Nevernight (44 page)

“I’m becoming something of a bitch, aren’t I?”

“…
becoming
…?”

She glanced at the cat as he chuckled, flicked ash in his general direction.

“…
this is all new to you. it cannot be easy
…”

She dragged hard on the smoke, exhaled through her nostrils.

“It’s not meant to be easy. But I can do this, Mister Kindly.”

“…
i have no doubt. and i am with you to the end
…”

“Really.”

“…
really
…”

Mia stayed awake, watching the cigarillo slowly burn down to nothing. Sitting in the dark with her thoughts. Mister Kindly was right; initiation should be her goal. All else was just chaff and fuckery. She wasn’t the master at pockets that Ash or Jessamine was. And training with Tric wasn’t helping her swordcraft the way it needed to. But her only match in venomcraft was Carlotta, and her current weakness in the Hall of Songs was something she could exploit. Like Mister Kindly and Mercurio had said, being underestimated was a weapon she could turn to advantage.

Time to start hedging my bets
.

With her cigarillo dead, she lay back in her bed. Grateful the smoke had killed what was left of Tric on her skin.
Just the once
, she told herself.
Just to keep the dreams away.
Her thoughts turned slower as fatigue finally caught her, as sleep wrapped her in gentle arms, lashes fluttering against her cheeks. And finally she slept.

The not-cat sat beside her, waiting for the nightmares that came to call.

Ever watchful.

Ever hungry.

It did not wait long.

Before mornmeal, Mia rose from her bed and crept from her room. She made her way past the acolyte bedchambers, deeper into the Mountain. Enquiring politely from a passing figure in black, she was escorted down wending stairwells, into a chamber she’d never seen. The smell of dust and hay, camel and shit. And stepping out into a great cavern carved in the Mountain’s guts, she realized where she was.

“Stables…”

The cavern was at least fifty feet high, great wooden pens holding two dozen snorting, snarling spit-machines. She could see Hands unloading a newly arrived wagon-train, watering the beasts just come in from the sand. The wagons were piled high with goods from Last Hope and beyond. And there among the dust-clad Hands in desert red, Mia saw a face veiled in silk. Strawberry blond curls. Dark, shining eyes.

“Naev!”

The Hand turned, eyes smiling. “Friend Mia.”

Mia took her in a hug, returned with fondness. She could smell sweat on the woman’s skin, the dirt and dust of a long road.

“Apologies for intruding,” Mia said. “I know you must be weary. When I asked after you, I wasn’t even sure you’d returned from Last Hope yet.”

“Just arrived.” The woman nodded. “All is well?”

“Well enough,” Mia nodded. “Are you busy?”

“… Somewhat. But Naev can spare a moment for her.”

The woman stepped to a shadowed alcove, bringing Mia with her. Naev waited expectantly, shouts and camels bellowing in the background. Mia decided her friend was in a rush, and that, despite the first of Shahiid Aalea’s golden rules, skipping the foreplay might be best in this situation.

“When we crossed blades in the Whisperwastes,” Mia began, “before I called the Dark, at least … you had my measure. If I fought fair, you’d have bested me.”

Naev nodded. No arrogance in her voice, simple pragmatism.

“She fights Orlani style. A little Caravaggio. Skilled enough. But there are many faces to bladework, and it seems she really knows only one.”

“And you know many.”

The woman’s eyes twinkled. “Naev knows them all.”

“Maybe you can help me, then.”

“What does she need?”

“That depends.”

“Upon?”

Mia smiled.

“Whether or not you can keep a secret.”

1. Constructed on the order of Consul Julius Scaeva, the Bridge of Follies is built entirely of watercraft—ships and boats, scuppers and ferries—strung end to end and lashed together by lengths of rusting chain. By writ of the Itreyan constitution, consuls may sit for only one term, almost three years in span. So when Scaeva broke precedent during the Kingmaker Rebellion and stood for reelection, claiming emergency powers in the Republic’s time of crisis, his most outspoken political rival, Senator Suetonius Arlani, was quoted as saying, “Scaeva has more chance of walking on the waters of Butcher’s Bay than he has of succeeding in his folly.”

