Nevernight

by Jay Kristoff

  Hush tilted his head. Gave her a knowing smile.

  And without a whisper, he was gone.

  It took hours to crack Carlotta’s code. Hours more to piece together the scraps from the scrawl, the ghostly choir her only company. The missing page was a mystery, but it didn’t matter in the end. The thought occurred that Hush might be trying the same ruse on Mia as she’d run on Diamo. But truth was, Mia had been close enough to the solution to taste it already, perhaps only a few hours from solving the puzzle by herself. She doubted Hush would be stupid enough to grift her at her own game. And there amid Carlotta’s neat handwritten thoughts, she found the single missing piece—the last key to break the lock that had still eluded her.

  She was sure of it.

  Mia distilled her solution into three phials. Spent two on a pair of rats, saved the third for herself. Her furry companions were snoozing in their cages two hours later when Spiderkiller pushed open the doors and found Mia sitting amid palaces of glittering glass.

  “You are here early, Acolyte,” the Shahiid said. “Or is it late?”

  The girl held up a glass phial in answer, filled with a cloudy liquid. Spiderkiller crossed the floor, jade-green robes whispering. Tossing her saltlocks off her shoulder, she glanced at the glass in Mia’s hand. Black, paintstick lips twisted in a curious smile.

  “And what is that you have?”

  “An answer to the impossible.”

  “Are you certain?”

  Mia glanced at her feet. Knowing without a doubt that even if Mister Kindly were not with her, at that moment, she’d have still been unafraid.

  She looked at Spiderkiller and smiled.

  “There’s only one way to be certain, Shahiid.”

  The announcement was made at mornmeal. Typical of Spiderkiller, there was no fanfare, no real accolade. The Shahiid simply waited until the ministry and acolytes were assembled, walked softly to where Mia was seated, and pinned a brooch to her chest. The piece was small, carved of ironwood, buffed to a dark sheen.

  A wolfspider.

  Murmurs passed among the acolytes. Spiderkiller leaned down and placed a black kiss on Mia’s brow.

  “My blessings,” she said.

  And that was it.

  Ash grinned, offered outstretched fingers to Mia, who brushed them with a smile. Realizing she’d been foolish enough to let the girl touch her, Mia made a show of checking all her pockets, ensuring Spiderkiller’s brooch was still pinned to her chest. Ashlinn rolled her eyes and chuckled, went back to her meal without a word. Looking down the table, Mia saw Jessamine staring back with undisguised hatred.

  “Well,” said Mouser, rising from the Ministry’s table. “If the Spiderkiller is seeing fit to bestow her boons, perhaps we should do the same?” The Shahiid turned to Aalea with his customary rakish smile. “Beauty before age, Shahiid?”

  Aalea demurred with a small shake of her head. “There is still one more nevernight for acolytes to loot the ’Grave. I will give my favor on the morrow.”

  “As it please you,” Mouser bowed. “For my own contest, I feel confident no acolyte can assail the leader in the art of Pockets. If there are no objections among the participants?”

  Ashlinn leaned back in her chair and smiled like a queen on a stolen throne. The other acolytes scowled over their meals, but Mouser spoke true. Looking at the leaderboard, Ash was still leading Hush by ninety marks, and nobody else was anywhere close. The contest was as good as over.

  “Acolyte Ashlinn,” Mouser began. “Might I offer congratulations at what has been the most audacious display of thievery in these halls since I was apprenticed to…”

  The Shahiid’s voice drifted off as Hush rose from his seat.

  “Acolyte?” Mouser frowned.

  Hush walked across the Sky Altar without a word. Standing before the Mouser, the boy reached into his pocket, and with slight bow, proffered an open palm to the Shahiid. Acolytes rose from their seats, straining to see what the boy held. Mia caught a glimpse of gleaming black. A silver chain.

  “Maw’s teeth,” she breathed, recognizing the object in the boy’s palm.

  “It can’t be…,” Ash hissed.

  Hush was holding the Revered Mother’s obsidian key.

  How in the Maw’s name had he stolen it without her knowing it was gone?

  Mia looked to the Ministry’s table. Drusilla’s eyes had widened at the sight of her key in Hush’s palm, and her hand went to her breast, searching the folds of her robes. But after a few moments, her lips creased in a smile.

