Shadow and Bone

berries, leaves, and colored powders. I didn’t have a chance to
investigate further, because Genya took hold of my chin,
peering closely at my face and turning my bruised cheek
toward the light from the window. She took a breath and let
her fingers travel over my skin. I felt the same prickling
sensation I’d experienced when the Healer took care of my
wounds from the Fold.
Long minutes passed as I clenched my hands into fists to
keep from scratching. Then Genya stepped back and the
itching receded. She handed me a small golden hand mirror.
The bruise was completely gone. I pressed the skin tentatively,
but there was no soreness.
“Thank you,” I said, setting the mirror down and starting to
stand. But Genya pushed me right back down into the chair.
“Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done.”
“But—”
“If the Darkling just wanted you healed, he would have sent
a Healer.”
“You’re not a Healer?”
“I’m not wearing red, am I?” Genya retorted, an edge of
bitterness to her voice. She gestured to herself. “I’m a Tailor.”
I was baffled. I realized I’d never seen a Grisha in a white
kefta. “You’re going to make me a dress?”
Genya blew out an exasperated breath. “Not the robes!
This,” she said, waving her long, graceful fingers before her
face. “You don’t think I was born looking like this, do you?”
I stared at the smooth marble perfection of Genya’s features
as realization set in and, with it, a wave of indignation. “You
want to change my face?”
“Not change it. Just … freshen you up a bit.”
I scowled. I knew what I looked like. In fact, I was acutely
aware of my shortcomings. But I really didn’t need a gorgeous
Grisha pointing them out to me. And worse was the fact that
the Darkling had sent her to do it.