by Jay Kristoff
Furian pushed her back, stepped away, horror on his face. Their shadows continued to tie themselves in knots, and the man held up three fingers—Aa’s warding sign against evil. Like locks of knotted hair, the shadows slowly tore themselves apart, resuming their human shapes. They clung to one another, arms, hands, then fingertips, Furian’s shadow snapping into place as he backed further away. Mia’s shadow ebbed and pulsed on the wall, like the ocean in a swell.
“What are we?” she breathed.
Furian’s chest was heaving, his long dark hair moving as if of its own accord. He snatched it up, tied it in a knot behind his head, snarling.
“We are nothing, you and I.”
“We’re the same. This is who we are, Furian.”
“That,” Furian spat, pointing to the trinity on the wall, “is who I am. A faithful, god-fearing son of Aa. Bathed in his light and taught by his scripture. That,” he said, pointing to the wooden swords, “is who I am. Gladiatii. Undefeated. Unbroken. Unfallen. And so I would remain, if a thousand silklings stood between me and the magni.”
“So the magni is all that matters? If freedom is so important to y—”
“This is not about freedom,” he spat. “And that is just one more difference between you and me. Being gladiatii is a masque you wear. For me, the sand, the crowd, the glory, it is a reason to wake. A reason to breathe.”
Furian marched across the room, and listening briefly at the door, he opened it. He glared at Mia, seemingly unwilling to touch her again.
“Get out of here, Crow.”
She’d not convinced him. Not even come close. His stupid pride. His idiotic sense of honor. His fear of who and what he was. She didn’t understand any of it. And though they were both darkin, in truth, Mia realized they were completely different people. That whatever kinship they might know in the shadows, this here, this life, this flesh, they were as alike as truelight and truedark.
If you can’t see your chains, what use is a key?
And so, with a sigh, she stepped beyond the threshold of his room, into the corridor beyond.
“What made you so?” she asked softly. “What were you before this?”
“Exactly what you will be when the magni is done, girl.”
Furian shut the door in her face with a parting jab.
“Nothing.”
21: please
“Well, well,” Sidonius said. “Look what the shadowcat dragged in.”
Mia crouched on the cell floor, still dizzy from her Stepping. The barracks were almost pitch black, the quiet broken only by the soft snoring and fitful murmurs of the gladiatii around them. Sidonius lay on his side in the straw, eyes open only a sliver. Mister Kindly had warned Mia that the man was awake, but he knew her secret anyway. Well, some of her secrets . . .
No sense in hiding what he already knew.
“You pinch me some grub, or what?” Sid asked.
Mia smiled, tossed the man a hunk of cheese she’d stolen from the kitchen. He grinned, tearing off a bite and speaking around his mouthful. “Sneakier than a fart in Church, you are.”
“Were you waiting up for me? Awfully sweet of you.”
“No, in fact I’ll have you know you interrupted a lovely dream involving me, the magistrae, a riding crop and a featherdown bed.”
“The magistrae?” Mia raised her eyebrow.
“I’ve a penchant for older women, little Crow.”
“You’ve a penchant for anything with two tits, a hole and heartbeat, Sid.”
“Ha! You know me well.” The big man grinned, raising his cheese in toast. “But Four Daughters, I do like your style.”
“A pity Furian can’t say the same.”
“Ah, that’s where you were. How’s he hung? A man swaggers around with that much bravado, he’s usually compensating for the peanut in his britches.”
Mia remembered the feel of Furian’s cock against her hip, pressed her thighs together to heighten the ache. She was feeling edgy after her encounter with the Unfallen. Restless and overflowing. Trying to ignore all of it and think clear.
“I wasn’t bedding him, Sid,” she scowled. “I was trying to convince him not to get me fucking murdered.”
“Well, speaking as a former world traveler, you’d be surprised how far a quick wristjob will go toward mending strained foreign relations.”
Mia kicked the straw at her cellmate and grinned despite herself. “You’re a pig.”
“As I say, you know me well, little Crow.”
“If Furian and I don’t learn to fight together, that silkling is going to be using my lower intestines to make her sausages.”
“She that fearsome?”
