Chapter XII. The Battle of Augustin #3
“It was Nicolette speaking, sat beside Aaron with her dog in her arms. At the sound of her voice, Patience lifted her gaze, my heart aching to note she had her father’s eyes.
“Wulfric’s eyes.
“‘Oui?’ she asked.
“Nicolette chuckled softly, hand to her décolletage as she beamed. ‘Oh, aren’t you darling? No, I meant the other Majesty, Majesty.’
“Patience’s eyes narrowed, but Morgane lifted one dark brow.
“‘Hast thou desire of refreshment, Ambassador? ’
“‘Well … that would be lovely, actually,’ Nicolette replied with a gracious smile. ‘But … in his absence, I rather thought to ask about your royal father.’
“Morgane blinked, and after a moment, four thrallswords marched into the tent.
Each was armed with longblade and wheellock, clad in heavy plate.
Their tabards were embroidered with ravens, skulls on their pauldrons.
Though clearly elite veterans, none looked more than thirty, the eldest thumping a gauntlet against his chest.
“‘Majesty?’
“‘Thy choice, Ambassador? ’ Morgane asked. ‘Soldier’s fare this night, I fear.’
“‘Oh.’ Nicolette blinked, glancing to the swords. ‘The … blond, I suppose.’
“Morgane dismissed the other soldiers with a glance, while the fourth—a handsome young monsieur with a trimmed goatee—marched to Nicolette’s side. As he unbuckled his gauntlet, drew a knife from his swordbelt and began bleeding, the ambassador spoke on.
“‘I am wondering why your noble father risks himself on the field. The young princess made mention of a … girl? Could she be this Grail we’ve heard whisp—’
“‘What have we told thee about secrets, little sister? ’
“Morgane was speaking again to Patience. And though she did not deign to look up from her drawing, the youngest Prince of Forever replied softly.
“‘Worth more kept than sold, sister.’
“Morgane smiled thin, eyes on Nicolette’s. The ambassador murmured thanks as the young ’sword finished filling her goblet, returning Morgane’s smile.
“‘Wise beyond her years, this little one.’
“‘More than most in this room.’
“This a growl, come from Aaron de Coste. As Nicolette glanced to the lordling, Aaron rose to his feet, seizing the longblade at the bleeding thrall’s belt. And in a blinking, with the song of steel through bone, Aaron took the soldier’s head clean off his shoulders.
“Nicolette shrieked, blood sprayed, highblooded Ironhearts roared warning. For interminable hours had Aaron sat in this court of killers, not daring to act for fear of Forever’s King.
But Voss was gone now, Baptiste already snatching up the fallen thrall’s wheellock and dagger.
Aaron lashed out at a courtier beside him, sending her back through the tent wall with a cry.
Spinning like a dancer, he struck another Ironheart down, taking the fledgling’s legs off at the knees with the unholy strength of his line.
“Sweeping a sluice of blood off his blade, Aaron held out one red hand.
“‘Time to go, Patience.’”
“I’d no idea any of this was happening,” Gabriel growled, grey eye fixed on his sister. “No idea where Voss’s command post even was. If someone had bothered to tell me, what happened next might have gone very differently.”
“Ah, here it is at last,” Celene sighed. “Blame me for your own cursed failings.”
“Why bother?” the silversaint spat. “The blame you own could already touch the fucking clouds. You opened that gate, Celene. You let them in. The blood of every man and woman and child who died in Rive C?ur that night is on you.”
“They would have broken through anyway,” Celene hissed. “You know it as well as I, Gabriel. The only difference being, Dior would have been slaughtered on that bridge with all her Unbound, and you left childless once more!”
“Fuck y—”
“Enough, Chevalier.” Aiming a warning glance at Gabriel, the historian looked to his sister. “What of the Grail then, Mlle Castia? Where was she now?”
“Where we had led her,” the Liathe replied, still glowering at her brother. “To safety. The way had been long, each of her men drenched in gore and ash. But finally, they had made their way under our guidance to the plaza of San Maximille.
“The square was bedlam, brimming with terrified citizens and bloodied soldiers. Cathédrale de Lumière and the Pontifex’s Palace were already packed to the rafters, no room left on holy ground.
And yet, tens of thousands still flooded that plaza.
In her wisdom, the Empress had opened the gates to Chateau Impérial, but only women and children were being given leave to enter.
Folk all about us were screaming. Weeping. Begging. Praying.
“And the Dead were coming.
“The soldiery guarding one of the bridges recognized Dior, allowing us to pass. And cursing, she pushed her way toward that great statue of the city’s founder.
Maximille sat astride his unicorn, solid marble, looming fifty feet above his terrified citizens.
But behind a spiked palisade about his feet, surrounded by knights and red-clad thugs, a bloodied Duke Maarten, and High Inquisitrix Maya herself, stood Maximille’s descendant, clad in gore-spattered plate and roaring at the top of his lungs.
“‘Women and children only!’ Prince Philippe bellowed. ‘Any man of fighting age, take up arms and stand your ground!’
“‘Philippe! ’ the Grail cried.
“The Prince squinted through the mob, eyes lighting up. ‘Dior?’
“‘Philippe!’
“‘Make a path, damn you!’
“Explosions rocked the square, distant but thunderous. Dior reached her husband’s side, grasping his arm with one bloody hand. ‘The fuck is that noise?’
“‘We’re blowing the bridges to slow them down!’
“‘There are still people back there!’
“‘I doom them now or us later!’
“‘The Prince speaks wisdom, Dior,’ we told her. ‘Fault him not.’
