by Jay Kristoff
“It is deep, Master,” Meline reported. “It will heal in time, but it’s best I—”
“Swiftly, then.”
The thrall curtseyed once more, rushing from the room.
“And bring another fucking bottle!” Gabriel shouted.
The woman fled down the stairs in a flurry of black damask. Again, she left the door unlocked behind. Gabriel listened to her descend, forty stairs, seventy, his senses still sharp as razors. He heard iron keys. A heavy lock. Door slamming.
He turned pale grey eyes back to the historian. Jean-François still lurked on the other side of the prison cell. The historie had fallen on the floor, open to a sketch of Dior back in the Perfect Husband, wrapped in her ridiculous frockcoat. The silversaint picked it up, marveling once again at the vampire’s artistry.
“It’s a fine likeness.” He smiled, heart aching. “The little bitch would be flattered.”
“Put that down. You’ll get blood on it.”
Gabriel dropped the book onto the vampire’s chair. “Heaven forbid.”
The historian dragged a long golden curl from his eyes and whispered, soft with menace. “I shall see you punished for this, de León. I shall have you on your knees.”
“I’m sure you can taste me already. But you know this is all a waste of time, don’t you?”
“Time is something my Empress has in abundance.”
Gabriel shook his head, smearing crimson across his chin as he stroked his stubble. “If that were so, I’d already be dead, vampire. Your Empress needs the secret of the Grail. But you said it yourself. The cup was broken. The Grail is gone. This is your world, leech. Your here and your now and your forever. And when the monsters you’ve birthed drain every last drop from it, you’ll have none but yourselves to blame.”
Gabriel glanced over his shoulder.
“That was quick.”
The thrall woman stood on the threshold again. “Master?”
Gabriel met Jean-François’s eyes again. “I don’t want to speak of ma famille anymore, vampire. So, you can sit and watch me get quietly shitfaced, or I can stop wasting our time and return to the story I’m actually here to tell.”
A moment passed, long and silent, before the vampire spoke again.
“… As you like it, Chevalier.”
The silversaint returned to his chair, dripping blood. As he sat with a wince, the thrall knelt beside him. He saw a bowl of steaming water, bandages, smelled the antiseptic perfume of witchhazel and fools’ honey. And beside the bowl …
“Merci, Mlle Meline,” he said, reaching for the new bottle of Monét. “When they usher me into hell, I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you.”
Jean-François returned slowly to his seat, eyes on the silversaint’s bleeding hand as he picked up his historie. The vampire straightened his beautiful coat, took the span of three breaths to regain his composure, then spoke.
“So. Your gambit at San Guillaume had turned into a massacre, Silversaint. Sister Chloe, Père Rafa, Saoirse, Bellamy, Phoebe—the entire Company of the Grail. All butchered by the Beast of Vellene. The only ones to survive Danton’s wrath were you and Dior.”
Jean-François’s lips twisted into the faintest of smiles.
“And he had turned out to be a she.”
Gabriel winced as Meline fished a long splinter of glass from his palm. He stared at the sevenstar etched there, silver ink glinting in the lantern’s golden light.
“I don’t suppose I could have another smoke?”
The historian lifted his quill and simply glowered.
Gabriel shrugged. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”
He lifted the Monét to his lips and took a long, slow swallow right from the neck.
“So. The end. The beginning. The Grail.”
BOOK SIX
AS DEVILS CAN FLY
From holy cup comes holy light;
The faithful hand sets world aright.
And in the Seven Martyrs’ sight,
Mere man shall end this endless night.
—AUTHOR UNKNOWN
I
FEAR NO DARKNESS
“‘YOU’RE A GIRL.’
“‘I noticed.’
“‘Fuck.’
“I skimmed my good hand through my sodden hair, my breath hanging pale and heavy between us. Dior looked up at me, drenched bone deep, her lips purpling from the chill. We were crouched on the banks of the River Volta, shoreline crusted with ice like a frosthunter’s beard, a deadwood rising beyond. The night was black as sin, black as the river behind us, black as the heart of the thing that had torn our little company to ribbons.
“‘Fuck.’
