Nevernight (The Nevernight Chronicle #1) - Jay Kristoff Page 0,47

Her footfalls rang like bells in the vast space. The only sound was the tune of what might have been a choir, hanging disembodied in the air. The hymn was beautiful, wordless, endless. The place had a feeling unlike any other she’d visited. There were no altars nor golden trim, but for the first time in her life, she felt as if she were somewhere … sanctified.

Mister Kindly whispered in her ear.

“… i like it here…”

“What are these names, Shahiid?” Tric asked.

Mia blinked, realized the floor beneath them was engraved with names. Hundreds. Thousands. Etched in tiny letters on polished black stone.

“The names of every life claimed by this Church for the Mother.” The man bowed to the statue above. “Here we honor those taken. The Hall of Eulogies, as I said.”

“And the tombs?” Mia asked, nodding to the walls.

“They house the bodies of servants of the Mother, gone to her side. Along with those we have taken, here we also honor those fallen.”

“But there are no names carved on these tombs, Shahiid.”

Mouser stared at Mia, the ghostly choir singing in the dark.

“The Mother knows their names,” he finally said. “No other matters.”

Mia blinked. Glancing up at the statue looming above her head. The goddess to whom this Church belonged. Terrible and beautiful. Unknowable and powerful.

“Come,” said Shahiid Mouser. “Your chambers await.”

He led them from the grand hall, through one of the vast pointed arches. A great flight of steps spiraled up into the black. Mia remembered Old Mercurio’s willow switch, the accursed library stairs he’d made her run up and down so many times she’d lost count. She smiled at the memory, even as she thanked the old man for the exercise, climbing in long, easy strides.

They ascended, the Shahiid of Pockets behind them, silent as the plague.

“Black Mother,” Tric panted. “They should have named it the Red Stairwell…”

“Are you well?” she whispered. “Mister Kindly helped?”

“Aye. It was…” The boy shook his head. “To look inside and find only steel … I’ve never felt anything like it. Crutch be damned. Being darkin must be a grand thing.”

They tromped up the stairs into a long corridor. Arches stretching away into lightless black, spiral patterns on every wall. Shahiid Mouser stopped outside a wooden door, pushed it open. Mia looked in on a large room, furnished with beautiful dark wood and a huge bed covered in lush gray fur. Her body ached at the sight. It’d been at least two nevernights since she slept …

“Your chambers, Acolyte Mia,” Mouser said.

“Where do I stay?” Tric asked.

“Down the hall. The other acolytes are already settled. You two are the last to arrive.”

“How many are there?” Mia asked.

“Almost thirty. I look forward to seeing which are iron and which are glass.”

Tric nodded in farewell and followed Mouser down the corridor. Mia stepped inside and dropped her pack by the door. Habit forced her to search every corner, drawer and keyhole. She finished by peering under the bed before collapsing atop it. Contemplating untying her boots, she decided she was too exhausted to bother. And dropping back into the pillows, she crashed into a sleep deeper than she’d ever known.

A cat made of shadows perched on the bedhead, watching her dreams.

“… someone comes…”

She woke to Mister Kindly’s cold whisper in her ear. Her eyes flashed open and she sat up as a soft rapping sounded at her door. Mia drew her dagger, clawed the hair from sand-crusted eyes. Forgetting where she was for a moment. Back in her old room above Mercurio’s shop? Back in the Ribs, her baby brother asleep beside her, parents in the next room …

No.

Don’t look …

She spoke uncertainly. “Come in?”

The door opened softly and a figure swathed in black robes entered, crossing the room to halt at the foot of the bed. Mia raised her gravebone blade warily.

“You either picked the wrong room or the wrong girl…”

The intruder raised her hands. She pulled back her hood, and Mia saw strawberry blond curls, familiar eyes peering out between veils of black cloth.

“Naev . .?”

But that was impossible. The woman’s guts had been torn to ribbons by those kraken hooks. After two turns rotting in the sun, her blood would’ve been swimming with poison. How in the Maw’s name was she even alive, let alone walking and talking?

“You should be dead…”

“Should be. But is not.” The thin woman bowed. “Thanks to her.”

Mia shook her head. “You don’t owe me thanks.”

“More than thanks. She risked her life to save Naev. Naev will not