Darkdawn--Book Three of the Nevernight Chronicle

by Jay Kristoff

  Sid grinned and shook his head. “You’re a fucking bitch, ’Singer.”

  Bladesinger laughed. “You only just noticed?”

  The big Itreyan guffawed, topped up her cup of wine. Raised his own.

  “What are we drinking to?” the Dweymeri woman asked.

  “To Butcher,” Sid declared. “An ill-mannered, foulmouthed, fuck-ugly bastard I was proud to call brother. He lived and died on his feet in a world that tried to force him to his knees. May he find his familia waiting for him by the Hearth.”

  “Aye,”’Singer nodded. “And may we be slow to meet him.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Sid said, quaffing his wine.

  Bladesinger downed hers, too, wincing as she placed the cup back on the table. Her swordarm ached abominably. The scar across her forearm was vicious, the tattoos that adorned her body were twisted and puckered about the wound. Sidonius pretended not to notice, but that only irked her more.

  “I suppose I should give you thanks,” she finally growled.

  “For what?” Sid murmured, pretending to be reading.

  “Fighting our way out of the stables earlier,”’Singer said. “On the second set of stairs when that big bastard came at me with the punching daggers. He’d have stuck me if not for you.”

  “Bollocks,” Sid said. “You’d have moved. I was just being careful.”

  “You were just saving my life is what you were doing.”

  Sid shrugged, remaining mute.

  ’Singer sighed, wincing again as she stretched her swordarm.

  “It’s never quite healed right. Since that silkling cut me open in Whitekeep, I’ve not got the strength I once had. Nor the speed.” She shook her head, saltlocks swaying. “The suffi named me Bladesinger when my mother presented me at Farrow. Only a few turns old, and they knew I’d be a warrior. But what song can my blade sing now?”

  Sidonius waved her off with a frown. “Never fear, it’ll come good.”

  “You know it won’t, Sid,” she snapped. “You know it’s as good as it’s going to get. I’m a swordswoman who can’t swing a sword. A liability is what I am.”

  Sidonius tilted his head, peering at her with his bright blue eyes. “The finest warrior I know, is what you are. You’ve saved my life a score of times. You’re still my sister on the sands, and off them, and when we follow Mia to the Crown, there’s not another in this Republic I’d rather have watching her back beside me.”

  “… You think she’ll go, then.”

  “I know she will.” Sidonius looked into the dark above their heads. “And she knows it, too. She’s meant for more than vengeance, that one. Always has been.”

  “She seems frightened.”

  “Aye.” Sid sighed, shook his head. “But not for long.”

  “I can’t come with you. I’m as useful as balls on a priest with this arm, Sid.”

  “So fight with your other one,” Sidonius said, looking back into her eyes. “Fighting’s not just about steel. It’s about heart. Wits. Guts. You stand head and shoulders above just about anyone I know on all three counts. And I hate to shatter your illusions about the Itreyan clergy, but I was Luminatii for six years, ’Singer. Priests get far more use out of their balls than you might think.”

  ’Singer grinned and shook her head. “You’re a good man, Sidonius.”

  The big Itreyan laughed. “You only just noticed?”

  Bladesinger looked the man up and down. Battle-scarred and hard as iron. Pretty blue eyes and a boyish charm that all the scars in the world couldn’t quite cover up.

  “Aye,” she said softly. “I think I did.”

  Bladesinger refilled their wines, lips pursed in thought.

  “If Mia does follow that crazed librarian’s advice and seeks this damned Moon’s Crown, you know we’re like to die at it, don’t you?”

  “Aye, probably.” Sidonius shrugged, lifted his cup. “But what can you do?”

  ’Singer downed her wine in a single gulp.

  “Well, seems as we’re like to be dead soon … fancy a rowing lesson?”

  “… Rowing lesson?”

  Bladesinger raised an eyebrow and glanced suggestively below her waist. And gathering up the wine cup and the jug, she tossed her saltlocks back and stood.

  “Coming?” she asked.

  Sidonius seemed to have caught on at last. The big Itreyan set his book aside, pushed his chair back, and gifted her a wicked grin.

  “Ladies first,” he said.

