Siege and Storm (Shadow and Bone #2)(25)

“Evening, all,” said Sturmhond, slapping his hands together, seemingly oblivious to our somber mood. “Perfect night for tearing a hole in the universe, no?”

I scowled at him and slipped the scales from my pocket. I’d rinsed them in a bucket of seawater, and they gleamed golden in the lamplight.

“Do you know what to do?” I asked the Fabrikator.

She had me turn and show her the back of the collar. I’d only ever glimpsed it in mirrors, but I knew the surface must be near perfect. Certainly my fingers had never been able to detect any seam where David had joined the two pieces of antler together.

I handed the scales to Mal, who held one out to the Fabrikator.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked. She was gnawing on her lip so agressively, I thought she might draw blood.

“Of course not,” said Sturmhond. “Anything worth doing always starts as a bad idea.”

The Fabrikator plucked the scale from Mal’s fingers and rested it against my wrist, then held out her hand for another. She bent to her work.

I felt the heat first, radiating from the scales as their edges began to come apart and then re-form. One after another, they melded together, fusing into an overlapping row as the fetter grew around my wrist. The Fabrikator worked in silence, her hands moving infinitesimal degrees. Tolya and Tamar kept the lamps steady, their faces so still and solemn they might have been icons themselves. Even Sturmhond had gone quiet.

Finally, the two ends of the cuff were nearly touching and only one scale remained. Mal stared down at it, cupped in his palm.

“Mal?” I said.

He didn’t look at me, but touched one finger to the bare skin of my wrist, the place where my pulse beat, where the fetter would close. Then he handed the last scale to the Fabrikator.

In moments, it was done.

Sturmhond peered at the glittering cuff of scales. “Huh,” he murmured. “I thought the end of the world would be more exciting.”

“Stand back,” I said.

The group shuffled over to the rail.

“You too,” I told Mal. Reluctantly, he complied. I saw Privyet peering at us from his place by the wheel. Above, the ropes creaked as the men on watch craned their necks to get a better view.

I took a deep breath. I had to be careful. No heat. Just light. I wiped my damp palms on my coat and spread my arms. Almost before I’d formed the call, the light was rushing toward me.

It came from every direction, from a million stars, from a sun still hidden below the horizon. It came with relentless speed and furious intent.

“Oh, Saints,” I had time to whisper. Then the light was blazing through me and the night came apart. The sky exploded into brilliant gold. The surface of the water glittered like a massive diamond, reflecting piercing white shards of sunlight. Despite my best intentions, the air shimmered with heat.

I closed my eyes against the brightness, trying to focus, to regain control. I heard Baghra’s harsh voice in my head, demanding that I trust my power: It isn’t an animal that shies away from you or chooses whether or not to come when you call it. But this was like nothing I’d felt before. It was an animal, a creature of infinite fire that breathed with the stag’s strength and the sea whip’s wrath. It coursed through me, stealing my breath, breaking me up, dissolving my edges, until all I knew was light.

Too much, I thought in desperation. And at the same time, all I could think was, More.

From somewhere far away, I heard voices shouting. I felt the heat billowing around me, lifting my coat, singeing the hair on my arms. I didn’t care.

“Alina!”

I felt the ship rocking as the sea began to crackle and hiss.

“Alina!” Suddenly Mal’s arms were around me, pulling me back. He held me in a crushing grip, his eyes shut tight against the blaze around us. I smelled sea salt and sweat and, beneath it, his familiar scent—Keramzin, meadow grass, the dark green heart of the woods.

I remembered my arms, my legs, the press of my ribs, as he held me tighter, piecing me back together. I recognized my lips, my teeth, my tongue, my heart, and these new things that were a part of me: collar and fetter. They were bone and breath, muscle and flesh. They were mine.

Does the bird feel the weight of its wings?

I inhaled, felt sense return. I didn’t have to take hold of the power. It clung to me, as if it were grateful to be home. In a single glorious burst, I released the light. The bright sky fractured, letting the night back in, and all around us, sparks fell like fading fireworks, a dream of shining petals blown loose from a thousand flowers.

The heat relented. The sea calmed. I drew the last scraps of light together and wove them into a soft sheen that pulsed over the deck of the ship.

Sturmhond and the others were crouched by the railing, their mouths open in what might have been awe or fear. Mal had me crushed to his chest, his faced pressed to my hair, his breath coming in harsh gasps.

“Mal,” I said quietly. He clutched me tighter. I squeaked. “Mal, I can’t breathe.”

Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked down at me. I dropped my hands, and the light disappeared entirely. Only then did he ease his grip.

Tolya lit a lamp, and the others got to their feet. Sturmhond dusted off the gaudy folds of his teal coat. The Fabrikator looked like she was going to be sick, but it was harder to read the twins’ faces. Their golden eyes were alight with something I couldn’t name.