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

ease in slowly. Military life had long ago cured me of most of my modesty, but
there was something very different about being the only naked person in the
room, especially when everyone kept shooting curious glances at me.
I squeaked as one of the servants grabbed my head and began furiously
washing my hair. Another leaned over the bath and started scrubbing at my nails.
Once I’d adjusted to it, the heat of the water felt good on my aching body. I
hadn’t had a hot bath in well over a year, and I had never even dreamed that
there might be one such as this. Clearly, being Grisha had its benefits. I could
have spent an hour just paddling around. But once I had been thoroughly dunked
and scoured, a servant pulled my arm and ordered, “Out! Out!”
Reluctantly, I climbed from the bath, letting the women dry me roughly with
thick towels. One of the younger servants stepped forward with a heavy velvet
robe and led me into the bedroom. Then she and the others backed out of the
door, leaving me alone with Genya.
I watched the redhead warily. She had thrown open the curtains and pulled an
elaborately carved wooden table and chair over by the windows.
“Sit,” she commanded. I bridled at her tone, but I obeyed.
A small trunk lay open by her hand, its contents spread out on the tabletop:
squat glass jars full of what looked like berries, leaves, and coloured powders. I
didn’t have a chance to investigate further, because Genya took my chin in hand,
peering closely at my face and turning my bruised cheek towards the light from
the window. She took a breath and let her fingers travel over my skin. I felt the
same prickling sensation I’d experienced when the Healer took care of my
wounds from the Fold.
Long minutes passed as I clenched my hands into fists to keep from
scratching. Then Genya stepped back and the itching receded. She handed me a
small golden hand mirror. The bruise was completely gone. I pressed the skin
tentatively, but there was no soreness.
“Thank you,” I said, setting the mirror down and starting to stand. But Genya
pushed me right back down into the chair.
“Where do you think you’re going? We’re not finished.”
“But—”
“If the Darkling just wanted you healed, he would have sent a Healer.”
“You’re not a Healer?”
“I’m not wearing red, am I?” Genya retorted, an edge of bitterness to her
voice. She gestured to herself. “I’m a Tailor.”
I was baffled. I realised I’d never seen a Grisha in a white kefta. “You’re
going to make me a dress?”
Genya blew out an exasperated breath. “Not the robes! This” she said, waving