Godsgrave

by Jay Kristoff

  2 The Vaanians in the audience kept their mouths on the safe side of shut.

  12: epiphany

  “Did you know?”

  The bishop of Godsgrave leapt near three feet out of his chair. His teacup of goldwine slipped from his fingers, spilled across the parchment on his desk. Heart rattling about his chest, Mercurio turned and found his old pupil behind him, swathed in the shadows of his bookshelves.

  “’Byss and bl—”

  His heart stilled as he saw the gravebone stiletto in his former protégée’s hand. A blond girl was standing in the gloom behind her, dressed in dark leathers. She looked vaguely familiar, but damned if Mercurio could place her . . .

  A low growl made him turn, and he saw a wolf made of shadows coalescing near his open chamber door. As if in a soft breeze, it slowly creaked shut.

  “Did. You. Know?” Mia repeated.

  Mercurio turned his eyes back to his former pupil.

  “I know lots of things, little Crow,” he said calmly. “You’ll have to be m—”

  She moved in a blur, across the space between them in a blinking. He hissed as she seized his throat, pressed her blade to his jugular.

  “Get that bloody pigsticker off my neck,” the old man demanded.

  “Answer me!”

  Mercurio tapped his own blade—which he’d drawn as he dropped his goldwine—against Mia’s femoral artery.

  “One good twitch and you’ll be bled out in moments,” he said.

  “That makes two of us.”

  “I gave you that knife,” he said, swallowing against the gravebone blade.

  “No, Mister Kindly gave it to me.”

  Mercurio eyed the not-cat now coalescing on Mia’s shoulder.

  “ . . . you just gave it back, old man . . .”

  “Still. Never thought I’d find it against my own throat, little Crow.”

  “I never thought you’d give me a reason,” the girl said.

  “And what would that be?”

  “They killed my father, Mercurio,” she said, voice trembling. “Or as good as. They handed him over to Scaeva and let him hang!”

  “Who did?” the old man scowled, glancing over Mia’s shoulder at the blonde.

  “The Ministry!” Mia spat. “Drusilla, Cassius, the rest of them. My father and Antonius were captured in the middle of a camp of ten thousand men. Who could do that if not a Blade of Niah?”

  “That makes no blo—”

  “Did you know?”

  The old man looked at his pupil, saw no fear of the blade in his hand. No fear of dying reflected in her eyes. Only rage.

  “Six years, I trained you for the Church’s trials,” he said quietly. “Why in the Black Mother’s name would I do that, if I knew the Church helped Scaeva murder your da?”

  “Well, why would the Church train me at all if they helped kill him, Mercurio?”

  “That what I mean about this not making sense, Mia. Think on it.”

  Mia hands trembled on her stiletto, and she stared into his eyes. He could see the Blade in her, the killer they carved from the girl he’d given them. He knew that was what she’d become, sending her there. He knew the mark it would leave. You don’t gift someone to the Maw without gifting a piece of yourself, also. But beneath, he could still see her. The waif he’d saved from the Godsgrave streets. The girl he’d sheltered beneath his roof, taught everything he knew. The girl who, even after she failed, he’d still thought of as his kin.

  “I’d never hurt you, little Crow. You know that. On my life, I swear it.”

  She stared a moment longer. The killer she’d become warring with the girl she’d been. And slowly, ever so slowly, Mia withdrew the knife. Mercurio lifted his blade away from her leg, slipped it back into his armrest, and leaned back in his chair.

  “You want to tell me what all this is about?” he asked.

  The blond girl produced a book from beneath her cloak, placed it on the desk before him. It was black. Leather. Unadorned.

  “The fuck’s this?” he asked.

  “The Red Church ledger,” Blondie replied.

  His eyes grew wide. Suddenly, it made sense. Suddenly . . .

  “I recognize you now,” he breathed. “We met at the Church, when I came to get Mia. You’re Torvar’s girl. You’re Ashlinn fucking Järnheim.”

