Shadow and Bone (23 page)

I bit my lip. “Tonight. You’ll have to post the servant tonight. The Darkling might … might come to my room.”

I expected Baghra to laugh at me again, but instead she just shook her head and said softly, “Foolish girl.” Her contempt would have been easier to bear.

Looking out at the grounds, I thought of what lay ahead of me. Was I really going to do this? I had to choke back my panic. “Thank you, Baghra,” I gulped. “For everything.”

“Hmph,” she said. “Go now, girl. Be quick and take care.”

I turned my back on her and ran.

Endless days of training with Botkin meant I knew the grounds well. I was grateful for every sweaty hour as I jogged over lawns and between trees. Baghra sent thin coils of blackness to either side of me, cloaking me in darkness as I drew closer to the back of the Grand Palace. Were Marie and Nadia still dancing inside? Was Genya wondering where I’d gone? I shoved those thoughts from my mind. I was afraid to think too hard about what I was doing, about everything I was leaving behind.

A theatrical troupe was loading up a wagon with props and racks of costumes, their driver already gripping the reins and shouting at them to hurry things along. One of them climbed up beside him, and the others crowded into a little pony cart that departed with a jingle of bells. I darted into the back of the wagon and wiggled my way between pieces of scenery, covering myself with a burlap drop cloth.

As we rumbled down the long gravel drive and through the palace gates, I held my breath. I was sure that, at any moment, someone would raise the alarm and we would be stopped. I would be pulled from the back of the wagon in disgrace. But then the wheels jounced forward and we were rattling over the cobblestone streets of Os Alta.

I tried to remember the route that I had taken with the Darkling when he had brought me through the city those many months ago, but I’d been so tired and overwhelmed that my memory was a useless blur of mansions and misty streets. I couldn’t see much from my hiding place, and I didn’t dare peek out. With my luck, someone would be passing at just that instant and catch sight of me.

My only hope was to put as much distance as possible between myself and the palace before my absence was noticed. I didn’t know how long Baghra would be able to stall, and I willed the wagon’s driver to move faster. When we crossed over the bridge and into the market town, I allowed myself a tiny sigh of relief.

Cold air crept through the cart’s wooden slats, and I was grateful for the thick coat Baghra had provided. I was weary and uncomfortable, but mostly I was just frightened. I was running from the most powerful man in Ravka. The Grisha, the First Army, maybe even Mal and his trackers would be unleashed to find me. What chance did I have of making it to the Fold on my own? And if I did make it to West Ravka and onto the
Verloren
, then what? I would be alone in a strange land where I didn’t speak the language and I knew no one. Tears stung my eyes and I brushed them furiously away. If I started crying, I didn’t think I’d be able to stop.

We traveled through the early hours of the morning, past the stone streets of Os Alta and onto the wide dirt swath of the Vy. Dawn came and went. Occasionally, I dozed, but my fear and discomfort kept me awake for most of the ride. When the sun was high in the sky and I’d begun to sweat in my thick coat, the wagon rolled to a stop.

I risked taking a peek over the side of the cart. We were behind what looked like a tavern or an inn.

I stretched out my legs. Both of my feet had fallen asleep, and I winced as the blood rushed painfully back to my toes. I waited until the driver and the other members of the troupe had gone inside before I slid out from my hiding place.

I figured I would attract more attention if I looked like I was sneaking around, so I stood up straight and walked briskly around the building, joining the bustle of carts and people on the village’s main street.

It took a little eavesdropping, but I soon realized I was in Balakirev. It was a little town almost directly west of Os Alta. I’d gotten lucky; I was headed in the right direction.

During the ride, I’d counted the money Baghra had given me and tried to make a plan. I knew the fastest way to travel would be on horseback, but I also knew that a girl on her own with enough coin to buy a mount would attract attention. What I really needed to do was steal a horse—but I had no idea how to go about that, so I decided to just keep moving.

On the way out of town, I stopped at a market stall to buy a supply of hard cheese, bread, and dried meat.

“Hungry, are you?” asked the toothless old vendor, looking at me a little too closely as I shoved the food into my pack.