“I’m not afraid of her, no. But she’s the best I’ve ever seen with a blade.”
“O, aye? And how many others have you seen with a blade?”
“My fair share.”
“Mmf,” Sid grunted, leaning against the wall and looking Mia up and down. “Secrets within secrets with you. Not eighteen years old, I’d wager. Skinny slip of a thing, and better with a sword than I am. But you do realize there’s always an alternative to becoming a silkling’s suppertime, don’t you?”
“And what’s that?” Mia sighed. “Murder Furian in his sleep and hope Leona pairs me and Bladesinger with someone who not an insufferable cockhead?”
Sidonius lifted his hands and made the motion of flapping wings.
“Fly awayyyyy, little Crow.”
“Not an option.”
Sid scoffed. “You step in and out of this cell more often than a fourteen-year-old boy spanks his chaplain. You can leave this place any time you choose. So if Champion Cockhead is going to get you stone-cold murdered, why don’t you just escape?”
Mia sighed. “If I did, every one of you would be executed.”
“Bollocks,” Sid said. “I watch you, Crow. I watch you watching us. Arkades. Leona. Furian. Me. Those little wheels behind those shady eyes always aturn. And though I don’t think you’re quite the coldest fish in this pond, you can’t honestly say you give a damn whether any of us lives or dies. Especially when we’re all likely to perish in the venatus anyways. So what’s your game?”
“Believe me, Sidonius,” Mia replied. “The last thing I’m doing here is playing.”
“Have it your way, then.” Sid took another bite of cheese, shook his head, wistful. “I tell you true, you remind me of a woman I used to know. It’s bloody uncanny. Same eyes as you. Same skin. Secrets within secrets on her, too.”
“Some old flame? Break your heart, did she?”
“Neh,” Sid shook his head. “I never loved her. But most men who knew her did. She almost brought the Republic to its knees. But in the end, she and her shady eyes and her secrets within secrets got her whole familia killed. Husband. Young daughter. Baby son. And a lot of my friends besides.”
Mia’s stomach turned cold. Eyes narrowing.
“Who are you talking about?”
“Former dona of this house, of course,” Sid said, gesturing to the walls. “Wife of the true justicus. Alinne Corvere.” He shook his head. “Stupid fucking whore.”
Afterward, Mia couldn’t remember moving. All she could recall was the satisfying crunch as her fist landed on Sidonius’s jaw, the sharp crack as his head bounced off the wall behind him. The big man cursed, tried to batter her away as she clawed at his throat, punching his cheek, his temple, his nose.
“Have you lost your—”
“Take it back,” she spat.
“Get off me!”
Mia and Sidonius fell to struggling, the bigger man wrestling her onto the floor as her knuckles played a tune on his face. “Take it back!” she roared, the pair rolling about in the straw, flailing and punching. A few other gladiatii woke up at the commotion, Bladesinger peering out from the slit in her cell door, Otho and Felix cheering as they realized a brawl had erupted, straining at their cell bars for a better look.
“Shut the fuck up in there!” Butcher bellowed from the cell acr
oss the way.
“Peace, Crow!” Sidonius cried.
“ . . . mia stop this . . .”
“Take it back!”
“Take what back?”
Sidonius cracked Mia across the jaw, Mia punched him in the throat. Choking, the big man grabbed a fistful of Mia’s hair and slammed her head into the bars, ringing all the world like a gong. Lashing out blind, stars in her eyes, she landed a brutal kick to his bollocks. Both gladiatii fell to the stone floor, gasping, bleeding, the cut on Mia’s brow from her silkling brawl split anew, Sid groaning and clutching his jewels.
“ . . . mia, stop, arkades will hear . . . !”
Mister Kindly’s whisper cut through the red haze in her head, dragged her to her senses. The not-cat spoke truth—if they kept brawling, Executus would surely hear the commotion, and they’d likely be flogged. She aimed one last kick at Sidonius, who rolled away across the floor with a curse. The big man dragged himself into a corner like a whipped dog, Mia into the opposite, the pair gasping and glaring at each other across the bloodstained stone.
“What th-the ’byss . . . was that?” Sid managed, his voice almost an octave higher.
