Nevernight (The Nevernight Chronicle #1) - Jay Kristoff Page 0,104

and down.

“Maw’s teeth, Jessamine gave you a kicking.”

“Better than a stabbing.”

“Looks like you had a few of those, too.”

“I suppose I should go the weaver. Get seen to.”

Tric scowled at the mention of Marielle, turned his eyes back to the statue above. He ran one hand over his face absentmindedly, fingertips tracing those awful tattoos. Not for the first time, Mia found herself studying his profile and chiding herself for a fool almost in the same heartbeat. He’d be a ladykiller without that ink, no mistake. And she was glad he’d made it back from Drusilla’s testing. But still …

Eyes on the prize, Corvere.

“I’ve a notion,” she said.

“O, dear,” Tric mumbled.

Mia raised the knuckles. Marielle’s shadow fell from the boy’s face, and he gifted her a grin. He turned away from Niah’s statue, facing Mia with arms folded.

“Out with it, then.”

“As you were kind enough to notice, I’ve fallen a little behind in Songs.”

“A little?” Tric snorted. “There’s training dummies up there who could mop the floor with you, Pale Daughter.”

“Well, thank you very much,” Mia scowled. “If you’d like to go somewhere and quietly fuck yourself, I’ll be waiting here patiently for your return.”

Tric raised an eyebrow. Mia sighed, told her temper to go sit in the corner.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“No need,” he smiled. “I’m not sure polite suits you.”

“I’ve a proposition.”

“Color me flattered.”

“Not that kind of proposition, you nonce.”

She punched the boy’s arm and he grinned. But somewhere in that sparkling hazel, she saw a sliver of disappointment. Something in his stance and the tilt of his head. Something that, after months of Aalea’s tutelage, she was beginning to recognize.

Want.

“I’m getting my arse kicked in Songs,” she said. “And you’re about as much use in Spiderkiller’s class as a eunuch’s codpiece.” Mia charged on over Tric’s mumbled protest. “So, you catch me up on Solis’s sword forms so Jessamine can’t cut my head off, and I’ll make sure you know enough not to poison yourself before initiation. Fair?”

Tric frowned. She could see Want wrestling with Common Sense now.

“There’s not enough places among the Blades for all of us, Mia. Technically we’re in competition with each other. Why would I help you?”

“Because I said please?”

“… You didn’t say please.”

Mia waved her hand. “A mere technicality.”

Tric smiled and Mia grinned back, hand on hip. Aalea had told her that silence could be the best response to a question, if the person asking already knew the answer. So she remained mute, staring up into those big, pretty eyes and letting Want speak instead. A part of her felt bad to be trying Aalea’s craft out on her friend, but as Tric himself pointed out, he was technically competition. And as Aalea was fond of saying, never carry a blade if you’re not willing to get bloody.

“All right,” Tric finally said. “An hour every eve after lessons. Meet me in the Hall of Songs on the morrow.”

Mia curtseyed. “My thanks, Don Tric.”

Tric offered his hand and she shook it to seal the pact. They hung there for a moment, hands entwined. Her skin prickled as his thumb gently traced the curve of her wrist. Remembering himself, Tric let her go, mumbled something that might’ve been an apology and made his escape. Mia turned to walk in the opposite direction, hiding the small smile on her lips as her shadow began to speak.

“… though i have no face, believe me when i say i am scowling the pants off you right now…”

Mia rolled her eyes. “Yes, Father.”

“… of course, a state of pantslessness seems to be your goal, so perhaps i should stop…”

“Yes, Fatherrrrr.”

“… do not take that tone of voice with me, young lady…”

Mia grinned, aimed a playful kick that passed right through Mister Kindly’s head. The girl and her shadow wandered off toward the dorms, in search of bed and dreams.

A beautiful boy stepped from the dark, following their path with bright blue eyes.

As always, he breathed not a word.

Long hours later, a loud knock dragged Mia from the arms of her books. She slipped her stiletto from her wrist, threw a robe around her shoulders. Creeping forward to the door, she whispered to whoever waited on the other side.

“Ash?”

“Please open the door, Acolyte.”

Mia gripped her knife tighter, twisted the key and peered out into the darkened hallway. She saw a Hand outside her door, long black robes, hooded features. She thought of Naev, then. Wondered briefly where she was.

“You are summoned by Revered Mother Drusilla,” the Hand said.

“Of course.” Mia bowed.