“‘You s-said that already. What happened to Saoirse?’
“‘She’s dead,’ I sighed.
“Dior’s eyes widened. ‘Are you s-sure?’
“‘Danton tore her and Phoebe apart right in front of me. So oui, fairly fucking sure.’
“The girl swallowed hard, jaw clenched. ‘Sister Chloe?’
“I stared out to the dark waters that had claimed my old friend, rushing past us, silent and hungry. And eyes burning, I shook my head.
“‘Fuck,’ Dior hissed.
“‘That’s what I said.’
“The girl hung her head, arms wrapped around herself, shivering. For a moment, I thought she might begin to weep. To break. None on earth could’ve faulted her for it. She looked very small then, and very alone. But instead, she dragged herself to her feet, and shaking, half-staggering, waded out into the shallows, blue eyes fixed on San Guillaume’s silhouette on the cliffs across the river. She raised one finger to the monastery, screaming at the top of her lungs. ‘I’m going to kill you! You hear me, bastard? I’m going to rip out your fucking heart and feed it to you, you sonofabitch, you whoreson, you—’
“‘Enough,’ I said, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“‘Get your fucking hands off me!’ she flailed.
“‘She was my friend too!’ I roared. ‘I knew her since before you were born! But you’re shouting at the wind, and every minute we waste is another Danton will use to cross this river and be at our throats again! We need to move!’
“‘Who the fuck is we?’ The girl stomped up and down, knee-high in freezing water. ‘This is the Volta! This is as far as you go, remember?’
“‘… You think I’d leave you here? How rotten a weed do you take me for?’
“‘Well, why would you stay? You don’t give a damn about me! You kept your word to Chloe. Back to your wife and famille, no? Pack your shit, hero!’
“I looked at this girl: half-naked, frozen to the bone, furious. And I could see myself in the mirror of her eyes. I couldn’t fault her for thinking I’d abandon her, for believing I was that kind of monster. Broken. Selfish. Faithless. Cruel.
“She’d known me barely a month, and already better than most.
“‘Here,’ I held out my greatcoat. ‘You’ll catch your death.’
“‘I don’t want your pity. And I don’t need your help.’
“‘Pride never filled an empty belly, nor kept a man from freezing to death. Girls neither, I’ll wager.’ I held the coat out again. ‘Don’t be a fool.’
“She glowered a moment longer, then snatched the coat from my hand.
“‘Most folk would spare a merci for the man who just saved their lives, Lachance.’
“Her scowl softened a touch, but still, she gave no thanks. Instead, she slung my coat around her shivering shoulders. Too big by half, hanging on her narrow frame, snow-pale hair dripping in pale blue eyes. She was making a good show of it, and I knew better than most how rage can warm your body for a while. But if we didn’t find shelter and get a fire going, this girl was set to freeze to death. And I’d follow soon after.
“‘Come on,’ I nodded. ‘There’s cliffs up this way. If we’re lucky, we’ll find a cave.’
“‘And if we’re not lucky?’ she asked, teeth already starting to chatter.
“�
�Then we can thank God for his consistency.’
“We trudged up the frozen banks, leaving the shadow of San Guillaume behind us. Great Redeemer, it was freezing. My tunic and leathers were sodden, blood trickling from my punctured belly, every breath a great cloud of frost from my lips. That final, tiny speck of sanctus I’d smoked on the monastery walls was all that kept me going, but Dior was shivering so badly she was soon stumbling. Within a mile, she had her first fall, face-first over a tree root into the snow and dirt. She pushed my hand away when I offered it, snarling and rising to her feet. But a few hundred yards later, she fell again. And again.
“Her lips were blue now. Trembling so hard she could barely breathe, let alone walk. My wrist was still broken from Danton’s thrashing, and so, I knelt beside her, lifting her onto my shoulder with my one good arm as she snarled protest.
“‘G-get off m-me.’
“‘Technically, you’re on me.’
“‘Y-y-you w-w-w-wish, you f-f—’
“‘Shut the fuck up, Lachance.’
