Nevernight (59 page)

ugly like the rest of them

Mia found herself confounded. She walked around the spires of bubbling glass, the sweet smell of death. Stood before the boy and took his hands, whispering.

“Hush, what are you talking about? You’re nothing close to ugly.”

The boy actually laughed at that. His vocal chords were atrophied from disuse, the guffaw emerging as little more than a squeak. He clapped his hands to his mouth and convulsed, but she still caught a glimpse of the toothless gums behind those bow-shaped lips. The cracks behind his eyes.

“What happened to you?” she breathed.

The boy’s gaze was intense. Eyes like a sunsburned sky.

slaved

“But you’ve got no slavemark.”

The boy shook his head.

they kept us pretty

“… They?”

pleasure house

Mia’s stomach ran cold as she watched him sign the words. She knew immediately what the boy meant. Where he’d come from. Who had owned him before this, and why they’d knocked out every one of his teeth.

“O, Goddess,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry, Hush.”

you see?

The boy’s lips twisted in what might have been a smile.

you don’t belong here

He looked around the room, the boiling liquid and dead rats, rot and rust in the air.

but kindness should reap kindness

even in a field like this

The boy reached into his britches, and for a moment Mia found her hand straying to her sleeve again. The dark about them trembling. But rather than some hidden shiv, the boy produced a notebook, bound in black leather. He opened to a random page. Mia saw notes in code—a variant of the Elberti sequence mixed with some homebrew. Recognizing the handwriting. The cipher itself.

“That’s Carlotta’s notebook,” she breathed.

The boy nodded.

“Where did you get it?”

The boy tilted his head.

told you

i’ve been watching

Mia’s heart beat faster. She flipped through the pages, saw more than a few were spattered with dried blood. A page near the back had been torn out completely. Slow rage boiled beneath her skin, but she found herself pulling it into check. No sense going off without cause. Hush was offering to help her. He could’ve got Carlotta’s notes without having killed her—he’d been skulking about the Church since he arrived. But still, the simple answer was often the right one …

“Hush,” she whispered, slow and careful. “… Did you murder Lotti?”

The boy looked down at her shadow. Up into her eyes.

what does it matter?

Hands to fists. Red in her eyes.

“It matters because she was my friend!”

The boy shook his head. Looked almost sad.

you have one friend inside these walls

not carlotta

not tric or ashlinn

and not me

Hush stared at her, unblinking. He was no ally, she realized. This was no mark of respect or token of grudging friendship from this O, so strange boy. A debt repaid, was all. Kindness for kindness. Even in a field such as this. And though Hush’s fingers moved not at all, his words swum plain in his eyes.

Take it or leave it.

Mia lifted the book from the boy’s hands. Hush inclined his head in a bow, ever so slight, fringe tumbling over haunted blue eyes. Then he turned on his heel and walked from the room, soundless as a sunsbeam. He reached the double doors, pushed them open with one hand, Mia’s voice stopping him in his tracks.

“Hush.”

The boy turned. Waited.

“Why not use these notes yourself? Don’t you want to finish top of hall?”

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 sonofa
bitch
,” 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 anyone 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.