MAL TOOK BOTH watches and let me sleep the night through. In the morning, he handed me a strip of dried meat and said simply, “Talk.”
I wasn’t sure where to begin, so I started with the worst of it. “The Darkling plans to use the Shadow Fold as a weapon.”
Mal didn’t even blink. “How?”
“He’ll expand it, spread it through Ravka and Fjerda and anywhere else he meets resistance. But he can’t do it without me to keep the volcra at bay. How much do you know about Morozova’s stag?”
“Not much. Just that it’s valuable.” He looked out over the valley. “And that it was intended for you. We were supposed to locate the herd and capture or corner the stag, but not harm it.”
I nodded and tried to explain the little bit I knew about the way amplifiers worked, how Ivan had to slay the Sherborn bear, and Marie had to kill the northern seal. “A Grisha has to earn an amplifier,” I finished. “The same thing is true for the stag, but it was never meant for me.”
“Let’s walk,” Mal said abruptly. “You can tell me the rest while we’re moving. I want to get us deeper into the mountains.”
He shoved the blanket into his pack and did his best to hide any signs that we’d ever made camp there. Then he led us up a steep and rocky trail. His bow was tied to his pack, but he kept his rifle at the ready.
My feet protested every step, but I followed and did my best to tell the rest of the story. I told him everything that Baghra had told me, about the origins of the Fold, about the collar that the Darkling intended to fashion so that he could use my power, and finally about the ship waiting in Os Kervo.
When I finished, Mal said, “You shouldn’t have listened to Baghra.” “How can you say that?” I demanded.
He turned suddenly, and I almost ran right into him. “What do you think will happen if you make it to the Fold? If you make it onto that ship? Do you think his power stops at the shore of the True Sea?”
“No, but—”
“It’s just a question of time before he finds you and slaps that collar around your neck.”
He turned on his heel and marched up the trail, leaving me standing, dazed, behind him. I made my legs move and hurried to catch up.
Maybe Baghra’s plan was a weak one, but what choice had either of us had? I remembered her fierce grip, the fear in her feverish eyes. She’d never expected the Darkling would really locate Morozova’s herd. The night of the
winter fete, she’d been genuinely panicked, but she’d tried to help me. If she’d been as ruthless as her son, she might have dispensed with risk and slit my throat instead. And maybe we all would have been better off, I thought dismally.
We walked in silence for a long time, moving up the mountain in slow switchbacks. In some spots, the trail was so narrow that I could do little more than cling to the mountainside, take tiny, shuffling steps, and hope the Saints were kind. Around noon, we descended the first slope and started up the second, which was, to my misery, even steeper and taller than the first.
I stared at the trail in front of me, putting one foot in front of the other, trying to shake my sense of hopelessness. The more I thought about it, the more I worried that Mal might be right. I couldn’t lose the feeling that I’d doomed both of us. The Darkling needed me alive, but what might he do to Mal? I’d been so focused on my own fear and my own future that I hadn’t given much thought to what Mal had done or what he’d chosen to give up. He could never go back to the army, to his friends, to being a decorated tracker. Worse, he was guilty of desertion, maybe of treason, and the penalty for that was death.
By dusk, we’d climbed high enough that the few scraggling trees had all but disappeared and winter frost still lay on the ground in places. We ate a meager dinner of hard cheese and stringy dried beef. Mal still didn’t think it was safe to build a fire, so we huddled beneath the blanket in silence, shivering against the howling wind, our shoulders barely touching.
I had almost dozed off when Mal suddenly said, “I’m taking us north tomorrow.”
My eyes flew open. “North?” “To Tsibeya.”
“You want to go after the stag?” I said in disbelief. “I know I can find it.”
“If the Darkling hasn’t found it already!”
“No,” he said, and I felt him shake his head. “He’s still out there. I can feel it.”
His words reminded me eerily of what the Darkling had said on the path to Baghra’s cottage. The stag was meant for you, Alina. I can feel it.
“And what if the Darkling finds us first?” I asked.
“You can’t spend the rest of your life running, Alina. You said the stag could make you powerful. Powerful enough to fight him?”
“Maybe.”
“Then we have to do it.”
“If he catches us, he’ll kill you.” “I know.”
“All Saints, Mal. Why did you come after me? What were you thinking?”
He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his short hair. “I didn’t think. We were halfway back to Tsibeya when we got orders to turn back around and hunt you. So that’s what I did. The hard part was leading the others away from you, especially after you basically announced yourself in Ryevost.”
“And now you’re a deserter.” “Yes.”
“Because of me.” “Yes.”
My throat ached with unshed tears, but I managed to keep my voice from shaking. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
“I’m not afraid to die, Alina,” he said in that cold, steady voice that seemed so alien to me. “But I’d like to give us a fighting chance. We have to go after the stag.”
