Chapter XII. Fallen Angels #2
“My eyes roamed his blackened claws, dripping mouth, and for a moment I could see nothing in my old friend but a mirror to my own wretched soul. And as I breathed the scent of blood on his breath, I near wept as I felt my belly growl.
“‘You’re not my brother. You’re a fucking monster.’
“Aaron staggered as if I’d struck him. ‘You don’t mean that…’
“‘Look at yourself!’ I bellowed, voice cracking at its edges. ‘Look at what you’ve become! Godssakes, Aaron, what the hell are you doing?’
“I gestured to Lachlan, beaten bloody, and then to the bleeding youngblood, sprawled among his fellows. Baptiste was knelt beside the lad, hands pressed to his torn throat, staring at his beloved with tears in his eyes. A shadow of horror crossed Aaron’s face, and he glanced at his hands, stepping forward and whispering, ‘I’m sorry, I—’
“But I stepped between them, barring his way. The gens d’armes were closing in now, their courage buoyed up in my presence, and turning, I snatched a burning brand from one fellow’s hand. Aaron flinched back, hissing, flames reflected in fear-struck eyes.
“‘Get the fuck out of here, Aaron. And don’t come back.’
“‘Gabriel … It’s not my fault. You of all people…’
“Shouts rang across the bailey—Lieutenant Mathieu, charging through the crush with a cadre of archers at his back. They carried mechwork bows, fully loaded, iron sights already ablaze. I looked back to Aaron, tears in my eyes.
“‘GET OUT OF HERE!’
“The arrows flew, and Aaron rolled aside, Baptiste crying his name.
As another burning volley cut the night, with one despairing glance at his beloved, Aaron threw himself up onto the statue of Evangeline.
Limestone wings cracked as he kicked off again, sailing across Le Chemin des Anges and landing atop a nearby roof.
Charlotte cried ‘Bring him down! ’ and more arrows flew, flame lancing the night.
But Aaron was gone, roof to roof, just a shadow now, flung over the clifftop homes and chateau beyond.
“And into the cold night air, I whispered.
“‘Au revoir, mon ami.’
“I heard a groan in the rubble, reaching down to the brother beside me. Lachlan took hold of my hand, coughing red as I dragged him upright. I tried to ignore the scent of it, slicked across my knuckles and dripping from his skin as I held him steady.
“‘Aright, brother?’
“‘I-I’ll be aright. In a b-breath or two.’ He winced, reaching for the pipe I offered, drooling blood through split lips. ‘I warned ye that b-bastard wasn’t to be trusted, Gabe.’
“‘And yet you swore to me you would vouch for his conduct,’ came a voice.
“I looked up to find my grandfather upon the cathedral steps, surrounded by his court. The citizens looked terrified, but the Baron’s eyes were alight with rage as he drank in the destruction: shattered flagstones, toppled statues, bloodied soldiers, all but a few steps from sacred ground.
Charlotte stood beside him, sword naked in her hand.
“‘My apologies, Baron,’ I said, bowing low. ‘It seems my brethren and I have outstayed our welcome in the City of Lions. I think we’d best take our leave.’
“Dark eyes glinted, the sea breeze whispering among the rubble. Despite the Baron’s fury, his voice softened. ‘I am truly sorry to hear that. I had hoped my offer—’
“‘I thank you kindly for it, Grandfather. But God knows I’m undeserving of it. If you seek one who is, look to your own right hand.’
“My grandfather scowled, glancing to Charlotte, but my cousin’s eye was fixed on me. Lachlan spoke then, hissing red smoke through split lips. ‘Ye want to leave now?’
“‘Damn right I do, go pack your shit. We’re leaving this city tonight.’
“‘But Gabe…’ Baptiste stepped from among the terrified faithful, eyes bruised with sorrow. ‘We’ve not finished our work on Ashdrinker.’
“‘I’d have thought you more concerned about mending your marriage, brother.’
“He hung his head then, eyes downturned. ‘I swore to help you. She’s not finished.’
“I cursed beneath my breath, searching the bloodless folk gathered upon the steps, the scowling Fool and the gobsmacked bishop, the horrified nobility and grim gens d’armes, finally spotting a familiar face among the throng.
“‘How long until your work is done, M. Cortez? Presuming no more distractions?’
“The blackthumb glanced to Baptiste, lowering his eyes. ‘A day. Perhaps two.’
“‘You’ve got ’til dawn.’ I turned on the big blackthumb, watching the cobbles with hangdog expression.
‘Go with him, Baptiste. Work fast enough, we might be able to catch up to your husband. Lachie,’ I said, turning on my old ’prentice, ‘fetch our gear from the armory. I’ll get us provisioned.
We’re gone with the sun. And clean the fucking blood off your face, eh? ’
“I looked up to my grandfather, stomach ablaze.
“‘With your leave, of course, good Baron?’
“My grandfather stroked his chin, fingertips brushing the golden pin at his lapel—the same burning blade my cousin wore. Those whispers on the sea wind seemed to thicken, shadows running deep, flickering torchlight underscoring the stares of the gens d’armes, the nobility, the old man gazing down at me with my mama’s eyes.
“But finally, he nodded.
“‘You have a king to kill.’
“‘Merci.’
“One hand pressed to my aching belly, I glanced to my brethren.
“‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’”