Nevernight

by Jay Kristoff

  “Solis looks to make an example of someone in his class early. But beneath the callousness, his task is to teach, and he takes pride in it. If you give him reason to hurt you again, he will do so without compunction. Hurting things is in Solis’s nature, and it is this very nature that suits him so ideally to teaching you to hurt others.”

  The enormity of it all began to dawn on Mia. The reality of where she was. What she was doing. This place was a forge where Blades were honed, death sculpted. Even after years at Mercurio’s feet, she had so much to learn, and a misstep could cost her dear. Truth was, she’d been showing off. And while Solis had acted an utter prick, she’d misstepped by trying to best him in front the entire flock. She resolved not to let pride have its head again in future. She was here for one reason, and one reason only: Consul Scaeva and Cardinal Duomo and Justicus Remus needed to die. She needed to become skilled enough, sharp enough, hard enough to end each and every one of them, and that wasn’t going to happen if she lost herself in childish games. Time to keep her mouth well on the safe side of shut and play it smart.

  “I understand, Revered Mother.”

  “You will be unable to study in the Hall of Songs until your hurts are healed,” Drusilla said. “I have spoken to Shahiid Aalea, and she has agreed to begin your tutelage early.”

  “Aalea.” Mia swallowed thickly. “Shahiid of Masks.”

  The old woman smiled. “There is nothing to fear, child. You will find yourself looking forward to her lessons in time.”

  Drusilla stood, tucked her hands into her sleeves.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve other tasks to attend. If you’ve need, or questions answered, seek me out. Like all of us, I am here to serve.”

  The woman left without a sound, padding off into the darkness. Mia watched her leave, wondering at her words. What had she said?

  “Those who call the Dark … well, eventually it calls them back.”

  Mercurio had never seemed entirely at ease around Mister Kindly, though he’d never outright spoken of it. For his own part, the not-cat seemed content enough to ignore her master, and stayed out of sight when Mercurio was around. Growing up, she’d never really had anyone to speak to about her talents. No tome in Mercurio’s store tackled the topic, and folklore about darkin was contradictory at best, superstitious twaddle at worst.1 She’d simply muddled along with her growing gifts as best she was able. When truedark fell the year she turned eleven, she’d noticed her connection to the shadows felt stronger. And the truedark she’d turned fourteen …

  No.

  Don’t look.

  “… she seems … nice…”

  Mister Kindly appeared at the foot of the slab, bringing a smile to Mia’s lips.

  “‘Nice’ is one word for it.”

  “… i have others less flattering, but there has been enough bloodshed for one turn…”

  Mia winced as she flexed her arm, pain lancing into her shoulder. Her anxiety was fading with Mister Kindly back by her side, replaced now with anger. She cursed beneath her breath, knowing this wound would take her out of Songs for weeks. Wishing she’d not been so reckless, or that Shahiid Solis hadn’t so dearly deserved a drubbing, she set about tying a sling about her neck.

  “… you should sleep. you may need your strength tomorrow…”

  Mia sucked her lip. Nodded. Mister Kindly was right. Mercurio had been close-lipped about what to expect from within the Church. He’d prepared her as best he could, but she got the impression there was only so much he could reveal before he betrayed the congregation’s trust. With the Luminatii vowing to eradicate the Church if it could, secrecy was the watchword beyond these walls. She’d no idea how Church disciples moved from city to city, how the local chapels were run, even what the internal hierarchy was. Solis was Master of Songs, which meant he taught the art of the sword. She supposed the Shahiid of Pockets would teach thievery? Trickstering? But as for the Shahiid of Truths and Masks, Mia had no real idea what to expect from their tutelage.

  “I am tired,” she sighed, rubbing her temples.

  “… sleep then…”

  “Right. You coming?”

  “… always…”

  The girl slipped her wounded arm into her sling, the not-cat slipped into her shadow, and the pair of them slipped from the room.

  Tric was waiting outside her bedchamber when she arrived, crouched with his back to the wall. He rose swiftly when he saw Mia approach, relief in his eyes.

  “Thank Our Lady,” he breathed. “You’re all right.”

  Mia shifted her arm, wincing. “A little bruised, but in one piece.”

