‘“We heard,” Astrid muttered. “Charlotte had every novice in the Priory polish every piece of silver in the refectory, in case that dragoncunt deigns to dine with us.”
‘“Blasphemy, Astrid,” Chloe chided. “The Empress is chosen by divine right.”
‘“The Empress is chosen by the Emperor’s idiot cock. And I pray God both she and it get chewed up and shat out by rabid dogs.” Astrid glanced at me. “You might want to shave before she arrives, by the way. That thing on your lip does you no favours.”
‘“It’s a moustache,” I said, rubbing at my straggly whiskers.
‘“It’s a heresy.”
‘I met Astrid’s eyes, offered a sympathetic smile despite the bitchliness. I suspected she’d be feeling bitter, knowing the woman who’d exiled her to this prison was now paying it a visit at the head of an imperial army. A change of subject seemed wise, and I had one more question before we got to work anyway.
‘“Tell me … how well did you both know Sister Aoife?”
‘Chloe bowed her head, again made the sign of the wheel. “She was very kind to me when I first joined the Priory. A goodly woman, God rest her.”
‘“The night I was attacked in the stable … perhaps an hour before she died, I saw Aoife weeping in the Cathedral. Asking the Mothermaid if she’d been given a blessing or a curse. And a few days before that, I saw her down in the stables talking to young Kaveh. He at least seemed nervous that I’d discovered them together. Do you know what any of this might have meant, Sisternovice?”
‘“I’ve no idea,” Chloe replied.
‘“Well, Kaveh supplies me my dreamweed.” Astrid frowned at me. “Perhaps Aoife had some bad habits also. But why are you asking about her now?”
‘I chewed my lip, eyes narrowed. “The vampire we faced in Coste. She mentioned Aoife, and it drove Seraph Talon into a rage. I’m wondering if—”
‘“Unless I’m mistaken, the Order has a law about listening to what vampires tell you,” Astrid scowled. “Perhaps you should be focused on the impending battle against a bloodthirsty corpse army instead?”
‘“Too many mysteries here by half …”
‘But I knew Astrid was right. If the battles I’d fought in Skyefall and Coste had taught me anything, it was that I needed to be patient. Stop. Fucking think. Charging in face-first was a good way to put the people around me and myself in danger.
‘The dead can’t kill the Dead.
‘“All right, I’ve waited this long. Avinbourg first.”’
VIII
LIONHEART
‘I WAS STILL uneasy as I stole out from the Library and back towards Barracks. My thoughts were filled with that image etched in blood – two skulls facing each other. A name echoing in my head, like a song I somehow already knew the words to.
‘Esani.
‘The Faithless.
‘Looking skywards, I stared into the dark, to the heaven that must surely lay beyond it. Again, I wondered if all this had been ordained, just as Chloe said. If the key to ending daysdeath did lie in those dusty tomes – a secret only blood might tell. But all thoughts of bloodlines and divine plans and hidden truths were abandoned as I spied a familiar figure, moving like a thief through the dark. I recognized him by his silhouette alone now; after all, I’d hunted with him in the shadows for months.
‘Aaron de Coste.
‘I crouched in the dark of the Cathedral cloister, the angels in the fountain watching me with sightless eyes. De Coste glanced about, then slipped inside the Armoury’s doors.
‘I could’ve let it alone. He was still a pompous cock, but Aaron had bled for me in Coste. He’d stopped Greyhand from murdering me, and he’d defended me again earlier tonight in front of Khalid. I was certain he hadn’t been behind the attack in the stable now. Nor Aoife’s death.
‘But I still remembered the rage in his eyes when I told him I’d seen him sneaking out of the Armoury. And as I’d once told Astrid, other people’s business was ever my favourite kind. Curiosity had killed countless cats, I knew. But cats had nine lives, and lions too.
‘Checking the Armoury door, I found it locked. But undaunted, I scaled to the roof. Just like the Barracks, the tiles were old, easy enough to shift. I made my way along the upper floor and down the spiral stair to the entry hall, bathed in gloom. Looking to the Scarlet Foundry’s doors, I wondered how many vampires lay within there now, chained to that damnable machine to fuel our sacrament. But then, in the forge behind me, I heard a thump, followed by a pained cry.
‘Wondering if devilry was afoot, I took a silversteel blade from the wall and crept across the foyer. Oaken shelves were lined with tools, stacked with barrels of black ignis. The forge beyond was kept warm by the embers, the smell of coal and sweat reminding me of my stepfather’s house in Lorson. Four great furnaces burned within, still aglow from the day’s works. I heard another gasp, a crash, a strangled hiss – what sounded like men fighting. And stealing towards the noise, I finally found Aaron and Baptiste Sa-Ismael, the handsome young smithy of San Michon, moving together in the glow of dying flames.
‘But they weren’t fighting, I realized.
‘They were kissing.
‘I could scarce believe what I was seeing. Aaron’s hands were in Baptiste’s britches, kneading and stroking, the smith groaning all the way from his heart. They moaned into each other’s mouths, hungry as starving wolves. As I watched, Aaron shoved Baptiste backwards, the pair colliding with the stone wall. They were heedless of all but each other, lost in passion, too much body and not enough hands. I’d never imagined a scene like this, part of me appalled, part of me fascinated, watching them sway in the forge’s light.
‘Baptiste grabbed a fistful of Aaron’s long blonde hair and slammed him backwards against a stack of crates. Aaron’s breath came ragged as Baptiste turned him about, fumbled with his belt. De Coste’s hands joined Baptiste’s, tearing at his britches, dragging them down. Baptiste hauled off his own tunic, dark skin gleaming in the ruddy light as he spat into his palm. Aaron lowered his head, dripping with sweat, spitting into his own hand. I knew what was coming then. And I decided I’d no right to see more of it.
‘I backed away, silversteel in my now-sweating palm. But fool that I was, and not watching where I was going, I stumbled on a bucket of scrap iron. Grabbing it to stop the clamour, I cursed under my breath. And then I heard footsteps, rushing breath, and I was slammed backwards into the wall so hard I saw fucking stars.
‘“Treacherous bastard,” Aaron hissed, pressing his forearm to my throat.
‘“G-get the fuck off me.”
‘“What did you see, de León?” he demanded, pressing harder. “What did you see?”
‘“N-nothing,” I gasped.
‘It was foolishness and lies, and we both knew it. De Coste’s britches were still loosed, his lips bruised red from Baptiste’s mouth. My brother initiate was furious, just as he’d been in his stepfather’s hall. Afraid his whole world was unravelling before his eyes.