by Jay Kristoff
“Like father, like son, I suppose.”
* * *
It wasn’t a bath so much as a brass barrel.
It was bolted to the floor in Corleone’s quarters—an en suite off the bedchamber, which in turn led off from the main cabin. Mia’s first thought when she laid eyes on it was to wonder where exactly the brigand was supposed to fit if she’d taken him up on his offer to bring the soap. She’d be able to squeeze in there with a little effort, but it wasn’t exactly palatial in scope.
This alleged “bath” had more in common with a bucket.
Still, the water in it was steaming, fed by pipes from the arkemical stove in the galley below. And as Mia stripped naked and sank into the heat, she understood why Corleone had indulged in such an extravagance.
“O, Black fucking Mother,” she groaned. “That is gooood.”
She dunked her head after some clumsy maneuvering and found if she hung her legs out over the lip, she could get most of her body submerged. Leaning back, she soaked a washcloth and draped it over her face. Lighting another cigarillo, she breathed a contented gray sigh, listening to the song of the sea outside.
“I could be a pirate,” she mumbled, smoke bobbing on her lips. “Avast, ye lubbers. Hoist the giblets. Stow the mizzen-whatsit, you pig-loving fuck-monkey—”
“Alone at last,” said a voice.
Mia dragged the washcloth away, saw Ashlinn leaning against the door. She wore a drakebone corset over her red shirt, leather leggings, and thigh-high boots. She’d bought some herbs in Whitekeep, washed the henna from her hair. It’d been let loose from her braids, rolling down her shoulders in golden waterfalls.
“Two isn’t alone,” Mia said.
Ash ran a finger down the doorframe. “I can leave. If you like.”
“No,” Mia smiled. “Stay.”
Ash’s face brightened and she slipped into the en suite, closing the door behind her. There was nowhere to sit, so she straddled the barrel instead. Plucking the cigarillo from Mia’s mouth, Ashlinn leaned down to plant a light kiss on her lips. She remained hovering close, their noses brushing against one another, ticklish.
“Hello,” Ash whispered.
“Hello,” Mia replied.
Ash leaned in and they kissed again, soft and warm and altogether dizzying. Ashlinn’s lips parted, inviting, and Mia felt the girl shiver as their tongues touched, light as feathers. She sighed into Ash’s open mouth, raising one hand to caress her cheek as their kiss deepened. Drowning in it, never wanting to come up for air, sucking Ash’s bottom lip as they slowly pulled apart.
Opening her eyes, she saw Ash’s face just an inch from hers. Their lips brushed together as the girl murmured.
“You kiss like you kill, Mia Corvere.”
“And how’s that?”
“With finesse.”
Mia smirked and Ashlinn kissed her again, again, again, a dozen whisper-light touches scattered across her lips and cheeks like rose petals.
“I missed you,” Mia sighed.
“How much?”
“Not entirely sure how to measure that,” Mia frowned. “Couple of feet, maybe?”
“Fuck you.”
“Bath isn’t big enough for that.”
“I hate you.”
“Strange. I hate everyone but you.”
“Sit up,” Ash grinned, kissing her again. “I’ll wash your back.”
Ashlinn swung herself off the tub so Mia could wrangle herself upright, rest her head on her arms, and lean forward. Ash sat behind, legs slung on either side of the barrel. Mia couldn’t see what she was doing, but she soon felt warm, soapy hands across her shoulders, the scent of honeysuckle and sunsbell in the air. Ash pressed her thumbs into Mia’s aching muscles, kneading the knots of tension like dough.
“O, Black Mother, that’s … fucking … good…,” Mia groaned.
She closed her eyes and let Ash’s hands shush everything away for a moment. Her frustration at Jonnen and her anger at Mister Kindly. Her worries about Sid and the others, the thought of what was waiting for them across the ocean in Ashkah. Mercurio and the Moon and his damned crown.
Ash was keeping quiet about Tric, too, even though they could both feel the question of him hanging like frost in the air. She was too smart to bring him up. To open that door and let it ruin the first moment they’d been alone since the magni.
Instead, Mia felt lips on the nape of her neck, sending shivers down her spine.
“You could always get out of the bath,” Ash murmured. “If it’s not big enough.”
