by Jay Kristoff
Mia met the Mother’s stare without blinking. Spiderkiller’s voice broke the still.
“We have work to do, Acolytes. You should be about your mornmeal. I will see you back here for Truths at lesson time.”
Ash took Mia’s hand, dragged her from the hall. The trio ate a lifeless meal at the Sky Altar, Mia’s glare fixed on Diamo. The big Itreyan watched her with cool, dead eyes, daring her to make a play. Jessamine was nowhere to be seen.
Mia grit her teeth. Food like dust and death in her mouth. Ash’s whispers unheard. Blood pounding in her ears. Tric insisted he step forward, testify that he’d spent the night in Mia’s bed. That she couldn’t have killed Carlotta. But Tric’s session with the weaver had finished well after ninebells—he’d had dispensation only to return to his room, certainly not to go wandering into Mia’s. So in the end she pleaded with him to keep silent. There was no sense in Tric risking torture until she knew how hot the water she swam in was.
During lessons in the Hall of Truths, Mia couldn’t tear her eyes from Carlotta’s empty chair. The faint bloodstain that even Spiderkiller’s arkemy couldn’t quite bleach from the ironwood bench. She pictured the girl’s final moments. Hunched over her notebook. Head pulled back by a quick hand. The brief seconds of terror between the time she felt the blade and the time the blackness took her.
Mia stared at Jessamine, who’d joined the class only seconds before it began. A silent vow echoing in her head.
This will be the end of you, bitch …
“Mia Corvere.”
Mia blinked. Looked up from Jessamine’s face to find Revered Mother Drusilla at the front of the hall, surrounded by a half-dozen Hands.
“… Yes, Mother Drusilla?”
“You are to come with us immediately.”
Two black-robed Hands took hold of Mia’s arms, one apiece. The girl hissed protest as they dragged her from her stool and none-too-gently marched her toward the door. She heard Tric’s protest, a scuffle, the Revered Mother’s shouted command. Craning her neck, she saw the old woman stalking behind, surrounded by ominous, black figures. Her stare was a cool, ice blue.
“Mother Drusilla, where are you taking me?”
“My chambers.”
“Why?”
“An inquisition.”
“Into what?”
“The murder of Carlotta Valdi.”
Drusilla placed a crumpled sheet of linen in Mia’s lap and folded her arms.
“Explain this.”
The Mother’s chambers were nestled high in the Mountain, atop a seemingly endless flight of stairs. It was dimly lit by a sculpture of arkemical glass suspended from the ceiling. An ornate desk stacked high with parchment dominated the room, white furs on the floor, white paint on the walls. Overflowing bookshelves lined the chamber left and right, but behind the desk, the wall was carved with hundreds of recesses. Inside these alcoves, Mia saw all manner of oddities. A centurion’s dagger. An ornate rose of beaten gold. A bloodstained copy of the Gospel of Aa. A sapphire ring.
Mixed among the trophies, Mia saw hundreds and hundreds of silver phials, sealed with stoppers of dark wax. They were the same kind Naev had worn about her neck in the Whisperwastes. And in their center, an obsidian door was set in the rock, marked with strange, shifting glyphs.
Sat in an ornate, high-backed chair, Mia blinked at the linen Drusilla had presented.
“Explain what, Revered Mother?”
“This.”
Drusilla gathered up the sheet, held it before Mia’s face. There, soaked through the fabric’s weave, the girl saw a tiny smudge of dried scarlet.
“It looks like blood.”
“Carlotta’s blood, Acolyte. Speaker Adonai confirms it.”
Mia looked to the albino, who stood admiring the Mother’s collection of curios. He was barefoot as always, smooth, pale chest showing through the open neck of his silken robe. As ever, the speaker seemed singularly bored.
“It be the vitus of the slain one,” Adonai nodded, running his fingertips down one of the multitude of silver phials. “Undoubtedly.”
“I don’t understand,” Mia said. “It’s Carlotta’s blood. What’s this to do with me?”
Drusilla folded the sheet neatly, placed it back in Mia’s lap.
“This linen was stripped from your bed this morning.”
Mia frowned. Mind racing. Heartbeat quickening. “That makes no sense.”
