Nevernight (48 page)

“You asked about my name when we met,” he finally said. “Told me Dweymeri have names like Wolfeater and Spinesmasher.” A momentary smirk. “Cuddlegiver.”

Mia smiled in return, saying nothing.

“And you told me my name couldn’t be Tric.”

“… Aye.”

The boy looked up to the statue above. Hazel eyes dark and clouded.

“When a Dweymeri is born, the babe is taken to the high suffi on the isle of Farrow. The Temple of Trelene. And the suffi holds the baby up to the ocean and looks into its eyes and sees the path that lies before it. And the first words she speaks are the baby’s name. Earthwalker for a wanderer. Drakekiller for a warrior. Wavedrinker for one fated to drown.

“So like a good daughter of the bara should, my mother took me to Farrow when I was three turns old.” A bitter smile. “Runt, I was. Dweymeri are a big people. Our forefathers born of giants, they say. But I was only a halfblood. Barely a handful. Took after my father, I suppose. The midwife joked I was so small my mother didn’t feel me on my way into the world.”

Tric shook his head. Smile dying on his lips.

“You know what the suffi said when she held me up?”

Mia shook her head. Mute and aching.

“She said
tu rai ish’ha chē
.”

Mia put the first letters of the sentence together. Found his name. But …

“I don’t speak Dweymeri,” she murmured.

Tric looked at Mia. Rage and pain in his eyes.

“Drown him and be done.” His voice dropped to a trembling whisper. “They were her first words. That’s what she fucking named me.
Drown him and be done.
”

Mia closed her eyes. “O, Tric…”

“The suffi handed me back to my mother and told her to give me to the waves. Said the Lady of Oceans would accept me, because my people never would.” A bitter laugh. “My people.”

He sat down on the plinth at the Mother’s feet, staring into the dark.

Mia sat beside him, staring only at him.

“Your mother told the priestess to go to the abyss, I take it?”

“She did.” Tric smiled. “She was fierce, my mother. My grandfather agreed she should drown me, so she took me far from Farrow. Far from him. She gave up her birthright for me. Gave up everything. She died of bloodpox when I was ten. But on her deathbed, she gave me this.” He held up the three silver drakes ever circling his finger. “And she told me a way to prove myself as worthy as she knew me to be.”

Tric leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Dweymeri warriors undergo a ritual when they come of age. At the end of it, our faces are tattooed so all who meet us know we’re Proven. For warriors of the Threedrake clan, the trial was the harshest. Brave the deepwater, and slay one of the great seadrakes. Storm, saber, or white.

“From the time my mother told me of it, I dreamed it. We lived east of Farrow. A port called Solace. After she died, an old seadog taught me boatmaking. Sailwork. Harpoons. I cut down the ironwood trees for my skiff myself. Took me a year to make her. And when I was fourteen, I turned my back on Solace and set out for the deep.

“See, stormdrakes are big, but stupid. Sabers are smarter, but smaller, too. But the whitedrake … he’s the king of the deep. Big and cruel and clever. So I headed north to the coldwater, where the seals were pupping. All I wanted was to sail into Farrow with the carcass of an eighteen-footer. Stand before my grandfather and hear him say he was wrong about me. I prayed to the Lady of Oceans that she’d bring me a beast worthy of a man. And she answered.”

Tric breathed through gritted teeth, eyes alight.

“Mother of Night, he was fucking huge, Mia. You should’ve seen him. When he hit my line, he almost ripped the skiff in half. But my hook bit deep, and my boat held true. He tried to ram me more than once, but after he tasted my harpoons, he learned not to stray too close. The waves smashed down on us and I didn’t eat or sleep. Just fought. Five full turns, toe to toe, hands bleeding. Imagining my grandfather’s face as I dragged this monster into Farrow Bay.

“He got tired. Couldn’t stay down, swimming slower and slower. And so I rowed up beside him and picked up my best and sharpest. The harpoon I’d saved for last.”

Tric looked at Mia through the curtain of his saltlocks.

“You ever looked into a drake’s eye?”

The girl shook her head. She didn’t dare speak. Didn’t want to break this deathly hush. As Tric spoke again, even the Mother’s statue seemed to be listening.

“Black eyes, they’ve got. Corpse eyes. You look into that black and all you can see is yourself. And I saw him.
Me
. That terrified little bastard with his matchstick spear and his father’s eyes. And I put that harpoon right through him. Right into that little boy’s heart. Killed him dead and the beast besides. And I thought myself a man.

