by Jay Kristoff
“… MIA, WE CANNOT STAY HERE…!” Eclipse roared.
“I’M WILLING TO ENTERTAIN SUGGESTIONS!” the boy bellowed.
Mia could see the Banshee was doomed, crumbling all around her, waves rushing in over her sides, masts and spine broken. One way or another, they were going into that ocean. And even if the seas weren’t crashing about them like hammers and filled with monsters from the deep, it was still an impossible distance to swim …
“THE ONLY WEAPON IN THIS WAR IS FAITH.”
Lightning flashed, that same rapid strobe turning the gloom brighter than the sunslight. The shadows were etched around her in perfect black with each strike, writhing at Mia’s feet, carved deep and dark in the great valleys between the waves, miles and miles of them between her and land. But she could feel the dark above her. The dark inside her. Thinking of a line from that old Ashkahi poem,
No shadow without light …
and finally shouting to Tric, “Hold on to me!”
The boy obeyed, wrapping his arm tight about her waist. Banshee shuddered beneath them, the ocean rushing up to meet them as the leviathan dragged the ship and her murderous crew down to their dooms.
“Eclipse, you move where I point you, aye?”
“… AS IT PLEASE YOU…”
“Go!”
Mia pointed across the iron-gray sea. The gnashing swell, the colossal waves full of teeth. The daemon disappeared from beside her, and holding tight to Tric, Mia
Stepped
out across the
water into the shadows
between two towering waves. She felt a moment of weightlessness, the sensation of falling, the Dweymeri boy in her arms and nothing but death beneath them both. But before they could plunge into the depths she was
believe.
They fell into the sodden sand. Shallow waters rising up about her thighs. A red sliver of storm-wracked Ashkahi beach was stretched out before her. The familiar, moldering facades of Last Hope in front of her. Black clouds arrayed above her. Snarling waves rising behind her. The rain was on her skin and her hair was in her eyes and the chill was in her bones. Tric was on his hands and knees in the chopping swell, wonder and amazement in his gaze as he looked up at her.
Lightning flashed, tearing the skies in fury. The waves crashed and rolled. The Ladies of Storms and Oceans, the terrible twins, reaching out toward her with all their hatred. Mia hauled herself to her feet, Eclipse beside her, the shadows swaying like serpents. She dragged her sodden tricorn off, clawed her hair from her face, and she laughed. Her eyes alight. Her heart warmed by dark flame, burning in her chest.
All they had, they’d thrown.
All their hate, they’d given.
All their fury, spent.
Mia raised the knuckles to the sky.
“Still standing, bitches.”
BOOK 4
THE ASHES OF EMPIRES
CHAPTER 30
COULD
““O, fuck no.”
When Mia pushed open the door to the New Imperial Taverna in the town of Last Hope, she hadn’t been expecting open arms or a triumphal parade. But when Fat Daniio, owner and proprietor, looked up from his shiny new countertop and saw the bedraggled and sea-soaked Blade and her Hearthless companion standing on his doorstep, Mia had actually been impressed by the sheer horror in his eyes.
“O, fuck no,” the publican repeated.
Fat Daniio’s trepidation at Mia’s return was understandable: last time she was in his pub, she’d poisoned a cadre of Luminatii in his common room and burned the Old Imperial to the ground. By way of compensation, the Red Church had sponsored a rebuild, and the New Imperial was a rather more well-to-do affair than its predecessor. Not exactly a marrowborn villa, but at least there were no bloodstains on the floors or rats holding court in the rafters.
Still, it seemed Mia wasn’t among Daniio’s list of favorite people.
“Nonono,” the tubby publican begged, raising his hands in surrender. “Merciful Aa, you can’t come in here, I’ve just had the walls repainted.”
“I promise to behave,” Mia said, stepping over the threshold.
“Mia!”
She heard running footsteps, smelled jasmine perfume, and then Ashlinn was catching her up in a breathless embrace. Ash’s lips found hers and Mia kissed her back, forgetting herself for a moment and just enjoying the simple feel of her girl in her arms again. She was soaked to the skin, freezing cold, exhausted past sleeping. But just for a heartbeat, none of it mattered.
