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

when I stand at the gates of the Grand Palace, pleading to be let in. I know that I
could beg and scream and wail all night until the guards dragged me away or
put a bullet in my brain just to shut me up, and those gates still wouldn’t open. I
could be that close and you’d never know. Like Pilkin, shouting in the dark.
I did something stupid this morning. (I can almost hear your voice in my ear
—“Why should this morning be any different ?”) A few days back we got into a
skirmish with a Fjerdan patrol. Out here, you can’t tell if you’re dealing with
friend or foe until you’re right on top of each other. They had repeating rifles,
and all we had were our old muskets. It was a miracle we came out of it with just
one casualty, and that was only because we had better numbers. I killed three
men—two with the rifle, one with the bow. The captain had us take their
uniforms. We stripped their corpses right there in the snow. Even if we’d wanted
to bury the bodies, the ground was too hard, so we left them for the wolves.
It wasn’t hard to imagine what the captain had planned. The herd is moving
north, past the Fjerdan border. He wants us to cross over, right into enemy
territory, and bring back the stag. This morning he offered double pay to anyone
who volunteered, but before he was even finished my hand was in the air. I don’t
remember what I said, just the captain clapping me on the back. Then Mikhael
was volunteering, and Dubrov. I don’t think they would have said a word if I
hadn’t opened my big mouth, double pay or not. You always warned me they
were idiots, but I’m glad I won’t be going alone.
It’s a stupid plan. Just how far into Fjerda does he expect us to go? And even
if we do locate the herd, our orders are to sight and capture the stag, not kill it.
How are we supposed to get back over the border without being stopped ? The
captain isn’t thinking straight. He’s desperate to get south, to get back to
Chernast and in front of a fire. I guess I’m desperate, too, because tomorrow I’ll
put on a dead man’s clothes and make the crossing. The Darkling wants that
stag. He wants it for you, so I’ll find it. It’s the one thing I can still give you. The
only thing.
Almost no oil left. The flame is guttering and I guess there’s not much left to
say. I’m not sure why I bothered to write this letter. We’re far from any post and
I may never have a chance to send it. I don’t know that I meant to. Maybe I’ll
step outside and let the wind take it. This wind is strong enough to reach you, to
travel south past Tsibeya, to scale the Petrazoi, and wend its way through the
streets of Os Alta. This wind won’t stop for gates or guards. It will climb your
tower and rattle the window of your room, or slip through a hidden doorway and
twist past the bars of your cell. It will lift your hair and brush against your
cheek, and maybe you’ll look up and you’ll hear me.
Maybe that’s why I wrote this letter, Alina. Maybe it’s a promise—that I’ll