by Jay Kristoff
“Jessamine will know it’s gone as soon as she gets back,” Mia pointed out. “And she’d have to be a special shade of dense to not figure out it was me who took it.”
From her britches, Ashlinn dragged out three gold circles on a glittering chain.
“Jessamine’s not going to know a thing, Corvere.”
Mia stared at the medallion, spinning and gleaming in the dull light. Another Trinity. Aside from the precious metal it was wrought of, which might buy a small house in one of the fancier areas of the ’Grave, it seemed perfectly ordinary. Mia didn’t feel at all sickened in its presence—obviously it had never been blessed by one of Aa’s believers. But still, the sight of it …
“Where’d you get that?”
“Mouser’s costumes. He’s got a strange love of priest’s dresses, that one. I found some women’s underthings in his collection too.” Ash shrugged, stuffed the Trinity back in her pants. “So. You coming mischief-making, or do you have an appointment with Tricky in the hope of earning some more bite marks?”
Mia opened her mouth to begin denials. Ashlinn’s raised eyebrow told her not to bother. And with a sigh, Mia opened the door, waved to the corridor beyond.
“That’s the spirit,” Ash grinned.
The blood stink grew heavy, the air heavier still as the girls crept into the Mountain’s depths. Mister Kindly swallowed her fear as always, but the sensible part of Mia’s brain was still screaming that this was a sensationally bad idea.
“This is a sensationally bad idea, Ash.”
“So you said. About twenty times now.”
“You remember what Marielle did to Hush?”
“Maw’s teeth, Corvere. When my da got tortured in the Thorn Towers of Elai, they chopped his bollocks off and fed them to the scabdogs. What’s your excuse?”
“For what?”
“Um, your complete lack of balls?”
Mia waved at her breasts. “Um, you do see these, don’t you?”
“All right, all right,” Ash growled. “Bad analogy.”
They reached the level of Adonai’s chambers. Mia took Ash’s hand, and just as she’d done with Tric in the athenaeum, she reached into the dark around her. A dark that had never known the touch of the suns. She could feel the power in it. The power in her. Weaving her fingers through the gloom, she pulled her cloak of shadows about the pair of them, and they faded from sight like smoke on the breeze.
“I can’t see a bloody thing under this,” Ash hissed.
“I told you, being darkin isn’t all that impressive. Just stay close.”
The pair crept slowly down the corridor, dim points of arkemical illumination their only guides. But finally, drawn to the heavy, copper stink, they found Adonai’s chamber. Lurking at the threshold, Mia and Ash squinted inside. Adonai was knelt at the head of the pool, gazing into the blood, skin scrawled with scarlet glyphs. As usual, the speaker would keep his vigil until every acolyte had returned from the ’Grave.
Aalea had explained that a few drops of Adonai’s blood were mixed into the pools at the Porkery and other Red Church chapels. Through that blood, the speaker could feel when someone entered the pool, and if he willed it, allow them to make the Walk back. He was like a spider at the center of a vast, scarlet web, his own essence serving as the threads. Mia still found herself amazed by it all—next to Adonai, her little parlor tricks with shadows seemed a feeble sort of magik indeed. If Consul Scaeva and the Luminatii ever discovered the Red Church had this kind of power …
“All right,” Ash whispered. “Here’s the plan. You go in and distract him. And while he’s dazzled by you, I hit the alcoves and snatch the Trinity.”
“Dazzled by me?” Mia hissed. “How do I manage that?”
“I don’t know, you’re the saucy one. Use your wiles, woman.”
Mia gawped, momentarily losing the power of speech.
“… Maw’s teeth, Ash. ‘Use my wiles’? That’s your plan?”
“Well, I don’t know. You’ve been studying with Aalea longer than any of us. Use that slinky walk you like so much. Get your girls out or somesuch.”
“Get my…”
Mia flapped her lips a while, flabbergasted.
“Use your words,” Ash sighed.
“Here’s some words,” Mia finally managed. “Why don’t you distract Adonai, and I—the girl who I might point out, is turning us near fucking invisible at this very second—go and snatch the Trinity instead?”
“And how are you going to touch it without spewing fountains, O, invisible one?”