“The snow came thicker, chill creeping into my bruised bones. My feet were numb, my troth ring like ice on my aching finger. But finally, blessedly, we reached the cliffs above the river, and stumbling, shaking, I found a thin crack in the red sandstone, widening into a crevasse beyond. It was almost black within, but I spied bones on the floor, smelled old spoor and faint animal musk—a wolf den, long abandoned.
“I placed Dior on the ground, brushed the frost-rimed hair from her face.
“‘Lachance? You hear me?’
“She moaned in reply, eyes hollowed, lips purple.
“‘I’ve got to find something to burn. Stay awake, you hear?’
“Again, the girl only murmured, her eyelids bruised deep blue. I knew if she lost consciousness there, she might never find it again. So, with a curse, I drew Ashdrinker from her sheath. Placing the blade in Dior’s lap, I squeezed the hilt, knuckles white.
“‘Keep her awake, Ash.’
“Fingers not for the pinching, nor hands f-for the slapping. Blade for the cleaving and edge for the cutting and song for the d-dancing and the red, red—
“‘Just … tell her a fucking story, aright? Don’t let her sleep.’
“Tales for the t-t-telling? These have I, abundant.
“I wrapped Dior’s hand around the broken sword’s haft. The girl’s eyes fluttered open as her fingertips touched worn leather, breath rushing as she whispered. ‘Oh … oh … God.’
“‘Nothing too dark, Ash,’ I warned. ‘Happy endings only, understood?’
“No such thing, such thing, Gabriel.
“‘I mean it.’
“As do I, my friend. And I am sorry f-for it.
“I let go of the hilt and ran. Out into the dark, looking for anything dry enough to burn before the last hint of sanctus wore off. Stomping through the woods, snapping branches, I tried not to picture Chloe letting go of my hand and plummeting into the dark waters below. Her final words echoing now in my aching head: Dior is all that matters, Gabe.
“She’d believed, Chloe Sauvage. Believed in that girl deep enough to die for her.
“What the hell was I going to do now?
“When I’d gathered a bulging armload, I hobbled back to the cave, fast as my numb feet would take me. Dior was huddled inside, shaking head to toe. But she was still awake, her hands on Ashdrinker’s hilt, wide eyes fixed on me as I set the fire. I’d managed to keep that old capitaine’s flintbox, striking it now on the kindling I’d gathered. For a moment, I was put in mind of my stepfather, his lessons out in the Nordlund wilds when I was a little boy.
“Lorson. Mama. Amélie. Celene.
“Lifetimes ago now.
“‘She’s singing to m-me,’ Dior whispered, soft with wonder. ‘Ashdrinker.’
“I glanced at the sword in the girl’s shaking hands. The silvered dame on the crossguard. Beautiful. Infuriating. Utterly mad. ‘And what’s she singing to you about?’
“‘The b-b-battle at the Twins.’
“I scoffed. ‘Believe not a word, then. Ash wasn’t even there for that one.’
“‘You k-killed her. Danton’s s-s-sister.’
“I blew gently on the flames, my broken arm throbbing, hands numb.
“‘You saw him,’ Dior insisted. ‘The Forever K-K-King.’
“I pictured him then. Much as it pained me. That perpetual youth, beautiful and terrible, wreathed in an unlight so bitter-bleak it froze your heart. And I heard it again; the vow of a father eternal, to the one who’d murdered his daughter beloved.
“I have forever, boy.
“I took the sword from Dior’s shaking hands. ‘I told you no unhappy endings, Ash.’
“I am sorry, Gabriel, but she must learn the t-truth of it sooner or lat—
“I sheathed the blade, placing her at rest against the wall. Turning back to the flames, I stoked them higher, sensation creeping into my fingers, throbbing in my broken arm. The smoke drifted through the cracks above, heat bleeding into our little refuge. I dragged my sopping tunic off, prodding the slowly closing wound in my aching belly. Danton had stuck me good, the bastard. But not fucking good enough, and I vowed he’d regret it. The whole time, Dior watched, silent, shaking a little less in the budding warmth.
“‘Ten thousand,’ she finally said. ‘You beat an army of ten thousand vampires.’
“‘Not alone. Not just me.’
