Chapter XXVII
XXVII
Antoine gave no reaction to the kiss. He simply blinked slowly at me with his wide, wide eyes.
Seconds later, shock carried him into unconsciousness. I quickly cleaned his bitten hand in the clear shallows and made a sling for his arm. Carefully, I wrapped him in blankets and tied him to the saddle; the last thing he needed was another fall.
Then I took the opportunity to get us away from the bedlam of Saint-Julien, as quickly as I could. I was shaken, for many reasons, and I needed somewhere quiet to be.
The Beast’s trail had proved impossible to follow, so intermingled was it with the blood of wolves and dogs. Most of the hunters had already given up the pursuit, and instead devoted their time to recovering what was left of their packs and their wits.
I took us away into the trees.
I had no real destination. The mountains seemed to be pulling the autumnal forest up around them like a blanket, and I was grateful just to disappear into its golden gloaming.
Sarmodel was silent. His agitation was like a warren of ants in my head. His anima no longer dragged on mine, but he was in bad shape.
Sarmodel, this may not be the best time, I said gently, but I think we’re in trouble. The Beast is Avstamet. An Olympian.
I was there, Sebastian.
Have we perhaps overcommitted on this one?
Overcommitted? We have struck an unimaginable fortune! he hissed. His voice was whisper-thin. Must you always lose your nerve at first blood?
First blood? Sarmodel, you can’t be serious. We very nearly died! It’s not just the Warfather we’re up against—Michael is staking his claim as well! I’m going to need quite a few more silver bullets to contend with an Olympian and an Archangel.
Yes indeed. Perhaps next time you might even bring them to the fight, he snapped. His anima spasmed weakly.
I’m sorry, I said. You’re in pain. We can discuss it later.
No, no—you are right, he conceded, uncharacteristically thoughtful. And the fault is not yours alone. I misjudged our quarry. The signs were there that the Beast was something extraordinary, but I dismissed them. An Olympian, in the world again after so long. It barely seems possible.
He remembers us, I remarked. That’s flattering, I suppose.
To my relief, he managed to laugh. Perhaps. But he is not Avstamet as I remember him. The Mars we knew—the Father of Rome—would not have stooped to this slaughter in the streets, not with his own hands. And why has he taken the form of the Beast?
He is the Spirit of War, Sarmodel, and what is war if not slaughter in the streets, decorated with a banner?
Rome was built on it, I said. I had attended the Holy City’s soaring temples to Mars Quirinus, the Protector of the Populace.
His shining greaves and sacred ancilia had defended the citizenry for centuries, at the price of constant warfare in the provinces.
Rome dressed him in the trappings of civilization—the city’s faithful watchdog—but he was always the wolf underneath the uniform.
Perhaps the Beast was there all along. I cannot believe I’m saying this, but I wish Livia were here.
She knew the Olympians better than either of us.
Sarmodel’s swearing was murderous crimson in my mind. Oh, indeed! Do not forget where her “assistance” got us last time. The half-breed would have greased her loins with half the barony before she thought to inquire after the Beast.
I do not doubt it.
Sarmodel’s assessment made me uneasy. Avstamet had changed; that much was obvious.
He was cruel in a way he had not been in the past. Jehanne d’Arc would have been horrified to see her “Archangel” now; a general does not soil his hands with the blood of civilians.
But mad? I could not believe it. The monster who terrorized the folk of Gévaudan was no desperate, crazed animal, whatever form he might wear.
While the eight baronies, the king and the Church emptied their coffers to hunt him down, he danced around them all with impunity.
There was some greater game we were not seeing.
Antoine came back to himself as we climbed higher into the foothills.
“Sebastian, I’m sorry, but I must rest,” he said. “I am nigh frozen to death, and I cannot stop my eyes from closing.”
“Of course, my friend.”
I had barely looked at my young companion since leaving Saint-Julien. The kiss seemed unreal, a moment in a dream that I had left beneath the bridge. I dared to hope Antoine would not remember it, and yet I could not shake it from my mind.
In truth, I was disgusted with myself. I’d let Sarmodel’s suggestions get the better of me, and pushed myself on Antoine in his state of shock.
I found us a campsite out of the way, in the shelter of a leaning maple. Its fallen leaves made a soft nest for Antoine’s bedroll. He was soon asleep next to a snapping fire of pine branches.
I cooked but did not eat. I took extra time to soothe our horses and see to their care; the poor animals had earned it after the day’s events.
I cleaned and oiled our tack, and took stock of the supplies we had purchased at Saint-Julien’s ill-fated market.
Most had survived, but there were things we had lost in the chase. I made careful count.
Pointless busywork, all of it.
I could not summon the stillness to meditate, so when there were no more distractions to be found, I sat beneath an opening in the forest canopy and searched for comfort in the eternal, sparkling firmament.
Vain Cassiopeia still followed her endless circle around the pole star, chained to her throne.
Aquarius and Pegasus would, as ever, fall from view with the last autumn leaves.
Ominously, Orion the Hunter and his hounds were beginning their winter ascent, fast on the heels of the great monster Cetus.
“You do not sleep.” Antoine’s quiet words startled me.
He came to sit beside me. He was still wrapped in a blanket, with his injured arm held close to his chest in the sling. In his other hand, he held a flask of wine.
“I thought it prudent to stand watch tonight,” I replied. I did not meet his eyes.
