Chapter XIII. Friendship #2
“This be unfinished,” she declared, piercing him with her stare.
“I fear my time with the Liathe was cut short by your summons, Empress. But—”
“Liathe.”
Kariim’s eyes narrowed at the word.
“What doth he mean, Liathe? The Knights of the Blood extinguished that contemptible line centuries ago. Thee and I both witnessed Charbourg’s fall, Margot.”
The Empress smiled. “As ye said, sweet Kariim; not merely for lion’s blood hath we invited thee to our halls.
The Blood Chastain have much more to offer thee, should the brood of Ilon prove themselves the faithful friends we know ye to be.
But Kestrel be impatient, Kariim. The Iron Maiden mourns her father with the fury of any loyal daughter, but she presses for too-swift vengeance ’gainst his murderer. ”
Kariim’s eyes drifted to the bloody wretch on the floor.
“Well she should. T’was not only the eldest Voss who died by this rat’s teeth.”
“This rodent hath maimed us all. But Gabriel de León hath a truth in him we would glean afore his end. A truth methinks the Voss would dear love to keep buried.”
Kariim raised one brow as the Empress smiled.
“Blood Chastain may be inclined to share this truth with our friends,” she said. “And likewise rebuke any who intrude upon their domains. If friends we continue to be.”
Margot tilted her head, glancing to the fallen ’saint.
“A few hours more with him will suffice, Kariim.”
A boom sounded through the chamber as those mighty doors were flung wide, echoing on the rafters along with the thrallsword’s cry.
“Kestrel Voss of Blood Voss, daughter of Fabién, eldest and Priori of the Ironhearts!”
The Empress and the Spider stared only at each other, but the historian turned to watch the Maiden approach.
Stalking down the bloody carpet with fists clenched, Kestrel was clad in dark plate, the bloody death’s-head on her face dried and flaking at the claws of the mountain winds.
Her cloak of heartsblood red billowed in her wake, shoulders crowned with unmelted snows.
Her footfalls rang like thunder in the gables, stormclouds over her brow as she reached the throne and spared Margot the briefest sort of bow.
“Empress.”
Kariim bowed. “Dearest Kestrel.”
The Maiden’s black gaze flickered to the Spider. “Good Kariim.”
“Glorious as ever, thy countenance. Our heart brightens to set wond’ring eyes ’pon thee once more. Tell me, dark Maiden, how long hath it been since we danced?”
“Long enough for scars to have faded.”
Kariim smiled, dark and wicked. “But their memory lingers, I wager.”
Kestrel somehow ignored that perilous smile, turning instead to Margot.
“Ye run swift, Empress.”
“And hunt the swifter,” Margot replied.
“Our compliments. And thanks heartfelt, for bringing this dog to ground.”
Kestrel’s gaze shifted to the body at her feet, fury boiling in her gaze.
“All that remains is to put him down.”
The Maiden stooped toward the silversaint, Jean-Francois’s jaw clenching as her claws closed upon the back of his neck.
Gabriel de León had hurt him, oui, and not merely in the flesh—Celene had cut close to the bone when she’d intimated there was true fondness in the historian for his subject.
Gabriel de León was a bastard, sure and true.
But truth told, he was a magnificent bastard who’d spared Jean-Francois’s life when he could have ended it.
And to bear mute witness while he was butchered by this beast—
“We forbid it.”
Kestrel paused, glowering at Margot’s command.
“Forbid? Empress’s laurels hast thou claimed, but no fealty to thee hath I sworn. I am Priori of Ironheart. Eldest of Voss. No lackey I, to be forbid by thee.”
“The hospitality of Blood Chastain shall not be besmirched.” Margot leaned forward, pinning the Maiden in her gaze. “Ye stand in my halls now, Kestrel.”
“Journeyed we to these halls under promise justice would be served. And not alone are we in such desire, I wager. This pig be drenched in blood of eldest Voss and Ilon alike.”
Kariim met Kestrel’s stare, inclining his head.
“Indeed.”
The Maiden returned the nod, turning expectant gaze upon Margot.
“We surely mean no offense, Empress,” the Spider said, palms upturned. “We are thy guests, of course, and not so uncivilized we should disobey laws of courtesy. Yet the crimes this man hath committed ’gainst Whisper and Ironheart be without peer.”
“Indeed,” Kestrel snarled.
“We trust the finale thou hast arranged for him will be … spectacular?”
The Empress met the Spider’s stare, lips curled ever so slight.
“Indeed. Friend Kariim.”
Kestrel blinked. “Finale?”
