Nevernight (The Nevernight Chronicle #1) - Jay Kristoff Page 0,65

with each use of their art, their own flesh grows ever more hideous.” Drusilla shook her head. “One must give credit to the Ashkahi. I can think of no finer torture than to have power absolute over all but your own.”

“And Adonai?”

“Blood speakers thirst after that which they hold affinity for. They know no sustenance, save that which can be found in another’s veins.”

Mia blinked. “They drink…”

“They do.”

“But blood’s an emetic,” Mia said. “Drink too much, you’ll spew fountains.”

“Mercurio’s lessons were … eclectic, it seems.”

“You know Mercurio?”

The old woman smiled. “Quite well, child.”

Mia shrugged. “Well, he made me drink horse blood once. In case I was stranded somewhere with no water, I’d know what to expect.”

Drusilla smiled wider at that, shook her head. “’Tis true that tasting more than a mouthful of blood is a sure way to taste it a second time. Speakers are no exception. A life of torture, once more, you see? Drink a little, know constant hunger. Drink too much, know constant sickness.”

“That sounds … awful.”

“All power comes with a tithe. We all pay a price. Speakers, their hunger. Weavers, their impotence. And those who call the Dark…”—Drusilla looked down to Mia’s shadow—“… well, eventually it calls them back.”

Mia’s eyes drifted to the black at her feet. Fear surging. “You know what I am?”

“Mercurio told me of your talents. Solis told me of your little performance in the Hall of Songs. I know you are marked by the Night herself, though I know not why.”

“Marked by the Night,” Mia said. “Mercurio said the same thing.”

“Do not believe for a moment it will earn you favoritism here. Marked by the Mother you may be, but your place is not yet earned. And the next time you squander your gifts on parlor tricks to insult your Shahiid, you may lose more than a limb.”

Mia looked down at her bruised elbow. Her voice, barely a murmur.

“I didn’t mean insult, Revered Mother.”

“An acolyte has not bled Solis in years. I’m surprised he only took your arm.”

Mia frowned. “And you’re at peace with this? Masters maiming novices?”

“You are not maimed, Acolyte. You still have your arm, unless I’m mistaken. This not a finishing school for young dons and donas. The Shahiid here are artisans of death, charged with making you worthy of service to the goddess. Some of you will never leave these walls.

“Solis looks to make an example of someone in his class early. But beneath the callousness, his task is to teach, and he takes pride in it. If you give him reason to hurt you again, he will do so without compunction. Hurting things is in Solis’s nature, and it is this very nature that suits him so ideally to teaching you to hurt others.”

The enormity of it all began to dawn on Mia. The reality of where she was. What she was doing. This place was a forge where Blades were honed, death sculpted. Even after years at Mercurio’s feet, she had so much to learn, and a misstep could cost her dear. Truth was, she’d been showing off. And while Solis had acted an utter prick, she’d misstepped by trying to best him in front the entire flock. She resolved not to let pride have its head again in future. She was here for one reason, and one reason only: Consul Scaeva and Cardinal Duomo and Justicus Remus needed to die. She needed to become skilled enough, sharp enough, hard enough to end each and every one of them, and that wasn’t going to happen if she lost herself in childish games. Time to keep her mouth well on the safe side of shut and play it smart.

“I understand, Revered Mother.”

“You will be unable to study in the Hall of Songs until your hurts are healed,” Drusilla said. “I have spoken to Shahiid Aalea, and she has agreed to begin your tutelage early.”

“Aalea.” Mia swallowed thickly. “Shahiid of Masks.”

The old woman smiled. “There is nothing to fear, child. You will find yourself looking forward to her lessons in time.”

Drusilla stood, tucked her hands into her sleeves.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve other tasks to attend. If you’ve need, or questions answered, seek me out. Like all of us, I am here to serve.”

The woman left without a sound, padding off into the darkness. Mia watched her leave, wondering at her words. What had she said?

“Those who call the Dark … well, eventually it calls them back.”

Mercurio had never seemed entirely at ease around Mister Kindly, though