  “That bastard Solis,” Tric hissed. “I wanted to gut him for what he did. Gave it a roll, but he knocked me flat on my arse and kicked me senseless.”

  Mia looked over the new bruises on Tric’s face, shook her head. “My brave centurion. Riding in on his charger to save his poor damsel? Hold me, brave sir, I fear I shall swoon.”

  “Sod off,” Tric scowled. “He hurt you.”

  “The Revered Mother said he does it all the time. Sets the tone in his classes on the first smart-arse stupid enough to raise her head.”

  “Enter Mia Corvere, stage left,” Tric grinned.

  Mia bowed low. “I suppose Solis can afford to be brutal with Weaver Marielle about.”

  “She really mended the wound with her bare hands?”

  Mia pulled her elbow out of the sling, gingerly lifted her shirtsleeve. Tric slowly turned her arm this way and that, those big, callused hands impossibly gentle. Mia pulled her sleeve down before the goosebumps began to show.

  “See? Just a bruise or two to mark the occasion of my first dismemberment.”

  Tric scratched at his saltlocks, looking abashed. “I was … worried about you.”

  She stared up at the boy, those awful tattoos and hazel eyes. Wondering what was going on behind them.

  “I don’t need you worrying about me, Tric. This place has danger enough to kill us both. If you let yourself fret on me, you’ll miss the knife aimed at you.”

  “I’m not fretting,” the boy scowled. “I’ve just … got your back, is all.”

  She found herself smiling. A grateful warmth inside her belly. What she’d said was true—this mountain wasn’t a sewing circle. The dangers within these halls might end them both. Still, it was comforting to know someone was looking out for her, that she’d something to put her back against. And for the first time in her life, it wasn’t made of shadows.

  “Well … my thanks, Don Tric.” She gave a smiling curtsey, the uncomfortable silence banished by the boy’s chuckle.

  “You hungry?”

  “… Starved,” she realized.

  “Perhaps the Pale Daughter would accompany me to the kitchens?”

  Tric crooked his elbow, offered his arm. Mia punched it, hard enough to make him yelp. And smiling, the pair sauntered off down the corridor in search of food.

  1. One famous tale centers around the town of Blackbridge in the east of Itreya. Ernesto Giancarli, confessor of Aa’s church, was sent by the grand cardinal to investigate claims that several daughters of the town’s more well-to-do gentry had been seduced by a darkin. Each of these unions had resulted in a child—black of hair and eye, the same pale skin as their father supposedly had. Each of the ladies in question was resolute in her tale—wandering in the woods, they had come across a handsome stranger, and, innocent as babes, had fallen to his dark charms. Though Giancarli investigated extensively, no trace of this darkin could be found, and though they almost certainly shared a common father by their look, the children themselves seemed perfectly normal. The confessor comforted the fathers of the girls by assuring them it was entirely possible a darkin was responsible, and returned to Godsgrave to report an inconclusive finding to his cardinal.

  Giancarli did note in his report that Blackbridge’s young constable—a pale, dark-haired fellow by the name of Delfini, appointed to the role some twelve months previous—had been most h
elpful throughout his investigation.

  CHAPTER 12

  QUESTIONS

  “… someone comes…”

  Mia awoke in the dark, blinking hard. Rising up on her elbow, she hissed, pain lancing through her left arm. Her bruises were practically glowing in the dark.

  Someone was picking the lock on her bedroom door. It couldn’t be Naev; she’d just knock. Who then? Another acolyte? The one who’d killed Floodcaller? Mia drew her stiletto and rolled out of bed, creeping across the flagstones into a darkened corner. She raised her knife with her off-hand as the door opened and a freckled face framed by blond braids peeked through.

  “Corvere,” a voice hissed. “You there?”

  “… Ashlinn?” Mia rose from her hiding place, hid the gravebone blade back at her wrist. “Maw’s teeth, you shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

  “Told you. My friends call me Ash.” The blonde slipped into the room with a freckled grin, took a moment to spot Mia in the dark. “And if I was sneaking, you’d not have heard me ’til my blade was on your throat, Corvere.”

  “O, really?” Mia raised an eyebrow, smiling too.

