Chapter XVII. Heavenly
XVII
HEAVENLY
“IT WAS A long wait ’til sunset next day, Marquis.
“Though we’d just delivered Augustin from destruction, her defenders were unwilling to venture from their gatekeep while darkness held sway.
Those soldiers remained safe behind their battlements, leaving us to find shelter in the wreckage.
And though the night was bitter chill, we were in no position to approach those gates yet.
“The problem, of course, was Dior.
“’Dancers can only shift with the dusk, and dusk had long since melted into night. That great white she-wolf still stood among us, the girl we knew glinting only faintly behind the feral blue of her eyes. And truth was, none of us knew quite what to do with her.
“We could not touch her thoughts to calm her down, and Dior was clearly distraught, snapping, snarling even at Phoebe—it seemed only Reyne could approach without upsetting her.
Princess á Maergenn did her best, but Dior remained unsettled, and in truth, her presence was unsettling in kind to her men—most of whom still had no clue how to feel about all of this.
In the end, it was decided Dior and Reyne should wait out the night alone in a ruined chapel on the west side of Place San Antoine.
“None knew what the Princess whispered to the Grail in those dark hours—even if they hadn’t slept on holy ground, not even I had heart enough to intrude.
“Dawn next day brought chill sunlight and heated conversation. Dior’s Unbound spoke in hushed tones, gathered around small hearths in demolished homes, debating what must come next.
I could have given answer, of course—what came next was the sainted blade, the throne of Augustin, the end of daysdeath.
In my head, strange as it was, this change had changed nothing.
But my wounds would not heal until sunset, and I was loath to drag myself through bloody slush on bloody stumps to share opinions.
“Though a few dozen defenders had emerged from the gatekeep to begin the grisly task of burning bodies, none had yet approached our square—Augustin’s soldiers were still clearly unsure what to make of us.
And so, an uneasy day passed, most of our company catching up on desperately needed sleep, wrangling with troubled thoughts and scrounging what fare they could among the desolation in the Forever King’s wake.
“It was near sunset when we heard movement. Looking toward the gatekeep, we saw a cadre of hundreds marching out under the banner of House Augustin—a golden field set with a unicorn and five crossed swords, representing the five countries of their empire. My legs were almost hale now, and I limped about in search of my boots, finding them in a slurry of bloodstained frost and tipping the remains of our former feet from within. Phoebe dashed toward Dior’s chapel, Maryn standing calm in the falling snow.
“Ever watching.
“‘Joaquin!’ the fleshwitch cried. ‘Bring them, lad!’
“The houndboy scrambled to his feet, and as the Emperor’s men marched toward us, he ran to Phoebe with a bundle of simple clothes and soldiers’ boots in his arms. The surviving Unbound—less than a hundred in number—were on their feet now.
A few cast wary glances toward the oncoming troops, but most stood with hearts hushed, faces ashen, staring at the broken door of that chapel. Unsure who or what might emerge.
“Would she be different now? Would she still be their Dior?
“Daughter? Sister? Messiah?
“We saw movement, heart in throat as they emerged into the night—Phoebe, Reyne, and shuffling behind, ashen and filthy and clad in cloth barely fit for a beggar, the one true hope of the world. Her eyes were ringed by awful shadows, cheeks hollowed and shoulders slumped. Dior looked about the trembling firelight, the men who’d put so much faith in her.
And from only God knows where, she summoned a smile.
“‘Anyone g-got a cigarelle?’
“Her chuckle broke the spell of stillness, the tension in the air, and in her eyes, they saw the girl they all knew. Joaquin raised his hand with finger and thumb outstretched.
“‘God be praised!’
“‘San Dior!’ came the cry from the men, their hands held likesame.
“‘SAN DIOR! ’
“She smiled wider then, wearied but warm, her Unbound rushing to her side. We signed the wheel, echoing Mother Maryn as she whispered thanks to Almighty God. Dior was surrounded now, a babble of questions, a flurry of well-wishes, her eyes shining as she kissed dirty cheeks and bloodied brows and thanked heaven these few yet lived. We’d wondered if the Unbound had wavered, but their love seemed utterly undimmed, and her legend only grown.
Heaven’s Huntress, they declared her. The White Wolf of God.
And as those troops marched closer under the Emperor’s colors, the Unbound formed up before her, hands on blades and eyes ablaze, more willing than ever to die for their savior.
“Reyne stood beside the Grail, pale and weary. Reaching out gently to the Princess’s mind, we felt twinned emotions, a duet bright and bittersweet.
Joy; that her beloved was saved, the world’s salvation close to hand.
But heartbreak also; to know they could both be fruit of the same vine.
This Princess of Low and High and the Godling true—born of the Moonsthrone after all, just as prophecy had promised.
And as Reyne looked upon the girl that was her love, we heard it again; that word she’d spoke yestereve, echoing now in the halls of her broken heart.
“Sisters.
“We moved behind the line, Maryn at our side. Dior was watching the oncoming soldiers, cheeks hollowed and jaw clenched. But glancing at us sidelong, she gifted us a wink, the shadows under her eyes making that blue shine all the brighter.
“‘Hell of a day,’ she whispered.
“‘Not hell, chérie,’ we replied.
“Maryn nodded, casting her gaze to the skies.
“‘Heavenly.’”