Seduction. Sex. That kind of thing.”
Mia almost choked on her mouthful. “… She teaches sex?”
“Well, not the basics. Presumably we all know that much. She teaches the art of it. Da said there are two kinds of men in this world. Those who’re in love with Aalea, and those who haven’t met her yet.” Ash raised one eyebrow. “Black Mother, you’re not a maid, are you?”
“No!” Mia scowled. “I just…”
“… Just what?”
Mia frowned, trying to cool the heat in her cheeks. “I just haven’t … had many.”
“What about Tric?”
“No!” Mia growled. “Daughters, no.”
“Why not? Strapping lad like him? I mean the tattoos are awful but the face beneath is fine enough.” Ashlinn nudged Mia’s elbow. “And they all look the same in the dark.”
Mia glanced at Mister Kindly. Down at her feet. Stuffed more chicken in her mouth.
“… How many have you had, Corvere?”
“Why?” Mia mumbled around her food. “How many have you had?”
“Four.” Ashlinn tapped her lip. “Wellll, four and a half. If we’re getting technical. But he was an idiot so I’m saying he doesn’t count. We all get a do-over.”
“One,” Mia finally admitted.
“Ah. Loved him, did you?”
“Didn’t even know him.”
“How was he?”
Mia made a face. Shrugged.
“Ah. One of those. And now you can’t understand what all the fuss is about, or why you’d ever want to do it again?”
Mia chewed her lip. Nodded.
“Shahiid Aalea will teach you. It gets better, Corvere. You’ll see.”
“Mph.” Mia slumped down on the table, chin on her knuckles.
Ash stood. Brushed the cheese crumbs off her lap.
“Come on, we’d best be off. We’ve got Pockets morrowmorn. If you’re lucky, you might even squeeze some time in with Aalea.”
Ashlinn started making kissing noises.
“Shut up,” Mia growled.
The kissing noises became interspersed with soft, throaty moans.
“Shut up.”
The girls stole off into the darkness, a cat who wasn’t a cat following silently.
When they were gone, a boy stepped from the shadows. Pale skin. Black leather. Most would’ve called him handsome, though beautiful was probably a better word. He had high cheekbones and the most piercing blue eyes you’ve ever seen.
A boy named Hush.
He was holding a knife. Watching Mia and Ashlinn slip away into the dark, and running one slender fingertip over the razored edge.
And he was smiling.
1. Though declared a heresy, in the absence of complete eradication by the Luminatii, the Red Church has struck something of an accord with various authorities across the Itreyan Republic. Due to the power of Aa’s Church and the recent and infamous attempt on Consul Scaeva’s life during the Truedark Massacre, very few members of Godsgrave’s nobility have direct dealings with the disciples of the Night Mother. But in more cosmopolitan vassal states of the Republic—such as the court of the Vaanian king, Magnussun IV—the Red Church is openly recognized, and a disciple held on permanent retainer.
The benefits of this arrangement are twofold; good King Magnussun can of course rid himself of his enemies quietly should the need arise, but more important, while he retains the services of a Church Blade, the king also has no fear of a rival hiring a Blade to dispatch him. This is a golden rule of Red Church negotiations, and one that has seen them rise in favor over other murderers for hire; while employing a Blade, one’s life is considered off limits to other Blades of Niah.
Of course, the fees to employ one of the finest assassins in the Republic on permanent retainer are so pants-wettingly exorbitant that only a king can afford it for long. Still, it can be said that of all Itreya’s rulers, Magnussun IV probably sleeps the soundest, his slumber only occasionally disturbed at yearsend by nightmares about the impending arrival of the Church’s bill.
2. The Itreyan week consists of seven turns, one for each of Aa’s four daughters, and one for each of his three eyes. Niahan heretics speak of a time before the Maw was banished from the sky, when Aa claimed only one turn in the week for himself, and granted another to his bride.
The heretics make no mention of who the seventh turn may have belonged to.
CHAPTER 13
LESSON
“As my ex-wife used to say,” smiled Shahiid Mouser. “It’s all in the fingers.”
The acolytes were gathered in the Hall of Pockets, standing in a semicircle around the Shahiid. The hall was vast, lit with a vaguely blue light from stained-glass windows above. Long tables ran the room’s length, littered with curios and oddities, padlocks and picks. The walls were lined with doors, dozens upon dozens, each set