“In a minute…” She winced as Ash’s hands worked a particularly tight knot. “Goddess … keep doing that…”
“You’re wound tight as mekwerk, love.”
“Hard work, being the most wanted killer in the Republic.”
Another kiss. A soft nibble at her ear as Ash whispered, “I can unwind you.”
Mia felt Ash’s hands slip around to slowly caress her breasts. Fingers running over smooth skin, setting it tingling. Mia’s breath came quicker, her belly thrilled, another shiver rolling right through the core of her. Goosebumps rose over her body, a soft sigh escaping her lips as Ash’s kisses tickled her neck, as the girl’s hands went roaming, one teasing her hardening nipple, the other tracing a long, agonizing spiral down. Down. Over her ribs, inch by inch along her tightening belly, tracing the cusp of her navel with whisper-light circles of flickering arkemical current.
“More?” Ash whispered, lips brushing her earlobe.
Mia wondered at the rightness of it. Some lingering guilt at the presence of the Hearthless boy on deck above, perhaps, or the fight she was in with her brother or the idea she should be indulging herself at all in waters this perilous. But Ash’s hand slipped below the water, and a fire rose up inside Mia, melting her misgivings as she felt the gentlest of touches between her legs.
Breathtaking.
Maddening.
“More,” Mia sighed.
She felt Ashlinn’s other hand rise, fingers entwining with her hair. Mia groaned as Ash pulled her back, upright, leaving her exposed, steam rising off her skin, her thighs quivering. Ash’s lips found her neck again as the hand between Mia’s legs began to move, firm, tight circles, strumming the tune her lover knew so well. Mia reached back, sighing, grabbing a fistful of Ash’s hair and pressing her girl’s lips harder against her neck. There was some illicit thrill in it; the feel of Ash pressed against her fully clothed while she was so utterly bare. A surrender that left her shaking.
“O, fuck,” she breathed, hips moving in time. “Fuck.”
“More?” Ash whispered in her ear.
Lips tickling her skin.
Teeth nipping her neck.
Fingers dancing.
“More,” Mia pleaded.
She felt Ash’s second hand join her first, in front and behind. Mia reached back, fingernails clawing at Ashlinn’s arse, grinding back between her legs. She felt Ashlinn’s fingers, stroking, kneading, singing on her lips and bud. Time frozen still and burning in the light of a black sun. Shapeless nothings spilling from her lips, eyes rolling back in her head as she was dragged ever higher by her lover’s touch, flying now, every caress, every movement pulling her up toward that dark immolation.
“Yes,” Ashlinn breathed.
“Yes,” Mia groaned. “Fuck yes. Yes.”
She threw her head back as she ignited, mouth open, every muscle taut and singing, every nerve aflame. Ashlinn’s hands kept moving, grinding, prolonging the shuddering, pulsing bliss. Mia cried out, pulling Ashlinn in against her, quivering and senseless, not enough air in her lungs, not enough blood in her veins.
Ash’s movements slowed, working a sweet and gentle torture until Mia reached down, pressed her hands against her and held them still.
“Enough,” she sighed. “Goddess … enough.”
She felt Ashlinn’s lips curling in a smile, another gentle nibble at her neck.
“Never,” Ash whispered. “Not ever.”
/> She stood up slowly, offered Mia her hand.
“Come with me, beautiful.”
CHAPTER 16
TEMPEST
The storm hit a few hours later.
They lay in each other’s arms in Mia’s cabin, skin to skin as the thunder rolled and the oceans swelled and the Maid rose and crashed and rose again. Mia had been grateful for the tempest once it settled in; the thunder and wind had been loud enough to drown out Ashlinn’s cries. Keeping their balance in the rising swell had proved a challenge, but through sheer determination, they’d managed it. On the floor and against the wall and in the hammock, too, finally collapsing there in a breathless, heaving tangle. The hammock swayed back and forth with the movement of the ship instead of their bodies now, timbers groaning around them.
Mia’s hair was damp with sweat, Ashlinn’s body slippery against hers, the girl’s scent hanging in the air like the sweetest perfume. Mia could taste Ash on her lips along with the sugar of her cigarillo paper, the heady gray burn of the smoke on her tongue.
“I can’t feel my legs,” Ashlinn murmured.
