Mia stepped forward, purse in hand. Her stomach was turning flips, but her hands were steady as stone. She took her place before the old woman and her gentle smile, looked deep into pale blue eyes. Felt herself being weighed. Wondered if she’d been found wanting.
‘My tithe,’ she managed to say. ‘For the Maw.’
‘I accept it in her name with her thanks upon my lips.’
Mia sighed as she heard the response, almost falling to her knees as the Revered Mother embraced her, kissed one cheek after another with ice-cold lips. She squeezed Mia tight as the girl breathed deep, blinking back hot tears. And turning to the silver bowl, the old woman dipped one stick-thin hand inside and drew it back, dripping red.
Blood.
‘Speak your name.’
‘Mia Corvere.’
‘Do you vow to serve the Mother of Night? Will you learn death in all its colours, bring it to the deserving and undeserving in her name? Will you become an Acolyte of Niah, and an earthly instrument of the dark between the stars?’
Mia found herself struggling to inhale.
The deep breath before the plunge.
‘I will.’
The Revered Mother pressed her palm to Mia’s cheek, smearing the blood down her skin. It was still warm, the scent of salt and copper filling the girl’s lungs. The old woman marked one cheek, then the other, finally smudging a long streak down Mia’s lips and chin. The girl felt the gravity of that moment in her bones, dragging her belly to her boots. The Mother nodded and Mia backed away, hugging herself, licking the blood from her lips, near weeping, laughing. One step closer to avenging her familia. One step closer to standing on Scaeva’s tomb.
She was here, she realised.
I’m here.
The ritual was repeated, each acolyte bringing forth their tithes one by one. Some brought teeth, others eyes – the tall boy with the sledgehammer hands brought a rotting heart, wrapped in black velvet. Mia realised there wasn’t a single one of them who wasn’t a murderer. That of all the rooms in the Republic there was probably none more dangerous than the one she stood in, right at that moment.fn6
‘Your studies begin on the morrow,’ the Revered Mother said. ‘Evemeal will be served in the Sky Altar in a half-hour.’ She indicated the row of robed figures. ‘Hands will be available should you need guidance, and I would suggest you avail yourselves until you find your bearings. The Mountain can be difficult to navigate at first, and getting lost within these halls can have … unfortunate consequences.’ Blue eyes glittered in the dark. ‘Walk softly. Learn well. May Our Lady be late when she finds you. And when she does, may she greet you with a kiss.’
The old woman bowed, stepped back into the gloom. The other Ministry members left one by one. Tric wandered over to Mia, greeted her with a smile, his cheeks red with blood. He’d been bathed and scrubbed, and even his saltlocks looked a little less sentient.
‘You shaved,’ she smirked.
‘Don’t get used to it. Happens twice a year.’ He squinted at Naev, recognition slowly widening in his eyes. ‘How in the name of the Lady …’
‘We meet again.’ The thin woman bowed low. ‘Naev gives thanks for his assistance in the deep desert. The debt shall not be forgot.’
‘How are you still walking and breathing?’
‘Secrets within secrets in this place,’ Mia said.
‘Corvere?’ said a soft voice behind her.
Mia turned to the speaker. It was the girl she’d noted; the pretty one with a jagged red bob and green, hunter’s eyes. She was studying Mia intently, head tilted. The tall Itreyan boy with sledgehammer hands loomed beside her like an angry shadow.
‘In the ceremony,’ the girl said. ‘You said your name was Corvere?’
‘Aye,’ Mia said.
‘Are you by chance related to Darius Corvere? The former justicus?’
Mia weighed up the girl in her mind. Fit. Fast. Hard as wood. But whoever she was, Mia was certain Scaeva and his cronies would have no allies within these walls; Remus and his Luminatii had vowed to do away with the Red Church since the Truedark Massacre, after all. Even so, Mercurio had urged Mia to leave her name behind when she crossed this threshold. It was one of the few things they’d argued about. Stupid perhaps. But her father’s death was the whole reason she’d begun walking this road. The name Corvere had been erased from the histories by Scaeva and his lackeys – she’d not leave it behind in the dust, no matter what it cost her.
‘I’m Darius Corvere’s daughter,’ Mia finally replied. ‘And you are?’
‘Jessamine, daughter of Marcinus Gratianus.’
‘Apologies. Is that someone I should have heard of?’
‘First centurion of the Luminatii Legion,’ the girl scowled. ‘Executed by order of the Itreyan Senate after the Kingmaker Rebellion.’
Mia’s frown softened. Black Mother, this was the daughter of one of her father’s centurions. A girl just like her – orphaned by Consul Scaeva and Justicus Remus and the rest of those bastards. Someone who knew the taste of injustice as well as she did.
Mia offered her hand. ‘Well met, sister. My—’
Jessamine slapped the hand away, eyes flashing. ‘You’re no sister to me, bitch.’
Mia felt Tric bristle beside her, Mister Kindly’s hackles rise in the shadow at her feet. She rubbed her slapped knuckles, speaking carefully.
‘I grieve your loss. Truly, I do. My fath—’
‘Your father was a fucking traitor,’ Jessamine snarled. ‘His men died because they honoured their oaths to a fool justicus, and their skulls now pave the steps to the Senate House. Because of the mighty Darius Corvere.’
‘My father was loyal to General Antonius,’ Mia said. ‘He had oaths to honour too.’
‘Your father was a fucking lapdog,’ Jessamine spat. ‘Everyone knows why he followed Antonius, and it had nothing to do with honour. My father and brother were crucified because of him. My mother dead of grief in Godsgrave Asylum. All of them, unavenged.’ The girl stepped closer, eyes narrowed. ‘But not much longer. You’d best grow some eyes in the back of your head, Corvere. You’d best start sleeping light.’
Mia stared the girl down, unblinking, Mister Kindly swelling beneath her feet. Naev drifted closer to the red-headed girl, lisping in her ear.
‘She will step away. Or she will be stepped upon.’
Jessamine glanced at the woman, jaw clenched. After a staring contest that stretched for miles, the girl spun on her heel and stalked off, the big Itreyan boy trailing behind. Mia realised her nails were cutting her palms.
‘You surely do know how to make friends, Pale Daughter.’
Mia turned to Tric, found him smiling, though his hand was also up his sleeve. She relaxed a touch, allowed herself a smile too. Bad as she was at making them, at least she had one friend within these walls.
‘Come on,’ the boy said. ‘We going to evemeal or not?’
Mia looked after the retreating Jessamine. Glanced around at the other acolytes. The reality of where she was sank home deeper. A school of killers. Surrounded by novices or masters in the art of murder. She was here. This was it.
Time to get to work.
‘Evemeal sounds good,’ she nodded. ‘I can’t think of a better place to start scouting.’
‘Scouting?