The Grisha Trilogy by Leigh Bardugo

Author:Leigh Bardugo [Bardugo, Leigh]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: Henry Holt and Co. (BYR)
Published: 2015-11-16T19:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

16

DAVID HAD MANAGED to slip away again after the last council meeting, and it was late the following evening before I had a free moment to corner him in the Fabrikator workrooms. I found him hunched over a pile of blueprints, his fingers stained with ink.

I settled myself on a stool beside him and cleared my throat. He looked up, blinking owlishly. He was so pale I could see the blue tracery of veins through his skin, and someone had given him a very bad haircut.

Probably did it himself, I thought with an inward shake of my head. It was hard to believe that this was the boy Genya had fallen so hard for.

His eyes flicked to the collar at my neck. He began to fidget with the items on his worktable, moving them around and arranging them in careful lines: a compass, graphite pencils, pens and pots of ink in different colors, pieces of clear and mirrored glass, a hard-boiled egg that I assumed was his dinner, and page after page of drawings and plans that I couldn’t begin to make sense of.

“What are you working on?” I asked.

He blinked again. “Dishes.”

“Ah.”

“Reflective bowls,” he said. “Based on a parabola.”

“How … interesting?” I managed.

He scratched his nose, leaving a giant blue smudge along the ridge. “It might be a way to magnify your power.”

“Like the mirrors in my gloves?” I’d asked that the Durasts remake them. With the power of two amplifiers, I probably didn’t need them. But the mirrors allowed me to focus and pinpoint light, and there was something comforting in the control they gave me.

“Sort of,” said David. “If I get it right, it will be a much bigger way to use the Cut.”

“And if you get it wrong?”

“Either nothing will happen, or whoever’s operating it will be blown to bits.”

“Sounds promising.”

“I thought so too,” he said without a hint of humor, and bent back to his work.

“David,” I said. He looked up, startled, as if he’d completely forgotten I was there. “I need to ask you something.”

His gaze darted to the collar again, then back to his worktable.

“What can you tell me about Ilya Morozova?”

David twitched, glancing around the nearly empty room. Most of the Fabrikators were still at dinner. He was clearly nervous, maybe even frightened.

He looked at the table, picked up his compass, put it down.

Finally, he whispered, “They called him the Bonesmith.”

A quiver passed through me. I thought of the fingers and vertebrae lying on the peddlers’ tables in Kribirsk. “Why?” I asked. “Because of the amplifiers he discovered?”

David looked up, surprised. “He didn’t find them. He made them.”

I didn’t want to believe what I was hearing. “Merzost?”

He nodded. So that was why David had looked at Morozova’s collar when Zoya asked if any Grisha had ever had such power. Morozova had been playing with the same forces as the Darkling. Magic. Abomination.

“How?” I asked.

“No one knows,” David said, glancing over his shoulder again. “After the Black Heretic was killed in the accident that created the Fold, his son came out of hiding to take control of the Second Army.

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