“I sailed into Farrow Bay with his head lashed to the gunwale. His teeth were big as my fist. Must’ve been a hundred people gathered around me as I ripped them from his gums. Strung them around my neck and headed for my grandfather’s home.

“They wondered who I was. This scrawny halfblood. Too pale and small to be one of their own, but still knowing their ways. And I entered my grandfather’s house and knelt before his seat and told him who I was. His daughter’s son. And I showed him the teeth around my neck and the ring on my finger. And I pointed toward the head on the beach and I asked that he name me a man.”

Tric curled his hands into fists. Veins taut beneath his skin, etched in the muscle. He was trembling, Mia realized. Grief or rage, she didn’t know.

She put a hand on his arm. Spoke soft as she could.

“You don’t have to tell me, Tric…”

She stumbled over the name, wondering if it were an insult. Not knowing what to do or say. Feeling helpless. Stupid. After all Aalea’s lessons. Everything she’d learned.

Powerless.

Tric shook his head. Voice thick with anger.

“He lau…”

The boy’s voice failed him for a moment. He hissed. Cleared his throat.

“He laughed, Mia. Called me bastard. Whoreson.
Koffi
. Told me when his daughter defied him, she ceased being his daughter. Told me I was no grandson of his.

“
‘But you
are
a man, little koffi,’
he said.
‘So come, take your ink, so others may know you for what you are.’
And his men held me down and he tore the draketeeth from my neck. Used them on my face while I screamed. Poured ink onto the wounds and beat me until the blackness took me.”

Mia felt tears spilling down her cheeks. Her chest ached, nails biting her palms. She put her arms around the boy, hugged tight as she could, buried her face in his hair.

“Tric, I’m so sorry.”

He plunged on, heedless of her touch. It was as if a wound had been lanced now, the poison spewing forth in a flood. How many years had he held it inside?

“They tied me to a mast out front of my grandfather’s home,” he said. “The children would come throw rocks at me. Women spat on me. Men cursed me. The wounds got infected. My eyes swelled up and I couldn’t see.” He shook his head. “That was the worst part. Waiting in the dark for the next rock to hit. The next slap. The next gob of spit. Bastard. Whoreson.
Koffi
.”

“Daughters,” Mia breathed. “That’s why you wouldn’t wear the blindfold to enter the Mountain.”

Tric nodded. Chewed his lip.

“I prayed to the Lady of Oceans to set me free. Punish those who tortured me. My grandfather most of all. And on the third nevernight, when the winds rose and death was so close I could feel her chill, I heard a whisper in my ear. A woman. Words like ice.

“
‘The Lady of Oceans cannot help you, boy.’

“
‘I don’t deserve to die like this,’
I said. And I heard her laugh.

“
‘Deserve has no truck with death. She takes us all. Wicked and just alike.’

“
‘Then I pray she takes the bara slowly,’
I spat.
‘Pray he screams as he dies.’
”

“
‘What would you give to make it so?’

“
‘Anything,’
I told her.
‘Everything.’

“So she cut me down. Adiira was her name. She who’d become my Shahiid. She nursed the infection and set me on the path. Told me the Mother of Night had chosen me. That she’d make me a weapon. Her tool on this earth. And one turn, I’d see him die. My grandfather.” Tric grit his jaw, hissed through his teeth. “Die screaming.”

“I vowed the same,” Mia said. “Remus. Duomo. Scaeva.”

“One of the reasons I like you, Pale Daughter.” Tric smiled. “We’re the same, you and me.”

The boy touched his face. The scrawled ink that told the tale of his torture.

“Every turn, I’d wake and see these in the mirror. Remember what he’d done. Even when Adiira pushed me to breaking, I’d stare into the glass and remember him laughing. I can’t remember what I looked like before. This ink … it’s who I am.” He glanced at Mia. Her now-flawless cheeks and pouting lips. “Marielle will take them away. Adiira warned me. They make me memorable. But what will I be when they’re gone? They’re what makes me, me.”

“Bullshit,’ Mia said.

Tric blinked in shock. “What?”