I thought about what he said for a long while. At last, I whispered, “Okay.” All I got back was a snore. Mal was already asleep.
HE KEPT A BRUTAL PACE over the next few days but my pride, and maybe my fear, wouldn’t let me ask him to slow down. We saw an occasional goat skittering down the slopes above us and spent one night camped by a brilliant blue mountain lake, but those were rare breaks in the monotony of leaden rock and sullen sky.
Mal’s grim silences didn’t help. I wanted to know how he’d ended up tracking the stag for the Darkling and what his life had been like for the last five months, but my questions were met with terse one-word replies, and sometimes he just ignored me completely. When I was feeling particularly tired or hungry, I’d glare resentfully at his back and think about giving him a good whack over the head to get his attention. Most of the time, I just worried. I worried that Mal regretted his decision to come after me. I worried about the impossibility of finding the stag in the vastness of Tsibeya. But more than anything, I worried about what the Darkling might do to Mal if we were captured.
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 as we descended below the tree line and into a welcoming wood. After days of scrabbling over hard ground, it was a pleasure to walk on soft beds of pine needles, to hear the rustle of animals in the underbrush and breathe air dense with the smell of sap.
We camped by a burbling creek, and when Mal began gathering twigs for a fire, I nearly broke out in song. I summoned a tiny, concentrated shaft of light to start the flames, but Mal didn’t seem particularly impressed. He
disappeared into the woods and brought back a rabbit that we cleaned and roasted for dinner. With a bemused expression, he watched as I gobbled down my portion and then sighed, still hungry.
“You’d be a lot easier to feed if you hadn’t developed an appetite,” he groused, finishing his food and stretching out on his back, his head pillowed on his arm.
I ignored him. I was warm for the first time since I’d left the Little Palace, and nothing could spoil that bliss. Not even Mal’s snores.
WE NEEDED TO RESTOCK our supplies before we headed farther north into Tsibeya, but it took us another day and a half to find a hunting trail that led us to one of the villages that lay on the northwest side of the Petrazoi. The closer we got to civilization, the more nervous Mal got. He would disappear for long stretches, scouting ahead, keeping us moving parallel to the town’s main road. Early in the afternoon, he appeared wearing an ugly brown coat and a brown squirrel hat.
“Where did you find those?” I asked.
“I grabbed them from an unlocked house,” he said guiltily. “But I left a few coins. It’s eerie, though—the houses are all empty. I didn’t see anyone on the road either.”
“Maybe it’s Sunday,” I said. I had lost track of the days since I’d left the Little Palace. “They could all be at church.”
“Maybe,” he conceded. But he looked troubled as he buried his old army coat and hat beside a tree.
We were a half mile out from the village when we heard the drums. They got 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, and when he came down, some of the worry had gone from his face.
“There are people everywhere. There must be hundreds walking the road, and I can see the dom cart.”
“It’s butter week!” I exclaimed.
In the week before the spring fast, every nobleman was expected to ride out among his people in a dom cart, a cart laden with sweets and cheeses and baked breads. The parade would pass from the village church all the way back to the noble’s estate, where the public rooms would be thrown open to peasants and serfs, who were fed on tea and blini. The local girls wore red sarafan and flowers in their hair to celebrate the coming of spring.
Butter week had been the best time at the orphanage, when classes were cut short so that we could clean the house and help with the baking. Duke Keramsov had always timed his return from Os Alta to coincide with it. We
would all ride out in the dom cart, and he would stop at every farm to drink kvas and pass out cakes and candies. Sitting beside the Duke, waving to the cheering villagers, we’d felt almost like nobility ourselves.
“Can we go look, Mal?” I asked eagerly.
He frowned, and I knew his caution was wrestling with some of our happiest memories from Keramzin. Then a little smile appeared on his lips. “All right. There are certainly enough people for us to blend in.”
We joined the crowds parading down the road, slipping in with the fiddlers and drummers, the little girls clutching branches tied with bright ribbons. As we passed through the village’s main street, shopkeepers stood in their doorways ringing bells and clapping their hands with the musicians. Mal stopped to buy furs and stock up on supplies, but when I saw him shove a wedge of hard cheese into his pack, I stuck out my tongue. If I never saw another piece of hard cheese again, it would be too soon.
Before Mal could tell me not to, I darted into the crowd, snaking between people trailing behind the dom cart where a red-cheeked man sat with a bottle of kvas in one chubby hand as he swayed from side to side, singing and tossing bread to the peasants crowding around the cart. I reached out and snatched a warm golden roll.
“For you, pretty girl!” the man shouted, practically toppling over.