Sidonius strode across the room and joined in on the hug, Bladesinger was quick to follow. Looking around the pub’s common room, Mia saw it was full of salts from the Bloody Maid, talking soft and drinking hard. Cloud Corleone sat in a booth with BigJon, Butcher, and Jonnen—the trio were apparently teaching her brother how to play Kingslayer.* But all four looked up as Mia and Tric entered, amazement etched on Corleone’s face.
“Fuck me very gently,” he breathed.
“Then fuck you very hard?” Mia asked.
Cloud tipped his tricorn and grinned. “Good to see you, my queen.”
Mia gave a slow curtsey that a marrowborn dona would envy, then looked to Jonnen and winked. Her brother climbed off his chair and, keeping his manner as lordly as he could manage, walked across the common room and wrapped his little arms around her waist in a fierce hug. She was soaked to the skin but couldn’t bring herself to care, lifting him up and squeezing him tight and planting a kiss on his cheek. The boy protested, making a face as her lips touched his skin.
“You’re cold.”
“So they tell me,” she replied.
“Unhand me, wench,” he demanded.
Mia kissed him again, grinning as he wriggled in her embrace. Finally, she set him on the taverna floor and sent him on his way with a soft smack to his backside. The Falcons looked at Mia with a kind of awe. Sidonius turned to Tric, shook his ink-black hand.
“We feared you’d not make it,” the Itreyan said. “That storm was a monster.”
“Aye,” Bladesinger said, giving a grudging nod. “Well done, lad.”
“THE WORK WASN’T MINE,” Tric replied. “WE’D BOTH BE AT THE BOTTOM OF THE OCEAN IF NOT FOR MIA.”
“Where’s the Black Banshee?” Butcher asked.
Mia shrugged. “Bottom of the ocean.”
Tric looked at Mia with lingering wonder. “SHE TRULY IS CHOSEN OF THE GODDESS.”
“Always there seemed more to her than the eye beheld,” said a familiar voice.
Mia turned and saw a thin woman with her face veiled in black silk. Strawberry-blond curls. Dark, kohled eyes. Soundless as whispers and standing right behind her.
“Naev!”
Mia caught the woman up in her arms, kissed her cheeks, one after another. Naev returned the hug with fondness, a smile shining in her eyes.
“Friend Mia,” the Hand said. “It is good to see her again. Speaker Adonai gave word of her coming. Old Mercurio sends his love.”
“You’ve spoken to him?” Mia whispered, her heart swelling with joy.
Naev cast a pointed glance about the Imperial’s common room, nodded to a table in a far-flung corner. Making their way past groups of Corleone’s crew, the group secreted themselves at the back of the pub, squeezing into a booth around Naev. Daniio shuffled over with a round of cheap ales, his nervous stare still locked on Mia.
The girl blew him a kiss.
Once the publican had retreated, Naev spoke with a hushed voice, eyes on the door.
“Adonai sent word to Naev through the blood,” the woman
said, tapping the silver phial about her neck. “The speaker and weaver have aligned themselves with Mercurio against the Ministry. Chronicler Aelius stands with the company also.” Naev looked at Mia. “Between them, they have pondered a way she might enter the Mountain and strike.”
“But we have to move now, Mia,” Ashlinn said.
“Aye,” Naev nodded. “Matters are moving swift. Time is sh—”
“Hold, hold,” Mia said, shaking her head. “I just fought my way across six hundred miles of storm and ocean. You’re telling me the speaker and weaver have joined with the chronicler in a conspiracy to help me take down the entire Red Church Ministry. Can I at least have a fucking smoke and come to grips with this first?”
“Scaeva is headed to the Quiet Mountain,” Ash whispered.
Mia’s belly thrilled, her jaw tightening. “What?”
“Ashlinn speaks truth,” Naev nodded. “The imperator needs Marielle to craft another duplicate to stand in his stead during public appearances. And he must be present for the weaver to craft a convincing likeness. He will be in the Mountain in a matter of turns.”
“All the vipers in one nest,” Ashlinn said, squeezing her hand. “This is our chance, Mia. Kill Scaeva. End the Ministry. Rescue Mercurio and be done with all of it.”
