Chapter VII. Second Son #2
“‘Let’s just stroll for a spell, oui?’
“‘As you wish.’
“And arm in arm, Prince and Grail walked on.
“They crossed a bridge wrought of marble, into the square proper. Snow was tumbling from iron clouds, and there was no sound save the frost beneath their heels, the soft laughter of the canal rushing below. Dior stopped, extricating herself from the Prince’s arm and peering over the railing, breath rising in white plumes from her lips.
“‘Where does all this water come from, anyway?’
“Philippe blinked, surprised at her curiosity; we doubted the femmes he usually dealt with had much interest in the working of Augustin’s waterways.
But glancing to the statue in the square’s heart, he nodded.
‘Maximille’s great-great-great-grandson, Henri the Stonehand, designed this capital to withstand the grimmest siege.
We pump water up from the Béni, so our citizens have a fresh supply even if our walls are surrounded. ’
“‘What happens when the pumps freeze?’
“‘They do not.’ Philippe nodded southward across the city, columns of smoke rising into cold skies. ‘Yonder lies the Ironmongers’ Guildworks. La Rivière de Fer. The forges burn hotter than any in the empire, and we divert some of their heat into the pumpworks beside them, to keep the canals flowing all year round.’
“‘Sounds … complicated.’
“‘Henri was a genius,’ Philippe said. ‘Of all my ancestors, he deserves the most acclaim and gets the least. Strange how history gives so much renown to destroyers and so little to creators. It was Maximille the Martyr who began conquest of this empire. His son and grandson, Philippe I and Maximille II, completed the task. But it was Henri who truly began to build something here. A legacy that would endure beyond any emperor. Some say Galerie Royale is the greatest marvel of this city. Others Cathédrale de Lumière or Rue des étoiles. If you ask me, it is the River of Iron.’
“He looked at her sidelong, thoughtful.
“‘Would you like to see it?’
“‘A smithy? You surely do know how to impress a girl, Majesty.’
“Philippe’s face was stern, but we could see some small flicker of amusement deep in the sapphire of his eyes. ‘It will be warmer there at least.’
“‘See, now you’re just trying to get me to fall in love with you.’
“‘That would be fine.’ He crooked his elbow. ‘But unnecessary, I assure you.’
“And with a sigh, Dior took his arm.
“Over the canal bridge they walked, through the empty square. The soldiers barring the way to the plaza stepped aside at the Prince’s command, and the pair entered the streets of Augustin’s noble quarter beyond.
Philippe’s men kept a cordon around the couple, but they were among the hoi polloi now, and folk whispered as they passed, smiles bright at the sight of them together.
You’d have been hard-pressed to find a single soul in that city who did not sing the praises of the Maiden of the Grail, but it seemed this young warrior prince had no shortage of admirers either.
The citizens of Augustin, the citizens of the empire, stood on the verge of a battle for their future.
And seeing this pair together promised a brighter one than they’d imagined in years.
“But still …
“‘I take it you are uncomfortable with thought of our union, Dior.’
“The Grail’s jaw clenched at that word, and we felt her suppress a shiver.
“‘I’m not turning cartwheels about it.’
“Philippe smiled, nodding to a passel of holy sisters. His face was a mask, pleasant, pretty, belying the iron in his voice. ‘And yet it was your own counselor who suggested the notion. My mother was displeased to be pressed so openly by Princess á Maergenn. I’d suggest she seek some lessons in etiquette when her kinswoman Duchess Yvaine arrives from Daggercoast. She made a rather powerful enemy that night.’
“‘You sound frightened of your mama.’
“‘You should be too.’
“‘And yet here you are. Here we are.’
“Philippe waved as a young lad called out blessings.
“‘There are many factions in the Golden Halls, Dior. Not all are fond of my mother. She was far younger than my father when they wed. Some whispered she bewitched him. Nonsense, of course, but the rumor has resurfaced since the Emperor went to God’s arms. A great many in court are wondering if it is time for the Empress to … step aside.’
“She met his eyes at that.