When Scaeva won in an unprecedented landslide, he purchased every seafaring vessel he could find, had them lashed together to form a crude bridge, and walked across the bay barefoot. Named the Bridge of Follies after Arlani’s remarks, the span has remained a landmark in Godsgrave ever since, home to a motley of vagrants, the dispossessed and the outcast, grubbing out a living free of rent on the consul’s
monument di triumph
. Scaeva himself doesn’t seem to mind.

As for Senator Arlani, he was sentenced to life in the Philosopher’s Stone a few weeks after the consul’s electoral victory. The circumstances of his incarceration were entirely unrelated to his public remarks, I assure you.

2. Scabdogs are a voracious carnivore of the Liisian continent, resembling a fat, hairless canine with piggy eyes and a mouthful of razors. The scabdog is an astonishingly vicious close-quarter combatant, but lacks the endurance to chase game over long distances. They frequently feed on carrion, but have also developed a peculiar method of “hunting.”

The creature will maim itself superficially, chewing at its haunches until it bleeds. The scabdog will then make a show of being wounded, limping and bleeding until spotted by a carrion eater, such as a vulture, jackal, or another scabdog. The beast will then collapse, feigning death. This subterfuge can take hours, sometimes even turns.

The beasts are consummate actors, even going so far as to remain still while another carnivore takes a cautious bite. But when the carrion eater finally settles in to feed, the scabdog strikes, tearing its would-be predator to pieces and feasting to its heart’s content.

As a result of their self-maiming, the creatures are frequently covered in scabs, hence their name.

And in case you were wondering, no, gentlefriend, they do not make good pets.

CHAPTER 23

S
WITCH

Weeks passed in the Quiet Mountain, and not many of them were quiet at all.

The Hall of Songs rang with the tune of steel on steel. The sharp whistle of bowstrings and the thud of throwing knives. Though she proved a crack shot with a crossbow, Mia still took a beating almost every class. After their previous confrontation, she noticed Jessamine always wore the Trinity beneath her tunic, and the threat of it hung between them like a knife. But though Jess never failed to rub her nose in the dirt, Mia followed Mister Kindly’s advice and kept her anger under lock and key. Focusing on training. Leaving pettiness to the petty. Seemingly bored by Mia’s lack of spine, the redhead focused more of her attentions on Carlotta, who responded with her customary deadpan wit and dead-eyed stare.

Jessamine, however, wasn’t the only one who noticed Mia’s new resolve.

The mornlesson was Truths, but as Mia mooched into the hall with Ash and Lotti by her side, she noticed the great ironwood benches were pushed against the far walls, and much of the arkemical equipment had been stowed away. Spiderkiller stood in the room’s center, pouches of differing colors in her hands.

“Acolytes,” the Shahiid nodded. “Please gather behind me.”

The group obeyed, forming a semicircle at the Shahiid’s back.

“We have spent the last few months covering the creation of arkemical toxins, and the application thereof. But arkemy is not simply venomcraft, and it can assist you in your vocations as more than a simple tool of death.”

Spiderkiller reached into a black leather pouch, produced a small globe, no bigger than her thumbnail. It was perfectly smooth, buffed to a high gloss.

“Wyrdglass,” she explained. “Arkemical vapors, held in a solid state by a process of my own creation. A sharp physical jolt will disrupt this process, restoring the compound to its gaseous state, but unlike cruder vapor-based weaponry, wyrdglass leaves no trace. No shards or stoppers to know you were there. The glass itself
is
the compound.”

The Shahiid passed the globe around the assembled acolytes. It was heavier than Mia expected, cool to the touch.

“I have developed a number of varieties,” Spiderkiller offered. “The first is onyx.”

The Shahiid hurled a fistful of the black globes at the floor. They struck with a dozen tiny pops, and in a heartbeat, a thick cloud of swirling smoke was rising from the stone. It was oily, heavy as fog, and black as the night above the Sky Altar.

“Useful for diversions and conducting defensive maneuvers.”

Spiderkiller reached into another pouch, fished out three white wyrdglass globes and hurled them against the far wall. Again, the globes burst into a heavy smoke, sinking slowly to the floor. Mia found it hard to believe so much vapor could be condensed into something so small.

“Pearl for toxins. Most commonly sedatives such as Swoon, though I have crafted more lethal variants from aspira. And finally,” the Shahiid produced a globe of red wyrdglass, and flashed an uncharacteristic smile. “Ruby. A personal favorite.”

