Nevernight

‘Your studies begin on the morrow,’ the Revered Mother said. ‘Evemeal will be served in the Sky Altar in a half-hour.’ She indicated the row of robed figures. ‘Hands will be available should you need guidance, and I would suggest you avail yourselves until you find your bearings. The Mountain can be difficult to navigate at first, and getting lost within these halls can have … unfortunate consequences.’ Blue eyes glittered in the dark. ‘Walk softly. Learn well. May Our Lady be late when she finds you. And when she does, may she greet you with a kiss.’

The old woman bowed, stepped back into the gloom. The other Ministry members left one by one. Tric wandered over to Mia, greeted her with a smile, his cheeks red with blood. He’d been bathed and scrubbed, and even his saltlocks looked a little less sentient.

‘You shaved,’ she smirked.

‘Don’t get used to it. Happens twice a year.’ He squinted at Naev, recognition slowly widening in his eyes. ‘How in the name of the Lady …’

‘We meet again.’ The thin woman bowed low. ‘Naev gives thanks for his assistance in the deep desert. The debt shall not be forgot.’

‘How are you still walking and breathing?’

‘Secrets within secrets in this place,’ Mia said.

‘Corvere?’ said a soft voice behind her.

Mia turned to the speaker. It was the girl she’d noted; the pretty one with a jagged red bob and green, hunter’s eyes. She was studying Mia intently, head tilted. The tall Itreyan boy with sledgehammer hands loomed beside her like an angry shadow.

‘In the ceremony,’ the girl said. ‘You said your name was Corvere?’

‘Aye,’ Mia said.

‘Are you by chance related to Darius Corvere? The former justicus?’

Mia weighed up the girl in her mind. Fit. Fast. Hard as wood. But whoever she was, Mia was certain Scaeva and his cronies would have no allies within these walls; Remus and his Luminatii had vowed to do away with the Red Church since the Truedark Massacre, after all. Even so, Mercurio had urged Mia to leave her name behind when she crossed this threshold. It was one of the few things they’d argued about. Stupid perhaps. But her father’s death was the whole reason she’d begun walking this road. The name Corvere had been erased from the histories by Scaeva and his lackeys – she’d not leave it behind in the dust, no matter what it cost her.

‘I’m Darius Corvere’s daughter,’ Mia finally replied. ‘And you are?’

‘Jessamine, daughter of Marcinus Gratianus.’

‘Apologies. Is that someone I should have heard of?’

‘First centurion of the Luminatii Legion,’ the girl scowled. ‘Executed by order of the Itreyan Senate after the Kingmaker Rebellion.’

Mia’s frown softened. Black Mother, this was the daughter of one of her father’s centurions. A girl just like her – orphaned by Consul Scaeva and Justicus Remus and the rest of those bastards. Someone who knew the taste of injustice as well as she did.

Mia offered her hand. ‘Well met, sister. My—’

Jessamine slapped the hand away, eyes flashing. ‘You’re no sister to me, bitch.’

Mia felt Tric bristle beside her, Mister Kindly’s hackles rise in the shadow at her feet. She rubbed her slapped knuckles, speaking carefully.

‘I grieve your loss. Truly, I do. My fath—’

‘Your father was a fucking traitor,’ Jessamine snarled. ‘His men died because they honoured their oaths to a fool justicus, and their skulls now pave the steps to the Senate House. Because of the mighty Darius Corvere.’

‘My father was loyal to General Antonius,’ Mia said. ‘He had oaths to honour too.’

‘Your father was a fucking lapdog,’ Jessamine spat. ‘Everyone knows why he followed Antonius, and it had nothing to do with honour. My father and brother were crucified because of him. My mother dead of grief in Godsgrave Asylum. All of them, unavenged.’ The girl stepped closer, eyes narrowed. ‘But not much longer. You’d best grow some eyes in the back of your head, Corvere. You’d best start sleeping light.’

Mia stared the girl down, unblinking, Mister Kindly swelling beneath her feet. Naev drifted closer to the red-headed girl, lisping in her ear.

‘She will step away. Or she will be stepped upon.’

Jessamine glanced at the woman, jaw clenched. After a staring contest that stretched for miles, the girl spun on her heel and stalked off, the big Itreyan boy trailing behind. Mia realised her nails were cutting her palms.

‘You surely do know how to make friends, Pale Daughter.’

Mia turned to Tric, found him smiling, though his hand was also up his sleeve. She relaxed a touch, allowed herself a smile too. Bad as she was at making them, at least she had one friend within these walls.

‘Come on,’ the boy said. ‘We going to evemeal or not?’

Mia looked after the retreating Jessamine. Glanced around at the other acolytes. The reality of where she was sank home deeper. A school of killers. Surrounded by novices or masters in the art of murder. She was here. This was it.

Time to get to work.

‘Evemeal sounds good,’ she nodded. ‘I can’t think of a better place to start scouting.’

‘Scouting? For what?’

‘You’ve heard the saying the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?’

‘I always wondered about that,’ Tric frowned. ‘Ribcage seems much quicker to me.’

‘True enough. But still, you can learn a lot about animals. Watching them eat.’

‘… You’re a little frightening sometimes, Pale Daughter.’

She gave him a wry smile. ‘Only a little?’

‘Well, most times, you’re just plain terrifying.’

‘Come on,’ she said, slapping his arm. ‘I’ll buy you a drink.’

CHAPTER 9 (#ulink_3170f9cd-aa6b-52a6-823d-c3837e2b6a2b)

DARK (#ulink_3170f9cd-aa6b-52a6-823d-c3837e2b6a2b)

The old man straightened her nose out as best he could, wiped the blood from her face with a rag soaked in something that smelled sharp and metallic. And sitting her down at a little table in the back of his shop, he’d made her tea.

The room was somewhere between a kitchen and a library. All was swathed in shadow, the shutters drawn against the sunslight outside.

A single arkemical lamp illuminated stacks of dirty crockery and great, wobbling piles of books. Mia’s pain slipped away as she sipped Mercurio’s brew, the throbbing mess in the middle of her face rendered mercifully numb. He gave her honeyseed cake and watched her wolf down three slices, like a spider watches a fly. And when she pushed the plate aside, he finally spoke.

‘How’s the beak?’

‘Doesn’t hurt any more.’

‘Good tea, neh?’ He smiled. ‘How’d it get broken?’