Nevernight (The Nevernight Chronicle #1) - Jay Kristoff Page 0,103

already missed dozens of lessons; any longer, she’d risk falling too far behind to stand a chance in Solis’s trial. She didn’t favor her odds anyway; her best hope of finishing top of hall was crafting Spiderkiller’s antidote. But making a mistake in Spiderkiller’s contest meant dying, and besides, if she graduated to fully fledged Blade, she’d need all the swordcraft she could muster. Sitting on her arse reading all turn wasn’t going to cut it.

As she walked into the Hall of Songs, Jessamine looked up from beating the stuffing out of a training dummy and shot her a fuck you smile. As Mia took her place at circle, Solis raised one eyebrow, staring with those awful, blind eyes. The cut she’d given him still hadn’t been healed by Weaver Marielle—a tiny new scar, which the Last One had obviously decided to keep, graced one weathered cheek.

The Shahiid didn’t deign to welcome her back, nor make mention of the acolytes who’d not returned from Godsgrave.

“We begin with a refresher on Montoya’s dual-hand forms,” Solis said. “I trust you have been practicing. Acolyte Jessamine, perhaps you would be kind enough to show Acolyte Mia some of what she has missed in her absence?”

Another smile. “With pleasure, Shahiid.”

The acolytes paired off, began running through their drills. Jessamine strode to the weapon racks, took a pair of curved daggers and tossed another pair to Mia. The girl hefted the blades, her elbow quietly complaining.

“We practice with real steel, Shahiid?” Mia asked.

The Last One’s face was stone as he replied. “Consider it an incentive.”

Jessamine raised her knives without a word and struck at Mia’s throat. The girl drew back, barely managed to muster a guard against the redhead’s strikes. It seemed the class had moved forward in leaps and bounds in her absence, and between her lack of training and her still-weakened arm, Mia found herself hopelessly outmatched. Jessamine was fierce and skilled, and it was all Mia could do to keep her insides where they were supposed to be. She wore a few shallow cuts on her forearm, another gash across her chest, blood spattering on the stone as she cursed.

Jessamine smiled. “You want a break, Corvere?”

“My thanks, love. Your jaw would do nicely.”

Jessamine simply laughed, flipping her daggers back and forth. Knowing better than to look to Solis for intervention, Mia staunched her wounds and went back to sparring. Studying the forms of the others around her as best she could in between dodging Jessamine’s blades. After an hour of knives they swapped to shortswords, and Jessamine was no less merciless. Mia spent the rest of the morning having her arse kicked up and down the hall, and she ended the lesson flat on her back, bleeding and bruised. Jessamine’s blade was pressed to her throat, right on her jugular. And though the redhead held herself in check, Mia could tell she’d give almost anything to flick her wrist and turn the stone red.

Jessamine bowed to Solis, sneered at Mia and returned her weapons to the rack. Mia climbed to her feet, clutching her aching elbow, frustration boiling inside her. The time she’d lost to her injury had cost her dear, and she’d fallen behind further than she feared. She’d have to work twice as hard to make up the lost ground, and Jessamine might just “accidentally” gut her in the meantime.

The shame of it was, she and Jess were really one and the same. Both orphans of the Kingmaker Rebellion. Both robbed of their familia, driven by the same thirst. If Jess hadn’t been so blinded by her rage, they might have been fast friends. Held together by the kind of bond only hate can forge. And though Julius Scaeva, not Darius Corvere, was to blame for the death of Jessamine’s father, Mia could still understand why the sight of her blood made the other girl smile.

If you can’t hurt the ones who hurt you, sometimes hurting anyone will do.

All this was small comfort after the absolute thrashing she’d received, of course. And if Jess actually decided to act on her bloodlust away from a Shahiid’s gaze? To really try for her life? Mia would likely end up as nothing but a stain on the floor.

No, this won’t do.

Mia shook her head, limped from the hall.

This won’t do at all.

“How do, Don Tric?”

She’d found him in the Hall of Eulogies after lessons, staring up at the statue of Niah. He shot her a dimpled smile as she spoke. Looked her up