“I never get tired of seeing this,” he said.
“It’s a sight,” Ash agreed, leaning on the rail beside him.
“Oz said you wanted to speak to me,” he murmured. “About Mia.”
“She’s gone back to Godsgrave for a turn or two. Get her head straight.”
“I still can’t fathom it,” Tric sighed. “Of any of us, she had the best reason for being here.”
“Almost.”
“Never thought she’d stumble at the final hurdle.”
“Maybe it wasn’t a stumble,” Ash shrugged. “Maybe she just chose not to jump. I’m glad she’s not going to be here for initiation. Deciding not to murder an innocent makes her better than this place.”
Tric looked at her sideways. “You passed the trial. You murdered an innocent.”
“Because I have a better reason for being here than Mia did, Tricky.”
“And what’s that?”
“Familia,” she said.
“Mia was here for her familia too.”
“Aye,” Ash nodded. “Difference is, my da is still alive. You’d be surprised how motivating a grumpy ex-murderer with no testicles can be.”
Tric smirked, turned his eyes to the dark again. Ash spoke softly.
“Mia said to tell you goodbye.”
“She’ll be back,” Tric said. “I’ll see her again.”
“… I’m not so sure.”
“Hand’s robes might suit her. And what’s she going to do, fold up? Her? No way.”
“O, she might decide to join the Hands. But still, I don’t think you’ll see her again.”
“Why’s that?”
Ash sighed from the depths of her toes. “Like I said before, it’s quite a nose you’ve got there, Tricky. And I can’t have you sniffing around the entrée this eve.”
“What do y—hrrk.”
Tric blinked at the dagger in Ash’s hand. The blade gleaming red and dripping. He looked down at the stain spreading across his shirt as she buried the knife in his chest again. And again. And again. He gasped, reached out toward her throat, eyes wide. But quick as lies, she shoved him hard and sent him backward over the railing. Tumbling down, down into the everblack wastes below.
Without a sound.
Without a whimper.
Gone.
Ash looked down into the darkness. Whispered soft.
“Sorry, Tricky.”
The girl knelt with a kerchief, soaked up the blood that had fallen on the stone. Cleaning her blade and slipping it back into her sleeve. Checking over her shoulder. The altar was still deserted, Hands bustling about the kitchen in preparation for the coming feast. Nine places set at table. One for each of the three acolytes who would be initiated at feast’s end. Five for the Ministry: Drusilla, Mouser, Solis, Aalea, and Spiderkiller. And the last, at the table’s head, for the Lord of Blades. The Black Prince. The head of the Red Church congregation himself.
“Cassius,” she whispered.
“It’s done?”
Ashlinn turned and saw a figure in stolen Hand’s robes.
“It’s done.” Ash straightened, looked out over the wastes. “Little Tricky won’t be around to smell a thing. Presuming there’s something to smell, of course.”
“I’ll carry my end,” her brother replied.
“Don’t fuck it up, Oz,” Ash warned. “You set our last chance on fire. We could’ve had Cassius in a bag months ago. He was just sitting here in the open.”
“I told you, that idiot Floodcaller saw me on the sneak. What was I supposed to do?”
“O, let me think. How about murdering him and leaving his body out in plain sight? Make it ten times harder for us to get a second shot?”
“Jumping Cassius like a pair of alley thugs was a stupid plan, I told you that at the time. Floodcaller getting in the way was a blessing. We’ve had months to prepare this. Poisoning the feast will net us the whole bag of vipers with one stroke. The acolyte who crafted the toxin for me is dead. And the only acolyte who had a chance of sniffing us out is dead. Stop your fucking whining and just be ready.”
“I’m ready,” Ash hissed.
Osrik checked over his shoulder again, dropping his voice lower.
“You met with them yestereve all right?”
“Aye.” Ash nodded. “After they gave me the gossip to top Masks and then some. Like I said, Luminatii boys get all the juice.”
“Are they ready?”
“No doubt. Our noble justicus has his First and Second Centuries on standby. Two hundred men hit the Porkery at sevenbells. You just make sure Adonai is motivated.”
“That freak loves his sister more than life. With my knife to her throat, he’ll dance the fucking Balinna if I tell him to.”
“Be careful when you take Marielle. You saw what she did to—”
“I’m not a child, Ashlinn,” Osrik snarled. “I’ll handle the weaver and speaker. You just deal with your end. Have Cassius and the rest of the Ministry bound and gagged when Remus and his thugs arrive. The confessors will want to speak to the lot, so we’ll need to Walk all of them. No manacles.”
“No fear.” The girl smiled grim. “Shahiid Aalea taught me a few rope tricks.”
“In a few hours.” Osrik nodded. “These walls come tumbling down.”
The pair stared out over the wastes. The endless black above, a billion points of light. The face of the goddess they’d been raised to worship, and were now betraying.
“For da,” Ashlinn said.
“For da,” Osrik replied.
The girl kissed her brother on the cheek, and stalked off into the dark.
CHAPTER 32
BLOOD
They’d washed off the gore in the Porkery baths, but Mia could still smell it on her skin.
She’d trudged through Godsgrave’s streets, Mercurio limping beside her, neither speaking. She took some solace that the old man had come to fetch her, that he’d spoken to Drusilla on her behalf. A few turns away from the Church would clear her head, he’d said. Do her good. Let her think about the choice before her.
Life as a Hand. The life of a servant.
She caught herself in the thought, scowling dark. There was no shame in it. Naev was a Hand and she held her head high. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Trekking the Whisperwastes, down through southern Ashkah. Finding beauty in parts of the world she’d never seen.1
But what about Scaeva? Duomo? Remus?
Could she live her whole life knowing her familia would go unavenged?
Clawing winds roared in off the bay, chill and screaming. Winter had come to the ’Grave in force, storms ever brewing on the horizon, shrouding Saan’s light and smothering Saai’s blue glow as it rose back up from the edge of the world. But still … it was so bright out here. Near blinding after months of almost constant dark. The choir’s song had been replaced by the churn and bustle of city streets, the calls of criers, the crash of cathedral bells. This didn’t feel right.
This doesn’t feel like home anymore.
The girl and the old man returned to the curio store, bell chiming above the door. Mia was reminded of the first time she’d come here. The turn after her father had died swinging. Mercurio taking her under his wing. The last apprentice he’d ever train, most like. Six years he’d given her. And what had she given in return?
Failure.
The old man was limping toward the kitchen, cane clacking on the boards.
“I’m sorry, Mercurio.”
He turned toward her. Saw the tears brimming in her eyes.
“I let you down,” she said. “I let us both down. I’m so sorry.”
The old man shook his head. But he didn’t tell her she was wrong.
“You want some tea?” he finally offered. “I’ll bring it up to your room.”
“No. My thanks.”
He sloughed off his greatcoat. Lit a smoke and wandered into the kitchen.
Upstairs in her room, she could still hear him thumping about. His anger ringing in the tune of crashing pots, rattling pans. She tossed her oilskin pack at her old bed, thumped down atop it. She’d never really noticed before, but it was a touch too small for her now. Like this room.
Like this life.
“… what do we do now …?”
She looked to the slip of darkness, perched atop a crooked pile of histories.
If I could see his eyes, would I see disappointment in them too?