‘“She’s dead,” I sighed.
‘Dior’s eyes widened. “Are you s-sure?”
‘“Danton tore her and Phoebe apart right in front of me. So oui, fairly fucking sure.”
‘The girl swallowed hard, jaw clenched. “Sister Chloe?”
‘I stared out to the dark waters that had claimed my old friend, rushing past us, silent and hungry. And eyes burning, I shook my head.
‘“Fuck,” Dior hissed.
‘“That’s what I said.”
‘The girl hung her head, arms wrapped around herself, shivering. For a moment, I thought she might begin to weep. To break. None on earth could’ve faulted her for it. She looked very small then, and very alone. But instead, she dragged herself to her feet, and shaking, half-staggering, waded out into the shallows, blue eyes fixed on San Guillaume’s silhouette on the cliffs across the river. She raised one finger to the monastery, screaming at the top of her lungs. “I’m going to kill you! You hear me, bastard? I’m going to rip out your fucking heart and feed it to you, you sonofabitch, you whoreson, you—”
‘“Enough,” I said, putting a hand on her shoulder.
‘“Get your fucking hands off me!” she flailed.
‘“She was my friend too!” I roared. “I knew her since before you were born! But you’re shouting at the wind, and every minute we waste is another Danton will use to cross this river and be at our throats again! We need to move!”
‘“Who the fuck is we?” The girl stomped up and down, knee-high in freezing water. “This is the Volta! This is as far as you go, remember?”
‘“… You think I’d leave you here? How rotten a weed do you take me for?”
‘“Well, why would you stay? You don’t give a damn about me! You kept your word to Chloe. Back to your wife and famille, no? Pack your shit, hero!”
‘I looked at this girl: half-naked, frozen to the bone, furious. And I could see myself in the mirror of her eyes. I couldn’t fault her for thinking I’d abandon her, for believing I was that kind of monster. Broken. Selfish. Faithless. Cruel.
‘She’d known me barely a month, and already better than most.
‘“Here,” I held out my greatcoat. “You’ll catch your death.”
‘“I don’t want your pity. And I don’t need your help.”
‘“Pride never filled an empty belly, nor kept a man from freezing to death. Girls neither, I’ll wager.” I held the coat out again. “Don’t be a fool.”
‘She glowered a moment longer, then snatched the coat from my hand.
‘“Most folk would spare a merci for the man who just saved their lives, Lachance.”
‘Her scowl softened a touch, but still, she gave no thanks. Instead, she slung my coat around her shivering shoulders. Too big by half, hanging on her narrow frame, snow-pale hair dripping in pale blue eyes. She was making a good show of it, and I knew better than most how rage can warm your body for a while. But if we didn’t find shelter and get a fire going, this girl was set to freeze to death. And I’d follow soon after.
‘“Come on,” I nodded. “There’s cliffs up this way. If we’re lucky, we’ll find a cave.”
‘“And if we’re not lucky?” she asked, teeth already starting to chatter.
‘“Then we can thank God for his consistency.”
‘We trudged up the frozen banks, leaving the shadow of San Guillaume behind us. Great Redeemer, it was freezing. My tunic and leathers were sodden, blood trickling from my punctured belly, every breath a great cloud of frost from my lips. That final, tiny speck of sanctus I’d smoked on the monastery walls was all that kept me going, but Dior was shivering so badly she was soon stumbling. Within a mile, she had her first fall, face-first over a tree root into the snow and dirt. She pushed my hand away when I offered it, snarling and rising to her feet. But a few hundred yards later, she fell again. And again.
‘Her lips were blue now. Trembling so hard she could barely breathe, let alone walk. My wrist was still broken from Danton’s thrashing, and so, I knelt beside her, lifting her onto my shoulder with my one good arm as she snarled protest.
‘“G-get off m-me.”
‘“Technically, you’re on me.”
‘“Y-y-you w-w-w-wish, you f-f—”
‘“Shut the fuck up, Lachance.”
‘The snow came thicker, chill creeping into my bruised bones. My feet were numb, my troth ring like ice on my aching finger. But finally, blessedly, we reached the cliffs above the river, and stumbling, shaking, I found a thin crack in the red sandstone, widening into a crevasse beyond. It was almost black within, but I spied bones on the floor, smelled old spoor and faint animal musk – a wolf den, long abandoned.
‘I placed Dior on the ground, brushed the frost-rimed hair from her face.
‘“Lachance? You hear me?”
‘She moaned in reply, eyes hollowed, lips purple.
‘“I’ve got to find something to burn. Stay awake, you hear?”
‘Again, the girl only murmured, her eyelids bruised deep blue. I knew if she lost consciousness there, she might never find it again. So, with a curse, I drew Ashdrinker from her sheath. Placing the blade in Dior’s lap, I squeezed the hilt, knuckles white.
‘“Keep her awake, Ash.”
‘Fingers not for the pinching, nor hands f-for the slapping. Blade for the cleaving and edge for the cutting and song for the d-dancing and the red, red—
‘“Just … tell her a fucking story, aright? Don’t let her sleep.”
‘Tales for the t-t-telling? These have I, abundant.
‘I wrapped Dior’s hand around the broken sword’s haft. The girl’s eyes fluttered open as her fingertips touched worn leather, breath rushing as she whispered. “Oh … oh … God.”
‘“Nothing too dark, Ash,” I warned. “Happy endings only, understood?”
‘No such thing, such thing, Gabriel.
‘“I mean it.”
‘As do I, my friend. And I am sorry f-for it.
‘I let go of the hilt and ran. Out into the dark, looking for anything dry enough to burn before the last hint of sanctus wore off. Stomping through the woods, snapping branches, I tried not to picture Chloe letting go of my hand and plummeting into the dark waters below. Her final words echoing now in my aching head: Dior is all that matters, Gabe.
‘She’d believed, Chloe Sauvage. Believed in that girl deep enough to die for her.
‘What the hell was I going to do now?
‘When I’d gathered a bulging armload, I hobbled back to the cave, fast as my numb feet would take me. Dior was huddled inside, shaking head to toe. But she was still awake, her hands on Ashdrinker’s hilt, wide eyes fixed on me as I set the fire. I’d managed to keep that old capitaine’s flintbox, striking it now on the kindling I’d gathered. For a moment, I was put in mind of my stepfather, his lessons out in the Nordlund wilds when I was a little boy.
‘Lorson. Mama. Amélie. Celene.
‘Lifetimes ago now.
‘“She’s singing to m-me,” Dior whispered, soft with wonder. “Ashdrinker.”