Nevernight (The Nevernight Chronicle #1) - Jay Kristoff Page 0,164

of notes in his hand. The Shahiid sealed the hall, but Diamo walked out a while later, right as rain. Went straight to Solis and bowed out of his contest.”

Ash looked to Mia.

“Could they be Lotti’s notes?”

Mia shook her head. “I don’t think Carlotta ever solved the quandary.”

“So where’d you hide your notes, Corvere?”

Mia swallowed hard. Looked to Tric. Then to Spiderkiller, sitting beside the Revered Mother. The pair were deep in conversation, glancing occasionally to Diamo. And Mia.

“… My room,” she said.

“O. Safe as houses then.”

Tric glanced at Mia. “Unless you left your room last night…”

Ashlinn glanced back and forth between them. “O, tell me you didn’t?”

Mia remained mute, watching Diamo. She saw Jessamine’s fuck you smile from the corner of her eye. The gleam in that adder green. Spiderkiller’s glittering stare.

“Maw’s teeth, Corvere,” Ash breathed. “You left your notes alone to go for a roll? Little Tricky can’t be that good…”

Tric looked wounded, opened his mouth to—

“’Byss and blood, pay attention,” Osrik whispered. “They’re about to start.”

Ash turned to Solis and his assistants, clamped her lips shut. The Hand holding the human skull had proffered it to a second, standing beside her. A smooth, black stone with a name inscribed on it had been drawn from the hollowed crown, held aloft to the assembled acolytes.

“Marcellus Domitian.”

The handsome Itreyan boy looked up at the mention of his name. “Aye.”

“Step forward, Acolyte,” Solis commanded.

Marco nodded, stepped into the circle’s center. The boy tilted his head ’til his neck popped, stretched his arms and touched his toes. The Hand grasped a stone, drew it forth and read the name.

“Mia Corvere.”

Mia saw Marcellus smile to himself, Diamo and Jessamine share a smug grin. Marco was a skilled swordsman, and he stood a decent chance of placing top four. The boy had thrashed Mia soundly in every sparring match they’d ever had, and everyone in the room knew it.

Mia hovered on the circle’s edge. Solis’s eyebrow slowly rising.

“Acolyte?”

Mia drew a deep breath and walked out into the circle, soundless as cats. Tread steady. Breath even. She took her place in the circle’s center, Solis between her and her opponent. The acolytes stared each other down, Marco’s lips twisted.

“Fear not, Mi Dona,” he said. “I’ll be gentle with you.”

Mia spared him a withering glance. Marco grinned. One of the Hands held out a silver priest on an open palm, showed both sides of the coin to ensure no larceny was afoot. On one face, the trinity of three suns, intertwined. On the other, an embossed image of the Senate House in Godsgrave, the Ribs rising into sky behind it.

“Acolyte Mia, call the toss.”

“Trinity.”

The acolyte flipped the coin. Quicker than flies, Solis’s hand snaked out, snatched it from the air. The Shahiid’s worm-blind stare bored into Mia’s own.

“I’m certain you’ve not forgotten your first lesson at my hands, Acolyte,” he said. “But I will remind you once more that this is the Hall of Songs, not shadows. If I suspect you of fighting with anything other than blades during these bouts, it will not just be your swordarm I remove from your body. Is that understood?”

Mia looked up into those empty eyes. Her voice a whisper.

“Understood, Shahiid.”

The big man let the coin drop from his hand. It sparkled in the stained-glass light as it fell, chimed as it struck the stone.

“Senate side up,” reported the Hand.

“Choose your weapons, Acolyte Mia,” Solis said.

Mia stepped to the weapon racks, walked along rows and rows of sharpened steel. Glancing at Jessamine, she drew a rapier and stiletto. The redhead scoffed. Tric looked decidedly concerned as a curious murmur ran around the circle. Mia had never proved much worth with the traditional dual-handed styles of Caravaggio or Delphini. In Solis’s lessons, she’d been constantly berated that her arm was too weak, and she’d not fared much better when Tric tried to teach her the finer points. She could practically see the question in the boy’s eyes.

What are you playing at?

Still, for all his doubts, Tric made a fist, gave her a confidence-boosting nod. But beyond him, lurking in the shadows at the Hall’s edge among the other Hands, Mia saw Naev. The Hand was shrouded in her cloak, strawberry blond curls framing her veiled face. And it was to the woman, not the boy, that she nodded back.

Marcellus chose a heavy longsword and buckler to counter Mia’s choices, relying on his superior strength to win the bout quickly. Mia watched the boy through her fringe as they took up