by Jay Kristoff
“The Beast laughed, and we clashed again, sparks and blood raining into the black. I could hear screams behind me, the sound of snarls and steel—I knew not how Liathe fared, but nor could I risk a glance to tell. Danton came on again, again, his saber cutting a bone-deep gouge through my chest, another across my arm, and I felt the slack weight of muscles sliced loose from their anchors of bone, my left arm hanging heavy now, my speed failing. Ashdrinker’s voice rang in my mind, spurring me on, silver bright.
“They knew us, Gabriel. The b-blade that cleft the dark in twain. The man the undying f-feared. They remembered us. E’en after all these years.
“The silvered dame smiled in my mind.
“And so do I.
“We feinted, shifted, and finally lunged, everything we had behind that strike. Ashdrinker split the night in two as once she had, arcing between the falling snowflakes and toward the Beast’s chest. With snarling, sinuous speed, Danton raised his blade, turned Ash aside, and instead of sundering his long-dead heart, the broken blade pierced his shoulder, driven in to the hilt. The Beast roared in agony, fangs bared bloody. But I saw my folly now—same as Saoirse on the walls of San Guillaume. My blade was stuck in the stone of his flesh, his hand locking about mine on the hilt. His claws whistled as they came, speeding toward my throat, Dior screaming my name as I tore myself loose, talons shearing across my chin as I tumbled backward and landed with a crunch on the ice.
“The Beast towered above me now, gasping as he tore Ashdrinker free. His hands smoldered at her touch, and with a dark curse, he flung her away into the dark. And on he came, plunging his blade toward my heart. I rolled aside, kicked his knee with silver heels, rewarded with a crunch, a curse. But he swung again, again, blinded by my aegis, by his fury, at last striking true, his sword spearing my bicep and pinning my left arm to the ice. I roared in pain, thrusting my free hand toward his throat as he lunged atop me. We struggled, fangs bared, breath hissing through my teeth. All I needed was one moment, one second with my fingers around his neck.
“‘I’ll k-kill you, bastard,’ I spat.
“‘Bastard?’ He smiled ruby red as he leaned in harder. ‘Nay, halfbreed, no bastard, I. I am of the Blood Voss. The blood of kings. I am a Prince of F—’
“The vampire grunted as Ashdrinker plunged down though his back. His black eyes grew wide, and he stared stupidly at the blade of broken starsteel protruding from his chest, bewildered at how Ash had bested his flesh.
“But still, still, he was the son of Fabién Voss, ancien Ironheart, and the bastard didn’t die. He snarled at the girl who’d stabbed him—Dior, standing behind him now like a thief come in the night. She was gasping, ragged, her hands slicked with blood as she tore the blade loose. The Beast reared up toward her, serpent-swift, furious.
“But he staggered as the wound in his chest began to smolder, and I saw Ashdrinker’s blade doing likesame; as if the gore upon it burned. And I realized at last that the blood on the blade wasn’t his, it was hers—it was hers, her palms sliced open and the blood of the Redeemer Himself smeared upon Ashdrinker’s broken edge.
“Danton clutched his chest as it burst into flame, and the scream that tore up out of his throat came straight from the bowels of hell. Dior swung again, no master with a sword but still, silver-quick. And Ashdrinker, forged in an age long past by the hands of legends and now blessed by the blood of the Grail herself, split his throat from ear to ear. The Beast staggered back, trying to scream, trying to curse, trying to beg through the ruins of his neck as those flames spread, as his flesh turned to ash, as he stumbled and fell onto the ice. His body convulsed as if the thing inside him—that dread animus that had propelled his corpse through countless years—refused to let go its broken shell. But the fire laid claim his skin. And dread time laid claim his flesh. And by the terror in his final, croaking wail, I like to believe the dread emperor of hell itself laid claim his wretched fucking soul.
“I dragged myself to my feet, trembling, staring at the bloody waif before me.
“‘Great Redeemer,’ I whispered.
“‘Flatterer,’ she gasped.
“The Beast of Vellene was dead.”
XXIII
RÉUNION DE FAMILLE
“A SCREAM TORE the night behind us, the sound of fat boiling in a fire. Dior tossed me Ashdrinker, the hilt still sticky with her blood, and we turned toward the ungodly wail, my eyes widening at the sight before us.
“‘Fuck my face,’ I breathed.
