Chapter V. The Province of Fools
V
THE PROVINCE OF FOOLS
“WE WERE PRETENDING to read when Dior came to us.
“As I told you, Maryn and I were being kept as ‘guests’ at the Empress’s pleasure, but our prison was an entire wing of Chateau Impérial, replete with bedchambers, a walled courtyard of dead trees, and a library vast enough to rival the one beneath San Yves Priory.
The tomes were countless—more than any mortal could hope to read in their lifetime.
And as is the way with the wealthy and their books, most were completely untouched.
“We were not really in the mood to read, but the library was quiet, and there were precious few reflective surfaces among those shelves. We’d drawn the curtains closed to cover the glass, and we were sat in a grand leather divan by the light of a single chymical globe, a gold-trimmed tome in our lap.
But our focus was on the mote of our blood, riding among Dior’s ashen curls as she stomped down an opulently appointed hallway.
“A handful of Unbound hurried behind, boots tromping on marbled flagstones. Every man among them looked uncertain; their messiah filled with a rage they’d seldom seen.
Dior was a tiny tempest, mangled hand clenched into a half fist, her other wrapped about a crystal carafe as she stormed down the corridor, pausing to take the occasional swig.
“Thumpthumpthump.
“We looked toward the library’s great double doors.
“Thumpthumpthump.
“‘Celene, are you in there?’
“‘Coming, Dior.’
“We opened the doors, and there she stood; dressed in white, lips smudged red. She’d been crying, accusing eyes upon the dozen guards outside our door, her Unbound assembled behind with expressions ranging from bewilderment to concern.
Our guards were armed with silver, clad in livery of the Holy Inquisition; crimson tabards embroidered with the flower and flail of Naél, Angel of Bliss.
They were a baleful-looking lot, in charge of our keeping since first we’d arrived.
Still holding her carafe of wine, Dior dragged her sleeve across tear-wet cheeks.
“‘Let me pass, you fuck-eyed little pigdick.’
“The inquisitor capitaine was a hulking slice of ill-cooked beef named Moulin, with the cruel gaze and cold sneer of a fellow who kicked kittens for jollies.
“‘Apologies, Mlle du Graal. But the High Inquisitrix gave order that the Dead were to receive no visitors.’
“‘Well the Empress declared me savior of this city at church today for maybe the tenth time this month,’ Dior growled. ‘And I’m about two mouthfuls of wine and a wristjob away from sitting my shapely arse on the throne. So if you’re looking to piss off the wrong sort of people, you’re going about it the right way, shitbreath. ’
“‘Please forgive her, Capitaine,’ we said. ‘She is upset.’
“Moulin clenched his jaw, silent as the grave. Followers of the Angel Naél were renowned as merciless fanatics, enemies to heretics the empire over, loyal unto death. But staring hard at Dior, the grizzled soldier murmured.
“‘My son was on the walls at Lastbridge the day you fought the Maiden in Place San Antoine. God knows what fate he might’ve met if not for you.’
“With a nod for his soldiers to do the same, the capitaine finally stepped aside.
“‘Consider our debt repaid.’
“Subdued now, the Grail mumbled thanks, shuffling past the inquisitors with eyes downturned in shame. Nodding to our guards, Dior’s Unbound, we closed the door behind her, turning to watch her flop onto the divan.
Wine splashed from her carafe, and she cursed, smudging the stain across the velvet with her mangled hand.
“We took away the wine, sat down opposite. ‘You are drunk.’
“‘Gabe would say I’m merry,’ Dior replied, blinking hard. ‘But this is the first time I’ve had this much wine, and honestly, I don’t see what’s so fucking jolly about it.’
“‘Celebrating victories, or drowning sorrows?’
“‘No drowning these fuckers, Castia. They swim better than me.’
“We nodded. ‘Something about a wedding proposition?’
“Her eyes sharpened then. ‘Heard about that, did you?’
“‘We hear a great deal, Dior. Even locked in here.’
“She scowled, dragging one hand through her hair. ‘What a carnivale of shite. I mean, can you imagine? Me married to that poncy toff wanker?’
“‘Honestly, it does not seem the worst of options right now.’
“‘Well, a kick to the face is better than a boot to the crotch. But you’re still sampling shoe leather, either way.’ Glowering, she reached for the wine. ‘Thank God and Mothermaid Gabe will be here with Phoebe soon. He’ll talk to Isabella, he’ll sort all this shit out.’
“We snatched the carafe out of her reach, scowling. ‘You still do not see, do you?’
“‘… See what?’
“‘You do not need Gabriel, Dior. You do not need Phoebe or Reyne or Maryn or me. The strongest fires welcome the wind, mon amie. And your flame surpasses us all. You are the one who saved this city. You are the one from whom the deathless legions fled.’
“‘Fled? Or just backed away from for a while?’
