Chapter IX. Blood Is Blood
IX
BLOOD IS BLOOD
“IT HAD BEEN twelve years, nine months, and sixteen days since I’d been to church.
“I could still remember that day, clear as the sun had once shone—Aaron walking at my side through the dawndoors of Aveléne’s little chapel, the troth ring Baptiste had wrought cupped in my sweating palm.
The choir singing, my heart brimming, and an angel waiting at the altar with a smile that promised forever.
“And then forever’s king had taken it away.
“Standing there in the grand cathedral of León, I could taste bile in the back of my throat. I gazed up at the statue of the Redeemer upon his wheel, captured at the moment of his death. Hands and feet nailed down. Throat cut wide and brow crowned with barbs. He’d been a conqueror in life, spreading his One Faith at the edge of a sword.
Betrayed at the last by those he held most dear.
But despite the suffering he’d endured, I could think only of the suffering he’d gifted us.
That tomb beneath Maergenn. Those five statues gathered around God’s son, fanged mouths open and screaming as he cursed them with eternity.
“Our so-called savior had damned all of us to hell, and I’d rather have been pissing glass than standing in that hall. But as my cousin said, duskmass was compulsory in the City of Lions, and after the favor I’d been shown, I’d decided not to push my luck by being a snot.
“The place was thronged with people, wealthy among the pews, commonfolk in the aisles, the rush of their pulses like the song of the sea in my head. Odette stood among members of my grandfather’s house, and though the scent of her moonsblood gripped me with hands of burning iron, I stood silently with Lachie and Baptiste in the place of honor we’d been accorded.
The Testaments had been spoken, the nobility offered a sip of sacramental wine with the promise By this blood shall we know life eternal.
My brothers had drunk, but I’d refused of course; worried I’d choke on the hypocrisy.
“And then Bishop Santiago had launched into his homily.
“‘I wish to speak of love.’
“The old man stood at the pulpit, the Redeemer hung overhead. A huge curved window of stained glass rose at his back, glittering red and gold in the light of the white altar candles—an image of Angel Gabriel, wings outspread as if to cloak the bishop in flame. Santiago was elderly, but his eyes were undimmed by time, his voice musical and more, powerful. Le D?me’s acoustics were miraculous, the bishop’s words reverberating off the ceiling above, the curved walls around, layered upon itself as if not one but a multitude spoke, and seemingly everywhere at once.
“‘The highest goal to which we can aspire. The truth beyond truth. The most precious gift our heavenly Father ever gave us was the capacity to love. Love is the tie that binds us. The anchor that moors us. The wind that allows us to fly. What miracle is greater than a soldier’s love of his brother, a husband for his wife, a parent for their child?’
“The bishop paused, leaning upon a great gold-trimmed copy of the Testaments.
“‘No sin is love. No sin can come of it, for no evil can be born of that which is divine. Love is the cure for all suffering. The balm for all pain. The answer to every question worth asking. Love is forgiveness. Love is acceptance. And though all earthly joy must fade, your love shall be resurrected in the kingdom of the Father, and live with him in paradise.’
“The old man’s pale blue eyes met mine.
“‘Forever.’
“Santiago smiled, arms outstretched to the congregation.
“‘Seek love. Accept love. Cherish love. Go now, my children, and love one another, and live in faithful service of the Lord.’
“‘Véris,’ came the response from the crowd.
“The bishop made the sign of the wheel, and all in the cathedral followed suit save me. The choir took up its song to mark the end of mass, the congregation began to take their leave. It seemed some spell had been cast upon them by Santiago’s homily, and though I rankled at the thought I’d been excommunicated for love, still a piece of my twice-broke heart felt buoyed up by the old man’s words.
“I thought again of my Astrid then. My beautiful Patience. The joy they’d brought me, the blessing they’d been. And for the first time in as long as I could recall, as I rose to depart, I found myself smiling at their memory.
“‘Chevalier.’
“The murmur was soft, but cut like a headsman’s blade. I looked to my grandfather, yet on his knees, eyes upon the Redeemer’s statue above us.
“‘I would speak with you.’
“I shared a glance with Baptiste, a nod with Lachlan, and my brothers made their way up the aisle. It took an age for the cathedral to empty, my grandfather genuflecting all the while. But finally, we were alone; the old man yet on his knees, and I staring up at the son of the God I’d never kneel for again.
“I unscrewed the cap of my hipflask, sighing as I found it empty.
“‘You are well served by Forgemaster Cortez?’
“I looked to my grandfather, rising now to his feet. Again, I was struck at the thought of how well he’d aged; broad of shoulder and firm of hand.
