Nevernight (51 page)

“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?

Mia looked at the faces around her. Solis smiling. Jessamine grinning as if all her Great Tithes had come at once. Diamo practically drooling with anticipation. Mother Drusilla nodded to the Hands flanking Mia, and they took an arm each. It was all she could do to hold herself back. The black trembled as she grit her teeth, allowed herself to be led to the iron rings at the statue’s base, catching sight of Marielle and Adonai in the shadows. The speaker’s face was expressionless, but the weaver’s bleeding lips were split in a smile.

She was cracking her knuckles.

The Hands took hold of her shirt, Mia tensing as they readied to strip it from her back. She looked to the goddess above her, those empty eyes that followed wherever she went.

Give me strength …

“Stop.”

Mia sighed. Relief and anger in equal measure.

That bloody fool …

Mia turned. All eyes were on Tric. The boy had stepped forward from his place, staring at the assembled Shahiid. “Mother Drusilla, stop this.”

“Step back in line, Acolyte. Judgment has been made. It shall be meted.”

“Tric, don’t,” Mia hissed.

“The judgment is wrong. Mia couldn’t have murdered Carlotta.”

“I am not interested in your assessment of her character, Acolyte.”

“I’m not talking about her damned character,” Tric snapped. “Mia couldn’t have killed Carlotta yestereve without me knowing.”

“And how is that?”

“Tric,
stop
!”

Tric ignored Mia’s plea, spared a glance for the weaver. Lips dry. But despite knowing the punishment that might come, still he spoke.

“Because I was with her in her room.”

The Ministry shared glances among themselves, save for Solis, who was glowering at the ceiling. Drusilla looked to Marielle and her brother, back to Tric.

“You admit to being out of your chambers after ninebells?”

“I was out all nevernight. Ash can vouch. She saw me in Mia’s bed this morning.”

Drusilla turned on Ashlinn. “Is this true, Acolyte?”

Ashlinn chewed her lip. Reluctantly nodded. “Aye, Revered Mother.”

“So Mia couldn’t have killed Lotti,” Tric continued. “Despite your ‘evidence.’ You can’t ban her from Spiderkiller’s contest. I was in bed with her the whole time.”

“And why did you not inform us of this before?”

“Because I asked him not to,” Mia said.

“You can’t ban Mia from Spiderkiller’s trial,” Tric insisted. “Becoming a Blade means everything to her. She didn’t do this.”

Drusilla looked to Mia. The Ministry to the Mother.

The girl held her breath, minutes ticking by like years. The ghostly choir sung their hymn out in the dark, the pulse thundered in Mia’s veins. The Ministry spoke among themselves in hushed tones, back and forth, all Mia had worked and bled for hanging in the balance. She could have kissed Tric. She could have punched him. But he was competition. First, last and always. She didn’t love him. He didn’t love her. There was no place for it here in the dark, and both of them knew it. Why had he risked so much for her? When she’d never do the same for him?

Mother Drusilla finally spoke, stilling the turmoil in Mia’s mind.

“Very well,” the old woman said. “In light of this new evidence, it would appear Acolyte Mia’s guilt is unassured, and her punishment may be unwarranted. And though it is late in its coming, the Ministry must applaud Acolyte Tric for his honesty. Such bravery should be commended, when considered in light of its price.”

Drusilla turned to the Hands beside her.

“Bind him.”

The robed figures surrounded Tric, dragged him forward to the statue’s base, Drusilla speaking all the while. “Sadly, Acolyte Tric, honesty aside, it seems the penalty inflicted upon Acolyte Hush was not incentive enough to dissuade novices from breaking curfew. Perhaps your own punishment will prevent further disobedience.”

She turned to Marielle.

“One hundred lashes.”

A murmur rolled down the line of acolytes, Tric’s face paling. Even if Adonai prevented him bleeding out, even if Marielle stopped him dying, the agony of a hundred lashes would surely kill him. After all he’d been through, all he’d already suffered, Tric was set to end here in the bowels of this black mountain, screaming in madness and begging for death.

He’d risked all for her. Spoken true, despite knowing what it could cost.

Knowing she’d never do the same for him.

“Revered Mother,” Mia said. “Wait.”

A cool blue stare turned on the girl. “Acolyte?”

She drew a deep breath. Shadow rolling at her feet.

…
Would she?

“I asked Tric to come to my room. The fault is at least half mine.” Mia steeled herself. “I should bear half the punishment.”

The hall was still as tombs. The Revered Mother looked down the line of Shahiid, asking each one silently in turn. Mouser shrugged. Solis shook his head, seeming to wager watching Tric being flayed would hurt Mia worse than undergoing the punishment herself. But Aalea nodded, and Spiderkiller also acquiesced, dark eyes fixed on Mia. Drusilla pressed her fingers to her lips, brow creased in thought.

“Bind them both,” she finally said.

The Hands escorted Tric to the statue, locked his wrists. Mia glared at Tric the whole time, shaking her head. The boy stared back, his face drawn and bloodless.

“
You fucking idiot
,” they whispered simultaneously.

Mia felt her shirt being torn away. She was pressed against the stone, the rock cool beneath her flesh, goosebumps rising on her bare skin. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Adonai and Marielle standing behind her. Her fear was beginning to overcome Mister Kindly’s appetite. Pulse quickening.

But what must it be like for Tric?

The boy couldn’t seem to breathe fast enough, dragging great, heaving lungfuls through clenched teeth. Wide eyes locked on the black stone he was bound to. Mia strained against the manacles, her fingertips managing to find his and squeeze tight.

“Hold on to me,” she whispered.

Tric blinked the sweat from his eyes. Nodded. And then Hands stepped up behind them, and wrapped blindfolds about their eyes, shutting out the light.

Mia felt Tric’s hand clench tight, crushing her fingers in his grip. She knew exactly where he was then. Fourteen years old. Bound to the tree outside his grandfather’s home. Waiting in the dark for the next rock to hit. The next slap. The next gob of spit.

Bastard. Whoreson.
Koffi
.

“Mister Kindly,” she whispered.

“…
no, mia
…”

“Help him.”

“…
and if i help him, who helps you
…?”

She felt Hands checking the manacles at her wrists. Heard footsteps as they backed away. Tric was squeezing her fingers so tight they hurt.

“You told me that to master the darkness without, first I have to face it within…”

“…
not here. not like this
…”

“If not here, then where?”

She felt her shadow shiver. The fear inside her rising.

“I can do this,” she hissed.

Weaver Marielle’s knuckles popping.

Mother Drusilla’s voice echoing in the blindfold black.

“Begin.”

An empty, endless moment.

“…
as it please you
…”

The darkness rippled about her feet, one last goodbye. And then Mister Kindly was gone, slipping across the black stone and into Tric’s shadow. She heard the boy’s breath come just a touch easier, the crushing grip on her fingers slackening as the not-cat pounced upon his fear. There, pressed against that chill stone, despite the agony to come, Mia found herself smiling. Silence rang in the hall, deep as centuries. The world holding its breath.