THAT VERY AFTERNOON, I joined the other Etherealki by the lake and called my power for them for the first time. I sent a sheet of light shimmering out over the water, letting it roll over the waves that Ivo had summoned. I didn’t have the others’ control yet, but I managed. In fact, it was easy.
Suddenly, lots of things seemed easy. I wasn’t tired all the time or winded when I climbed the stairs. I slept deeply and dreamlessly every night and woke refreshed. Food was a revelation: bowls of porridge heaped with sugar and cream, plates of skate fried in butter, fat plums and hothouse peaches, the clear and bitter taste of kvas. It was as if that moment in Baghra’s cottage was my first full breath and I had awakened into a new life.
Since none of the other Grisha knew that I’d had so much trouble summoning, they were all a little baffled by the change in me. I didn’t offer any explanations, and Genya let me in on some of the more hilarious rumors.
“Marie and Ivo were speculating that the Fjerdans had infected you with some disease.”
“I thought Grisha didn’t get sick.”
“Exactly!” she said. “That’s why it was so very sinister. But apparently the Darkling cured you by feeding you his own blood and an extract of diamonds.”
“That’s disgusting,” I said, laughing.
“Oh that’s nothing. Zoya actually tried to put it around that you were possessed.”
I laughed even harder.
My lessons with Baghra were still difficult and I never actually enjoyed them. But I did relish any chance to use my power, and I felt like I was making progress. At first, I’d been frightened every time I got ready to call the light, afraid that it just wouldn’t be there and I’d be back to where I started.
“It isn’t something separate from you,” Baghra snapped. “It isn’t an animal that shies away from you or chooses whether or not to come when you call it. Do you ask your heart to beat or your lungs to breathe? Your power serves you because that is its purpose, because it cannot help but serve you.”
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 enough without guessing at the secrets of a bitter old woman.
She drove me hard, pushing me to expand my reach and my control. She taught me to focus my power in short bright bursts, piercing beams that
burned with heat, and long sustained cascades. She forced me to call the light again, and again, and again, until I barely had to reach for it. She made me trek to her cottage at night to practice when it was nearly impossible for me to find any light to summon. When I finally, proudly produced a weak thread of sunlight, she slammed her cane down on the ground and shouted, “Not good enough!”
“I’m doing my best,” I muttered in exasperation.
“Pah!” she spat. “Do you think the world cares if you do your best? Do it again and do it right.”
My lessons with Botkin were the real surprise. As a little girl, I had run and played with Mal in the woods and fields, but I’d never been able to keep up with him. I’d always been too sickly and frail, too easy to tire. But as I ate and slept regularly for the first time in my life, all of that changed. Botkin put me through brutal combat drills and seemingly endless runs through the palace grounds, but I found myself enjoying some of the challenges. I liked learning what this new, stronger body could do.
I doubted I’d ever be able to outspar the old mercenary, but the Fabrikators had helped even the field. They’d produced a pair of fingerless leather gloves for me that were lined with little mirrors—the mysterious glass discs David had shown me on that first day in the workshops. With a flick of the wrist, I could slide a mirror between my fingers and, with Botkin’s permission, I practiced bouncing flashes of light off them and into my opponent’s eyes. I worked with them until they felt almost natural in my hands, like extensions of my own fingers.
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 his weathered features.
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 it with a hard cuff across my jaw).
“Here,” he said, handing me a heavy knife in a steel and leather sheath. “Always keep with you.”
With a jolt, I saw that it was no ordinary knife. It was Grisha steel. “Thank you,” I managed.
“Not ‘thank you,’” he said. He tapped the ugly scar at his throat. “Steel is earned.”
Winter looked different to me than it ever had before. I spent sunny afternoons skating on the lake or sledding on the palace grounds with the other Summoners. Snowy evenings were spent in the domed hall, gathered around the tile ovens, drinking kvas and gorging ourselves on sweets. We celebrated the feast of Sankt Nikolai with huge bowls of dumpling soup and kutya made with honey and poppy seeds. Some of the other Grisha left the
palace to go on sleigh rides and dogsledding excursions in the snow-blanketed countryside surrounding Os Alta, but for security reasons, I was still confined to the palace grounds.