“She leaned forward then, elbows to knees.
“‘Doesn’t it bother you? That we still don’t know what the fuck Voss wants with me?’
“‘It does not matter, Dior. We will never let him take you.’
“‘But don’t you want to know? I mean, if the fate of the whole world is at stake here, why are we playing with only half a deck?’
“‘We cannot know the mind of the Forever King.’
“‘But we can know his daughter’s.’
“Our jaw clenched at that. Looking into the carafe between us, we saw a reflection moving on the glass.
A shadow, vast and impossible, rolling beneath our surface.
We remembered that cathedral of mirrors within us.
That church of souls, built only of our mind.
We could confront her there perhaps. Find out who was truly the master here.
“But as the shadow on the crystal swelled, glowering at us, we turned our eyes away. And looking to Dior, we sighed.
“‘I fear we are not strong enough to wrest the truth from Aléne, mon amie. You cannot imagine her power. Her hatred for us. But in the end, it will not matter. Once you are sat upon the throne and the black veil across heaven is parted, Voss and whatever designs he has for you will be left in ashes. To wear a troth ring, even one given by a … poncy wanker … seems a small sacrifice for that.’
“‘You think I should do it?’
“‘I think it does not matter how we feel about it. How do you feel?’
“‘… Like shit.’
“She sucked her lip, arms wrapped about herself.
“‘I know there’s more in the balance here than just me and Reyne. And this sister bollocks has got us both twisted sideways. But … it hurt to be bandied around in public like that. Used like a piece in some game. I … I didn’t think she thought of me that way.’
“‘The Princess does what she feels she must. As you say, this is not just about you.’
“‘Still hurts.’
“‘It always does, Dior. There is a reason poets declare love the province of fools.’
“‘Talking from experience, eh?’
“‘It could be said.’
“Dior smiled sadly. ‘You still owe me the end of your story, you know.’
“‘You were supposed to be earning that tale with your achievements in the arte of sanguimancy. And you have woefully neglected your training in recent nights.’ We inclined our head, smile hidden behind our mask.
‘Although we admit, when you fought Kestrel, you showed no small mastery of our lessons. It made us proud, Dior.’
“The Grail smiled weakly, shaking her head.
“‘I can’t really remember … When I was the wolf, it’s like … squinting through smoke. I can see myself if I try, but it’s as if I’m recalling a story someone else told me. I remember feeling pain when Reyne fell. I remember knowing Kestrel was my enemy. That I hated her. But … not much else.’
“‘Have you tried since? To dance?’
“‘No,’ she sighed. ‘Too frightened of what might happen. Without Phoebe here…’
“‘We cannot counsel you in such matters. But we’d suggest when Reyne fell, you became a creature of instinct. You did not think. You acted. Just as you did that night we frightened you on Dawnseeker. This power is within you, Dior. Part of you understands, even if the whole does not.’
“She scoffed. ‘Don’t think, in other words? Just do?’
“‘Better to think of it as trusting yourself. You have a golden heart, chérie. We would advise you pay heed to it. On matters of blood. Of destiny. Of matrimony.’ She glanced up at that, scowling. ‘Or in any other regard. It knows what is right. It always has.’
“‘If you were to ask it yesterday, it’d have told you Reyne was right.’ Staring into the gloom, Dior shook her head. ‘But like I say. This is about more than me and her.’
“‘And love is for fools.’
“Dior breathed deep, licking wine-red lips as she met my eyes.
“‘I think we’re past the whole nine lives thing. And if you’ve no wish to, I understand. But if you want to talk about it…’
“‘It hurts to talk about it, Dior. Though every choice I ever made has led me to this, to you…’ We looked to the carafe, the shadows coiled upon those tiny reflections. ‘It is a long, hard road out of hell, mon amie.’
“‘Have you ever told anyone? What happened?’
“We thought we heard a small sound then, as if the fluttering of tiny wings. We glanced to the shelves, the shadows, Maryn’s words ringing in our ears.
“‘No.’
“Dior leaned back in the divan, eyes on mine. I was struck with how stately she looked then. How much she’d grown this last year.
There was a fire in her now, rising for months but bursting fully into flame after that battle with Kestrel.
It was difficult to remember sometimes, but this girl stood at the cusp of only eighteen years on this earth.
As fanciful as it might have seemed when we began, we could see her sitting on the throne now, decked in imperial gold.
A child of two worlds, who might unite the Moonsthrone and the empire as one, just as her ancestor Ailidh had tried to do.
As the Redeemer had tried to do. So much power and potential resided in her.
So much hope. She was a queen, we knew it now. A queen just waiting for her crown.
“But more, she was the closest thing to a friend we had on this earth.
“‘I’m here,’ she offered.
“And so …
“And so.”
The Last Liathe hung her head and sighed.
“We spoke.”