  “Hmf. We’ll see about that, Crossbow Sid.”

  “I insist, Mi Dona.”

  And insist he did.

  * * *

  Mia wasn’t thinking.

  She waited in her old chambers, ensconced in a pile of pillows and soft furs. The gentle light of an arkemical lamp lit the room. The silence left by the choir’s absence seemed an eternity wide. A thin gray finger of smoke drifted from the cigarillo in her fingertips. It was her fifth of the hour, the remains of her former victims piled in an ashtray beside her bed. She placed the smoke upon her lips, dragging deep, trying not to think about the Athenaeum. The Crown of the Moon. Aelius. Scaeva. Naev. Butcher. Eclipse. Poor little Jonnen.

  No.

  No, she wasn’t thinking about it. She was lying in bed and smoking and waiting for her girl. Watching the door through long, black lashes. But the hourglass beside her had slowly drained the hour through, and Ashlinn still hadn’t returned from the bathhouse. Mia was beginning to wonder if perhaps Ash intended to sleep in her old chambers in the acolytes’ wing instead.

  She didn’t want to spend the nevernight alone.

  And then the door handle turned, and her girl walked in, and Mia felt all the weight upon her shoulders vanish, as if by magik.

  Ash’s hair was still damp from the bath, dark blond tumbled across her shoulders. She wore a slip of black silk and a thin frown, only sparing Mia a glance as she stepped inside and closed the door. Her eyes were clouded, a troubled, storm-tossed shade of blue. But Mia’s heart still beat a little quicker to see her. Watching the arkemical light playing on her skin, sharp shadows and gentle curves and legs that went all the way to the heavens.

  “Hello, beautiful,” she said.

  Mia tossed aside the furs without ceremony. She was almost entirely naked beneath. Long dark tresses about her shoulders, rolling in black rivers down over pale skin. Cigarillo smoke drifted from her lips. A ribbon made of shadows was wrapped around her waist, a pretty bow arranged to leave just a little to the imagination.

  “Like it?” Mia smiled, running her fingertips over the velvet black. “It’s what all the finest donas are wearing this year.”

  Ashlinn looked her up and down.

  “It looks chilly,” she said.

  Mia ran her hands down her breasts, her stomach, slipping ever lower to press between her thighs. Her back arched slightly, she breathed a little heavier.

  “No, it’s warm, Ash,” she murmured. “It’s so warm.”

  Mia didn’t want to think. She wanted to feel. She wanted to fuck. Just the promise of it set her pulse racing. The thought of throwing Ashlinn down on the furs, taking and being taken in turn, of just shutting off the wheels spinning inside her head and silencing the questions and just …

  But Ashlinn stayed where she was. Hovering by the door.

  “Come here, lover,” Mia whispered, opening her arms.

  “No,” Ash replied.

  “Please,” Mia breathed. “I want you.”

  Ashlinn just shook her head. “You don’t want me.”

  “How can you—”

  “You just want to avoid a conversation, Mia.”

  Mia looked her girl in the eye. A tiny spark of temper blooming in her chest.

  “And what should we be having a conversation about, Ashlinn?”

  “O, I don’t know, the price of virgins in Vaan?” Ash flailed her hand, incredulous. “What the fuck do you think we should be talking about? I just stood and listened to that crusty old prick for
an hour, and despite all his bluster and bullshit, his best-case scenario seems to be one where you end up dead! Aelius wants you to kill yourself!”

  “Aelius wants to restore the balance between Night and Day.”

  “Because he wasn’t good enough to do it himself!”

  “Ever since I arrived here,” Mia said. “Every step I’ve taken. Everything I’ve ever done has pointed me toward the Crown of the Moon.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

  Mia rubbed her aching brow and sighed. “I don’t know anything.”

  “I won’t come with you if that’s what you’re thinking,” Ashlinn declared. “I’ll not give you the map, nor help you kill yourself. I can’t.”

  “… I’ve seen you naked enough to have the map memorized by now, Ash.”

  “Daughters damn you, Mia Corvere,” Ashlinn hissed.

  Mia sighed and snatched up her cigarillo again, dragging the covers back over her bare skin. “You know, I don’t remember them ever teaching classes in it here, but you’ve a wonderful knack for killing the mood.”

