‘What is sin at all?’
IX
DRESSED FOR WAR
‘SAN MICHON WAS busier than I’d ever seen.
‘Silversaints were being recalled from all over the realm for the defence of Avinbourg, and there were over a dozen initiates bedding down in Barracks now. Big Theo Petit with his sandy hair and shoulders like an ox. Fincher with his mismatched eyes and carving fork under his pillow. Aaron’s cronies: de Séverin, Big, Mid, and Lil Philippe – all those highborn lads who’d made my life a misery the last fucking year.
‘Most didn’t know what to make of me now. I was still a frailblood – the lowest of the low in a roomful of Dyvok, Ilon, Chastain, Voss. But they’d all heard of our battle with the Wraith in Red. And the first time de Séverin called me “Peasant”， Aaron lifted his head from the Book of Vows he was studying, his voice velvet soft.
‘“Leave him be, Sév.”
‘“What?” the big lad scoffed. “This lowborn boylover? He’s lucky I—”
‘“Sév.” Aaron locked eyes with his fellow nobleson. “Leave him be.”
‘Three days later, it was famdi, the day before prièdi, and as the bells rang out the dawn, I found myself already awake. Tomorrow would be a landmark day – Empress Isabella was due to arrive at the head of her husband’s army, and Aaron was to be inducted as a full-fledged silversaint. But today was special for me. I’d survived my first Hunt, and at last, was to be gifted the next piece of my aegis under the needles of the Silver Sorority.
‘As I entered the Cathedral with de Coste beside me, I saw a familiar figure among the sisters at the altar. Looking through her lace veil, I saw a beauty spot beside quirked lips, and pride in dark, shining eyes.
‘I didn’t even glance at Astrid as they bound me down, dared not give away a breath of the secrets we shared. But still, I could feel her beside me, smell the rosewater and silverbell in her hair. After twelve hours under her needles, wrapped in incense and choir’s hymn, I was near delirious with pain. But I couldn’t complain. Aaron was having his entire back inked before the taking of his vows. He’d already suffered three days under Prioress Charlotte’s needles, but now the piece was almost complete – a beautiful portrait of the Redeemer, surrounded by angels of the host.
‘I watched Prioress Charlotte work, thinking on what Astrid had said about the role women played in San Michon. How little power they actually wielded. There were a dozen sisters about us, singing exultations or wiping off blood or mixing silver and ink.
‘Who sang exultations for them?’
‘What design did you choose, de León?’ Jean-Fran?ois asked.
Gabriel pulled up the sleeve on his left arm. Atop his hand was a wreath of roses. ‘For the perfume of her hair,’ he explained. His forearm was marred by scar tissue, rends and tears etched in his skin. But under the scars on his inside forearm, armour-clad, beautiful and bright, her wings outspread like burning silver ribbons …
‘Eirene,’ the historian nodded. ‘Angel of Hope.’
‘Such was the gift Astrid Rennier had given me. And when the deed was done, staring at that silver poetry she’d written on my flesh, I couldn’t help but voice the thought. “You do beautiful work, Sisternovice.”
‘“The work we do is Almighty God’s, Initiate,” Prioress Charlotte replied, still bent over Aaron’s bleeding back. “You, I, all of us are merely his instruments upon this earth.”
‘“Véris, Prioress. But the Order could not serve without the sisterhood. Without the silver in our skin, we’d be prey for the dark. So I for one am grateful, for all you do.” I looked around the gathering, bowed low. “Merci, Sisters. To you all. We are nothing without you.”
‘Astrid smiled at me then, swift and secret. The look old Charlotte gave me made me wonder if any silversaint had ever actually said that to her before. The scars on her face twisted in an almost-smile, but clearing her throat, she returned to her work. “You are welcome, Initiate de León.”
‘I stayed with Aaron while Charlotte put on the finishing touches. The poor bastard looked like he was hanging on by the skin of his teeth. But finally, the Prioress leaned back, looking over the tattoo with a critical eye. It was a stunning piece; the Redeemer’s stare seeming to burn upon Aaron’s skin, candlelight setting the silver aglow.
‘“Véris,” she murmured.
‘“Véris,” came the reply from the sisters around us.
‘I helped Aaron to his feet as he blinked like a newborn. “Aright, brother?”
‘“I need a drink,” he declared with shaking voice. “A very large, very strong drink.”
‘I laughed, easing my tunic over my own wounded skin. And with a bow to the sisters, a glance to Astrid, we left the Cathedral. It was snowing outside, and after the burning pain of the needle, the chill seemed a Godly blessing. As we walked towards the refectory, my eyes drifted northwards. I admit I was jealous that Aaron was to swear his vows amorrow; that he’d fight at Avinbourg as a full-fledged silversaint. But I also knew he’d earned it.
‘“I’m happy for you, de Coste. Truly.”
‘He looked at me sidelong, words clearly fighting behind his teeth.
‘“I owe you a debt, de León. And an apology.”
‘I shook my head. “You saved my skin in Coste just as I saved yours. There’s no—”
‘“I’m not talking about Coste,” he said, lowering his voice. “I’m talking about Baptiste and me. I misjudged you. And I mistreated you. Frailblood or no, peasantborn or no. You are my brother, de León. And I ask your forgiveness.”
‘He offered his hand, and I grasped it tight. “Given. Gladly.”
‘Aaron nodded, jaw clenched. I knew three days under the needle had him feeling raw. Your walls are thin after an ordeal like that, and the person you are beneath can easily leak through. But I was still surprised to see tears in his eyes.
‘“What Laure said to us on the bridge … about Sacha …”
‘“It doesn’t matter, Aaron. Whatever you did as a boy, you’re him no longer. Your past is stone, but your future is clay. And you decide the shape of the life you’ll make.”
‘He nodded, pawed his eyes. “I never thought I’d hear myself say it. But I’ll be glad to have you beside me at Avinbourg, de León.”
‘“Beside you?” I scoffed, patting the sword at my belt. “Brother, I’m going to be in front of you. I’ve got more ink to earn. And Lionclaw is thirsty.”
‘“You’re still an idiot, de León. And it’s going to get you killed.” Aaron shook his head and smiled. “But when you die, you’ll die righteous.”
‘“But not tonight,” I grinned. “Come. Let’s get you that drink.”
‘I slapped him on the back without thinking, and he cried out in agony. I gasped apology, but not quick enough, and de Coste punched me in my left arm, sending a wave of flame up my shoulder. We fell to wrestling for a moment, exchanging friendly blows before falling off laughing. And side by side, we walked into the refectory.