Chapter XVIII. By Sainted Blade #3
“Phoebe squeezed her hand. ‘Nae fear, Flower.’
“‘I am the Holy Grail of San Michon.’ Murmurs filled the hall again, and Dior raised her voice over the clamor.
‘The cup that holds the Blood of the Redeemer himself! He was the son of God, but a mortal man also, and his love for his disciple Michon bore fruit! A daughter named Esan!’ The bishops and cardinals erupted, smashing crook staves upon the floor and bellowing of heresy, and Dior shouted over their outrage.
‘I am her descendant! The Blood of the Redeemer flows in me! And through that blood, may the Legions of the Dead be defeated, and the sun returned to the sky once more!’
“The court was in bedlam now, courtiers babbling, cardinals roaring, the Prince’s hand upon his sword.
And in the midst of that hue and cry, Empress Isabella, First of Her Name, raised one slender hand.
She spoke no word, and her eyes never left the Grail’s.
But in only a handful of heartbeats, that clamor died completely.
“Isabella smiled again.
“‘And what of the bishop you murdered in Lashaame, chérie?’
“‘That was…’ Dior scowled, her cheeks now pinked with rage. ‘He deserved it. That bastard hurt my friend.’
“‘Did our Inquisitorial troops deserve it also?’ Prince Philippe demanded. ‘You slaughtered a score of them during your escape from Redwatch Priory.’
“‘That was different. They butchered an entire monastery of monks at San Guillaume. They were torturing me and—’
“‘And the silversaints you murdered at San Michon? They deserved it also?’
“‘Aright, tha’s fuckin’ it.’
“Phoebe á Dúnnsair stepped forward, sharp teeth bared. We had felt the rage in her, that daughter of the Moonsthrone, soft at first, but rising now to boil.
“‘This girl has walked through hell to be here,’ she snarled. ‘She has slain Princes of Forever, undone ancien of the Untamed, liberated a nation that ye and yers lifted nae a finger to help. And in case ye missed the messenger? She just saved yer capital from the legions of the Forever King! All she has done, she has done fer the good of this world, and I shall march meself to the burnin’ hells, get down on my knees, and suck the cock of the Fallen himself afore I stand here meek and see her questioned like a common jackroller.’
“The Prince glowered, bristling with outrage. ‘I should cut out your heathen t—’
“‘Hush, Philippe.’
“The Prince clenched his jaw, glancing to his mother. But still, he obeyed.
“‘You have a way with words, Phoebe á Dúnnsair,’ Isabella said. ‘But you stand before the Empress of the Augustin Dynasty. And she is owed your respect.’
“‘Beg pardon, Yer Grace. But respect be a boon oft’ given afore received.’
“Prince Philippe looked to his mother, a breath away from clapping the fleshwitch in irons. But with a small—and somewhat irritated—gesture, the Empress bid the Prince stand down. She gazed once more at Dior, tension thick enough to slice with a knife.
“‘Where is your chief conspirator, Mlle Lachance?’
“‘My…’
“‘We are told he was with you when you painted San Cleyland Priory and San Michon Monastery red with the blood of the faithful. The Inquisition has placed a death warrant upon his head as well as yours.’
“‘… You know Gabe?’ Dior asked.
“‘Gabriel de León is nae conspirator,’ Phoebe growled. ‘And I’ll nae suffer slights to his good name any more than to Dior’s, Yer Grace.
He saved my life, and this sweet girl’s, a dozen times over.
Though nae his blood, he counts her dear as his own kin, and were he stood here now, he’d speak as high of her as I. ’
“‘He always had a silver tongue,’ Isabella said. ‘Sadly, he never knew where to put it.’
“Titters rippled among the court, but the Empress’s tone grew cold.
“‘We know the Black Lion of Lorson, chérie. By our own blade was he knighted Sword of the Realm, and by our own hand was he gifted greatness. And he chose to repay that honor by breaking his holy oath, and bedding a holy sister, and seeing himself excommunicated from his holy order. Well did we know his bride also, in days she lived here at court. And though she doubtless had her charms, we deem it a shame Elidaen’s Sword chose to sup from so poisoned a chalice.’ Sapphire eyes fell on Phoebe.