  “Dear Mouser,” she called. “I fear you are being played. A fox in boy’s clothing, neh?”

  The Revered Mother held up her hand. Dangling between forefinger and thumb, a glittering obsidian key spun on a silver chain.

  “I knew it,” Ash sighed. “There’s no way he lifted that thing…”

  “Aha,” Mouser grinned, bowing to Hush. “A fine ruse, Acolyte. But no marks for huckstering here, I fear. The Mouser accepts the genuine article, or nothing at all.”

  Hush smiled. He placed his key in Mouser’s hand, walked softly to the Ministry’s table. Aalea’s lips were curled in a sly smile, even Solis and Spiderkiller seemed amused. The pale boy stopped in front of Mother Drusilla, held out one hand as he signed with the other in Tongueless.

  may i?

  Drusilla frowned slightly, but acquiesced, handing over her key. Without ceremony, Hush dropped it at his feet, and stamped on it with his boot. Lifting his heel, the boy made a theatrical gesture at the floor, like some corner grifter playing guess-a-cup. Mia saw the key had been pulverized beneath Hush’s boot.

  “Son of a whore,” Ash whispered.

  “Clay…,” Mia breathed.

  Astonishment on the Mother’s face. On Mouser’s. On every acolyte assembled. Not only had the boy stolen Drusilla’s key from around her very throat, he’d replaced it with a forgery perfect enough that the old woman was none the wiser.

  Silence hung in the hall like fog. Turning to Ash, Hush put a hand on his chest and took a bow. Mia looked to Ash, half-expecting the girl to go for Hush’s throat. Instead, Ash looked like someone had torn her guts out with butchers’ hooks. She sagged in her seat, dismay in her eyes, looking to her brother. Osrik, who’d been walking about like a ghost since losing to Tric, could only stare, just as gutted as she.

  The rest of the acolytes were awed by Hush’s display. Mouser began clapping, then Shahiid Aalea and Spiderkiller. Solis and the Revered Mother herself. Mouser stepped to the leaderboard and added another one hundred marks to the boy’s tally, putting him in first place. And with an apologetic glance to Ash—who was so pale Mia thought she might faint—the Shahiid pinned the token of his favor to Hush’s shirt. A small ironwood brooch, curled up on itself and staring with polished black eyes.

  A mouse.

  “Top of Pockets, Acolyte,” Mouser said. “Well done.”

  That’s why he didn’t need Lotti’s notes. He already had Drusilla’s key.

  Mia raised her hands, started clapping too. But as she looked to Ashlinn, her hands fell still. Initiation into the ranks of the Blades had meant just as much to Ash as it had to Mia. Ashlinn and her brother had been trained by their father for years. A former Blade of the Church, who’d wanted nothing more than his children to replace him after he’d been crippled in the Mother’s name. Imagine the pressure they’d been under. Imagine the desire to see their father’s sacrifice—his swordarm, his eye, goddess, even his manhood—stand for something.

  And now, neither one of them looked set to be initiated at all.

  “That goat-loving, mule-sucking, pig-fucking sonofabitch,” Ash growled.

  The girl was pacing the length of Mia’s bedchamber, Mia herself nestled among her pillows. One of her last cigarillos sat on her lips. The last of her stolen goldwine sat untouched in two cups on Mia’s nightstand.

  “How the ’byss did he do it?” Ash demanded.

  “He’s clever,” Mia shrugged. “Cleverer than anyo
ne pegged him for. I wonder if he didn’t get caught out after ninebells intentionally.”

  “Took a scourging on purpose, you think?”

  “Maybe. Just so we’d think him a rube.”

  “Well, it bloody worked.”

  Mia sighed a lungful of gray. “That it did.”

  “And now I’m cooked.” Ash scowled, started pacing again. “Mouser’s trial was mine to lose. And now I’ve gone and fucking lost it. Lord Cassius will be back here in two turns for initiation. You’ll be drinking the Mother’s milk at the banquet with the other Blades and I’m going to be stuck with the rest of the chaff being inducted into the Hands. Presuming they don’t just fail me outright and gift me to the Mother.”

  Mia dragged on her cigarillo, eyes narrowed against the smoke. “You should probably spend the nevernight moaning about it, then.”