Mia opened her mouth to reply. Closed it again. Sighed.
“Good point.”
Ash nodded. Waited expectantly.
“Well, go on, then.”
Mia rolled her eyes. Threw off the shadowcloak. “Fine.”
She stood, knocked on the wall and stepped into Adonai’s chamber.
“Speaker?”
Adonai didn’t open his eyes, talking like a man in a dream.
“Good eve, Acolyte. Thou art bound for the city? Shahiid Aalea sent no word.”
“No. Apologies.” Mia walked into the chamber, searching desperately for some kind of ruse. “I … wished to speak to you.”
“And what shall you speak about, pray tell?”
Mia’s eyes roamed the maps carved on the walls. The shattered isles of Godsgrave. The obsidian fortress of Carrion Hall. The port of Farrow. Glyphs were scrawled in blood among the carvings, shifting and blurring if she looked at them too long. From this room, the Red Church could touch any city in the Republic.
Her eyes settled on a map she didn’t recognize, near hidden in the shifting shadows. A great, sprawling metropolis, grander than Godsgrave, its contours and streets unlike anything she’d seen.
“Where is that?” she asked. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“Nor shall ye.”
Mia looked to Adonai, the question plain in her gaze. Letting the silence speak, as Aalea had taught her. But Adonai still hadn’t opened his eyes, his lips twisted in that beautiful, lazy smile. The speaker, it seemed, knew Aalea’s craft also.
“Can you tell me why not?” Mia finally asked.
“It is gone,” Adonai replied.
“What was its name?”
“Ur Shuum.”
“That’s Ashkahi,” Mia said. “It means First City.”
Adonai sighed, radiating boredom. “Thou art not here for a lesson in geography, little darkin. Speak thy business and be away, afore my hunger bests my patience.”
Mia swallowed her disgust, wondering where the blood Adonai drank actually came from. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder to see if Ashlinn was in the room yet. Stepping nearer to the speaker, she blocked his eyeline to the alcoves—should he ever bother opening them. This close, she could see the veins beneath his pale skin, etched in sky blue. His angular cheekbones, and long, fluttering lashes and O, so clever fingers weaving in the air. Mia wondered if he was born this beautiful, or if his sister had woven him so. And there, she stumbled on a topic that might prove a distraction …
“I want to speak to you about Naev.”
Adonai’s eyes opened. The whites were slicked with a thin scarlet film, the irises bright pink. Ever so slowly, the speaker turned his head, settled his gaze on Mia. She felt his stare like a leaden weight. Pinned like a fly in his scarlet web.
“Naev,” Adonai repeated.
The air grew heavier, the waves in the blood pool churning just a touch harder. For the first time, Mia noticed Adonai didn’t seem to blink.
“I saved her life in the Whisperwastes.”
“This I know, Acolyte.”
“I saw her face. What Marielle did to her. It’s not right, Adonai.”
“Thou art a fine one to speak of right and wrong, little murderer.”
“… I beg your pardon?”
“Not my pardon thou shouldst beg,” Adonai smiled. “Not I whose corpse ye mutilated to purchase thy pew at this altar, aye?”
/> Mia’s jaw clenched. “The man I killed to be here was a murderer himself. Hundreds of people. Thousands, maybe. He hung my father. He deserved it. Every inch of it.”
“And what of the others?”
Mia blinked. “Others?”
Adonai climbed to his feet, lazy, languid. Stepping close enough to Mia that she could feel the heat on his skin. He leaned in close, his bone-white fringe brushing against her brow. Lips that begged to be kissed just a breath from hers, wet with blood. For a dizzying moment, she thought he was about to do just that, and she found her pulse racing, her belly thrilled at the thought. But instead, he inhaled, breathing deep, eyelids fluttering closed. And as he spoke, he smiled.
“I can smell their blood on you, little darkin.”
Mia forced herself not to flinch. Nor to back away.
“You have your sister’s ear,” she said. “She loves you, Adonai.”
“And I, her. As the Light loved the Dark.”
“But Naev loves you too. She doesn’t deserve to suffer for it.”