Mia dragged bloody knuckles across her bloody nose.
“Nobody talks that way about her.”
“About wh—”
Sidonius blinked. Ice-blue eyes narrowing as he looked across the cell to the girl panting and wheezing in the corner. Dragging her long dark hair away from her dark eyes—the eyes that reminded him of . . .
“Can’t be . . . ,” he breathed.
Sidonius looked to the walls around him. Back to the girl. Mia could see the slow puzzle of it, the impossible math, all of it falling into an insane kind of place in his eyes. This girl who wouldn’t escape these walls, despite being able to leave whenever she chose. This girl who seemed determined to fight in the most vicious contest yet devised in Republic history, just to attain a freedom she could have any time she chose. So, if it wasn’t about the freedom . . .
“The Crow,” he breathed. “And here we sit, in Crow’s Nest.”
. . . it must be about the winning.
“You’re . . . You’re their . . . ?”
She felt it welling up inside her. Behind the pain of Sid’s beating, the pulse throbbing in her head and spilling blood into her eyes. The weight of it. Being surrounded every turn by reminders of who she’d been, what might have become, all that had been taken from her. The frustration and hunger she felt around Furian, the confusion and desire she felt around Ashlinn, the sheer magnitude of the task before her. She didn’t feel fear in the face of it all, no, the thing in her shadow wouldn’t allow that. But she did feel sorrow. Regret, for all that was and might have been.
And just for a second, just for a moment, the weight of it felt too much.
The other gladiatii had realized the show was over, shuffled back to their places in the straw. Mia sat hunched, hugging her scuffed knees, glaring at Sidonius through her ragged fringe. Lip trembling. Eyes burning in the dark.
“Take it back,” she whispered, tears welling in her lashes.
“Peace, Crow,” the man murmured, swabbing his bleeding lip. “If offense was given, I beg pardon. I didn’t . . . I couldn’t . . .”
He stared at her bewildered, once more glancing at the walls around them. Red stone, iron bars, rusty chains. None could hold her. And yet, here she still was . . .
“Four Daughters, I’m sorry . . .”
Mia sat there in the dark, feeling his eyes, feeling his pity, crawling like lice on her skin. She couldn’t stand it, the weakness she’d shown, the sorrow in Sid’s gaze, dragging her bleeding knuckles across her eyes and feeling her temper swell once more. Feeling angry felt better—far better than feeling sorry for herself. The adrenaline from her brawl tingled in her fingertips, left her legs shaking. She wanted to run, wanted to fight, wanted to close her eyes and still the tempest inside her head, for time to stand still for just one second.
Is that what she wanted?
What do you want?
It had been stupid to let it slip. To let her rage get the better of her, let Sid guess who she was. But had it been a mistake?
He’d known her father. Served him loyally. Still revered him, after all these years.
Maybe she’d wanted him to know?
Maybe she wanted to know someone who knew them too? Who understood a fraction of what being here must be like.
The future loomed before her, the empty sands of Godsgrave arena. All the blood that awaited her, all the blood behind her. Every moment of her life had led her to this path, this vengeance, this unbending, unbranching road.
But what did she want, besides revenge?
It was still hours until nevernight’s end.
She didn’t want to sleep.
She didn’t want to dream.
She didn’t want to lay her head down in this place that had been her home, and now served only as a fading reminder of all that could have been.
So what do you want?
“Crow?”
She looked up at Sid, quietly bleeding in his corner.
“Blessed Aa, I’m sorry, girl,” he said.
She didn’t want him looking at her, that much was certain. And as he rose from his straw and sat down beside her, wrapping one of those big, ham-hock arms around her shoulder, she realized the last thing on earth she wanted was him consoling her. She didn’t want pity. She didn’t want to fall into some lump’s clumsy, slightly uncomfortable hug and cry like some frightened child. That time was long behind her. Dead and buried like her familia. She was a Blade of the Red Church now. Not weak and fragile glass. She was steel.
But she didn’t want to be alone, either.
