Chapter IX. A Saint Godless #3
“They came from the houses. From those streets and alleys in the city below. Not merely hundreds this time, but thousands. Men, women, and children, lifeless and rotten, staring up at the chateau with soulless eyes as their master gave the call.
“‘’ Ware ye! Behind, God Almighty, BEHIND!’
“Charlotte stood atop the bloody battlements, pointing back into the city. I understood our mistake in a moment, my belly filled with oily ice. Voss had ambushed us in San Maximille’s streets with but a fraction of his number, leaving the rest of his force coiled beneath floorboards and in attics, down cellars and in walls, hidden from our eyes in the sky.
He gave us just enough of a fight to fool us, just enough of a victory to make us think him weak.
And now he’d snapped shut the jaws of his trap, all of us caught behind its teeth.
Dark shadows were flooding up into the streets at our backs now, set to swallow us whole.
Horns rang in the gloom, men cried out in terror, half our archers pouring arrows into the Dead ahead, the other half firing at the vampires behind.
But their numbers seemed truly endless now, crashing upon the walls and scuttling up the stone.
“Ettiene laughed, the abyss in his eyes. But with his helm lost, the advantage was mine. I seized hold of his face, his skin smooth and cold beneath my fingers, thumbs pressed upon his eyes. And at last I unleashed the power within me—the power of the father who’d not cared, but to whom I owed it all.
And bucking in my grip, throwing back his head, the Crow roared as his blood began to boil.
“Lachie and Aaron brawled yet with the Maiden, the stones drenched red. Poor Tolman had fallen, split in half by Kestrel’s scythe.
The big man looked surprised as he crashed to the cobbles, legs flung one way, rest of him the other.
He stared down at the steaming tangle of his innards, face twisted.
And true to himself, true to the last, the Scarred spoke but one word as he died.
“‘F-fuck…’
“Lachie and Aaron fought together against the Prince now, but in truth, it was a partnership ill-made. The light of Lachlan’s aegis burned Aaron just as fierce as Kestrel, and Aaron’s form was the Anyja, not the steps of a silversaint—the pair were unused to fighting side by side.
Kestrel sent Lachlan flying with a thunderous boot to his chest, his ribs shattering like glass.
Slipping Aaron’s blow, she answered with her own, that scythe singing as it came.
Aaron cried out as the blade cleaved his right arm off at the shoulder, Kestrel’s longblade spilling long spools of his guts right across the bailey.
“‘AARON! ’
“Ettiene still in my grip, I turned at that shout, cursing as I spied a bloody fool upon the battlements.
Baptiste had broken his promise, standing on the red highwalk.
Slamming a quiver into his crossbow, he let loose, bolts streaking across the yard, shuffshuffshuff!
But the Maiden simply stood in that burning rain, flaming arrows shattering on her armor, her skin, her eye, fire and steel no more use than a butterknife against battlements of stone.
“Gazing up at the blackthumb, Kestrel brushed a speck of soot from her cheek.
“And she smiled.
“Distracted by Baptiste’s arrival, I’d taken my eyes off my prize.
Ettiene’s veins were boiled dry, but he was yet a Prince of Forever, and I gasped as he drew a dagger and drove it into my body so hard the blade snapped on the stones beneath me.
With a roar, Ettiene tore his dagger loose, my guts coming with it, and in that shocking wash of pain, I lost my grip.
He broke free, skin cracked and smoking, and both of us injured near to dying, the Black Crow tumbled off my chest and crashed onto the stone beside me.
“The Maiden saw the Crow fall, turning toward me with death in her eyes. But Lachlan flew back into the fray, lips bloodied, ribs shattered, still unbroken. Holding in my minced innards with one hand, I staggered upright, Ettiene groaning on the cobbles nearby. Blood flowed around me like wine, blades flashed like sunlight on water, Lachlan’s sword crashing against Kestrel’s.
But Charlotte roared warning, fighting back-to-back with Baptiste.
More Dead were flooding up from the city below, spilling through the broken gates, over the walls, too hungry, too many, too late. But still I refused to believe.
“After all I’d suffered, all I’d lost …
“It couldn’t end like this.
“‘Enough? ’
“The word rang on the frozen air, in every heart and mind.
The weight of him pressed down like gravity, deeper than the gulfs between dying stars, each breath a thousand years in the taking.
Frost hung at my bloody lips, the air so blisteringly cold it hurt to breathe.
And past Lachlan and Kestrel brawling in the forecourt, I caught movement, turning now to behold the sum of all my hate and rage.
“He stood atop the chateau steps, doors flung wide as if to invite me in.
He was clad in a long coat of white silk brocade and lace, lustrous hair swept back from a brow too kingly for any mortal crown, the snow not even daring to fall upon him.
He was exactly as I remembered; bloodless, changeless, deathless.
That youth, fey and fearsome, bleached ash white by centuries past counting and sins past reckoning, bottomless eyes fixed upon me, lips curled in the smallest kind of smile.
