Ruin and Rising (The Shadow and Bone Trilogy, #3)

by Leigh Bardugo

For my father, Harve— Sometimes our heroes don’t make it to the end.

The priest warned the boy that faith would bring him peace and obedience would keep him breathing.

Locked in her cell, alone but for the drip of the water and the slow beat of her heart, the girl knew the stories of Izumrud were true. She had been swallowed whole, devoured, and in the echoing alabaster belly of the White Cathedral, only the Saint remained.

She walked slowly, tentatively, her driftwood bones fragile in her body,

he’d forgotten that before she’d become a Grisha and a Saint, she’d been a ghost of Keramzin. She and the boy had hoarded secrets as Pelyekin hoarded treasure. They knew how to be thieves and phantoms, how to hide strength as well as mischief.

the priest thought he knew the girl and what she was capable of. He was wrong. He did not hear their hidden language, did not understand the boy’s resolve. He did not see the moment the girl ceased to bear her weakness as a burden and began to wear it as a guise.

Up close, it was all loose threads and false shine. Just like me. The threadbare Saint.

“After fools wage their battles, it is the rats that rule the fields and towns.” And feast on the dead, I thought with a shudder.

Grown men with guns, afraid of a scarred girl. Superstitious idiots.

The shadows felt like a punishment, ghosts of greater power that served only to taunt me, the Saint of shams and mirrors.

Another illusion, one more chapter in his book of Saints.

He was thick-necked, blond, and utterly humorless—Fjerdan to the core.

But even from a distance, I could see the watchfulness in her, the wariness that came with war.

“I save my faith for Saints,” he said evenly. “Not men who send children to die.”

The closest I’d come to seeing David lose his temper had been the first time he’d laid eyes on these little domed niches, some of them caved in, all of them lined with ancient books and manuscripts, their pages black with rot, their spines bloated with moisture.

“Weapons are forbidden within the White Cathedral.” I arched a brow at the rifles currently pointed at Mal and my Grisha. “And what are those? Ladles?

“Do you know why I come here, priest?” He gave a dismissive wave, his impatience showing through. “It reminds you of home.” My eyes met Mal’s briefly. “You should know by now,” I said, “an orphan has no home.”

“A man so obsessed with holy fire should pay more attention to the smoke.”

“It’s good to doubt Saints, Vladim. And men.”

this was the language of Saints and suffering, the language they understood.

“You are on your knees,” I said. “We are not negotiating.”

There is a fine line between fear and veneration,

They will fight for you because to them you are salvation. They will starve for you, lay down their lives and their children’s lives for you. They will make war without fear and die rejoicing. There is no greater power than faith, and there will be no greater army than one driven by it.”

“Faith didn’t protect your soldiers from the nichevo’ya. No amount of fanaticism will.”

Faith knows no border and no nationality.

“War is the price of change.” “And it’s ordinary people who pay it, peasants like me. Never men like you.”

“Yes, yes,” said Zoya. “The Sun Summoner can summon. And all it took was a few deaths and a minor explosion.”

“You blew something up?” said Harshaw plaintively. “Without me?”

David frowned. “I don’t guess.”

“Turns out the easiest way to schedule a meeting is to get arrested,” said Zoya.

David’s frown deepened. “It was a controlled blast. The odds that the cave’s structure would hold were well above average.” “Ah. Above average,” said Genya. “Why didn’t you say so?” “I just did.”

“You should have told us about the plan. We deserved a warning.” “You could have at least let me blow something up,” added Harshaw.

Zoya gave an elaborate shrug. “I’m so sorry you felt excluded. Never mind how closely we’ve been watched and that it was a miracle we weren’t found out. We definitely should have jeopardized the whole operation to spare your feelings.”

You’re recognizable,” he said to Genya. “So is Tolya, for that matter.” Tamar’s lips twitched. “Would you like to be the one to tell him he can’t come?” Mal considered this. “Maybe we can disguise him as a really big tree.”

This isn’t real power. It’s just a carnival trick.” “It’s something you took from him,” he said. I didn’t think I imagined the satisfaction in his voice.

“You think I can track a giant mythic bird, but I can’t locate one loudmouthed prince?”

“Alina, do you know how I made that shot? Back in the Kettle?” “If you say it’s because you’re just that good, I’m going to take off my boot and beat you with it.”

It won’t work, I reassured myself. You’ll try, you’ll fail, you’ll have a little nap.

I had hungered for something else, for the sense of belonging I’d been chasing my whole life. I’d buried that need in the ruins of a chapel. Now I would think in terms of alliance instead of affection, of who and what would make me strong enough for this fight.

I seem to be a victim of my own wishes where you are concerned.”

“Do you think it would be any different with your tracker beside you? With that Lantsov pup?” “Yes,” I said simply. “Because you would be the strong one?” “Because they’re better men than you.” “You might make me a better man.” “And you might make me a monster.”

I know things about power that you can barely guess at.”

No longer. I was done being ashamed. Let him feel what it was to be haunted.

I might not be a threat, but I could become one. I wouldn’t let him beat me before I’d had a chance to give him the fight he deserved.

I feared their hope. The love and care in these tiny gestures was a burden I didn’t want.

“I can tell what you’re up to,” I said once when he returned to the head of the line. “What’s that?” “You pop back there when someone’s lagging, start up a conversation. You ask David about the properties of phosphor or Nadia about her freckles—” “I have never asked Nadia about her freckles.” “Or something. Then gradually you start to pick up the pace so that they’re walking faster.” “It seems to work better than jabbing them with a stick,” he said. “Less fun.”

Tolya could recite entire cycles of epic poetry in Ravkan and Shu—even if no one wanted to hear them.

For a mercenary, Tolya is disturbingly maudlin.”

Though they were all Etherealki, the only thing the Squallers and Inferni seemed to have in common was how much they loved to argue.

Stigg didn’t want Harshaw near him because he couldn’t stand cats. Harshaw was constantly taking offense on Oncat’s behalf. Adrik was supposed to stay near the middle of the group, but he wanted to be close to Zoya. Zoya kept slipping away from the head of the column to try to get away from Adrik. I was starting to wish I’d cut the rope and left them all to drown in the river.