Mia’s skin prickled, a surge of adrenaline banishing the exhaustion, the chill. Scaeva surely wouldn’t travel to the Mountain unattended. And even with their numbers culled, the Red Church was still a cult of the deadliest assassins in the Republic. But the belly of the Quiet Mountain dwelled in perpetual night—no sunslight had ever touched it. She’d be as strong within the Black Mother’s halls as she’d been out there in that storm. Probably more so. And with all her enemies in the one place at the one time, just a few turns’ ride across the Ashkahi Whisperwastes …
She looked at Naev, her voice as sharp as the gravebone at her waist.
“Tell me everything you know.”
The whispers were louder than Mia remembered.
They were three turns into their trek, the heat rippling off the Ashkahi wastelands in shimmering waves. The Lady of Storms had abandoned the skies for now, the dark cloud cover peeling back to reveal a sullen purple glare above. Saan was half-hidden by the horizon, and Saai falling farther toward its rest. But out here in the desert, the temperature was still stifling.
Mia and her comrades rode inside a Red Church wagon train. The Hands who usually accompanied Naev on her supply runs couldn’t be trusted to join their conspiracy, so Naev had put them down with a dose of Swoon in their evemeals before Mia had even reached Ashkah. They were now resting in a rented room in the New Imperial, bound hand and face and foot.
Mia had told Cloud Corleone he was under no obligation to wait for her return. With the Black Banshee at the bottom of the Sea of Sorrows and his friendship with Mia well-known, the pirate had decided he’d sail back to Godsgrave and lie low until the succession war over the Throne of Scoundrels was settled.
As they’d made ready to trek out into the Whisperwastes, the captain had bowed low, flashed Mia his four-bastard smile, and doffed his tricorn.
“If I were the praying sort, I’d say one for you,” Corleone had said. “But I’m not sure you’d welcome it anyway. And so I’ll gift you this instead.”
The scoundrel gently took Mia’s hand, kissed her bruised and battered knuckles.
“Fortune go with you, my queen.”
“You don’t have to call me your queen anymore, Captain,” Mia had said.
“I know it,” Cloud replied. “Which is exactly why I do.”
BigJon had given Mia a low bow and his silver grin. “That marriage offer still stands, Queen Mia. I’d rather fancy being a king and telling this bastard what to do for a change.”
Cloud flipped his first mate the knuckles, then nodded at Mia.
“Blue above and below.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Mia had smiled. “Benito? Belarrio?”
Cloud had only grinned. “My loyalty only extends so far, Majesty.”
The scoundrel had bowed low again and turned back to the sea.
Mia wondered if they’d ever meet again.
They’d set off soon afterward, eight camels leading a four-wagon train out into the Ashkahi wastes. Not needing to sleep, Tric sat up front in the driver’s chair—they had only a few turns to reach the Mountain before Scaeva was gone, and the boy’s unearthly presence served to drive their animals a little harder. Hating camels almost as much as she hated horses, Mia had given all their beasts names in her head—Ugly, Stupid, Smelly, Cockeye, Dunghead, Tosser, Bucktooth, and, for the smelliest and ugliest of the lot, Julius.
Bladesinger rode in the front wagon with Naev, watchful eyes on the horizon. Butcher stuck close by Jonnen when he could—the man still trained the boy with his wooden swords whenever they stopped for a meal—but for now he was riding with Sidonius in the rear, the pair of them taking turns at beating on a large iron contraption to keep the sand kraken away.
Mia, Ashlinn, and Jonnen rode in the middle wagon, the canvas cover shielding them from the worst of the suns. Ash sat beside Mia, hand in hers. Jonnen sat opposite, dark eyes on his sister’s. Eclipse had returned to the lad’s shadow, and Mia could see he was a little more at ease. But despite his tender age, Jonnen was no fool—he’d overheard enough of their talk to realize his father awaited them in the Quiet Mountain. And he knew Mia’s intentions toward the imperator were less than gentle.