“Liathe still brawled with the highbloods, ten against one. And though besting foes that many and powerful would take a miracle, it seemed to be raining miracles on the Mère that night. In fact, though her black hair was now soaked with blood, her red coat and pale flesh torn by dead claws, Liathe seemed almost to be … winning.
“Maarten the Butcher was now a smear of ashes inside a suit of smoking chainmail. Roisin the Red had lost an arm, using her other to hold in the contents of her sundered belly. Liviana lay curled in the snow, clutching the smoking ruins of her right hand. And I watched in fascination as Liathe hauled the boy Fetch off the ice, his pale finery now red with blood, squealing like a stuck piglet as her hand closed about his neck. I felt my belly surge as I heard a familiar sound, caught a familiar scent—that of boiling blood.
“‘Sanguimancy,’ I whispered.
“The boy screamed again, little legs kicking, jaw distended in agony. And Ironheart though he was, I saw Liathe’s fingers digging deeper into the blackening flesh of his throat, that marble turning to ashes, blood rising in gouts of red steam from his bleeding eyes.
“The elderly gent flashed out of the snow, snarling, and Liathe was forced to fling the boy away before she could finish him off. But he hit the ice, wailing and thrashing, red smoke wafting from his ruined throat.
“‘My Prince…’ Liviana whispered.
“The highbloods turned at her voice, looking at the ruins of the Beast at my back. I stalked toward them across the ice, Liathe backing away from the glow of my aegis, hissing in soft rage. The enemy of my enemy was just another enemy, and I’d never stand willingly beside a vampire in battle. But if this unholy bitch happened to kill a few of these leeches for me while I cut the rest to pieces, then as she fucking liked it.
“The Ironhearts quavered, staring in bleak amazement at the ruins of their lord. Pondering whether to fight on or simply flee into the dark.
“‘The Lord is my shield, unbreakable!’
“The roar rang across the frozen Mère, a small flare lighting the distant dark. A glow I’d long ago forgotten brightened the night, silver-blue and charging toward us. Goosebumps prickled my skin—not at the freezing cold, but at the sight of the Mothermaid and Redeemer, the angels of the host, bears and wolves and roses, throat to wrist to waist. That holy magik, wrought by the hands of Silver Sisters. The armor of the silversaint.
“Four figures ran down the ice out of the north, the holy light on their skin burning like ghostflame. They carried silversteel blades, and their eyes were fierce and wild.
“‘I’ll be damned…’ I breathed.
“At the sight of the charging silversaints at their back, Liathe and I at their flanks, the Ironhearts took one last look at one another and made their choice. Their dread capitaine was slain. Their advantage lost. And you don’t live forever by being a fool. Like shadows, they fled back into the deeper dark, content to live another night. And though I was loath to let them escape, I still felt some grim satisfaction at the thought of their bearing news to the Forever King—his prize lost, his ambition foiled, his youngest son slain. And I vowed under my breath, blood on my hands and the ashes of a Beast on my skin.
“‘Only the beginning, Fabién…’
“‘Come with usss, child.’
“I turned, incredulous. Liathe stood in the snow, fingers outstretched, bloody handprint painted across her mouth. Dior exchanged a glance with me and raised her silversteel dagger. I almost laughed.
“‘Surely you�
�re jesting.’
“That snow hawk cut through the skies above as the ’saints dashed toward us. Liathe fixed me with pale, lifeless eyes, narrowed against my light. ‘There is but one place in the entire empire this girl is sssafe, and it is not in the crumbling hallsss of your wretched Ord—’
“‘Bitch,’ I sighed, ‘shut your fucking mouth.’
“I raised Ashdrinker between us, her blade drenched blood-red.
“‘If you think I’ve dragged my arse halfway across this empire, murdered priests and been tortured by inquisitors, fought off hordes of wretched and fled deepweald horrors, battled Princes of Forever and eaten my weight in fucking spudloaf just to hand this girl over to you now, you’re madder than the sword in my hands, vampire.’
“The snik and the snak, Ash whispered. And the red, red, red.
“‘You have no clue as to what thisss girl mea—’
“‘This girl has a name,’ Dior snapped. ‘And she’s standing right here.’
“‘Gabriel!’ came a distant cry.
