by Jay Kristoff
“This was not her.
“This was not my Astrid.
“I pictured her as once she’d been. That first night we met in the Library of San Michon, that beauty, that smile, that girl who wielded books like blades.
“I kissed her lips, red as rubies, cold as midnight.
“I saw her lashes stirring on her cheeks.
“And I picked up my sword.
“Two little words.
“‘Forgive me.’
“Do it.
“‘I can’t.’
“You must.
“‘Oh, God.’
“And I did.
“I looked to the heaven that hadn’t answered when I begged. The God who’d let it come to this. I felt them rise up like poison inside me, shuddering sobs spilling through bloody teeth. I wept like a father untethered, like a son betrayed, like a husband widowed, until my throat closed over and my voice was broken and I longed for death.
“But through the roaring in my ears, I heard a voice inside my head, clinging to the words she now spoke. Words like vengeance. Words like violence. Words like promise and purpose where, otherwise, there was only madness. Not for me to lie quiet in my grave while the one who had buried them yet walked. Not for me to close my eyes and sleep, to consign myself to this tomb. Not until the song was sung.
“If he wanted a war, I would be it.
“If he wanted a fear, let it be me.
“One last gift my love gave to me. One last sacrament, taken with burning tears in my eyes, and revulsion for all I was boiling in my soul. I’d no other way out of that grave, no other path toward the vengeance of which she whispered. But if there was some tattered remnant left of my heart before then, it turned to ashes as her taste crashed upon my tongue one final time. I made a vow then and there, a promise to them both, my Astrid, my Patience, my angels. Whispered in the dark, cold as tombs and black as hell, that never again would the blood of another touch my lips. Never again would I feed this monster I was.
“Never again.
“And with the strength she’d given me, bloody tongue and trembling hands, I tore my way free of that grave he’d buried us in. And with the smoke of the fires I lit rising to the sky behind me, I dragged on the shape of what I’d been, and I remembered; there is a time for grief, and a time for songs, and a time to recall with fondness all that has been and gone.
“But there is a time for killing too.
“There is a time for blood.
“And a time for rage.
“And a time to close your eyes and become the thing hell wants you to be.
“And so. I did.”
XXI
ALL AND EVERYTHING
“I FELL SILENT, still staring out that empty window of Château Aveléne. The place she’d never been. The chapel where we’d been wed. Echoes of my happiest day. Dior still knelt on the floor beside me. Squeezing my hand so tight I thought she might break it. Weeping so hard I feared she might never stop.
“‘I’m sorry, Gabe. God, I’m so sorry.’
“‘Now you see,’ I whispered. ‘Why I’ll not give you over to him. Why I’ll not lose one more drop to this. Why I must see this through to the end. Because I miss them, like a piece of me is missing. And I love them, like love is all I was. And there is nothing I’d not do, no depth to which I’d not sink, no price I wouldn’t pay to have them back and here with me. Because they were my all and my everything.
“‘But they’re gone.
“‘They’re gone, and they’re never coming back. And that bastard took them from me. And for that, he will die, Dior. He and every one of his cursed line will die.’
“‘God, Gabriel,’ she whispered. ‘Forgive me if I…’
“I shook my head. ‘So long as you understand. This is where you’re safest, so this is where you stay. No matter the cost.’ I met her eyes, iron in my voice. ‘You hear me?’
“‘Oui.’ She sniffed hard, pressed her head against my shoulder. ‘I do.’
“I looked to the broken glass, the night outside. The scabs were torn away now, the sight of that empty window a hole in my chest. But the rage did a little to cauterize the bleed, and the thought of what was to come did the rest—enough for me to put aside the grief for one breath longer and do what must be done.
“‘I have to go find Ash. Then talk to Aaron. I need you to go to your room and stay there. I’ll have Baptiste send his best people to watch your door until I get back. Answer to no one ’til I return.’
“She nodded, eyes downturned. ‘Oui.’
“‘Promise me.’
“‘I promise.’
“‘I mean it.’
“She met my eyes, her own flashing. ‘I promise.’