  “Well, my middle name’s actually Frija, but—”

  “We’ve been hunting you for eight bloody months!” Mercurio turned to Mia, voice rising. “Have you taken complete leave of your senses? Thanks to this traitor and her da, most of our Blades are in the fucking ground!”

  Ashlinn shrugged. “Live by the sword . . .”

  “It was a miracle they never got me!”

  “Bullshit,” the girl replied. “When the Luminatii purged Godsgrave, they never kicked in the door of your little Curio Shop, did they?”

  “O, and why’s that, pray tell?” the old man growled.

  Ashlinn looked toward Mia. Back to the red-faced bishop.

  “Because I didn’t want her hurt.”

  Silence fell in the room, Mia looking anywhere but into Ashlinn’s eyes. After a long, uncomfortable quiet, she turned to the ledger, flipping through the pages until she found a name listed among the many patrons and their payments. A name written in a bold flowing script, stark black against the yellowing parchment.

  Julius Scaeva.

  “You knew, didn’t you?” Mia asked. “The Ministry would have to tell bishops who can and can’t be touched, if only to avoid breaches of Sanctity.”

  “Of course I knew,” the old man snapped. “They told me as soon as they made me bishop. Why the ’byss do you think I haven’t sent one of my Blades to cut the bastard’s throat? Standing for a fourth term as consul? He’s a fucking king in all but name. And I’ve said so all along, remember?”

  Mia tapped the entry with her finger.

  “Ten thousand silver priests,” she said. “Sent to the Church by Scaeva himself, dated three turns after my father’s execution. Paid by the man who stood to gain the most from the rebellion’s failure. And the name of my father’s right-hand man is carved at Niah’s feet in the Hall of Eulogies. Explain that to me, Mercurio.”

  The old man stroked his chin with a scowl.

  Looked down at the names and numbers, blurring in the dim light.

  It couldn’t be . . .

  Of course he knew Scaeva was secretly paying the Church. Truth told, it made sense for people who could afford the cost to be stuffing Niah’s coffers. That was one of the beauties of Sanctity, you see—gift the Church enough money to be considered a patron, you’d be protected under the Red Promise. The King of Vaan had been doing it for years. Stroke of genius, really. Niah’s faithful could get paid without lifting a finger.1

  Of course, Scaeva went further than just a retainer—he’d used the Church to rid himself of a dozen thorns in his side. But Mercurio had never suspected the Church had been involved with the end of the Kingmakers. Everything he’d ever heard led him to believe Corvere and Antonius had been betrayed by one of their own men.

  Could it be . . ?

  “The Red Church captured my father,” Mia said, her voice thick with pain. “Handed him over to the Senate. They as good as murdered him themselves.”

  Mister Kindly tilted his head, purring soft.

  “ . . . what I do not understand, is why scaeva had remus attack the mountain, if scaeva already has the church in his pocket . . . ?”

  “ . . . AS IF THAT IS THE ONLY THING YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND . . .”

  “ . . . hush now, child, the adults are talking . . .”

  “Remus attacked the Mountain without Scaeva’s consent,” Ashlinn said.

  “Bullshit.” Mercurio turned on the Vaanian girl with a scowl. “Remus didn’t take a squirt without asking Scaeva’s permission first. The Senate, the Luminatii, and Aa’s Church are the three pillars of the whole fucking Republic, girl.”

  “Don’t call me girl, you crusty old pric
k,” Ashlinn snapped. “My father was the one in league with Remus, remember? The justicus hated Scaeva’s guts. O, aye, he took the consul’s orders, but Remus was one of Aa’s faithful, just like Duomo. Using the Red Church for his dirty work made Scaeva a heretic in the Remus’s eyes. And shutting down the Church would’ve cut Scaeva’s access to his pack of hired murderers.”

  Mercurio scratched his chin. “I thought Remus and Duomo—”

  “Duomo’s a patron of the Church too.”

