find you a Healer and then I’m going to bed.”

  “Look at me, girl.”

  I took a deep breath and turned around, my patience at an end. I felt sorry for her, but this was just too much. “B aghra—”

  The words died on my lips.

  Darkness was pooling in Baghra’s palms, the skeins of inky blackness floating into the air.

  “You do not know him, Alina.” It was the first time she had ever used my name. “But I do.”

  I stood there watching dark spirals unfurl around her, trying to comprehend what I was seeing. Searching Baghra’s strange features, I saw the explanation clearly written there. I saw the ghost of what must have once been a beautiful woman, a beautiful woman who gave birth to a beautiful son.

  “You’re his m
other,” I whispered numbly.

  She nodded. “I am not mad. I am the only person who knows what he truly is, what he truly intends. And I am telling you that you must run.”

  The Darkling had claimed he didn’t know what Baghra’s power was. Had he lied to me?

  I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts, trying to make sense of what Baghra was telling me. “It’s not possible,” I said. “The Black Heretic lived hundreds of years ago.”

  “He has served countless kings, faked countless deaths, bided his time, waiting for you. Once he takes control of the Fold, no one will be able to stand against him.”

  A shiver went through me. “No,” I said. “He told me the Fold was a mistake. He called the Black Heretic evil.”

  “The Fold was no mistake.” Baghra dropped her hands and the swirling darkness around her melted away. “The only mistake was the volcra. He did not anticipate them, did not think to wonder what power of that magnitude might do to mere men.”

  My stomach turned. “The volcra were men?”

  “Oh yes. Generations ago. Farmers and their wives, their children. I warned him that there would be a price, but he didn’t listen. He was blinded by his hunger for power. Just as he is blinded now.”

  “You’re wrong,” I said, rubbing my arms, trying to shake the bone-deep cold stealing through me. “You’re lying.”

  “Only the volcra have kept the Darkling from using the Fold against his enemies. They are his punishment, a living testimony to his arrogance. But you will change all that. The monsters cannot abide sunlight. Once the Darkling has used your power to subdue the volcra, he will be able to enter the Fold safely. He will finally have what he wants. There will be no limit to his power.”

  I shook my head. “He wouldn’t do that. He would never do that.” I remembered the night he’d spoken to me by the fire in the broken-down barn, the shame and sorrow in his voice. I’ve spent my life searching for a way to make things right. You’re the first glimmer of hope I’ve had in a long time. “He said he wants to make Ravka whole again. He said that—”

  “Stop telling me what he said!” she snarled. “He is ancient. He’s had plenty of time to master lying to a lonely, naive girl.” She advanced on me, her black eyes burning. “Think, Alina. If Ravka is made whole, the Second Army will no longer be vital to its survival. The Darkling will be nothing but another servant of the King. Is that his dream of the future?”

  I was starting to shake. “Please stop.”

  “But with the Fold in his power, he will spread destruction before him. He will lay waste to the world, and he will never have to kneel to another King again.”

  “No.”

  “All because of you.”

  “No!” I shouted at her. “I wouldn’t do that! Even if what you’re saying is true, I would never help him do that.”

  “You won’t have a choice. The stag’s power belongs to whoever slays it.”

  “But he can’t use an amplifier,” I protested weakly.

  “He can use you,” Baghra said softly. “Morozova’s stag is no ordinary amplifier. He will hunt it. He will kill it. He will take its antlers, and once he places them around your neck, you will belong to him completely. You will be the most powerful Grisha who has ever lived, and all that newfound power will be his to command. You will be bound to him forever, and you will be powerless to resist.”

  It was the pity in her voice that undid me. Pity from the woman who’d never allowed me a moment’s weakness, a moment’s rest.

  My legs gave way, and I slid to the floor. I covered my head with my hands, trying to block out Baghra’s voice. But I couldn’t stop the Darkling’s words from echoing through my mind.

  We all serve someone.

  The King is a child.

  You and I are going to change the world.

  He had lied to me about Baghra. He had lied about the Black Heretic. Had he lied about the stag, too?

  I’m asking you to trust me.

  Baghra had begged him to give me another amplifier, but he’d insisted it had to be the stag’s antlers. A necklace—no, a collar—of bone. And when I’d pushed him, he’d kissed me and I’d forgotten all about the stag and amplifiers and everything else. I remembered his perfect face in the lamplight, his stunned expression, his rumpled hair.

  Had it all been deliberate? The kiss by the lakeshore, the flash of hurt that had played across his face that night in the barn, every human gesture, every whispered confidence, even what had happened between us tonight?

  I cringed at the thought. I could still feel his warm breath on my neck, hear his whisper in my ear. The problem with wanting is that it makes us weak.

