Shadow and Bone

In the gathering dusk, I stretched my arms and back and
tried to shake the feeling of gloom that had settled over me.
It’s probably for the best, I told myself. How would I have said
goodbye to Mal anyway? Thanks for being my best friend and
making my life bearable. Oh, and sorry I fell in love with you
for a while there. Make sure to write!
“What are you smiling at?”
I whirled, peering into the gloom. The Darkling’s voice
seemed to float out of the shadows. He walked down to the
stream, crouching on the bank to splash water on his face and
through his dark hair.
“Well?” he asked, looking up at me.
“Myself,” I admitted.
“Are you that funny?”
“I’m hilarious.”
The Darkling regarded me in what remained of the twilight.
I had the disquieting sensation that I was being studied. Other
than a bit of dust on his kefta, our trek seemed to have taken
little toll on him. My skin prickled with embarrassment as I
became keenly aware of my torn, too-large kefta, my dirty
hair, and the bruise the Fjerdan assassin had left on my cheek.
Was he looking at me and regretting his decision to drag me all
this way? Was he thinking that he’d made another of his
infrequent mistakes?
“I’m not Grisha,” I blurted.
“The evidence suggests otherwise,” he said with little
concern. “What makes you so certain?”
“Look at me!”
“I’m looking.”
“Do I look like a Grisha to you?” Grisha were beautiful.
They didn’t have spotty skin and dull brown hair and scrawny
arms.
He shook his head and rose. “You don’t understand at all,”
he said, and began walking back up the hill.