Jay Kristoff - Darkdawn

The choir sang in the ghostly dark around them, echoing through the great Athenaeum. Mercurio’s hands were shaking, cigarillo falling from his mouth as he fumbled with the first tome, opening it finally to the title page.

And there it was.

NEVERNIGHT

BOOK 1 OF THE NEVERNIGHT CHRONICLE

by Mercurio of Liis

The old man closed the book, looked at Niah’s chronicler with wondering eyes.

‘Holy shit,’ he breathed.

Arkemical globes twinkled in the arched ceilings and the music swelled in Mia’s chest and all around her was pale bone and glittering gold. She stood between her father and mother, little hands clutching theirs, staring down at the dance floor in wide-eyed wonder. Elegant donas in dazzling gowns of red and pearl and black, swaying and twirling in the arms of smooth dons in long frock coats. Delicious food arrayed on silver trays and singing crystal glasses filled with sparkling liqueurs.

‘Well, my dove?’ her father asked. ‘What do you think?’

‘It’s so beautiful,’ Mia sighed.

The little girl could sense people’s eyes on them as they stood there at the top of the winding stairs. The doorman had announced their arrival at the grand palazzo, and all had turned to stare. The dashing justicus of the Luminatii Legion, Darius Corvere. His lovely and formidable wife, Alinne. Her parents made their way through the marrowborn crowd, the pretty smiles, the polite nods, the faces hidden by exquisite Carnivalé masks. The palazzo’s ballroom was filled to bursting, and all of Godsgrave’s finest had been invited to the affair – the election of a new consul always brought out the most beautiful of people.

‘Will you dance, my dear?’ her father asked.

Alinne Corvere softly scoffed, one hand pressed to her swollen belly. Mia knew the baby would come soon. She hoped it would be a boy.

‘Not unless you’ve a barrow stowed under that doublet, husband,’ she replied.

‘Alas,’ Darius replied, reaching beneath the folds of his costume. ‘I’ve only this.’

Mia’s father presented her mother a blood-red rose, bowing low for the benefit of the onlookers around them. Alinne smiled and took the bloom, inhaling deeply as she regarded her husband. But again, she ran a hand over her belly, demurring with a glance from those dark, knowing eyes.

Mia’s father turned and knelt before her.

‘What about you, my dove? Will you dance?’

Mia had been feeling strange all week, truth told. Since truedark had fallen, her belly had been all aflutter, and nothing quite felt the way it should. But still, as her father offered his hand, she couldn’t help but smile, caught up in the warmth of his eyes.

‘Yes, Father,’ she lisped.

‘We should give our congratulations to our new consul,’ her mother warned.

‘Soon enough,’ her father nodded, offering his arm to Mia. ‘Mi Dona?’

The pair of them swept out onto the dance floor, the other marrowborn revellers parting to let them through. Mia was only nine years old, not yet tall or old enough to dance properly. But Darius Corvere propped her little feet upon his and led her gently to the rush and pull of the music. Mia saw the couples around them smiling, charmed as ever by the handsome justicus and his precocious daughter. She looked about her in wonder, caught up in the song and the dresses and the glittering lights above.

The three suns had sunk below the horizon over a week ago, and the Mother of Night was nearing the end of another brief reign of the sky. Mia could hear the popopopopop of the fireworks in the city beyond, meant to frighten the Night back to the Abyss. All over Godsgrave, folk were huddled about their hearths, wait ing for Aa to open his eyes again. But here, in her father’s arms, Mia found she wasn’t afraid at all. Instead of being frightened, she felt safe.

Strong.

Loved.

She knew her father was a handsome man, and she was old enough to note the longing stares of the marrowborn ladies as they watched him sweep past across the ballroom floor. But despite the finest of Godsgrave’s donas (and no few dons) staring after him wistfully, Mia’s father had eyes only for her.

‘I love you, Mia.’

‘I love you, too.’

‘Promise you’ll remember. No matter what comes.’

She gave him a puzzled smile. ‘I promise, Father.’

They danced on, twirling across the polished boards to the magikal song. Mia looked to the ceilings high above her, pale and gleaming. The consul’s extravagant palazzo sat at the base of the first Rib, right near the Senate House and Godsgrave’s Spine. The dance floor was a revolving mosaic of the three suns, circling each other just as the dancers did. The building was carved from the gravebone of the Rib itself, same as the longsword at her father’s waist, the armour he wore when he rode to war. The heart of the Itreyan Republic, chiselled from the bones of some long-fallen titan.

Mia peered through the crowd and saw her mother, speaking with a man upon a dais at the end of the room. He was resplendent in robes of brilliant purple, a golden laurel around his brow and golden rings upon his fingers. His hair was thick and dark, his eyes were darker still, and he was – though Mia would never have admitted it – perhaps a little more handsome than her father.

Mia saw her mother bow to the handsome man. An elegant woman seated on the dais looked displeased as the man kissed Alinne Corvere’s hand in turn.

‘Who is that, Father?’ Mia asked.

‘Our new consul,’ he replied, his eyeline following hers. ‘Julius Scaeva.’

‘Is he a friend of Mother’s?’

‘Of a sort.’

Mia watched as the handsome man placed one hand on Alinne Corvere’s swol len belly. A brief touch, light as feathers. A glance between them, quick as silver.

‘I do not like him,’ the girl declared.

‘No fear, my dove,’ the justicus replied. ‘Your mother likes him well enough for both of you. She always has.’

Mia blinked, looking up at her father with black, narrowed eyes. There was a length of rope about his neck in place of his cravat now, tied in a perfect noose.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

‘O, wake up, Mia,’ he sighed.

‘Father, I—’

‘Wake up.’

‘Wake up.’

Mia felt a hard kick in her belly. A child’s voice, somewhere distant.

‘Wake up, curse you!’

Another kick, this time into the fresh wound at her shoulder. Mia gasped with pain and opened her eyes, seeing a silhouette leaning over her in the gloom. Without thinking, she lashed out with her good hand, seizing the figure’s throat. It squeaked and thrashed, little fingers digging into her forearm. Only then, through the pain and retreating toxic haze did she recognize …

‘… Jonnen?’

She released the boy’s neck as if his skin were scalding metal. Utterly aghast, she reached out to smooth his filthy purple toga.

‘O, Jonnen, I’m sor—’

‘My name is Lucius!’ the boy spat, slapping her hands away.

Mia caught her breath, tried to still her thundering heart. She was horrified at herself – she’d almost hurt him without thinking. Her mind was swimming with pictures of a glittering ballroom and a truedark sky and Scaeva’s hand on her mother’s belly. Of an arena full of people, screaming as she buried her gravebone dagger in Scaeva’s chest. Of Jonnen’s face, pale and horrified as she laid his father low before him.