Shadow and Bone

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.