to dig through the rations. Tamar kept bouncing and spinning her knife—definitely showing off, but Nadia didn’t seem to mind.
I picked my way toward the sound of the water, trying to sort through my thoughts. If West Ravka had declared for Nikolai, that was a very good sign that he was alive and well and making more trouble for the Darkling than anyone in the White Cathedral had realized. I was relieved, but I wasn’t certain what our next move should be.
When I reached the creek, Mal was crouching in the shallows, barefoot and bare-chested, his trousers rolled up to his knees. He was watching the water, his expression focused, but at the sound of my approach, he shot to his feet, already lunging for his rifle.
“Just me,” I said, stepping out of the woods.
He relaxed and dropped back down, eyes returning to the creek. “What are you doing out here?”
For a moment I just watched him. He stayed perfectly still, then suddenly, his hands plunged into the stream and emerged with a wriggling fish. He tossed it back. No point holding on to it when we couldn’t risk making a fire to cook it.
I’d seen him catch fish this way at Keramzin, even in winter, when Trivka’s pond froze over. He knew just where to break the ice, just where to drop his line or the moment to make his grab. I’d waited on the banks, keeping him company, trying to spot places in the trees where the birds made their nests.
It was different now, the water reflecting spangles of light over the planes of his face, the smooth play of muscle beneath his skin. I realized I was staring and gave myself a little shake. I’d seen him without a shirt before. There was no reason to be an idiot about it.
“Tamar’s back,” I said.
He stood, all interest in the fish lost. “And?”
“No sign of Nikolai’s men.”
Mal sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Damn it.”
“We could wait another day,” I offered, though I already knew what he would say.
“We’ve wasted enough time. I don’t know how long it will take us to get south or to find the firebird. All we need is to get stuck in the mountains when the snow comes. And we have to find a safe house for the others.”
“Tamar says West Ravka has declared for Nikolai. What if we took them there?”
He considered. “That’s a long journey, Alina. We’d lose a lot of time.”
“I know, but it’s safer than anywhere this side of the Fold. And it’s another chance to find Nikolai.”
“Might be less dangerous trekking south on that side too.” He nodded. “All right. We need to get the others ready. I want to leave tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“No point waiting around.” He waded out of the water, bare toes curling on the rocks.
He didn’t actually say “dismissed,” but he might as well have. What else was there to talk about?
I started toward camp, then remembered I hadn’t told him about the oprichniki. I stomped back to the creek. “Mal…,” I began, but the words died on my lips.
He had bent to pick up the canteens. His back was to me.
“What is that?” I said angrily.
He whirled, twisting himself around, but it was too late. He opened his mouth.
Before he could get a word out, I snapped, “If you say ‘nothing,’ I will knock you senseless.”
His mouth clamped shut.
“Turn around,” I ordered.
For a moment, he just stood there. Then he sighed and turned.
A tattoo stretched across his broad back—something like a compass rose, but much more like a sun, the points reaching from shoulder to shoulder and down his spine.
“Why?” I asked. “Why would you do this?”
He shrugged and his muscles flexed beneath the intricate design.
“Mal, why would you mark yourself this way?”
“I have a lot of scars,” he said finally. “This is one I chose.”
I looked closer. There were letters worked into the design. E’ya sta rezku. I frowned. It looked like ancient Ravkan.
“What does this mean?”
He said
I picked my way toward the sound of the water, trying to sort through my thoughts. If West Ravka had declared for Nikolai, that was a very good sign that he was alive and well and making more trouble for the Darkling than anyone in the White Cathedral had realized. I was relieved, but I wasn’t certain what our next move should be.
When I reached the creek, Mal was crouching in the shallows, barefoot and bare-chested, his trousers rolled up to his knees. He was watching the water, his expression focused, but at the sound of my approach, he shot to his feet, already lunging for his rifle.
“Just me,” I said, stepping out of the woods.
He relaxed and dropped back down, eyes returning to the creek. “What are you doing out here?”
For a moment I just watched him. He stayed perfectly still, then suddenly, his hands plunged into the stream and emerged with a wriggling fish. He tossed it back. No point holding on to it when we couldn’t risk making a fire to cook it.
I’d seen him catch fish this way at Keramzin, even in winter, when Trivka’s pond froze over. He knew just where to break the ice, just where to drop his line or the moment to make his grab. I’d waited on the banks, keeping him company, trying to spot places in the trees where the birds made their nests.
It was different now, the water reflecting spangles of light over the planes of his face, the smooth play of muscle beneath his skin. I realized I was staring and gave myself a little shake. I’d seen him without a shirt before. There was no reason to be an idiot about it.
“Tamar’s back,” I said.
He stood, all interest in the fish lost. “And?”
“No sign of Nikolai’s men.”
Mal sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Damn it.”
“We could wait another day,” I offered, though I already knew what he would say.
“We’ve wasted enough time. I don’t know how long it will take us to get south or to find the firebird. All we need is to get stuck in the mountains when the snow comes. And we have to find a safe house for the others.”
“Tamar says West Ravka has declared for Nikolai. What if we took them there?”
He considered. “That’s a long journey, Alina. We’d lose a lot of time.”
“I know, but it’s safer than anywhere this side of the Fold. And it’s another chance to find Nikolai.”
“Might be less dangerous trekking south on that side too.” He nodded. “All right. We need to get the others ready. I want to leave tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“No point waiting around.” He waded out of the water, bare toes curling on the rocks.
He didn’t actually say “dismissed,” but he might as well have. What else was there to talk about?
I started toward camp, then remembered I hadn’t told him about the oprichniki. I stomped back to the creek. “Mal…,” I began, but the words died on my lips.
He had bent to pick up the canteens. His back was to me.
“What is that?” I said angrily.
He whirled, twisting himself around, but it was too late. He opened his mouth.
Before he could get a word out, I snapped, “If you say ‘nothing,’ I will knock you senseless.”
His mouth clamped shut.
“Turn around,” I ordered.
For a moment, he just stood there. Then he sighed and turned.
A tattoo stretched across his broad back—something like a compass rose, but much more like a sun, the points reaching from shoulder to shoulder and down his spine.
“Why?” I asked. “Why would you do this?”
He shrugged and his muscles flexed beneath the intricate design.
“Mal, why would you mark yourself this way?”
“I have a lot of scars,” he said finally. “This is one I chose.”
I looked closer. There were letters worked into the design. E’ya sta rezku. I frowned. It looked like ancient Ravkan.
“What does this mean?”
He said
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