I didn’t mind. I felt more comfortable with the Summoners now, but I doubted I’d ever really enjoy being around Marie and Nadia. I was much happier sitting in my room with Genya, drinking tea and gossiping by the fire. I loved to hear all the court gossip, and even better were the tales of the opulent parties at the Grand Palace. My favorite was the story of the massive pie that a count had presented to the King, and the dwarf who had burst out of it to hand the tsaritsa a bouquet of forget-me-nots.
At the end of the season, the King and the Queen would host a final winter fete that all the Grisha would attend. Genya claimed it would be the most lavish party of all. Every noble family and high court officer would be there, along with military heroes, foreign dignitaries, and the tsarevitch, the King’s eldest son and heir to the throne. I’d once seen the Crown Prince riding around the palace grounds on a white gelding that was roughly the size of a house. He was almost handsome, but he had the King’s weak chin and eyes so heavy-lidded that it was hard to tell if he was tired or just supremely bored.
“Probably drunk,” said Genya, stirring her tea. “He devotes all his time to hunting, horses, and imbibing. Drives the Queen mad.”
“Well, Ravka is at war. He should probably be more concerned with matters of state.”
“Oh she doesn’t care about that. She just wants him to find a bride instead of gallivanting around the world spending mounds of gold buying up ponies.” “What about the other one?” I asked. I knew the King and Queen had a
younger son, but I’d never actually seen him. “Sobachka?”
“You can’t call a royal prince ‘puppy,’” I laughed.
“That’s what everyone calls him.” She lowered her voice. “And there are rumors that he isn’t strictly royal.”
I nearly choked on my tea. “No!”
“Only the Queen knows for sure. He’s a bit of a black sheep anyway. He insisted on doing his military service in the infantry, then he apprenticed to a gunsmith.”
“And he’s never at court?”
“Not in years. I think he’s off studying shipbuilding or something equally dull. He’d probably get along well with David,” she added sourly.
“What do you two talk about, anyway?” I asked curiously. I still didn’t quite understand Genya’s fascination with the Fabrikator.
She sighed. “The usual. Life. Love. The melting point of iron ore.” She wound a curl of bright red hair around her finger, and her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “He’s actually quite funny when he lets himself be.”
“Really?”
Genya shrugged. “I think so.”
I patted her hand reassuringly. “He’ll come around. He’s just shy.”
“Maybe I should lie down on a table in the workroom and wait to see if he welds something to me.”
“I think that’s the way most great love stories begin.”
She laughed, and I felt a sudden niggle of guilt. Genya talked so easily about David, but I’d never confided in her about Mal.
That’s because there’s nothing to confide, I reminded myself harshly and added more sugar to my tea.
ONE QUIET AFTERNOON when the other Grisha had ventured out of Os Alta, Genya convinced me to sneak into the Grand Palace, and we spent hours looking through the clothes and shoes in the Queen’s dressing room. Genya insisted that I try on a pale pink silk gown studded with riverpearls, and when she laced me up in it and stuck me in front of one of the giant golden mirrors, I had to look twice.
I’d learned to avoid mirrors. They never seemed to show me what I wanted to see. But the girl standing next to Genya in the glass was a stranger. She had rosy cheeks and shiny hair and … a shape. I could have stared at her for hours. I suddenly wished good old Mikhael could see me. “Sticks” indeed, I thought smugly.
Genya caught my eye in the mirror and grinned.
“Is this why you dragged me in here?” I asked suspiciously. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I just thought you might want to get a good look at yourself, that’s all.”
I swallowed the embarrassing lump in my throat and gave her an impulsive hug. “Thanks,” I whispered. Then I gave her a little shove. “Now get out of the way. It’s impossible to feel pretty with you standing next to me.”