Mia laughed around her ’rillo, dragging the smoke from her lips.
“Don’t blame me. You’re the one who pleaded for more.”
“Couldn’t help myself.” Ash nuzzled closer. “And you like it when I plead.”
Goddess help her, but she did. Exhausted as Mia was, just the thought of it was enough to send fresh shivers along her spine. The sweet surrender of Ash in her arms, the honeyed triumph Mia felt as she melted under her touch. She was drunk with it. Eyelashes fluttering as she smiled and breathed clove-scented smoke, the girl in her embrace hers, and only hers.
Truth was, it’d be easy to think Mia and Ashlinn were cut from the same cloth. A pair made of spit and fire, driven by vengeance, sharp and hard, aye, perhaps even cruel. But Ash was different when they were alone. She was softer here. Silk to Mia’s steel. All the walls she put up for the world crumbling away to dust. There were parts of herself Ash kept just for Mia—like secrets in the dark, whispered without speaking. A language of sweet sighs and knowing eyes, of soft lips and gentle fingertips.
Lightning flashed through the porthole glass (replaced when they’d berthed at Whitekeep). Thunder rolled across the skies above, black clouds stretched over the sky. Mia could still feel the three suns waiting beyond, though, like a leaden weight on her shoulders, an ache at the base of her skull. Hate upon hate.
Mia ran her fingers up the smooth curve of Ashlinn’s hips, over her back, feeling the girl shiver and sigh in her arms. She was a feast for the senses, sure and true. Beautiful, svelte, golden. But Mia found her eyes drawn to the tattoo scribed on her lover’s skin. The map she’d stolen at Cardinal Duomo’s behest. It showed a twisting path through a crescent mountain range, instructions in the tongue of Old Ashkah. Glancing at the inkwerk, Mia saw the map’s destination between the luscious divots at the small of Ashlinn’s back. It was marked with a grim and grinning skull, which didn’t bode well for whatever happened on arrival at this mysterious Crown of the Moon.
This, of course, put Mia in mind of Tric, and all he’d told her as they stood beside that blackened pool beneath Godsgrave’s skin. Aa and Niah. The war between Light and Night. The splinter of a dead god’s soul somehow lodged in Mia’s own. She thought of the deadboy sitting alone in his cabin, listening to the tempest while she locked herself in here and fucked his murderer. A cool sliver of guilt piercing her heart.
Ashlinn had risked her life for Mia countless times during her trials in the venatus. Aside from Mercurio and her passengers, Ash had been the only one Mia could count on during those dark turns. And what Ashlinn had done in the Quiet Mountain after initiation—as terrible and bloody as her betrayal had been—Mia would simply be lying to herself if she said a part of her didn’t understand it.
Ashlinn’s father had raised his daughter to see the Red Church’s corruption. And though his motives were selfish—though it was his maiming in the Church’s service that led Torvar Järnheim to raise his children as weapons to bring about the Ministry’s fall—Mia could understand that, too. And more, understand why Ashlinn had followed him.
He was familia.
When all is blood, blood is all.
Truth was, Mia was no different. She was no better. She wasn’t a hero, driven by the cruelty and injustice of the Republic. She was a killer, driven by the pure and burning desire for revenge. Scaeva and Duomo and Remus had hurt her, and so she’d set out to hurt them back. And if others got in her way on the journey, one way or another, she moved them out of her way. Ashlinn had simply done the same.
Except one of the people she removed was Mia’s friend.
Confidant.
Lover.
And a year later, Mia had fallen into Ashlinn’s bed.
There was something heartless about that, Mia knew it. And it had been easy to rationalize at the time—any turn in the venatus could’ve been her last, and she’d clung to whatever comfort she could find back then. She was indebted to Ashlinn. She saw a dark kinship in Ashlinn. Goddess knew, she was attracted to Ashlinn.
And Tric was dead. Gone. Never coming back.
But now …
And while the press of Ash’s lips left Mia feeling almost dizzy, the thought of her touch even now, laying senseless and sated, sending warm and delightful pulses up her thighs, a part of Mia—the part Mister Kindly would have filled, most likely—was still suspicious of this girl in her arms. She thought about what the shadowcat had told her in Whitekeep. Wondering if the thing he took—fear, and all the spectrum of emotions it gave birth to—were things she should cherish rather than give away.