She thought of her time as an acolyte. The forgetting and solace she’d found in Tric’s arms. But he was dead and buried too, now. An empty tomb in a hollow hall, carved with the only memoriam he’d ever know. She’d told Shahiid Aalea that she missed him, and there was truth in that. But more, she realized she missed the clarity of it; the simple joy of wanting and being wanted in kind. The lingering ache from her visit with Furian wasn’t helping any.
The brightest flames burn out the fastest, Aalea had told her. But in them, there is warmth that can last a lifetime. Even from a love that only lasts the nevernight. For people like us, there are no promises of forever.
Looking up into Sidonius’s eyes, she finally realized what she wanted.
Not forever, perhaps.
But for now.
“ . . . Why’re you looking at me like that?” the big Itreyan asked.
And without a word
she looked over his shoulder
to the shadow in the stairwell
and disappeared right out of his arms.
* * *
Sounds of the harbor. Soldiers calling “all’s well” as they patrolled the nevernight streets. The wind blowing in off the ocean into Crow’s Rest was blessedly cool, Mia shivering after the dank heat of the barracks. Her hand hovered above the window-glass, just shy of knocking.
“ . . . this is unwise . . .”
“Go back to the keep,” Mia whispered. “And tell Eclipse to watch the street.”
“ . . . mia, i—. . .”
“Go.”
Without a sound, the not-cat left her, her shadow growing thin and pale. As soon as Mister Kindly departed, she felt it, sneaking and creeping inside her belly—the fear she’d have always felt without him beside her. Fear of being here. Fear of what it meant, or where it could lead. Fear of who and what she was. And before it could sink its cold claws too far into her skin, she knocked, once, twice, knuckles striking sharp upon the glass.
No sound from the room inside. Mia felt a deepening dread, thinking perhaps she wasn’t in there, that she’d stolen away after their argument, betrayed her and left her behind, proved that all the mistrust and sus—
The window opened. Ashlinn Järnheim stood beyond the sill, pillow-mussed and befuddled by sleep. H
er eyes were the blue of sunsburned skies.
“Mia?” the girl asked, stifling a yawn. “What time is it?”
Those blue eyes widened as she saw the scrapes on Mia’s knuckles, the split above her bruised eye, the bruise at her jaw.
“Black Mother, what happened to . . . ?”
The question trailed off as Mia reached out, pressed a finger to Ash’s lips. They hung there a moment; two girls, barely touching, all the world around them holding its breath. The confusion in Ashlinn’s eyes began to melt as Mia moved her finger, gentle as feathers. She traced the smooth bow of Ashlinn’s upper lip, the plump softness of her lower, slow and soft. The arc of her cheek, the line of her jaw, Ash’s breath coming quicker as she came fully awake, aware, awonder, the skin on her bare arms prickling. And as she parted her lips to speak, perhaps to protest, Mia leaned in and silenced her with a kiss.
She’d not kissed a girl before. At least, not like this. The kiss between them in the Mountain had been of farewell—lingering perhaps, but still a goodbye. This kiss was an invitation; a gentle, desperate plea for a beginning, not an ending. A question without words, Mia’s mouth open and melting against Ashlinn’s own. And as she felt Ashlinn shiver, the featherlight brush of her tongue in kind, Mia had her answer.
She climbed in through the window, their lips never parting. Arms entwined, hands exploring, Mia breaking the kiss only long enough to drag Ashlinn’s nightshirt up over her head. She was naked beneath, stripped gloriously bare with a single gesture. Mia paused a moment to drink in the sight; the sunslight caressing the line of her throat, the swell of her curves, the shadow between her legs.
“Mia, I . . .”
Mia sank back, pressing her mouth to Ashlinn’s neck. The girl’s chest was heaving, her cheeks flushed, whispering soft nothings and letting her head drift back as Mia sank lower, down to her breast, teasing one pebble-hard nipple with her tongue.
The pair collapsed onto the bed, Ash’s hands tearing at the bindings about Mia’s chest, her hips, groaning as Mia’s teeth nipped at her neck. Any questions she might have had were drowned now, breath coming too quick to speak, lips parted as she crushed Mia to her, skin on skin, every sweet secret at her fingertips. Down her ribs, over the swell of her hips to the curve of her arse as Mia wrapped one leg about her, dragging her in closer.
