Nevernight (The Nevernight Chronicle #1) - Jay Kristoff Page 0,7

upon me again, sir, and I’ll feed your jewels to the fucking drakes.”

The peacock squeaked as she pressed harder at the heart of his problems—no doubt a smaller problem than it’d been a moment before. Paling, he stepped back before any of his fellows witnessed his indiscretion. And giving his very best bow, he slunk off to convince himself his hand might be better company after all.

The girl turned back to the sea. Slipped the dagger back into her belt.

Not without her charms, as I said.

Seeking no more attention, she kept herself mostly to herself, emerging only at mealtimes or to take some air in the still of nevernight. Hammock-bound in her cabin, studying the tomes Old Mercurio had given her, she was content enough. Her eyes strained with the Ashkahi script, but the cat who was shadows helped her with the most difficult passages—curled within the folds of her hair and watching over her shoulder as she studied Hypaciah’s Arkemical Truths and a dust-dry copy of Plienes’ Theories of the Maw.7

She was bent over Theories now, smooth brow marred by a scowl.

“… try again…,” the cat whispered.

The girl rubbed her temples, wincing. “It’s giving me a headache.”

“… o poor girl, shall i kiss it better…”

“This is children’s lore. Any knee-high tadpole gets taught this.”

“… it was not written with itreyan audiences in mind…”

The girl turned back to the spidery script. Clearing her throat, she read aloud:

“The skies above the Itreyan Republic are illuminated by three suns—commonly believed to be the eyes of Aa, the God of Light. It is no coincidence Aa is often referred to as the Everseeing by the unwashed.”

She raised an eyebrow, glanced at the shadowcat. “I wash plenty.”

“… plienes was an elitist…”

“You mean a tosser.”

“… continue…”

A sigh. “The largest of the three suns is a furious red globe called Saan. The Seer. Shuffling across the heavens like a brigand with nothing better to do, Saan hangs in the skies for near one hundred weeks at a time. The second sun is named Saai. The Knower. A smallish blue-faced fellow, rising and setting quicker than its brother—”

“… sibling…,” the cat corrected. “… old ashkahi does not gender nouns…”

“… quicker than its sibling, it visits for perhaps fourteen weeks at a stretch, near twice that spent beyond the horizon. The third sun is Shiih. The Watcher. A dim yellow giant, Shiih takes almost as long as Saan in its wanderings across the sky.”

“… very good…”

“Between the three suns’ plodding travels, Itreyan citizens know actual nighttime—which they call truedark—for only a brief spell every two and a half years. For all other eves—all the eves Itreyan citizens long for a moment of darkness in which to drink with their comrades, make love to their sweethearts…”

The girl paused.

“What does oshk mean? Mercurio never taught me that word.”

“… unsurprising…”

“It’s something to do with sex, then.”

The cat shifted across to her other shoulder without disturbing a single lock of hair.

“… it means ‘to make love where there is no love’…”

“Right.” The girl nodded. “… make love to their sweethearts, fuck their whores, or any other combination thereof—they must endure the constant light of so-called nevernight, lit by one or more of Aa’s eyes in the heavens.

“Almost three years at a stretch, sometimes, without a drop of real darkness.”

The girl closed the book with a thump.

“… excellent…”

“My head is splitting.”

“… ashkahi script was not meant for weaker minds…”

“Well, thank you very much.”

“… that is not what i meant…”

“No doubt.” She stood and stretched, rubbed her eyes. “Let’s take some air.”

“… you know i do not breathe…”

“I’ll breathe. You watch.”

“… as it please you…”

The pair stole up onto the deck. Her footsteps were less than whispers, and the cat’s, nothing at all. The roaring winds that marked the turn to nevernight waited above—Saai’s blue memory fading slowly on the horizon, leaving only Saan to cast its sullen red glow.

The Beau’s deck was almost empty. A huge, crook-faced helmsman stood at the wheel, two lookouts in the crow’s nests, a cabin boy (still almost a foot taller than she) snoozing on his mop handle and dreaming of his maid’s arms. The ship was fifteen turnings into the Sea of Swords, the snaggletooth coastline of Liis to the south. The girl could see another ship in the distance, blurred in Saan’s light. A heavy dreadnought, flying the triple suns of the Itreyan navy, cutting the waves like a gravebone dagger through an old nooseman’s throat.

The bloody ending she’d gifted the hangman hung heavy in her