Nevernight (42 page)

Not anymore.

She made berth on the jagged rocks, the shadows bringing her safely into harbor. The darkness dragged the gondola onto the shore, spared it the jagged kiss of the rocks surrounding the Stone. Mia licked her lips, inhaled salt air. Listening to the distant hymn of the gulls. The violence already echoing through the Stone’s innards. Mister Kindly drinking in her fear and leaving her fierce and unafraid.

She held out her arms. Willing herself upward. The power thrummed in her veins, like nothing she’d ever felt before. A black kinship, flowing like the growing dark. Long black tendrils wrapped her up, slipped from her fingers, digging into the brickwork at the Stone’s base. Like the translucent limbs of some vast spider, they pulled her upward. And one black handhold at a time, the girl began to climb.

Up the towering wall, hair billowing in the rising wind. Over the battlements and twisted tangles of razorweed atop the walls. The shadows wrapped her up like a babe in swaddling and carried her down into the copper-thick stench of death.

Mia stole through the hallways of bloody stone, wrapped in a darkness so deep she could barely see. Bodies. Everywhere. Men choked and stabbed. Beaten to death with their own chains and bludgeoned to death with their own limbs. The sound of murder ringing all around, the stink of offal thick in the air. Vague shapes running past her, tangling and screaming on the floor. The cries ringing somewhere far away, somewhere the dark wouldn’t let her hear.

She slipped inside the Philosopher’s Stone like a knife between ribs. This prison. This abattoir. Down past the open cells to the quieter places, where the doors were still sealed, where the prisoners who didn’t wish to try their luck in the Descent were still locked, thin and starving. She threw the shadowcloak aside so she could see better, peering through the bars at the stick-thin scarecrows, the hollow-eyed ghosts. She could see why folks would try their luck in the Senate’s horrid gambit. Better to die fighting than linger here in the dark and starve. Better to stand and fall than kneel and live.

Unless, of course, you had a four-year-old son locked in here with you …

The scarecrows cried out to her, thinking her some Hearthless wraith come to torment them. She ran the length and breadth of the cell block, eyes wide. Desperation now. Fear, despite the cat in her shadow. They must be here somewhere? Surely the Dona Corvere wouldn’t have dragged her son out into the butchery above for the chance to escape this nightmare?

Would she?

“Mother!” Mia called, tears in her eyes. “Mother, it’s Mia!”

Endless hallways. Lightless black. Deeper and deeper into the shadow.

“Mother?”

“
Mother
!”

Mia clawed her way upright, wisps of hair stuck to the sweat on her skin. Her heart was thrashing against her ribs, eyes wide, chest heaving. Blinking in the dark, drenched in panic, finally recognizing her room in the Quiet Mountain, the sourceless luminance shrouding all in its gentle glow.

“Just a dream,” she whispered.

Not a dream. A
nightmare
. The kind she’d not had in years. Whenever the nevernight terrors came creeping to her bed above Mercurio’s shop, whenever the phantoms of her past stole inside her skull as she slept, Mister Kindly had been there. Tearing them to ribbons. But now she was alone. At the mercy of her dreams.

Her memories.

Daughters, where could he be?

Mia dragged herself upright, shivering. Head bowed. Arms wrapped around herself. Fear throbbing in her chest in time with her pulse. The shadows twisted along the wall as she clenched her fist. Remembering the way they’d flocked to her command the last time the suns fell from the sky. The last time she—

Don’t look.

She’d thought she might be all right. Tric had escorted her to her bedchamber after the library visit, assured her Mister Kindly would come back. As ninebells had struck, she’d crawled into bed, tried to convince herself all would be well. But without her friend there to protect her, there was nothing to stop the dreams. The memories of that lightless, blood-soaked pit. What she’d found within.

Don’t look.

She screwed her eyes shut tight.

Don’t look.

The empty room. The empty bed. Loneliness. Fear. Washing over her in waves. She’d not been truly by herself in years. Never faced sleep’s terrors without someone beside her. She pushed her knuckles into her eyes, sighed.

Ninebells had rung. Breaking the Revered Mother’s curfew would be foolish, especially after what they’d done to Hush. But she’d stolen out with Ashlinn and not been caught. And the place she wanted to be was only a few doors down, after all.

