Nevernight (The Nevernight Chronicle #1) - Jay Kristoff Page 0,113

back into the carriage without a word.

“… well this is bracing, isn’t it . .?”

“That’s one word for it.”

“… you seem to have lost half your dress…”

“Kind of you to notice.”

“… though given the way you danced with that boy, i imagine losing only half is a disappointment…”

Mia rolled her eyes, whipped the horses harder.

They abandoned the carriage south of the Hips, Mia hopping down onto the cobbles and tipping her tricorn at the bemused owner. Up on the driver’s seat, the wind had been bitterly cold, and Mia’s lips were turning blue. She was on the verge of lamenting her choice of attire again when Tric pulled off his frock coat and, without a word, slipped it around her shoulders. Still warm from the press of his skin.

They dashed through back alleys and over little bridges, wending their way south toward the Bay of Butchers. Arriving at the Porkery, they stole inside, creeping up the stairs to the mezzanine above the now-silent killing floor.

Mia was dizzy from blood loss, her arm dripping, the sleeve of Tric’s coat soaked through. Tric’s waistcoat and britches were drenched too, his hand pressed to an awful gash in his side. Their faces pale and pained, the memories of the music, the dance, the whiskey and the smiles already a tattered memory. They’d barely made it out with their lives. Creeping down the twisted stairwell, the stench of copper and salt rising in their nostrils, down, down into the blood-drenched chamber below.

Shahiid Aalea was waiting for them.

Gone was the elegant gown, the drakebone corset, the pretty domino. She was dressed in black, rivers of raven hair framing that pale, heart-shaped face. The only color was her smile. Red as the blood dripping down Mia’s arm.

“Did you have fun playing at being people, my loves?” she asked.

“You…” Tric winced, still breathless. “You…”

The Shahiid walked across the tile toward them. Lifted Tric’s hand away from his wound and tutted. Kissed Mia’s bloody fingertips.

“Our gift to you,” she said. “A reminder. Walk among them. Play among them. Live and laugh and love among them. But never forget, not for one moment, what you are.”

Aalea released Mia’s hand.

“And never forget what it is to serve.”

The Shahiid waved to the pool beyond.

“Happy Great Tithe, children.”

1. The wounds from Lord Cassius’s test of loyalty were all but mended among the flock by now, and to Mia’s dismay, Pip’s mutterings to his knife resumed with a vengeance.

2. Liisian portraiture is widely considered the finest in the Republic, and the best artistes can charge small fortunes for commissions. Vaiello, a famous artiste who lived at the court of Francisco XIV, achieved such frightening wealth that it was said he could buy the kingdom twice over. Sadly, after an incident involving one too many bottles of wine, Francisco’s second son, Donatello, a four-poster bed, and a riding crop, Vaiello found himself tried for treason and sentenced to death.

Predictably, Vaiello’s execution led to a profound escalation in the value of his paintings, and the marrowborn who owned them made small fortunes. Unexpectedly, however, it also led to a sudden rash of murders among famed Liisian artists, as certain wily nobles sought to increase the value of their own collections by killing off the poor bastards who’d painted them. Painters began dropping like flies, and in the few months following Vaiello’s death, “portrait artist” became the most dangerous occupation in the kingdom.

This spate of paintercide led to a frightening spike in the price of new work, as fewer masters were now available to paint commissions. Realizing their increased worth, these masters also began training fewer apprentices, leading to yet higher prices. During the height of the crisis, the going rate for a standard sitting was said to be two medium-sized estates in upper Valentia and a firstborn daughter. The debacle was put to an end only when King Francisco stepped in, simultaneously commissioning two colleges for the training of Liisian artists (one in Godsgrave and a second, more renowned one in Elai) and declaring the murder of a Liisian artist a crime punishable by crucifixion.

This incident, by the way, is still held up at the Grand Collegium in Godsgrave as a perfect illustration of the laws of supply and demand. In Vaiello’s honor, it is dubbed “the Riding Crop Principle.”

CHAPTER 20

FACES

Only one of them never made it back alive from Godsgrave. A boy with dark hair and a dimpled smile named Tovo. A quiet mass was held for him in the Hall of Eulogies.

An unmarked