Page 35 of Shadow and Bone (The Grisha 1)
She handed me a folded piece of paper and bobbed a curtsy before scurrying back up the path. I recognized Genya’s handwriting.
Malyen Oretsev’s unit has been stationed at the Chernast outpost in northern Tsibeya for six weeks. He is listed as healthy. You can write to him care of his regiment.
The Kerch ambassadors are showering the Queen with gifts. Oysters and sandpipers packed in dry ice (vile) and almond candies! I’ll bring some by tonight. —G
Mal was in Tsibeya. He was safe, alive, far from the fighting, probably hunting winter game.
I should be grateful. I should be glad.
You can write to him care of his regiment. I’d been writing to him care of his regiment for months.
I thought of the last letter I’d sent.
Dear Mal, I’d written. I haven’t heard from you, so I assume you’ve met and married a volcra and that you’re living comfortably on the Shadow Fold, where you have neither light nor paper with which to write. Or, possibly, your new bride ate both your hands.
I’d filled the letter with descriptions of Botkin, the Queen’s snuffling dog, and the Grisha’s curious fascination with peasant customs. I’d told him about beautiful Genya and the pavilions by the lake and the marvelous glass dome in the library. I’d told him about mysterious Baghra and the orchids in the hothouse and the birds painted above my bed. But I hadn’t told him about Morozova’s stag or the fact that I was such a disaster as a Grisha or that I still missed him every single day.
When I was done, I’d hesitated and then hastily scrawled at the bottom, I don’t know if you got my other letters. This place is more beautiful than I can describe, but I would trade it all to spend an afternoon skipping stones with you at T
rivka’s pond. Please write.
But he had gotten my letters. What had he done with all of them? Had he even bothered to open them? Had he sighed with embarrassment when the fifth and the sixth and the seventh arrived?
I cringed. Please write, Mal. Please don’t forget me, Mal.
Pathetic, I thought, brushing angry tears away.
I stared out at the lake. It was starting to freeze. I thought of the creek that ran through Duke Keramsov’s estate. Every winter, Mal and I had waited for that creek to freeze so we could skate on it.
I crumpled Genya’s note in my fist. I didn’t want to think about Mal anymore. I wished I could blot out every memory of Keramzin. Mostly I wished I could run back to my room and have a good cry. But I couldn’t. I had to spend another pointless, miserable morning with Baghra.
I took my time making my way down the lake path, then stomped up the steps to Baghra’s hut and banged open the door.
As usual, she was sitting by the fire, warming her bony body by the flames. I plunked myself down in the chair opposite her and waited.
Baghra let out a short bark of laughter. “So you’re angry today, girl? What do you have to be angry about? Are you sick of waiting for your magical white deer?”
I crossed my arms and said nothing.
“Speak up, girl. ”
On any other day, I would have lied, told her I was fine, said that I was tired. But I guess I’d reached my breaking point, because I snapped. “I’m sick of all of this,” I said angrily. “I’m sick of eating rye and herring for breakfast. I’m sick of wearing this stupid kefta. I’m sick of being pummeled by Botkin, and I’m sick of you. ”
I thought she would be furious, but instead she just peered at me. With her head cocked to one side and her eyes glittering black in the firelight, she looked like a very mean sparrow.
“No,” she said slowly. “No. It’s not that. There’s something else. What is it? Is the poor little girl homesick?”
I snorted. “Homesick for what?”
“You tell me, girl. What’s so bad about your life here? New clothes, a soft bed, hot food at every meal, the chance to be the Darkling’s pet. ”
“I’m not his pet. ”
“But you want to be,” she jeered. “Don’t bother lying to me. You’re like all the rest. I saw the way you looked at him. ”
My cheeks burned, and I thought about hitting Bahgra over the head with her own stick.
“A thousand girls would sell their own mothers to be in your shoes, and yet here you are, miserable and sulking like a child. So tell me, girl. What is your sad little heart pining for?”
She was right, of course. I knew very well that I was homesick for my best friend. But I wasn’t about to tell her that.
I stood up, knocking my chair back with a clatter. “This is a waste of time. ”
“Is it? What else do you have to do with your days? Make maps? Fetch inks for some old cartographer?”
“There’s nothing wrong with being a mapmaker. ”
“Of course not. And there’s nothing wrong with being a lizard either. Unless you were born to be a hawk. ”