“Of course, dark Maiden.”
The Spider smiled, all pearl-white fangs and night-black majesty, and though it was aimed at Kestrel, Jean-Francois still felt himself shiver in delight.
“The affront this man hath committed ’gainst us be without peer. His suff’ring should be likewise peerless. No doubt hath I, that the great Empress of Wolves and Men hath arranged an execution worthy of the ages.”
Margot inclined her head.
“God and angels shall avert their gaze.”
“But pray ye, great Empress,” Kariim pleaded, raising his hands in surrender.
“Might this entertainment be postponed for but one more eve? Dawn’s feeble light aready presses ’pon these walls, and long miles hath we come through snow and storm.
I would wash the road’s filth from mine cloak, warm mine cold bones by the blood of some ripe young thing, and steal a few hours of sleep dreamless afore we rise again to witness the delicious horrors thou hast in store for our father’s murderer. ”
Kariim glanced to the Maiden, brow slightly raised.
“Mayhaps we might dine together? With no small fondness do I recall past meals.”
Kestrel met the Spider’s eyes, tongue pressed to the tip of one fang.
Jean-Francois could feel the air smoldering between them, almost pitying whatever morsel the Empress provided to slake their thirsts.
Turning to the Empress, the Iron Maiden planted a savage kick in Gabriel’s ribs, the sound of cracking bone and a soft wheeze the only reply.
“Tonight, Empress, Gabriel de León dies.”
Margot smiled. “Screaming.”
“Draigann Dyvok of Blood Dyvok, son of Lilidh, eldest and Priori of the Untamed!”
Kariim pursed his lips as the cry echoed on the walls.
“Oh, bless. The pup hath escaped his kennel and bounds forth with tail awag. Forgive me, Empress. But I shall absent myself afore he begins soiling thy carpets.” The Spider offered his arm to the Maiden. “Shall we dine?”
“Indeed.”
The Maiden took the Spider’s arm, and side by side, the pair walked down the carpet toward the approaching Draigann. Yet within a few steps, Kariim paused, turning back to Jean-Francois, swallowing him with his eyes.
“Wouldst thou join us, beauty?”
Jean-Francois stammered, mouth dry as ash. But Margot replied in his stead.
“Forgive him, Priori. But my son hath labors to conclude afore the dusk.”
The Spider looked Jean-Francois up and down.
“Pity.”
And with no backward glance, the Priorem of Voss and Ilon turned away.
The pair passed the Draigann as he stalked toward Margot’s throne, sparing the young Dyvok only the briefest of courtesies.
The Priori of the Untamed looked half confused, half affronted, scowling back over his shoulder at the departing couple as he rumbled to a halt before Margot’s throne. Golden fangs glinted as he growled.
“The hell is that slick cunt?”
Margot made no reply, eyes fixed on her son.
“What did I miss?” the Draigann demanded, looking between the pair.
“Grim Father Time hath caught thee, Jean-Francois,” Margot said, ignoring the Draigann utterly.
“I desire telling of how the cup was broken. The reason why Voss coveted it, when at Charbourg we labored to annihilate its line. I care not by what means thou shalt acquire it. No regard hath I for thy pains. A handful of hours hast thou, until coming of dusk. And when this wretched sun sets, thou shalt bring me the truth of it, or thou shall die screaming beside this wretch and his sister, test me not.”
Jean-Francois bowed low.
“My Empress.”
Margot snapped her fingers, and a cadre of thralls in Chastain livery marched from the shadows, heavy boots ringing on cold stone. The Empress of Wolves and Men waved to the bloodied wretch upon the floor.
“Take that below with my son.”
The soldiers bowed, one stooping to heft the silversaint off the floor.
Blood drooled from Gabriel’s slackened jaw, head lolling as though his neck was already snapped.
But Jean-Francois could yet hear the soft thump of Gabriel’s heart, marveling at its stubbornness, at this fool’s refusal to simply die.
He wondered what kept the silversaint going.
What point there was for this man to linger in a world where all hope was lost. And why had he run?
There was no escape through these mountains, unprovisioned and on foot in a raging storm.
Surely he’d known it was only a matter of time until he was recaptured?
Why had he not simply ended it? Spared himself these tortures while he had the chance? Was the Last Silversaint so afraid to face the hell awaiting him?
Or was he too foolish to realize he was already dead?
“Jean-Francois.”
He glanced up from his musings, into the eyes of the thing who’d made him.
“Empress?”
“Fail me not.”
He bowed low, hand to heart.
“Thy will be done.”