“My brother is. He eats like a pig,” I said, and pretended to wave at someone in the crowd. “Coming!” I shouted, and hurried off. All I could hope was that he would remember a girl traveling with her family or, better yet, that he wouldn’t remember me at all.

I spent that night sleeping in the tidy hayloft of a dairy farm just off the Vy. It was a long way from my beautiful bed at the Little Palace, but I was grateful for the shelter and for the sounds of animals around me. The soft lowing and rustle of the cows made me feel less alone as I curled on my side, using my pack and fur hat as a makeshift pillow.

What if Baghra was wrong? I worried as I lay there. What if she’d lied? Or what if she was just mistaken? I could go back to the Little Palace. I could sleep in my own bed and take my lessons with Botkin and chat with Genya. It was such a tempting thought. If I went back, would the Darkling forgive me?

Forgive me?
What was wrong with me? He was the one who wanted to put a collar around my neck and make me a slave, and I was fretting over his forgiveness? I rolled onto my other side, furious with myself.

In my heart, I knew that Baghra was right. I remembered my own words to Mal:
He owns us all.
I’d said it angrily, without thinking, because I’d wanted to hurt Mal’s pride. But I’d spoken the truth just as surely as Baghra. I knew the Darkling was ruthless and dangerous, but I’d ignored all that, happy to believe in my supposedly great destiny, thrilled to think that I was the one he wanted.

Why don’t you just admit that you wanted to belong to him?
said a voice in my head.
Why don’t you admit that part of you still does?

I thrust the thought away. I tried to think of what the next day might bring, of what might be the safest route west. I tried to think of anything but the stormcloud color of his eyes.

I LET MYSELF SPEND the next day and night traveling on the Vy, blending in with the traffic that came and went on the way to Os Alta. But I knew that Baghra’s stalling would only buy me so much time, and the main roads were just too risky. From then on, I kept to the woods and fields, using hunters’ trails and farm tracks. It was slow going on foot. My legs ached, and I had blisters on the tops of my toes, but I made myself keep heading west, following the trajectory of the sun in the sky.

At night, I pulled my fur hat low over my ears and huddled shivering in my coat, listening to my belly grumble and making myself picture maps in my head, the maps I had worked on so long ago in the comfort of the Documents Tent. I pictured my own slow progress from Os Alta to Balakirev, skirting the little villages of Chernitsyn, Kerskii, and Polvost, and tried not to give up hope. I had a long way to go to the Fold, but all I could do was keep moving and hope that my luck held.

“You’re still alive,” I whispered to myself in the dark. “You’re still free.”

Occasionally, I encountered farmers or other travelers. I wore my gloves and kept my hand on my knife in case of trouble, but they took little notice of me. I was constantly hungry. I had always been a rotten hunter, so I subsisted on the meager supplies I’d bought back in Balakirev, on water from streams, and the occasional egg or apple stolen from a lonely farm.

I had no idea what the future held or what waited for me at the end of this grueling journey and yet, somehow, I wasn’t miserable. I’d been lonely my whole life, but I’d never been truly alone before, and it wasn’t nearly as scary as I’d imagined.

All the same, when I came upon a tiny whitewashed church one morning, I couldn’t resist slipping inside to hear the priest say Mass. When he finished, he offered prayers for the congregation: for a woman’s son who had been wounded in battle, for an infant who was ill with fever, and for the health of Alina Starkov. I flinched.

“Let the Saints protect the Sun Summoner,” intoned the priest, “she who was sent to deliver us from the evils of the Shadow Fold and make this nation whole again.”

I swallowed hard and ducked quickly out of the church.
They pray for you now
, I thought bleakly.
But if the Darkling has his way, they’ ll come to hate you.
And maybe they should. Wasn’t I abandoning Ravka and all the people who believed in me? Only my power could destroy the Fold, and I was running away.

I shook my head. I couldn’t afford to think about any of that right now. I was a traitor and a fugitive. Once I was free of the Darkling, I could worry about Ravka’s future.

I set a fast pace up the trail and into the woods, chased up the hillside by the ringing of church bells.