  Ash rounded on Mia with a withering glance. “Your sympathies are sincerely appreciated, Corvere. My thanks.”

  “Fuck sympathy,” Mia smiled. “You come to me, you get solutions.”

  Ash waved her hands in the air. “So solute, then.”

  “Aalea still hasn’t given her favor, Ash.”

  “And what chance do I have of winning that?”

  “If you keep wearing a hole in my floor with your pacing, none. If you hit the ’Grave and find something especially juicy…”

  “Needle in a fucking haystack.”

  “Well, hunting needles is better than just sitting around here praying, aye?”

  Ash put the tip of one of her warbraids in her mouth. Chewed thoughtfully.

  “I’ll come with you,” Mia offered.

  Ashlinn glanced up at that. “Looking to avoid Tricky, neh?”

  “This has nothing to do with Tric.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Mia raised the knuckles. Swallowed her whiskey in a single toss. “Come on, let’s be off.”

  Ash made a face, shook her head. “I think I’d best go alone.”

  “Two set of ears are better than one?”

  “Aye,” Ash shrugged. “And I appreciate the offer and all. Just … wouldn’t feel right. If I can’t do this myself, perhaps I don’t deserve to be here at all.”

  Mia nodded. Though she hid it behind the jests and smiles, Ash was a proud one. Proud of her skills. Of her father and his legacy. Mia could understand why she’d not want to be initiated on someone else’s coattails. And so she rose off the bed, put her arms around her friend and squeezed her tight.

  “Goddess go with you. Be careful.”

  Ash squeezed Mia back, tight enough to make her wince.

  “You know, folk around here have got you figured for a ruthless bitch after that stunt with Diamo. But I know better. Someone hurts those you love, you’ll not forgive it. But underneath it all, you’re a good sort, Corvere.”

  Mia kissed Ash’s cheek, smiling. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ve a reputation to uphold.”

  “I mean it. Sometimes I wonder what you’re doing in a place like this, Mia.”

  “… Since when do you call me Mia?”

  “I’m serious,” Ash said. “You should be sure.”

  “… Of what?”

  Ash searched her eyes. All trace of her smile gone.

  “If you really want to be here tomorrow eve.”

  “Where else would I be?”

  Ash seemed set to say more, but her stare hardened, and she caught herself before she spoke. She hung a moment longer, arms still around Mia’s waist. Lips parted. Pupils wide. And then Ash let go, slipped out through the door and disappeared down the hallway in search of the speaker. Mia closed the door behind her, slunk back to her bed. Watching the cigarillo burning down in her hand.

  What was Ash on about? This was everything she’d worked for. Everything she wanted. All the years, the miles, the struggle. The things she’d done to get here, the lives she’d taken on this bloody road. Hands dipped in red. But now she was just one step away from initiation.

  One step closer to Remus’s throat.

  Duomo’s heart.

  Scaeva’s head.

  Then it would all be worth it, wouldn’t it?

  Wouldn’t it?

  A black shape coalesced at her feet. Whispering like wind through winter trees.

  “… tomorrow…,” it said.

  Mia nodded.

  “Tomorrow.”

  1. His last pair. The good chronicler had broken his spare set during a wrestling match with a copy of At His Majesty’s Service, the autobiography of Angelica Trobbiani, courtesan during the reign of Francisco VI. All copies of this “treasonous smut” were hunted down and burned under order of Francisco’s Queen, Aria, after her husband’s death. The copy in the Red Church athenaeum is the last one in existence.

  The book, having inherited some of its author’s infamous temperament, is understandably upset about this fact.

  2. What became of the boy’s beloved knife was anyone’s guess.

  3. The third branch of the Republic’s bureaucracy, the first and second being the Luminatii and Administratii. Far smaller than their sibling organizations, the Obfuscatii are the Senate’s information-brokers and rumor-mongers. Concerned largely with internal threats to Itreya’s security, the organization is as old as the Republic itself. Its founder, Tiberius the Elder, was known to have stood among the insurgents who overthrew Itreya’s last king, Francisco XV.

  Some rumor even places Tiberius’s hand on the blade that killed poor Franco himself.

