Chapter VII. Every Day and Not Enough
VII
EVERY DAY AND NOT ENOUGH
“SEVEN MARTYRS, THE night was stunning, coldblood.
Glittering crystals tumbling from the endless black overhead.
Wind singing a song as old as time across hills that had stood here long before any man or beast had drawn breath.
The stillness of it, the vastness of it had me wondering, smiling as I looked across those snow-clad plains, that ribbon of frozen river, the sea of tents around me and the ocean of darkness above.
“My senses were aflame, Phoebe’s blighted blood crashing, seething within me, and in that moment, there was naught I thought impossible.
I walked among the soldiers, gathered about small fires, sitting alone with their worries.
I spoke with them, talking and joking, telling them there was no shame in fear.
They were young men. Good men. And I was proud to fight beside them, no matter if many were afraid.
For who is it that ever answers the call of war despite their fears?
Who ever keeps the monsters from the door?
“Men like them.
“In the end, I stalked to the camp’s edge, staring at San Maximille above.
Grim walls encircled the hillside city, taller walls of the chateau looming on the slopes beyond.
San Maximille had been a mountain yestereve; a throne of razored stone and the chateau an emperor sat upon it.
But now, with that blood in my veins and the knowledge Dior was alive, the mountain seemed an anthill, and vengeance not so far away.
“‘You cannot sleep either?’
“Turning, I found my cousin behind me, alone in the chill. Cold wind blew long black locks about her face, hands tucked in her sleeves, her eye fixed on the chateau above.
“I smiled at the sight of her. ‘Not much chance of that, I fear.’
“‘No you don’t.’
“I blinked, head tilted in silent question.
“‘You don’t fear anything, Gabriel.’
“I laughed, mirthless, head thrown back and shoulders shaking.
“‘Hear me now, Charlotte de León. I’ve stood on the eve of a hundred battles, and I’ve been afraid before every one.
When the screaming starts, believe me when I say, the soldier you want beside you least is the one who’s fearless.
Because that’s a soldier with naught to lose.
’ I shook my head, sighing. ‘I fear more than most will ever know, cousin.’
“‘You hide it well.’
“I looked at her then, lips pursed. ‘You too.’
“‘I think you’d have made a good baron.’
“‘You’ll make a better one.’
“‘Will you pray with me, cousin?’
“‘… No.’
“She smiled sadly at that. Charlotte’s hand was pressed to the circle of rowan wood about her throat—she’d left the sigil of the Angel of Fire behind in León, taking up the Redeemer’s wheel instead.
And while perhaps the heat was less blinding than once I’d seen, I still saw in her the fire of a furious belief. I shook my head at that.
“‘I wonder how you’ve any desire but to curse the Almighty, cousin. Surprised you’ve any faith left in you at all after being so long held in evil’s thrall.’
“‘I’m surprised you can doubt it.’
“‘It was God who let you languish in that vampire’s clutches.’
“‘And it was God who delivered me in the end.’ Charlotte looked me over, smile warming. ‘You’re surprised I can still love him in the face of my suffering. I’m surprised you cannot, given it was through you that suffering was ended.
You are his hand, Gabriel, though you see it not.
He works his will through you, and all folk like you. ’
“I sighed at that. I wasn’t in the mood to argue; I’d heard all of it before.
And if that wheel gave her comfort in this dark before the dawn, who was I to tell her to cast it aside?
But the thought of what awaited us amorrow still hung upon my shoulders, and that fear swelled still. Not for me. But for all I had to lose.
“‘You want some advice, Charlotte?’
“She smiled. ‘A good baronne always listens to wise counsel, Chevalier.’
“‘Then as your counselor, I’d tell you not to waste what might be the last night of your life praying to he who knows your heart anyway. You’ll have plenty of time to talk to God in the end.
And who knows when that end comes.’ I nodded to a peak among the canvas sea.
‘Lachlan’s tent lies distant, and he within. Go to him, cousin.’
“Her smile vanished, a cold dawn come upon her face.
“‘He is sworn to God. I’ll not make him an oathbreaker.’
“‘I’d not counsel you to. Or not to, if such is your want. But at least tell him how you feel, Charlotte. Look into his eyes and let him know before tonight is over. I know not what sunrise brings, but I know the weight of words unsaid. How soon the chance to speak them can be taken from us, along with the ones we should’ve spoken them to. ’
“She hung her head, tucking a stray lock behind her ear.
“‘Are there words you wished you’d spoken? To your wife and daughter?’
“‘I told them I loved them every single day. And still not enough.’
“She looked to the horizon, drew a shaking breath.
“‘I thank you for your counsel.’
“I put a hand to my heart and bowed. ‘Baronne.’
“She smiled, voice gone tight. ‘Chevalier.’
“Charlotte walked away then. And though I’d no wish to pry, I noted she headed in the direction of Lachie’s tent, at least. My eyes returned to the chateau, my smile dimming. The blood within me was pounding, roiling, that strength longing to be unleashed.
“Reaching up, I found that vial yet strung about my throat, warm against my skin. A weapon to kill the unkillable. I’d thought it Dior’s last gift to me, that nothing would remain of her in this aftermath.