The speaker placed his thumb on her chin. Tilting her head back, ever so slightly. Mia imagined those ruby lips caressing her skin, his teeth nipping at her throat. She suppressed a shiver. Finding it harder and harder to breathe.
“I have never tasted one of your kind before…,” he whispered.
Adonai’s lips twisted in another honey-sweet smile. But staring into his eyes, Mia realized there was nothing behind them. This was all just a game to him, and she, just momentary distraction. His was only a skin-deep beauty, the vanity leaked through to his bones, just as twisted and rotten inside as his sister was out. And though Naev might have loved him—though Mia could see how any woman might—she knew that aside from Marielle, Adonai had no love for anyone but himself.
Ever so gently, Mia pushed his hand away.
“I’ll thank you to not touch me, Speaker.”
Adonai smiled wider. “But wouldst thou thank me also, if I did?”
Would I?
The shadows at Mia’s feet shivered as the blood in the pool grew more agitated. Her eyes narrowed, her teeth gritted. And just as the heat in the room became unbearable, just as the pool began crashing and splashing, Mia heard Ashlinn’s voice.
“Maw’s teeth, there you are.”
Mia drew away from the speaker, saw Ashlinn at the doorway.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Corvere. We’re supposed to be working on Spiderkiller’s lesson.” Ash stepped into the room, bowed low. “Apologies, Speaker. Might I have my learned colleague back? She’d forget her damn shadow if it wasn’t nailed to her feet.”
Adonai’s smile fell away like winter leaves.
“She may go where she pleases.” A sigh. “I care not.”
Adonai returned to his knees, eyes back on the pool. Dismissing Mia without so much as a word. Ash grabbed her hand, hauled her from the room. Dragging her down the corridor, stopping only once out of sight and earshot of the speaker’s chamber.
“’Byss and blood,” Ash breathed. “I honestly thought he was going to try a snog for a minute.”
“Well, you did tell me to distract him,” Mia said. “Now tell me it worked.”
Ashlinn reached into her britches and drew out a length of gold chain. Mia saw a flare of light, flinching as if scalded, hand to her eyes. “Maw’s teeth, put it back in your pants.”
“You really do leave the door open for me, don’t you?”
Ash tucked the medallion back into her britches, patted Mia’s shoulder. The girl opened her eyes tentatively, relaxing once she knew the Trinity was out of sight.
“You swapped it for the other?”
Ash nodded. “Jess will be none the wiser. Until next time she pulls it on you, that is. That’ll be your signal to kick her in the curlies.” Ash patted her leathers. “I’ll take care of this thing. Put it somewhere no one is going to get hold of it again.”
“The perfect crime,” Mia smiled.
“If it was perfect, it’d end with me getting cake.”
“It’s not ninebells yet.” Mia offered her arm. “Kitchen is still open?”
“See, I knew I liked you for a reason, Corvere.”
Arm in arm, the girls strolled into the dark.
1. Ashlinn’s best hangdog expression could make a legitimate hangdog quit its job, pack its bags and move somewhere quieter to raise chickens.
CHAPTER 24
FRICTION
The turns wore on.
Unsurprisingly, Ashlinn was still leading the pack in Mouser’s contest, though Hush was closing the gap from second. In light of the heightened competition, Mia was grateful her friend had taken the time to help her steal something that wouldn’t count toward the official tally. Acolytes were growing bolder, and trickier items off the list were being filched now, rather than simple trinkets. Still, if Mia were a gambler, she’d have staked her fortune that Ash would finish the year top of Pockets.
Though if Mia actually had a fortune, Ash would’ve likely stolen it by now, friends or no …
Mouser’s lessons were becoming as eclectic and eccentric as the Shahiid himself. He devoted several hours a week to teaching what he called Tongueless,1 and insisted all conversations in his hall be conducted in the language thereafter. In another lesson, Mouser wheeled a wooden tank into the Hall of Pockets. It was filled with dirty water, a handful of lockpicks scattered on the bottom. He proceeded to bind the acolytes’ hands and feet with leaden manacles and push them in one by one.
To his credit, the Shahiid seemed rather pleased nobody drowned.
