Shadow and Bone

“I hadn’t thought about it,” I said. I opened the book.
Someone had written my name inside the cover. I flipped a
few pages. Sankt Petyr of Brevno. Sankt Ilya in Chains. Sankta
Lizabeta. Each chapter began with a full-page illustration,
beautifully rendered in brightly colored inks.
“I think it is because the Grisha do not suffer the way the
Saints suffer, the way the people suffer.”
“Maybe,” I said absently.
“But you have suffered, haven’t you, Alina Starkov? And I
think … yes. I think you will suffer more.”
My head jerked up. I thought he might be threatening me,
but his eyes were full of a strange sympathy that was even
more terrifying.
I glanced back down at the book in my lap. My finger had
stopped on an illustration of Sankta Lizabeta as she had died,
drawn and quartered in a field of roses. Her blood made a river
through the petals. I snapped the book closed and sprang to my
feet. “I should go.”
The Apparat rose, and for a moment I thought he would try
to stop me. “You do not like your gift.”
“No, no. It’s very nice. Thank you. I don’t want to be late,”
I babbled.
I bolted past him through the library doors, and I didn’t take
an easy breath until I was back in my room. I tossed the book
of Saints into the bottom drawer of my dressing table and
slammed it shut.
What did the Apparat want from me? Had his words been
meant as a threat? Or as some kind of warning?
I took a deep breath, a tide of fatigue and confusion washing
over me. I missed the easy rhythm of the Documents Tent, the
comforting monotony of my life as a cartographer, when
nothing more was expected of me than a few drawings and a
tidy worktable. I missed the familiar smell of inks and paper.
Mostly, I missed Mal.