by Jay Kristoff
“‘Nor I you,’ I grinned. ‘But never in my life have I been happier to be wrong.’
“‘Admitting you were mistaken?’ came a voice. ‘Well, that’s a first, sure and true.’
“I looked beyond Baptiste’s shoulder, and saw him striding across the drawbridge toward me. As princely as he’d ever been: long golden hair swept back from his scarred brow and cheek, his jaw set, his features proud. But his eyes were tempered with wisdom now, shining with tears as he opened his arms.
“‘Fairdawning, Peasant,’ Aaron grinned.
“‘Godmorrow, Lordling,’ I laughed.
“And he threw his arms around my shoulders and dragged me into an embrace, and all the years between us were nothing then. We were but boys again, paleblood born, brothers-in-arms, who’d stood side by side and stared into the face of hell together. Hard as iron. Strong as silversteel. Still unconquered.
“‘It’s so fucking good to see you, brother,’ I whispered.
“‘And you, brother,’ Aaron breathed, his voice breaking.
“I grabbed his cheeks, pressed our foreheads together. And at last, reluctantly, he broke from my embrace. ‘Last we heard, you were down in Sūdhaem with your wife and girl. What in God’s name brings you back here, Gabe?’
“‘We need your help, brother.’ I looked to Dior behind me, huddled against the chill in her lordling’s coat. ‘She needs your help.’
“Baptiste raised one heavy brow. ‘She?’
“Dior gave a graceful curtsey, like a lady in the Emperor’s court.
“‘Best fetch a few bottles,’ I told them. ‘We’ve much to talk about.’”
XIV
CHTEAU AVELÉNE
“‘I SWEAR BY the Almighty, Mothermaid, and all Seven Martyrs,’ Aaron sighed, ‘I’ve never heard a tale half so strange as this.’
“‘The Holy Grail of San Michon,’ Baptiste breathed, making the sign of the wheel.
“Aaron stood beside a roaring hearth, staring at Dior with curious eyes. Baptiste was likewise studying the girl, firelight gleaming on dark skin. The pair had brought us through the gates without question, ushering us up the mont to their crumbling keep, and we were now seated in a great stone hall. Threadbare tapestries hung on the walls beside a grand map of the empire. Regions fallen to the coldbloods were marked—by Aaron’s hand, no doubt—bears to the west, snakes and wolves to the south, and to the north and east, the white ravens of the Blood Voss, sweeping ever closer to the capital, Augustin.
“Château Aveléne was old, her stone cracked and her halls draughty, but good God, it was a welcome change from the weald. We’d been brought drink, fresh food—real, actual meat, no less—and Aaron and Baptiste had listened intently as I told our tale.
“They looked well, my old brothers. Aveléne had been near a ruin when they settled here years ago, but they’d reclaimed it from the hands of time, and now it stood like a lighthouse in an ocean of darkness. The bailey had been full of folk as we’d been ushered inside, not just soldiers, but women and children—familles, carving out a little life beside this burning hearth. In truth, it was a marvel to see.
“Baptiste was still hard as nails—he’d obviously kept up his smithing in the years we’d been apart. He’d cropped off his braids, stubble across his scalp now, salt and pepper at his temples. He wore old dark leathers trimmed with pale fur, hands still broad and callused from his hammer.
“Aaron’s hair was longer, and he’d grown a short beard, trimmed razor sharp. He still wore lordling’s attire: a fine frockcoat in the emerald green of his famille and a cloak of grey fox. If the cloth was old, a few buttons missing, he still cut the noblest sort of pose. And though his face was still scarred from the Wraith in Red’s claws, though this castle was not so fine as the ancestral keep at Coste, my brother still stood proud as ever he’d been.
“‘The tale strikes me just as strange as you,’ I told them, swallowing another mouthful of vodka. ‘And I’m living it. But on my life, on my name, I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Dior’s blood turning vampires to pillars of flame. Bringing back men from the verge of death. And the Forever King believes it too. Hard enough to set his son on our tail.’
“‘The Beast of Vellene,’ Aaron murmured. ‘Laure’s baby brother.’
“‘He must be across the Volta by now.’ I nodded to the map upon the wall. ‘I know not if he’ll find us here, but he’s been at us like a damned hound up to this point.’
