Darkdawn--Book Three of the Nevernight Chronicle

by Jay Kristoff

  chunk

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  chunk,

  already fleeing him in spurts and floods, down his bare chest and over the throne beneath them as he surged upward, fighting to the last, and yet she clung on, legs wrapped around him like a lover as he bucked, as she stabbed and stabbed and stabbed until he stopped fighting, until he stopped punching and kicking and breathing, his final exhalation a bubbling whisper, his final touch a caress as his hand fell away and his eyes rolled back and still, still she didn’t stop,

  chunk

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  and she dragged her forearm across her eyes now, wet with sweat and blood, mouth set into a thin line as she shifted from stabbing to sawing, hand trembling with the effort, parting muscle and cartilage and bone as Sigursson roared, scrambling up the rope ladder to the aid of his captain, his lord, his king, but by the time he made the balcony Mia was done, tendons standing taut in her neck as she leaned back, damp popping, wet crunching, pulling her bloody prize from its shoulders.

  Einar Valdyr’s head went tumbling across the floorboards, through the balcony railing, and down to the floor below, spraying a slick of blood. It bounced once before rolling into the tidal pool and disappearing in a swirl of red. Mia grabbed Valdyr’s headless corpse by the collar of his macabre greatcoat, hauled it out of the Scoundrel’s Throne, and sent it to the deck with a swift kick to its arse. Valdyr’s slaveboy was on his knees, utterly aghast, slipping in the thick pool of blood as he scrambled away through the mess. The onlookers in the tiers below were in equal parts horrified and awed, watching slack-jawed as Mia turned and flopped onto the throne, half-naked and covered in gore, long dark hair soaked with blood barely protecting her modesty.

  She propped her bare feet up on Valdyr’s headless, twitching corpse. Fished about in the arse pocket of her britches, wincing, and finally pulled out her thin, battered cigarillo box. Eclipse coalesced at her feet, black fangs bared, hackles raised.

  Standing on the balcony’s edge, Sigursson looked at her in utter disbelief.

  “Just who. The fuck. Are you?” he demanded.

  Mia leaned back on her throne, put a cigarillo to her lips.

  “Well,” she said, wiping at the blood on her face. “If I understand this Heritance thing correctly … I think you can call me Your Majesty?”

  CHAPTER 26

  PROMISES

  Mia had put Valdyr’s greatcoat on, but refused to wash his blood off.

  She sat in a tall chair at one end of a long table, red gore crusting on porcelain skin. To her right sat Cloud Corleone and BigJon, looking like they’d each aged twenty years in the last ten minutes. Tric loomed at her right side, bare-chested, glowering. Without his robe, Mia saw fresh rends on his body: stab wounds in his belly, across the muscles in his arms, three in the flesh around his heart. She could see the flush of life plainly in his skin now, blood glittering in the new wounds, she was sure of it. But his arms were still spattered to the elbows with a black as dark as night, eyes gleaming like that pool of godsblood beneath the ’Grave.

  Sid, Bladesinger, and Butcher stood around Mia’s chair, and Ash sat to her left with Jonnen on her lap. When he’d first set eyes on her after she’d butchered Valdyr, her little brother had simply looked at her and smiled.

  “Well played, de’lai.”

  At the other end of the table sat Ulfr Sigursson, a little paler beneath the handsome. Other members of the wulfguard were gathered around him, black-clad and tense as bowstrings, looking somewhere between shocked and murderous.

  Mia could hear the chaos in the chamber outside. Captains howling at each other across the Hall of Scoundrels, scuffles and faint curses and breaking glass.

  Mia’s eyes were locked on Sigursson’s, her stare cool and even. Blood was coagulating on her skin, in her hair and eyelashes and under her fingernails. All her lessons from Shahiid Aalea were ringing in her head. She knew the next sixty seconds would utterly define her relationship with this man. That, at its heart, this was a game of blink. The first person to speak was showing their weakness. Their fear. And watching the wheels turning behind this man’s eyes—former right hand of the king she’d just murdered, and now ostensibly her first mate—she was damned if she’d blink first.

  Claim a man’s life, you claim all he was.

  His ship. His crew. His throne.