“I nodded once, swallowing the taste of salt and blood. Pushing aside sorrow and focusing on that fire within as I rose to my feet, drawing Dior up with me. ‘It’s almost light. I know it’s hard, but try to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long night. The longest of your life. But I intend you see the dawn.’
“Silver heels crunched on broken glass as I made to leave.
“‘Gabriel.’
“I turned at her voice. And as I did, she threw her arms around me and pressed her cheek to my chest and squeezed for all she was worth. ‘You’re a good man, Gabriel de León. Merci. For everything.’
“I tensed at her embrace, then sank into it, blinking hard at the burn in my eyes. I’d wept oceans already. And tears were no more use here than prayers. Still …
“‘I’ll return soon,’ I vowed. ‘And I’ll not leave your side afterward ’til I’ve seen you safe inside the walls of San Michon. Sleep now, girl. Fear no darkness.’
“I saw her to her room, closed the door tight, and casting a wary glance around the shadowed halls, I trudged out into the night. I could taste the fear in the air, hear the soft murmurs at my back as I walked through the falling snow. I found Ashdrinker in a drift beside the chapel, the silvered dame glittering in the muted moonslight. A few of Aaron’s soldiers rushed past, looking at me strangely as I fished the sword from the snow, wiped the blade clean.
“Is all well?
“‘Well as it ever is.’
“Ye t-told her, told her?
“‘Like you said, Ash. No such thing as a happy ending.’
“I am sorry, Gabriel. Always and ever. That d-day was my greatest failure.
“I looked down into her face, her shattered blade, the words etched down her length that only she and I knew the telling of. We’d waded through rivers of blood together, she and I. We’d carved our names into the pages of history.
“‘Never blame the blade. The failure was mine. But I’ve a will to set the ledger to rights amorrow night, if you’ve a will to help me. I’ve a need to slay something monstrous.’
“Always. Always.
“I sheathed her at my side, her weight a comfort on my hip as I stalked back to the keep. I found Aaron and Baptiste and their sergeants-at-arms in the Great Hall, gathered around a map spread out on the feasting tables. I had a quiet word with Baptiste, and the blackthumb nodded once and immediately sent three heavyset, hammer-fisted bladesmen to keep watch at Dior’s door. And then we set about planning for the assault.
“There were voices raised and angry curses and dark glances thrown my way—I knew at least half these folk rued the day I’d ever set foot inside Aveléne. But still, they loved their capitaine fierce, and they hated coldbloods all, and between those two measures, Aaron held them steady. All knew the strength of the force set to crash against these walls amorrow night. All knew victory would be hard won if it were won at all. But Aaron and his men had been preparing their defenses for years, and Baptiste was the genius he’d always been, and as the dawn’s frail light pushed through the tall windows, I knew we had a fighting chance. But more, with a full dose of sanctus in me, with all my strength at my command, if I could have but one moment, one tiny window in which to get my hands around the Beast’s neck, I’d be one step closer to the
vengeance I came north to find—one step closer to the end of the Forever King’s accursed line.
“We ate breakfast together, Aaron, Baptiste, and I. And though the memory still held pain, it reminded me of days in San Michon. There’s a strange and fierce love forged in the fires of combat. A brotherhood written only in blood. And I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it until that moment, nor how glad I’d be to have it back.
“‘You have my thanks, brothers,’ I told them. ‘And all the love I have to give. You risk everything for me, and on thin promise at that.’
“‘And gladly,’ Aaron replied. ‘But not just for you, Gabe.’
“He shook his head, staring at the sevenstar on his palm.
“‘I know you have your doubts, but I feel the will of the Almighty in all this, brother. I feel the weight of providence, the hand of fate itself. I swear to the Mothermaid, I cannot explain it. But somehow I know that all this … every moment of our lives has been leading to this night.’ He met my eyes, fierce and proud. ‘And I am ready.’
“‘God stands with us, Gabe,’ Baptiste said, squeezing my hand. ‘As he did when we stood together at the Twins. Then as now, with him beside us, we cannot fall.’
“‘No fear,’ I murmured.
“‘Only fury,’ Aaron nodded.
“‘You should sleep, brother,’ Baptiste murmured. ‘No offense, but you look like hell.’