The boy had kept his own counsel for the first couple of turns. Practicing his bladework with Butcher and sitting quietly with Eclipse. But Mia could see it building inside him like floodwaters against a crumbling dam, until on the third turn after evemeal, he finally spoke.
“You’re going to kill him.”
Mia looked up into her brother’s eyes. Ashlinn was dozing, head in Mia’s lap. Mia had been gently reweaving the girl’s warbraids, long golden locks entwined between her fingers.
“I’m going to try,” Mia replied.
“Why?” Jonnen asked.
“Because he deserves it.”
“Because he hurts people.”
“Yes.”
“Mia,” the boy said softly. “You hurt people, too.”
She looked into those big dark eyes, searching the heart beyond. It wasn’t an accusation. Nor a rebuke. No matter what she was, the boy didn’t judge her for it. Her brother was a pragmatist, and Mia liked that about him. And though he’d been slowly warming to her over the past few weeks on the road, she wondered what they truly might’ve been if the world hadn’t ripped them apart before they could become much of anything at all.
“I know it,” she finally said. “I hurt people all the time. And that’s the riddle, little brother. How do you kill a monster without becoming one yourself?”
“I don’t know,” he replied.
Mia shook her head, staring out at the wastes around them.
“You can’t,” she sighed. “I’m not some hero in a storybook. I’m not someone you should aspire to be. I’m a ruthless cunt, Jonnen. I’m a selfish bitch. You hurt me, I’ll hurt you back. You hurt the ones I love, I’ll kill you instead. That’s just the way I am. Julius Scaeva killed our mother. The man I called Father. And I don’t care what they did to deserve it. I don’t care that they weren’t perfect. I don’t even care that they were probably just as bad as him. Because truth told, perhaps I’m worse than all of them. So fuck what’s right. And fuck redemption. Because Julius Scaeva still deserves to die.”
“Then so do you,” he replied.
“You thinking of trying, little brother?”
Jonnen simply stared. The slow trundle of the wagon rocking them back and forth, the clang of the ironsong breaking the still.
“I…”
Jonnen frowned. His lips pressed together. She could see the intelligence in him, just as fierce as her own. But in the end, he was still a child. Lost and stolen from all he knew. And she could see he was having trouble finding
the words.
“I wish I had known you better,” he finally said.
“So do I.” Mia reached out, took his little hand in hers. “And I know I’m a shitty big sister, Jonnen. I know I’m awful at all this. But you’re my familia. The most important thing in my world. And I hope one turn you might find it in yourself to love me just half as much as I love you. Because I do.”
“But you’re still going to kill him,” Jonnen said.
“Yes,” she replied. “I am.”
“Please don’t.”
“I must.”
“He’s my father, Mia.”
“Mine, too.”
“But I love him.”
Mia met her brother’s eyes. Seeing the years lost between them, the love he felt for the man who’d taken him away from her. The wrong, rotting at the heart of that. And slowly, she shook her head.
“O, Jonnen,” she sighed. “That’s just one more reason he deserves to die.”
They traveled on, through the Whisperwastes in what little silence Sid’s ironsong spared them. And though the boy’s eyes swam with questions, he gave voice to none of them after that.
Though there was always a risk of sand kraken, the Red Church had been running supplies from Last Hope for years, and Naev guided them along paths of submerged stone, broken foothills, and finally into the mountains at the wastes’ northern reaches. Mia could see a black stone spire rising before them—just one of dozens in the range. It was plain. Unassuming. Capped with pale and gleaming snow. But Mia’s heart beat quicker to see it. The heart of the Ministry, the temple of the Mother, the cradle of the Red Church’s power in the Republic.
The Quiet Mountain.
Mia knew an ancient magik called the Discord had been placed on the peak years past—a werking to confuse unwelcome visitors. But Naev knew the words that would keep the magik at bay. Slowly, surely, their wagon train made its way through twisted gullies and broken foothills, closer to the towering granite peak. The Whisperwastes had been long left behind them—Sid and Butcher had ceased their ironsong, crawling into the middle wagon to consult with Mia and Ash about the upcoming assault. Tric had left the reins to Naev, and he and Bladesinger joined the group, gathering in a small circle around a large oaken barrel.