“‘I’m sorry, by the way,’ Dior said. ‘About your papa. I lost my mama to sickness too. I know what it feels like to watch someone you care about wasting away day by day. Makes you feel small. Helpless. I hated that.’
“Philippe stopped walking. Studying Dior’s face.
And, brushing the surface of his thoughts, we could feel the soft bewilderment in him.
Here they were, dancing around the most pivotal political decision this empire had probably ever known.
This was treachery. Perhaps treason. And she was talking about feelings.
And though he supposed this might be some play at false compassion, looking closer, he realized she was genuinely grieved for him.
That was one of the wonders of Dior Lachance.
Despite the hurt she’d endured in her life, she never closed herself off to it, nor to others.
And Philippe saw the truth of her then. The same I had seen.
The reason she worked so tirelessly among the wounded in the days after the attack.
The reason she’d risked so much coming here.
It was not to leech acclaim or garner influence or because she coveted fame or power or even a throne.
“It was because Dior Lachance cared.
“Truly cared.
“‘My father was not a perfect man,’ Philippe said. ‘But he stood tall against a darkness none of his forebears ever faced. And he taught me to do the same.’
“‘I wish I could’ve met him.’
“The Grail looked down at her hand then, sighing.
“‘I wish I could’ve saved him.’
“The Prince frowned. If the Grail had come earlier to the capital, healed the Emperor of his illness, her path to the Fivefold Throne would have proved even more difficult than now. And yet, looking into her eyes …
“‘I believe you,’ he said.
“And on they walked.
“Through the noble district, along Rue des étoiles and into the Quartier de la Guilde. A crowd was gathered around them now, following as they strolled, Dior’s Unbound looking ill at ease in the growing crush.
But the Prince’s guard was used to keeping onlookers at bay, and though slow, their pace led them steady and sure toward a column of dark smoke rising into winter skies.
“Dior’s nose wrinkled. ‘What’s that smell?’
“‘Coke and coal. Iron and sulfur and sweat.’
“‘Very romantic.’
“Philippe smiled, though as they walked on, it slowly faded.
“‘I feel I should be honest, Dior. I believe you’ve the best of intentions here. There is a great deal of support among the nobility and army for union between us. I am of Augustin blood, and you, beloved of the people. But as for romance…’
“He pursed his lips, meeting her gaze.
“‘Were I to ask for your hand, I’d not be offering you my heart.’
“‘… It belongs to another,’ Dior realized.
“‘She will cause no strife. She understands. What I am, and where my duty lies.’
“Dior shook her head and smiled. ‘Well, aren’t we a pair?’
“‘Your young capitaine? I see the way he looks at you.’
“Dior followed Philippe’s eyeline, finding a pretty dark-haired lad among the guards.
“‘Joaquin? Oh L—’
“She stumbled in her denial then, perhaps recalling Reyne’s words after the feast.
“Unnatural.
“‘Alas,’ she said. ‘I’ve a weakness for good cheekbones and bad poetry.’
“‘We can approach this with maturity. I would still perform all husbandly duties, of course. We would be expected to produce an heir as soon as possible, so you must set your man aside for a time. But once our sons arrive, there is no reason you could n—’
“He blinked, placing his hand over hers.
“‘Are you well?’
“Dior shook her head, white as old snows. ‘Just … feeling sick. The smell…’
“‘We can leave if you wish?’
“She looked at the grand foundry, the waterworks beside it rising through the haze of steam and mist before them. ‘No turning back now.’
“On they walked, along snow-clad cobbles toward the Ironmongers’ Guildworks.
La Rivière de Fer was a grand structure of well-wrought stone in the heart of the Guild Quarter.
Solid bronze doors loomed twenty feet high, embossed with images of smiths at work.
A basalt statue of Eloise, Angel of Retribution, stood beside them, a font of holy water in her hands.
Beside the foundry loomed the Augustin pumpworks; a twisted nest of tanks and pipes and bellows that constituted the greatest engineering works in the empire.
The buildings were grubby, vast, spewing plumes of smoke into the heavens.
