LADY OF SHADOWS ☞ JESPER FAHEY (ON HOLD)

TWO

WHEN ANASTASIA WOKE UP in the bed farthest from the door in their simple and modest room above the tavern, her hand immediately went to her left shoulder.

    Instead of a bullet wound, there was just a raised bit of scar tissue. No blood, no open wound. It didn't even hurt.

    Anastasia's dark eyes darted around the room until she found Clara, standing at the window and peering outside into the bright streets of Ketterdam.

    "What happened?" She demanded in a pinched, panicked voice, her hand still pressed to where there certainly should have been some sort of injury to prove that she'd been shot last night.

    Clara looked away from the window. "I slowed your heart enough to make you pass out. You were going to get knocked out eventually—blood loss—so I figured it'd be easier to put you to sleep and carry you home, instead of you passing out with no warning and cracking your skull open on the cobblestones." She paused, cracked a weak smile. "You started to wake up by the time we got back, but I had to put you under again so I could get the bullet out. I might not be a Healer, but I mostly stitched you back up."

    Rubbing at her temples, Anastasia took a deep breath. "Someone knows. Two people, actually. We've got to leave, Clara. They could have tracked us back here—"

    "If they wanted to track us, they'd be here by now. And if they were that serious, I'm sure they'd follow us wherever we went, no matter the country." Clara interrupted curtly, the weak smile on her face transforming into something more humorous.

    There was a heartbeat of silence before Anastasia spoke again: "What did that girl mean? Shadow singer?"

    Clara didn't lose her grin. "There's a fairytale in West Ravka, where I grew up before you found me. I would say it's a story, but it's more myth than anything. When I was young, my mother would tell me about this one Grisha, a Shadow Summoner who did more than summon shadows. It was more than controlling darkness—this Grisha was one with the shadows, could summon, see through, dismiss, and absorb them.

    "They obeyed this particular Grisha more than any other. The people in my hometown believed that this shadow singer could destroy the Fold. They believed in that legend more than the Sun Summoner—after all, we'd seen Shadow Summoners before, but we'd never seen anyone who can summon the sun." She explained.

    The Fold. The Unsea. Anastasia had been in Os Kervo when it was created, seen the destruction, heard the screams. She'd hopped a ship to Kerch immediately, knowing it was her brother's doing and wanting to flee to escape further persecution.

    "You know I don't believe in fairytales, Clara." She said simply, not even considering the story. "Besides, I'm no such thing. Summoning shadows is all I can do." A lie, bitter tasting as it rolled off of her tongue.

    With a snort, Clara shook her head. "You're just scared to do more. You aren't him and you know it."

    When Anastasia had found Clara, two hundred and twenty years ago, the Heartrender had gotten in over her head in a situation she couldn't use her Small Science to get out of. Somehow, Clara had wandered into Fjerda, and from the moment she crossed the border, and a band of so-called witch hunters had began to hunt her. They had almost killed her, and would have, if Anastasia hadn't choked two of them out with her shadows. She told Clara to run and offered herself up as a trade.

    Nine years later, the two found each other again, this time in Shriftport, and while Anastasia hadn't aged a day, Clara only looked a year or so older. That was when Anastasia realized that the Drüskelle had been hunting Clara because she was a Grisha in their lands.