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

Light flooded the throne room, drenching us in warmth and shattering the
darkness like black glass. The court erupted into applause. People were weeping
and hugging one another. A woman fainted. The King was clapping the loudest,
rising from his throne and applauding furiously, his expression exultant.
The Darkling let go of my hand and the light faded.
“Brilliant!” the King shouted. “A miracle!” He descended the steps of the
dais, the bearded priest gliding silently behind him, and took my hand in his
own, raising it to his wet lips. “My dear girl,” he said. “My dear, dear girl.” I
thought of what Genya had said about the King’s attention and felt my skin
crawl, but I didn’t dare pull my hand away. Soon, though, he had relinquished
me and was clapping the Darkling on the back.
“Miraculous, simply miraculous,” he effused. “Come, we must make plans
immediately.”
As the King and the Darkling stepped away to talk, the priest drifted forward.
“A miracle indeed,” he said, staring at me with a disturbing intensity. His eyes
were so brown they were almost black, and he smelled faintly of mildew and
incense. Like a tomb, I thought with a shiver. I was grateful when he slithered
away to join the King.
I was quickly surrounded by beautifully dressed men and women, all wishing
to make my acquaintance and to touch my hand or my sleeve. They crowded on
every side of me, jostling and pushing to get closer. Just as I felt fresh panic
setting in, Genya appeared at my side. But my relief was short-lived.
“The Queen wants to meet you,” she murmured into my ear. She steered me
through the crowd and out of a narrow side door into the hall, then into a jewellike
sitting room where the Queen reclined on a divan, a snuffling dog with a
pushed-in face cradled on her lap.
The Queen was beautiful, with shining blonde hair in a perfect coiffure, her
delicate features cold and lovely. But there was also something a little odd about
her face. Her irises seemed a little too blue, her hair too yellow, her skin too
smooth. I wondered just how much work Genya had done on her.
She was surrounded by ladies in exquisite gowns of petal pink and soft blue,
their low necklines embroidered with gilded thread and tiny riverpearls. And yet,
they all paled beside Genya in her simple cream wool kefta, her bright red hair
burning like a flame.
“Moya tsaritsa,” Genya said, sinking into a low, graceful curtsey. “The Sun
Summoner.”
This time, I had to make a choice. I executed a small bow and heard a few low
titters from the ladies.
“Charming,” said the Queen. “I loathe pretence.” It took all my willpower not