Chapter III. Broken Steel
III
brOKEN STEEL
“PRIESTS OF GODS false and covenants broken.
“So the Testaments spoke of they who brought the Redeemer to this city a millennia ago and ended his mortal life upon the wheel. Back flayed to the bone. Crown of briars on his brow. Throat cut ear to ear. I knew now those ‘gods false’ were not many, but one, and Voss and his fellows had been that dark king’s servants all.
Yet it was here at the sight of his murder that the Redeemer’s ancestors had raised their banner; the children of Esan fighting against the Augustin empire for a dominion they claimed was theirs by right.
“I tried to imagine this place as it had been before the Emperor’s armies and the Knights of the Blood destroyed it.
But much as I tried, climbing over those broken stones and rent fissures, through the darkness hanging in those shattered streets, I could see only the ruin in folly’s wake.
The cost of pride among mortal men and immortal monsters both.
And squinting through the smoke and broken spires in that slain city’s heart, I finally saw where the traitorous half brother of God’s own son had been leading us all this time.
“The plains around the Charbourg were carved into five slices by those great fissures, like pieces of a dropped dinner plate.
And it was here the first hints of those dreadful cracks began.
The shape was enormous; a jagged and towering shadow, rising high above the ruins ahead.
Shattered dome and blasted walls, splintered pillars rising like the ribs of some great slain beast, left to rot in endless darkness.
Yet by its silhouette, I knew what this place must have been before the fall.
“‘A cathedral,’ Aaron whispered.
“Sulfur and smoke stained the air, the darkness about us only thickening.
Yet as we ran on, I noted the stench of brimstone and ash cut through with a brighter perfume.
It shivered me to my bones, familiar, terrifying, my throat tightening and pulse quickening at the knowledge of what it was. Who had spilled it.
“‘What is that?’ Aaron asked, nose to the wind.
“‘Blood,’ I replied. ‘Dior’s blood.’
“A mob of wretched waited ahead—despite the fumes and smoke wreathing us, we could yet smell the decay.
And though we understood if we struck them, Voss would know it, we were so afeared for the ones we loved now, Aaron and I threw all caution aside.
They stumbled from the rubble, empty eyes and rotten breath, without pattern or direction.
And together, we cut them down into the ashes.
For a moment I was reminded of years past and battles won; the pair of us fighting side by side, just like old times.
“But only for a moment.
“I drank among the corpses, barely holding on to the leash of that enemy within. It roared at me to remain, to glut myself on the Dead, to drink until I drowned. But clinging to my vow, desperate, I tore my mouth from the necks of those fallen wretches and ran on.
“The dark was so thick I could taste it, and echoing among those ruins, I swear I could hear the hymn of choirs long dead. The scent of Dior’s blood was overpowering as we ran past shattered statues of weeping angels, up what was left of the great cathedral’s stairs, and finally, through the gaping maw that had once been its dawndoors.
“A vast aisle of broken flagstones stretched before us.
“Row upon row of crumbling pillars, like broken fingers clawing upward from hell.
“And on a great dais in its heart, among the pieces of a splintered altar, just as it must have done on this ground a thousand years ago, stood a wheel.”
The Last Silversaint clenched his jaw, grey eye aflame.
“And Dior was nailed to it.
“The sight of her filled me with rage, the scent of her blood with awful hunger. Her head hung low, eyes closed, but I saw she yet breathed. Her coat had been torn away, tattered shirt clinging to sweat-slicked skin. Her body had been flayed by a ten-tail whip. Her skin scorched with fire. The wheel she was nailed to had been taken from one of Voss’s wagons, held upright by wooden spars driven into the rock.
It was tilted forward, Dior suspended over a great stone bowl on a marble plinth.
A tangle of briar twigs was arrayed upon her brow, thorns digging into her skin—the black crown Kestrel and Danton had promised.
And blinking the tears from my eyes, I knew what I was seeing.
“A re-creation.
“A portrait of the day the Redeemer first laid his curse upon the Five.
“A dark congregation sat among stone pews—highbloods of the Ironheart court and a cadre of hopeful thrallswords. But the latter were stirring now, rising to face Aaron and me stalking down the aisle. I saw Morgane, gown and skin and hair caked in ash, lurking in the shadows beside a blood-spattered thrall, a bloody whip tipped with silvered barbs in his fist. I saw my Patience, Morgane’s hands planted upon her shoulders, holding tight.
I felt Astrid at my side then, bristling at the sight of that monster with her hands on our baby.
