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“No,” Executus said. “I sought your measure. And now I have it in spades. Go wash off your defeat. The hour grows late. Your training begins amorrow.”
Matteo walked forward slowly, helped Mia up from her knees. Standing with a wince, she stared across the dusty yard, rage burning inside her. She’d had a grip on the executus’s footing, sure and true. A trick she’d performed countless times before—she should have bested him easily. But something … no, someone, had wrested control of the shadows, and saw her bested instead.
Furian looked up from beating the stuffing from his hapless training dummy, sweat gleaming on his beautiful face. Long dark hair blowing in the warm breeze. Silver torc glittering. Dark eyes fixed on hers.
“Bastard,” she whispered.
The Unfallen returned to his training without another glance.
CHAPTER 8 (#ulink_25f16656-d485-5f85-b0ca-ff132c9dcd4f)
PRAYERS (#ulink_25f16656-d485-5f85-b0ca-ff132c9dcd4f)
“Well, this is going to be tricksy.”
Mia took a long drag of her cigarillo, looking down on the pleasure house from their room in the taverna opposite. Jessamine stood at the window beside her, eyes narrowed as she watched the brothel door.
“You were expecting the leader of a braavi gang to just wander down the street with the map in her hand and fall onto your sword, Corvere?”
“You know I love your sarcasm more than anyone, Jess,” Mia sighed. “But we’ve been cooped up in this room a week and I could use a change of tune.”
“I know we’ve been up here a week, I’m the one who has to put up with your incessant fucking smoking.”
“… well, perhaps we could quarrel ’til the morrow and miss our opportunity entirely …?”
Mia glanced to Mister Kindly, licking at his translucent paw on the bed.
“Your commentary is always appreciated.”
“… and freely given …”
“You’re a little prick, you know that?”
“… o, well and truly …”
Seven turns had passed since she’ d arrived in the City of Bridges and Bones, and the only thing keeping Mia’s belly from dissolving in a puddle of nerves were the passengers riding her shadow. Asking around her old haunts in Little Liis, Mia and Jessamine had tracked down their mark after a turn—the Toffs’ headquarters was known to most of the lowlifes who peopled Little Liis. But finding their lair wasn’t the problem. It was getting inside that was going to be the riddle.
The Toffs’ stronghold was a well-appointed five-story palazzo named the Dog’s Dinner. The bottom levels seemed a regular taverna, full of bawdy song and a crush of people. The third floor looked to be an ink den, and the top two, a brothel. Thugs the size of small houses guarded the front doors, dressed up in expensive frock coats and powdered wigs that did little to hide the scars on their faces or the muscle beneath the fabric. Though no signage distinguished the building from its neighbors, this was braavi turf, and all the locals knew exactly what went on behind those doors.
Their reconnaissance had gone flawlessly—being able to send two wisps of living darkness into the building to listen to every conversation and study every nook meant they knew everything that was set to happen this eve. But that didn’t mean pulling this off was going to be easy.
Mia felt a tremble in her shadow, the kiss of a cool breeze. Eclipse coalesced from the darkness at her feet, shaking herself from head to tail.
“News?” Mia asked, cigarillo bobbing at her lips.
“… SHE IS ON THE TOP FLOOR, CORNER OFFICE. SHE SPENT THE TURN ISSUING ORDERS, DRINKING, SMOKING, AND HAVING A GREAT DEAL OF SEX …”
“Fine work if you can get it,” Jess said.
“The map is still being delivered here?” Mia asked.
“… THE SELLER IS DUE TO ARRIVE SOMETIME WITHIN THE NEXT HOUR. THE EXCHANGE WILL TAKE PLACE IN THE DONA’S OFFICE …”
“So we have two options,” Mia muttered. “We intercept the map before it arrives and end the Dona later, or wait for the seller and do them both at once.”
“… WE DO NOT KNOW WHAT THE SELLER LOOKS LIKE …”
“Presumably a dodgy bastard carrying a map case.”
“… you would still need to get into that office to end the dona regardless …”
“And therein lies the problem.”
“You could steal inside?” Jessamine suggested. “Hidden in your shadows?”
Mia shook her head. “I can’t see a thing under them. Groping around blind inside a braavi den sounds a splendid way to get a sword in the tits. And the weaver did a particularly good job on these two. It’ d be a shame to ruin them.”
Jessamine squinted across the way.
“You could throw a grapple from this roof to the neighboring building. Jump the alley, get in through the Dinner’s roof, work your way down.”
“It’s weeksend. Lots of people in the street. If one looks up …”
“Front door, then?”
Mia stared out across the street, muttering, “I’m terrible at the front door.”
“… you are getting better …”
“Liar.”
“… o, ye of little faith …”
“Faith never kept a drowning man from sinking.” Mia dragged long on her cigarillo. “But admittedly, we don’t have many options.”
“… we could stay up all nevernight and plait each other’s hair and talk about boys …?”
“… MUST YOU ALWAYS PLAY THE FOOL, LITTLE MOGGY …?”
