Nevernight (50 page)

“You miserable…”

“Mia,” Tric warned, putting a hand on her arm.

“… black-hearted…”

“Corvere,” Ash muttered.

“… fucking…”

“…
mia
…”

“
PRICK
!” Mia roared. “She was my
friend
! Who the
fuck
do you think you are?”

Solis brought his fist down on the workbench and bellowed. “I am a Shahiid of the Red Church! The Mother’s Blade on this earth, thirty-six sanctified kills wrought in her name! And I swear you will be the thirty-seventh if you dare speak to me so again!”

Mia took one step forward, rage burning in her chest. She knew better than anyone what it meant to cross Solis. But she was still heedless, ever fearless, Mister Kindly swallowing caution whole. Tric and Ash grabbed her arms, pulled her into check. But it was the Revered Mother’s voice that finally brought still to the room.

“Where were you yestereve, Acolyte?”

Drusilla tilted her head, peered at Carlotta’s body.

“Sometime around three bells?”

Spittle on Mia’s lips. Eyes narrowed. Jaw clenched. “Abed, of course.”

“No one to account for your whereabouts, then.”

“… No.”

The Revered Mother fixed her in a cool blue stare. “Interesting.”

“Why is that interesting?”

“I’ve ventilated a few throats in my years.” Drusilla motioned to Carlotta’s corpse. “From the wound’s look, I would judge the killer to be left-handed.”

Silence descended on the room. Ashlinn and Tric exchanged uneasy glances, the sweat on Mia’s skin beginning to cool. The Mother was looking right at her.

“Jessamine is ambidextrous,” Mia said. “She fights just as well with either hand.”

“And which hand do you favor, Acolyte?”

“… My left, Mother Drusilla.”

The old woman motioned to the desk. Mia noticed a faint outline in the blood spatter, as if a rectangular object had been sitting in front of Lotti as her throat was opened, shielding the bench from some of the spray.

“Carlotta was obviously working on something as she was murdered. It would seem to be around the shape of a book. A journal perhaps. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Acolyte?”

“Carlotta kept her notes on Spiderkiller’s antidote in there. Everyone knew that.”

The Revered Mother tilted her head. “Interesting.”

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, you 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
…”