the shadow and bone

chapter 8

AFTER A RESTLESS NIGHT, I woke early and couldn't get back to sleep.

I'd forgotten to close the curtains when I went to bed, and sunlight was

streaming through the windows. I thought about getting up to close them

and trying to go back to sleep, but I just didn't have the energy. I wasn't

sure if it was worry and fear that had kept me tossing and turning, or the

unfamiliar luxury of sleeping in a real bed after so many months spent on

wobbly canvas cots or with nothing but a bedroll between me and the hard

ground.

I stretched and reached out to run a finger over the intricately carved

birds and flowers on the bedpost. High above me, the canopy of the bed

opened to reveal a ceiling painted in bold colors, an elaborate pattern of

leaves and flowers and birds in flight. As I was staring up at it, counting the

leaves of a juniper wreath and beginning to doze off again, a soft knock

came at the door. I threw off the heavy covers and slid my feet into the little

fur-lined slippers set out by the bed.

When I opened the door, a servant was waiting with a stack of clothing, a

pair of boots, and a dark blue kefta draped over her arm. I barely had time

to thank her before she bobbed a curtsy and disappeared.

I closed the door and set the boots and clothing down on the bed. The

new kefta I hung carefully over the dressing screen.

For a while, I just looked at it. I'd spent my life in clothes passed down

from older orphans, and then in the standard-issue uniform of the First

Army. I'd certainly never had anything made for me. And I'd never

dreamed that I would wear a Grisha's kefta.

I washed my face and combed my hair. I wasn't sure when Genya would

be arriving, so I didn't know if I had time for a bath. I was desperate for a

glass of tea, but I didn't have the courage to ring for a servant. Finally, there

was nothing left for me to do.

I started with the pile of clothes on the bed: close-fitting breeches of a

fabric I'd never encountered that seemed to fit and move like a second skin,

a long blouse of thin cotton that tied with a dark blue sash, and boots. But to

call them boots didn't seem right. I'd owned boots. These were something

else entirely, made of the softest black leather and fitted perfectly to my

calves. They were strange clothes, similar to what peasant men and farmers

wore. But the fabrics were finer and more expensive than any peasant could

ever hope to afford.

When I was dressed, I eyed the kefta. Was I really going to put that on?

Was I really going to be a Grisha? It didn't seem possible.