“… IT IS PART OF MY CHARM …”
“… THIS MUST BE SOME NEW DEFINITION OF CHARM WITH WHICH I AM UNACQUAINTED …”
“If you two are done,” Mia growled, “go keep a lookout, aye?”
Emptiness filled her as her passengers departed, butterflies replacing them. Mia tried to shush her nerves, staring across at the braavi den and wondering what awaited her there. Close-quarter fighting. An inn full of hardened criminals. And whoever was selling the map would presumably bring muscle of their own. Bad odds.
Pushing aside her questions, Adonai’s warning ringing in her head, she crushed her cigarillo under heel.
“Right,” she nodded. “I need a dress.”
Mia walked across the crowded street as if she owned it, over the broken cobbles right toward the door of the Dog’s Dinner.
Nevernight had fallen, wind howling down the thoroughfare. A summer storm had rolled in with it off the ocean, lukewarm rain coming down in thin curtains, the two suns hidden behind a mask of gray. But inclement weather was rarely a reason for folk in Godsgrave to stay inside on a weeksend, and the streets still bustled with folk on their way to their revels.
Little Liis was one of the more squalid sections of the ’Grave, but Liisian folk had flair, and growing up here as a girl, Mia had always found the colors and styles of their dress beautiful. They reminded her of her mother, truth told, and something in the music and aromas of this place called to the blood in her veins. Her outfit had been purloined from the chapel’s wardrobe to fit in with the locals; leather britches and knee-length boots, a corset over a velvet shirt, a glittering necklet, all various shades of blood-red. If she got murdered in there, at least she’ d leave a fine-looking corpse.
Up close, the doormen looked even more intimidating. They were under cover of the Dinner’s front awning, but both still looked a little damp and more than a little surly. The gentle on the left was almost as wide as he was tall, and his comrade looked like he’ d eaten his own parents for breakfast.
Wideboy held up a hand, stopping Mia short. “Hold there, Mi Dona.”
“Merry nevernight, my lovely gentles,” Mia smiled, dropped into a small curtsey.
“Can’t come in ’ere,” said Orphanboy, shaking his head.
“No riffraff,” Wideboy agreed.
Mia looked down at her outfit, sounding mildly wounded. “Riffraff?”
Four drunken sailors who’d sit comfortably next to the definition of “riffraff” in Don Fiorlini’s bestselling Itreyan Diction: the Definitive Guide stepped up to the door.
“Good eve, gentlefriends,” said Wideboy. “Welcome, welcome.”
The man opened the doors, a burst of flute and laughter rang within, and the mariners stepped inside without a backward glance.
Mia smiled sweetly at Wideboy. “I’ve friends waiting insid—”
“Can’t come in ’ere this eve,” the big man said.
“Not serving your kind,” Orphanboy nodded.
“… My kind?”
The thugs grunted and nodded in unison.
“Let me understand this,” Mia said. “You’re a band of thieves, pimps, stand-over men and murderers. And you’re telling me I’m not good enough to drink here?”
“Aye,” said Wideboy.
“Fugoff,” said his partner.
Mia adjusted her corset as meaningfully as possible. The braavi thugs stared at her without blinking. Finally, she folded her arms and sighed. “How much do you want?”
Orphanboy’s eyes narrowed. “How much you got?”
“Two priests?”
The doorman looked up and down the street, then nodded. “Give it over, then.”
Mia fished around her purse, and flipped one coin apiece to the doormen. The iron disappeared into their pockets quicker than a smokehound into the pipe on payday.
Mia stared at the pair, eyebrows rising. “Well?”
“Can’t come in ’ere this eve,” said Orphanboy.
“Not serving your kind,” Wideboy agreed.
The pair stood aside for a second group of revelers (carrying a street sign and a somewhat troubled-looking sheep), bidding them good eve as they stepped inside. Every one of them was a man. Peering into the room beyond, Mia saw every single one of the clientele was also male. And somewhere in her head, Realization tipped its hat.
“Ohhhh,” she said. “Riiiiight.”
“Right,” said Wideboy.
Orphanboy stroked his chin and nodded sagely.
“Well,” she said.
“… Well what?”
“Well, can I have my money back?” the girl asked.
“You’re terrible at this,” said Wideboy.
“Just awful,” agreed Orphanboy.
Mia pouted. “Mister Kindly said I’m getting better.”
“Whoever he is, Mister Kindly’s a bloody liar.”
The doormen folded their arms like a pair of synchronized dancers.
Mia sighed. “Merry nevernight, my lovely gentles.”
And giving another bow, she marched back into the rain.
Don’t you say a fucking word,” she warned Mister Kindly.
She was crouched on a rooftop opposite the Dinner, staring out at a fourth-floor balcony. The not-cat sat beside her, tail swishing side to side.
“… considering your childhood, it’s little wonder you lack people skills …”
“Not. A. Fucking. Word.”
“… meow …”
“… STRICTLY SPEAKING, THAT IS STILL A WORD …,” Eclipse growled.
“Aye.” Mia held up a warning finger. “One more, and I officially enter your name in the Book of Grudges.”