  “I’m serious, Mia!”

  “You think I’m not?” she shouted, her temper breaking loose. “You think I don’t know what’s happening? What’s at stake? I’ve been sitting here for the past hour trying not to think about the fact that I can’t conjure a single reason to actually do this!”

  “Then don’t!” Ash cried. “Fuck Aelius. Fuck the Moon, fuck the Goddess, fuck it all! We never asked for any of this! The Red Church is gutted, Scaeva’s Blades are all gone, he ran from here like a whipped dog!”

  Ash stormed across the room and sat on the bed. She grabbed Mia’s hand, looked intently into her eyes. “We’re two of the finest assassins left in the Republic. I say we head to Godsgrave, slit that bastard’s throat, steal your brother back, and be done! Who gives a shit about Anais or the balance or any of it?”

  “There’s a piece of him inside me, Ash.” Mia let out a long, heavy sigh. “Anais. I can feel him. In my heart.”

  “And what about me?” Ashlinn put a hand on Mia’s chest. “Aren’t I in there, too?”

  “Of course you are,” Mia whispered, grabbing hold of her fingers and squeezing.

  “I love you, Mia.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “No, you don’t.” Ash shook her head. “If you did, you wouldn’t be in such a hurry to say goodbye.”

  Mia felt tears welling in her eyes. An ocean of them waiting inside her.

  “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

  Ash caressed the slave brand on Mia’s cheek. The scar cutting through her other.

  “Then stay. Stay with me.”

  “I … I want to…”

  Ashlinn lunged forward, their lips meeting in a desperate kiss. Mia closed her eyes, tasting tears, slipping her arms about Ashlinn’s waist and pulling her close. They kissed like they never had before, clinging to each other as if they were drowning, two people adrift in a world of fire and suns and night and storms. All the divinities against them, trying to tear them apart.

  Their kiss ended slow, Ashlinn still holding Mia as their lips parted, as if afraid to let her go. She buried her face in Mia’s hair, squeezing tight, her voice a murmur.

  “Stay with me.”

  Mia closed her eyes and sighed. Holding on for dear life.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I don’t know how to make this right.”

  Their lips met again, softer this time. Longer and sweeter and full of an aching, blissful need. Ash’s fingertips caressed her cheeks and slipped through her hair, and Mia sighed as she felt her girl’s tongue brush her own. Their kiss deepened as Ashlinn’s hands began to roam. Down her throat to her collarbone. Skimming over her breasts and finally to the ribbon around Mia’s waist.

  “I want to be with you forever,” Mia whispered.

  “Just forever?” Ash murmured, descending.

  Mia shook her head, closed her eyes.

  “Forever and ever.”

  * * *

  She dreamed.

  She was the child again, beneath a sky as gray as the moment between waking and sleeping. Standing on water so still it was like polished stone, like glass, like ice beneath her bare feet. Stretching as far as she could see.

  Her mother walked beside her, holding her hand and a pair of lopsided scales. She wore gloves of black silk, long and glimmering with a secret sheen, all the way up to her elbows. Her gown was black as sin as night as death, strung with a billion tiny points of light. They shone from within, out through the shroud of her gown, like pinpricks in a curtain drawn against the sun. She was beautiful. Terrible. Her eyes were as black as her dress, deeper than oceans. Her skin was pale and bright as stars.

  Like always, she had Alinne Corvere’s face. But Mia knew, in that dreaming, knowing kind of way, that this wasn’t her real face.

  And like always, across the infinite gray, her father and sisters waited for them.

  He was clad all in white, so bright and sharp it hurt Mia’s eyes to look at. But Mia looked all the same. He stared back as she and her mother approached, three eyes fixed on her, red and yellow and bl—

  “No,” Mia said.

  “No, enough of this.”

  She heard Bladesinger’s voice inside her head.

  “You should try it. Next time you sleep. Take a hold of the shape and make it what you want. It’s your dream, after all.”

