Shadow and Bone: Chapters 4–7

“Just don’t get shot in the head,” Ivan added with a condescending grin.

Their red kefta were of the finest wool, embroidered lavishly in black and lined in black fur.

I looked back at the Grisha and tried to quash my irritation.

Embarrassed, I glanced at the oprichniki guards flanking me. One stared impassively forward.

Skeins of darkness shot from his clasped hands, snaking through the glen, finding the Fjerdan assassins, then slithering up their bodies to swathe their faces in seething shadow.

He was staring, frozen, at the Darkling, his terror palpable.

I stared listlessly at my horse’s twitching ears and tried not to think of my burning legs or the throbbing in my lower back.

I had the disquieting sensation that I was being studied.

After a moment, the Darkling said, “My great-great-great-grandfather was the Black Heretic, the Darkling who created the Shadow Fold. It was a mistake, an experiment born of his greed, maybe his evil. I don’t know. But every Darkling since then has tried to undo the damage he did to our country, and I’m no different.”

I rubbed my arms, trying to stave off the chill that had taken hold of me.

But even after the nightmares of the Fold, the image that stayed with me, that reared up in my dreams and chased me into waking, was of the bearded man’s severed body, swaying in the dappled sunlight before it toppled onto me.

Don't be a fool, I chastised myself.

Everywhere I looked, I saw fountains and plazas, verdant parks, and broad boulevards lined with perfect rows of trees.

The streets began to slope upward, and as we climbed higher, the houses became larger and more imposing, until finally we arrived at another wall and another set of gates, these wrought in gleaming gold and emblazoned with the King’s double eagle.

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 stories gleaming with row after row of shining windows, each ornamented extensively in what I suspected was real gold.

“Sit,” she commanded. I bridled at her tone, but I obeyed.

The bruise was completely gone. I pressed the skin tentatively, but there was no soreness.

I stared at the smooth marble perfection of Genya’s features as realization set in and, with it, a wave of indignation. “You want to change my face?”

Genya gave a plaintive sigh.

He had deeply tanned skin and seemed to exude good health.

Marie’s alabaster skin went suddenly blotchy, and several of the Summoners got to their feet.

They arranged themselves two abreast in a long line.

“When Genya’s abilities began to show themselves, I could have had her choose between becoming a Fabrikator or a Corporalnik. Instead, I cultivated her particular affinity and made a gift of her to the Queen.”

“A gift? So a Grisha is no better than a serf?”
“We all serve someone,” he said, and I was surprised by the harsh edge in his voice.

Everywhere I looked, I saw marble and gold, soaring walls of white and palest blue, gleaming chandeliers, liveried footmen, polished parquet floors laid out in elaborate geometric designs.

It wasn’t without beauty, but there was something exhausting about the extravagance of it all.

But as we walked by a tree of jade embellished with diamond leaves, I wasn’t so sure.

Many of the men wore military dress, black trousers and white coats laden with medals and ribbons.

He wore priest’s robes, but a gold double eagle was emblazoned on his chest.

The King was clapping the loudest, rising from his throne and applauding furiously, his expression exultant.

I thought of what Genya had said about the King’s attention and felt my skin crawl, but I didn’t dare pull my hand away. Soon, though, he had relinquished me and was clapping the Darkling on the back.

She steered me through the crowd and out a narrow side door into the hall, then into a jewel-like sitting room where the Queen reclined on a divan, a snuffling dog with a pushed-in face cradled on her lap.

The Queen was beautiful, with glossy blond hair in a perfect coiffure, her delicate features cold and lovely.

She was surrounded by ladies in exquisite gowns of petal pink and soft blue, their low necklines embroidered with gilded thread and tiny riverpearls.

“How did you fare with the Queen?” he asked.

“I just don’t want to be more conspicuous than I already am.”

I sat down by the window, staring out at the grounds. While I brooded, Genya rang for a servant, whom she sent to find a seamstress and order up a dinner tray.

“I’m sure you’ll want to eat with everyone else.”
“Not at all. Dinner for two then," she said imperiously, and the servant raced off.

I thought of the liveried servants standing at every doorway in the Grand Palace, all of them dressed in white and gold.

We were interrupted by a knock on the door, and the seamstress soon had us occupied with fittings and measurements. When she had finished and was gathering up her muslin and pins, Genya whispered, “It isn’t too late, you know. You could still—”