But there in the shadow of those dark hills, the notion I might see her again when this battle was done gave me just one more reason to fight.
“One more reason to win.
“Eyes on the walls above, I hissed my hatred.
“My purpose.
“My prayer.
“‘Fabién.’
“And then … I felt him.”
The Last Silversaint swallowed the final gulp of his goblet, reaching to the bottle. And as he poured, Jean-Francois could not help but notice his hands were shaking.
“I’d felt it once before. The Battle of the Twins.
As those corpses swarmed over the mountain and I stood in their path with Aaron and Baptiste.
The kiss of serpent’s fangs to my skin. The dust on tombs of forgotten kings.
There in that cold night, I again felt the weight of a presence impossible, a mind unknowable, pressing on mine from far-flung battlements above.
“The mind of a Forever King.
“I see thee.
‘“Great Redeemer…’ I whispered.
“I beheld him then, as if he stood before me, just as he’d done the night he knocked upon our door.
His skin and hair bleached snow-pale by years beyond counting and sins past reckoning.
A youth, fey and eternal, beautiful and terrible, wreathed in an unlight cold and bitterbleak.
I heard him speak in my head then, across the grey snows between us, and the sound of his voice seemed a song to unmake the world.
“How fare, old friend?
“‘Fabién…’
“He smiled, cold as a lifetime unloved.
“So proud of thee, I am, Gabriel. So much thou hast become since last mine eyes beheld thy splendor. Well served, I name thee, to have shed shackles of hearth and home. No more the family man. No longer lion playing lamb.
“His smile faded, head tilted.
“But thou hast journeyed far for naught, old friend. Forever endeth not with the dawn. And I will not die, by man of woman born.
“‘I’m no man, bastard. I’m a lion.’
“Aye. The lion I made thee.
“My fists clenched at that, the shadows of my wife and baby rising at my back.
Voss could sense them too, thoughts now uncoiling within mine.
But with that blood inside me, that power of mountains old and moons blood-red, I slammed shut the door to those memories, forcing him back out into the cold between us.
“He blinked, ebon eyes glittering with an awful … fondness.
“Look at what thou art become. Centuries have I sought an adversary worthy of me. A man who could give me but a moment in which I could again taste life through fear. What solace, what justice, to know in the end, he was of mine own hand’s making.
Though dear Wulfric bedded thy sweet mama, more thy father I than he shall ever be.
“Fabién tilted his head, gaze gone sly.
“But thou shalt slay me not, Gabriel. I know it.
“‘We’ll see. You’re weak. Two of your daughters are dead by these hands already.’
“Aye. Only four of eight remain now. My children thou hast continued to murder, though all too well ye know the pain of a father’s grief.
To hell thou hast consigned my son and daughters, Silversaint.
Their suff’ring wrought eternal at the throne of the Fallen.
Yet how can I be wroth with thee? Who hath given me my greatest gift?
“‘I’ve another for you amorrow,’ I hissed.
‘One I wager you’ll enjoy less. You wanted an enemy?
You wanted a fear? Well, now you fucking have him, Voss.
You should be afraid. And if you’ve a will to whine about the eternal suffering of your brood, you can take it up with your unholy master when I deliver you to his side. ’
“Fabién’s smile faded then, malevolence welling in his eyes.
“Told thee, did she? Thy thieving sister? Know ye not, what the Faithless are?
“‘I know what you are, Voss. And I know who you serve.’
“I shook my head then, almost disappointed.
“‘You know, I used to think you were the devil himself, Fabién.’ I spat on the snow between us. ‘Turns out you’re just his fucking errand boy.’
“That smile returned, smaller and somehow sad.
“Come to me then. The cost shall be writ red, but I wish to witness as thine eyes behold the glory. The horror. The lie the Esani hath spun thee. I told thee once, with truest evil hast thou made thy bed. But come the bloody dawn, I shall teach thee.
“He left then, image fading between us, only his whisper remaining.
“Come, my son not mine. Thy famille awaits.
“I stood in the dark thereafter, cold and stilled. The fire within me was undimmed, but in truth, I was still shaken. Fabién had told me before that the Esani were an evil unmeasured. My trust of Celene and Maryn already hung by a thread after reading Mama’s journal.
And though I knew nothing Fabién told me could be believed, there in the shadow of San Maximille, I wondered if the same wasn’t true of the Faithless.
“Or those who spoke for them.
“And turning, my eyes drifted toward my tent.
“That bloodied beauty in my bed.
“I started walking, snow crunching under bare feet, britches riding low for want of my belt. But soon I was running, flying past the campfires, the rising soldiers, dawn’s dim promise not yet kissing the horizon.
And flinging myself through the flaps of my tent, I found no bloodied beauty waiting, my heart dropping as I saw my bed was empty. ”
“Empty?”
Jean-Francois looked up from his tome, chocolat eyes alight.
“What do you mean empty?”
“I mean Phoebe was gone, vampire.”
The Last Silversaint hung his head.
“And she’d taken Ashdrinker with her.”