you for the whole poisoned chalice of destiny thing, though.”
“Good fortune, lass,” the chronicler said sadly. “However it ends, at least you had a story to tell.”
Mia crushed out her smoke underheel. Looking her old mentor in the eye. The man who’d taken her in. Who’d loved her like a daughter. Who’d been more of a father to her than any of them.
“Don’t do this, Mia,” he begged. “Please.”
“I can’t just leave Jonnen with him, Mercurio. What would that make me? What have the last eight years been about, if not familia?”
“But the map’s gone,” he said. “You don’t even know the way.”
She closed her eyes then. Thinking of bow-shaped lips and long tresses of golden blond. Gentle curves and sharp shadows and freckled skin on crumpled, sweat-soaked sheets. So clear in her mind she could almost reach out and touch her.
A sight she’d never forget, as long as she lived.
“I remember the way,” she whispered.
* * *
“Least I’m not traveling by horse,” Mia sighed.
She slung her supplies onto the camel’s back, shoulders aching at the strain. Mia knew trekking into the deepwastes was going to be more dangerous than sticking her face in a gorewasp’s nest, so heading out by wagon was a far more sensible option.* But truth was, not enough beasts had survived her arkemist’s salt explosion to haul anything of the kind. Flaming shrapnel had torn through the stables during the blast, most of the mounts had been maimed or killed. Of every beast in the Red Church pens, only one of them had miraculously escaped mostly unscathed.
The beast in question growled a complaint, staring at Mia with mud-brown eyes.
“Shut the fuck up, Julius,” she growled.
Sidonius and Bladesinger stood on the stairwell, watching her load her gear.
“How long, the journey?” Sid asked.
Mia straightened, dragging her hair behind her ear. “At least two weeks across the deep Whisperwastes by my reckoning.”
“Truedark will fall soon,” Sid said, meeting her gaze.
“Last Hope to Godsgrave is at least eight weeks by sea,” Bladesinger said. “And the Ladies of Storms and Oceans still want you dead, last we checked. Presuming we don’t all die horribly out there, how are you planning on getting us back to the ’Grave in time to deal with Scaeva?”
“Who’s ‘us’?” Mia asked.
Bladesinger frowned as she tied back her locks. “Who do you think?”
“You’re not coming with me, ’Singer. Neither you, Sid.”
“Pig’s arse,” Sidonius said. “We’re with you to the end.”
“All of us,” came a voice.
There on the stairs stood the last two senior members of the Red Church. Adonai was dressed in faun leather breeches and a thin robe of white silk. He also wore a broad-brimmed hat, azurite spectacles, and white gloves—obviously to spare his skin the touch of the sunslight. Beside him stood Mercurio, who’d abandoned his bishop’s robes in favor of a more utilitarian tunic and britches. His walking stick beat crisply upon the stone as the pair made their way down to the stable floor.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Mia asked.
“With thee, little darkin,” the speaker replied.
Mia blinked. “No, you’re not.”
“All evidence points to the contrary,” her old mentor said, shouldering his pack.
“Mercurio,” Mia said, placing a hand on his arm. “You can’t come on weeks-long trek into a magically polluted hellscape. You’re eighty years old.”
“I’m sixty-fucking-two,” the old man growled.
Mia simply stared.
Mercurio put hands on hips in indignation. “Listen here, little Crow, I was slitting throats when you were knee-high to a scabdog—”
“That’s my point,” Mia said.
The girl looked between Sid and ’Singer, Mercurio and Adonai, shaking her head.
“I appreciate the sentiment, truly. But even if I wanted you to risk yourselves, there’s not enough camels to carry us all. Are you going to walk to the Crown?”
“If needs be,” the old man growled.
Mia looked between the bishop and speaker. “You two are all that remains of the Church hierarchy. If I actually pull this off, if the balance is truly restored between Light and Night, we need people in charge who actually know what the Red Church is supposed to represent.” Mia raised an eyebrow at Mercurio’s walking stick. “And no offense, but it’s been a while since any of you had to do any frontline fighting…”
Adonai began to protest. “Thou shalt be in need of all—”
“Am I the Lady of Blades, or am I not?”
“… Thou art,” the speaker replied.
“Then you’re staying here,” she said, looking at Mercurio. “If I don’t return … If I fail, you’re the only ones who can rescue Jonnen and Marielle.”