Chapter XIV. Sharp As Three Swords
XIV
SHARP AS THREE SWORDS
“PHOEBE WAS DEAD. Charlotte was dead. Lachlan was dead. And the fight in me almost died with them.”
Gabriel frowned, his one good eye drifting to the chymical globe—the only light in the cell save the flickering flames in the hands of the thralls. That pale moth was beating its wings upon the glass again; drawing pointless, endless circles on the glowing surface.
“There’s only so much weight one set of shoulders can carry, Historian.
And as my brother fell to Kestrel’s steel, I admit, I almost buckled.
But though you’ll think me a madman, still, amid all that blood and loss, I felt my bride with me in that moment.
I swear it. Real as this stone under my feet, I felt Astrid’s breath on my cheek.
Her hand on my shoulder. Her warmth at my back.
God, I wanted to join her. Just close my eyes and sleep.
But she spoke then, just as she’d done when I’d fallen at the river.
Two words that bid me stagger toward my foe with sword yet in hand.
“Two little words.
“Not yet.
“Kestrel stood amid the storm, foulbloods and soldiers crashing all around us. The men of León had seen their Baronne fall, and they were come to frenzy now, old grizzled Lieutenant Mathieu roaring for them to fight on. ‘Vengeance! ’ he cried. ‘For blood and fire and ruin! ’ But all knew the Prince was mine alone. She stood wreathed in falling ash, steam rising from the canal behind her, flicking a sluice of my brother’s blood from her blade.
“‘Time to join thy bride, Lion.’”
“Aaron and Baptiste had run,” Celene said.
“Limping on through the night, away from the Ironheart court on their heels. They had reached the Béni now, Augustin burning in the distant east, the promise of dawn on the horizon. The riverbanks here were stone, not mud; broken bluffs spilling forty feet to the frozen surface below. Aaron planted Patience in the snow, met his beloved’s eyes.
“‘Can you climb?’
“The blackthumb shook his head, hand to his wounded leg, boot filling slow with blood. ‘You’ll have to go f-first. I’ll throw Patience, then jump afterward.’
“Aaron nodded, turning toward the fall. But Baptiste touched his arm.
“‘Promise to catch m-me?’
“Aaron smiled then, dragging Baptiste in for a fierce kiss.
“‘Always, mon amour.’
“Turning, Aaron flung himself into the night. The drop was long, but the river was frozen deep near the shoreline, the ice crunching as the lordling landed like an anvil. Turning swift, he looked to the bluff above.
“‘Throw her down!’
“But Baptiste held still, bloodless as he looked upon his love.
“‘Baptiste, throw her, quickly!’ Aaron cried.
“‘I’m sorry, mon cher,’ the blackthumb whispered.
“Aaron’s eyes grew wide, lips parting, heart breaking into splinters.
Behind Baptiste, figures were coalescing out of the snow and dark; highbloods of Voss’s court, all dagger smiles and soulless stares.
And at their head, his fifthborn child, her lace dress in ashen tatters, but her iron flesh yet unmarred.
“‘Name me whore? ’ Morgane smiled. ‘With thine own beau so cheaply bought? ’
“‘No,’ Aaron whispered. ‘Oh, no…’
“‘They can give us what we wanted, Aaron!’ Baptiste called.
“‘But at what price?’ Aaron cried.
“‘I don’t care! Don’t you see, we can be together now!’
“‘I’ll not see you damned, love!’
“‘And I’ll not sit by watching your love wither as I do!’ Baptiste clenched his jaw, tears in his eyes.
‘Fate has sought to part us, and time will take its due! But if I’m like you, none of that will matter!
Don’t you understand what they’re offering us?
No weak promises, no empty platitudes. Forever, Aaron! A real forever! You and me!’
“‘No,’ Aaron moaned, bloody tears spilling down his cheeks.
“‘I love you!’
“‘Oh, my sweet Baptiste, no.’
“Morgane stood behind Baptiste now, thrallswords about her, Patience in their clutches. The vampire rested her chin on the blackthumb’s shoulder, slipped her arms about his waist, looking down at Aaron. And I recalled my brother’s words to Dior then.
“These vipers turn the best of us against ourselves.
“It’s what they do.
“It’s what they are.
“‘Come with us!’ Baptiste called, hand outstretched. ‘Come with me, Aaron!’
“Aaron looked to the east. The burning city and promised dawn. We could feel the torment in him. The dread. We knew he’d contemplated all his husband had spoken of—the torture of watching his love slowly die, in the flesh as well as his heart.
To embrace the dark within him was a fate Aaron de Coste had resisted with all his strength.
“But it was within him.
“I enjoyed it, Gabriel.
“I reveled in it.
“So he’d spoke to my brother, those words echoing in his mind now along with the memories of the Blackheart’s boudoir, the atrocities he had committed within. Those sins, and the darkness that drove him to them, not yet reckoned with.
