The darkness envelops me into its gentle arms,
but the shadows turn jagged when I try to shift.
They scrape and slice at my flesh,
nothing can stop them, nothing, nothing…
. . .
Prologue
Neviah Oztkurev. That was my name. My new one, at least. My old name was gone, lost to the shadows of the Fold. I don't know why I still tried; tried to sneak onto those Grisha skiffs and try to get to the other side. It had almost cost me my life, and more than once. Maybe it was because I needed to know something, anything, about whether my brother had survived his trip through the Fold, the one that had gone in and never came out.
That was where I was now, at a camp on the edge of the Fold. Filled with Second Army, Grisha, all the show-offs who needed to get a trimming on their ego. I sit, my slender index finger tapping the counter of the bar impatiently, my coin in a neat pile in front of me. My pale eyes, ice blue with a ring of light gold-brown around my pupil, flick from face to face. My gaze is indifferent. Never let your emotions show. People will take advantage of you, use you. They will twist your mind in ways that serve only themselves. That is the human instinct, Nevi, everyone out for themselves.
Kiyan was right of course. My brother always was. He had been the one I looked up to, aspired to be as great as him. Until he went missing, that is. Mhm, that's right, I aspire to be something dead, I thought with a cold and bitter amusement. I turn my head slowly as the bartender sets my drink down on the counter and scoops up my handful of coins before walking away. I down the drink in a few gulps, place it back down on the table with probably a little more force than necessary, check to make sure I had all of my supplies, and walked out of the bar into the chilly air. A swift breeze blows from behind me, sweeping my pale, shoulder length, curly, silvery blonde hair into my face. I huff, letting out a puff of air to get the loose strands out of my face as I walked.
The skiff is sitting at the docks, and I smirk slightly. Free trip through the Fold. I could just never get enough of those. I start towards it, only to be called back.
"Oztkurev!"
I turn around, my glare hardening, only to soften slightly when I saw it was just Cyram Ryvoski, one of-no, my only friend from back in my ol' hometown.
"Ryvoski," My smirk widens. "Come to see me off? Might be the last time I'm gonna see you. Who knows when my luck will run out. Don't make a big deal about it, though; seeing me off, I mean. It'll ruin the attempt at stealthiness." Cyram shakes his head, scoffing.
"You're ridiculous, Nevi, you know that?" He says. "I'm surprised you've even gotten this far; how many times have you been through now? Four? Five?" I grin.
"Seven," I glance over at the skiff, where people were beginning to pile on. "Nice seein' ya', Cyram, but my rides' about ta' leave without me. I'll meet you here when we return, yeah? Wish me luck!" I wave my hand jauntily, bouncing towards the skiff, excitement filling me to brim like it always did when I snuck onto the skiffs. I slow and I near the skiff, ducking my head and slipping into the thick line of people waiting to board.
I had fallen into the life of the unnoticed as soon as the word reached me that my brother had gone into the Fold and never returned. I didn't seek fights in dank alleyways, I didn't go into the clubs loud and careless, jangling my money bag tauntingly and waiting for all the drunk gamblers to come seek me out. I had found pay in being a hired… assassin, some might say. Well, less of an assassin and more of a spy. I learned what people needed to know, and they paid me accordingly.
Sneaking onto the skiffs was easy. I would wait in line, hide behind the largest group of people, and simply walk right on with them. Then I would hunker down below decks until the ride was over and sneak off the same way. There was work to be done everywhere, and the skiffs were my way of getting around.
I glance around, making sure no one was paying attention to me, before sliding silently through the trap door and down inside of the skiff. Barrels of who knows what were stacked five high, rope piled in corners, nets hanging from the walls. Typical skiff things.
I sit one one of the barrels, tapping my against the woods, before sliding to the ground. I cross my legs and reach into my leather satchel, pulling out a sketchbook and pencils. I lay out my sketchbook flat, observing the detailed artwork of the Fold with a critical eye. I flip to the next page, and the next, for five more pages until I came to one with only a faint sketch drawn onto the yellowish parchment paper of the sketchbook.
The drawing is of my brother, rifle slung over his shoulder, and his small dog, an annoying one that never left his side. Kiyan had loved that ugly little dog. I chuckle slightly, before snapping the sketchbook shut, tucking it back into my satchel along with my array of pencils. I peek my head out of the trapdoor, and, seeing only a young woman and man arguing, both about my age of 17, slip out from below decks.
I stand at the edge of the skiff as it pulls away from the docks. My eyes catch on a dark figure standing at the edge, and I have squint to make out his features. A long, black cape billowed out behind him, and I feel his dark eyes piercing my skin. For no apparent reason I grin-more of a sneer, if you ask me-and give the man a mock salute just as the shadows of the Fold engulf me.