Nevernight (The Nevernight Chronicle #1) - Jay Kristoff Page 0,121

got the look of a girl who’s no stranger to the page. I can tell. You’ve got words in your soul.”

“Words in my soul?” Mia scoffed. “‘Burn After Reading’?”

“Listen, girl,” Aelius sniffed. “The books we love, they love us back. And just as we mark our places in the pages, those pages leave their marks on us. I can see it in you, sure as I see it in me. You’re a daughter of words. A girl with a story to tell.”

“They don’t tell stories about Red Church disciples, Chronicler,” Mia said. “No songs sung for us. No ballads or poems. People live and die in the shadows, here.”

“Well, maybe here’s not where you’re supposed to be.”

She looked up sharply at that. Eyes narrowed in the smoke.

“Anyways.” The old man pushed himself off the shelf and sighed. “I’ll keep an eye out. And if I find a book about darkin worth reading, I’ll pass it along. Fair?”

“… Fair.” Mia bowed. “My thanks, Chronicler.”

“You two had best be off. And me besides. Too many books. Too few centuries.”

The old man escorted Mia and Tric through the labyrinth of shelves, trundling his RETURNS trolley and trailing a thin line of sugar-scented smoke all the way to the doors. And though the distance had looked like miles to Mia, they arrived at the exit in a handful of minutes, the forest of paper and words left far behind them.

“Cheerio.”

Nodding to them both, Aelius smiled and closed the doors without a sound.

Tric turned to her with a crooked grin. “Words in your soul, eh?”

“O, fuck off.”

The boy spread his arms, loudly proclaiming, “A girl with a story to tell!”

Mia aimed a hard punch, right into Tric’s bicep. The boy flinched as Mia cursed, jarring her injured elbow. Tric raised both his fists, threw a few sparring punches toward her head as she slapped him off, aiming a boot at his hindquarters as he turned away. And together, the pair wandered off into the darkness.

She resisted the urge to take the boy’s hand again.

Just barely.

CHAPTER 22

POWER

She was fourteen years old the last time the suns fell from the sky.

The greatest wordsmiths of the Republic have never truly captured the beauty of a full Itreyan sunsset. The blood stench wafting over Godsgrave streets as Aa’s priests sacrifice animals in the thousands, beseeching the God of Light to return soon. The bloody glow of Saan on the horizon, colliding with Saai’s pale blue, tumbling further into a sullen indigo. It takes three turns for the light to fully die. Three turns of prayer, slaughter and budding hysteria until the Mother of Night briefly reclaims dominion of the sky.

And then, the truedark Carnivalé begins.

Mia woke to the sound of revelry. The constant popopopop of fireworks from the Iron Collegium, meant to frighten the Maw back below the horizon. She stretched out her hand, watched the shadows play. Feeling the power that had been growing inside her these last few turns finally blooming. With a wave of her hand, a tendril of shadow flipped an entire stack of books into the air, scattering the tomes across the room. At her whim, more shadows reached out, putting each book back in its proper place. She opened her bedroom door with a glance. Dressed without lifting a finger.

“… bravo…,” Mister Kindly had said. “… if only i had hands to applaud…”

Mia smacked her backside. “I’d settle for lips to kiss my sweet behind.”

“… i would have to find it first…”

“Arses are like wine, Mister Kindly. Better too little than too much.”

“… a beauty and a philosopher. be still, my beating heart…”

The not-cat looked down at its translucent chest.

“… o, wait…”

The girl checked the knives at her belt, in her boots, tucked up her sleeve. She was a scrap of a thing, crooked fringe and hollow cheeks, full of all the confidence fourteen years in the world brings. Listening downstairs, she heard Old Mercurio’s familiar murmur, swapping gossip with one of his frequent not-customers. The old man wasn’t one for revelry. Unlike every other resident of Godsgrave, her master would be staying off the streets tonights. He had eyes aplenty out there already.

“… you insist on doing this, then…?”

She looked to her friend. All trace of jest draining from her face, leaving it hard and pale.

“This is my best chance. I’ve never felt as strong as I have in truedark. If I’m ever going to get in there, it’s tonights.”

“… you should tell the old man…”

“He’d try to talk me out of