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

“Peace on your terms,” said one of the Shu Han angrily.
“It will not stand,” blustered a Fjerdan.
The Darkling looked them over and said very calmly, “Peace on my terms. Or
your precious mountains and your saintsforsaken tundra will simply cease to
exist.”
With crushing certainty, I understood that he meant every word. The
ambassadors might hope it was an empty threat, believe that there were limits to
his hunger, but they would learn soon enough. The Darkling would not hesitate.
He would not grieve. His darkness would consume the world, and he would
never waver.
The Darkling turned his back on their stunned and angry expressions and
addressed the Grisha and soldiers on the skiff. “Tell the story of what you’ve
seen today. Tell everyone that the days of fear and uncertainty are over. The
days of endless fighting are over. Tell them that you saw a new age begin.”
A cheer went up from the crowd. I saw a few soldiers muttering to each other.
Even some of the Grisha looked unnerved. But most of their faces were eager,
triumphant, shining.
They’re hungry for this, I realised. Even after they’ve seen what he can do,
even after watching their own people die. The Darkling wasn’t just offering
them an end to war, but an end to weakness. After all these long years of terror
and suffering, he would give them something that had seemed permanently
beyond their grasp: victory. And despite their fear, they loved him for it.
The Darkling signalled to Ivan, who stood behind him, waiting for orders.
“Bring me the prisoner.”
I looked up sharply, a fresh bolt of fear shooting through me as Mal was led
through the crowd to the railing, his hands bound.
“We return to Ravka,” said the Darkling. “But the traitor stays.”
Before I even knew what was happening, Ivan shoved Mal over the edge of
the skiff. The volcra screeched and beat their wings. I ran to the railing. Mal was
on his side in the sand, still within the protective circle of my light. He spat sand
from his mouth and pushed himself up with his bound hands.
“Mal!” I cried.
Without thinking, I turned on Ivan and punched him hard in the jaw. He
stumbled back against the railing, stunned, and then lunged at me. Good, I
thought as he grabbed me. Throw me over too.
“Hold,” said the Darkling, his voice like ice. Ivan scowled, his face red with
embarrassment and anger. He relaxed his grip but didn’t let go.
I could see the confusion of the people on the skiff. They didn’t know what
this show was about, why the Darkling was troubling with a deserter or why his