  And so she stopped. Pushed the images of her father in his shroud of gleaming white away. She was inside the Quiet Mountain, after all—the place where the veil between the real world and the Abyss was thinnest. If she wished to speak, to learn, to know, this then would be her best chance. And so the child balled her little hands into fists. Twisting the dream and making it hers. The scene seemed to resist her, the stone/glass/ice beneath her rippled like a millpond. But this was her place. Her mind. She’d never given an inch in the real world, not in all her life.

  Why the ’byss would things be different here?

  The image of her father and sisters trembled, then vanished entirely. The girl was left alone in the vast emptiness with the Mother of Night, here on the border of the Abyss and the waking world. The Goddess looked down at her daughter, the black of her eyes filled with a million tiny stars. And the girl wasn’t a girl anymore. She was the champion of the Venatus Magni. The Queen of Scoundrels. The Lady of Blades.

  The war you cannot win.

  “All right,” Mia said. “We need to have a serious chat.”

  Niah blinked. Long as an ice age.

  “Speak, child,” she finally said.

  “Listen, I appreciate how difficult this has been for you to manage,” Mia said. “I appreciate you want out of your prison and your son back at your side. But you have to appreciate I don’t really feel like dying for it.”

  The Mother tilted her head, her voice tinged with sadness.

  “You fear.”

  The girl shook her head. “Worse. I love.”

  “You would deny what you are?”

  “No,” she replied. “This is who I am. I’m not a hero. I’m a vengeful, selfish bitch. And I’ve never pretended otherwise. If you wanted a savior, perhaps you should’ve picked a girl who believes this world is worth saving.”

  The Dark Mother leaned closer, looking into her eyes.

  “Let us speak, then, of vengeance, little one,” she said, lifting the lopsided scales between them. “Out of jealousy, out of fear, my husband slew my son while he slept. Ever I obeyed him. Only once did I defy him, and only then, out of love for him. And for that sin, he cast me into the Abyss. He killed the magik in the earth. He murdered the light in the night.”

  “My father’s tried to murder me a dozen times,” the girl shrugged. “Maybe your boy should’ve got out of bed earlier.”

  The Mother blinked those infinite black eyes. Impossible fury boiling inside them. For a moment, the image of Alinne Corvere trembled and shook, as if it couldn’t quite h
old its form, and for a second, Mia saw what lay beyond it. The monstrosity she’d seen in books as a child—the horror the Ministry of Aa preached about from their pulpits. Not the Mother of Night or even Our Lady of Blessed Murder. The soundless void between the stars. The endless black at the end of life.

  The Maw.

  She was tentacles and eyes and claws and open, drooling mouths. Wide as infinity. Black as eternity. But the tremors stilled and the dark subsided, and the girl looked up into her mother’s face once again. Thin black lips. Hard black eyes. The face of Alinne Corvere—the woman who’d scolded her as a child, sent her to bed without supper, told her to never flinch, never fear, never forget.

  “You will leave the world in the grip of tyrant?” the Goddess asked.

  “No,” the girl replied. “I’m going to kill a tyrant. And I can’t do that if I’m dead.”

  The Mother frowned. “I do not speak of your petty imperator. I talk of the Ever—”

  “I know who you’re talking about.” The girl put her hands on her hips. “Look, I’m sorry. I know how awful what Aa did to you and your boy was. But can’t your fucked-up little familia sort out its own shit? I’ve got enough to deal with handling mine.”

  The Mother’s form shifted again, the stars in her gown flickering in agitation.

  “This is more important that your petty mortal concerns, child.”

  “It’s a pity, then, that you need us petty mortals to fix it for you, Mother.”

  “I am a goddess. Before light, before life, there was darkness. I am the beginning and the end. I am the first divinity. I will not be denied.”

  “I mean no disrespect. But I’m not afraid of you. It took years and all the power you had to put a fucking book in my hands and begin touching my dreams. You don’t get to threaten me. You have to convince me.”

  “This is your dest—”

  “Spare me,” the girl said, raising her hand. “I’m not a slave to your destiny. I walk my own road. I make my own mistakes. And maybe this is one of them. But I’ll fucking own it. Because it’s my choice. My life. My fate.”

  Sorrow and anger filled her mother’s voice.

  “You are as selfish as Cleo, then.”