As I pictured the map in my head, I realized I would soon reach Ryevost, and that meant making a decision about the best way to reach the Shadow Fold. I could follow the river route or head into the Petrazoi, the stony mountains that loomed to the northwest. The river would be easier going, but it would mean passing through heavily populated areas. The mountains were a more direct route, but would be much tougher to traverse.

I debated with myself until I came to the crossroads at Shura, then chose the mountain route. I would have to stop in Ryevost before I headed into the foothills. It was the largest of the river cities, and I knew I was taking a risk, but I also knew I wouldn’t make it through the Petrazoi without more food and some kind of tent or bedroll.

After so many days on my own, the noise and bustle of Ryevost’s crowded streets and canals felt strange to me. I kept my head down and my hat pulled low, sure that I would find posters of my face on every lamppost and shop window. But the deeper I got into the city, the more I began to relax. Maybe word of my disappearance hadn’t spread as far or as fast as I’d expected.

My mouth watered at the smells of roasting lamb and fresh bread, and I treated myself to an apple as I refreshed my supplies of hard cheese and dried meat.

I was tying my new bedroll to my traveling pack and trying to figure out how I was going to lug all the extra weight up the mountainside when I rounded a corner and nearly ran right into a group of soldiers.

My heart slammed into a gallop at the sight of their long olive coats and the rifles on their backs. I wanted to turn on my heel and sprint in the opposite direction, but I kept my head low and forced myself to keep walking at a normal pace. Once I’d passed them, I risked a glance back. They weren’t looking after me suspiciously. In fact, they didn’t seem to be doing much of anything. They were talking and joking, one of them catcalling at a girl hanging out the wash.

I stepped into a side street and waited for my heartbeat to return to normal. What was going on? I’d escaped from the Little Palace well over a week ago. The alarm must have been raised by now. I’d been sure the Darkling would send riders to every regiment in every town. Every member of the First and Second Armies should be looking for me by now.

As I headed out of Ryevost, I saw other soldiers. Some were on leave, others on duty, but none of them seemed to be looking for me. I didn’t know what to make of it. I wondered if I had Baghra to thank. Maybe she’d managed to convince the Darkling that I’d been kidnapped or even killed by Fjerdans. Or maybe he just thought that I’d already made it farther west. I decided not to press my luck and hurried to find my way out of town.

It took me longer than I’d expected, and I didn’t reach the western outskirts of the city until well past nightfall. The streets were dark and empty except for a few disreputable-looking taverns and an old drunk leaning up against a building, singing softly to himself. As I hurried past a noisy inn, the door flew open and a heavyset man toppled out into the street on a burst of light and music.

He grabbed hold of my coat and pulled me close. “Hello, pretty! Have you come to keep me warm?”

I tried to pull away.

“You’re strong for such a little thing.” I could smell the stink of stale beer on his hot breath.

“Let go of me,” I said in a low voice.

“Don’t be like that,
lapushka
,” he crooned. “We could have fun, you and me.”

“I said let go of me!” I pushed against his chest.

“Not for a bit yet,” he chuckled, pulling me into the shadows of the alley beside the tavern. “I want to show you something.”

I flicked my wrist and felt the comforting weight of the mirror slide between my fingers. My hand shot out and light flared into his eyes in a single quick flash.

He grunted as the light blinded him, throwing his hands up and letting go of me. I did as Botkin had instructed. I stomped down hard on the arch of his foot and then hooked my leg behind his ankle. His legs flew out from under him, and he hit the ground with a thud.

At that moment, the side door to the tavern flew open. A uniformed soldier emerged, a bottle of
kvas
in one hand and a scantily clad woman clutched in the other. With a wave of dread, I saw that he was dressed in the charcoal uniform of the Darkling’s guard. His bleary glance took in the scene: the man on the ground and me standing over him.

“What’s all this?” he slurred. The girl on his arm tittered.

“I’m blind!” wailed the man on the ground. “She blinded me!”

The
oprichnik
looked at him and then peered at me. His eyes met mine, and recognition spread across his face. My luck had run out. Even if no one else was looking for me, the Darkling’s guards were.

“You … ,” he whispered.