Nevernight (The Nevernight Chronicle #1) - Jay Kristoff Page 0,178

Noted the boy was studiously ignoring her. Hearing the voice of a shadow echoing in her head.

“… it is for the best, mia…”

Three acolytes assembled. The victors in Truths, Songs, and Pockets. Mia wondered who had finally won in Aalea’s hall, what kind of secret they must have stolen to gain the Shahiid’s favor. She heard soft footsteps behind her. Found herself praying that she’d not turn and see Jessamine. Taking a deep breath, Mia glanced over her shoulder. And there, standing on the edge of the light, she saw Ashlinn. Hair in fresh warbraids, eyes twinkling in the dark. A small ironwood brooch was pinned to her shirt. A smiling harlequin’s masque.

“Sorry I’m late,” the girl smirked.

Winking to Mia, Ash stepped up to the dais, taking her place at Hush’s side. Mia was amazed. What kind of secret had the girl dredged up? What must it—

“Acolytes.”

Mia straightened, eyes front. The double doors leading into the antechamber had swung silently open. A Hand shrouded in long black robes was waiting on the threshold, a scroll unfurled before her. Beside her stood Revered Mother Drusilla.

“My congratulations to you all,” the old woman said. “Each of you have demonstrated a mastery in one of the four halls of this Church, and considerable proficiency in other areas of study. Of every acolyte in this year’s flock, you stand closest to initiation as Blades. But before Lord Cassius inducts you fully into the secrets of this circle, one final trial remains.”

The old woman turned, disappeared through the double doors in a swirl of black cloth. The Hand carrying the scroll stepped forward, consulted the parchment.

“Acolyte Tric?”

Tric took a deep breath and stepped forward. “Aye.”

“Walk with me.”

Mia watched the boy march forward, Naev beside him. She wondered what awaited him. Tried to put the memory of their last parting aside. The guilt that she’d hurt him, the anger in his eyes … If death lay beyond that door, she wanted to make it right between them. But he was already gone, crossing the threshold without a backward glance, the doors closing soundlessly behind him. Mia could feel Mister Kindly in her shadow, gravitating toward the growing fear around her. She glanced at Hush. Ashlinn. Wondered if the girl’s father had told her what to expect beyond.

The trio waited silently in the statue’s shadow. Minutes past. Long as years. That perpetual, ghostly choir the only sound. Finally, the doors swung open and Tric emerged. Jaw clenched. Slightly pale. Apparently unharmed. He found Mia’s eyes, and she saw a haunted look cross his face. For a moment, she thought he might speak. But without a word to the others, Tric was escorted up the spiral stairwell and out of sight.

Ash was looking straight ahead. Speaking in a whisper, her lips almost motionless.

“Be sure, Corvere.”

“Acolyte Mia.”

The Hand at the double doors was looking at her expectantly. Mister Kindly purred in her shadow. Mia stepped forward, hands in fists.

“Aye.”

“Walk with me.”

Mia stepped off the dais. Naev was beside again, escorting her as she’d done with Tric. As they reached the threshold, the woman touched her hand. Nodded.

“Hold it close, Mia Corvere. Hold it tight.”

Mia met the woman’s eyes, but there was no chance to ask what she meant. The girl turned, followed the Hand through a long passage of dark stone. The only sound was their soft footsteps, the choir muted as the double doors closed behind them. A large domed room waited beyond, set on all sides by vast arched windows of beautiful stained glass. Abstract patterns were wrought in the panes, blood-red spirals, twisting and turning, twelve fingers of light overlapping on the floor.

Standing in the light’s center, Mia saw the Revered Mother Drusilla. Her hands were folded in her robe, and she wore that patient, motherly smile. The obsidian key around her neck glittered with the slow rise and fall of her breast. Mia approached cautiously, searching the shadows, glad for the not-eyes in the back of her head.

She couldn’t help but notice the floor in front of Drusilla was wet.

Freshly scrubbed.

“Greetings, Acolyte.”

Mia swallowed. “Revered Mother.”

“This is your final trial before initiation. Are you prepared?”

“I suppose that depends what it is.”

“A simple thing. A moment and it is done. We have honed you to an edge so fine you could cut the sunslight in six. But before we induct you into the deeper mysteries, first we must see what beats at the heart of you.”

Mia thought back to that torture cell in Godsgrave. The “confessors” who’d