Nevernight (The Nevernight Chronicle #1) - Jay Kristoff Page 0,85
undisguised hatred.
“Excellent,” Spiderkiller nodded. “Perhaps, Acolyte Jessamine, you will follow Acolyte Carlotta’s example and know the lesson before next you interrupt it. This knowledge may save your life one turn. I would’ve thought that truth already imparted.”
The girl bowed her head. “… Yes, Shahiid.”
With no further ceremony, Spiderkiller turned to a charboard, began speaking about the basic toxic properties. Delivery. Efficacy. Celerity. Her composure was immaculate, her manner, terse. It was hard to believe she’d almost murdered twenty-seven children a few minutes before. Breathing finally returned to normal, Mia looked to Carlotta and nodded.
“Well done,” she mouthed.
The girl smoothed her hair over her slavemark, nodded back gravely. “You too.”
As Mia turned her attentions to the lesson, she saw Jessamine from the corner of her eye, scribbling on a sheaf of parchment, slipping it to Diamo. The redhead glared at Carlotta with narrowed eyes. Despite the fact that the slavegirl had just saved her life, it looked like Jessamine had two nemeses now. Mia wondered if she’d be willing to throw more than poison looks …
Over the course of the lesson, it became apparent that Mia and Carlotta were head and shoulders above the other acolytes in venomcraft. It made Mia proud. Her beating at the hands of Shahiid Solis had shaken her more than she’d been willing to admit. Her visit with Shahiid Aalea had shown her how little she knew about some facets of this world. But this, she knew. As she and Carlotta answered question after question and she slowly earned a grudging smile of respect from the dour Shahiid of Truths, Mia found that, for the first time since she’d arrived, she was beginning to feel like she belonged. That she actually felt happy.
It didn’t last, of course.
Nothing ever does.
1. Listening in over midmeal a few turns later, Mia would learn the boy called himself “Pip,” and that his muttered conversations were not being conducted with himself, but rather with his knife—a long, cruel dagger that he’d apparently dubbed “the Lovely.”
2. Slavery in Itreya is a highly codified affair, with an entire wing of the Administratii devoted to regulation of the market. Slaves come in three flavors, depending on their skillsets, and, thus, monetary value.
The first are the commonplace sort of chattel—laborers, housebodies, and the like—who are branded arkemically with a single circle on their right cheek. The second are those trained for warfare—gladiatii, houseguards, and slave legions, marked with two circles, intertwined. The third, and most valuable, are those with a degree of education, or some valuable skill. Musicians, scribes, concubines, and so forth, who are branded with three interlocking circles denoting their superior worth.
The removal of these arkemical brands is a painful, expensive, and secretive process, tightly guarded by the Administratii. To earn their freedom, a slave must not only save enough coin to buy themselves from their masters, but also pay for the removal of their brand. It is no surprise, then, that most slaves in the Republic wear the mark to their graves.
3. Also known as “kingslayer,” red dahlia was considered the poison of choice during the tenure of the Itreyan monarchy. Owing to the rarity of the bloom from which it is derived, red dahlia was difficult to acquire, and, thus, more expensive than the average marrowborn wedding feast. Its use was considered both a nod of respect to the victim (its effects are rapid in onset and relatively painless) and a perverse sort of bragging on the part of the murderer (since only the wealthiest of folk could afford to employ it). During the zenith of the Itreyan monarchy, the toxin was used to assassinate no fewer than three Itreyan kings and several highly ranked members of the nobility, including two grand cardinals.
When his father died of red dahlia poisoning, the newly crowned Francisco VII declared the bloom a tool of the Maw, and ordered every plant within the borders of his realm burned. This resulted in skyrocketing inflation, and red dahlia fell quickly out of vogue with anyone who didn’t have the foresight to keep a greenhouse. Sadly, this meant less merciful concoctions like blackmark venom and the corrosive “spite” became en vogue among less well connected assassins.
As Francisco VII lay on his deathbed, screaming as a lethal dose of the latter slowly dissolved his stomach and bowels, one wonders if he had the presence of mind to appreciate the irony.
CHAPTER 16
WALK
Something approaching routine settled inside the Quiet Mountain. Turns passed without Mia noticing, only the bells marking the hours