“Eyes found us amid the crush then, the Inquisitrix’s face twisted with fury as she roared to her red-clad thugs, ‘Seize that abomination!’
“Soldiers strode forward and I clenched my teeth, but Dior raised her hands.
“‘Stop, stop, we’re on the same side, what the hell are you doing?”
“‘This monstrosity opened the gate and allowed the Dead to enter!’
“‘You mean that gate the Holy Grail was trapped outside?’ I spat. ‘I opened it to save her life, and if you think that life not worth the weighing, look about you now!’
“The Prince clenched his jaw. The Inquisitrix glowered, but held her tongue. And in that ringing still, Dior said softly, ‘You shouldn’t have done that, Celene.’
“‘Would you rather be dead?’
“‘I’d rather me dead than anyone else! I’m no one special anymore!’
“‘Oh, Dior…’
“I gestured to the folk around us. Though our doom rushed onward with deathless feet, a strange calm had fallen in the square. The children who’d noticed Dior had ceased their tears.
The small folk called her by name, lifting thumb and forefinger aloft.
And the soldiers looking into the eyes of the oncoming Dead yet stood a little taller, their hearts buoyed up by the simple blessing of her presence.
“‘La demoiselle du Graal! ’ one little girl cried.
“We shook our head and met Dior’s eyes.
“‘You know that is untrue.’
“‘You should head into the chateau, Dior,’ Philippe said. ‘The walls are strong, and the guns are—’
“‘I’m not leaving you.’
“She looked about to her Unbound, to the Prince’s retinue, to the troops guarding the roads into the square—both battle-hard soldiers and peasants press-ganged with wooden spears and tinpot helms. And finally she looked to me.
“‘I’m not leaving any of you.’
“More citizens and soldiers were flooding over the bridges into the plaza, fleeing the oncoming horde.
But soon Philippe gave the order two of the three spans should be blown.
We flinched as the black ignis was ignited, explosions rocking the square.
Marble splintered, ruined spans tumbling into the steaming canals with a crash.
But the waterways here were only thirty feet across, and not long would such a barrier hold the Endless Legion.
“Duke Maarten stood beside his Prince, teeth splintered from my brother’s fists. Pressing a kerchief to his bloody mouth, he looked sidelong at his liege.
“‘Majesty … at the walls of the Nord, the Forever King said he would quit the field if we handed the Grail over to his keeping. If the choice now lies between us and her…’
“Philippe turned, meeting the Duke’s eyes. You must remember we were blind to happenings at the gate at this point, Marquis—we’d no idea the armies of León had arrived. For all Philippe knew, what he saw was all he had. And still the Prince shook his head.
“‘You shame yourself, Chevalier.’
“‘Dawn is a few hours distant,’ we said. ‘They’ll be weaker come the sun.’
“All squinted through the dark, the tumbling snows.
By the light of burning buildings we could see them now—pale shapes sprinting over rooftops and up the throughfares.
Empty eyes. Endless thirst. Dior clenched her jaw, knowing she likely looked upon our doom.
But glancing to the men about her, still she tried to buoy their spirits.
“‘What’s the first thing you’re going to do when this is over, Jackson?’
“Beside her, a hulking Ossian fellow scowled. ‘Kiss my wife and babe, Holy Maid.’
“She glanced to a younger lad with eyes of green. ‘How about you, Liam?’
“‘Barrel of wine for me, I think.’
“‘Aye,’ one of the Callums nodded. ‘Preferably with some fresh cunny in it.’
“‘Honestly, I could take or leave the wine,’ Dior murmured.
“The men chuckled, Joaquin grinning wide. ‘And you, Holy Maid?’
“‘This shite stinks,’ she growled, sniffing the black gore staining her hauberk. ‘I swear to all Seven Martyrs, first thing I’m diving into when this is done is a fucking bath.’
“‘You could always grab a quick wash in the canals.’ Joaquin raised one hand in oath. ‘I promise to avert my eyes. They’re not too clean, but the water looks warm at least.’
“Dior blinked.
“And turning slowly to Joaquin, she blinked again.
“‘Warm,’ she whispered.
“The houndboy raised one brow. Meeting her eyes, we whispered.
“‘… Dior?’
“‘Joaquin,’ she breathed, her gaze catching fire. ‘You’re a genius.’
“‘Well, so I’ve often said, but nobody—’
“‘You’re a fucking GENIUS!’ Dior grabbed the lad’s ears and planted a kiss square on his lips. Turning to the Prince’s retinue, she roared, ‘Inquisitrix! ’
“The dour prioress of the Tower of Tears raised one grey brow.
“‘Where’s the Pontifex?’ Dior demanded.
“‘… In his palace, I imagine.’
“‘Well, go fetch him!’ Dior yelled. ‘Him and every bishop, cardinal, priest, and fucking altar boy you can find! Now! Now, goddamn you!’
“Maya scowled at the Grail’s tone. Dior was still technically a Princess of the Realm, but the Inquisitrix looked toward her Prince for confirmation. Philippe himself was frowning at Dior now, wondering if she were half-mad, or had simply snapped all the way.
“‘Dior, what are you thinking?’
“‘Philippe—’
“We took her arm then, squeezing tight. ‘The Forever King is coming. Whatever stratagem you’ve conceived, if you share it with others, he may snatch it from their minds.’
“The Grail looked to Philippe, eyes ablaze.
“‘Do you trust me?’
“‘I do.’
“‘Then fetch me those holy men, Philippe de Augustin. And meet me at the most romantic place you can think of.’”