We spent the rest of the afternoon trying on dresses and goggling at ourselves in the mirror—two activities I never would have expected to enjoy. We lost track of time, and Genya had to help me scramble out of an aquamarine ball gown and back into my kefta so that I could hurry down to the lake for my evening lesson with Baghra. I ran all the way but I was still late, and she was furious.
The evening sessions with Baghra were always the hardest, but she was particularly tough on me that night.
“Control!” she snapped as the weak wave of sunlight that I’d summoned flickered on the lakeshore. “Where is your focus?”
At dinner, I thought but didn’t say. Genya and I had gotten so caught up in the distractions of the Queen’s wardrobe that we’d forgotten to eat, and my stomach was growling.
I centered myself and the light bloomed brighter, reaching out over the frozen lake.
“Better,” she said. “Let the light do the work for you. Like calls to like.”
I tried to relax and let the light call to itself. To my surprise, it surged across the ice, illuminating the little island in the middle of the lake.
“More!” Baghra demanded. “What’s stopping you?”
I dug deeper and the circle of light swelled past the island, bathing the whole lake and the school on the opposite shore in gleaming sunlight. Though there was snow on the ground, the air around us shone bright and heavy with summer heat. My body thrummed with power. It was exhilarating, but I could feel myself tiring, bumping up against the limits of my abilities.
“More!” Baghra shouted. “I can’t!” I protested.
“More!” she said again, and there was an urgency in her voice that sounded an alarm inside of me and caused my focus to falter. The light wavered and slipped from my grasp. I scrambled for it but it rushed away from me, plunging the school, then the island, and then the lakeshore back into darkness.
“It’s not enough.” His voice made me jump. The Darkling emerged from the shadows onto the lamplit path.
“It might be,” said Baghra. “You see how strong she is. I wasn’t even helping her. Give her an amplifier and see what she can do.”
The Darkling shook his head. “She’ll have the stag.” Baghra scowled. “You’re a fool.”
“I’ve been called worse. Often by you.” “This is folly. You must reconsider.”
The Darkling’s face went cold. “I must? You don’t give me orders anymore, old woman. I know what has to be done.”
“I might surprise you,” I piped up. The Darkling and Baghra turned to stare at me. It was almost like they’d forgotten I was there. “Baghra’s right. I know I can do better. I can work harder.”
“You’ve been on the Shadow Fold, Alina. You know what we’re up against.”
I felt suddenly stubborn. “I know that I’m getting stronger every day. If you give me a chance—”
Again, the Darkling shook his head. “I can’t take that kind of a chance. Not with Ravka’s future at stake.”
“I understand,” I said numbly. “Do you?”
“Yes,” I said. “Without Morozova’s stag, I’m pretty much useless.” “Ah, so she’s not as stupid as she looks,” cackled Baghra.
“Leave us,” said the Darkling with surprising ferocity. “We’ll all suffer for your pride, boy.”
“I won’t ask you again.”
Baghra gave him a disgusted glower, then turned on her heel and marched back up the path to her cottage.
When her door slammed shut, the Darkling regarded me in the lamplight. “You look well,” he said.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, my eyes sliding away. Maybe Genya could teach me to take a compliment.
“If you’re returning to the Little Palace, I’ll walk with you,” he said.
For a while, we strolled in silence along the lakeshore, past the deserted stone pavilions. Across the ice, I could see the lights of the school.
Finally, I had to ask. “Has there been any word? Of the stag?”
He pressed his lips together. “No,” he said. “My men think that the herd may have crossed into Fjerda.”
“Oh,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment.
He stopped abruptly. “I don’t think you’re useless, Alina.”
“I know,” I said to the tops of my boots. “Not useless. Just not exactly useful.”
“No Grisha is powerful enough to face the Fold. Not even me.” “I get it.”
“But you don’t like it.”
“Should I? If I can’t help you destroy the Fold, then what exactly am I good for? Midnight picnics? Keeping your feet warm in the winter?”
