Jay Kristoff - Nevernight

‘Pick that up and let’s be off. I’ve got—’

Shivs felt something sharp and deathly cold dig into his britches. He glanced down to the stiletto poking his privates, the little fist clutching it tight. Mia had wrapped herself around his waist, pressing her mother’s dagger into the boy’s crotch, the crow on the pommel glaring at Shivs with two amber eyes. Her whisper was soft and deadly.

‘Whore, am I?’

Now, if this were a storybook tale, gentlefriend, and Mia the hero within it, Shivs would’ve seen some shadow of the killer she’d become and backed away all a-tremble. But the truth is, the boy stood two feet taller than Mia, and outweighed her by eighty pounds. And looking down at the girl around his waist, he didn’t see the most feared assassin in all the Republic – just a sprat with no real idea how to hold a knife, her face so close to his elbow one good twitch would send her sprawling.

So Shivs twitched. And Mia wasn’t sent sprawling so much as flying.

She fell into the mud, clutching a broken nose, blinded by agonised tears. The younger boy (ever after thought of as Fleas) picked up Dona Corvere’s fallen dagger, eyes wide.

‘Daughters, lookit this!’

‘Toss it here.’

The boy flipped it hilt first. Shivs snatched the knife from the air, admired the craftsmanship with greedy eyes.

‘Aa’s cock, this is real gravebone …’

Fleas kicked Mia hard in the ribs. ‘Where did a trollop like you get—’

A wrinkled hand landed on the lad’s shoulder, slamming him against the wall. A knee said hello to his groin, a gnarled walking stick invited his jaw to dance. fn2 A double-handed strike to the back of his head left him bleeding in the dirt.

Old Mercurio stood above him, clad in a long greatcoat of beaten leather, a walking stick in one bony hand. His ice-blue eyes were narrowed, taking in the scene, the girl sprawled bloody on the ground. He looked at Shivs, lips peeled back in a sneer.

‘That’s your game is it? Kickball?’ He aimed a savage boot into the ribs of young Fleas, rewarded with a sickening crack. ‘Mind if I join?’

Shivs glared at the old man, down at his bleeding comrade. And with a black curse, he hefted the Dona Corvere’s stiletto and hurled it at Mercurio’s head.

It was a fine throw. Right between the eyes. But instead of dying, the old man snatched the blade from midair, quick as the stink on the banks of the Rose. fn3 Tucking the stiletto inside his greatcoat, Mercurio took hold of his walking stick, and with a crisp ring, drew a long, gravebone blade hidden within the shaft. He advanced on Shivs and Worms, brandishing the sword.

‘O, Liisian rules, aye? Old school? Fair enough, then.’

Shivs and Worms glanced at each other, panic in their eyes. And without a word, the pair turned and bolted down the alley, leaving poor Fleas unconscious in the muck.

Mia was on her hands and knees. Cheeks stained with tears and blood. Her nose felt raw and swollen, throbbing red. She couldn’t see properly. Couldn’t think.

‘Told you that brooch would be naught but trouble,’ Mercurio growled. ‘You’d have done better listening, girl.’

Mia felt a heat in her chest. Stinging at her eyes. Another child might have bawled for her mother, then. Cried the world wasn’t fair. But instead, all the rage, all the indignity, the memory of her father’s death, her mother’s arrest, the brutality and attempted murder, stacked afresh now with robbery and an alley scrap she’d been on the wrong side of winning – all of it piled up inside her like tinder on a bonfire and bursting into bright, furious flame.

‘Don’t call me “girl”.’ Mia spat, pawing the tears from her eyes. She pulled herself halfway up the wall, slumped back down again. ‘I am the daughter of a justicus. Firstchild of one of the twelve noble houses. I’m Mia Corvere, damn you!’

‘O, I know who you are,’ said the old man. ‘Question is, who else does?’

‘… What?’

‘Who else knows you’re the Kingmaker’s sprog, missy?’

‘No one,’ she snarled. ‘I’ve told no one. And don’t call me “missy”, either.’

A sniff. ‘Not as stupid as I thought, then.’

The old man looked down the alley. Back at the marketplace. Finally, to the bleeding girl at his feet. And with something close to a sigh, he offered his hand.

‘Come on, little Crow. Let’s get your beak straightened out.’

Mia wiped her fist across her lips, brought it away bloody.

‘I know you not at all, sir,’ she said. ‘And I trust you even less.’

‘Well, those’re the first sensible words I’ve heard you hatch. But if I wanted you dead, I’d just leave you to it. Because alone out here, you’ll be dead by nevernight.’

Mia stayed where she was, distrust plain in her eyes.

‘I’ve got tea,’ Mercurio sighed. ‘And cake.’

The girl covered her growling belly with both palms.

‘… What kind of cake?’

‘The free kind.’

Mia pouted. Licked her lips and tasted blood.

‘My favourite.’

And she took the old man’s hand.

‘And I said I’m not wearing that!’ Tric bellowed.

‘Apologies,’ said Mouser. ‘Did I give the impression I was asking?’

At the simplest mountain’s foot, Mia was doing her best to keep a level head. The churchmen were gathered by the cliff face, each with an armload of gear or a weary camel in tow. Mouser was holding out blindfolds, which he’d insisted Mia and Tric wear. For some inexplicable reason, Tric had grown furious at the suggestion. Mia could practically see the hackles rising down the Dweymeri boy’s back.

Though she felt no remnants of the strange cocktail of rage and lust that had filled her earlier, Mia thought perhaps her friend might still be under the influence. She turned to Mouser.

‘Shahiid, our minds weren’t our own when we arrived …’

‘The Discord. A werking placed on the Quiet Mountain in ages past.’

‘It’s still affecting him.’

‘No. It discourages those who arrive at the Church without … invitation. You are now welcome here. If you wear blindfolds.’

‘We saved her life.’ Tric gestured to Naev. ‘And you still don’t trust us?’

Mouser tucked his thumbs into his belt and smiled his silverware smile. His voice was as rich as Twelve Cask goldwine. fn4

‘You still live, don’t you?’

‘Tric, what difference does it make?’ Mia asked. ‘Just put it on.’

‘I’m not wearing any blindfold.’

‘But we’ve come so far …’

‘And you will go no farther,’ Mouser added. ‘Not with eyes to see.’

Tric folded his arms and glowered. ‘No.’

Mia sighed, dragged her hand through her fringe. ‘Shahiid Mouser. I’d like a moment to confer with my learned colleague?’

‘Be swift,’ the Shahiid said. ‘If Naev dies on the very doorstep, Speaker Adonai will be none pleased. On your heads be it should Our Lady take her.’

Mia wondered what the Shahiid meant – the kraken wounds were fatal, and Naev was already a dead woman. But still, she took Tric’s hand, dragged him across the crumbling foothills. Out of earshot, she turned on the boy, infamous temper slowly rising.

‘Maw’s teeth, what’s wrong with you?’

‘I won’t do it. I’d rather cut my own throat.’

‘They’ll do that for you if you keep this up!’