Nevernight (The Nevernight Chronicle #1) - Jay Kristoff Page 0,88

this spider’s larder.”

Looking at the scarlet sigils scrawled on Adonai’s face, the pool of blood churning and splashing like an angry red sea, Mia had no difficulty believing him. But still, she kept the blade sheathed at her wrist, stowed the rest of her possessions in granite nooks set aside for the task. Stripping down to the silk slip beneath her leathers, she felt goosebumps rising on her skin.

Adonai knelt at the apex of the triangular pool, palms upturned. Nodded to Aalea. The Shahiid slipped her robe off her shoulders, revealing naked skin beneath. Mia found herself staring, struck by the woman’s complete lack of self-consciousness. Long hair flowed down Aalea’s back, like a river of night against milk-white curves. She stepped bare into the red, out into the center. The pool seemed only a few inches deep at first, but soon she was wading up to her waist, hair trailing through the blood behind.

Adonai spoke beneath his breath, eyes rolling back in his head. The warmth in the room grew deeper, the smell of copper and iron heavier. And as Mia watched, the blood began to swirl. Sloshing around the pool’s edge, it rolled in a clockwise circle; a vortex spinning faster and faster as Adonai’s whispers became a gentle, pleading song. His eyes had turned blood red. His lips were curled in an ecstatic smile. Mia’s own eyes were wide, her tongue tingling with the taste of magik.

Aalea held her hands at her sides, palm up. Eyes closed, face serene. And then, without warning, the Shahiid disappeared; dragged down into the whirlpool without a struggle. Without a sound.

The vortex calmed. The blood grew directionless again, washing in small frothing waves. Silence hung in the room like a traitor’s corpse.

“Next,” Adonai said.

Mia looked at Ashlinn. Carlotta. Jessamine. Belle. Obvious hesitation on their faces. None of them would’ve seen this kind of sorcery before—Daughters, nobody outside these walls would’ve witnessed it for a thousand years. But as ever, there was no fear in Mia’s belly, even when there should’ve been. Her shadow breathed a contented sigh.

She stepped into the pool without a word, the blood thick and warm between her toes. The tile was smooth, and she had to walk slowly lest she slip, out waist-deep into the center of the red. Adonai began whispering again, the flow turning once more, faster and faster, with her at the heart. Mia felt dizzy, eyes closed against the arkemical glow, arms outspread for balance. Blood-stink filled her nostrils. The room about her swaying. And just as she was about to speak, she found she was falling, sucked down, down, down into some colossal undertow.

Red waves crashed over her head, the whole world spinning, turning, churning. No breath in her lungs. Blood in her mouth. Amniotic darkness all about, the thudding pulse of some enormous, distant heart, muted by the bloodwarm black engulfing her. A tiny babe in a lightless womb. Swimming ever upward, toward a light she couldn’t be sure was there. Until at last …

At last …

Surfacing.

Mia burst into the light. Gagging. Gasping. Gentle hands held her, soft voices assured her all was well. Pawing something thick and sticky from her eyes, she found herself standing in a waist-deep pool of gore. Two men with slavemarks stood beside her, holding her up lest she fall. They helped her climb out of the pool, holding her steady as she slipped and swayed. She was covered head to foot in blood, dripping on the tile, hair and slip plastered to her skin. Her eyelashes clung together as she blinked.

“Maw’s teeth,” she croaked.

She was wrapped in soft cloth, escorted by one of the Hands to a large antechamber. There, she found Shahiid Aalea, washing herself down in the second of three triangular baths. The woman was rinsing her hair with ladles of warm, scented water. The perfume of flowers hung in the steaming air, but beneath it, Mia could smell death. Blood. Offal and shit.

“Wash yourself in the first,” Aalea said, pointing to a bath filled with blood-stained water. “Soap yourself in the second. Rinse in the third.”

Mia nodded mutely, stripped off her sodden shift and stepped into the first bath. Aalea was soaking in the third and Mia climbing into the second when Ashlinn staggered into the room, painted head to foot, bright blue eyes blinking in a mask of sticky red.

“Well, that was different,” she said.

Aalea laughed, rising from the steam and slipping on a silk robe. She pointed to a painted