“That isn’t what I meant. You do not sleep—ever—do you? Not like other men do.” He sipped the wine and I could feel him watching me in the silence. “How is that possible? You do not sleep, or drink, or pray. There are so many things about you . . .”
His words trailed away and I closed my eyes. I knew what was to come.
“I saw you,” he said finally. “Today, with the Beast. You spoke to it. And what you did—that was not science, or secrets of the smith’s craft, or whatever clever flummery you would claim.”
“No.”
“Then what in the Lord’s name—”
“Antoine, I think it might be better for us to part company,” I interrupted, all but choking on the words.
“I should have left you in Père Arnaud’s care.
You are injured, and the path will grow only more dangerous from here.
Whatever you believe you saw—and your very worst suspicions are true—will be called for again, and always with consequences. 1 You will not be spared them.”
He was silent for a long moment, his eyes relentless.
“Why do I feel that you know the Beast of Gévaudan better than any of us, Sebastian Grave? What did he say to you? You did not join this hunt for the bounty, did you?” he demanded.
“Antoine, these questions will do you no good. You will not like the answers.” I turned to look at him. “Please. Rest now, and I will take you back to the chateau tomorrow.”
“I am not a child, Sebastian. And I will not return to the chateau while the Beast continues to slaughter our people—in open daylight, no less. My father puts his faith in the bishop and the Normans—and that cock, Bauterne—but they will not protect us from the creature we saw today. They cannot. I know that for certain now.”
“And you believe me a more promising prospect? An interloper from a foreign land?”
“Why not? You asked me why I intervened on your behalf, all those months ago, and this is the truth of it. I could tell, even then, that you were something we have never seen, and you have proven me right. The way you think, the way you see things that others miss. You are our best hope, surely you see that.”
I shook my head. “I am nobody’s savior, Antoine.
You are correct: I am here for my own reasons.
I have known the creature you call the Beast for a very, very long time.
You wish to know what he said to me? He asked me what I am.
And I had no answer, Antoine, not for him and not for you.
All of this—the hunt, the manners, the genial professor from Cyprus—is a sham.
I am not your best hope; I will kill the Beast and take his power for my own, using any means, and then I will leave,” I told him.
And then I will move on, as ever, and find the next Contract, the next patron, and the next and the next . . .
“And the people of Gévaudan will still owe you their lives,” he replied.
“Ha! The people of Gévaudan will call me ungodly and degenerate—and worse—and they will be right. Do you believe your father or the bishop would countenance my presence if they had seen what you saw today? The Church would burn me alongside the Beast.”
“Why should that concern me? What has the Church done for us here in Ocerne?” Antoine demanded angrily.
“The Bishop of Mende squats like a toad over the chateau, while his cat’s-paws get their hooks into Ocerne’s revenues and ledgers.
His family in Mende have had their eyes on our lands for decades, and he has not come all this way in person just to oversee a wolf hunt.
I see what is happening, even if my father does not.
Your ways may be . . . irregular, and your reasons are your own to keep, but I know you are a decent man.
I would sell you the barony for a tin livre before I trusted Bishop Fontaine to deliver us. ”
“No, Antoine. You cannot in honesty call me a decent man after what happened today, my friend.” I turned back to the stars, unable to hold his gaze. “I’m sorry, Antoine, for . . . for what I did. To you. I took advantage of you when you needed me. I am ashamed.”
He studied me in silence again, and I felt I would catch fire if he continued to stare at me. “No, Sebastian. I don’t want that,” he said finally. “Your sorrow, or your shame. And I don’t want to leave.”
“You—Antoine, you are impossible! Have you no fear?”
“Of you?” he said. His fingertips cupped my chin, and he gently turned my face back toward him. “Yes. From the first.”
The second kiss was his, as the first had been mine.
He pressed his lips to mine with simple, candid affection. I felt his stubble against my skin and tasted the wine in his mouth. He was sure and tender, as though I were the one in need of reassurance.
It lasted only a moment. We looked at each other, our faces almost touching, the mist of our breath mingling between us. I started to pull away, feeling how near I was stepping to disaster.
“Antoine, I am . . .”
I am not who you think I am, I wanted to say. I am a witch. I am a monster, a murderer. I am an abomination older than the House of Avenel, older than France.
He silenced me with another kiss, more forceful this time.
“I don’t care,” he murmured against my lips.
He pulled me closer. “Don’t you see? You are a wonder.
More—you are a miracle, when we need one most. I know you have secrets.
Just do not send me away. Stay with me.” I felt his smile as he kissed me again. “Dare to know.”
I forgot the stars above me and the centuries behind. I forgot the Beast and the hunt and the Host of the Archangel, all of them somewhere, somewhere. But not here, not now.
We left our clothes on the forest floor and filled the shelter under the maple tree with our warmth.
He pressed his hands and his face against my skin in wonder, making me gasp with the hot shock of his tongue on my throat.
He shivered as I took him in my hand, and he twisted his fingers in my hair.
There was no more talk that night. Antoine was afire with hunger and delight.
The day’s events—the nearness of death, perhaps—made us reckless and daring, and Antoine devoured every pleasure I could offer him.
Between times we slept, wrapped in each other beneath the blankets.
We kissed and made love and slumbered, and awoke to begin again.
And all the while Sarmodel coiled around us, drinking our desire like wine and sighing with a hundred mouths.
1. I was referring to real-world consequences like thumbscrews and the guillotine, not mystical blowback from “ye olde laws of magick.” I am not a big believer in karma, though on revisiting these notes, I may reassess that stance.