  “I know that,” Mercurio snapped. “I’m not some simpleton fresh in from the rain, I’m a bishop of Our Lady of Blessed fucking Murder.”

  “Except our illustrious grand cardinal never hires the Church to blessedly fucking murder anyone.” Ashlinn flicked through the ledger, showed exorbitant payments from Duomo dating back six years. “He just pays an annual stipend out of Aa’s coffers. Protects him under Sanctity, see? That way, he knows Scaeva can’t just have his throat cut while he sleeps. The cardinal and the consul hate each other, and both of them would do almost anything to see the other dead.”

  “ . . . IT OCCURS TO ME THAT RECORDING THIS IN A LEDGER WAS A FANTASTICALLY FOOLISH IDEA . . .”

  “They kept it in a locked vault,” Ashlinn said to the shadowwolf. “Inside a den of the most feared killers in the Republic. And the only key was hung around the neck of one of the most accomplished assassins the world has ever known. Considering what I had to go through to get hold of it, perhaps it’s not as foolish as you think.”

  “ . . . speaking of which, little traitor, why, pray tell, have we not murdered you yet . . ?”

  “My winning personality?” Ashlinn glanced at the not-cat on Mia’s shoulder. “Or perhaps it’s just because I’m the only one with half a clue what the fuck is going on around here.”

  “So what is goi . . .” The old man blinked, looked about the room. “ . . . Wait, where the ’byss is Jessamine?”

  Mia and Ashlinn exchanged a long, uneasy glance. Ash’s lip was split and swollen from her brawl on the roof, her eye bruised black.

  “ . . . there was some . . . unpleasantness . . .”

  “Fucking wonderful.” Mercurio glared at Ashlinn. “And you’re responsible for it?”

  “If it makes you feel better, Jess stabbed me first.” Ashlinn shrugged. “I just stabbed her last. And . . . repeatedly.”

  “So what are you doing here?” the bishop demanded. “Mia got sent out seven turns ago to kill a braavi and steal a map. She comes back here with the most wanted traitor in Church history. Where do you fit into all of this?”

  Ashlinn shrugged. “I have the map.”

  “ . . . you had the map. it exploded, remember . . . ?”

  The girl smirked. “You don’t think I’m stupid enough to let something that valuable go up in flames, do you, Mister Know-it-all?”

  “You’d best start talking, then,” Mercurio growled.

  “Aye,” Mia nodded. “Where did you get it? Where does it lead? And who are you working for? The braavi said you were selling the map to Cardinal Duomo.”

  “He hired me to get it,” Ash said, leaning against the wall and folding her arms. “After the attack on the Church went tits up, da and I spent the next eight months dodging Blades sent to kill us. By the time da died, we’d burned most of our coin. Duomo and Remus plotted together to bring the Church down, so I knew how to get in touch with the cardinal. Turns out he was looking for someone with my . . . skill set.”

  “For what? Back-talking and smartarsery?” Mercurio spat.

  Ashlinn’s lips twisted in that maddening smirk. “Locks. Traps. Dark work. He’d learned of another way he might tip the balance and undo the Red Church once and for all. Without them in the way, he’d be free to take down Scaeva, install a pliant new consul, and have the pot for himself.”

  Mia’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of ‘other way’?”

  Ash shrugged. “He never said. I never asked. My job was to travel with a pack of sellswords and a bishop of Aa’s ministry. To a temple ruin on the north coast of Old Ashkah. That’s where we found the map. And . . . other things.”

  “What kind of other things?” Mercurio asked.

  Ashlinn’s face was stone, but Mia saw a sliver of fear in her eyes.

  “The dangerous kind.”

  “What happened to your comrades?”

  The girl shrugged. “They didn’t make it.”

  “So you came back to the ’Grave alone to sell the map to Duomo?” Mia asked.