“Can you explain how Carlotta’s blood got into your bed, Acolyte?”
Mia’s jaw flapped, eyes searching the room. She sucked a breath through gritted teeth. Remembering Diamo sitting alone at mornmeal. The image of Jessamine arriving only just in time for Spiderkiller’s lesson.
“Jessamine,” Mia spat. “She wasn’t at mornmeal. She must’ve put it there.”
“Jessamine was here in my chambers this morn, Acolyte,” Drusilla sighed. “Being questioned by me on this very matter.”
“Revered Mother, I had nothing to do with Lotti’s death. She was my friend!”
“There are no friends here, Acolyte. The wolf does not pity the lamb. The storm begs no forgiveness of the drowned. We are killers one, killers all.” Mia glanced up as the old woman echoed Cassius’s words; his warning to her in that lightless Godsgrave prison. “And though we’ve made it clear that the murder of fellow acolytes is a crime, if you admit involvement in Carlotta’s ending now, the Ministry will judge you lighter for it.”
“I won’t admit to something I didn’t do!”
“All evidence speaks to the contrary.” Drusilla perched on the edge of the desk, leaned close to Mia. The obsidian key at her throat glittered in the smoky light. “You are the only left-hander among the current flock. You stand to gain most by Carlotta being removed from Spiderkiller’s contest. You cannot account for your whereabouts yestereve, and the victim’s blood is found on your sheets—a fact which you yourself cannot explain. Has Carlotta ever visited your room?”
“No, but—”
“Was she cut in the altercation at the Sky Altar with Jessamine, perhaps? Could her blood somehow have gotten onto your clothing?”
Mia considered lying for a moment, but knew Drusilla would ask these same questions of everyone who witnessed the brawl. And to be caught in a lie now …
“No, Lotti wasn’t cut.” Mia frowned. “Why were you in my room, anyway?”
“Searching for Carlotta’s missing notebook, of course.”
“You honestly thought you’d find it? I’d have to be some kind of idiot to keep it in my room after slitting her throat, wouldn’t I?”
“But if you were being framed for the murder as you claim, would the killer not be best served by planting the notebook, rather than a single drop of blood?”
“So if you’d found her notes, would that prove me innocent or guilty?”
Drusilla scowled, folded her arms.
“Are there none who can speak to your whereabouts?”
Mia’s fingernails bit her palms. Of course there was someone who could vouch for her. But for Tric to admit he’d come to her room would mean admitting he’d broken curfew. They’d scourge him for it. Probably worse than Hush.
“… there is one who can speak to her whereabouts…”
Mia’s belly surged. Mister Kindly had materialized on the Revered Mother’s desk, staring at the old woman with tilted head. Drusilla turned to regard the creature, skepticism plain in her eyes. But Mia knew he had no affection for Tric. No loyalty. He’d sell the boy in a second if it meant sparing Mia another second of this indignity.
“O, really?” Drusilla said. “Dare I ask?”
“… i do not know. dare you…?”
“Mister Kindly, don’t,” Mia warned.
“… and why not…?”
“Because I’m asking you not to.”
Drusilla turned sharply at that, regarding Mia with narrowed eyes. “Acolyte, I should not need to explain the seriousness of this crime. If you are found guilty of murdering Acolyte Carlotta, y
ou will be scourged at the very least. Perhaps even killed. If there is another that can provide alibi for you yestereve…”
Mia’s gaze was fixed on the not-cat. Pleading.
“… you used to trust me more…”
“Please, don’t.”
“… what changed, mia…?”
“Enough,” Drusilla snapped. “I am mistress of these halls. Speak not to her, speak to me. In Our Blessed Lady’s name, I command it.”
Mister Kindly turned his head at that, his bottomless stare fixed on Drusilla.
“… it is obvious, really…”
“Mister Kindly, don’t.”
The not-cat swished his tail. Looked the old woman up and down.
“… it is me…”
In the silence following, Mia swore she heard Adonai chuckling. The not-cat glanced at her, seemed to shake his head as if to say she should have known better.
“… i never leave her side. i watch while she sleeps. i know exactly what she did last eve…”
“Do you take me for a fool, little passenger?”
