Chapter Thirty Abel
Shall I tell you how I would design your apocalypse? Or should I show you?
—Words of warning from Noctu to the Immortals, Before Ascension
Translated from The Tale of Stars (L’Histoire des étoiles), Part II: The Book of Dark Days
Chapter Thirty
Abel
Pain in my shoulder rouses me awake, but I refuse to leave this bed.
Sunslight cuts through the curtains and grazes the foot of the mattress, as if Diu knows Claire is asleep with her head on my chest and wishes to steal her from me. My good arm tenses around her.
I’m no match for a God.
The pillow sinks under my head as I tip it back and close my eyes against the rising sting.
A changed Slayers Guild is a poor reward for her death.
How am I supposed to let go of her? She’s the only source of solace to come from any of my hunts.
Forcing me to sacrifice her feels like divine punishment against me.
A knock jolts Lucy awake where she’s curled up in the tight space between Claire and me. She tramples our legs and dashes over to sniff the crack under the door.
Claire’s hair falls over her face as she lifts her head, arm draped across my stomach. “Is someone here?” she murmurs groggily.
I tug her closer and whisper, “Ignore them. Go back to sleep.”
The knock comes again. “Abel Estellio?”
That’s Marshal Bard’s voice.
Claire looks up at me. “It could be important.”
“I know you’re here,” Marshal Bard says. “Open this door.”
Of all times for that man to give me the time of day, he chooses now?
“It’s all right. Go,” Claire whispers. Careful not to jostle my shoulder, she sits up. “I’ll heat the bath. We need to change your bandages.”
“I need a shirt,” I mumble, and push myself up with one arm. As if a guillotine isn’t hanging over her neck, Claire giggles and unties the sling, then helps me into the tunic we tossed on the floor last night. When finished, she enters the washroom. I run a hand down my face on the way to the door.
Nudging Lucy aside with my foot, I turn the knob to find a stoic Marshal Bard with a hand on his musket’s strap. His facial features sag as if he’s been working all night, which is odd, considering the Ascension Day crowd has passed.
“Is there an issue with my report?” I ask, eager to end this conversation. “My role in your investigation finished in the park.”
“We arrested one of the attackers. He’s in our holding cell.”
“I’m aware. Lyle informed us. I’m also under rest orders.”
“The situation has changed. Your perspective is necessary.”
I nudge Lucy back again. “Not my jurisdiction.”
The clang of a basin echoes from the washroom.
Marshal Bard glances past me—to Claire’s undisturbed bed and our rumpled day clothes on the floor.
I know how unprofessional this looks: Abel Estellio is sleeping with his assistant-slash-client.
But it’s not quite true. Claire and I didn’t do much more than sleep in the same bed.
I’m not as bold as Lucy. I still have some courage to muster.
The slight lift of Bard’s eyebrows irks me. Gérard is slain. That speaks for itself.
“Leave me alone. I’m injured and need to heal,” I say.
“I wouldn’t be here personally if it weren’t serious.”
My stomach lurches. “Is it Madame Afi?”
“No.” Marshal Bard’s grip tightens on the musket’s strap. “There’s something strange about the assassins. Something you need to see.”
“I’m not going anywhere unless it helps save Madame Afi.” Or Claire. “What is so important about them that it requires me?”
Marshal Bard glances both ways down the empty hall. “The assassins have magic.”
Blood drains from my face. “What kind?”
He leans in and whispers, “They can’t die.”