The sweet roll smelled divine, and I thanked him, prancing my way back to Mal and feeling quite pleased with myself.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me down a muddy walkway between two houses. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Nobody saw me. He just thought I was another peasant girl.” “We can’t take risks like that.”
“So you don’t want a bite?”
He hesitated. “I didn’t say that.”
“I was going to give you a bite, but since you don’t want one, I’ll just have to eat the whole thing myself.”
Mal grabbed for the roll, but I danced out of reach, dodging left and right, away from his hands. I could see his surprise, and I loved it. I wasn’t the same clumsy girl he remembered.
“You are a brat,” he growled and took another swipe. “Ah, but I’m a brat with a sweet roll.”
I don’t know which of us heard it first, but we both stood up straight, suddenly aware that we had company. Two men had snuck up right behind us in the empty alleyway. Before Mal could even turn around, one of the men was holding a dirty-looking knife to his throat, and the other had clapped his filthy hand over my mouth.
“Quiet now,” rasped the man with the knife. “Or I’ll open both your throats.” He had greasy hair and a comically long face.
I eyed the blade at Mal’s neck and nodded slightly. The other man’s hand slid away from my mouth, but he kept a firm grip on my arm.
“Coin,” said Longface.
“You’re robbing us?” I burst out.
“That’s right,” hissed the man holding me, giving me a shake.
I couldn’t help it. I was so relieved and surprised that we weren’t being captured that a little giggle bubbled out of me.
The thieves and Mal both looked at me like I was crazy. “A bit simple, is she?” asked the man holding me.
“Yeah,” Mal said, glaring at me with eyes that clearly said shut up. “A bit.” “Money,” said Longface. “Now.”
Mal reached carefully into his coat and pulled out his money bag, handing it over to Longface, who grunted and frowned at its light weight.
“That it? What’s in the pack?”
“Not much, some furs and food,” Mal replied. “Show me.”
Slowly, Mal unshouldered his pack and opened the top, giving the thieves a view of the contents. His rifle, wrapped in a wool blanket, was clearly visible at the top.
“Ah,” said Longface. “Now, that’s a nice rifle. Isn’t it, Lev?”
The man holding me kept one thick hand tight around my wrist and fished out the rifle with the other. “Real nice,” he grunted. “And the pack looks like military issue.” My heart sank.
“So?” asked Longface.
“So Rikov says a soldier from the outpost at Chernast has gone missing. Word is he went south and never came back. Could be we caught ourselves a deserter.”
Longface studied Mal speculatively, and I knew he was already thinking of the reward that awaited him. He had no idea.
“What do you say, boy? You wouldn’t be on the run, would you?” “The pack belongs to my brother,” Mal said easily.
“Maybe. And maybe we’ll let the captain at Chernast take a look at it and take a look at you.”
Mal shrugged. “Good. I’d be happy to let him know you tried to rob us.” Lev didn’t seem to like that idea. “Let’s just take the money and go.” “Naw,” said Longface, still squinting at Mal. “He’s gone deserter or he took
that off some other grunt. Either way, the captain’ll pay good money to hear about it.”
“What about her?” Lev gave me another shake.
“She can’t be up to anything good if she’s traveling with this lot. Could be she’s done a runner, too. And if not, she’ll be good for a bit of fun. Won’t you, sweet?”
“Don’t touch her,” spat Mal, stepping forward.
With one swift movement, Longface brought the handle of his knife down hard on Mal’s head. Mal stumbled, one knee buckling, blood pouring from his temple.
“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 the mirror slid between my fingers.
Longface loomed over Mal, the knife in his hand. “Could be the captain’ll pay whether he’s alive or dead.”
He lunged. I twisted the mirror, and bright light shot into Longface’s eyes. He hesitated, throwing his hand up to block the glare. Mal seized his chance. He leapt to his feet and grabbed hold of Longface, throwing him hard against the wall.
Lev loosened his grip on me to raise Mal’s rifle, but I whirled on him, bringing the mirror up, blinding him.
“What the—” he grunted, squinting. Before he could recover, I slammed a knee into his groin. As he bent double, I put my hands on the back of his head and brought my knee up hard. There was a disgusting crunch, and I stepped backward as he fell to the ground clutching his nose, blood spurting between his fingers.
“I did it!” I exclaimed. Oh, if only Botkin could see me now.
“Come on!” Mal said, distracting me from my jubilation. I turned and saw Longface lying unconscious in the dirt.
Mal snatched up his pack and ran toward the opposite end of the alley, away from the noise of the parade. Lev was moaning, but he still had a grip on the rifle. I gave him a good hard kick in the gut and sprinted after Mal.