The place I want to be?

The prospect of endless, sleepless hours stretching out in front of her.

The growing fear that Mister Kindly might never come back.

Certainty budding in her chest.

The place I want to be.

A darkened hallway. Shaking hands. She pushed shadowstuff into the lock to muffle the sound, but her fingers were trembling so badly, she wondered if she could crack it. If she knocked, someone else might hear. Ashlinn. Diamo. Jessamine.

The lock finally clicked. The door swung open a crack on shadow-muffled hinges. She peered into the darkened room, stole inside. Gasping in fright as someone seized her arm, thrust her back into the wall, knife to her throat. Pausing as he recognized her in the dark, lowering the blade and speaking through gritted teeth.

“Maw’s teeth, what are you doing in here?” Tric hissed.

“… Surprise?”

“I could have cut your damn throat!”

She fought to calm her galloping pulse, push the fright back far enough to speak.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered.

“So you break into my room? It’s after ninebells, what if you got caught?

“I’m sorry.” She licked at dry lips. Swallowed.

He was still pressed against her, close enough to breathe him in. She realized he must sleep naked—his bare skin gleamed in the dim, sourceless light. Her gaze traveled his body, the hard muscle on his hairless torso, the taut cords at his neck, along his arms. Her breath coming a little quicker. The fear that had woken her was roiling in her still, but something else was stirring now. Something older. Stronger.

Do I want this?

She looked up into deep hazel eyes, softening with pity. He couldn’t know what it was like. Couldn’t understand what Mister Kindly meant to her. But still, she saw his anger melt, some soft understanding stepping in to replace it.

“I’m sorry too. You just scared me, is all.”

Tric sighed, began to ease away. A wordless protest slipped from her lips, and she reached out, running her fingertips up his arm. Goosebumps rose on his skin. She rested one hand on the hard swell of his shoulder. Stopped him from pulling away.

“Mia…”

“Can I sleep here tonight?”

He frowned. Those big hazel eyes searching her own.

“Sleep?”

Naked as he was, she could feel him pressed against her leg. She lowered her chin, looked up at him through the dark haze of her lashes. A small, knowing smile twisted her lips as she felt him stirring slightly. With deliberate slowness, she reached down with her free hand. Brushing her fingertips along his length, feeling it swell. He gasped as she took him fully in her hand, running her fingers along his silken-smooth underside. Flooded with dark satisfaction that her merest touch could inflame him.

Daughters, but he felt hot. Almost scalding the palm of her hand. And the slick of cold fear inside her belly began to melt, replaced by a slowly growing fire.

She lunged, nipped at his lip with her teeth. Hard enough to draw blood. Salt on her tongue. The flame rising inside her, drowning the fear. He tried to pull away but her fist closed around him, squeezing. He froze, groaning and closing his eyes. A smile curled her lips, filled her with drunken warmth. This towering lump of muscle, this killer, and she could hold him still as a frightened deer with one hand.

She was afraid. Dizzy with it. Stumbling. But beneath it all, she realized she wanted him. Wanted to drink him in. To own him. And the fear of it, the
anticipation
, was only intensifying that desire. It didn’t matter at that moment, not the places she’d been or the things she’d done. Not the miles of murder ahead or behind. Just the smell of him, musk and maleness and lust, filling her lungs. The heat of him in her hand, the pulse pounding like a hammer beneath his skin, swallowing his sighs as she found his mouth, her tongue seeking his own. He groaned as she kissed him, deep and long and warm, hands wrapped in her hair as she pushed him hard, back against the wall, muscle slapping stone.

Her lips were on his throat now, tongue tracing the burning line of his pulse. One hand exploring the smooth swell of his chest, the other still stroking him as he quivered and sighed. Still afraid, breath trembling, she sank lower, lips trailing over his collarbone to his chest. With a gentle hand, he stopped her, searching her eyes, blood still smudged on his mouth.

“Mia … you don’t have to.”

“I
want
to.”