“‘The Forever King would’ve taken Nordlund if n-not for you.’
“‘He did take the Nordlund, girl. Three winters later the Bay of Tears froze solid, and he swept across the north like a dose of the salts. All I did was make him wait.’
“‘You were sixteen.’
“‘So?’
“‘So I’m sixteen, and the most impressive thing I’ve ever beaten is my…’ The girl looked down at herself, sighing. ‘… Actually, I s’pose penis jokes are a little redundant now, aren’t they?’
“‘Boys tend to make them a lot.’ I shrugged. ‘Good way to pretend to be one.’
“‘I noticed.’
“‘But why would you?’
“‘Notice?’
“‘Pretend to be one.’
“Dior looked at the ink on my fingers. ‘How old’s your daughter, hero?’
“I stared at this strange girl across the flames. Pretense abandoned, there was still that edge to her, street-hard and gutter-sharp. A fearlessness. A swagger. ‘Why?’
“‘Younger than me?’
“I nodded slow. ‘She’s almost twelve.’
“‘She’ll be noticing by now, then. You probably won’t for a while longer. Most fathers would rather tear the sky down than see their daughters grow up. But her mama has marked it, I’ll wager. She knows what a world like this does to young girls.’
“‘There’s no one who loses more sleep over that than a father, girl. Believe me.’
“‘If that were true, you’d never ask why I pretended to be a boy.’
“Dior plucked at the beaten leather around her shoulders, sighing.
“‘You ruined my magik coat, hero.’
“‘That coat almost got you killed. Again. And it was as magik as a pig’s arsehole.’
“‘You’re wrong.’ She stared across the flames, shaking her head. ‘Oh, it wouldn’t stop an enchanted blade or let me walk across worlds or anything impressive enough for poor Bel to write a song about.’ She hung her head then, scratching at well-chewed fingernails. ‘You want to know what that coat did?’
“‘I suppose you’ll tell me, regardless.’
“‘It let me walk a dark street without having to watch over my shoulder. It let me step into a room and not feel eyes crawling every inch of my skin. It let me raise my voice without being laughed at, let me threaten to kill you if you didn’t get your filthy fucking hands off me. It let me do all the things your daughter is starting to figure out she can’t, because your daughter is starting to figure out what a world like this does to young girls
.’
“Dior sighed, scraping ash-white hair over her face.
“‘I loved that coat.’
“‘… Someone put their hands on you?’ I asked softly.
“Her eyes were hard as diamond. ‘My mama had excellent taste in terrible men.’
“I smiled sadly at that. ‘Mine too.’
“Dior softened, her ice melting a little. ‘Far as I know, mine never brought any vampires home. So, I suppose yours has mine bested.’
“‘Was she like you?’
“‘I’m nothing like her,’ Dior glowered.
“‘I mean … Esan. The line of the Grail. Did her blood—’
“‘Heal people?’ Dior spat into the flames, vicious. ‘If it did, she didn’t know it. Else she’d have bottled and sold it like she did every other part of herself.’
“‘… She was a courtesan?’
“‘She was a poppyfiend. And a drunk. And if you want to call a mother who sells her body to feed her habit while letting her daughter starve a courtesan, then as you like it. But I’ve a simpler word for it.’
“‘… Your papa?’
“The girl just shrugged, and flipped me the Fathers.
“She’d no knowing who he was, then. One more thing we had in common.
“‘What happened to your mama?’
“‘What happens to all addicts, hero.’
“‘Bad?’
“‘… Worse.’
“Dior looked into the fire, flames crackling as her voice grew hushed.
“‘She was like a ghost near the end. Grey skin. No teeth. Dead without dying. But she stayed a slave through it all. To that god she prayed to. That devil she blamed. Too stupid to know they were one and the same.
“‘I’d been away for days. I’d took to looking after myself by then. Found my own friends. But I’d come back to check up on her. I found her on the ground beside her bed. Eyes rolled back in her skull. I thought the worst, soon as I saw her—I knew it’d kill her in the end. But I could still see her lips moving. I thought maybe she was dreaming. So I shook her to wake her, and her mouth opened and a rat crawled up out of it.’