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