Nevernight (The Nevernight Chronicle #1) - Jay Kristoff Page 0,136

Tric’s door, relieved that it was already ajar. Leaving the stink of aspira and smoke behind, she and Ash trudged up to the Sky Altar, found Tric and Osrik already sitting at table with Carlotta. Tric was watching the stairs, visibly brightening when he saw Mia. Lotti was bent over a leather-bound book, scribbling notes and asking Osrik quiet questions. The boy was leaning close, radiating easy charm, his lips curled in a handsome smile.

Fetching breakfast, Ash and Mia sat down beside the trio. A glance told Mia that Carlotta was working on some kind of poison, though oddly, it didn’t seem related to Spiderkiller’s formula. Her notes were written in code—looked to be some variant of the Elberti sequence mixed with homebrew.

Clever work for a former slavegirl.

“Well, I’m not surprised to find Lotti up here first. If it’s venom, she knows it.” Ash glanced at Tric. “But how the ’byss did you get out so quick, Tricky?”

“O, ye of little faith.”

“Let me guess. Bashed the door down with your head?”

“Didn’t have to,” Tric waggled his eyebrows. “I smelled the aspira before they had a chance to jam the locks. Poked my head into the corridor to see what was happening, Mouser called me a rude word in Tongueless and sent me up here.”

Ashlinn grinned. “Quite a nose you’ve got there, Tricky.”

Tric shrugged, glanced to Mia. “How’d you manage it?”

Mia was watching the stairwell. More acolytes were filing into the Sky Altar now. Jessamine, Hush, Diamo, Marcellus … but there were still half a dozen acolytes missing. Ash was already joking about it, but downstairs, some of their number were likely dying. People they knew. People who …

She realized the others were looking at her expectantly, waiting for the particulars of her escape.

“Pressure differential,” she explained. “Hot vapor rises through the hole in the ceiling. Draft under the door brings in fresh air. Simple convection, outlined by Micades back in fourteen…”

Mia’s voice died beneath three blank stares.

“She set fire to her bed,” Carlotta finally offered, not glancing up from her notes.

Ash looked between Mia and Tric. Opened her mouth to speak as Mia cut her off.

“Not. A. Fucking. Word.”

With a knowing grin, Ash turned back to her meal.

Three turns later, Mia was sitting on her brand-new bed, the charred smell of the old one still hanging vaguely in the air. Another of their number had perished during the Blue Morning—a quiet lad named Tanith who’d honestly never been much of a master of Truths. Another unmarked tomb in the Hall of Eulogies.

Another acolyte who would never again see the suns.

Mia was surrounded by notes, working again on Spiderkiller’s formula. Cigarillo propped on her lips, she pored over Arkemical Truths and the dozen tomes the Shahiid had given her novices. Mia had to admire the beauty of Spiderkiller’s quandary—trying to solve it was like trying to find a single piece of hay in a stack of poisoned needles. But still, she delighted in the riddle. Like that little girl and her puzzle box. Her mother’s voice ringing in her head.

“Beauty you’re born with, but brains you earn.”

Don’t look.

“… you will miss dinner, mia…”

“Yes, Father.”

“… your stomach seems to be growling some forgotten dialect of ashkahi…”

She looked up from her notes, the formulae still dancing in the air. Put a hand to her rumbling belly. The answer was there, she knew it. But still tantalizingly out of reach.

“All right. This will keep.”

The Sky Altar was filled with acolytes, mouthwatering smells wafting from the bustling kitchens. The Shahiid weren’t present—no doubt at some faculty gathering to discuss progress among the novices—but black-robed Hands bustled about, serving wine and clearing away crockery.

Mia heaped a plate with roast lamb and honeyed greens, plopped down beside Ash and Carlotta and started shoveling her meal down without pause. Lotti was busy scribbling in her notebook. Ash was talking about a bar brawl she’d seen when the girls were in Godsgrave looking for secrets; a few malcontents had spoken against Consul Scaeva and his “emergency powers” and had been set upon by half a dozen braavi thugs who apparently found the consul’s rule more than satisfactory.2

“City seems angry,” Ash declared around a mouthful of lamb.

Mia nodded. “More Luminatii on the streets than I’ve ever seen.”

“Prettier than the soldier boys I’m used to seeing in Carrion Hall, too.”

“One-track mind, Järnheim.”

The girl grinned, waggled her eyebrows as her brother studiously ignored her. Mia looked to Carlotta, still busy scribbling notes.

“How goes it?” Mia asked.

“Slowly,” the girl murmured, scanning the page.