“‘There’s something in my blood,’ Dior said quietly. ‘It draws them, like beggars to silver. It happened near Lashaame and Dhahaeth. Again at Winfael, and all the way through Ossway. Wherever we are, coldbloods seem to find us.’
“Aaron stared at the map with one brow raised, sipping from his iron goblet. Baptiste sighed heavy, gentle eyes on Dior. ‘What does the Beast want with you, mademoiselle? Why does Fabién Voss care for you at all?’
“‘I don’t know.’ She swallowed, looking at her scarred hands. ‘Danton said something about a black crown. That even the Forever King would do homage before me.’
“‘Lies drip from the tongues of the Dead like honey. We can put stock in nothing he’s told you.’ Aaron met my eyes, firelight reflected in his own. ‘What of this masked one who hunts you? Liathe, you said? I’ve not heard the name before.’
“‘Nor I. But she’s powerful, and has gifts of the blood I’ve never seen.’ I shook my head. ‘I don’t know her game. But she and Danton seem at odds. Both want Dior alive, and neither can be trusted. We need to lure the Beast in, put him in his grave, then get Dior to San Michon before more enemies descend.’
“‘I’m surprised you put any trust in the Ordo Argent, brother,’ Aaron said, watching me carefully. ‘After all they did to you and Astrid.’
“‘How is your lioness, brother?’ Baptiste asked, sparing me a smile. ‘And your cub? She must be a proper little dame by now.’
“‘Almost.’ I smiled, water thin. ‘She’s eleven.’
“‘Give her a kiss from Uncle Baptiste when you see her, eh?’
“‘I know the Order didn’t treat Gabriel fair,’ Dior interrupted. ‘But Sister Chloe believed the answer to daysdeath was inside those walls. She died for that belief, and not alone. Rafa, Bellamy, Saoirse, Phoebe—I owe it to all of them to see this through.’
“‘Poor Sister Chloe,’ Baptiste murmured, looking into his glass.
“Aaron nodded, making the sign of the wheel. ‘I was ever fond of her.’
“Dior chewed her lip, looking to my old friends. ‘Listen, I’d no idea Gabriel was going to bring me to a place like this. We had nowhere else to go. But still, you’ve every apology I can muster for putting all this on your shoulders. I’m sorry for—’
“‘No apologies, Mlle Lachance,’ Aaron replied. ‘I trust Gabriel de León with my life. If he vows you’re a cause worth fighting for, then fight we shall, and with all heaven’s grace.’
“‘I don’t want anyone else dying for me…’
“‘A good thing we’ve no plans to.’ The Lord of Aveléne drew up his sleeves, and I saw the silver tattooed there, the story of his youth and faith and fire still etched upon his skin. ‘I know it doesn’t look much, but if the Beast of Vellene thinks he’ll storm this castle with a few rotten mongrels, he’s in for a reckoning, sure and true.’
“‘God is on our side, mademoiselle.’ Baptiste smiled, squeezing Dior’s hand. ‘And a few of my own innovations besides. I’ll show you before mass, if you like?’
“‘Mass?’ I frowned, pouring another cup.
“‘It’s prièdi, brother.’ Aaron scratched his neat beard, thoughtful, looking to Baptiste. ‘And after that, a feast, I think. What say you, love?’
“Baptiste slammed a fist on the table, making the goblets jump. ‘A grand idea!’
“Dior frowned. ‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble…’
“‘Nonsense!’ the blackthumb bellowed. ‘Too long has it been since we had an excuse for song and laughter. And in
nights dark as these, who knows when we’ll have occasion again? A feast, Mlle Lachance! We insist! To embrace old friends, and welcome new.’
“‘We may not have an emperor’s larder.’ Aaron smiled to me. ‘But I’ll wager our fare is a damn sight better than this bastard’s cookery.’
“‘Here now,’ I growled. ‘I’m not that bad.’
“‘He does try,’ Dior sighed. ‘But his mushroom ragout … isn’t the best.’
“‘If you think that’s bad, you should try his trailbread,’ Aaron laughed. ‘Old Master Greyhand almost wrote to the Pontifex to have it declared a crime against God.’
“‘Fuck yourselves,’ I chuckled. ‘All of you. Treacherous dogs.’
“Baptiste grinned and slapped my back, and I couldn’t help but stand and embrace him once more. I’d no ken just how much I’d missed these men, this brotherhood, and the thought that they’d put all they had on the line simply because I asked them … God help me if I almost didn’t weep again, then and there.