He must have been a fearsome warrior in youth—he and Emperor Alexandre had been swordbrothers years past, scourging the pirate kings of Asheve from the Eversea.
I couldn’t help but see a part of him in my mama, and thus in me, and I was heartsick and indignant that he’d cast her away.
“What might we have been, I wondered, if you’d but loved me?
“‘M. Cortez has smithcraft like I’ve never seen. I am well served, Baron. Merci.’
“My grandfather nodded, making the sign of the wheel. And with hands clasped, he walked slowly up to the altar. His greatcoat was long, black, embroidered with golden lions, and his seeming was kingly as he looked upon the son of God.
“‘When will you depart on your hunt?’
“‘As soon as Cortez and Baptiste’s work is done.’
“‘You know where your quarry might be found?’
“‘East of the Vipère. North of the Ranger. Beyond that, I’m unsure.’
“‘We received word months back of your prey.’
“My grandfather proffered a note, sealed by the unicorn of House Augustin. In years past, that wax would’ve been imperial yellow, but with no flowers left to stain it, the seal was white as doves, pale against the gold rings adorning his hand.
“‘Fabién Voss has taken Isabeau,’ he said. ‘He pierced the city gates, and slaughtered all therein, adding yet more bodies to his Endless Legion. He will surely turn to San Maximille when winter falls again, and beyond the Shield of Augustin, the capital itself.’
“My belly rolled at this news; Voss had already advanced farther south than I might’ve hoped, and we were still months from his heels.
“‘Then why have you not marched to the Emperor’s aid? You’re his trothbrother.’
“The Baron scoffed. ‘Alexandre III is dead, Gabriel. My oaths died with him.’
“‘Dead? ’ I whispered, belly rolling. ‘How? When?’
“‘Blacklung. Three months back. Isabella sits as Empress alone.’ He scowled, glancing to the note. ‘Although young Prince Philippe certainly writes as if his royal backside were already planted on the Fivefold Throne.’
“‘Still, Grandfather, you’ve an army here. Weapons of wonder from your forge. If Voss takes Augustin, how long until he turns—’
“‘I have my own walls to keep. This city is a jewel, coveted by every bloodlord in Elidaen, and our domains are riven with rotting Dead. I am hard-pressed to defend my own lands, let alone House Augustin’s.’ He squared his shoulders, gazing at that angel of stained glass and fire.
‘I had hoped … you might defend them with me.’
“He breathed deep, looking at me with my mama’s eyes.
“‘And one day, instead of me.’
“I blinked at that, scowling. ‘… Meaning what?’
“‘My sons are dead. Not for men to ken the mind of God. But in his ineffable wisdom, heaven’s king has left me without an heir.’
“I shook my head, almost floored with the realization of what he was asking.
“‘What … what about Charlotte?’
“‘You cousin is brave. Bold. Of that, there be no doubt.’ He glanced to the flickering candles. ‘But it would be unwise to give Charlotte rule of a city she near incinerated.’
“‘You threw my mother into the cold,’ I spat, stalking toward him. ‘You sent not a single letter, nor solitary fucking coin. Auriél de León died in the mud you left her in, and now you ask me to rule when you’re gone? Her halfbreed? Her bastard?’
“The Baron lifted a parcel of parchment from his greatcoat and tossed it onto the floor. Letters, I realized. Bound with red ribbon and set with his seal. Dozens of them.
“‘All returned unopened,’ he said. ‘Unread. I begged my daughter to return, Gabriel. But hubris has ever been the bane of our famille. I set it aside now, in begging you this.’
“I met his eyes, saw the anger and sorrow etched in those black depths.
“‘No matter your sire, you are blood of my blood. A hero of the people. I know I look it not, but I am old, Gabriel. And in my dreams of late, I have seen you.’ He gestured to the stained-glass window, that angel and his burning blade. ‘Standing with your namesake behind you, wings enfolding you, his sword in your hand as you take your place upon the throne of your forebears. As long as a de León holds God’s faith upon its throne, the City of Lions cannot fall. So the Angel Gabriel promised us. So it has ever been.’
“I knew not what to make of this. Where any of it came from. But I shook my head, cleaving to the star that had guided me this far. ‘I have a promise to keep. A king to kill.’
“My grandfather reached into his greatcoat again, producing a thin book, bound in old leather. The sigil of our house was embossed upon the cover beside the initials A.L.
“‘What’s that?’ I demanded.
“‘A journal. Your mother’s. Detailing the nights before she departed this city. The nights she met your father. The nights she learned she was pregnant with you.’
“I reached for the tome, heart quickening. But the Baron drew it out of reach.