her hair from her eyes. Looking to the gladiatii, to Naev, she managed a ragged grin.
“Is she well?” Naev called.
“Aye,” Mia managed. “But I’m not half done, yet. Look after him for me, neh?”
Naev looked to Jonnen and nodded. “With our lives.”
“Never fear, little Crow,” Butcher said.
“Eclipse, I want you to stay here, too,” Mia gasped. “Guard my brother.”
“… AS IT PLEASE YOU…,” came a low growl beneath her.
The daemon parted from her shadow, coalescing on the blood-soaked stairs before her eyes. Mia looked her up and down, still struggling for breath.
“… You’re not going to warn me that I’ll need you when I face him?”
The shadowwolf looked at Mia with her not-eyes, ears twitching.
“… YOU WILL NOT NEED ME. YOU HAVE THE HEART OF A LION…”
“I remember you telling me that.” Mia managed a tired grin. “But I have the heart of a crow, Eclipse. Black and shriveled, remember?”
The daemon stepped close, pressed her muzzle to Mia’s cheeks.
“… YOU WILL KNOW THE LIE OF THAT BEFORE THE END…”
The shadowwolf’s fur was a whisper against her skin. Mia could almost feel it, velvet soft and cool as night. Making her shiver, even as she smiled.
“… GO FIND YOUR FATHER, MIA…”
The girl nodded. And with a wince, she dragged herself to her feet.
“Mia?” her brother said, his voice faltering.
But she was already gone.
* * *
Drusilla ran.
Aalea hurried along beside her, supporting her lady with one arm. Spiderkiller followed slower, clearly torn between her vengeance against Corvere and saving her own skin. But Drusilla knew Corvere’s companions would be making their way deeper into the Mountain even now, that treacherous bitch Järnheim leading them on—if they reached Adonai before Drusilla did, her only hope of escape would be lost. And so the Lady of Blades found herself running through the winding dark, as best her old legs could carry her.
“Where do we go?” Aalea asked beside her, breathless.
“The speaker,” the lady replied.
“We run?” Spiderkiller demanded.
“We live,” Drusilla spat.
Drusilla could hear the imperator’s guards ahead of them, Scaeva among them, moving swift on the winding stairs. Loyal Hands rushed past the lady and Shahiids, back down toward the stables, armed with bows and blades. Fresh-faced acolytes followed—the Mountain’s latest crop of recruits and second line of defense—yelling at the Lady of Blades to run, run.
The Church choir seemed louder somehow, pressed with a faint urgency. Drusilla was gasping, unused to running, mouth dry as old bones.
How did it come to this?
She’d lost sight of Scaeva ahead of them now, but she knew well enough that the imperator would be headed to Adonai’s chambers, too. Seeking escape through the only means now left to him, and to leave this abattoir behind him.
But none of this makes sense.
Drusilla had read the Nevernight Chronicle end to end. She’d left nothing to chance. Corvere and her comrades should’ve been caught entirely unaware—nowhere did the tome mention the girl carried a barrel load of arkemist’s salt in her wagon, or suspected any kind of trap.
Since Drusilla had discovered their part in the plot, Adonai and Marielle were in no shape to warn Mia. Mercurio and Aelius had no means to even speak to her. How in Mother’s name had Corvere known Drusilla planned to ambush her? If the chronicle were truly the story of her life, if the third book was truly the story of her death …
Drusilla could hear the clash of steel in the distance now—Corvere’s gladiatii locked in a deadly dance with the Mountain’s defenders. She could hear Järnheim yelling. Sidonius barking orders. The old woman’s heart was thumping against her ribs. Her breath burning in her chest. Aalea was supporting her weight, long dark hair stuck to the sweat on her skin. Spiderkiller was falling farther and farther behind. Drusilla had lost sight of Scaeva’s men entirely. Her knees were aching. Her old bones creaking with every step.
She was too old for this, she realized. Too tired. All her years in service to the Mother had only led her here. Leader of a Church that was coming to pieces all about her. Mistress of a Ministry torn asunder. All the plotting, all the killing, all the coin. And this was where it ended? Cut down by a monster of her own making?
They reached the Hall of Eulogies. Niah’s statue towering above them. Dead names carved on the floor beneath them. Unmarked tombs all around. The ring of steel and cries of pain were growing ever closer. Drusilla realized Spiderkiller had abandoned them somewhere back