  She imagined being first mate to the King of Scoundrels would’ve been a job with certain benefits—that Sigursson had wielded power any other privateer in this city would have envied. And being part of Valdyr’s crew, the rest of the wulfguard would’ve stood top of the pile in the dungheap that was Amai. Looking across the table at all of them, Mia knew each of these brigands was doing the math in their heads.

  They accept me for now, and keep their place atop the mountain.

  They reject me, and let one of the captains outside try for the throne.

  Or one of them kills me.

  Eclipse prowled in a slow circle around the wulfguard, black as the furs about their shoulders. The room was lit by arkemical lanterns on the walls, and Mia let the shadows curl and writhe. Stretching across the table toward Valdyr’s men, her own shadow on the wall reaching out to Sigursson with translucent hands.

  Tries to kill me, at least.

  Chaos was budding outside in the hall. The shouts growing louder, the unrest rising. Each minute spent in here was another minute those flames were allowed to take root and spread. Each minute in here was another minute the wulfguard risked losing all they had. The air in the room was heavy as iron, the smell of blood thick in the air, thickest of all around Mia. Who simply sat.

  And stared.

  And waited.

  One of the brigands finally growled, “We can’t just—”

  “Shut your mouth before I fuck it,” Sigursson snapped.

  Mia stared at the man, allowing a small smile to curl her lips.

  Sigursson leaned his elbows on the table and sighed.

  “Do you want your shirt back?”

  Blink.

  “No,” Mia said, turning up the collar of Valdyr’s coat. “This is warm enough.”

  “Your actions put us all in deep waters, girl.”

  “My name is Mia Corvere,” she said, still unblinking. “Blade of the Red Church. Champion of the Venatus Magni. Chosen of the Dark Mother and Queen of Scoundrels. Never call me girl again.”

  Sigursson leaned back in his chair, leathers creaking. He glanced to the wulfguard around him, ran his hand over his chin.

  “Have you ever actually crewed aboard a ship?”

  “No.”

  “Ever attacked another vessel under a flag of piracy?”

  “I sank a Luminatii warship named Faithful a few weeks back. But technically, they attacked us first, so I’m not certain that qualifies.”

  Sigursson glanced at Corleone, who nodded confirmation.

  “You know how to tie a clove hitch or bowline?” the man asked. “Know a broad reach from a beam reach or a main from a mizzenmast? Can you use a sextant or trim a mainsail or read a captain’s charts?”

  “No,” Mia admitted.

  “You’re not a sailor’s arsehole, are you?”

  “No.” The dry blood on her lips cracked as she smiled. “But I am a queen.”

  “For now.”

  Tric leaned forward, spread his black hands on the table, and glowered. The shadows flickered and stretched, and a long, low growl came from beneath the floor.

  “… CAREFUL WITH YOUR THREATS, WULFGUARD. YOU SPORT WITH TRUE WOLVES NOW…”

  Mia leaned back in her chair, running her fingers over her bare collarbone, down her blood-caked sternum. “I’ll make you a proposition, Ulfr Sigursson.”

  “I await it with bated breath,” he replied.

  “I need to cross the Sea of Sorrows. And there’s a storm coming.”

  Sigursson shook his head. “This is naught but a squall, it’ll blow over in—”

  “A storm is coming
,” Mia insisted. “So I need the biggest ship. The strongest ship. The ship most likely to see me through the tempest that’ll crash upon my head the minute I set foot near that fucking ocean. And Black Banshee fits that order, neh?”

  Sigursson nodded slow. “She’s the mightiest ship on all Four Seas. Black Banshee wasn’t built, she was spat from the unholy gash of the Dark Mother herself.”*

  “She’ll be my gift to you,” Mia said.

  Sigursson’s eyes narrowed.

  “You get me across the Sea of Sorrows, Black Banshee is yours. The Throne of Scoundrels is yours.” Mia’s fingertips brushed her collar. “I’ll even throw in this lovely leather coat, if you like. Or you can try to kill me, Ulfr Sigursson, and I can show you what it truly means to be spat from Niah’s belly.”

  The man looked to the deadboy beside her. Eclipse, now prowling behind him. Mia’s shadow reaching toward him, its hair blowing soft behind it, its hand outstretched toward him, gifting his cheek a caress that made him shiver.