  CHAPTER 31

  BECOMING

  Mia slept like the righteous dead that eve. A soft knocking woke her sometime before midmeal, and she heard the low voice of a Hand on the other side of her door.

  “Be in the Hall of Eulogies in one hour, Acolyte.”

  Mia dressed slowly, made her way to the Sky Altar. The benches and chairs were deserted, the Quiet Mountain quieter than she ever remembered it. The thought of initiation filled her mind. She’d finished top of Truths, but the Revered Mother had hinted more trials awaited. She’d no clue what she might face in the Hall of Eulogies, or the final hurdles she’d need to overcome.

  She stopped by the athenaeum on her way to the hall. Chronicler Aelius was loitering on the threshold as always, sorting through the RETURNS trolley. Wordlessly, he pulled his ever-present spare cigarillo from behind his ear and handed it to Mia. The pair leaned against the wall, staring out over the sea of shelves below. How many lifetimes could she spend down there if she let herself? How much easier would it be to get lost in those endless pages, and leave this road of shadows and blood behind?

  “Initiation soon, eh?” Aelius asked.

  Mia nodded, blew a perfect smoke ring in strawberry-scented gray.

  “Well,” Aelius shrugged. “All good things…”

  Mia licked the sugar from her lips. “You never found the book I was asking for?”

  The chronicler shook his head. “I discovered a whole new wing out there yesterturn, though. Thousands of books. Millions of words. Maybe something about darkin in there.”

  She looked out over the words below. Sighed.

  “It’s a beautiful place, this. Part of me wishes I could stay here forever.”

  “Careful what you wish for, lass.”

  “I know,” Mia nodded. “The grass is always greener. Still, I envy you, Aelius.”

  “The living don’t envy the dead.”

  Mia looked at the old man. A slow frown forming on her brow. She realized she’d never seen him leave the athenaeum. Never seen him eat a meal in the Sky Altar or cross this threshold out into the Church proper even once. The girl stared at her cigarillo. The maker’s mark she’d never seen before.

  “They don’t make them like this anymore.”

  The library of Our Lady of Blessed Murder.

  A library of the dead.

  “You…”

  “The Mother keeps only what she needs,” the old man said.

  Mia simply stared, a chill in her belly. Horror and so
rrow in her heart.

  “You remember what I said that turn you met the bookworm?” Aelius asked.

  “You said maybe here’s not where I’m supposed to be.”

  Aelius drew hard on his cigarillo. Blew a series of smoke rings that chased each other through the quiet dark. “I’ll take a look in that new wing. If I find anything of the darkin, I’ll have someone leave it in your chambers. Or somewhere else. If that’s where you want to be.”

  Mia frowned through a cloud of shifting gray.

  “Good luck in the Hall of Eulogies, lass,” Aelius said. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

  “… My thanks, Chronicler.”

  Aelius stubbed out his smoke against the wall and put the remains in his pocket.

  “I’d best be off. Too many books.”

  “Too few centuries.”

  He looked at her then. Something empty and awful in that milky-blue stare. But with a shrug, he limped off down the stairs, out into the endless shelves.

  The darkness swallowed him whole.

  Three acolytes stood in a goddess’s shadow.

  The Mother of Night loomed above them, staring down with stone eyes.

  Tric and Hush had been waiting when Mia arrived, several Hands hovering on the edge of the stained-glass light. As the ghostly choir sung out in the dark, a robed figure escorted Mia to the dais. Glancing sideways, she glimpsed strawberry curls.

  “Friend Naev,” Mia whispered.

  The woman squeezed her hand. “Good fortune. Hold fast.”

  Mia took her place beside Tric. Noted the boy was studiously ignoring her. Hearing the voice of a shadow echoing in her head.

  “… it is for the best, mia…”

  Three acolytes assembled. The victors in Truths, Songs, and Pockets. Mia wondered who had finally won in Aalea’s hall, what kind of secret they must have stolen to gain the Shahiid’s favor. She heard soft footsteps behind her. Found herself praying that she’d not turn and see Jessamine. Taking a deep breath, Mia glanced over her shoulder. And there, standing on the edge of the light, she saw Ashlinn. Hair in fresh warbraids, eyes twinkling in the dark. A small ironwood brooch was pinned to her shirt. A smiling harlequin’s masque.