“Where did you find it?” she asked.
“Mmm?” Ash murmured, raising her head.
“The map.” Mia traced the line of Ash’s tattoo with her fingertip. “Where was it?”
“Old temple,” Ash sighed, sinking back onto Mia’s breast. “Ashkah.” She squirmed closer as Mia continued to stroke her back. “S’nice. Keep doing that.”
Mia sucked on her cigarillo, breathed gray into the air. Thunder rolled outside.
“What kind of temple?”
“Ruined. Dedicated to Niah. Why?”
“Who made it? Worship of Niah has been outlawed for centuries.”
Ash lifted her head again, a note of caution in her voice. “I don’t know. It was old. Hidden, too. Carved out of red stone, in the northern mountains. Up near the coast.”
“And you were sent by Duomo to find it, aye? With others, you told me.”
Ashlinn looked at Mia a long moment before she spoke. The waves crashed against their hull, the storm swelling darker and fiercer outside.
“There were ten of us. A bishop of Aa’s ministry named Valens. A pack of thugs—a Liisian named Piero, and two Itreyans named Rufus and Quintus. Can’t remember the rest. I don’t think Duomo trusted the Luminatii, so they were sellswords all. There was a Vaanian cartographer named Astrid, too. And me.”
“What happened to them?”
“They died.”
Mia took a long drag on her cigarillo, eyes narrowed against the smoke. “How?”
“What difference does it make?”
“Did you kill them?”
“Would it matter if I did?”
Mia shrugged, looking into the girl’s sky-blue eyes.
“Rufus got killed by a rockadder. Valens and most of the others died in the temple.” Ash looked at Mia’s rising eyebrow and sighed. “There were … things in there, Mia. In the map chamber. Like the bookworms in the Red Church Athenaeum almost, but … smaller. Faster.” Ash shook her head, shuddering slightly. “They attacked while Astrid was scribing the map. Piero and his sellswords tried to save the priest, they all got cut to ribbons. It was … messy. Only Astrid and I made it out, and then, only just.”
“And what happened to Astrid?”
“I killed her,” Ash said, her voice flat. “She worked for Duomo and I didn’t trust her. So I
cut her throat the turn I got the map scribed on my skin. Happy now?”
Lightning arced across the skies, thunder shaking the Maid in her bones.
“Why have you got your back up?” Mia asked. “Why so defensive?”
“Why ask me about all this now?”
“I never really had a chance before,” Mia shrugged. “I want to know how all these pieces fit. If we’re going to this Crown of the Moon—”
“You’re not seriously considering that?” Ash asked.
Mia dragged deep on her smoke. “I don’t know what I’m considering yet, Ash.”
Ashlinn scowled. “I don’t like it, Mia. All this talk of shattered moons and warring gods and whatnot. It stinks of rot to me. I don’t trust Tric as far as I could throw him.”
“You threw him all the way off a mountain, if I recall.”
Ash blinked. “O, now here’s a turn. Is the most infamous killer in the Itreyan Republic honestly about to lecture me on the morality of murder?”
Mia spoke slow, broaching the topic with as much care as she could muster.
“He was your friend, Ashlinn…”
“He wasn’t my friend,” Ash spat. “There are no friends in the Church of Our Lady of Blessed Murder. And he wasn’t some lost lamb I butchered, either. He was the servant of a death cult that I was trying to burn to the ground. He killed an innocent child to take his place among Niah’s Blades, Mia. And I’m not hypocritical enough to blame him for that. But just because he’s got some pretty dimples doesn’t mean he’s not a fucking killer. Just like me. And just like you.”
Mia looked into Ashlinn’s eyes. Her walls were back up now, the softness long banished, the fire she breathed every turn of her life coming quick to her lips. For all her adoration, Ash wasn’t shy about standing up to Mia when she felt the need. Pushing back where no one else dared, cutting right to the heart of it. And sure enough, she’d found her mark. The truth Mia couldn’t argue with.
How can I fault her for doing what I’ve done a hundred times or more?
“My brother died in that attack on the Quiet Mountain,” Ash continued. “And I never whined about it. Never once asked if you had anything to do with it.”
