“All right, all right. Enough. The last thing I need to hear before my execution is you criticizing my choice in penises.”
“…ridiculous things, all. if ever proof was needed of your creator’s malevolence, look no farther than between the legs of the average teenaged boy …”
Knock, knock, knock.
“Acolyte. You are summoned to the Hall of Eulogies.”
Mia rose from her bed. No fear in her belly. Heartbeat steady. She hid a dozen blades about her person, determined that she’d go down fighting if it came to her end. Wondering what awaited her beneath the statue’s gaze.
Six Hands waited outside her bedroom door, hoods drawn over their eyes. Shahiid Mouser stood beside them, his blacksteel blade in his belt. The man’s familiar silverware smile was nowhere to be seen.
“Shahiid,” Mia nodded.
“Come with us, Acolyte.”
Mia was led down the corridor toward the Hall of Eulogies. She could feel Mister Kindly in her shadow, drinking her fear fast as he was able. Still, it was beginning to seep through now. Sweat on her palms. Lightness in her belly. She’d not die on her knees like some sniveling child. But she’d worked so hard. Come so far. To stumble and fall at the eleventh hour over something like this?
The darkness swelled around her, pressing in on all sides. Responding to her rising anger. Her budding anxiety. It was hers to command, if she wished it. If only she had the will to reach out and seize it. She’d done it before. Not so long ago. Fourteen years old. Walls of stone. Screams in the air. Blood on her hands.
Don’t look.
The Ministry were assembled beneath Niah’s granite gaze. The acolytes also. One fewer than there’d been the last time they gathered here. Tric was looking at her, agony on his face. She shook her head and pressed her lips shut. Silently warning him to do the same.
Stained-glass light spilled over the floor, bloody red and ghostly white, the choir singing in the background. Mia was ushered to an empty place before the Ministry. The faces of the assembled Shahiid were grim, the Revered Mother’s darkest of all.
“Acolyte Mia. The Ministry has consulted extensively over Acolyte Carlotta’s death. Though conclusive proof of your guilt is lacking, the blood found in your room and the hand favored by the killer cannot be ignored. Moreover, your motive is irrefutable. With Acolyte Carlotta dead, you stand best placed to finish top of Spiderkiller’s hall. Aside from the words already spoken this morning, do you have anything to add in your defense?”
Mia searched the faces of the assembled Shahiid. Solis’s blind stare. Aalea’s beautiful mask. Their minds were made up. And begging simply wasn’t her way.
“No, Revered Mother,” she replied.
“Very well. In light of the evidence, and with no compelling testimony to the contrary, your guilt is confirmed. Given the nature of your studies here, and the prowess with which the murder was conducted, you will be spared execution. However, you were specifically warned that the ending of fellow acolytes was forbidden, and thus, punishment must be dealt. You will suffer blood scourge. Fifty lashes.”
Mia grit her teeth against the sudden rush of fear, Mister Kindly swelling in her shadow. Maw’s teeth, fifty lashes. Hush had received half that many and it’d almost killed him. She glanced to the blue-eyed boy, there at the end of the acolytes’ semicircle. She swore he gave her a slight nod. Her mother’s voice, ringing in her head.
Never flinch. Never fear. And never, ever forget.
Her eyes met Tric’s and she shook her head again. There was no sense in him stepping up for punishment now. For all their talk of rules, this was a school of killers—at least the crime Mia was supposedly guilty of held some kind of credibility. But flagrant violation of the Mother’s curfew for the sake of a little angsty mouth-to-mouth?
They’d skin him alive. Literally.
“Moreover,” Drusilla continued, “since you were motivated in this crime by desire to gain advantage in Truths, you are hereby banned from Spiderkiller’s contest, and will be ineligible to compete for placement in top of her hall.”
Mia sagged like the Mother had punched her in the gut. Finishing top of Truths was her best chance at initiation, and all knew it. Without Spiderkiller’s contest, Mia might never be made a Blade. What would happen to her? Relegated to making runs to Last Hope with Naev, or keeping some blood pool in a shithole like Carrion Hall or Elai? How could she hope to avenge herself on Scaeva and the others as a glorified servant?
Mia looked at the faces around her. Solis smiling. Jessamine grinning as if all her Great Tithes had come at once. Diamo practically drooling with anticipation. Mother Drusilla nodded to the Hands flanking Mia, and they took an arm each. It was all she could do to hold herself back. The black trembled as she grit her teeth, allowed herself to be led to the iron rings at the statue’s base, catching sight of Marielle and Adonai in the shadows. The speaker’s face was expressionless, but the weaver’s bleeding lips were split in a smile.
She was cracking her knuckles.
The Hands took hold of her shirt, Mia tensing as they readied to strip it from her back. She looked to the goddess above her, those empty eyes that followed wherever she went.
Give me strength …
“Stop.”
Mia sighed. Relief and anger in equal measure.
That bloody fool …
Mia turned. All eyes were on Tric. The boy had stepped forward from his place, staring at the assembled Shahiid. “Mother Drusilla, stop this.”
“Step back in line, Acolyte. Judgment has been made. It shall be meted.”
“Tric, don’t,” Mia hissed.
“The judgment is wrong. Mia couldn’t have murdered Carlotta.”
“I am not interested in your assessment of her character, Acolyte.”
“I’m not talking about her damned character,” Tric snapped. “Mia couldn’t have killed Carlotta yestereve without me knowing.”
“And how is that?”
“Tric, stop!”
Tric ignored Mia’s plea, spared a glance for the weaver. Lips dry. But despite knowing the punishment that might come, still he spoke.
“Because I was with her in her room.”
The Ministry shared glances among themselves, save for Solis, who was glowering at the ceiling. Drusilla looked to Marielle and her brother, back to Tric.
“You admit to being out of your chambers after ninebells?”
“I was out all nevernight. Ash can vouch. She saw me in Mia’s bed this morning.”
Drusilla turned on Ashlinn. “Is this true, Acolyte?”
Ashlinn chewed her lip. Reluctantly nodded. “Aye, Revered Mother.”
“So Mia couldn’t have killed Lotti,” Tric continued. “Despite your ‘evidence.’ You can’t ban her from Spiderkiller’s contest. I was in bed with her the whole time.”
“And why did you not inform us of this before?”
“Because I asked him not to,” Mia said.
“You can’t ban Mia from Spiderkiller’s trial,” Tric insisted. “Becoming a Blade means everything to her. She didn’t do this.”
Drusilla looked to Mia. The Ministry to the Mother.
The girl held her breath, minutes ticking by like years. The ghostly choir sung their hymn out in the dark, the pulse thundered in Mia’s veins. The Ministry spoke among themselves in hushed tones, back and forth, all Mia had worked and bled for hanging in the balance. She could have kissed Tric. She could have punched him. But he was competition. First, last, and always. She didn’t love him. He didn’t love her. There was no place for it here in the dark, and both of them knew it. Why had he risked so much for her? When she’d never do the same for him?
Mother Drusilla finally spoke, stilling the turmoil in Mia’s mind.
“Very well,” the old woman said. “In light of this new evidence, it would appear Acolyte Mia’s guilt is unassured, and her punishment may be unwarranted. And though it is late in its coming, the Ministry must applaud Acolyte Tric for his honesty. Such bravery should be commended, when considered in light of its price.”
Drusilla turned to the Hands beside her.