Nevernight (The Nevernight Chronicle #1)

by Jay Kristoff

Never truly lived in the world you call your own. Nor did she, really. I think that’s why I loved her.

It’s the shadow road for you and me. And you dance it right, no one will ever know your name, let alone the pig-sticker in your belt. ‘You’ll be a rumour. A whisper. The thought that wakes the bastards of this world sweating in the nevernight. The last thing you will ever be in this world, girl, is someone’s hero.’ Mercurio handed back the blade. ‘But you will be a girl heroes fear.’

Moreover, she was short. Stick-thin. Barely enough arse for her britches to cling to. Not a beauty that lovers would die for, armies would march for, heroes might slay a god or daemon for. All in contrast to what you’ve been told by your poets, I’m sure.

Stop T-T

She turned, stepped closer with the smile that, in truth, was her prettiest part.

That narrator X_X

But here is truth, gentlefriends, no matter the number of suns in your sky. At the heart of it, two kinds of people live in this world or any other: those who flee and those who fight.

The girl sighed grey, crushed her cigarillo out with her boot heel. Spat into the wind. And just like that, young Tric was in love.

‘Your mind will serve you better than any trinket under the suns,’ she’d said. ‘It is a weapon, Mia. And like any weapon, you need practise to be any good at wielding it.’ ‘But, mother—’ ‘No, Mia Corvere. Beauty you’re born with, but brains you earn.’

And there, behind a mahogany desk carved with a twisting spiral pattern that made her eyes hurt to look at, she found the greatest oddity inside Mercurio’s Curios – the proprietor himself.

So nice of you Mia T-T

‘I picked you for a cold one, Mia Corvere.’ He shook his head. ‘I just never knew how much. Where do you keep the heart that’s supposed to be inside your chest?’ ‘Keep it up and I’ll feed you yours, bastard.’ ‘Bastard I might be,’ Tric spat. ‘But you’re the one who decides to be a cunt every turn of your life.’ Mia had her knife out, smiling. ‘That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.’

‘Who is she?’ ‘The Mother.’ Mouser touched his eyes, then his lips, then his chest. ‘The Maw. Our Lady of Blessed Murder. Almighty Niah.’ ‘But … she’s beautiful,’ Mia breathed. ‘In the pictures I’ve seen, she’s a monstrosity.’ ‘The Light is full of lies, Acolyte. The Suns serve only to blind us.’

‘I don’t need you worrying about me, Tric. This place has danger enough to kill us both. If you let yourself fret on me, you’ll miss the knife aimed at you.’ ‘I’m not fretting,’ the boy scowled. ‘I’ve just … got your back, is all.’

Still, it was comforting to know someone was looking out for her, that she’d something to put her back against. And for the first time in her life, it wasn’t made of shadows.

‘Ladies first,’ Ash said, bowing towards the door. ‘I don’t see any ladies around here, do you?’ ‘O, we’re going to get on famously, you and me.’

‘It may not be right,’ Aalea said. ‘It may not be just. But this is a world of senators and consuls and Luminatii – of republics and cults and institutions built and maintained almost entirely by men. And in it, love is a weapon. Sex is a weapon. Your eyes? Your body? Your smile?’ She shrugged. ‘Weapons. And they give you more power than a thousand swords. Open more gates than a thousand War Walkers. Love has toppled kings, Mia. Ended empires. Even broken our poor, sunsburned sky.’ The Shahiid reached out a hand, brushed a stray hair from Mia’s cheek. ‘They will never see the knife in your hand if they are lost in your eyes. They will never taste the poison in their wine when they are drunk on the sight of you.’ A small shrug. ‘Beauty simply makes it easier, love. Easier than you have it now. It may be sad. It may be wrong. But it is also true.’

‘That is how it begins. The weaving is only the first of it. The butterfly remembers being the caterpillar. But do you think it feels anything but pity for that thing crawling in the muck? Once it has spread those beautiful wings and learned to fly?’

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.

Oh my... Give us a breather narrator T-T

And last, the language of cats. O, yes, cats speak, gentlefriend, doubt it not – if you own more than one and can’t see them at this particular moment, chances are they’re off in a corner somewhere lamenting the fact that their owner seems to spend all their time reading silly books rather than paying them the attention they so richly deserve.