Chapter IV. Upon the Silvered Glass
IV
UPON THE SILVERED GLASS
“AND SO WE sailed on salvation’s wings, with all the hopes of heaven upon our shoulders.
“We ran swift across the Gulf of Wolves, down the west coast of Sūdhaem. Winter currents rolled chill and ever southward, winds filling our sails to the brim. But all knew the turn of spring must come eventually, and every man of the Dawnseeker’s crew was bent to see us safe around the Cape of Knives before the seas grew treacherous.
Beyond waited the Bay of Antoine, and across those dark waters, the capital of Augustin.
“The sainted blade.
“The end of this blackened veil.
“As she warned, Mother Maryn was still recovering from her spell in eventide, and she kept herself in the cabin set aside for her—an arrangement that suited the mortals aboard Dawnseeker all too well. The trust Dior instilled was made of sterner stuff than steel, and the fact that Maryn was in Dior’s counsel was lost on no one.
But neither was the truth that the Mother and I were both vampires. ”
“What did you drink?”
Celene paused, glancing up at Jean-Francois. The historian continued writing, flipping back a few pages every now and then to add to his sketch of Mother Maryn.
“Why do you ask?”
“Curiosity? You could not drench your teeth with each other, for fear of thralldom. And unless you’d a stash of hapless wretched tucked up in the hold, there were no others of our kin to cannibalize.”
“You use that word often. Cannibal.” Celene tilted her head, scowling. “But while the vessel is consumed in communion, the soul of the sinner is saved within the body of the—”
“Spare me the sermon. I inquired what you drank, Mlle Castia. I did not request a potted summary of the depraved practices of your morbid little cult.”
Celene leaned forward now, legs crossed beneath her, elbows on her knees.
“You wonder, don’t you? What communion is like?”
“If I wonder anything, Mlle Castia, it is how you animals lived with yourselves.”
Celene encompassed her body with a wave of one hand. “We have company.”
“What you have is a problem with grammar. We. I. Honestly, sometimes I have no idea if you speak of yourself, the souls within you, or the folk around you.”
The Last Liathe rolled up onto her hands and knees now, curtains of black hair dripping about her pale cheeks, prowling toward the river’s shore like a lioness.
“We can show you what it is like, Jean-Francois. We can teach you, if you’ve a—”
“Sit. Back. Down.”
The historian threw a meaningful glance to his thralls, chocolat eyes gone wroth as his gaze returned to Celene.
The pair matched wills for a moment—fifty years against a mere dozen, shadows deep as centuries roiling beneath.
But with a glance to those fearsome flames, Celene sank onto her backside once more.
“We drank blood,” she explained. “A mouthful each night, gathered among Dior’s faithful at her request. As we said, she’d saved every life aboard that ship—there was nothing those folk would not do for their savior.
Joaquin delivered it every eve, silversteel in one hand, cup in the other.
It was not much, to be sure. But enough. ”
The Last Liathe looked heavenward and sighed.
“God knew where we were headed, there would be blood in abundance.
“We kept two eyes on Dior at all times. Even when we were not with the Grail personally, we were with her still; the tiny red moth of our blood that had accompanied her in Maergenn, flitting now through the shadows in her wake. We’d no explanation how her wounds had healed, aside from the same miracle that had raised her from the dead.
And though we found some relief that God Himself might be taking a direct hand in the Grail’s well-being at last, still we watched her close, just as the Mother commanded.
“It was difficult to concentrate on our vigil. As I said, the voices inside my mind were disquiet around our Priori, and there was no escape from Maryn’s presence aboard that ship.
Though they all clamored inside my skull, there was one growling louder than the rest now—a shadow beating upon the battlements of my mind.
Yet I was resolved to keep him down in the dark where he belonged, focused as best I could on watching Dior.
“As you might expect, the Grail kept most to the company of Reyne á Maergenn.
They did not share a bed—Reyne still slept among the hammocks belowdecks, while Dior had been granted her own cabin out of respect for her station.
But the girls ate together, walked together, trained together—the Princess imparting knowledge from her long years as a student of the famed Chante-Lames. The Bladesingers of Montfort.
“They were practicing one day, a fortnight into the journey, the foredeck cleared for their session. We were sat on the bowsprit, eyes to the ocean, watching through our moth hidden in Dior’s jacket.
Reyne was running Dior through a series of parries, meeting the Grail’s strikes with her own.
Though the wind was freezing, each girl had stripped down to tunic and britches, sheened with sweat as they danced across the timbers.
“‘Lower your guard a touch,’ Reyne warned. ‘You’re holding your blade too high.’
“Dior scowled. ‘Last time I held it low, you stabbed me in the baps.’
“‘You have to move your sword, you realize.’ The Princess smiled, sword cracking Dior’s, one, two, three. ‘Your enemy won’t be kind enough to aim for it.’
