Chapter XII. First and Last and Always
XII
FIRST AND LAST AND ALWAYS
“‘THREE MORE YEARS had passed since my master had shown me the truth of what we were. Three years that were both the darkest and brightest of my life.
“‘My time in San Yves was a wonder. An awakening. So many mysteries unveiled. So many truths laid bare. Wulfric taught me of the Wars of the Blood, the fall of the Redeemer’s line, the vigil we surviving Faithful kept afterward. I learned those travel-stained men who visited the priory were seekers in Wulfric’s thrall, looking for signs the holy bloodline had not been extinguished.
Sometimes Wulfric himself would venture forth from San Yves, bursting into a spray of crimson moths and winging his way toward some distant rumor, some faint hope, always proven false.
“‘But ever, his vigil endured.
“‘My master had forgiven me, and we became much closer in those years. He schooled me in swordcraft, drilling in the dark of the priory’s belly. His lessons were cruel, often leaving me without limbs, broken and bloodied. But on that crucible, I became just as fierce as that little girl who’d played soldiers with her big brother had pretended to be.
Wulfric sat with me for hours in the library some nights, reading from holy scriptures brought out of Charbourg’s ruins by his own hands, and I would sit at his feet like the dutiful daughter I still pretended to be.
He was a brilliant teacher, through which history, philosophy, theology all flowed like light through a window.
But his moods remained as treacherous as the sea, the souls within him ever unquiet.
“‘I think he was only truly at peace when he hunted, and we did so often together those nights; the four of us slaughtering the wicked and impious side by side. Percival and I would bring our master propositions like offerings on a tasting menu—a drunk who’d beat his wife to death, an alderman grown fat with bribes, a den of lush young cutthroats. But Wulfric’s favorite was to simply walk the streets, wandering where God willed him, peering into people’s minds until he unearthed a sin worth murdering them for. ’
“‘Doesn’t everyone have one of those?’
“I looked up then, found Dior watching me across the hold.
“‘I mean, if you look deep enough, you’re going to find evil in every heart, aren’t you? Especially if you’re the one who gets to decide what’s evil and what isn’t?’
“‘It is true,’ I nodded. ‘But we killed murderers, Dior. Brutes and animals. In doing evil, we took evil out of the world, just as the Vow Esana bid us. I’ll admit, alone in my coffin during the day, I sometimes found my thoughts troubled at all this death. But I told myself that was simply weakness. Mortal frailty, unshed. Illia’s teachings were the salvation of my soul, and I’d never given up on my dream of heaven.
If I did not kill the wicked, should I instead kill the good?
And if I allowed evil to continue, did that not make me more evil still?
But even at its worst, when I’d spent hours washing out the gore from my clothes, the stench of blood from my hair, staring into the looking glass at the place my reflection should’ve been and wondering what I had become … still I had him.
“‘My sweet Laurent.
“‘He had grown, my songbird; a man of nineteen now, where once had stood a boy.
Gone was the quiet voice, the shy manner, the babe in the woods.
Broad shoulders and strong jaw and a growing worldliness that pleased his father no end.
But not so much as it pleased me. For it was I who had drawn him out of his shell.
I who had stolen to his balcony at nights and whisked him out into the city that would one day be his.
“‘Over those three years, we visited night markets and tavernes, smoke dens and operas. San Yves was a maelstrom in those nights, and few paid attention to two youngsters out for a taste. The Forever King’s legion had crushed my homeland by then, and all knew San Yves must soon become his target.
The City of Spears was awash with Nordish refugees, with soldiers, with music and smoke and the desperation that comes with what feels like final days.
And into that, Laurent and I plunged, I his eyes, and he my mortal heart, living each night like our last.
“‘He never asked. Never once in all our time together.
We spoke of what I saw and what he heard.
Of life and dreams and hopes of what he might one night be.
But he never asked what I was. He knew only that I was his friend, and in that, I hoped there might be enough.
But I could feel it in him. A budding discontent. A growing thorn.
“‘A question that one night soon must be answered.
“‘My comrades and I were kept busy—there was no shortage of sinners in those nights. No shortage of kith, either. Many were the fledglings and mediae scuttling eastward before Fabién’s advance, seeking succor at San Yves’s breast. And upon them, my comrades fell, ravenous, righteous, drinking them down like wine at an endless red wedding.
