Darkdawn

Avenging her father, or so she thought.

“I love you, Mia.”

“I love you, too.”

“Give it to me,” Mia said.

“Why?” Ash asked.

“Because it’s mine.”

“Mia …” Ashlinn rose to her feet, caution and care turning her voice to velvet. “Mia, whatever you’re thinking … you’re exhausted. You’re wounded. What Tric just told us … it can’t be easy to—”

“Give me the fucking sword, Ashlinn!” Mia shouted.

The shadows flared, the darkness ringing in her voice and turning it to hollow iron. The darkness twisted about her feet, mad patterns and shapes, strobing black. The red-amber eyes of the crow on the hilt twinkled in the ghostly light. The pool behind her rippled, as if kissed by the smallest stone.

Ashlinn went pale beneath her freckles. Mia saw she was actually trembling. But she still stood her ground. Gritted her teeth and curled her hands into fists to stop the shakes. Standing up to Mia like nobody else ever dared.

“No,” she replied.

Mia growled. “Ash, I’m warning you …”

“Warn me all you like,” Ash said, taking a deep breath. “I know you’re angry. I know you’re hurt. But you need to think.” She waved at the dark behind and below Mia. “Away from this cursed pool. With the blood washed off your skin and a cigarillo in your hand and a nevernight’s sleep between you and all this shit.”

Mia scowled, but the iron in her stare wavered.

“Give me my sword, Ashlinn.”

The girl reached out and ran one gentle hand down the cruel scar on Mia’s cheek. Along the bow of her lips. The look in her eyes melted Mia’s heart.

“I love you, Mia,” Ash said. “Even the part of you that frightens me. But you’ve been hurt enough for one turn. I’ll not see you hurt again.”

Tears welled in Mia’s eyes. Black rising from beneath the red. The walls loomed about her, ready to come crashing down. Her hands fluttered at her sides as if she were desperate for an embrace, but too torn to beg for one. With a murmur of pity, a glance to the Hearthless boy watching them, Ashlinn stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Mia. She kissed her brow, pulled her in tight, Mia sinking into her arms.

“I love you,” Ash whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Mia breathed into Ashlinn’s hair, hands roaming her back.

“It’s all right.”

“No.” Mia’s hands moved down over Ashlinn’s hips, her fingers brushing the longsword’s hilt. And with a flourish, Mia drew the blade from the scabbard and stepped back out of Ash’s reach. “It isn’t.”

“You …” Ashlinn’s eyes were wide, mouth open. “You … fucking …”

“Bitch?”

Mia flipped the sword in her hand, wiping her tears away on her grubby sleeve.

“Aye,” she nodded. “But I’m a clever fucking bitch.”

Mia turned to Tric, sniffed hard, and spat.

“How do I get out of here?”

“YOU MUST LISTEN—”

“I must nothing,” Mia snapped. “Julius Scaeva is in Godsgrave, do you understand that? The real Julius Scaeva. A hundred thousand people saw him cut down by an assassin’s blade. He needs to show himself in front of the mob to assure them all is well before the city goes up in flames. And his doppel-gänger is dead. So are you going to show me the way out of this fucking hole, or leave me to wander in the dark playing guess-a-game? Because one way or another, I’m going back up to the ’Grave.”

“I remember the path we walked here on,” came a small voice.

Mia looked to her brother, standing on the black shoreline in his grubby purple robes. The boy was watching her with his big dark eyes, obviously not quite sure what to make of her anymore. He’d not wanted to believe they were siblings, that was plain enough. But if what Ash said about his father still being alive was true, then it all might be true. And when Mia had been the one who killed his da, it was simple—she was an enemy, hated and feared. But now Jonnen knew his father still lived, how did he feel about the sister he’d never known?

“You do?” Mia asked.

The boy nodded. “I’ve a memory sharp as swords. All my tutors say.”

Mia held out her hand to her brother. “Come, then.”

The boy looked up at her, suspicion and hunger swimming in his eyes. But ever so slowly, he took her hand. Mister Kindly sat on Mia’s shoulders, purring softly as Eclipse prowled about her ankles. She lifted the gravebone lantern and took a step into the darkness, but Tric moved to stand in front of her. Looming over her like some beautiful bloodless wraith from a fireside tale.

She could feel the chill radiating off his body, where once she’d felt a warmth that made her ache. Her eyes trailed up the alabaster line of his throat, the cut of his jaw, the soft crease of the dimple at his cheek. Pale as milk. Pale as death.

“You said the Mother sent you to be my guide,” Mia said. “Show me the way.”

“THIS ISN’T YOUR PATH, MIA.” Tric spoke softly. “ASHLINN SPEAKS TRUTH. YOU’RE WOUNDED. ANGRY. YOU NEED SLEEP AND A DECENT MEAL AND A MOMENT TO BREATHE.”

“Tric,” Mia said. “Do you remember that time we were acolytes and you talked me out of doing something I desperately wanted by appealing to my sensible side?”

The boy tilted his head.

“… No.”

“Me either,” Mia replied. “Now show me the way. Or get the fuck out of it.”

The boy glanced at Ashlinn. The dark around them rang with the song of murder. The pool rippling in quiet fury. Tric looked down into Mia’s eyes. Bottomless black. Utterly unreadable. But finally, he heaved a frosty sigh.

“FOLLOW ME.”

To the forum!”

The criers were on every bridge, the bellboys on every cobbled street. The shout rang up and down the thoroughfares and through the taverna, over the canals from the Nethers to the Arms and back again. All of Godsgrave ringing.

“The forum!”

Chaos had tried to take root in their time beneath the city, and Mia could smell blood and smoke in the air. But as they surfaced from the tunnels beneath Godsgrave’s necropolis, she could see all-out anarchy hadn’t broken loose quite yet. Luminatii and soldiers patrolled the streets, shoving folks with shield and truncheon. Gatherings of more than a dozen were swiftly broken up, along with the noses of anyone who protested too vigorously. The legion seemed to have been briefed of trouble ahead of time—almost as if the consul had anticipated chaos after the end of the games.

Always a step ahead, bastard …