We darted past empty shops and houses and back across the muddy main road, then plunged into the woods and the safety of the trees. Mal set a furious pace, leading us through a little creek and then over a ridge, on and on for what felt like miles. Personally, I didn’t think the thieves were in any condition to come chasing after us, but I was also too out of breath to argue the point. Finally, Mal slowed and stopped, bending double, hands on knees, his breath coming in gasps.
I collapsed to the ground, my heart thudding against my ribs, and flopped onto my back. I lay there with the blood rushing in my ears, drinking in the afternoon light that slanted through the tops of the trees and trying to catch my breath. When I felt like I could talk, I pushed myself up on my elbows and said, “Are you okay?”
Gingerly, Mal touched the wound on his head. It had stopped bleeding, but he winced. “Fine.”
“Do you think they’ll say anything?”
“Of course. They’ll see if they can get some coin for the information.”
“Saints,” I swore.
“There’s nothing we can do about it now.” Then, to my surprise, he cracked a smile. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”
“Grisha training,” I whispered dramatically. “Ancient secrets of the groin kick.”
“Whatever works.”
I laughed. “That’s what Botkin always says. ‘Not showy, just to make pain,’” I said, imitating the mercenary’s heavy accent.
“Smart guy.”
“The Darkling doesn’t think Grisha should rely on their powers for defense.” I was instantly sorry I’d said it. Mal’s smile disappeared.
“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’ll know we’re hunting the stag.” He sat down heavily beside me, his face grim. We’d had very few advantages in this fight, and now we’d lost one of them.
“I shouldn’t have taken us into town,” he said bleakly.
I gave him a light punch on the arm. “We couldn’t know someone was going to try to rob us. I mean, whose luck is actually that bad?”
“It was a stupid risk. I should know better.” He picked up a twig from the forest floor and threw it away angrily.
“I still have the roll,” I offered lamely, pulling the squashed, lint-covered lump from my pocket. It had been baked into the shape of a bird to celebrate the spring flocks, but now it looked more like a rolled-up sock.
Mal dropped his head, covering it with his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. His shoulders began to shake, and for a horrible moment, I thought he might be crying, but then I realized he was laughing silently. His whole body rocked, his breath coming in hitches, tears starting to leak from his eyes. “That better be one hell of a roll,” he gasped.
I stared at him for a second, afraid he might have gone completely mad, and then I started laughing, too. I covered my mouth to stop the sound, which only made me laugh harder. It was as if all the tension and the fear of the last few days had just gotten to be too much.
Mal put a finger to his lips in an exaggerated “Shhhh!” and I collapsed in a fresh wave of giggles.
“I think you broke that guy’s nose,” he snorted. “That’s not nice. I’m not nice.”
“No, you’re not,” he agreed, and then we were laughing again.
“Do you remember when that farmer’s son broke your nose at Keramzin?” I gasped between fits. “And you didn’t tell anyone, and you bled all over Ana Kuya’s favorite tablecloth?”
“You are making that up.” “I am not!”
“Yes you are! You break noses, and you lie.”
We laughed until we couldn’t breathe, until our sides ached and our heads spun with it. I couldn’t remember the last time I had laughed like that.
We did actually eat the roll. It was dusted with sugar and tasted just like the sweet rolls we’d eaten as children. When we finished, Mal said, “That was a really good roll,” and we burst into another fit of laughter.
Eventually, he sighed and stood, offering a hand to help me up.
We walked until dusk and then made camp by the ruins of a cottage. Given our close call, he didn’t think we should risk a fire that night, so we ate from the supplies we’d picked up in the village. As we chewed on dried beef and that miserable hard cheese, he asked about Botkin and the other teachers at the Little Palace. I didn’t realize how much I’d been longing to share my stories with him until I started talking. He didn’t laugh as easily as he once had. But when he did, some of that grim coolness lifted from him and he seemed a bit more like the Mal I used to know. It gave me hope that he might not be lost forever.
When it was time to turn in, Mal walked the perimeter of the camp, making sure we were safe, while I repacked the food. There was plenty of room in the pack now that we’d lost Mal’s rifle and wool blanket. I was just grateful that he still had his bow.
I bunched the squirrel-fur hat up under my head and left the pack for Mal to use as a pillow. Then I pulled my coat close around me and huddled beneath the new furs. I was nodding off when I heard Mal return and settle himself beside me, his back pressed comfortably against mine.
As I drifted into sleep, I felt like I could still taste the sugar from that sweet roll on my tongue, feel the pleasure of laughter gusting through me. We’d been robbed. We’d almost been killed. We were being hunted by the most powerful man in Ravka. But we were friends again, and sleep came more easily than it had in a long time.
At some point during the night, I woke to Mal’s snoring. I jabbed him in the back with my elbow. He rolled onto his side, muttered something in his sleep, and threw his arm over me. A minute later he started snoring again, but this time I didn’t wake him.
