“Because then you can do anything.”
In years to come, Mia would look back on the moment she first saw the Sky Altar and realize it was the moment she started believing in the divinities. O, Mercurio had indoctrinated her into the religion of the Mother. Death as an offering. Life as a vocation. And she’d been raised a good god-fearing daughter of Aa before all that. But it wasn’t until she looked over that balcony that she embraced the probability of it, or began to truly understand where she was.
She and Tric were led up another of the Church’s (seemingly endless) flights of stairs by Naev and other robed figures. All twenty-eight acolytes had decided to take supper, quiet conversations marking their climb, the mix of accents reminding Mia of the Little Liis market. But all conversation stilled as the group reached the landing. Mia caught her breath, pressed one hand to her chest. Naev whispered in her ear.
“Welcome to the Sky Altar.”
The platform was carved in the Mountain’s side, open to the air above. Tables were laid out in a T, the scent of roasting meat and fresh bread kissing the air. And though her stomach growled at the presence of food, Mia’s thoughts were consumed entirely by the sight before her.
The platform protruded from the Mountain’s flank, a thousand-foot drop waiting just beyond the ironwood railing. She could see the Whisperwastes below, tiny and perfect and still. But above, where the sky should have burned with the light of stubborn suns, she could see only darkness, black and whole and perfect.
Filled with tiny stars.
“What in the name of the Light …,” she breathed.
“Not the Light,” Naev slurred. “The Dark.”
“How can this be? Truedark won’t fall for at least another year.”
“It is always truedark here.”
“But that’s impossible …”
“Only if here is where she supposes it to be.” The woman shrugged. “It is not.”
The acolytes were shown to their places, gawping at the black above. Though it should have been howling at this altitude, not a breath of wind disturbed the scene. Not a noise, save hushed voices and Mia’s own rushing pulse.
She found herself seated with Tric on her right, the slight boy with the ice-blue eyes on her left. Seated opposite was the pair Mia had guessed were brother and sister. The girl had blond hair plaited in tight warbraids, shaved in an undercut. Her face was pretty and dimpled, smattered with freckles. Her brother possessed the same round face, though he didn’t smile, so no dimples made appearance. His hair was a crop of snarled spikes. Both had eyes blue as empty skies. Their cheeks were still crusted with blood from the baptism ceremony.
Mia had already received one death threat since she arrived. She wondered if every acolyte in this year’s crop would be an opponent or outright enemy.
The blond girl pointed to Mia’s cheeks with her knife. “You’ve got something on your face.”
“You too,” Mia nodded. “Good color on you, though. Brings out your eyes.”
The girl snorted, grinned lopsided.
“Well,” Mia said. “Shall we introduce ourselves, or just glare the whole meal?”
“I’m Ashlinn J?rnheim,” the girl replied. “Ash for short. This is my brother, Osrik.”
“Mia Corvere. This is Tric,” Mia said, nodding at her friend.
For his own part, Tric was glaring down the table at the other Dweymeri. The bigger boy had the same square jaw and flat brow as Tric, but he was taller, broader, and where Tric’s tattoos were scrawled and artless, the bigger boy’s face was marked in ink of exquisite craftsmanship. He was watching Tric the way a whitedrake watches a seal pup.
“Hello, Tric,” said Ashlinn, offering her hand.
The boy shook it without looking at her. “Pleasure.”
Ashlinn, Osrik, and Mia all looked expectantly at the pale boy on Mia’s left. For his part, the boy was gazing up at the night sky. His lips were pursed, as if he were sucking his teeth. Mia realized he was handsome—well, “beautiful” was probably a better word—with high cheekbones and the most piercing blue eyes she’d ever seen. But thin. Far too thin.
“I’m Mia,” she said, offering her hand.
The boy blinked, turned his gaze to the girl. Lifting a piece of charboard from his lap, he wrote on it with a stick of chalk and held it up for Mia to see.
HUSH, it said.
Mia blinked. “That’s your name?”
The beautiful boy nodded, turned his stare back to the sky without a sound. He didn’t make a peep throughout the entire meal.
Ashlinn, Osrik, and Mia spoke as food was served—chicken broth and mutton in lemon butter, roast vegetables and a delicious Itreyan red. Ashlinn handled most of the conversational duties, while Osrik seemed more intent on watching the room. The siblings were sixteen and seventeen (Osrik the elder) and had arrived five turns prior. Their mentor (and father, it turned out) had been far more forthcoming about finding the Church than Old Mercurio, and the siblings had avoided any monstrosities on their way to the Quiet Mountain. Ashlinn seemed impressed by Mia’s story of the sand kraken. Osrik seemed more impressed with Jessamine. The redhead and her cunning wolf eyes was seated three stools down, and Osrik couldn’t seem to tear his stare away. For her part, the girl seemed more intent on the thuggish Itreyan boy seated beside her, whispering to him and occasionally staring daggers at Mia.
Mia could feel other furtive glances and lingering stares—though some were better at hiding it than others, almost every acolyte was studying their fellows. Hush simply stared at the sky and sipped his broth like it was a chore, not touching any other food.
Mia watched the Ministry between courses, noting the way they interacted. Solis, the blind Shahiid of Songs, seemed to dominate conversation, though from the occasional bursts of laughter he elicited, Mouser, the Shahiid of Pockets, seemed possessed of the keenest wit. Spiderkiller and Aalea, Shahiid of Truths and Masks, sat so close they touched. All paid the utmost respect to Revered Mother Drusilla, conversation stilling when the old woman spoke.
It was halfway through the meal that Mia felt a queasy feeling creep into her gut. She looked about the room, felt Mister Kindly curling up in her shadow. The Revered Mother stood suddenly, the Ministry members about her swiftly following suit, gazes downturned.
Mother Drusilla spoke, eyes on the acolytes.
“All of you, please rise.”
Mia climbed to her feet, frowning softly. Ashlinn turned to her brother, whispering with something close to fervor.
“Black Mother, he’s here.”
Mia realized a dark-haired man was standing at the Sky Altar’s balcony, overlooking the shifting wastes below—though for the life of her, she’d not seen him actually enter the room. She felt her shadow trembling, shrinking, Mister Kindly curling up at her feet.
“Lord Cassius,” Drusilla said, bowing. “You honor us.”
The man turned to the Revered Mother with a thin smile. He was tall, muscular, clad in soft dark leather. Long black hair framed piercing eyes and a jaw you could break your fist on. He wore a heavy black cloak and twin blades at his waist. Perfectly plain. Perfectly deadly. He spoke with a voice that made Mia tingle in all the wrong places.
“Be at peace, Revered Mother.” Dark eyes roamed the new acolytes, still standing as if to attention. “I simply wished to admire the view. May I join you?”