Lessons in the Hall of Masks were more subtle, and in truth, far more enjoyable. The acolytes were still sent out regularly into Godsgrave, and Mia spent a dozen nevernights lurking in various taverna, working on her wordcraft and plying folk with drink and pretty smiles. She had two young and rather handsome members of the Administratii on a string, and overheard some juicy gossip in a portside brothel about a violent coup among the local braavi. Aalea accepted Mia’s new secrets with a smile and a kiss to each cheek. And if she noticed a change in Mia after the eve she spent in Tric’s bed, the Shahiid politely refused to comment.
In the turns after that night, Mia had resisted the impulse to smile at the boy over mornmeal or stare overlong during lessons. In the interests of keeping her distance, she’d told him she needed no more lessons in bladework. Mia knew letting anything more grow between them would be stupid, and for his part, Tric at least pretended to understand. Still, sometimes she’d catch him staring from the corner of her eye. At night, alone in her room, she’d slip her hand between her legs and try not to picture his face. She succeeded, some of the time.
As time wore on and initiation loomed, testing intensified. Mia had her vendetta against Scaeva and his dogs to keep her focused on her lessons, but every acolyte knew what was at stake. Another of their number had been killed since the Great Tithe masquerade; a boy named Leonis, who had his throat crushed by a stray swing in the Hall of Songs and suffocated before Marielle could be summoned.
Of the twenty-nine acolytes who’d started training, only fifteen remained. And then came the incident ever after referred to as “the Blue Morning.”
It began as crises usually did; with Mister Kindly’s now familiar whisper.
“… beware…”
Opening her eyes, Mia drew her stiletto, instantly awake. She could hear a faint hissing noise. Looking up, she noticed one of the stones in the ceiling above her bed had slid away, and a thin vapor was seeping into her chamber. It danced in the air like cigarillo smoke, slow and vaguely blue.
Crouching low, Mia scrambled to her door and twisted the key, only to find the lock held fast. Ever wary of needletraps since Mouser and Spiderkiller’s earlier lessons, she slipped on a heavy leather glove, rattled the handle. It refused to budge.
“Well, shit.”
“… mia…”
She glanced over her shoulder, saw more of the bluish vapor trickling in. The flow w
as thickening, the air growing hazy. Mia could taste something acrid on the back of her tongue. Her eyes starting to burn. The symptoms, at least, she knew by rote.
“Aspira…,” she breathed.
“… another test…”
“And I was planning on sleeping in.”
She grabbed a shirt off the floor, doused it in water from her nightstand and wrapped it about her face. Aspira induced paralysis and death by slow suffocation. It was heavier than air, and nonflammable in gaseous form. Mia knew the antidote well, though she had none of the materials to make it. But a damp rag over her mouth would hold the vapor at bay for a few minutes at least; long enough to ponder an escape.
Her eyes scanned the room, mind racing.
The key wouldn’t budge, and slamming her shoulder against her door only resulted in a bruise. The hinges were affixed with iron nails; she could pry them out, but that would take time, and more than a few minutes’ exposure to aspira would end with a quiet service in the Hall of Eulogies and an unmarked tomb.
Pressing her cheek to the floor, she peered under her door. She could hear coughing. The sounds of heavy objects being slammed against wood. Faint cries. Cool, fresh air seeped in through the crack, along with the sounds of growing panic. If the acolytes failed to escape their rooms, every single one of them was going to die.
“Maw’s teeth, they’re not playing about anymore,” she hissed.
“… the pressure will only increase between now and initiation…”
Mia caught her breath.
Looking at the crack beneath her door. The hole in the ceiling.
“Pressure,” she whispered.
She grabbed a bottle of whiskey off her nightstand, poured it onto the plush gray fur covering her bed. Snatching up her cigarillos and striking her flintbox, she touched it to the bed and stepped back. With a dull whump, the goldwine burst into flame. Mia crouched near the door, watching the fire catch, her bed soon burning merrily.
“… there may be a metaphor in here somewhere…”
The temperature rose, hot air and smoke and aspira vapor all warming in the blaze, sucked back up through the hole in the ceiling. Mia snatched up one of the dozen knives littering the room, and dug it into the first nail securing the hinges to her door.
