Chapter XVI. Duskfall #3
“A cry went up from the walls, Augustin’s defenders at last realizing what was happening.
From the brink of defeat, reprieve had been snatched, a great roar now ringing over that shattered square.
Wretched were leaking out of Rive Nord like a bloody tide, Kestrel now following, the streets red and empty in their wake.
And through the bewildered Unbound yet standing pushed a gasping figure, soaked and shivering.
“Most were overcome with all they’d just seen, me among them—our eyes still fixed on our savior, messiah, monster.
Dior herself was trembling, ears pressed to her skull and whining in the back of her throat.
But to that great wolf’s side, the figure now sprinted; Joaquin Marenn, the brave houndboy of Aveléne, skidding to his knees in the bloody slush.
In that wolf’s shadow, I saw a figure was yet curled; bleeding her last into the snow.
“Drenched, gasping, Joaquin turned Reyne over, blanching in horror at the terrible wound Kestrel had inflicted. He snapped his golden vial from about his neck, and as the wolf that was Dior looked on with glittering eyes, Joaquin pressed it to Reyne’s lips, those few drops from the Grail’s wrist spilling over her blood-red tongue.
“For a moment, all remained as it was. I saw the Unbound murmur among themselves, Phoebe and I exchanging a glance. But as before, as always, before our wondering eyes, we saw the Princess’s awful wound finally healing, the bones knit closed, her unwholesome pallor now flush with vigor.
“Eyes wide, Reyne á Maergenn rose with Joaquin’s help, trembling as she looked at that great white wolf in wonder.
“‘God in heaven. Dior…’
“With a low whimper, the wolf licked the Princess’s bloody hand.
Overwhelmed, the Princess yet threw her arms around the great beast’s neck, holding on for dear life.
All around us, we could feel the storm of Unbound thoughts—wonder at their victory, horror at their losses, bewilderment at Dior’s new form.
They looked rattled. Bewildered. Afraid.
“My thoughts were racing, wondering how in God’s name all this had come to pass.
But here was explanation—the healing of her wounds, her strange vitality, the restlessness that had gripped for months aboard Dawnseeker.
Dior’s mind was ever closed to me, but the beast that was the Grail looked frightened, ears pulled back, pressed tight against her Princess’s flank.
Phoebe approached, hand out in supplication, but the beast only snarled.
“‘It’s me, Flower,’ the fleshwitch pleaded. ‘Ye know me…’
“The wolf roared then, halting Phoebe in her tracks.
“‘How is this possible?’
“Reyne looked her beloved over, mismatched eyes awonder. Though Dior flinched, she still allowed the Princess to run gentle hands over her cheeks, down her neck. The fur was lustrous, thick, pale as the snows of yesteryears and soaked in blood.
“‘What the hell is happening, Phoebe?’
“‘She is Risen.’
“The Princess and ’dancer both glanced at us as we spoke.
Mother Maryn looked just as perplexed as they, black gaze drifting from Dior to us.
We knew we must have looked a horror—legs cleft off at the knees, eye crushed out, hair burned back to the scalp.
We’d wake amorrow in the state we died in, but still …
“‘Liathe? Of what doth ye speak? ’
“‘The miracle, Mother. The one we all beheld.’
“Phoebe snarled, eyes flashing. ‘The bleeding fuck ye babblin’ about, ye d—’
“‘We wondered what brought Dior back to life after the Heartless slew her. We were content to think it a miracle for want of better explanation. But as you told us when we met, fleshwitch, only silver can kill a wealdling of the Moonsthrone. Silver, magik, and the cold teeth of age. Though Lilidh snapped her neck, it seems Dior was not slain at all.’
“Reyne frowned. ‘I don’t understand. I saw Dior touch silver in Maergenn. And her fingers never grew back after they were torn off. If she was a wealdling this whole time…’
“‘But she wasn’t,’ we replied. ‘It’s as our heathen friend here told you, Princess.
The gift of the Moonsthrone only calls to a duskdancer’s child when their parents are slain.
Dior’s mother has been dead for years. Her father must have perished during the Battle of Maergenn.
After her hand was wounded, but before her broken neck could kill her. ’
“Phoebe swallowed hard. In her mind, I could see that great white wolf, brawling with the Heartless in the tomb under Maergenn.
“Dying in defense of Reyne and Dior.
“‘It cannae be…’
“‘But it must. What was it you called your husband, fleshwitch? A royal vagabond? A man who traveled the world he hoped to rule, in order to better understand it? It seems in addition to trekking from Asheve’s shores to the capital itself, bedding streetwalkers in Lashaame was also part of your Connor’s grand education.
And leaving bastard daughters in his wake an all too common occurrence. ’
“‘Daughters…’ Reyne looked to Phoebe, touching the braid of everknots about her throat. ‘But if I’ve his eyes, and Dior his gifts, that would mean we’re half…’
“Dior whined, licking the Princess’s bloody hand.
“‘Sisters.’”