  He swallowed thick. “Are you accursed?”

  “I am a daughter of the dark between the stars,” she replied. “I am the thought that wakes the bastards of this world sweating in the nevernight. I am the vengeance of every orphaned daughter, every murdered mother, every bastard son.” Mia leaned forward and looked the man in the eye. “I am the war you cannot win.”

  Mia pushed her seat back, stood slowly, and, content to meet him at the crossroads, she walked around the table. She let her gravebone sword trail along the ground, the tip scoring a deep runnel in the floorboards. Her oversized coat of faces dragged behind her like the train of some godsless bride. Stopping halfway down the table’s length, Mia extended one bloodstained hand.

  “You gift me Ashkahi shores, and I’ll gift you a throne,” she said. “Or you can defy me, and learn exactly what it is that makes the rest of them so afraid.”

  Ulfr Sigursson glanced once more to his men. Mia’s eyes never wavered. And finally, slowly, the big Vaanian stood, leathers creaking, boots clomping as he walked around the table and stopped before her. Eclipse prowled around their legs, growling soft. The light flickered and the wind whispered and the shadows laughed.

  Mia just stared.

  I am the war you cannot win.

  Ulfr Sigursson sank to one knee.

  Pressed her bloody knuckles to his lips.

  “Majesty,” he said.

  * * *

  “I’m not leaving you,” Ashlinn said.

  “Yes,” Mia replied. “You are.”

  Wind was blowing in off the Sea of Sorrows, cold as the fear in Ashlinn Järnheim’s belly. All around her, the crew of the Bloody Maid were loading their gear, marching up the gangplank to their waiting ship. The Falcons were gathered at the base of the ramp, all save Butcher and Jonnen, who’d snatched a spare minute to practice with a pair of wooden swords that the man had carved with his own two hands. Eclipse bounced back and forth between them, growling encouragement to the boy. But Ashlinn only had eyes for her girl.

  “Mia,” she scowled. “There’s no way.”

  “Ashlinn, there’s no sense in you all shipping out with me,” Mia replied. “The goddesses still want my blood. We can make our way to Last Hope separately, meet Naev there, and head out to the Quiet Mountain together. You take the Maid now, it’ll be smooth sailing all the way to Ashkah. Trelene and Nalipse aren’t interested in any of you, they want me.” She glanced to Corleone. “Isn’t that true, Cloud?”

  “We had nary a bump on the way down here,” the scoundrel nodded. “Blue above and below.”

  “My thanks for finally getting here, by the by,” Mia said. “Were you selling some of that arkemist’s salt in the Maid’s belly, or just taking in the sights?”

  “Neither.”

  “Well, what took you so long?”

  The man scratched the back of his head, a little bashful. “A small matter of…”

  “Vaginas,” BigJon offered. “Several, in fact.”

  “Good for you,” Mia smiled. “Battista? Bertrando?”

  Corleone just grinned, but Ashlinn felt anger swell in her chest.

  “Mia, stop fuckarsing about,” she said, tugging her girl’s arm. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I,” Mia replied. “The Ladies want to kill me. They’ll save their strength for the Banshee. So you ship out now on the Maid, we’ll wait six turns and follow. You’ll be sunning those beautiful baps on the shores of Last Hope by the time we arrive.”

  “If you arrive.”

  “I have a better chance with Sigursson and his crew. Banshee’s almost twice the size of the Maid. She’s made for the worst the sea has to give. But I can’t bring Jonnen with me into the tempest, and I need someone to look after him while I’m not there. Who’s going to do that? Butcher? Mother love him, but he’s not the finest role model.”

  Ashlinn glanced to the former gladiatii, who’d paused his sparring with Jonnen to stick his hand down his britches, readjust his tackle, and burp louder than thunder.

  “Right, get that guard up, boy…”

  Ash shook her head, trying to make Mia see sense. “So what, you plan to cross the Sea of Sorrows on a ship full of murderous fucking cutthroats? You saw what kind of man Valdyr was. Goddess knows what kind of bastards he took for his crew.”

  “I think I’ve a notion,” Mia sighed.

  “You can’t rescue Mercurio if these pricks cut your throat and feed you to the drakes. I’m not leaving you alone with the likes of them.”

