Chapter XII. Tarnished Silver #4
“Maryn took our hand then, eyes boring into our soul. We could feel her thoughts skimming ours, the weariness and doubt, the sorrow and hurt.
“‘The Battle for Augustin shall be the battle for our time, Celene. But with our faith, our fire, the Holy Grail shall seat herself upon the throne at Maidsfeast thereafter and unite earth and heaven as one. Hold fast now. Thou art a faithful servant of the Almighty, and thy devotion shall be rewarded in his eternal kingdom.’
“‘Véris, Mother.’
“‘Sleep well, child. Judgment Comes.’
“We retired into our chambers, padding through our sitting room to the boudoir beyond. All was silent, save for the growing crowds outside, soft hymns and a thrum of voices beneath the thunder. But we were under no illusions we were alone. Maryn was surely watching us, a mote of her hid somewhere in the shadows as we kicked off our boots and stepped into our coffin. It was a plain affair: simple pine, unadorned, the same as we’d slept in during nights in San Yves.
We fancied we heard the faint rustling of tiny wings as we cast off our coat, our mask, lay down on that rough wood and closed the lid.
“Dark awaited. Dark, and unwelcome thoughts.
“White ants chewing at our foundations.
“Salt water corroding our steel.
“He’d not killed us. Though he’d had every opportunity last night, Gabriel hadn’t let his blade fall. If he was thralled to the monster who’d worked so hard to destroy Illia’s dream, why stay his hand? Why spare an acolyte of Fabién’s great enemy?
“Our mind was in tumult, same as it ever was in the presence of the Mother, all those voices within us raging like a storm in our skull. Yet amid that endless clamor, we’d still heard not a sound from Wulfric.
No taunt, no word, no whisper. Instead, we heard only his son, our brother, words spoken to the Princess he’d never slain.
“There’s none under heaven who know better than me what a monster is Fabién Voss, girl. But he is nothing—nothing—compared to the monster we woke beneath Dún Maergenn.
“The Esani don’t want to end daysdeath, girl. They want to—
“Thou art ready, Celene. For the final mystery of our faith …
“We closed our eyes. Searched within. Pushing aside the anxiety, the doubt, the weight of what we might find in here. We still feared we were not strong enough for this. We still doubted this could work. Despite all our claims to the contrary, Celene Castia was not truly master of her own mind. She was master of nothing. But just as in that moment we’d been sunk beneath the Béni River in the Battle of Lastbridge, the weight of cold water and fear of death all around, I found myself again standing in the heart of that vast room.
That room wrought only of my mind. Once again, the walls were circular, like some great cathedral—a thousand looking glasses, a thousand mirrors, a thousand pieces.
“Pieces of us.
“When last I’d stood here, in each bright surface I’d seen my old master’s face. But now, each mirror was empty, reflecting only a pale girl in a red coat, black hair framing a bloodless face as she roared in the heart of that vast cathedral.
“‘Where are you?’
“Figures appeared on that glass, a sea of familiar faces, shouting, hissing, cursing; Victorine and Octavia and Dmitri, Alexandra and Anastasia and Aléne. My victories. My victims. Souls rescued from eternal perdition, though in truth none had asked for salvation. We wondered now what they might have said if given a choice. But we’d no use for any of them in that moment, fists clenched, fangs bared as we roared into the glass.
“‘SILENCE! ’
“The cathedral fell still, the shouting ceased, the mirrors of me emptied once more. I prowled about that circle, staring into blank planes of glass, shout echoing in the still.
“‘Are you afraid to face me? All these months, you’ve haunted my every turn, and now at the eleventh hour, you fall silent? We stand at the fruition of Illia’s dream! All you worked for soon to come to pass, and you’ve nothing at all to say?’
“Silence my answer. Silence complete. I prowled that silvered hall, teeth bared.
“‘I heard you call his name! Your son! They’re going to torture him, Wulfric! Your beloved Auriél’s baby boy is going to die screaming; have you no words for him?’
“I caught a glimpse then. A tremor across that glass.
“But he did not show his face.
“‘What did he mean? If Maryn doesn’t want to end daysdeath, what does she want? What did Illia want, that a creature like Voss labored so hard to foil her design? If we are all God’s monsters, what monstrosity do we toil to bring upon this earth?’
“My fists were clenched, screams echoing in the still.
“‘You owe me! Even after you fell, I took up your mantle! I found the Grail! I bled to save her! I brought her through fire and blood to the gates of Augustin! You told me I earned this! The final mystery! Well, now I claim my due!’
“I realized I was crying. Tears of blood running down my cheeks. I felt all I was and had ever been crumbling beneath my feet. Not just the pillars that held up my sky, but the foundation upon which I was built. Ever since that night I had entered Wulfric’s service, I had clung to the hope that through Illia’s teachings, my soul might be saved.
All I had done, all I had been, was built around that single article of faith.
And I knew that all believers must suffer a moment like this—this dark night of the soul in which doubt takes root and you stare into the mirror and speak those terrible words:
“Am I a fool?
“Good could come of evil. Evil of good. The world is not black-and-white, but grey. One life was not so much to sacrifice to save a million. But one life taken is not just one life lost, is it? How many had I killed in the name of Faith? How many orphans and widows had I made, when I took those sinners from this earth? And how is it in the space of a few short years, I had gone from justifying the execution of rapists and brutes to turning a blind eye at the murder of innocents? Reyne á Maergenn sat now at the right hand of the Father, oui. But she’d not asked for salvation.