“‘Papa, you came!’
“But I was heedless in that moment, even to my own daughter’s voice. All thought, all sense, all hate bent upon he who stood on that dais by Dior’s side, clothed in robes of gold-trimmed white like some priest of old, a razored knife gleaming in his hand.
“‘How good of thee to join us,’ Fabién smiled. ‘Old friend.’
“I could feel Astrid behind me; a zephyr of mother’s rage, cold hands wrapped about mine as I charged down the aisle toward the monster who’d taken my angels away.
Thralls rose to meet us, terror in their eyes—the promise of life eternal so close, yet so far away.
The silverbombs I threw illuminated the dark, wheellock shots echoing on the gables, dust drifting down from the broken dome.
Bodies were blasted apart, burned blood spattering my face, the beast in me bellowing more, MORE.
My eyes were fixed on Voss, Patience again crying my name, my brother running at my side.
“Four highblooded Ironhearts emerged from the smoke with blades drawn. Aaron stepped up to greet them, but I danced away, skirting past that flashing steel, those razored fangs, taking the steps up the dais four, five at a time.
“And blade raised high, I lunged for the Forever King.
“Voss didn’t move, bemused as I swung my blade. I’d brought it with me all the way from Augustin, Historian. The last gift of a brother fallen.
“The greatsword of Lachlan á Craeg.
“If hate was the measure of a man’s skill, Voss would have died then and there. But he was yet the father of all Ironhearts, and though forged in San Michon, Lachie’s blade was only silversteel, and already broken on the skin of the Iron Maiden.
“The greatsword’s remainder shattered on the Forever King’s skin, like crockery dropped onto cold marble, splinters glittering in the dark.
But in truth, I’d struck that blow only to distract.
And as Voss slapped the broken sword away, staggered just a touch under the force of all that hatred, I wrapped my other hand about his throat.
“Patience cried out in fear as my fingers brushed Voss’s skin. I saw that smile fading from ashen lips. And unleashing the power in my blood—the power of the line he’d almost destroyed—I felt my own lips curl as Voss’s veins began to boil.
“Smoke rose from his flesh, black eyes bright with pain, close enough to see my face reflected in them as he buried his knife in my chest.
“The pain was shocking, his blade sunk spine-deep, steel scraping bone. I gasped as he twisted it, blood bubbling up my throat, spattering his face. And hard as marble, strong as steel, Voss lifted me off the stone.
“‘This be futility, Gabriel.’
“With a shrug, he hurled me across the room, crashing against a broken pillar.
“‘No man of woman born can slay me.’
“‘Gabriel!’ Aaron roared.
“My brother fought yet with the highbloods, spattered in blood and ash, Epitaph singing as it cleaved one courtier’s head off her shoulders. But much as he wished it, Aaron couldn’t yet reach me, his flesh split and bleeding, pressed on all sides by our foes.
“Voss loomed above me now, stooping to grab my throat. I seized his wrist, unleashing my bloodgift once more, but a punch fell like an anvil across my jaw. He hit me again, again, fireworks bursting behind my eyes. The beating he gave me was the worst I’d ever taken, but his expression was as serene as an old gentleman out for a late-night stroll.
“‘Papa!’ Patience struggled in Morgane’s grip. ‘Papa Fabién, stop!’
“‘Hush, my dove,’ Voss cooed. ‘All shall be well.’
“Aaron’s blade felled the last of the courtiers, splitting the highblood clean in half.
And with a roar, he dashed toward Voss. I was barely conscious now, the Forever King letting me slip his grip as he turned to face my brother’s charge.
Voss stepped aside the first blow, ducked another, Epitaph booming as it skimmed his chin.
“‘Recognize I, this blade,’ he smiled. ‘Its former owner was a master with it.’
“Aaron struck again, Voss moving like liquid away from the blow.
“‘I taught little Nikita everything he knew.’
“Epitaph sang as it cut the air, Aaron snarling as Voss again stepped aside.
“‘Kneel. Roll over. Beg.’
“Voss’s smile turned sly as he slipped beneath another blow.
“‘Which was thy favorite, Aaron Dyvok? ’
“‘MY NAME IS DE COSTE!’
“The blow was terrifying, shaking the walls as it came. Aaron’s blade struck home, biting into Voss’s neck. My hand had already burned him there, and I saw Fabién’s eyes widen as the sound of cracking stone rang in that great cathedral. For one desperate, giddy moment, I allowed myself to believe.
“Then Epitaph shattered.