“… there are fools in these halls, revered mother, but you and she are not among them…”
Mister Kindly nodded in Mia’s direction.
“… she would not, and could not have done this…”
Drusilla snarled and rose from her perch, seated herself behind her desk. Adonai wandered the alcoves, still touching a phial here, a phial there, smiling faintly. The old woman steepled her fingers.
“Acolyte Mia Corvere. You are confined to chambers. Your meals will be brought to you, along with any materials you require to continue your studies. You will be permitted no outside contact, and a Hand will be posted outside your door until this matter is resolved. The Ministry will meet this eve and discuss your fate.”
Two Hands seemed to materialize beside Mia’s chair. Realizing there was no sense in incurring the Mother’s wrath further, Mia rose slow, bowed deep, and marched from Drusilla’s chambers. The Hands escorted her all the way to her bedroom, ushering her inside and shutting the door behind them. A quick glance through the keyhole saw the hooded figures lurking in the hallway outside.
Her room had been turned over, drawers upended, bedding stripped. Mia flopped down on the bare mattress, lit a cigarillo and stared at the ceiling.
“Well, shit.”
Mister Kindly materialized on the bedhead, peered down into her eyes.
“… I would prefer your apology in writing, though particularly eloquent spoken word may suffice…”
“Aye,” Mia said, clearing her throat. “Sorry about that.”
“… this must be some new breed of eloquence i am unfamiliar with…”
“’Byss and blood, I’ll write you a fancy one on gilded parchment and sing it from the mountaintop later. We’ve more pressing matters to mind, neh?”
“… even if they find you guilty, they’ll not kill you for it…”
“What makes you so certain? They might make example of me.”
“… it makes little sense to do so. the murderer was skilled enough to escape their bedchamber after ninebells, sneak to the hall of truth, cut the girl’s throat ear to ear, wash off gouts of blood and sneak back to bed, all without being seen…”
Mia blew smoke into the not-cat’s face. “Her name was Carlotta, Mister Kindly.”
“… be that as it may, the murderer shows considerable skill in precisely the arts they teach here…”
“O, aye, they might even pin a ribbon on my baps.”
“… doubtful. but i also doubt the masters of a school of deadly assassins can get too upset that one of their students actually turned out to be a deadly assassin…”
The girl sucked hard on her cigarillo, breathed a gray curse.
“… jessamine is the obvious acolyte to blame. not necessarily the correct one…”
“Who else, then?”
“… who is the third most skilled novice in venomcraft…?”
“… Probably Hush? But Osrik and Marcellus are up there too.”
“… and any of them are capable of the stealth required to have done this…”
Mia drew on her smoke, thoughts racing in her head. Jessamine had to go. But if she or Diamo were to simply end up dead, the Ministry would immediately suspect her. And all that was irrelevant at any rate. No sense in pondering Jessamine and Diamo until she knew what the judgment over Carlotta would be. Her stack of problems would shorten considerably if the Ministry just cut her throat …
Instead of simply stewing, Mia set back to work on Spiderkiller’s formula. Hunched on the ruin of her bed, scribbling thoughts in her leather-bound notebook. Hours passed in the gloom, Mister Kindly offering what little help he could. The puzzle took her mind off the Ministry, the possibility that all her well-laid plans might come crashing down in a few hours’ time. What would Mercurio say if all this went to pieces?
Focus on what you can change, he’d counsel. The rest will sort itself.
Mia sighed.
One way or the other.
A knock on her door hours later pulled Mia up from the arkemical dance in her head, back into the dim light. She’d unwittingly chain-smoked her way through half her remaining cigarillos, the cup beside her bed piled high with ash. Her throat felt raw, her head swimming. She crushed what was left of her smoke out, grimacing.
“Maw’s teeth, I’ve got to cut down.”
“… there are more dangerous things around here to put in your mouth…”
Mister Kindly peered at her through the gray pall.
“… dweymeri boys, for example…”
“O, bravo. Been working on that one for a while, have we?”
“… most of yestereve…”
“Time well spent, then.”
