‘The vampire hissed, one hand up against the light. And with the other, she lifted the blade she’d just pulled from her chest and hurled it. I heard Astrid cry out as the sword ploughed into Charlotte’s skull, splitting it in half and sending the prioress’s body sailing back like a ragdoll. And as those bottomless eyes fell on Astrid, I dragged myself to my feet.
‘My silverbombs and holy water were spent; I’d nothing left to throw. And so I threw myself, crashing into Laure and bringing us both down into the snow.
‘Her fist collided with my skull, and she climbed astride me, black eyes narrowed against my aegis, gore-slick hands sizzling as they closed about my throat. Her breast was shattered where my sword had struck, but still she lived, her strength the sum of ten thousand stolen lives. I could feel the chill off her skin. See death in her eyes.
‘“Is this the best of thee? So feeble, thy final gasp? E’en the babes of thy beloved Lorson fought fiercer than this afore I bathed in them.”
‘My heart froze in my chest. “… What?”
‘Her lips curled, all the horror of hell in her eyes. “Vowed did I, that all thou hast I wouldst take, Gabriel de León. Thy home. Thy mother. Thy little Celene …”
‘“You lie!”
‘Laughter rang across the frozen peaks, black and bleak. “A palace shall I build of thy suffering, frailblood. Upon a throne of thy misery shall I reign. All sh—”
‘Lionclaw crashed across the back of Laure’s head, bone splitting, blood splashing. The vampire reeled, hissing, fangs bared.
‘“The only queen on this mountain is me,” Astrid spat.
‘Standing above us, she drew back my bloody blade for another strike.
‘“And he’s no frailbood, you unholy cunt.”
‘There’s a liberation in death. When you know you’re going to die, the fear of it departs. All that remains is the rage. And as I seized hold of Laure’s throat, that was all I felt. Rage. I pictured my mama, braiding my hair on my saintsdays, teaching me to wear my name like a crown. I saw my baby sister, my little hellion, my Celene, laughing as I told her some bawdy tale, hearing her voice in the letters I’d never answered. And last, I thought of my other sister. My sweet Amélie. The girl who told us stories of an eve, who danced as if to music only she could hear. Ma famille. My heart. And this leech had ripped all of it away. I was back in the mud of Lorson then. The day what was left of Amélie came home. And I felt it, ringing in my head like a song to which I already knew the words. A promise. A name.
‘Esani.
‘My hand tightened about her throat and I felt it; all my hate and all my fury seething under my skin. Laure’s eyes grew wide and her mouth opened as her throat began to blacken under my touch. She seized my hand, but still I squeezed, steam rising from the cracks as her blood began boiling beneath her skin.
‘“Release me!”
‘She screamed, immortal flesh burning in my grip, that porcelain charring to the bone. Boiling blood spilled down my arm, scalding, steaming, but still I held on, pushing her off me now and down into the snow, her flesh crumbling in my hand. Those ageless eyes melted and ran down her cheeks like candle wax as she cried out again.
‘“FATHER!”
‘And across the black between us, I heard a roar of purest rage ring out in reply. I could hear the anguish in it. The hatred, an eternity wide. But with one final scream, the Wraith in Red’s spine arched, and her boiling tongue lolled between her fangs, and with all the fury of centuries denied, Laure Voss burst into ashes in my grip, leaving little but a smoking wound in the snow and the remnants of a tattered gown, red as blood.
‘I staggered to my feet, and Astrid met my eyes. “Gabe …”
‘“Take shelter in the tower,” I gasped. “Go!”
‘Breathless, bleeding, I ran across crimson snow towards the ignis barrels. Aaron and Baptiste had abandoned the fight below, the Endless Legion howling behind them. I roared “RUN FASTER!” as I reached the snowpack, searching the powder for the matchline cords. Fumbling for my flintbox, I pressed flame to fuse. The line spat sparks, fire hissing down its length towards those buried barrels and the doom inside.
‘“De Coste! Baptiste!” I roared. “RUN!” And then I was sprinting up the slope, snow crunching beneath my boots, towards the only salvation I could see. The ignis detonated behind me, muffled by storm and snow. But beneath, I heard a fearsome sound, like the tread of mighty boots. A great cracking, as the fresh powder from that raging storm fractured, a split cascading across Gabriel’s peak and loosing the weaker snows beneath.
‘I felt the ground giving way, trying desperately to keep my footing. But the whole pack crumbled, and I flung myself across the brink towards my only hope – the outstretched hand of that towering angel, still buried beneath the snow. It was the bloodhymn that saved me, I think. That, and perhaps the hand of God. And I crashed against Gabriel’s open palm, digging my fingers into the tower’s stone as all the world came apart.
‘The whole Godsend rang with the thunder of it. God only knows how much snow was loosed. A tidal wave of grey, a calamity crashing down the mountain’s face, ever picking up more weight and speed. And as the Endless Legion was swept back down the mountain, I felt him, like clawed and frozen fingers digging into my skull.
‘The vow of a father eternal, to the one who’d murdered his daughter beloved.
‘“I have forever, boy.”
‘“I am forever.”’
XVI
LAST SON
‘I CURSED MYSELF a fool the entire ride. All seventeen days of it. Aaron one side of me, Baptiste the other. And like a shadow at our back, unexpected, perhaps unwanted, came Greyhand, followed by a cohort of Her Majesty’s soldiers in sunflower-yellow tabards.
‘They’d found us only a few hours after the battle, bloodied upon the eastern slopes with Chloe and other sisters who’d not made the ascent. Greyhand and our brother initiates arrived first, a breathless Kaveh leading them. Outriders of the Golden Host galloped out of the dawn soon afterwards, Khalid and the other silversaints at their head. And they’d stood amazed as Astrid told them the tale – a tale of two dozen against ten thousand, sweeping the Endless Legion back down into Talhost beneath hundreds of thousands of tons of snow.
‘The abbot and brother silversaints remained behind with the Golden Host to guard the crossing. The Endless Legion was not defeated, and all knew those corpses would dig themselves free of the frozen tomb we’d built. But as history tells, Fabién Voss didn’t press into Nordlund that year, instead, retreating back into Talhost to bide his time.
‘He had forever, after all.
‘But our victory was no comfort. And though I knew the Dead were foxes and serpents all, I had to ride back to Lorson to see. We stopped to rest only enough to spare the horses. I barely slept or ate, sick with the thought of what we might find, of ma famille, my home, and darkest among them, the thought that this was my fault. Laure had snatched the image of my village from my own head in Coste. I had led her there.’
Gabriel looked down at his open hands. And he sighed from the bottom of his soul.