“‘Right in the bloody baps, Reyne.’
“‘I said I was sorry.’
“‘Sorry’s all well and good, Princess. But hardly just compensation.’
“‘And what compensation would my Lady Grail demand?’
“‘Kiss them better, of course.’
“Reyne blinked, cheeks pinking at the request. And in that moment of shock, Dior delivered a low blow learned on the streets of Lashaame; sweeping Reyne’s legs out from under her.
The Princess crashed onto the timbers, Dior leaping atop her foe.
Pinning the Princess’s arms with her thighs, the Grail pressed her practice blade to Reyne’s throat.
“‘Checkmake,’ she grinned.
“‘It’s checkmate,’ the Princess wheezed.
“‘As it please. Gabe only gave me one chess lesson, but seems it was a good one.’
“Reyne looked up with mismatched eyes. ‘You’re not taking this seriously, Dior.’
“Dior leaned closer, breathing in Reyne’s sweat. ‘I’m taking it terribly seriously.’
“Reyne glanced to the crew about them, cheeks flushing deeper. ‘Let me up.’
“‘Or what?’
“‘Or I’ll show you gently as I can how much you really don’t know about swordplay.’
“Dior drew even closer, lips brushing soft against Reyne’s as she whispered.
“‘I’ll confess it’s not swordplay on my mind right now, Princess á M—’
“‘Ahem.’
“Both girls started, looking up to find Phoebe á Dúnnsair looming over them. The wind tousled the fleshwitch’s auburn braids, golden eyes gleaming.
The Time of Blighted Blood had not marked her as hideously as some of her kin, but we could not help notice the pointed ears, those wicked claws, the fact her shadow was not a woman’s but a lion’s.
“‘Yer pardon fer intrudin’. I can come back if…?’
“‘It’s aright, Phoebe. We’re done sweating.’ Dior winked at Reyne. ‘For now.’
“The fleshwitch glanced to the wooden blades as Dior hauled herself to her feet. ‘Good to keep busy, bottled up on this accursed bucket an’ all. But if I dinnae know better, I’d say ye were preparing fer battle.’
“Dior frowned. ‘We’re headed toward battle, Phoebe.’
“‘And ye’ve a shipful of soldiers w’ye to ensure ye won’t have to fight it.’
“‘Gabe sang me this song, too. But I’m not going to sit on the sidelines while others fight my wars for me. If you came down here just to lecture…’
“‘I didn’t. And I dinnae mean to scold.’ Phoebe touched Dior’s hand, golden gaze gone soft. ‘I … I just care fer ye, is all, Flower. And w’ Gabriel gone…’
“Dior’s frown softened, a sad smile on her lips. ‘I know. I love you, too.’
“Phoebe sighed, chewing at her lip.
“‘I came fer a word. One I’ve struggled with these last weeks. But now it weighs so heavy in my chest, I need to spit it afore it chokes me.’
“‘You can tell me.’ The Grail squeezed her hand. ‘You can tell me anything.’
“‘I know. But it’s nae a word fer ye, love.’
“The fleshwitch’s gaze fell on the Princess. Reyne blinked in reply.
“‘Me?’
“Phoebe nodded and pursed her lips, suspicious eyes falling now on my back. We remained far out on the bowsprit, ostensibly far from hearing, pretending for all intents and purposes to be oblivious. And so the duskdancer cast her gaze back toward the rushing shoreline, the shadow of the Nineswords’ capital long-faded into the snow-struck distance.
“‘It’s about yer ma, girl.’ Phoebe met Reyne’s gaze, the Princess bristling a little at mention of her dam. ‘I know ye likely grew up on legends of the Nineswords and her mighty deeds. She who united the clans of Ossway and forged their nine blades into one.’
“‘I’ve heard the tales of my mother’s victories,’ Reyne replied. ‘Many times.’
“‘Well, they’re bollocks. Niamh á Maergenn was a tyrant, lass. A conqueror and a cunt, who carved her blessed peace at the edge of a bloody sword. After she was done scourging the Lowlands, Niamh turned her marauder’s eye to the High.
Yer ma marched her army there, and did vicious war upon my people.
Burned the wealds, sacked our clanholds, drenched the snows red w’ our blood. ’
“‘I know my mother was no saint,’ Reyne said, chin held high. ‘But you’re telling me nothing I couldn’t read in a history book, Highlander.’
“‘Fair play. But what yer history books dinnae tell is that in the thick of those blood-drenched days, the new-widowed Niamh Nineswords met a man. A warrior poet, who convinced her the glory she might win if ever she managed to capture the Moonsthrone would nae be worth the price she’d pay fer victory.’
“‘My mother told me of him,’ Reyne nodded. ‘She said he was my father.’
“‘And he told me of her,’ Phoebe replied. ‘Because he was my husband.’