“We shared a weary chuckle, and I gave my thanks again. And embracing them both, sick with sorrow, I retired upstairs. I bathed properly for the first time in as long as I could remember; blood and grime so clouded the water I had to change the bucket three times. Dragging the tangles out of my hair. Shaving off my road whiskers with a razor Aaron loaned me. I looked at the man in the mirror and saw the scars within and without. I wondered if he would ever find peace. If he would ever forgive himself. If it would ever be over.
“And then I trudged to my bedchamber, wanting nothing more than a few blessed hours on clean sheets in a soft bed … God, the thought of it seemed like heaven. But I stopped off at Dior’s room first, nodded to the bladesmen on duty outside her door. They looked at me with faces grim and eyes narrowed, resentful and sullen. But one of them finally spoke; a gruff Ossian fellow with a beard like a brace of badgers.
“‘You’d nae remember,’ he grunted. ‘But we fought alongside each other at Báih Sìde.’
“I looked at him, bleary-eyed and exhausted.
“‘Redling,’ I finally said. ‘Redling á Sadhbh.’
“He blinked in surprise. ‘That’s right. How’d you—’
“‘I remember,’ I sighed. ‘I remember everything.’
“The man looked me over, flint eyes and bristling beard. ‘I’ll give ye nae thanks for bringing such evil to our door,’ he growled. ‘But if I must fall tonight, I’m proud to do it at the side of the Black Lion.’
“‘Oui,’ said the second bladesman. ‘God bless, de León.’
“I nodded thanks, shook their hands, told them to know no fear. And then I opened Dior’s door a crack, peered into the dark of her bedchamber. She faced away from the door, bundled up under her blankets, soundless and still. I watched her a moment, reminded of the nights I’d stood at the door to Patience’s room, just listening to her breathe and wondering how in the name of heaven I’d made something so perfect.
“Again, I felt my eyes burn.
“Again, I blinked away those useless tears.
“And then I realized that Dior wasn’t breathing at all. That her coat wasn’t hanging on the peg, nor her boots sitting at the foot of her bed. And my belly turned to ice and I stormed into the room, already knowing what I’d find as I ripped away the blankets.”
Jean-François dipped his quill into the ink and smiled faintly. “Pillows.”
“Dior Lachance was no coward. But she sure as hell was a liar.”
Gabriel shook his head, taking a long gulp of wine.
“And the lying little bitch was gone.”
XXII
THE LION RIDES
“MY FURY WAS terrible. Not for the bladesmen outside Dior’s door who’d failed to hear her climbing from the window, nor for the kennelmaster who’d lain sleeping as she stole the dogs from their pen. Not for the watchmen who’d turned a blind eye as she led the hounds down the hill, nor for the soldier who’d helped her hook them up to the sled she’d loaded.
“No. My fury was for the fool who’d believed that girl would cower inside a castle while another drop of blood was spilled for her sake.
“We stood on Aveléne’s highwalk now, peering out through the crenellations to the glittering Mère in the frozen valley below.
“‘She rode out at dawn,’ Aaron reported. ‘Into the snow, headed northeast toward the Maidsroad. She can take that all the way to San Michon if—’
“‘No,’ I scowled. ‘She’s riding on the river.’
“Baptiste shook his head. ‘Our scouts report she was trekking—’
“‘She’s switched back. The little bitch is clever as cats. And after getting an eyeful of that map in your hall, she knows the Mère will see her all the way to the monastery.’
“‘How do you know that, brother?’
“I breathed deep, sighed a cloud of rolling frost. ‘I offered her a phial of my blood, way back in Winfael. She refused it. So when I got her that new coat in Redwatch, I slipped the phial into the lining instead.’ Shaking my head, I remembered Master Greyhand’s lessons. ‘Old age and treachery can always overcome youth and skill, Lachance.’
“‘Forgive me, Gabe,’ Baptiste said. ‘But what good is a phial of your blood?’
“‘Because I can feel it.’”
Jean-François stopped writing, glanced up from his chronicle. “Feel it, de León?”
Gabriel nodded. “I’d never had a teacher. Never met anyone who could unlock the secrets of my bloodline. But still, I’d learned a few tiny invocations over the years; scraps and whispers, hidden in the pages of San Michon and unearthed by my love.”