  How right he was. I’d wanted so badly to belong somewhere, anywhere. I’d been so eager to please him, so proud to keep his secrets. But I’d never bothered to question what he might really want, what his true motives might be. I’d been too busy imagining myself by his side, the savior of Ravka, most treasured, most desired, like some kind of queen. I’d made it so easy for him.

  You and I are going to change the world. Just wait.

  Put on your pretty clothes and wait for the next kiss, the next kind word. Wait for the stag. Wait for the collar. Wait to be made into a murderer and a slave.

  He had warned me that the age of Grisha power was coming to an end. I should have known he would never let that happen.

  I took a shaky breath and tried to still my trembling. I thought of poor Alexei and all the others who had been left to die in the black reaches of the Fold. I thought of the ashen sands that had once been soft brown earth. I thought of the volcra, the first victims of the Black Heretic’s greed.

  Did you really think I was done with you?

  The Darkling wanted to use me. He wanted to take away the one thing that had ever really belonged to me, the only power I’d ever had.

  I got to my feet. I wasn’t going to make it easy for him anymore.

  “All right,” I said, reaching for the pile of clothes Baghra had brought me. “What do I do?”

  CHAPTER 16

  BAGHRA’S RELIEF was unmistakable, but she wasted no time. “You can slip out with the performers tonight. Head west. When you get to Os Kervo, find the Verloren. It’s a Kerch trader. Your passage has been paid.”

  My fingers froze on the buttons of my kefta. “You want me to go to West Ravka? To cross the Fold alone?”

  “I want you to disappear, girl. You’re strong enough to travel the Fold on your own now. It should be easy work. Why do you think I’ve spent so much time training you?”

  Another thing I hadn’t bothered to question. The Darkling had told Baghra to leave me be. I’d thought he was defending me, but maybe he’d just wanted to keep me weak.

  I shucked off the kefta and pulled a rough wool tunic over my head. “You knew what he intended all along. Why tell me now?” I asked her. “Why tonight?”

  “We’ve run out of time. I never truly believed he’d find Morozova’s herd. They’re elusive creatures, part of the oldest science, the making at the heart of the world. But I underestimated his men.”

  No, I thought as I yanked on leather breeches and boots. You underestimated Mal. Mal, who could hunt and track like no other. Mal who could make rabbits out of rocks. Mal who would find the stag and deliver me, deliver us all into the Darkling’s power without ever knowing it.

  Baghra passed me a thick brown traveling coat lined in fur, a heavy fur hat, and a broad belt. As I looped it around my waist, I found a money bag attached to it, along with my knife and a pouch that held my leather gloves, the mirrors tucked safely inside.

  She led me out a small door and handed me a leather traveling pack that I slung across my shoulders. She pointed across the grounds to where the lights from the Grand Palace flickered in the distance. I could hear music playing. With a start, I realized that the party was still in full swing. It seemed like years had passed since I’d left the ballroom, but it couldn’t have been much more than an hour.


  “Go to the hedge maze and turn left. Stay off the lighted paths. Some of the entertainers are already leaving. Find one of the departing wagons. They’re only searched on their way into the palace, so you should be safe.”

  “Should be?”

  Baghra ignored me. “When you get out of Os Alta, try to avoid the main roads.” She handed me a sealed envelope. “You’re a serf woodworker on your way to West Ravka to meet your new master. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” I nodded, my heart already starting to race in my chest. “Why are you helping me?” I asked suddenly. “Why would you betray your own son?”

  For a moment, she stood straight-backed and silent in the shadow of the Little Palace. Then she turned to me, and I took a startled step back, because I saw it, as clearly as if I had been standing at its edge: the abyss. Ceaseless, black, and yawning, the unending emptiness of a life lived too long.

  “All those years ago,” she said softly. “Before he’d ever dreamed of a Second Army, before he gave up his name and became the Darkling, he was just a brilliant, talented boy. I gave him his ambition. I gave him his pride. When the time came, I should have been the one to stop him.” She smiled then, a small smile of such aching sadness that it was hard to look at. “You think I don’t love my son,” she said. “But I do. It is because I love him that I will not let him put himself beyond redemption.”

  She glanced back at the Little Palace. “I will post a servant at your door tomorrow morning to claim that you are ill. I’ll try to buy you as much time as I can.”

  I bit my lip. “Tonight. You’ll have to post the servant tonight. The Darkling might… might come to my room.”

  I expected Baghra to laugh at me again, but instead she just shook her head and said softly, “Foolish girl.” Her contempt would have been easier to bear.

  Looking out at the grounds, I thought of what lay ahead of me. Was I really going to do this? I had to choke back my panic. “Thank you, Baghra,” I gulped. “For everything.”

  “Hmph,” she said. “Go now, girl. Be quick and take care.”

  I turned my back on her and ran.