The smell was a touch foul, but not enough to have Dior as pale as she looked.
“The ironmongers and waterworkers had obviously got word of the Prince’s coming, and the young couple were met at the doors by a dozen guildmasters.
Dior was introduced to each, smiling politely as the Prince explained she’d expressed an interest in the canals.
And dipping her hand into the font, the Grail followed the procession inside.
“She did her best to listen as she was taken on a tour of the works—or at least, so it appeared to us. She was led through towering furnaces, past smoke-stained men straining at coalfaces, sweating lads working at vast pumps, all stopping to stare in wonder. Down a river of molten steel through the foundry’s heart, into an impressive tangle of iron pipes and gantries and clouds of steam, lit the color of flame by those burning forges.
But the whole time, we could practically hear the Prince’s words echoing in her skull, teeth grinding, hands clenching at the thought.
“Husbandly duties.
“‘Have you any questions, Mlle du Graal?’
“Dior blinked as if waking from a trance, looking at the smiling men before her.
She and Philippe and the guildmasters were stood in a long hall overlooking the entire foundry.
Beyond the windows, through the fiery glow and clouds of vapor, the pumpworks wound upon itself like a nest of serpents, great tanks of water siphoned up from the river beneath, heated by that river of iron.
In truth, these works were the wonder the prince had promised, but the marvel seemed lost on Dior at the time.
Her hair was damp with steam, hung like a veil over her eyes as she replied.
“‘I…’
“She shook her head.
“‘No. Very informative, seigneurs. Merci.’
“‘Your pardon, messieurs,’ Philippe said. ‘I’d speak to the lady in private if I may.’
“The guildmasters murmured blessings and departed with a flurry of bows, leaving Dior and the Prince as alone as they’d likely ever manage—surrounded by a cadre of armed guards and Unbound.
Joaquin was watching Dior intently, and the surface of his thoughts were a storm of ardor and fear and hope.
We knew the Prince was no fool, that the houndboy of Aveléne and many of her guards did look at Dior with love.
But Philippe had mistaken adoration for infatuation.
Adulation for affection. For though his devotion was absolute, Joaquin Marenn loved Dior Lachance the way the mountains love the moons.
“Eternally, and forever apart.
“Dior walked to the windows, hand to the glass.
“‘Apologies,’ Philippe said. ‘I’d not have brought you here if I knew you’d be so bored.’
“‘No, it is interesting. Just…’
“Dior turned to the Prince, shrugging.
“‘Not really what I expected from all this.’
“‘Nor I. I’d meant to have this conversation in the square. I confess, I’m not quite certain what to make of you, Dior. You’re rather unlike most of the demoiselles I’ve known.’
“‘Well, I’ve not known any princes at all, so…’
“They smiled weakly, silence hung now between them beneath the groan of the pumps, the hiss of the bellows, the song of steel on steel.
“‘I suppose this place is more appropriate than most,’ she sighed. ‘It’s not pretty. But it serves a greater purpose. Like our marriage would.’
“The Prince nodded, taking a few steps to her side.
“‘It need not be entirely loveless. Nor bloodless.’
“‘The Forever King and his Endless Legion are going to do everything in their power to stop it happening. So, no. It’ll be far from bloodless, Majesty.’
“‘If this is going where I think it’s going … you should probably call me Philippe.’
“She looked up into his eyes then.
“‘And where do you think it’s going, Philippe?’
“The Prince held out his hand, sapphire eyes fixed on ice blue.
“‘Would you do me the honor of becoming my bride, Dior?’
“She looked at him, stood amid the ironsong and scent of smoke. This prince of a city at the edge of the abyss. This second son never intended to rule. This thing she never asked for. Never ever wanted.
“‘None of us get to choose the hand that God deals us, do we?’
“‘No, we don’t,’ Philippe replied.
“‘Nor the duty that comes with it.’
“He nodded, smiling soft.
“‘Aren’t we a pair?’
“With not a smile, but a sigh, she took his hand.
“‘I suppose we are.’”