His mouth quirked up in a half smile. “Midnight picnics?”
I couldn’t smile back. “Botkin told me that Grisha steel is earned. It’s not that I’m not grateful for all of this. I am, truly. But I don’t feel like I’ve earned any of it.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry, Alina. I asked you to trust me and I haven’t delivered.”
He looked so weary that I felt instantly contrite. “It’s not that—”
“It’s true.” He took another deep breath and ran a hand over his neck. “Maybe Baghra’s right, as much as I hate to admit it.”
I cocked my head to one side. “You never seem fazed by anything. Why do you let her bother you so much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I think she’s good for you.” He started in surprise. “Why?”
“Because she’s the only one around here who isn’t scared of you or constantly trying to impress you.”
“Are you trying to impress me?” “Of course,” I laughed.
“Do you always say exactly what you’re thinking?” “Not even half the time.”
Then he laughed too, and I remembered how much I liked the sound. “Then I guess I should count myself lucky,” he said.
“What’s Baghra’s power, anyway?” I asked, the thought occurring to me for the first time. She was an amplifier like the Darkling, but he had his own power, too.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I think she was a Tidemaker. No one around here is old enough to remember.” He looked down at me. The cold air had put a flush in his cheeks, and the lamplight shone in his gray eyes. “Alina, if I tell you that I still believe we can find the stag, would you think I’m mad?”
“Why would you care what I think?”
He looked genuinely baffled. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I do.” And then he kissed me.
It happened so suddenly that I barely had time to react. One moment, I was staring into his slate-colored eyes, and the next, his lips were pressed to mine. I felt that familiar sense of surety melt through me as my body sang with sudden heat and my heart jumped into a skittery dance. Then, just as suddenly, he stepped back. He looked as surprised as I felt.
“I didn’t mean … ,” he said.
At that moment, we heard footsteps and Ivan rounded the corner. He bowed to the Darkling and then to me, but I caught a little smirk playing on his lips.
“The Apparat is getting impatient,” he said.
“One of his less appealing traits,” replied the Darkling smoothly. The look of surprise had vanished from his face. He bowed to me, completely composed, and without another glance, he and Ivan left me standing in the snow.
I stood there for a long moment and then made my way back to the Little Palace in a daze. What just happened? I touched my fingers to my lips. Did the Darkling really just kiss me? I avoided the domed hall and went straight to my room, but once I was there, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I rang for a dinner tray and then sat picking at my food. I was desperate to talk to Genya, but she slept at the Grand Palace every night, and I didn’t have the courage to go try to find her. Finally, I gave up and decided to go down to the domed hall after all.
Marie and Nadia had returned from their sleighing excursion and were sitting by the fire, drinking tea. I was shocked to see Sergei sitting next to Marie, his arm looped through hers. Maybe there’s something in the air, I thought in amazement.
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. My thoughts kept wandering back to the feel of the Darkling’s lips on mine and the way he’d looked standing in the lamplight, his breath a white cloud in the cold night air, that stunned expression on his face.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, so when Marie suggested going to the banya, I decided to join them. Ana Kuya had always told us that the banya was barbaric, an excuse for peasants to drink kvas and engage in wanton behavior. But I was beginning to realize that old Ana had been a bit of a snob. I sat in the steam for as long as I could bear the heat and then plunged, squealing, into the snow with the others, before running back inside to do it all over again. I stayed until long past midnight, laughing and gasping, trying
to clear my head.
When I stumbled back to my room, I fell into bed, my skin damp and pink, my hair in wet tangles. I felt flushed and boneless, but my mind was still whirring. I focused and summoned a warm wash of sunlight, making it dance in slivers across the painted ceiling, letting the sure rush of power soothe my nerves. Then the memory of the Darkling’s kiss blew through me and rattled my concentration, scattering my thoughts and making my heart swoop and dive like a bird borne aloft by uncertain currents.
The light shattered, leaving me in darkness.
