the girl’s lungs. The old woman marked one cheek, then the other, finally smudging a long streak down Mia’s lips and chin. The girl felt the gravity of that moment in her bones, dragging her belly to her boots. The Mother nodded and Mia backed away, hugging herself, licking the blood from her lips, near weeping, laughing. One step closer to avenging her familia. One step closer to standing on Scaeva’s tomb.
She was here, she realized.
I’m here.
The ritual was repeated, each acolyte bringing forth their tithes one by one. Some brought teeth, others eyes—the tall boy with the sledgehammer hands brought a rotting heart, wrapped in black velvet. Mia realized there wasn’t a single one of them who wasn’t a murderer. That of all the rooms in the Republic there was probably none more dangerous than the one she stood in, right at that moment.6
“Your studies begin on the morrow,” the Revered Mother said. “Evemeal will be served in the Sky Altar in a half-hour.” She indicated the row of robed figures. “Hands will be available should you need guidance, and I would suggest you avail yourselves until you find your bearings. The Mountain can be difficult to navigate at first, and getting lost within these halls can have … unfortunate consequences.” Blue eyes glittered in the dark. “Walk softly. Learn well. May Our Lady be late when she finds you. And when she does, may she greet you with a kiss.”
The old woman bowed, stepped back into the gloom. The other Ministry members left one by one. Tric wandered over to Mia, greeted her with a smile, his cheeks red with blood. He’d been bathed and scrubbed, and even his saltlocks looked a little less sentient.
“You shaved,” she smirked.
“Don’t get used to it. Happens twice a year.” He squinted at Naev, recognition slowly widening in his eyes. “How in the name of the Lady…”
“We meet again.” The thin woman bowed low. “Naev gives thanks for his assistance in the deep desert. The debt shall not be forgot.”
“How are you still walking and breathing?”
“Secrets within secrets in this place,” Mia said.
“Corvere?” said a soft voice behind her.
Mia turned to the speaker. It was the girl she’d noted; the pretty one with a jagged red bob and green, hunter’s eyes. She was studying at Mia intently, head tilted. The tall Itreyan boy with sledgehammer hands loomed beside her like an angry shadow.
“In the ceremony,” the girl said. “You said your name was Corvere?”
“Aye,” Mia said.
“Are you by chance related to Darius Corvere? The former justicus?”
Mia weighed up the girl in her mind. Fit. Fast. Hard as wood. But whoever she was, Mia was certain Scaeva and his cronies would have no allies within these walls; Remus and his Luminatii had vowed to do away with the Red Church since the Truedark Massacre, after all. Even so, Mercurio had urged Mia to leave her name behind when she crossed this threshold. It was one of the few things they’d argued about. Stupid perhaps. But her father’s death was the whole reason she’d begun walking this road. The name Corvere had been erased from the histories by Scaeva and his lackeys—she’d not leave it behind in the dust, no matter what it cost her.
“I’m Darius Corvere’s daughter,” Mia finally replied. “And you are?”
“Jessamine, daughter of Marcinus Gratianus.”
“Apologies. Is that someone I should have heard of?”
“First centurion of the Luminatii Legion,” the girl scowled. “Executed by order of the Itreyan Senate after the Kingmaker Rebellion.”
Mia’s frown softened. Black Mother, this was the daughter of one of her father’s centurions. A girl just like her—orphaned by Consul Scaeva and Justicus Remus and the rest of those bastards. Someone who knew the taste of injustice as well as she did.
Mia offered her hand. “Well met, sister. My—”
Jessamine slapped the hand away, eyes flashing. “You’re no sister to me, bitch.”
Mia felt Tric bristle beside her, Mister Kindly’s hackles rise in the shadow at her feet. She rubbed her slapped knuckles, speaking carefully.
“I grieve your loss. Truly, I do. My fath—”
“Your father was a fucking traitor,” Jessamine snarled. “His men died because they honored their oaths to a fool justicus, and their skulls now pave the steps to the Senate House. Because of the mighty Darius Corvere.”
“My father was loyal to General Antonius,” Mia said. “He had oaths to honor too.”
“Your father was a fucking lapdog,” Jessamine spat. “Everyone knows why he followed Antonius, and it had nothing to do with honor. My father and brother were crucified