Shadow and Bone by Leigh Bardugo (z-lib.org).mobi

and the birds painted above my bed. But I hadn’t told him about Morozova’s
stag or the fact that I was such a disaster as a Grisha or that I still missed him
every single day.
When I was done, I’d hesitated and then hastily scrawled at the bottom, I
don’t know if you got my other letters. This place is more beautiful than I can
describe, but I would trade it all to spend an afternoon skipping stones with you
at Trivka’s pond. Please write.
But he had got my letters. What had he done with all of them? Had he even
bothered to open them? Had he sighed with embarrassment when the fifth and
the sixth and the seventh arrived?
I cringed. Please write, Mal. Please don’t forget me, Mal.
Pathetic, I thought, brushing angry tears away.
I stared out at the lake. It was starting to freeze. I thought of the creek that ran
through Duke Keramsov’s estate. Every winter, Mal and I had waited for that
creek to freeze so we could skate on it.
I crumpled Genya’s note in my fist. I didn’t want to think about Mal any
more. I wished I could blot out every memory of Keramzin. Mostly I wished I
could run back to my room and have a good cry. But I couldn’t. I had to spend
another pointless, miserable morning with Baghra.
I took my time making my way down the lake path, then stomped up the steps
to Baghra’s hut and banged open the door.
As usual, she was sitting by the fire, warming her bony body by the flames. I
plunked myself down in the chair opposite her and waited.
Baghra let out a short bark of laughter. “So you’re angry today, girl? What do
you have to be angry about? Are you tired of waiting for your magical white
deer?”
I crossed my arms and said nothing.
“Speak up, girl.”
On any other day, I would have lied, told her I was fine, said that I was tired.
But I guess I’d reached my breaking point, because I snapped. “I’m sick of all of
this,” I said angrily. “I’m sick of eating rye and herring for breakfast. I’m sick of
wearing this stupid kefta. I’m sick of being pummelled by Botkin, and I’m sick
of you.”
I thought she would be furious, but instead she just peered at me. With her
head cocked to one side and her eyes glittering black in the firelight, she looked
like a very mean sparrow.
“No,” she said slowly. “No. It’s not that. There’s something else. What is it?
Is the poor little girl homesick?”
I snorted. “Homesick for what?”