“This makes you who you are.” She punched the slab of muscle above his heart. “This.” She slapped him atop his head. “These.” The girl took hold of his hands, knelt in front of him, staring into the boy’s eyes. “Slavemarks. Tattoos. Scars. What you look like doesn’t change who you are inside. They can give you a new face, but they can’t give you a new heart. No matter what they take from you, they can’t take that away unless you let them. That’s real strength, Tric. That’s
real
power.”

She squeezed his hands so hard her fingers ached.

“You hold it safe, you hear me? You picture yourself standing on that fucking bastard’s grave. Spitting on the earth that cradles him. You’ll have it, Tric. One turn, you’ll have your vengeance. I promise. Mother help me, I
swear
it.”

The boy stared at the hands that held his. “This is a dark road we walk, Mia.”

“Then we walk it together. I watch your back. You watch mine. And if I fall before the end, you get Scaeva for me. Make him scream. And I’ll swear the same for you.”

The boy looked at her. Those bottomless hazel eyes. That scrawl of hatred on his skin. Her heart was pounding. Fervor in her stare, palms sweating in his.

“Will it hurt?” he asked.

“… That depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether you want me to lie or not.”

Tric laughed, breaking the black spell that held the room still. Mia’s grin died as she looked into his eyes. She moved a little closer. Not close enough.

“Afterward,” she found herself saying. “If you don’t want to be alone…”

“… Is that wise?”

“After ninebells? Probably not.”

He drifted toward her. Tall and strong and O, so fine. Saltlocks tumbling about her cheeks as he leaned near.

“We probably shouldn’t, then.”

Her lips brushed against his as she whispered, “Probably not.”

They hovered there for a moment more, Mia’s belly tumbling, her skin prickling as he ran a gentle finger up her arm. Knowing exactly what he wanted. Wanting just the same. But it hung between them, the thought of the weaver’s twisting hands. Choking the moment dead. And so, he stood. Staring into the dark and breathing deep.

“My thanks, Pale Daughter,” he smiled.

“At your service, Don Tric.”

She watched him walk away, his absence leaving her aching. And when he was gone, she sat in the dark at the feet of a goddess, and her shadow began to whisper.

“…
i think you had best visit the weaver after the boy
…”

“And why’s that?”

“…
your brain and ovaries seem to have switched places
…”

“O, stop. I fear my sides will split.”

She retired to her room, burrowed amid the notes and formulae, lost again in the puzzle. One hand wove idle circles in the air, sending the shadows in the room writhing, Mister Kindly pouncing among them like a real cat chasing mice.

As the evemeal bells rang, she stayed with the riddle, mind drifting to Tric. Wondering how he was faring in the weaver’s room of masks. Emotions were rising among the acolytes; she could feel it. As the competition grew more intense, so too did every other feeling. She felt as if the world were growing louder, everything mattered more. She had no idea what the next turn might bring. She didn’t love him. Love was stupid. Foolish. It had no place in these walls or in her world, and she knew it.

But a part of her hoped she’d not find herself alone this eve …

Hours waiting there in the dark. Butterflies batting at her insides. Wondering if he was all right. What he might look like when that scrawl of hate was torn from his face. Who he might be in the end.

Waiting for the knock on the door. Hour after hour.

“…
are you sure about this
…?”

“I’m sure.”

“…
i wonder if
—”

“I know what I’m doing.”

But sleep arrived before the boy did.

Mia woke somewhere in the evernight’s dark, eyes fluttering open from a dreamless rest. How long had she slumbered? What time could it b—

There it came again. A gentle sound that woke her butterflies.

Knock, knock.

She rolled out of bed, throwing a silken robe over her slip. Heart pounding against her ribs. Cold stone beneath bare feet. She reached the door, hands unsteady as she twisted the key and opened it a crack. And there she saw him, just a silhouette in the dark, saltlocks framing the hidden contours of his face.

Lips dry, she stepped aside without a word. He looked up and down the hallway, hovering at the threshold. For him to be caught outside his room after ninebells would mean torture at the weaver’s hands. But he knew what would happen if he entered. They both knew. A breath that seemed to last forever, watching him through her lashes. And at last, quiet as her sigh, he stepped inside.

She touched the arkemical lamp on her table, waiting for the heat of her hand to spark the light inside. It flickered, a warm sepia glow blooming in the glass. He was behind her, she could feel him. Feel his shadow. Feel his fear at being here. His hunger. And holding her breath, she turned and looked at his face.