“… there are more dangerous ways i could—”
“All right, all right. Enough. The last thing I need to hear before my execution is you criticizing my choice in penises.”
“… ridiculous things, all. if ever proof was needed of your creator’s malevolence, look no further than between the legs of the average teenaged boy…”
Knock, knock, knock.
“Acolyte. You are summoned to the Hall of Eulogies.”
Mia rose from her bed. No fear in her belly. Heartbeat steady. She hid a dozen blades about her person, determined that she’d go down fighting if it came to her end. Wondering what awaited her beneath the statue’s gaze.
Six Hands waited outside her bedroom door, hoods drawn over their eyes. Shahiid Mouser stood beside them, his blacksteel blade in his belt. The man’s familiar silverware smile was nowhere to be seen.
“Shahiid,” Mia nodded.
“Come with us, Acolyte.”
Mia was led down the corridor toward the Hall of Eulogies. She could feel Mister Kindly in her shadow, drinking her fear fast as he was able. Still, it was beginning to seep through now. Sweat on her palms. Lightness in her belly. She’d not die on her knees like some sniveling child. But she’d worked so hard. Come so far. To stumble and fall at the eleventh hour over something like this?
The darkness swelled around her, pressing in on all sides. Responding to her rising anger. Her budding anxiety. It was hers to command, if she wished it. If only she had the will to reach out and seize it. She’d done it before. Not so long ago. Fourteen years old. Walls of stone. Screams in the air. Blood on her hands.
Don’t look.
The Ministry were assembled beneath Niah’s granite gaze. The acolytes also. One fewer than there’d been the last time they gathered here. Tric was looking at her, agony on his face. She shook her head and pressed her lips shut. Silently warning him to do the same.
Stained-glass light spilled over the floor, bloody red and ghostly white, the choir singing in the background. Mia was ushered to an empty place before the Ministry. The faces of the assembled Shahiid were grim, the Revered Mother’s darkest of all.
“Acolyte Mia. The Ministry has consulted extensively over Acolyte Carlotta
’s death. Though conclusive proof of your guilt is lacking, the blood found in your room and the hand favored by the killer cannot be ignored. Moreover, your motive is irrefutable. With Acolyte Carlotta dead, you stand best placed to finish top of Spiderkiller’s hall. Aside from the words already spoken this morning, do you have anything to add in your defense?”
Mia searched the faces of the assembled Shahiid. Solis’s blind stare. Aalea’s beautiful mask. Their minds were made up. And begging simply wasn’t her way.
“No, Revered Mother,” she replied.
“Very well. In light of the evidence, and with no compelling testimony to the contrary, your guilt is confirmed. Given the nature of your studies here, and the prowess with which the murder was conducted, you will be spared execution. However, you were specifically warned that the ending of fellow acolytes was forbidden, and thus, punishment must be dealt. You will suffer blood scourge. Fifty lashes.”
Mia grit her teeth against the sudden rush of fear, Mister Kindly swelling in her shadow. Maw’s teeth, fifty lashes. Hush had received half that many and it’d almost killed him. She glanced to the blue-eyed boy, there at the end of the acolytes’ semicircle. She swore he gave her a slight nod. Her mother’s voice, ringing in her head.
Never flinch. Never fear. And never, ever forget.
Her eyes met Tric’s and she shook her head again. There was no sense in him stepping up for punishment now. For all their talk of rules, this was a school of killers—at least the crime Mia was supposedly guilty of held some kind of credibility. But flagrant violation of the Mother’s curfew for the sake of a little angsty mouth-to-mouth?
They’d skin him alive. Literally.
“Moreover,” Drusilla continued, “since you were motivated in this crime by desire to gain advantage in Truths, you are hereby banned from Spiderkiller’s contest, and will be ineligible to compete for placement in top of her hall.”
Mia sagged like the Mother had punched her in the gut. Finishing top of Truths was her best chance at initiation, and all knew it. Without Spiderkiller’s contest, Mia might never be made a Blade. What would happen to her? Relegated to making runs to Last Hope with Naev, or keeping some blood pool in a shithole like Carrion Hall or Elai? How could she hope to avenge herself on Scaeva and the others as a glorified servant?