  “Bet your life on it. How’s the wing?” Ashlinn gave Mia a friendly slap on the arm, and the girl hissed a flaming curse, clutching her elbow.

  “Shit, sorry,” Ashlinn whispered. “Forgot you were left-handed.”

  “It’s all right.” Mia winced, rubbing her elbow. “Not like I don’t have a spare. What are you doing picking my lock, anyway? Can’t practice on your own?”

  “Practice, pfft. If there’s a lock in this place I can’t sweet-talk, I’ve yet to meet it. I just came to ask if you were well enough to come out.”

  “Out?” Mia blinked. “Where? What for?”

  “Just nosing around. Looking for trouble. You know. Out.”

  Mia frowned. “The Revered Mother said we weren’t permitted to leave our rooms after ninebells, remember?”

  A freckled smirk lit the girl’s face. “You always do what Mother tells you?”

  Mia remembered a cell in the dark. The reek of rot and death, burning her eyes. Shaking hands. A whisper, cold and sharp as steel.

  Don’t look.

  “No,” she said.

  “Well, good. My brother’s no fan of mischief, and every other girl in this place either wants to play the hardcase, brat, or both. So looks like it’s you and me, Corvere.”

  “You heard Drusilla. They’ll kick our asses ’til our noses bleed if they catch us.”

  “Well, that’ll give us reason not to get caught, neh?”

  The girl’s grin was infectious. Picking Mia up and dragging her along for the ride. And as Mister Kindly ate what little was left of her fear, Mia found herself slinging her wounded wing about her neck and grinning back.

  “Ladies first,” Ash said, bowing toward the door.

  “I don’t see any ladies around here, do you?”

  “O, we’re going to get on famously, you and me.”

  Still smiling, the girl crept out into the hallway, Mia close behind.

  They stole along the corridors, down countless flights of stairs, off through the twisting dark. Mia thought she recognized some of the hallways from her trip to the athenaeum, but she couldn’t be sure. She swore some of the walls had … well … moved. The corridors were sparsely decorated, with only stained-glass windows or odd sculptures made from animal bones to break the monotony. And yet Ashlinn charged on in front, quiet as a corpse, never halting for a second. The girl would only pause occasionally, marking the wall with a small piece of red chalk.

  “Do you know where you’re going?” Mia asked.

  “Nnnnot really.”

  “Can you find your way back?”

  “If someone doesn’t rub off the chalk, aye.”

  “And if they do?”

  “We’ll probably get lost and die of starvation in the bowels of the Mountain.”

  “Just so you know, if it comes down to cannibalism, you get eaten first.”

  “Fair enough, then.”

  Mister Kindly roamed in front, hidden in the perpetual darkness. As they passed a particularly grotesque bone statue—something between a bird of prey and a serpent coiled upon itself—Mia felt a shiver in her shadow. Familiar almost. She could sense Mister Kindly’s hackles rising, her own shadow rippling. For second, a sliver of fear pierced her chest, cold and sharp. Mia grabbed Ash’s arm, pulled her behind the statue’s plinth, finger to lips.

  Something was coming.

  A low growl rumbled along the corridor. A shape moved in the gloom ahead, utterly black, picked out by the window’s dull luminance. Mia squinted into the dark, longing to ask Mister Kindly what was wrong. Daughters, it was almost unthinkable, but for the first time Mia could ever remember, the not-cat seemed … afraid.

  “Shit,” Ashlinn whispered. “It’s Eclipse.”

  Mia frowned. “What’s—”

  The question died in her throat as a dark shape prowled into view. Four feet tall, sleek and utterly silent. Long fangs and sharp claws and no eyes at all. It was a wolf.

  A wolf made of shadows.

  The creature stopped in its tracks, staring down the hallway toward the girls. They were both pressed against the plinth, holding their breath, sweat gleaming on Ash’s brow. Mia could feel Mister Kindly at her feet, positively trembling now. His fear was infectious, rising into her chest and making her hands shake. For as long as they’d been together, he’d allowed her to conquer her fears. Making her harder, stronger, braver than she could ever have been alone. The things they’d seen. The places they’d been. But now, he seemed more terrified than she.

