In the Little Palace, Grisha-those who practice the Small Science-are trained in their arts. Corporalki, Etherealki, and Materialki are brought together under the leadership of General Kirigan to help Ravka fight its wars.
A few of these Grisha, tho...
Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
THE news of Serafima Ostrovsky's disappearance was an event in the Little Palace. Grisha rarely disappeared right from the Little Palace like that—Serafima just up and vanished with no word or signs of where she'd gone. It was unusual, and the gossip mill in the Grisha headquarters loved unusual events.
Serafima's little sister, Nonna, though, didn't like it so much.
She'd gone to the smallest, darkest, most out of the way place she could think of as soon as she'd heard, Unfortunately, that place was Baghra's hut, hot and hostile with the old woman's presence. But she had let Nonna in, wordless in her contempt, and allowed Nonna to sit at her fireside, sobbing in her loneliness. Baghra said nothing.
Nonna wiped at her eyes, sniffling. The stuffiness of the hut, thanks to Baghra's odd penchant for a roaring fire at all times, did not help the way she felt physically after crying like that. Baghra glowered at her from her chair, though she did shove a mug of tea at Nonna, the hot liquid sloshing over the side as it stuttered to a stop. "Drink," she said. Her voice was rough and low. "You need liquid in you after all that." Nonna gulped in breath, nearly a sob, but took the mug and drank. The tea was strong, and hot. She drank more.
"Do you know where she went?" Nonna asked. Her voice was thin from crying.
Baghra looked at her evenly, in a way that made Nonna squirm. She twined her feet together, hoping to stop any fidgeting before it started. She returned Baghra's gaze, though, as straightforwardly as she could. The old woman huffed, but seemed pleased by Nonna's response, as she leaned forward and said, "I don't."
Nonna sagged in her seat. She hadn't known she'd wanted Baghra to tell her where to find Serafima until now, but she did. She very much did.
"She knew she had to leave for a reason," Baghra said. She leaned forward, "She saw what few have, and she made a choice she thought was right. Will you be brave enough to do the same?"
—
THE knife in Yelena Milov's hands glittered in the firelight. She twirled it between her fingers, unafraid of the sharp blade. Her eyes were bored, and she stared into the fire, watching the flames leap and roar. Sometimes, she thought, she wished her Science was tied to fire. It was so beautiful.
Baghra groaned into her own chair across the blaze thrown out from the fireplace. She stared at Yelena from under her hooded eyes, watching her face. Yelena didn't look at her. Baghra saw too much with those pitch-dark eyes, and Yelena didn't like that. She liked to keep her secrets. It was safe.
They sat in silence, Yelena with her knife, Baghra with a stare that tried to piece straight through the young tailor. The silence was not companionable, nor was it awkward. It was tense. Yelena liked it that way, it felt natural. She felt her bones settle in something resembling comfort.