“‘Enough? ’ he asked again. ‘Old friend? ’
“Madness took me then, red and complete. Eyes gone wild and fangs bared, I snatched up Valor from where she’d fallen.
And snapping the vial from my throat, smearing Dior’s blood upon the blade, I flew across that courtyard.
The Dead between Fabién and me were left in ashes, Dior’s blood setting all about me ablaze as I charged up the steps.
“‘VOSS! ’
“The blade whistled past his neck, just a hair’s breadth from porcelain skin as he slipped aside. I swung again, all the hate of a father untethered, a husband widowed, a saint godless behind that blow, almost blinded by the tears in my eyes.
“But again, he stepped aside.
“‘Thou shalt not slay me, old friend.’
“Again I struck, again he moved like silver. Valor’s edge skimmed so close to the bastard’s black heart that his brocade split, pearl buttons spinning into the air.
I stabbed toward his chest, but he was already gone, the air left cold and vacant.
He was swift as death, that devil, his mind skimming mine, every blow seen before it fell.
“‘So beautiful.’
“My blade whistled past his cheek.
“‘So perfect.’
“Again, across his chin.
“‘Ever the lion I made thee.’
“‘You make nothing! You only take!’
“I lunged again, Dior’s blood gleaming on Valor’s edge. One strike, one scratch, I could end this all, God help me …
“‘Still thy lust unsated? Thy lesson unlearned? How deep shall the ocean of blood betwixt us run, Gabriel? Where shall all this end? ’
“I stepped forward, knuckles white, spit hissing through my fangs.
“‘It ends today.’
“Valor scythed toward his heart, all my hate behind the blow. In desperation, Voss caught my wrist, my strike held at bay. But in doing so, he’d put himself within my reach.
“‘It ends with you.’
“And at last, at long last, my hand closed upon his throat.
“‘Will it? ’
“I held still, fingers at his neck, just one breath from boiling that bastard’s veins dry.
But in that breath, I realized the whole battle around us had stilled, all of San Maximille fallen silent, no motion now save the snow falling from those funeral skies.
Aaron lay on his back, armless and torn, surrounded by an ocean of wretched.
The Iron Maiden stood above Lachlan, scythe pressed into his throat.
On the battlements, Baptiste and Charlotte were surrounded by foulbloods, Ettiene at their head.
All about me, soldiers in de León colors were bleeding, gasping, caught beneath claws and blades and teeth, thousands of men and women but one heartbeat, one breath from their endings.
“But none of those deathblows were falling.
“‘Shall I? ’
“My gaze returned to Fabién, caught yet in my grip. My fingers sank into the marble of his neck, my father’s power tingling beneath my skin. Just one moment from—
“‘I could slay them all, Gabriel. And yet, rage I cannot harbor in my heart, for he who hath given me so much. Were not the sun blacked aready, I would surely tear it from the sky before suffering its garish light to touch her. Such perfect grace. Such breathless beauty.’
“Ruby lips curled.
“‘Well I can see, old friend, why ye so adored her.’
“I heard soft footsteps in the chateau behind me then.
“Heart freezing as Voss’s words rang in my head.
“Only four of eight remain now …
“Eight, not seven.
“I met his gaze, my own already burning with tears.
“‘No…’
“‘Told thee,’ he smiled, ‘thy famille awaited.’”
High in the tower of Sul Adair, the Last Silversaint took up his wine.
Not his goblet, but his bottle; the last drops of his famille’s vineyards, another legacy run to dust. He drank without pause, swallowing deep and grimacing at the grit in the dregs.
Dropping the bottle onto the stone, he dragged silver knuckles across bloodshot eyes.
“I’ve told you about the weight of two words, Historian.
How much power can reside in such tiny things.
How many hearts have been made complete by words so small as I do?
How many shattered with a breath as tiny as It’s over?
How many lives undone, how many souls filled, how many empires crumbled with the power and peril of just two little words? ”
Gabriel shook his head.
“‘But how much joy and horror in one?
“‘Papa? ’
“One word. Knocking the breath from my lungs and bringing my world to its knees. And releasing my grip on that devil’s throat, I saw her, like she’d been ripped from the gossamer of my dreams and remade upon this earth.
Willow slender, so young, God, far too young.
Her dress black as ravens’ feathers, her skin pale as death, her mama’s hair and her papa’s eyes, staring at me from the dark.
“‘Papaaaaa! ’
“A woman stood behind her, alabaster skin and crimson gown; another of the devils who’d knocked that night on our door.
But from Morgane’s shadow, my angel flew, running toward me with tears in her lashes and her smile as wide as heaven’s sky.
And as she crashed into my embrace, it mattered not that her tears were made of blood and the corners of her smile edged with little knives of pearl. Because she was back in my arms.
“She was mine again.
“My baby.
“My …
“‘Patience.’”