“Baptiste led us on a tour of the château as promised, and I could see he and Aaron hadn’t been idle. Aveléne had been impressive when Astrid and I first visited, but in the decade past, Aaron and Baptiste had turned the old ruin into a fortress. Beyond the walls around the mont’s base, only a single winding road led to the castle gates. If pressed, the folk from the town below could fall back inside the keep, and Baptiste’s grand design.
“‘Engineering works all along the battlements,’ he said proudly, striding the walls with one hand entwined with Aaron’s. ‘Fire throwers and ballista, barrels full of coal. We’ve a chymical still where the old stables used to be, churning out wood alcohol pure enough to burn like tinder.’ He glanced to me. ‘I don’t recommend you drink it, mon ami.’
“I winced, sipping from my new flask. ‘Couldn’t be worse than this vodka.’
“‘It’ll send you blind, Gabe. And mad.’
“‘As I say…’
“‘We’ve a hundred brave warriors,’ Aaron continued, leading us through the crowded bailey, the song of soldier and steel. ‘Well trained, well armed. We have scouts afield, so we’ll spot any army long before they arrive. Eyes to see and fangs to bite.’
“‘I could use a few phials, if you’ve spare,’ I said softly.
“‘No fear. We’ve a goodly stash.’ Aaron nodded, patting my arm. ‘Not the finest quality, but wretched often wander this way, and I still enjoy the Hunt’
“‘Oh, Mothermaid, they’re beautiful!’
“Dior ran across the bailey to a broad covered pen. Inside were more than two dozen dogs—stout and hardy Nordlund hounds with thick fur, grey and mottled, and bright blue eyes. Dior knelt beside their pen, and the big dogs sniffed her hands, licked her face as she grinned in delight. ‘I’ve never seen so many, so big!’
“‘We’ve been breeding them a while now,’ Baptiste smiled. ‘We use them for sledding on the river when it freezes over. Trade runs down to Beaufort, so we’re not cut off come the winter snows.’
“‘Could you use them to get to San Michon?’ the girl asked.
“Aaron and Baptiste exchanged a glance, and the blackthumb rubbed his chin. ‘We’ve not much occasion to visit there, chérie. The monastery still stands—the Forever King took one look at it and decided it wasn’t worth besieging. Fabién’s eye has ever been on the east, and Augustin. The silversaints guard our north flank, and for that we give thanks. But Aaron and I have no desire to eat at a table where we’re unwelcome.’
“I shook my head, still angry for them after all these years. Aaron was one of the finest initiates that the Order ever saw. Baptiste their greatest smith. I looked at what these two had built here, at the dark closing in all around us, and I marveled San Michon had ever turned their backs on these men. And of all things, over love.
“We meandered on, Aaron’s arm around Baptiste’s waist as the blackthumb proudly showed me his forge and a small glassworks beside it. We arrived at a long storehouse laden with supplies: dried foodstocks, large barrels of vodka and wood alcohol from their distillery, smaller barrels marked with black crosses. Dior finally finished fussing with the dogs, returned to my side. Looking about the storehouse, she wrinkled her nose.
“‘… What’s that smell?’
“‘Yellowwater and nightsoil.’ Aaron pointed to a wooden shed across from the dog pen. ‘We farm that too.’
“The girl looked at Aaron as if he were moonstouched. ‘You’re farming piss and shit.’
“‘For the salpêtre,’ I realized.
“Aaron nodded, drumming his fingers on the stack of smaller barrels. ‘Old Seraph Talon’s chymistrie lessons weren’t wasted on me, brother. We’ve sulfur from the mines near Beaufort. And charcoal aplenty.’
“Dior simply looked baffled, but I found myself grinning. Looking closer at the smaller barrels, I realized they weren’t marked with crosses, but with the twin scythes of Mahné, the Angel of Death. ‘You cheeky bastards are making your own black ignis.’
“‘For years now.’ Aaron took in the château with a sweep of his hand: the armed soldiers, the engineering works, the baying dogs, the good, thick stone. ‘As I say, woe betide our Prince of Forever if he seeks to ruck up these skirts.’
“I looked about the town, breathing the smoke, listening to the laughter and bustle, the hymn of metal on metal, and I allowed myself a small smile. It’d been a bloody journey to Aveléne, sure and true. And it was still a good trek up the Mère to San Michon. But it seemed we’d found a kind of sanctuary. Here at last, we might finally be safe.”
