“… you should sleep. you may need your strength tomorrow …”
Mia sucked her lip. Nodded. Mister Kindly was right. Mercurio had been close-lipped about what to expect from within the Church. He’d prepared her as best he could, but she got the impression there was only so much he could reveal before he betrayed the congregation’s trust. With the Luminatii vowing to eradicate the Church if it could, secrecy was the watchword beyond these walls. She’d no idea how Church disciples moved from city to city, how the local chapels were run, even what the internal hierarchy was. Solis was Master of Songs, which meant he taught the art of the sword. She supposed the Shahiid of Pockets would teach thievery? Trickstering? But as for the Shahiid of Truths and Masks, Mia had no real idea what to expect from their tutelage.
“I am tired,” she sighed, rubbing her temples.
“… sleep then …”
“Right. You coming?”
“… always …”
The girl slipped her wounded arm into her sling, the not-cat slipped into her shadow, and the pair of them slipped from the room.
Tric was waiting outside her bedchamber when she arrived, crouched with his back to the wall. He rose swiftly when he saw Mia approach, relief in his eyes.
“Thank Our Lady,” he breathed. “You’re all right.”
Mia shifted her arm, wincing. “A little bruised, but in one piece.”
“That bastard Solis,” Tric hissed. “I wanted to gut him for what he did. Gave it a roll, but he knocked me flat on my arse and kicked me senseless.”
Mia looked over the new bruises on Tric’s face, shook her head. “My brave centurion. Riding in on his charger to save his poor damsel? Hold me, brave sir, I fear I shall swoon.”
“Sod off,” Tric scowled. “He hurt you.”
“The Revered Mother said he does it all the time. Sets the tone in his classes on the first smart-arse stupid enough to raise her head.”
“Enter Mia Corvere, stage left,” Tric grinned.
Mia bowed low. “I suppose Solis can afford to be brutal with Weaver Marielle about.”
“She really mended the wound with her bare hands?”
Mia pulled her elbow out of the sling, gingerly lifted her shirtsleeve. Tric slowly turned her arm this way and that, those big, callused hands impossibly gentle. Mia pulled her sleeve down before the goosebumps began to show.
“See? Just a bruise or two to mark the occasion of my first dismemberment.”
Tric scratched at his saltlocks, looking abashed. “I was … worried about you.”
She stared up at the boy, those awful tattoos and hazel eyes. Wondering what was going on behind them.
“I don’t need you worrying about me, Tric. This place has danger enough to kill us both. If you let yourself fret on me, you’ll miss the knife aimed at you.”
“I’m not fretting,” the boy scowled. “I’ve just … got your back, is all.”
She found herself smiling. A grateful warmth inside her belly. What she’d said was true—this mountain wasn’t a sewing circle. The dangers within these halls might end them both. Still, it was comforting to know someone was looking out for her, that she’d something to put her back against. And for the first time in her life, it wasn’t made of shadows.
“Well … my thanks, Don Tric.” She gave a smiling curtsey, the uncomfortable silence banished by the boy’s chuckle.
“You hungry?”
“… Starved,” she realized.
“Perhaps the Pale Daughter would accompany me to the kitchens?”
Tric crooked his elbow, offered his arm. Mia punched it, hard enough to make him yelp. And smiling, the pair sauntered off down the corridor in search of food.
CHAPTER 12
QUESTIONS
“… someone comes …”
Mia awoke in the dark, blinking hard. Rising up on her elbow, she hissed, pain lancing through her left arm. Her bruises were practically glowing in the dark.
Someone was picking the lock on her bedroom door. It couldn’t be Naev; she’d just knock. Who then? Another acolyte? The one who’d killed Floodcaller? Mia drew her stiletto and rolled out of bed, creeping across the flagstones into a darkened corner. She raised her knife with her off-hand as the door opened and a freckled face framed by blond braids peeked through.
“Corvere,” a voice hissed. “You there?”
“… Ashlinn?” Mia rose from her hiding place, hid the gravebone blade back at her wrist. “Maw’s teeth, you shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”
“Told you. My friends call me Ash.” The blonde slipped into the room with a freckled grin, took a moment to spot Mia in the dark. “And if I was sneaking, you’d not have heard me ’til my blade was on your throat, Corvere.”
“O, really?” Mia raised an eyebrow, smiling too.
“Bet your life on it. How’s the wing?” Ashlinn gave Mia a friendly slap on the arm, and the girl hissed a flaming curse, clutching her elbow.
“Shit, sorry,” Ashlinn whispered. “Forgot you were left-handed.”
“It’s all right.” Mia winced, rubbing her elbow. “Not like I don’t have a spare. What are you doing picking my lock, anyway? Can’t practice on your own?”
“Practice, pfft. If there’s a lock in this place I can’t sweet-talk, I’ve yet to meet it. I just came to ask if you were well enough to come out.”
“Out?” Mia blinked. “Where? What for?”
“Just nosing around. Looking for trouble. You know. Out.”
Mia frowned. “The Revered Mother said we weren’t permitted to leave our rooms after ninebells, remember?”
A freckled smirk lit the girl’s face. “You always do what Mother tells you?”
Mia remembered a cell in the dark. The reek of rot and death, burning her eyes. Shaking hands. A whisper, cold and sharp as steel.
Don’t look.
“No,” she said.
“Well, good. My brother’s no fan of mischief, and every other girl in this place either wants to play the hardcase, brat, or both. So looks like it’s you and me, Corvere.”
“You heard Drusilla. They’ll kick our asses ’til our noses bleed if they catch us.”
“Well, that’ll give us reason not to get caught, neh?”
The girl’s grin was infectious. Picking Mia up and dragging her along for the ride. And as Mister Kindly ate what little was left of her fear, Mia found herself slinging her wounded wing about her neck and grinning back.
“Ladies first,” Ash said, bowing toward the door.
“I don’t see any ladies around here, do you?”
“O, we’re going to get on famously, you and me.”
Still smiling, the girl crept out into the hallway, Mia close behind.
They stole along the corridors, down countless flights of stairs, off through the twisting dark. Mia thought she recognized some of the hallways from her trip to the athenaeum, but she couldn’t be sure. She swore some of the walls had … well …moved. The corridors were sparsely decorated, with only stained-glass windows or odd sculptures made from animal bones to break the monotony. And yet Ashlinn charged on in front, quiet as a corpse, never halting for a second. The girl would only pause occasionally, marking the wall with a small piece of red chalk.
“Do you know where you’re going?” Mia asked.
“Nnnnot really.”
“Can you find your way back?”
“If someone doesn’t rub off the chalk, aye.”
“And if they do?”
“We’ll probably get lost and die of starvation in the bowels of the Mountain.”
“Just so you know, if it comes down to cannibalism, you get eaten first.”
“Fair enough, then.”
Mister Kindly roamed in front, hidden in the perpetual darkness. As they passed a particularly grotesque bone statue—something between a bird of prey and a serpent coiled upon itself—Mia felt a shiver in her shadow. Familiar almost. She could sense Mister Kindly’s hackles rising, her own shadow rippling. For a second, a sliver of fear pierced her chest, cold and sharp. Mia grabbed Ash’s arm, pulled her behind the statue’s plinth, finger to lips.