  “I won’t be alone. Tric’s coming with me. He doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t eat. He can’t drown. Who better to guard my back on the sea in a storm?”

  If Mia’s words were meant to be comforting, they had far from the desired effect. Ashlinn’s eyes found the deadboy, as always looming just within earshot. He’d found himself a shirt to replace the robes they’d torn off him, leather britches, and heavy boots. He stood like a statue, gravebone blades crossed at the small of his back, constantly scanning the crowds around them. Pretty as the perfect murder. But as Ash glanced his way, those ink-dark eyes flashed right to her. Bottomless. Unreadable.

  “Mia…,” Ashlinn pleaded. “I don’t trust Tric.”

  “But I trust you, Ash,” Mia said. “Jonnen’s the only familia I have left who matters. And I’m asking you to look after him. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

  Ashlinn met Mia’s eyes, tears beginning to well in her own. She could feel her walls crumbling, the iron and fire she showed the world melting away at the notion of having to leave the girl she loved behind. The thought was a stone in her belly. A knife in her chest. She threw her arms around Mia, burying her face in her hair. She kissed her lips, her cheek, her nose, resting their foreheads together as she whispered.

  “Promise you’ll meet me there. Promise you’ll come back to me.”

  “Promises are for poets.”

  “I mean it. I’m not losing you.”

  “You know what they say,” Mia smiled. “’Tis better to have loved and lost…”

  “Whoever said that never loved someone the way I love you.”

  Mia met her eyes, then. Goddess, she was so beautiful. Standing there in the bitter farewell winds and sighing so soft it made Ash’s heart ache.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Mia said. “The house at Threelakes you talked about. Flowers in the windowsill and a fire in the hearth.”

  Ash sniffled. “And a big feather bed.”

  “I’ve been thinking, and…”

  Mia turned her eyes to the lead-gray sea.

  “… Perhaps.”

  Ash squeezed her hand, butterflies taking wing in her belly, a small and fragile smile curling her lips. It was more than she’d ever let herself hope for. The thought of all they might become, the dream of all they might have …

  “Perhaps?”

  Mia looked at her and nodded, a long lock of raven black tossed across her cheek, her eyes as dark and deep as the Abyss. “Look after him for me.”
<
br />   Ash swallowed hard, pawed away her tears.

  She needs me strong now.

  “I will. I promise.”

  Drawing a deep breath and steeling herself, Ash followed the others to the groaning gangplank, the Maid rocking gently in her berth. One by one, they headed up, gathering at the railing to look down on Mia and Tric. Ash and Jonnen waited ’til the last, the boy’s hand clasped in hers. He stopped to look up at his big sister, lips pressed together, eyes clouded.

  “Remember your manners,” she told him. “Don’t be a brat.”

  “Remember what Father said,” he replied. “Don’t get killed.”

  Mia smiled. “Good advice, little brother.”

  Ashlinn watched as the boy sucked his lip a moment. Staring down at his feet. And finally, he opened his arms and gifted Mia a swift hug, face pressed to her leathers. Ashlinn’s heart melted to see him opening up, to see the gulf between the pair slowly closing. For a moment she was tempted to pick him up, crush them all together in an embrace, like that night they’d spent sleeping together in the storm. The thought of what they might be when all this was over surfaced in her mind’s eye again. All of them together. A real familia.

  But it was over almost as soon as it began. And before Mia really had a chance to hug Jonnen back, the boy was breaking away, pulling Ashlinn with him.

  One last swift kiss passed between the girls, desperate and bittersweet, Ash sucking the plump swell of Mia’s bottom lip as they parted. And then Jonnen was dragging her up the gangplank, nothing left to say. Ash gathered with the others at the railing, Mia blowing her another kiss, looking over her comrades in farewell.

  “Look after them for me, Sid,” Mia called.

  The big Itreyan nodded, thumped a fist over his heart. “Never fear.”

  “And never forget.”

  They put out into the chopping blue, sails creaking overhead, BigJon’s profanity like an old, familiar song. Ashlinn stayed at the railing, the wind snatching away her tears, watching her girl on the boardwalk growing smaller and smaller still. Mia held up her hand and Ashlinn waved in return. Jonnen raised his hand, too. She stooped and picked him up so he could see better, holding him tight.