“And looking up at his beloved, Aaron sank to his knees.”
Gabriel de León pursed his lips, looking down into his empty cup.
“Kestrel had been blooded by Lachlan, left arm cracked to the bone. But Phoebe’s blood was all that kept me upright, and I was down to my last drop.
As we clashed, I could feel the Maiden trying to pierce my thoughts, even as her blade tried to pierce my guard.
But the sword I fought with was simple silver, taken from some nameless fallen soldier.
And the first decent strike I made to Kestrel’s wounded wing, the fucking thing shattered.
“I clawed at her face, trying to boil her blood. But she’d seen what I’d done to Ettiene at San Maximille, and stepping back, she smashed my shattered blade away.
“The sword went flying across the bloody cobbles, leaving me with nothing. Like a viper uncoiling, Kestrel struck. Head, chest, head, belly, longblade ablur. And in my desperation, I reached to my belt and drew the only weapon I had.
“Live esh’nadai-dov nem da.
“Four tablespspspspoons of b-b-b-bbutter.
“Me theytheythey I we.
“Such was her silver song, stammering in my head. But though I dared not risk her on Kestrel’s flesh, Ashdrinker served at least to fend off the Maiden’s strikes.
I could hear cannon barking, men roaring, Kestrel and I dancing through the tumbling embers, the pale pall of vapor now slinking over the crossroads.
I fancied it morning mist at first—the sweet promise of sunrise.
But looking east, though the horizon was beginning to burn, I realized the vapor was rising from the canal; waters steaming in that wintersdeep chill.
“And the steam was … thickening.
“Kestrel’s blade struck Ash, bringing me back to the here and now.
“‘My father wanted thee for his own, Lion.’
“Her blade skimmed past my cheek.
“‘Wonder I, what Charbourg might have made of thee.’
“Her feint set me stumbling, breath hissing through my teeth.
“‘Pity we shall never know.’
“And with a hiss, she lashed out with her boot at my chest.
“The impact was thunder, tearing that half-healed wound open once more. I skidded across frozen stone, tumbling to rest at the canal’s edge, breath knocked loose from bleeding lungs.
Scrabbling for my fallen sword, I struggled to rise as Lieutenant Mathieu howled my name, soldiers roaring in the city beyond.
“Live esh’nadai-dov nem da! Ash cried.
“Four tabletablespoons of butter.
“Me theyth—
“Kestrel’s boot came down on my hand, crushing it and pinning Ash to the stone. The Maiden loomed over me, sword dripping with Lachie’s blood. Dawn light was breaking the horizon now, a halo behind her head as she stared down with nothing close to pity.
“‘Kiss my Ettiene godmorrow in hell.’
“She raised her blade.
“‘I’m s-sorry, Dior.’
“But that blow never fell.
“Kestrel frowned, the blood-drenched facade of her face cracking. She looked to her hand, lips peeling back from her fangs. From within the Maiden’s armor, smoke was rising now, and looking on in wonder, I saw her marble skin was darkening, hissing, like a cutlet of fresh chicken tossed on a skillet.
She looked to me, black eyes growing wide, spitting, ‘What sorcerie be this? ’ and as she staggered back, gasping, clawing at her armor, her throat, I recognized the note in her cracking voice.
“Pain.
“She was burning, I realized. Smoke rising, flesh charring, skin cracking. For one beautiful, delirious moment, I looked eastward, thinking it some fucking miracle from the God who’d never cared—that after decades of daysdeath, the strength of the sun had been restored.
But the light cresting the horizon was as frail as it had been for years.
And I realized it wasn’t sunlight burning the Iron Maiden black.
“Kestrel screamed, and with one last glance to me, she turned and fled. All around me, I saw a similar tale—the foulbloods fighting those brave men of León were burning now, Dead skin blackening, bubbling, splitting. The cries from the city beyond were rising, louder than wind or thunder. And I realized it wasn’t the roar of battle I heard. ”
The Last Silversaint shook his head and smiled.
“They were cheering, Marquis. Those soldiers torn and bleeding. Those citizens but a breath from death. Whatever I was seeing at those crossroads was happening all over Augustin. That rolling mist, spilling over the Heart of Elidaen, burning the Dead within.
“And I somehow knew then. What it was I saw.
“No miracle from God, nor heavensent reprieve.
“On shaking legs I rose, looking to the sky as I whispered.
“‘Dior.’”
“The steam.”
Jean-Francois looked back and forth between the siblings, lips curling.
“Lachance was yet in the ironworks. The temperature in the canals raised to boiling at her order. The pumpworks prayed over by her gaggle of holy fools. For what is steam but vapored water? And if that water were blessed…”
Gabriel smiled then, chuckling despite it all.
“Sharp as three swords,” the Marquis breathed.