Chapter VII. Into the Fire #2
“‘The first, I hit as he stabbed me, breaking him like he was clay. I struck the second’s throat when he lunged, and as he fell, it struck me, deeper than any arrow to the chest. That color, that beautiful, glittering red, spattered on my face and hands. And the heat that had been growing in my belly flared, like coals in my papa’s forge, bursting into fire.
“‘I lunged, senseless, time and place forgot as I pushed my ruined face into that brigand’s rushing throat. The man screamed, trying to throw me off, but I was deaf to all save the thunder of his pulse as that first wondrous taste touched my tongue.’
“I fell silent then, crashing waves on the hull the only sound. Dior was looking at me with something between horror and fascination, smoke drifting from her nostrils.
“‘Do you remember the first time you killed someone?’ I asked.
“‘Don’t we all?’
“‘There is a mythology around we kith, Dior. An awful, foolish … wanting. Minstrels sing of it in commonroom ballads, maids whisper of it around the fire at night. The rapture of the Kiss. Its ecstasy. Its bliss. But I had no maker to guide me in the art of it. No real idea what I was doing at all, save that I must drink, God, drink. There was no rapture for that poor fool in Lorson that day, God help him. I made a mess of him with but half a mouth. He was … begging as I killed him. Blubbing like a babe. I was just as frightened—as terrified as I’d ever been. Until those flames touched my skin.’
“‘His comrades,’ the Grail mused. ‘Still some honor among thieves.’
“We nodded. ‘Kith were still mostly superstition back then. But at least one of those brigands put stock in fireside fancy. The torch touched my skin and the flames caught like I was tinder, horrifying heat biting deeper than any blade. Howling, I threw myself off the bandit’s body, tearing away my burning cloak as another roared, Back, monster! Back!
“‘More thieves were closing in, torches in hand. And skin and hair still ablaze, arrows in my flesh and blood in my mouth, I turned and bolted, fast as I was able.
“‘Their curses faded as I sprinted between the dying trees, flames chewing at my bones. All was agony, all was fire, blinding and burning. And finally I could run no more, flinging myself into a snowdrift and feeling the flames mercifully die. Wounded, wretched, curling into a ball, I waited for them to find me. To end me as they’d begun.
“‘But by some miracle, they’d not followed.
“‘I’d been numb since that moment I woke in the snow. But now I remembered pain; arms and ribs and face scorched back to the bone. I could still taste that poor man’s blood, the horror of what I’d done sinking in, his screams echoing in my skull.
Crawling upright, vision blacked by fire, I realized I’d made my way back to the clearing where Laure had murdered me.
“‘What was left of my poor Philippe lay in the snow. I kissed his frozen lips as best I could with the mouth that remained me, and I wept. For his ending. For my beginning. I wept the last I had within me, my tears crystal clear at first, running in the end to something thicker, darker, sticky on my ruined cheeks. And I touched my eyes and saw my fingers slicked with red—not tears I cried anymore, but blood. And the horror near broke me into a million screaming pieces. Because I knew for certain what I was, then. What I’d become.’
“We looked across the hold to Dior, shrugging slow.
“‘A monster. Same as she who’d slaughtered me. I vowed then and there I would never drink another mortal’s blood. I knew what it was to be butchered upon the block. That fear and suffering. I swore I’d make no other suffer the same.’
“The Grail’s eyes were wide, cigarelle dangling from her lips as she whispered.
“‘Great Redeemer. I supposed it had been hard for you. But I never…’
“Dior shook her head.
“‘What did you do?’
“‘The only thing I could. I could seek no help from she who’d murdered me. Nor from my brother, I knew that; not a budding silversaint of San Michon. But I could seek it from the one who made him. And so I resolved to trek the frozen wastes of Nordlund until I reached his door; the door he’d mentioned the night my mother called him to her side. ’
“We shrugged, brushing a long lock of hair from our eyes.
“‘The City of Spears.’
“‘San Yves.’ Dior leaned forward, eyes alight. ‘Did you die again on the way there?’
“‘Oh, no,’ we scoffed. ‘Not tonight, my young ’prentice. You are earning my deaths with mastery of your studies. And your mastery is nothing close.’
“Dior scoffed, aiming a soft kick at my boots. ‘Bitch, I’m not that bad.’
“‘You are not.’
“We lifted pale hands, digging fingernails into our palms. Rationed as we were, blood yet flowed from those gouges, slick and crimson and glistening, that shadow still watching from the porthole glass.
Dior stared as our blood formed into myriad shapes—blades and shields and flails, spinning and twisting as our fingers wove the air.
And finally, we drew the blood back into our palms, and our body splashed into a sluice of gore on the timbers.
“‘But not bad is far from good.’
“Dior whirled about and found us standing behind her. Twisting back to look at where our doppelganger had sat moments before, now running in rivulets along the timbers and sluicing back up into our palms. Meeting our eyes again, she scoffed.
“‘Show-off.’
“‘Perhaps. But we are also making a point.’
“The Grail nodded. ‘Point taken.’
“And tossing her hair from her eyes, she turned back to her teacup.”