  The not-wolf growled again, the sound reverberating through the floor.

  “Eclipse,” said a deep, musical voice. “Be silent.”

  Though she didn’t dare breathe, let alone peer out to look, Mia recognized the speaker at once: Lord Cassius. She heard the lightest whisper of cloth, the soft scuff of leather on rock. The Lord of Blades was there; she was sure of it. The head of the entire Red Church. Staring down the corridor right at them—just a few feet of polished stone between them and discovery.

  Long moments passed.

  Heart thumping in her chest.

  Mister Kindly shivering as the shadow wolf growled long and low.

  Four Daughters, Cassius is darkin.

  “Eclipse,” he said. “Adonai awaits. Come.”

  A hollow, graveled voice spoke in reply. Tinged with the feminine. Seeming to come from somewhere below the ground.

  “… AS IT PLEASE YOU…”

  One last, low growl. Then footsteps. Whisper-soft. Receding. Mia found her breath, pressed her hand to her breast, felt her heart hammering beneath. Mister Kindly slowly stopped his shivering, and the fear began to fade. Ash grinned, laughing beneath her breath, almost manic.

  “Well, that was exciting.”

  “What in the Mother’s name was that?”

  “Eclipse. Lord Cassius’s passenger.” Ashlinn glanced at her shadow, the shapeless shape therein. “Cassius is darkin, you know about them, right?”

  Mia nodded. “I’ve a notion.”

  “Want to follow him?”

  “Follow him? Are you mad?”

  Ash grinned wider. “A little.”

  The girl crept off into the dark, her feet making almost no sound on the stone. Mia reached out to touch her shadow, felt the chill in that liquid black.

  “Are you well?” she whispered.

  “… trick question…?”

  “What was that? I’ve never felt you afraid before…”

  “… i could feel him. in my mind. he was … hungry…”

  “Hungry for—”

  “Mia!” Ashlinn hissed from the dark ahead. “Come on!”

  “… it is not safe here, mia…”

  Mia sighed. Frowned into the dark at her feet.

  “To be continued…”

  She stole along behind the girl, regretting her decision to leave her room
more and more with every step. But Cassius was darkin. All these years, all these miles, and she’d never met another like herself. Goddess, what secrets might he teach her …

  Sadly, the Lord of Blades proved as elusive to chase as the dark itself, and somewhere down near Weaver Marielle’s chambers, Cassius had disappeared entirely. At a four-way junction in the labyrinthine dark, Ashlinn sucked her lip, cursed in Vaanian and finally shrugged.

  “Slippery as a greased-up sweetboy, that one,” Ash whispered.

  “Well, he is a master assassin,” Mia hissed.

  Ash sighed. “He’s probably leaving the Church. Da said he never stays in one place for long.”

  “I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Ash grinned. “Scared of him?”

  “Black Mother, aren’t you?”

  “O, aye. But you better get over it. If you graduate, it’s him that’ll anoint you at the initiation ceremony.” Ashlinn looked about them, passageways stretching off into the darkness. “Ah, well. He’ll keep. Come on, I’m hungry.”

  The pair stole off into the shadows, leaving the Lord of Blades and his business behind. They found the Hall of Songs, the smell of blood still hanging in the air. Mia’s elbow ached as if remembering, and she felt a surge of familiar anger. Recalling Solis’s face as he raised his sword. The agony of her maiming. With a whispered curse, she slipped back down the twisting stairs. Deep in the Mountain’s belly, they found the doors to the athenaeum, though neither girl thought it would be a good idea to have Chronicler Aelius discover them wandering about after ninebells. And after what seemed an age, a delicious smell drifting down one of the stairwells led them up to the kitchens.

  Hot bread was baking in long, coal-fire ovens. The coolrooms were filled with cheeses and fresh fruit. The remnants of last eve’s supper were laid out on long platters. There were no Hands anywhere that Mia could see, so she and Ashlinn each stole a plateful, snuck out onto the now empty Sky Altar. Mia was again struck by the enormity of the blackness beyond the platform. The long drop to the wasteland below. The desert that perfectly mirrored the Ashkahi badlands she and Tric had traveled, somehow dwelling in perpetual night.