Nevernight (The Nevernight Chronicle #1) - Jay Kristoff Page 0,56

The blood of the Lord of Blades. Right Hand of the Mother herself.”

Mia found herself unable to tear her eyes away from the man.

Ashlinn flashed her a dimpled smile.

“For the leader of a cult of mass murderers, he’s not hard on the eyes, neh?”

Mia dragged her fringe from her lashes, heart in her throat. Ashlinn wasn’t—

“Keep staring at me, koffi,” said a deep voice, “and I’ll cut out those pretty eyes.”

Mia blinked in the sudden still, turned back to her table. She realized the big Dweymeri boy was speaking to Tric, contempt in his gaze.

Tric rose, roastknife clutched in his hand.

“What did you call me, bastard?”

“You name me bastard?” The big Dweymeri laughed. “My name is Floodcaller, thirdson of Rainrunner of the Seaspear clan. What is your clan, koffi? Did your father even give your mother his name when he was done wiping her stink off his cock?”

Tric’s face paled, his jaw clenched.

“You’re a fucking dead man,” he hissed.

Mia put a restraining hand on his arm, but Tric was off, diving toward Floodcaller’s throat. The bigger boy was on his feet, leaping across the table and knocking plates, glasses and both Mia and Hush aside in his haste to get to Tric. Mia fell with a curse and a smash of crockery, her shoulder knocking the pale boy’s breath loose in a spray of spit.

Floodcaller caught Tric in a bearhug as they crashed to the floor, pottery and glassware shattering. He outweighed Tric by a hundred pounds—he was easily the strongest person in the room. Bigger even than the Shahiid of Songs, who turned blind eyes to the melee and roared, “YOU BOYS, ENOUGH!”

The boys were having none of it, flailing and punching and spitting. Tric landed a good blow to Floodcaller’s face, mashing lips into teeth. But Mia was astonished at how easily the big Dweymeri dominated Tric, flipping him over and landing blow after blow into the smaller boy’s ribs, more against his jaw. The acolytes gathered around the brawl, none moving to help. Mia pulled herself off Hush and was set to step in when she saw Shahiid Solis kick back his chair and march toward the melee.

Though the man appeared utterly blind, he moved quick and sure. Clapping one hand on Floodcaller’s shoulder, he dropped a hook like an anvil on the boy’s jaw, sent him sprawling. Tric tried scrambling to his feet, but Solis buried his boot in the boy’s gut, knocking the wind and fight out of him with one blow. Turning on Floodcaller, the Shahiid stomped on his bollocks hard, curled the Dweymeri boy up in a squealing ball.

It’d taken only a handful of heartbeats, but the Shahiid had whipped both boys like disobedient puppies, pale, sightless eyes turned to the sky all the while.

“Disgraceful,” he growled, seizing both groaning boys by their scruffs. “If you must fight like dogs, you can eat outside with the rest of them.”

The Shahiid of Songs dragged Tric and Floodcaller to the balcony. Gripping each by the throat, the big man pushed them against the railing, the thousand-foot drop yawning behind them. Both boys were choking, clawing at the Shahiid’s grip. The man’s blind eyes showed no pity, the boys just a heartbeat away from death on the rocks below. Mia’s hand was on her dagger when the Revered Mother spoke.

“Enough, Solis.”

The man titled his head, turned milk-white eyes toward the sound of her voice.

“Revered Mother,” he said.

Floodcaller and Tric both collapsed to the deck, gasping for air. Mia could scarcely breathe herself. She looked for Lord Cassius and found he was simply gone, an empty chair marking the place where the Lord of Blades had sat moments before. Again, she swore she’d never even seen him move. Mother Drusilla stepped out from behind her table, drifted to where the boys lay coughing and sputtering.

“O, I remember what it was to be young. Ever something to prove. And boys will be boys, they say.” She knelt, touched Tric’s bloody cheek. Smoothed Floodcaller’s saltlocks. “But you are boys no longer. You are servants of the Mother, tithed to her Church. You are killers one, killers all. And I expect you all to behave as such.” She glanced up at the assembled acolytes. “A poor example has been set tonight indeed.”

Mother Drusilla helped the bleeding Dweymeri to their feet, her matronly facade momentarily evaporating, every one of her eighty-three murders dripping in her voice.

“So. The next time the pair of you fall to scrapping like boys in a back