  Ash nodded. “The Toffs act as his middlemen. Duomo has the coin to carry a lot of people in his pocket. I didn’t know if he’d try to shiv me in the back, but I presumed the worst. I’m a loose end. One of the only people alive who knew the cardinal was working against Scaeva to take the Church down.”

  “Well, someone knew Duomo is working with the Toffs,” Mercurio said. “And that the map was being delivered to them this eve. And that someone hired Mia to . . .

  Mia met Mercurio’s stare. The old man’s eyes growing wide.

  “You don’t think . . . ,” he began.

  Mia searched the floorboards as if looking for a truth she’d dropped. Dragging her hair behind her ear. The sinking in his stomach reflected on her face.

  “My patron for this offering requested me specifically,” she breathed. “‘She who slew the justicus of the Luminatii Legion.’ Or so the Ministry said. And I’ve offered up three others at the same patron’s request.”

  “ . . . Who did you kill?”

  “A senator’s son. Gaius Aurelius. The mistress of another Liisian Senator, Armando Tulli. And a Galante magistrate named Cicerii.”

  “Black Mother,” Mercurio growled.

  “What is it?” Ashlinn asked, looking between them.

  “Gaius Aurelius was rumored to be planning a run for consul against Scaeva,” Mercurio said. “And Cicerii was planning an inquest into the constitutionality of Scaeva sitting a fourth term.”

  Mia sank to her haunches, steadied herself against the flagstones. Eclipse coalesced beside her, Mister Kindly licking her hand with his insubstantial tongue.

  “O, goddess . . . ,” she breathed.

  “Scaeva is pulling people into line,” Mercurio realized. “Intimidating opponents or killing them. Making sure he’s elected again.”

  “And I’ve been helping him . . . ,” Mia whispered.

  “ . . . bastards . . .”

  “Which means he knows Duomo is working against him. He knows whatever this map leads to is a threat to the Church, and he’s using the Church to eliminate it.”

  “Protecting his little cult of assassins.” Ashlinn looked at Mia, shaking her head. “What did I tell you? Whores, all. And not content with helping to murder your father, the Church made you slit throats for the bastard responsible for his hanging. Solis. Mouser. Spiderkiller. Aalea. Drusilla. They need a killing, Mia. Every last one of them.”

  “Scaeva.”

  Mia spat the word like a mouthful of poison. Lips peeling back from her teeth. She glared at Ashlinn, slowly shaking her head.

  “Scaeva and Duomo first.”

  Ashlinn stepped forward, eyes glinting like steel.

  “Duomo is probably at the Basilica Grande right now.”

  Mia shook her head. “I can’t get in there. I tried once before. The trinities . . .”

  “I can get him for you,” Ashlinn offered. “He might bathe with one about his neck, sleep with one under his damned pillow, there’s no trinity that can stop me. I steal inside and cut his throat, then we get Scaeva and the Ch—”

  “No,” Mia said. “They’re mine. The pair of them.”

  She rose slowly from the floor, black hair draped about a ghost-pale face.

  “Those bastards are mine.”

  “Hold, now,” Mercurio counseled. “Let’s not speak hasty.”

  “Hasty?” Mia snarled. “The Red Church helped kill my father, Mercurio. Just as Scaeva and Duomo did. The Ministry are as guilty as the other two.”


  “But why would the Red Church train you if they helped kill your father?”

  “Maybe they thought I’d never find out? Maybe Cassius ordered them to train me, knowing I was darkin? Maybe that fucker Scaeva found it amusing? Or maybe they thought once I’d killed enough, grown cold enough, I just wouldn’t care anymore?”

  The old man steepled his fingers at his chin, staring at the ledger.

  “Feed someone to the Maw, you also feed it a part of yourself,” he murmured.

  “Are you with me?” she asked.

  He looked at the ledger. Scaeva’s name. The man who’d crafted himself a throne in a Republic that had rid themselves of their kings centuries ago. A man who thought himself above law, honor, morality. But truthfully, Mercurio himself had cast most of those aside himself, years ago. All in the name of faith.