by the Dark Mother’s hands. Her servant. Her guide. The flush of something close to life pulsed beneath his skin now, but his eyes were still pools of truedark, shot through with pinpricks of starlight. His saltlocks moved as if in a breeze. His hands were black as murder.
The boy looked at her. The silence between them deep as centuries. Ash realized this was the last place she’d seen him alive.
This landing, this very spot, was the place she’d killed him.
“Like I said before, it’s quite a nose you’ve got there, Tricky. And I can’t have you sniffing around the entrée this eve.”
“What do y—hrrk.”
“Hello, Tricky,” Ash said.
“TROUBLE SLEEPING?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“GUILTY CONSCIENCE?”
Ash shook her head, calculating how many steps it would take to reach the stairs. Hand slipping around the bottle of whiskey.
“Our Mia has her appetites.”
“OUR MIA.”
“Well,” she smiled crooked. “My Mia.”
The boy sighed, shook his head.
“YOU MAKE YOURSELF SMALLER, ASHLINN. TRYING TO RUB MY NOSE IN IT.”
“I don’t have to try to rub anything, Tricky,” Ash replied. “I know you can smell her on me. Smoke and sweat and those sweet and secret places. I know you remember what it was like to visit there. And I know how bad you want to go back. That nose of yours was always more trouble than it was worth.”
Tric looked out over the railing. The place she’d pushed his corpse after she’d stabbed him to his end. Ash could feel the strength radiating off him, here in this house of the dead, so close to truedark and the Abyss he’d crawled from. She’d seen him fighting during the attack on the Mountain, the dark power inside him completely and totally unleashed. Moving faster than she could hope to. Stronger than she could dream of being. Cutting down those who dared face him like a scythe to the wheat, as if he were an extension of the very Lady of Blessed Murder herself.
She felt cold. Felt what the chill in the air was doing to her body, conscious now of how thin the silken slip she wore was. She crossed one arm over her breasts, her other hand tightening around the bottle’s neck.
“YOU PLAY A DANGEROUS GAME, ASHLINN,” Tric said.
“They’re the only kind worth playing, Tricky. But you’re not going to kill me.”
He smiled at her then, and not a hint of it reached his eyes.
“AND WHY’S THAT?”
Ashlinn looked him over, blue eyes glittering.
“Because deep down? Beneath the murder and shit? You’ve got a good heart. O, you try to hide it. But you mostly do what’s right.” She smiled again, tilting her head. “And murdering a girl wearing nothing but her underthings just isn’t your style.”
“THE BOY YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT IS DEAD, ASHLINN.”
Tric’s eyes narrowed, ever so slightly.
“YOU KILLED HIM.”
“What do y—hrrk.”
Ashlinn blinked at the dagger in Tric’s hand. The blade gleaming silver. She felt the blow to her chest. Staggering back a step and grunting. The whiskey bottle toppled, shattering on the floor. His left hand fell on her shoulder, keeping her steady. His right hand held the knife, pressed hard into the flesh above her heart.
Hilt first.
Enough to leave a bruise. Nothing more. Enough to show her he could’ve killed her if he meant to. His hands were warm and night black on her skin, his grip as heavy as a guilty conscience. His eyes were full of rage, dark tears welling in his lashes as his lips curled and his voice dripped fury.
“I WANT TO KILL YOU,” he said. “GODDESS HELP ME, I DO. I WANT TO CUT YOUR FUCKING HEART IN TWO AND HURL YOU INTO THE BLACK LIKE YOU DID TO ME. WE WERE FRIENDS, YOU AND I. I TRUSTED YOU. AND YOU ENDED ME, WITHOUT A SHRED OF REMORSE OR A SINGLE FUCKING TEAR.”
Ash’s pulse was thunder in her veins. Mouth like ashes.
“BUT I’D NEVER DO ANYTHING TO HURT MIA. BECAUSE I LOVE HER, ASHLINN.”
Tric blinked, and two black tears spilled down his pallid cheeks.
“AND SHE LOVES YOU.”
He released his grip. Stepped away. Turning to the railing, he leaned on it with his elbows, black hands clasped before him. His saltlocks tumbled about his face as he stared out into the dark. Beautiful and broken. Because of her.
Ash stood frozen, hands at her chest. Looking at him, she could feel it welling up inside her. Past the walls she built for the world, the battlements she hid it all behind. The thing she’d tried to kill, to stomp down with her heels until it