Spiderkiller hurled the globe at another wall, and with a crackling boom, a sphere of white-hot fire bloomed against the stone. The acolytes flinched, eyes wide, staring at the fist-sized chunk that had been taken out of the granite.

“Capable of perforating plate armor, and pulverizing the flesh within.”

Spiderkiller handed a bunch of the onyx wyrdglass globes to the acolytes, motioned at the far wall.

“Now. You try.”

Smiling to each other, the acolytes stepped up and began hurling the wyrdglass at the stone. Dozens of small pops rang out in the hall, black smoke rising at the far end of the room. Spiderkiller gave Hush and Tric a ruby globe each, black lips curling as bright explosions tore the air. Once the smoke cleared, the acolytes sat at their benches and Spiderkiller turned to the charboard, explaining wyrdglass’s basic properties.

Mia was furiously scribbling notes when Ash whispered in her ear.

“So. Question.”

“It’s not the one about where babes come from, is it?” Mia muttered. “Because I don’t think our friendship is ready for that.”

“Why are you eating Red’s shit?”

Mia paused in her scribbling, glanced up from her notes.

“I’m not eating anyone’s shit,” she whispered.

“She’s beating you like a training dummy in Songs. Yesterturn she near knocked you off your feet in the Sky Altar, and when she chewed at you, you just turned away.”

Mia looked across the hall to Jessamine, working alongside Diamo. The redhead flashed Mia a smile as toxic as anything Spiderkiller had yet brewed.

“It’s not like you, Corvere.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Bollocks.”

Mia glanced to Spiderkiller, who was still working at the charboard.

“She…”

Mia chewed her lip. Looked to Ashlinn. She didn’t like asking for help. Didn’t like needing anybody. But Ash was a decent sort, despite her habit of filching anything that wasn’t bolted to the floor. And it wasn’t like she was bleating to the Ministry about it …

“She stole the Trinity.”

Ash blinked in confusion.

“From Mouser’s hall,” Mia hissed. “The medallion that made me puke my guts up that turn he dressed as a priest.”

Ash raised one eyebrow. “You told me that was some bad herring, Corvere.”

“Aye, well, it was nice of you to pretend to believe me.”

The blond girl scowled at Jessamine.

“So it was the Trinity that shook you so?”

Mia lowered her voice further. “Not sure why. Something to do with being darkin, I think. Jessamine pulled it on me in the Hall of Songs. Felt like I was about to croak it.”

Ash noted the gold chain about Jessamine’s neck, almost hidden by her shirt.

“That sneaky little c—”

A globe of onyx wyrdglass burst on the desk in front of them. Both girls were consumed in a thick, rolling cloud of black smoke, Ash falling back off her stool. The rest of the acolytes guffawed, the girls coughed and sputtered, waving to clear the air. As the smoke slowly dissipated, Mia found herself met with Spiderkiller’s glare.

“Acolyte Ashlinn. Acolyte Mia. You have something to contribute to the lesson?”

“No, Shahiid,” Mia mumbled.

“Then you believe clucking like a pair of hens will assist me in imparting it?”

“No, Shahiid,” Ash said, with her best hangdog expression.
1

“Then I’ll thank you to listen in silence. The next globe I hurl will be a different color.”

Spiderkiller hefted the bag of ruby wyrdglass, glanced at the other acolytes. Each returned to their notetaking with a fury that would shame an Ironscribe. Silence reigned for the rest of the morn. But at the lesson’s end, Ash stared hard at Jessamine.

Cracked her knuckles.

And then she gave Mia a wink.

Two turns later, a short time after evemeal, Mia was working on Spiderkiller’s formula. Every eve, she’d hunch over her notes and try to untangle the puzzle. It seemed impossible: every antidote for one component seemed to increase the efficacy of another. But solving the riddle was Mia’s best chance at finishing top of hall, and lurking in her room meant there was little chance of running into Jessamine. She was cursing the air blue and seriously considering lighting her notes on fire when she heard lockpicks at her door.

“Maw’s teeth, can’t she just bloody knock?”

The girl extricated herself from her tangled pile of venomlore and padded to the door, opening it with a twist and finding Ashlinn crouched outside her room.

“Do your knuckles not work or something?” Mia asked.

Ash gave Mia the knuckles with both hands, shaking them in her face.

“Bloody hilarious, you,” Mia smiled. “What do you need?”

“Not what I need.” Ash straightened with a wink. “It’s what I can give you.”