‘Were she here, would Astrid Rennier sing la demoiselle du Graal’s praises also, Mme á Dúnnsair? ’
“‘She’d sing nuthin’, Yer Grace. Astrid Rennier is dead.’
“The Empress blinked. ‘Dead.’
“‘Slain by Fabién Voss along with her bairn. Gabriel’s sweet daughter. Patience.’
“Silence rang upon those golden walls, those glittering jewels. Philippe looked to his mother, and though no trace marred her features, we saw pain behind Isabella’s eyes.
For ten long beats of a mortal heart she sat, still as stone, and no whisper could be heard in that Golden Hall.
But she blinked then, her stillness broken, gaze returning to Dior.
“‘We will admit your coming is portentous. Your arrival and the departure of the Dead legions cannot be coincidence. On matters of heresy and faithful blood spilled, we shall speak anon, have no doubt. But at the last, perhaps we should begin with the first.’
“The Empress leaned forward, pinning the Grail in her stare.
“‘Why are you here, Mlle Lachance?’
“‘To end the death of days, Your Grace. To bring back the sun.’
“‘And you think you will find it hid beneath our skirts?’
“Dior smiled then, and Isabella’s lip curled also, ever so slight.
“‘No,’ the Grail replied. ‘But…’
“Here she looked again at Reyne, at Phoebe, the enormity of what she must ask beginning to dawn.
No matter the nature of her coming, her deliverance of this city, it seemed there was no shortage of malice for her in these Golden Halls.
Truth is, she was a murderer. A thief. A heretic in the eyes of the One Faith.
And for her to state the full extent of the prophecy here and now would have made her look a lunatic.
“To sit the Fivefold Throne?
“To be crowned sovereign of the empire entire?
“Madness.
“And so, she did as the Empress had done. Begin with the last thing first.
“‘I need a sword, Your Grace.’
“The Prince scoffed. ‘Your men carry dozens of—’
“‘Hush, Philippe.’
“The Prince fell silent once more, scowling.
“Isabella’s perfect brow rose again, ever so slight.
“‘Not just any sword.’ Dior glanced at the glowering Prince. ‘Somewhere in this city is an ancien vampire named Oleander the Wise. He’s a member of a secret bloodline called the Esana, the same as those two vampires who followed me here to Augustin. I know it sounds moonstouched, but they’re our allies, Your Grace.
They want to end daysdeath and bring back the sunlight, same as we. ’
“The Grail ignored the murmurs rising about her, plunging onward.
“‘Oleander has the keeping of the sword I need! He’s been sleeping for centuries, but the ancien traveling with me knows where he lies—’
“‘In a stone coffin,’ Isabella interrupted. ‘Deep beneath Cathédrale de Lumière.’
“Reyne blinked. ‘How could you know that, Your Grace?’
“‘We found him. We destroyed him.’
“Dior’s face was bloodless, pale eyes on the Empress. ‘When? ’
“‘More than a decade past. Emperors of old were oft’ buried in silvered tombs. We were reclaiming the metal to make arms when the vault was discovered. The vampire within was beheaded, its ashes scattered on holy ground. Nothing remains.’
“Our Dead heart twisted in the hallway outside. But if panic there gripped us, it was soon replaced by terror and despair as the Holy Grail looked to Isabella.
“‘What about the sword?’
“‘We gave it away.’
“‘Gave it…’
“The Grail’s eyes roamed those golden walls, those glittering globes, realization breaking through the rime of bewilderment.
“‘By your own hand was he gifted greatness.’
“Isabella nodded. ‘Just so.’
“‘Ashdrinker,’ Phoebe breathed.
“Dior sank to her knees. And it seemed then all the weight, all the miles and loss and heartbreak, crashed down upon her at last. We saw her shoulders slump, her chest deflate, ashen locks tumbling over tearstained cheeks as she bowed her head and whispered.
“‘Gabriel.’”