“‘They have no comprehensssion of what you are,’ Liathe hissed, glancing at the oncoming silversaints. ‘Come with usss, child, I beg you.’ That pale hand reached through the falling snow. ‘Come with usss or die.’
“But Dior shook her head, lip curled. ‘You fuckers murdered Rafa. Saoirse. Bellamy. Sister Chloe. I may not know much about this silversaint game yet, but I learn quick, and I’ve learned this: Dead tongues heeded are Dead tongues tasted.’
“‘Gabriel!’ came that cry again. ‘Dior!’
“‘Foolsss,’ Liathe hissed. ‘Foolssss…’
“The silver cadre reached us, bathed in divine light. Outnumbered, wounded, and nobody’s fool, Liathe snarled behind her mask, swept her shredded coat about her, and blew apart into that storm of blood-red moths, winging upward into the tumbling snows.
“‘Sweet Mothermaid…’ one of the ’saints whispered. ‘What was that?’
“I looked to the four of them, silverclad in the cold. One was a Sūdhaemi youngblood I’d no knowing of, dark of skin and black of eye. But the other three, I knew from days of glory. Big de Séverin, the bear of the Blood Dyvok ablaze on his chest, and his mug’s face split in a stupid smile. Sly little Fincher, a gleam in his mismatched eyes as he lifted the silver carving fork his grandmama had gifted him, flashing me a rogue’s grin as he twirled it between his fingers. And last, of course, the one I knew best of all.
“He was older now; ever skin and bone, hair that was once dirty straw now almost grey. But still, he’d charged with all the faith and fury of his youth, a silversteel longblade in his one good fist, and righteous fury burning in his one good eye.
“‘Greyhand…’ I whispered.
“‘Gabriel de León,’ my old mentor breathed. ‘By the Mothermaid and all Seven Martyrs, I never thought to see you alive again…’
“‘How in the name of God did you find us?’
“He lifted his good arm, and the snow hawk that had been circling above alighted on his wrist. ‘Old Archer passed a few years back. This is Winter. She’s been following you since before you reached Aveléne.’
“‘But how did you know to even look for us?’ the girl beside me asked.
“I nodded to her by way of introduction. ‘This is Dior Lachance. She—’
“‘We know who she is,’ Greyhand said.
“‘Gabe?’ came a wild cry. ‘Dior?’
“My heart dropped and rolled in my chest, Dior’s eyes lit up, and we both turned toward the shout. And stumbling down the frozen riverbank, among a cadre of Silver Sisters armed with wheellock rifles, I saw a face I never thought to see again.
“‘Sister Chloe!’ Dior cried.
“The girl broke into a limping run, and the little sister dashed across the ice, slipping in her haste. Dior slid as she tried to stop herself, tumbled into Chloe, and the pair fell again, laughing and weeping as Chloe whispered, ‘Merci, oh merci, Almighty God…’
“‘A river runner brought the good sister to San Michon weeks back,’ Greyhand murmured. ‘He found her on the banks of the Volta, half drowned, mostly frozen. But he was a godly man, and he took it upon himself to carry her back to us. We thought she might not pull through, but her faith burns strong. And when she regained consciousness, Sœur Sauvage told us of your travels together, that you and the girl might yet live. And so, we sent our eyes to look for you, by all the roads you might travel.’
“I smiled as I watched Dior and Chloe roll in the snow, my heart grown warm.
“‘Is it true, Gabe?’ Fincher looked to me. ‘What Sister Chloe told us about the girl?’
“‘Is she truly the Grail of San Michon?’ de Séverin asked.
“I looked to the ruins of Danton’s corpse, shaking my head. ‘Her blood burned a Prince of Forever to ashes. Brought men back from the brink of death. If she’s not what Chloe says, then I’ve no other explanation for what she does.’
“‘Redeemer be praised,’ Finch whispered, making the sign of the wheel.
“‘The end to daysdeath,’ the youngblood breathed.
“‘… Maybe,’ I sighed.
“‘It’s good to see you again.’
“I looked toward Greyhand as he spoke, my jaw clenched. Reunited after all that time, I didn’t know what to feel. He’d been my teacher, this man. He’d saved my life, and I’d saved his in kind. And though in truth, I’d surpassed him in my days of glory, a part of every son will feel ever trapped in his father’s shadow. But there was still a gulf between us. Greyhand had been among those who ordered me to set Astrid aside, who’d passed judgment on me when I refused, who’d sent my love and me out into the cold and dark. And though I remembered Aaron’s words, though I was more conscious than ever that every moment of my life seemed to have been leading to this, that all I’d suffered and all I’d lost might simply have been so I could be the one to deliver Dior to San Michon, still, still …
“‘I wish I could say the same, Frère,’ I murmured.
