Gentle hands caressed her brow. Aalea whispered in her ear.
“This will hurt, love. But have faith. The weaver knows her work.”
“Hurt?” Mia blurted. “You never said anyth—”
Pain. Exquisite, immolating pain. Misshapen hands swayed above her, fingers moving as if the weaver were playing a symphony and the strings were her skin. She felt her face rippling, the flesh running like wax in flame. She grit her teeth, bit back a scream. Tears blinding. Heart pounding. Mister Kindly swelling and rolling beneath her, the shadows in the room shuddering. Masks fell from the walls as the pain burned hotter, and somewhere in that scalding, clawing black, she felt someone take her hand, squeeze it tight, promising all would be well.
“… hold on to me, mia …”
But the pain.
“… hold on, i have you …”
O, Daughters, the pain …
It lasted forever. Abating only long enough for her to catch her breath, dreading the moment it would begin again. Not once through all those endless minutes did Marielle actually touch her and yet, Mia felt the woman’s hands were everywhere. Parting her skin and twisting her flesh, tears running down melting cheeks. And when Marielle moved her hands lower, down to Mia’s chest and belly, she let it go. The scream, slipping past her teeth and up, up into the burning darkness above her head, dragging her down to a merciful black where she felt nothing. Knew nothing. Was nothing.
“… i will not let you go …”
Nothing at all.
She wasn’t beautiful.
As she sat in her room afterward, Mia realized the weaver hadn’t given her that gift. She wasn’t a statue come to life like Aalea was. Not someone a general might raise an army for, a hero slay a god or daemon for, a nation go to war for. But as Mia stared into the looking glass on her dresser, she found herself fascinated. Running her fingertips over her cheeks, nose, and lips, hands still shaking.
Mister Kindly watched from her pillows, glutted on the feast of her fear. She’d woken in her bed to find him beside her, watching with his not-eyes. Shahiid Aalea had been nowhere to be seen, though Mia could still smell her perfume.
When she’d first sat in front of the mirror, she’d expected to find herself staring at a stranger. But as she’d peered at the face in the polished silver, she’d realized it was still hers. The dark eyes, the heart shape, the bow lips, all hers. But somehow she was … pretty. Not the kind of pretty that borders beautiful. The kind of commonplace pretty you pass on the street every turn. The kind you might notice as it breezed past, but forget the moment it was out of sight.
It was as if the puzzle of her face had some missing piece finally pushed into place. Subtle differences that somehow made all the difference in the world. Her lips fuller. Nose straightened. Skin smooth as cream. The shadows beneath her eyes were gone, and the eyes themselves seemed a little bigger. Speaking of …
She pulled open the ties at her throat, looked down to the place her breasts hadn’t been.
“Daughters,” she muttered. “Those are new …”
“… i trust you’ve noticed i have politely refrained from comment …”
Mia glanced at the not-cat on the mirror’s frame above her. “Your restraint is admirable.”
“… i actually just can’t think of anything witty to say …”
“Thank the Maw for small mercies, then.”
“… or noticeably larger ones. as the case may be …”
Mia rolled her eyes.
“… we both knew it was too good to last …”
The girl turned back to her reflection. Staring at the new face staring back. Truth was, she thought she’d feel strange. Robbed of something—identity, self, individuality. Violated, even? But this was still her face. Her flesh. Her body. And as Mia shrugged at the girl in the looking glass, the girl shrugged right back. Same as she always had. Same as she always would.
She had to admit it.
The weaver knew her work.
CHAPTER 15
TRUTH
Naev was waiting outside her door when Mia rose in the morning. As she saw Mia’s new face, the woman’s eyes widened behind her veil. Mia heard a soft hiss through ruined lips, hovering uncertainly, not quite sure what to say. She finally settled on “Good turn to you, Naev.”
“… Naev comes to tell her. Naev is leaving.”
Mia blinked. “Leaving? For where?”
“Last Hope. Then to the city of Kassina on the south coast. Naev will be gone a time. She must watch her step until Naev returns. Hold true. Be strong. And be careful.”
Mia nodded. “I will. My thanks.”
“Come. Naev will escort her to mornmeal.”
As the pair walked down the twisting hallways toward the Sky Altar, it occurred to Mia she knew next to nothing about the woman beside her. Naev seemed sincere in her blood vow, but Mia wasn’t exactly sure how far trust should carry her. Though the woman hadn’t breathed a word of it, the specter of Mia’s new face hung between them like a pall. A question rattled behind the girl’s teeth, demanding to be spoken. As they reached the great statue of the goddess in the Hall of Eulogies, looming above them with sword and scale in hand, she finally let it slip.
“How can you stand it, Naev?” she asked.
Naev stopped short. Staring at Mia with cold, black eyes. “Stand what?”
“I figured out what you meant in the desert. When I asked what did that to your face. ‘Love,’ you told me. ‘Only love.’” Mia looked into Naev’s eyes. “You loved Adonai.”
“Not loved,” Naev replied. “Love.”
“And Adonai loves you?”
“… Perhaps once.”
“So Marielle maimed your face because she was jealous you loved her brother?” Mia was incredulous. “What did the Revered Mother say?”
“Nothing.” Naev shrugged, continued walking. “Hands, she has in abundance. Sorcerii, not so many.”
“So she just let it go?” Mia fell into step alongside. “It’s not right, Naev.”
“She will learn right and wrong have little meaning here.”
“I don’t understand this place. An acolyte was murdered right under this very statue, and the Ministry doesn’t seem to care about finding out who did it.”
“Callousness breeds callousness. Soon, she will care as little as they.”
Now it was Mia’s turn to stop short. “What do you mean?”
The woman regarded Mia with those bottomless black eyes. Glanced to the statue above them. “Naev likes her new face. The weaver knows her work, aye?”
Mia raised a hand to her cheek reflexively. “… She does.”
“Does she miss her old seeming? Does she feel the change in her bones yet?”
“They only changed what I look like. I’m still the person I was yesterturn. Inside.”
“That is how it begins. The weaving is only the first of it. The butterfly remembers being the caterpillar. But do you think it feels anything but pity for that thing crawling in the muck? Once it has spread those beautiful wings and learned to fly?”
“I’m no butterfly, Naev.”
The woman placed a hand on Mia’s arm.
“This place gives much. But it takes much more. They may make her beautiful on the outside, but inside, they aim to shape a horror. So if there is some part of herself that truly matters, hold it close, Mia Corvere. Hold it tight. She should ask herself what she will give to get the things she wants. And what she will keep. For when we feed another to the Maw, we feed it a part of ourselves, also. And soon enough, there is nothing left.”
“I know who I am. What I am. I’ll never forget. Never.”
Naev pointed to the stone statue above them. The pitiless black eyes. The robes made of night. The sword clutched in a pale right hand.