The Last Silversaint leaned back and took a long pull from his bottle of wine.
The historian continued writing in his book.
“You should have fucking known better?” Jean-François murmured.
Gabriel sighed. “I should’ve fucking known better.”
XV
SUNSHINE AND POURING RAIN
“EVERY WOBBLY CHAIR and crooked table in the mont had been dragged into the hall for the feast. Piecemeal utensils laid on patchwork tablecloths. Cracked crockery and mismatched tankards. Save the sorry guards upon the walls, most of Aveléne turned out that night.
“I could see familles in the hall, little children, even a few newborn babes, and again, I was stricken with the thought that I’d brought evil to this door. But once the meal began, I forgot the taste of guilt a moment and simply let myself breathe. As Baptiste had said, there was little cause for celebration those nights, and though folk had no clue as to why, still they came, feasting on rabbit stew, mountains of button mushrooms, and hot potato bread. I knew not the secret, but whoever worked the keep’s kitchens was a sorcerer—I even went back for a second helping of spuds.
“A trio of minstrels began belting out merry tunes, and the floor was cleared for dancing. Dior sat at my right side, her plate empty, her belly full. Some poor sod was busy trying to clean the bloodstains out of the clothes I’d bought her, and Dior had been offered a dress to wear. But instead, she’d borrowed an old frockcoat from Aaron. That alone told me that for all the warmth and merriment, she was still ill at ease. Dior wore that coat like armor, hair dragged down over her face. She was also well into her third glass of Baptiste’s homebrew vodka.
“‘Go easy on that stuff,’ I warned. ‘It’s got a kick like a lovesick mule.’
“‘I like mules,’ the girl smirked.
“‘Fine, don’t blame me if your head’s splitting come the dawn.’
“‘Ariiiiiight, old man,’ she sang, flipping me the Fathers.
“‘I keep telling you, I’m only thirty-two.’
“‘Could’ve fooled me with that beard, Grandpapa.’
“I scowled, scruffing at my road whiskers. ‘I told you, I lost my razor.’
“‘Well, find another, you look like a robber’s dog.’ She raised her cup and grinned. ‘Would your wife let you get away with a monstrosity like that?’
“‘No, Astrid hated it,’ I smiled. ‘She used to cal
l my moustache a heresy.’
“Dior screwed up her nose. ‘You had a moustache?’
“‘Not after she called it that.’
“Dior laughed as I poured myself another glass.
“‘That was one of my wife’s many talents, see. She always knew just the right thing to say to get her way. That woman had me wrapped around her little finger, and it only got worse when Patience learned how to do it, too. She took after her mother, that one, sure and true. One look into those eyes, and I’d melt like springtime snow.’
“I laughed to myself, shaking my head. But as I knocked back another cup, I saw Dior was sucking her lip, looking at me twice-strangely.
“‘… What?’
“‘Might I beg this dance, mademoiselle?’
“The pair of us broke our staring contest as Baptiste swept into a low bow before us. Dior blinked at the smithy, rubbing at the bruises on her face. ‘… Me?’
“‘If it does not offend?’ The smith gifted the girl a smile that would’ve melted the Mère. ‘My heart belongs to another, Mlle Lachance. But he’s not the jealous sort. And no flower so divine should be left to wilt in the corner.’
“Baptiste’s dark eyes sparkled with gleeful mischief as he proffered his hand. The crowd cheered as the music about us shifted pitch, the minstrels quickened their pace. But Dior glanced to me and shook her head. ‘Perhaps later.’
“‘You’re certain?’ the big man asked, astounded his smile had failed.
“‘Oui,’ she nodded. ‘Merci, Baptiste. Later, I promise.’
“‘As you like it, mademoiselle. But I shall hold you to that vow.’ The blackthumb swept into another bow and retired. I saw him grab another lass’s hand, waving to Aaron as he swept her out onto the floor. The dancers swayed and seethed across the boards, all the room clapping in time.
“‘You don’t like to dance?’ I asked Dior.
“‘I don’t know how,’ she admitted. ‘Not many galas in the gutters of Lashaame.’
“‘I’ll teach you, then,’ I declared, holding out my hand. ‘It’ll be good practice.’