Jay Kristoff - Darkdawn

Who could now deny he was the chosen of Aa? Who better to claim the title of imperator and lead the Republic through the dangers it now faced?

Mia stole through the gravebone halls, silent and swift. She Stepped between the shadows as easily as another girl might have skipped from one puddle to another in the falling rain. It was a gift she’d practised for years; though it seemed much simpler since Furian had died by her hand. She recalled her brother using the shadows to blind her in the necropolis, musing idly if she might learn to do the same. She wondered how much truth lay in Tric’s tale of splinters of shattered god inside her. What other gifts she might discover inside herself, if she embraced them and what she was.

The walls about her were hung with beautiful tapestries, lined with statues of solid marble, lit by chandeliers of singing Dweymeri crystal. She could hear music somewhere distant – strings and a harpsichord, a touch of sombreness in the shadow of the cardinal’s death. The gravebone longblade in her hand was a comforting weight, the stink of blood in her nostrils a sweet perfume, the wolf made of shadows a soothing growl in her ear.

‘… TWO MORE AHEAD …’

They fell as the last two had done, the shadows rippling, the girl coalescing out of nothingness, as if coming into focus before their wondering eyes. The men were Luminatii, gravebone armour and blood-red cloaks and feathered plumes upon their heads. The helms did wonders to smother what little sound they made as they died, and their cloaks a fine job of mopping up the mess afterwards.

Her heart was hammering despite the daemon in her shadow. Her thoughts drifting to Ashlinn, Tric, Jonnen. She’d asked the former to guard the latter, watch him as if her life depended on it. ‘I’m not a fucking nursemaid,’ had come the protest, and there was more waiting in the wings. But Mia’s kiss had quickly silenced them all.

‘Please,’ was all she’d said. ‘For me.’

And that had been enough for now.

How much longer, she wasn’t entirely sure.

‘I’LL BE OF NO USE IN THIS,’ Tric had told her. ‘THE LIGHT IS TOO BRIGHT.’

‘You made short work of those soldiers in the necropolis,’ she’d pointed out. ‘Truelight or no.’

‘THE WALLS BETWEEN THIS WORLD AND THE MOTHER’S REALM ARE THINNER IN THE HOUSES OF THE DEAD. AND IT’S THROUGH NIAH’S WILL I WALK THIS EARTH, NO OTHER’S. I’LL GROW STRONGER THE NEARER WE DRAW TO TRUEDARK. BUT HERE AND NOW …’

He’d looked about them, shaken his head.

‘BESIDES, THIS IS A FOOLISH PLAN, PALE DAUGHTER.’

She’d wanted to give him a quip in reply, but hearing him call her by that name had made her chest ache instead. She’d looked at him, black hands hidden in his sleeves, black eyes hidden beneath his hood. His beautiful alabaster face, framed all in darkness. Wondering what might have been, then choking those wonderings dead.

‘Please don’t do this,’ Ash had begged.

‘I have to,’ she’d replied. ‘He almost never makes public appearances anymore. That’s why we struck at him during the magni, remember? I have to take him now before he goes to ground again.’

‘You’re presuming that was him at all,’ Ash had protested. ‘Scaeva could have a dozen doubles for all we know. He’s been in league with the Red Church for years. Who’s to say he’s still in the city? Or if he is, who’s to say he’s not baiting you?’

‘He probably is,’ Mia said.

‘Then what’s to stop him from killing you?’ Ash demanded.

‘Solis and Hush both used blades poisoned with Rictus. They want me alive.’ Mia glanced at her brother. ‘Because I have something he wants, too.’

‘Mia, please …’

‘Mister Kindly, stay here with Jonnen. Keep him calm.’

‘… o, joyousness …’

‘Eclipse, with me.’

‘… AS IT PLEASE YOU …’

‘YOU MUST LET THE PAST DIE, MIA,’ Tric warned.

She’d looked him in the eye then. Her voice hard and cold.

‘Sometimes the past won’t just die. Sometimes you have to kill it.’

And she was gone.

Slipping through the forum until it grew too crowded, the soldiers too thick. Then on beneath her mantle of shadows, the world blurred shapeless, the suns blazing overhead as Eclipse guided her steps. She moved slow as she needed, quick as she dared, into the looming shadow of the first Rib. Over the wrought-iron fence, past the dozens of Luminatii posted around a heavy set of polished gravebone doors, into the consul’s private apartments beyond. She had vague recollections of this place from the ball she’d attended as a child, whisked around that glittering ballroom on her father’s …

… no, not her father.

O, Mother, how could you?

She stalked the shadows like a wolf on the scent of fresh blood, Eclipse scouting ahead, just a black shape on the walls. Dodging slaves and serving staff and soldiers, only a breeze on the backs of their necks, a shiver down their spines as she passed them over. All of Mercurio’s and Mouser’s lessons ringing in her head, her muscles taut, her blade poised, not a single movement wasted, not a whisper to her steps. Her old teacher would have swelled with pride to see her. All of it, the lectures, the practice, the pain – she could feel all of it perfectly distilled in her veins. Every choice she’d made had brought her to this moment. Every road she’d walked had led her inexorably here. Where it was always going to end.

Eclipse’s whispers finally led them to a grand study. A vast oaken desk was set at the room’s far end, bookshelves lining the wall, overflowing with tomes and scrolls. The floor was carved with a shallow relief and stained by some work of arkemy – a rumoured hobby of Scaeva’s, and one he apparently excelled at. It was a great map of the entire Republic, from the Sea of Silence to the Sea of Stars.

Mia’s heart was pounding thumpathump against her ribs as she tossed aside her shadow mantle. Hair stuck to the sweat and dried blood on her skin. Muscles aching, wounds burning, adrenaline and rage battling exhaustion and sorrow.

And there, near the balcony, he stood.

Staring out into the dazzling sunslight as if nothing in the world were amiss.

He was just a silhouette against the glare as she stole across the room towards him, her mouth dry as dirt, her grip on her sword damp with sweat. Despite the passenger in her shadow, she’d feared he might’ve already been gone, that Ashlinn’s words might’ve proved true, that the man who spoke to the adoring mob might’ve been just another actor wearing his face.

But as soon as she drew close, she knew.

A cool sickness in the pit of her belly. A slow horror that gave way to a sinking feeling of inevitability. The final pieces in the riddle of her life, who she was, what she was, why she was, at last clicking into place.

That feeling …

That O, so familiar feeling.

Mister Kindly materialized on the floor of the Philosopher’s Stone beside her, his whisper cutting in the gloom. The dona Corvere took one look at the shadowcat and hissed like she’d been burned. Shrinking back from the bars of her cell, into the far corner, teeth bared in a snarl.

‘He’s in you,’ the dona had whispered. ‘O, Daughters, he’s in you.’

‘Hello, Mia,’ Scaeva said.

He didn’t turn to look at her. Eyes still fixed on the sunslight outside. He’d changed from his torn and bloodied costume into a long toga of pristine white. Shadow on the wall. Fingers entwined behind his back. Defenceless.

But not alone.

She saw his shadow move. Shivering as the sickness and hunger inside her swelled to bursting. And from the smudge of darkness across the study wall – dark enough for two – Mia heard a faint and deadly hiss.