“Sanguimancy,” the historian murmured.
“Oui. And atop the walls of Aveléne, I reached toward the horizon and felt it sure and true; a tiny piece of me inside a prison of glass, headed north along a road of grey ice.
“‘She’s on the river,’ I said. ‘And the Dead are following.’
“‘The watchmen said she’d loaded her sled with supplies,’ Baptiste murmured. ‘But even running heavy, the Dead won’t move faster than a team of dogs on ice in daylight.’
“‘Day won’t last forever,’ Aaron warned.
“‘I have to reach her by nightfall,’ I said, marching down the stairs. ‘That’s when they’ll hit her. I need the rest of your dogs, Aaron. And a sled. Quick as you may.’
“‘I’ll come with you,’ he declared, and again, I marveled at the trust and love my brother bore for me. I smiled at him even as I shook my head.
“‘She has a two-hour head start. I need to run light as I can.’
“‘Gabe, you can’t take Danton and that army alone.’
“I patted Ashdrinker’s hilt. ‘I’m not alone.’
“Baptiste shook his head. ‘Gabe—’
“‘I’ll not waste time arguing, brothers. Mothermaid knows what I did to deserve friends so true as you. But you’ve not dogs enough to follow me, nor horses that can run safe on a half-frozen river. And every minute we waste is another minute Danton draws closer to that girl’s throat. So get me those dogs. Please.’
“The kennelmaster worked swift, stripping a sled back to the bones so I might run lighter. I stood with my brothers on the frozen pier, the Mère stretching away into falling snows, the folk of Aveléne watching from atop their walls. They felt guilty no doubt; that they’d turned a blind eye and let Dior leave alone. But more, they were conscious that the girl had drawn the shadow away from their walls, that she’d thrown herself over the brink to spare them slaughter. And their voices were raised up now, a clamor along the ancient stone and
ringing somewhere in the hollow of my chest.
“‘Godspeed, de León!’
“‘Mothermaid bless you!’
“‘The Lion rides!’
“‘THE BLACK LION RIDES!’
“Baptiste threw his arms around me, hugged me fierce. ‘Angel Fortuna ride with you, Little Lion. May God and all his heavenly host watch over you.’
“‘Merci, brother. Look after this prettyboy for me.’
“But Aaron wouldn’t share the smile I shot him. ‘This is foolishness, Gabriel.’
“‘Let’s call it reckless. Such was ever my nature. Now tell me farewell, brother, and bid me Godspeed, and if you’ve a will to pray for her, I’ll not curse you for it.’
“‘For her but not for you?’
“‘He doesn’t listen, Aaron.’ I smiled, sadly. ‘He never has.’
“Aaron slipped a bandolier over my shoulder, loaded to bursting with silverbombs, holy water, sanctus phials. And then he dragged me into an embrace, squeezing tight.
“‘Remember, Gabe,’ he whispered. ‘It matters not what you hold faith in. But you must hold faith in something.’ He kissed my brow, eyes shining. ‘Godspeed. Ride hard.’
“The wind was at my back as I charged out, as if the storm itself spurred me on. The dogs were that dauntless Nordish stock known as lancers, and they ran swift, my sled blades hissing across the ice as we barreled down the frozen curve of the Mère.
“The riverbanks were crags and cliffs at first—the good black basalt of my homeland’s bones—and the fresh powder in front of us was unmarred by track or tread. But a few hours upriver, the cliffs gave way to lowlands and frozen deadwood, and I saw the twin arcs of sled blades and a multitude of dog tracks veer out from the banks onto the ice—Dior’s trail, sure and true. She’d carried her sled over the rocks and onto the river, hoping to hide her passing. But I knew a bloodhound as skilled as Danton wouldn’t be thrown off by so simple a ruse, and soon after, her tracks were lost in the tread of the things that followed her—a great host flooding out from the woods and pursuing her up the Mère. I pictured the highbloods and wretched Danton had brought with him, looked to the meager supplies I carried, the broken blade at my waist. In truth, I didn’t know if it would be enough. But when there’s little you can do, do what little you can.