The rot on Aleks’s flesh was almost gone, the decomposition of her mind full healed by her holy depredations.
She looked at me with pity now, skulking about with collar upturned and face wrapped in scarves, and I think it was she who convinced Wulfric to take me out that night.
“‘I’d awoken early, hoping to steal some time for myself after my bloody duties were done. It had been weeks since I’d been out with Laurent, and he’d seemed troubled of late.
But when I arose from my coffin, I found a gift upon it, tailored just for me; a gorgeous crimson gown of crepe georgette and lace.
And as my wondering eyes roamed the bodice, my cold hands the fabric, I found a mask beneath.
“‘It was porcelain. Pale as my skin, cool beneath my fingertips. Eyes rimmed black and lips painted red and a beauty spot pricked upon the cheek. I was not so long dead I could not remember how I’d once looked, and though no mirror would cast my reflection now, still I knew I was staring at myself. Or at least, a version of her.
“‘The face of the woman I would never be.
“‘Doth it please thee?
“‘I turned at the voice and found Wulfric in the doorway to my chamber. He was attired for a night in the company of quality—a stunning black frockcoat, a shirt of white silk, a ruby at his cravat. I glanced at the gown again, sleek and red as heartsblood.
“‘My favorite color.
“‘He smiled, fangs gleaming—it seemed he was in one of his good moods tonight. And reaching into his pocket, he held a domino of dark leather over his face. The mask had a devilish motif, small horns and blood-red lenses, hiding the pitch-black of his eyes.
“‘Hurry and get dressed, chérie. We shall be late.
“‘… Late for what, Master?
“‘A grand ball is being held to raise funds for the war in the west. All the luminaries of San Yves shall be there assembled. I thought we might attend. As famille.
“‘He left me then. And though this was passing odd, my master was ever a strange one, and this, not the strangest thing he’d done. I dressed quickly, admiring the gown’s fit; the way it accentuated all I had and hid what I did not.
And pulling on my gloves, mask in hand, I went in search of the others.
“‘I found them in the library, gathered beneath shelves overflowing with ancient tomes. I saw Percival was attired like Wulfric—a near-perfect replica of our master’s outfit, including his own little horned mask.
Standing beside each other, they appeared father and son, which I suppose was the point.
But if my master and his tiny acolyte were reflections of each other, then Aleks was day to their night.
“‘She was arrayed in a floor-length masterpiece of milk-white silk.
A wasp-waisted bodice and skirts, a fox-fur mantle and a necklet of rubies, like a spray of fresh blood across her breast. She was heavy-boned, broad, yet the gown was fashioned to soften her edges, cover the traces of rot lingering in her skin.
Her strawberry curls were perfectly styled, face hidden behind a moon-shaped volto, and if not beautiful, she was at the very least …
“‘You look wonderful, I told her.
“‘Merci, little sister, she curtseyed. You also paint a fine portrait.
“‘I bound the mask about my ruined face, winding a lush silken scarf around my throat. Finer now, methinks.
“‘Now. Aleks glanced to our master. Perhaps always, God willing.
“‘Come, Wulfric said. San Yves awaits.
“‘We departed, and the members of my strange little famille seemed of high spirits.
Percival jested, bowing low and draping his cloak over snowdrifts so Aleks and I need not wet our shoes.
Wulfric strode like a king, arm in arm with Aleks.
With her free hand, she held mine, and though her touch was ice, still I felt a spark of warmth in my dead chest as we walked the noble quarter.
Like we were meant to be together, and always would be.
But that warmth died as we turned down Rue de la Montagne and I saw our destination.
“‘Chateau Durand.
“‘It made sense of course; that Laurent’s father, the Baron Durand, would be spearheading efforts to raise war funds among the nobility. But still, a chill spread through my veins as we walked through the grand gates I’d so often stolen past, Wulfric offering polite nods to the house gens d’armes.
I could hear a string quartet as we trod the snow-clad path up to the estate house, my eyes flitting to that familiar balcony above.
But the curtains to his bedchamber were drawn. My Laurent nowhere to be seen.
“‘The Baron and his wife were greeting guests at the door, clad in matching outfits of Durand crimson, embroidered with towered shields. Their faces were hidden by matching golden dominos, but as the Baron turned to my master, I could see surprise in his eyes.
“‘Bonsoir, Monsieur…?