kept at bay in a land where the bastard things almost never set are considered of no small import. Master bedrooms in the Republic are often built in basements, and guests at more well-to-do taverna will pay extra for rooms without windows. Dreamsickness—a malady acquired from lack of deep sleep—is an increasingly problematic ailment, and although Aa’s ministry burned him as a heretic, in the Visionaries’ Row of the Iron Collegium’s grand foyer, you can still find a statue of Don Augustine D’Antello, inventor of the triple-ply curtain.
2. In fact, there were three languages spoken beneath the suns that Chronicler Aelius had no knowledge of.
The first, a tongue spoken by a mountain clan in the Eastern Divide who’d never had contact with outsiders that didn’t end in a spit roast.
The second, a peculiar dialect of old Liisian, spoken exclusively by an apocalypse cult in Elai known as the Waiting Ones (their congregation numbered exactly six, one of whom was a dog named Rolf but who was referred to by his fellows as “the Yellow Prince”).
And last, the language of cats. O, yes, cats speak gentlefriend, doubt it not—if you own more than one and can’t see them at this particular moment, chances are they’re off in a corner somewhere lamenting the fact that their owner seems to spend all their time reading silly books rather than paying them the attention they so richly deserve.
BOOK 2
IRON OR GLASS
CHAPTER 10
SONG
Twenty-seven acolytes stood in the Hall of Eulogies.
One less than there had been yesterturn.
Mia looked among them, wondering. Jessamine with her red hair and hunter’s eyes. A broad, olive-skinned boy with a missing ear and chewed fingernails. A thin girl with cropped black hair and a slavemark branded on her cheek, swaying on her feet like a snake. An ill-favored Vaanian boy with tattooed hands who always seemed to be talking to himself. Mia was still putting faces to names. But though they were still mostly strangers, she knew one thing about every acolyte around her.
Murderers, all.
The Mother of Night’s statue loomed above them, staring down with pitiless eyes. Rumor had been rippling among the acolytes as they made their way to the hall before mornmeal. Two Hands were on their knees, scrubbing the stone at the goddess’s feet with horsehair brushes. The water in their bucket was a thin, translucent red.
Floodcaller’s body was nowhere to be seen.
Ashlinn sidled up to Mia, spoke softly while staring straight ahead.
“Hear about the Dweymeri boy?”
“… A little.”
“Throat cut clean, they say.”
“So I heard.”
Tric, standing to Mia’s right, said not a word. Mia looked at her friend, searching his face for some sign of guilt. Tric was a killer and no mistake—but everyone in this room was. Just because he and Floodcaller had tussled the eve before didn’t mean he’d be top of the suspect list. Revered Mother Drusilla would have to think him some kind of fool to murder Floodcaller with his motive so obvious …
“Think the Ministry will investigate?” Mia asked.
“You heard what Mother Drusilla said. ‘You are killers one, killers all. And I expect you all to behave as such.’” Ashlinn glanced at Tric. “Maybe someone just took her literally.”
“Acolytes.”
The girls looked up, saw the Revered Mother Drusilla, gray hair unbound, fingers entwined. She’d arrived without a whisper, seeming to melt out of the shadows themselves. The old woman spoke, her voice echoing in the gloom.
“Before lessons begin, I have an announcement. I am certain all of you have heard about the murder of your fellow acolyte yestereve, here in this very hall.” Drusilla glanced at the wet spot on the stone, still being dutifully scrubbed. “Floodcaller’s ending is deeply regrettable, and the Ministry will be investigating thoroughly. If you have any information, bring it to my chambers by the end of the turn. We stand in the Church of Our Lady of Blessed Murder, and the lives of your fellow acolytes are hers, not yours to take. Should this ending have been committed as an act of revenge, spite, or simple cold-blooded calculation, the perpetrator will be punished accordingly.”
Mia was certain the old woman’s eyes lingered on Tric as she said “revenge.” She glanced at her friend, but the boy’s face remained stoic.
“However,” Drusilla continued, “while the investigation is ongoing, all acolytes are forbidden from leaving their rooms after ninth bell has struck. Special dispensation may be granted by your Shahiid for purposes of training and study, but idle wandering through the halls will not be permitted. Those found in breach of this