‘I glanced at the sword in the girl’s shaking hands. The silvered dame on the crossguard. Beautiful. Infuriating. Utterly mad. “And what’s she singing to you about?”
‘“The b-b-battle at the Twins.”
‘I scoffed. “Believe not a word, then. Ash wasn’t even there for that one.”
‘“You k-killed her. Danton’s s-s-sister.”
‘I blew gently on the flames, my broken arm throbbing, hands numb.
‘“You saw him,” Dior insisted. “The Forever K-k-king.”
‘I pictured him then. Much as it pained me. That perpetual youth, beautiful and terrible, wreathed in an unlight so bitter-bleak it froze your heart. And I heard it again; the vow of a father eternal, to the one who’d murdered his daughter beloved.
‘I have forever, boy.
‘I took the sword from Dior’s shaking hands. “I told you no unhappy endings, Ash.”
‘I am sorry, Gabriel, but she must learn the t-truth of it sooner or lat—
‘I sheathed the blade, placing her at rest against the wall. Turning back to the flames, I stoked them higher, sensation creeping into my fingers, throbbing in my broken arm. The smoke drifted through the cracks above, heat bleeding into our little refuge. I dragged my sopping tunic off, prodding the slowly closing wound in my aching belly. Danton had stuck me good, the bastard. But not fucking good enough, and I vowed he’d regret it. The whole time, Dior watched, silent, shaking a little less in the budding warmth.
‘“Ten thousand,” she finally said. “You beat an army of ten thousand vampires.”
‘“Not alone. Not just me.”
‘“The Forever King would’ve taken Nordlund if n-not for you.”
‘“He did take the Nordlund, girl. Three winters later the Bay of Tears froze solid, and he swept across the north like a dose of the salts. All I did was make him wait.”
‘“You were sixteen.”
‘“So?”
‘“So I’m sixteen, and the most impressive thing I’ve ever beaten is my …” The girl looked down at herself, sighing. “… Actually, I s’pose penis jokes are a little redundant now, aren’t they?”
‘“Boys tend to make them a lot.” I shrugged. “Good way to pretend to be one.”
‘“I noticed.”
‘“But why would you?”
‘“Notice?”
‘“Pretend to be one.”
‘Dior looked at the ink on my fingers. “How old’s your daughter, hero?”
‘I stared at this strange girl across the flames. Pretence abandoned, there was still that edge to her, street-hard and gutter-sharp. A fearlessness. A swagger. “Why?”
‘“Younger than me?”
‘I nodded slow. “She’s almost twelve.”
‘“She’ll be noticing by now, then. You probably won’t for a while longer. Most fathers would rather tear the sky down than see their daughters grow up. But her mama has marked it, I’ll wager. She knows what a world like this does to young girls.”
‘“There’s no one who loses more sleep over that than a father, girl. Believe me.”
‘“If that were true, you’d never ask why I pretended to be a boy.”
‘Dior plucked at the beaten leather around her shoulders, sighing.
‘“You ruined my magik coat, hero.”
‘“That coat almost got you killed. Again. And it was as magik as a pig’s arsehole.”
‘“You’re wrong.” She stared across the flames, shaking her head. “Oh, it wouldn’t stop an enchanted blade or let me walk across worlds or anything impressive enough for poor Bel to write a song about.” She hung her head then, scratching at well-chewed fingernails. “You want to know what that coat did?”
‘“I suppose you’ll tell me, regardless.”
‘“It let me walk a dark street without having to watch over my shoulder. It let me step into a room and not feel eyes crawling every inch of my skin. It let me raise my voice without being laughed at, let me threaten to kill you if you didn’t get your filthy fucking hands off me. It let me do all the things your daughter is starting to figure out she can’t, because your daughter is starting to figure out what a world like this does to young girls.”
‘Dior sighed, scraping ash-white hair over her face.
‘“I loved that coat.”
‘“… Someone put their hands on you?” I asked softly.
‘Her eyes were hard as diamond. “My mama had excellent taste in terrible men.”
‘I smiled sadly at that. “Mine too.”
‘Dior softened, her ice melting a little. “Far as I know, mine never brought any vampires home. So, I suppose yours has mine bested.”
‘“Was she like you?”
‘“I’m nothing like her,” Dior glowered.
‘“I mean … Esan. The line of the Grail. Did her blood—”
‘“Heal people?” Dior spat into the flames, vicious. “If it did, she didn’t know it. Else she’d have bottled and sold it like she did every other part of herself.”
‘“… She was a courtesan?”
‘“She was a poppyfiend. And a drunk. And if you want to call a mother who sells her body to feed her habit while letting her daughter starve a courtesan, then as you like it. But I’ve a simpler word for it.”
‘“… Your papa?”
‘The girl just shrugged, and flipped me the Fathers.
‘She’d no knowing who he was, then. One more thing we had in common.
‘“What happened to your mama?”
‘“What happens to all addicts, hero.”
‘“Bad?”
‘“… Worse.”
‘Dior looked into the fire, flames crackling as her voice grew hushed.
‘“She was like a ghost near the end. Grey skin. No teeth. Dead without dying. But she stayed a slave through it all. To that god she prayed to. That devil she blamed. Too stupid to know they were one and the same.
‘“I’d been away for days. I’d took to looking after myself by then. Found my own friends. But I’d come back to check up on her. I found her on the ground beside her bed. Eyes rolled back in her skull. I thought the worst, soon as I saw her – I knew it’d kill her in the end. But I could still see her lips moving. I thought maybe she was dreaming. So I shook her to wake her, and her mouth opened and a rat crawled up out of it.”
‘My stomach turned a slow, awful roll. “Sweet Mothermaid …”
‘Dior shook her head, breathed deep. “I dream that shit almost every night.”
‘“How old were you?”
‘“Eleven, maybe. It was the streets of Lashaame after that.” She flipped her fringe from her eyes, swagger returning. “A stolen coat. Haircut with a rusty knife. Simpler that way. Not easy. But easier. The gutter doesn’t fuck boys the same way it fucks girls.”
‘“… I’m sorry.”
‘“Are you really?”
‘“Of course I am,” I growled. “I’m a bastard, not a monster.”