With deliberate slowness, she locked her eyes with his and sank to her knees. Both hands stroking his trembling length, smiling as he leaned his head back and groaned. She’d never done this before, unsure of herself despite all Aalea’s lessons on the topic. But she wanted to possess him with a fierceness that drowned anything of the fear left inside her.

She touched her tongue to his burning skin, felt him jump. Goddess, he was so hard. Opening her mouth, she licked him from root to tip, smiling as he groaned. Tasting a salty sweetness at his crown, hot on her tongue. She kissed him, up and down, his knees close to buckling. And wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, she plunged him into her mouth.

She lost herself then. Instinct driving her forward. Hardly believing the smooth heat of him. Fumbling at first, uncertain beneath the lust, and he wrapped his fists in her hair and gently guided her, up and down his length, cheeks hollowed, pumping her fist at his root.

He was hers, then. Completely. Utterly. Helpless. Daughters, she was almost overcome with it. The sense of absolute control, delighting in the differing moans and shudders she elicited as she worked her tongue, groaning herself as hunger took hold. There was only one thing she wanted at that moment. No shivering virgin on bloodstained sheets, now. No girl held prisoner by her nightmares. No frightened maid.

His grip on her hair tightened, his pulse quickened. Chest shuddering, not enough air in his lungs.

“Mia,” he gasped. “I…”

She felt him buck, pulsing in her mouth. Pulling her closer, more, more. His back arched, his legs trembled. And then he groaned her name, every muscle taut, filling her mouth with spurts of sweet, salty heat. She moaned, intoxicated with the power of it. Continuing to pump his length with her fist, milking every last drop until he gasped with the pleasurepain of it all, pushing her away, dragging shuddering breaths into his chest.

She climbed up off her knees, a wicked smile on gleaming lips. Chuckling at the look in his eyes, the disbelief and hunger and afterglow. He was barely able to stand or breathe or talk. All this, she’d done to him in a handful of heartbeats.

This is what Aalea meant
, she realized.

“You all right?” she asked.

He blinked hard. Shook his head. “Perhaps give me a minute.”

Laughing, she turned and flopped onto his bed. The sheets were still warm, his scent wrapped up in the fur. He collapsed beside her, naked though she was still fully clothed. Dragging the saltlocks from his eyes, he looked at her across the pillows.

“Please take note that I’m not complaining, but what was that for?”

“Does there have to be a reason?”

“… Usually.”

“I like you.” Mia shrugged. “And I wanted to see if I could. Before Shahiid Aalea brings in some virile young Liisian slaveboy for us to practice on.”

Tric laughed briefly. “Somehow I don’t think that’s the whole truth.”

“I … don’t like being alone. The things I see when I close my eyes…”

She frowned, shaking her head as words failed. Tric ran a fingertip down her cheek, over the swell of her lips.

“I have my daemons too. And I like you, truly. I just wonder … is this wise?”

“What’s ‘this’ mean?”

“Well,
this
. Us.” He waved at the dark around them. “We’re not here long. Even assuming we’re initiated as Blades, we’ll be sent to different Chapels. We’ll be assassins, Mia. The life we lead … it’s not one that ends in happy ever after.”

“Is that what you think I want? Happy ever after?”

“That’s the riddle, isn’t it?” Tric sighed. “I don’t know what you want.”

She rolled across the bed, leaned up on one elbow above him. Long black hair draped across his skin, staring down into those sweet hazel eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

“True,” he smiled.

She kissed him then, mouth open to his. Running one hand down his chest, over the hills and troughs of his abdomen, feeling the muscles harden in contrast to the softness of his lips. Eyes closed. Alone in the dark, and not alone at all.

Breaking the kiss, she studied his face. Those awful scrawls of hatred on his skin. The scars. Those beautiful, bottomless eyes beyond.

“Just keep the dreams away. That’s all I ask. Will you do that for me?”

He searched her eyes. Nodded slow. “I can do that.”

She took his hand, pulled it close. Pushed it against her breast, guiding it to the tautness of her belly, slipping it down into her britches. His fingers running through the thatch of her hair, searching lower still, her breath catching in her lungs.

She felt him part her lips, moaned as his fingers gently curled against her. She reached down, seeking his cock again, but he pushed her onto her back, the deft movements of his hand sending delightful shivers up her spine.