Shadow and Bone Trilogy: Shadow and Bone, Siege and Storm, Ruin and Rising

by Leigh Bardugo

“Well, if it gets too bad, give me a signal, and I’ll get up on the banquet table, toss my skirt over my head, and do a little dance. That way no one will be looking at you.”

“Black,” Genya whispered. His color. What did it mean? “Look!” she gasped. The neckline of the gown was laced with a black velvet ribbon, and from it hung a small golden charm: the sun in eclipse, the Darkling’s symbol. I bit my lip. This time, the Darkling had chosen to set me apart, and there was nothing I could do about it. I felt a little jab of resentment, but it was drowned by excitement.

“Perfect!” she said when she was done. “Oh, Alina, you look like quite the temptress.”

“Alina, the Darkling doesn’t notice most of us. We’re moments he’ll forget in his long life. And I’m not sure that’s such a bad thing. Just … be careful.” I stared at her, baffled. “Of what?” “Of powerful men.”

The Darkling slipped through the doorway, but then he turned back to me. “Alina,” he said, and I could see that he was fighting with himself, “can I come to you tonight?”

“Murderer!” I shouted. “Monster!” “All of those things.” “I hate you,”

I spat.

He shrugged. “You’ll tire of hate soon enough. You’ll tire of everything.” He smiled then, and behind his eyes I saw the same bleak and yawning chasm I had seen in Baghra’s ancient gaze. “You will wear that collar for the rest of your very, very long life, Alina. Fight me as l...

The Pit was what Mal called our boardinghouse. It was crowded and filthy and afforded us no privacy at all, but it was cheap. He grinned, cocky as ever, and pulled me back into the flow of people on the street. Despite my exhaustion, my steps felt decidedly lighter. I still wasn’t used to the idea of us together. Another flutter passed through me. On the frontier there would be no curious boarders or unwanted interruptions. My pulse gave a little jump—whether from nerves or excitement, I wasn’t sure.

The less you say, the more weight your words will carry. Don’t argue. Never deign to deny. Meet insults with laughter.

“You didn’t laugh at the Fjerdan captain,” I observed. “That wasn’t an insult. It was a challenge,” he said. “Know the difference.” Weakness is a guise. Wear it when they need to know you’re human, but never when you feel it.

Being a leader means someone is always watching you. Get them to follow the little orders, and they’ll follow the big ones.

It’s okay to flout expectations, but never disappoint them.

“Grisha are born, not made,” growled Tolya.

“You know, for two people with a love eternal, you’re awfully insecure,” Nikolai said. “Some of the highest-ranking members of the First Army will be in the hunting party, and so will my brother. He’s an avid hunter, and I’ve seen for myself that you’re the best tracker in Ravka.”

“I wanted to keep him from becoming a monster! But it’s too late for that, isn’t it? Thanks to you, he is farther from human than he’s ever been. He’s long past any redemption.”

“You’re the captain of my guard,” I said, blundering through the trees. “You shouldn’t be brawling like some kind of commoner!”

Mal caught hold of my arm and yanked me around. “I am a commoner,”

he growled. “Not one of your pilgrims or your Grisha or some pampered watchdog who sits outside your door all night on the ...

“You can’t fix it!” he shouted. “This is the way it is. Did it ever occur to you that maybe you were meant to be a queen and I’m not meant to be anything at all?”

“I

see him,” I said. “I see the Darkling. In the library. In the chapel. That time on the Fold when the Hummingbird nearly crashed. In my room, the night you tried to kiss me.”

“I missed you, Mal,” I murmured against his ear. “I missed you so much.”

“You know the problem with heroes and saints, Nikolai?” I asked as I closed the book’s cover and headed for the door. “They always end up dead.”

“I have loved you all my life, Mal,” I whispered through my tears. “There is no end to our story.”

“Na razrusha’ya. E’ya razrushost.” I am not ruined. I am ruination.

“Suffering is cheap as clay and twice as common. What matters is what each man makes of it. Now,” she said with a rap of her stick, “lessons.”

Maybe love was superstition, a prayer we said to keep the truth of loneliness at bay.

In the end, maybe love just meant longing for something

impossibly bright and forever out of reach.

But Ana Kuya used to tell me that hope was tricky like water. Somehow it always found a way in.

They had an ordinary life, full of ordinary things—if love can ever be called that.