“‘Nae Frère,’ Fincher said. ‘Nae longer. Greyhand stands as abbot now, Gabe.’
“I looked to my old master in question. ‘Khalid?’
“‘His thirst grew too loud.’ Greyhand signed the wheel. ‘He took the Red Rite four years back. God granted him the strength for a silversaint’s death.’
“‘Better to die a man than live a monster, eh?’ I asked.
“‘You did it!’
“I grunted as Chloe barreled into me, throwing her arms around my neck in a fashion most unbecoming a sister of the Silver Sorority. But I caught her and laughed, the joy at seeing her alive overcoming the shadow on my heart at this strange reunion with the brotherhood who’d abandoned me. Chloe kissed my cheek, heedless of the blood and ashes, her eyes sparking like cut crystal.
“‘I knew it!’ she shouted, laughing and crying. ‘Did I not tell you all those years ago? Did I not say it then as now? God intended great things for you, mon ami. And you have done a greater service to this empire than any holy brother, any chevalier, any hero or emperor in all the pages of history!’ She kissed me again, squeezing tight. ‘You’re a good man, Gabriel de León. The best of men.’
“‘He’s a bastard is what he is,’ Dior grinned, limping toward us.
“‘Watch your tongue girl,’ I growled, mock-serious. ‘I owe you a bollocking for breaking your promise to me. And you owe Aaron and Baptiste a sled and a team of dogs.’
“Greyhand’s jaw twitched as he glanced downriver. ‘San Michon will compensate the Lord of Aveléne for his losses. You may give him my word when you return to the château.’
“I frowned. ‘I’m not going back to Aveléne.’
“Chloe nodded, climbing down from my neck. ‘Gabriel has business in the eas—’
“‘I’m not going east, either.’ I glanced between the pair, a slow frown creasing my brow. ‘I’m going to San Michon with Dior.’
“Chloe smiled soft, shaking her head. ‘Gabe, she’s safe with us now. You’ve
done more than I could ever have asked, but there’s no need to trouble yours—’
“‘It’s nothing close to trouble.’ I trudged across the ice to stand at Dior’s side. The light in my aegis had faded now, and the cold was creeping in. But as she slipped her hand into mine, I could still feel fire in my chest. ‘I’m not leaving her.’
“‘All is well, Sister,’ Greyhand said. ‘Though we parted beneath a cloud, Gabriel served San Michon for long and storied years. ’Tis no sin to seat him at our table for a night. I’ve no doubt a few of our youngsters would like to meet the infamous Black Lion of Lorson.’
“Not famous, I thought to myself. Infamous.
“Chloe pressed her lips thin, but nodded. ‘Véris, Abbot.’
“‘Let’s be about it, then,’ Greyhand grunted. ‘Sunset waits for no saint.’
“The Silver Sisters had brought a spare sosya, and as Chloe bandaged Dior’s wounded hands, I wrapped myself in a blanket for the ride back north. Dior climbed aboard a stout grey fellow, and I caught her looking back across the Mère. The shattered ice and cold ashes, the remnants of immortal monsters, proven all too mortal by her hand. Her coat was dusted with snow and spattered with blood, and I had the almost irresistible urge to brush her hair the fuck out of her eyes.
“Instead, I proffered Danton’s saber and bowed like a gentle at court.
“‘What’s this for?’ she asked.
“‘To the victor the spoils. It’s the finest sort of blade, good to practice with.’ I smiled, dried blood cracking on my cheeks. ‘We’ve lessons to begin, you and I.’
“She grinned in return, took the saber, and looked it over. ‘It is pretty.’
“I handed over the Beast’s scabbard. ‘Just don’t cut your fucking hands off.’
“She chuckled and hung her head, ashen hair over her eyes.
“‘I’m sorry, Gabe,’ she murmured. ‘I’m sorry I lied to you.’
“‘Apology accepted. So long as you don’t do it again.’
“She raised a bloody right hand. ‘I do solemnly swear: no more lying to Gabriel.’