And I knew what she’d have said if given a choice.
“She’d have chosen Dior.
“My friend.
“Though my hand was not on that blade, I’d surely helped to hide it afterward. And it seemed here, in the very last inch of her, in the quiet of her own mind, that was more than Celene Castia was prepared to sacrifice for what she believed.
“‘Say nothing, then,’ I hissed. ‘But I’ll be damned if I do the same.’
“I turned to leave, pawing at the blood on my face.
“What shall ye do?
“We froze, his voice holding us still. And turning back, we saw him, hundreds of him, reflected over and over in those pieces of me. Long black hair and ink-black eyes and a face we’d once adored.
He’d offered us salvation, remember. Given us a place to belong.
A faith to belong to. A slender beam of hope in a world gone utterly dark.
“‘I’ll stop the wedding. I’ll go right now and tell Dior what Maryn did.’
“Maryn shall ne’er allow thee to foil her design, Wulfric replied. She is everywhere. She watches everything. Take one misstep, give her one reason to doubt thee, and she can simply wrest the treachery from thy mind.
“‘Truth is not treachery,’ we spat.
“We are close, Celene, he said, hands to the glass. So close to the end of all we hath worked for. A thousand years, the writing of this story. Ye do not understand—
“‘Then make me understand! Tell me the truth!’
“His lips peeled back, fangs gleaming. But still he gave no answer.
“‘Tell me,’ I spat, stalking forward. ‘Tell me, or I will tell Dior. I will tear the final page from that story and burn it on the pyre! I will unmake everything the Esana have made!’
“Maryn shall destroy thee first.
“‘And if she does, she damns you, me, all of us in here to the fires of hell.’
“Wulfric glowered at that, eyes narrowed to knifecuts in that beautiful face. The mirrors around us rippled, warped, and beyond our master, we saw them all; that legion of victims, that choir of souls, that sea of sinners that encompassed all we were.
“Ye would not dare. Ye long for heavenly skies as much as I.
“‘Maybe we don’t deserve heaven, Wulfric,’ I replied, tears spilling down my cheeks. ‘Maybe we all of us earned damnation. Tonight and a thousand nights before.’
“He quavered then. The choir of souls screaming about him.
“‘Tell me,’ I hissed. ‘Tell me, or by God we all burn.’
“I stepped forward, pinning him in our gaze, Gabriel’s words echoing in our head.
“‘The blackened veil. It’s not daysdeath, is it?’
“… Nay.
“‘If we’re not working to end the endless night … what are we working to end?’
“He met our eyes then. This man who’d saved me.
This monster who’d made me. I could see the conflict in him, right to his root.
If the world was not black-and-white, then neither was Wulfric.
He was a creature of many moods, my master.
One moment cold and cruel, the next, warm as mulled wine.
He’d murdered thousands, kith and mortal, drenched in the blood of centuries and the carnage of the Red Crusade.
And yet he’d loved my mama. Saved his son’s life when she asked.
Wept when she died. Despite it all, the centuries and the blood, some small part of him was still human.
“I think that was the part that answered me.
“The world, Celene. We want to end this cursed world.”
A pounding rang upon the cell door, interrupting the Last Liathe’s tale. She fell silent, one brow raised, looking toward the historian. Jean-Francois glanced up from his tome, quill poised in trembling fingers, groaning all the way from his boots.
“You must be bloody jesting.”
The cell door swung wide, and there on the threshold stood young Dario. The thrall’s face was pale, sheened with sweat, the toll taken by his exertions with the silversaint the previous night obviously worsened by the flat-out dash he’d taken to get down here.
“M-Master. Empress Margot has r-returned from her hunt.”
Jean-Francois clenched his jaw, the enormity of what the Liathe had told him sinking home. All who knew of them spoke of the Esani with fear, but he’d no clue how terrifying their faith truly was. Yet he had little opportunity to process, looking instead to the thrall.
“With de León? Or did the Maiden catch him first?”
“The Empress h-has the silversaint.” The boy swallowed, his face bloodless. “What’s l-left of him, at any rate. She demands your presence in the throne room immediately.”
“Now? I’m just about t—”
“Forgive me, Master. She was most insistent.”
Jean-Francois cursed. He’d half a mind to push on; to wring full revelation from this dog’s throat.
But memories of his mother’s displeasure outweighed the deepest curiosity, and he knew keeping the Empress of Wolves and Men waiting was unwise.
The historian glanced to the Last Liathe, sat upon the stone, a slow smile spreading across her lips.
“Seems we’re all someone’s dog.”
He slammed the tome shut, eschewing his usual fastidiousness and packing up his quill and ink with hands ablur. Jean-Francois was out of his leather armchair and halfway toward the door when Celene’s voice brought him up short.
“Use it wisely, Marquis.”
He turned back then, blue eyes narrowed.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The forever Gabriel gave you. Use it wisely.”
“Master, please…” Dario whispered.
Jean-Francois stared a moment longer, across the black river and into her eyes.
There was so much more to unearth here. He stood so tantalizingly close to the brink.
But the echo of his mother’s slap rang in his skull, the fear of her displeasure burning bright enough to blind, and, tome under his arm, he snarled at the thrall.
“Seal and lock this door. None shall enter but I and those under the Empress’s express command, do you understand?”
“Your will be done, Master.”
Fangs clenched, cursing under his breath, the historian swept from the room.