‘I closed my eyes. Cursed it all. This beast I was and must soon become. The door opened, and something cool and heavy cracked me across the cheek. Gasping, I squinted at what had hit me, saw a bottle of paint-thinner that might’ve passed for vodka. Dior stood on the threshold, glowering.
‘“Anything else, Majesty? No? Good.”
‘She made to close the door again as I croaked, “Where you going?”
‘“It stinks in here,” she spat. “And there’s a pretty maid downstairs with a pouch of cigarelles who seems a damn sight more pleasant company than you. So when you’ve done your thinking and pulled a civil tongue into your head, come find me. ’Til then?”
‘She slammed the door harder, making me wince. And like a beggar, like a dog, I cracked the wax on that bottle and downed the lot of it without pause. It was nothing close to what I needed, nowhere near the thing I craved. But it served enough to drown me, push me down into soft black arms, where the pain might not find me. The fear in me was rising, one thought beyond all others – the thought of what I’d do when I broke. Dark rising around me, cold stone, wet and sticky, the colour of my lady’s lips the last time I kissed her.
‘And though there was naught but dark outside the window, still I heard her voice, echoing in the black behind my eyes.
‘“Remember why you left us.”
‘Remember why you left us.’
V
CLEVER AS CATS
‘“HERO.”
‘The voice broke through the sweats, the brittle rime of sleep.
‘“Hero!”
‘I opened my eyes, gasping, sitting up in bed and regretting it dearly. Blinking, bleary-eyed, I dragged the hair from my fevered brow and stared. Dior stood at the foot of my bed, ashen locks tossed back from twinkling eyes. She dumped an armful on the mattress at my feet; a packet wrapped in dull burlap tied with string. And I stared in gobsmacked bewilderment as she stripped the bow and showed me what lay within.
‘Mortar. Pestle. Foundry. Hollyroot. Redsalts. A dozen more herbs and chymicals. And at the last, like a cluster of jewels in a stolen crown, a dozen phials of dark, dried blood.
‘“The old lady wrapped it,” Dior smiled. “Just like she said.”
‘“Tell me you did not give those dusty bitches your blood.”
‘Dior planted her boot on the bed, fished inside, and twirled a thin leather wallet between her fingers. I recalled us sniping at each other outside that pub in Winfael.
‘You’ve got a key, smartarse?
‘To every lock in the empire, dumbarse.
‘“You stole these?” I hissed.
‘Dior grinned, proud as a lord and twice as crooked.
‘“Did they fucking see you?”
‘She shook her head. “Clever as three cats, me.”
‘“Cheeky bitch …”
‘“Flatterer.”
‘It was a fool who filched from the likes of Souris and the Night Market, but God’s truth, I could worry about the spill later. Instead, I lurched from the bed like the Redeemer risen, snatched up the mortar and pestle, and set to work.
‘Breaking the wax seal on the first phial, my hands were shaking so hard I almost spilled my prize. The blood looked to be the poorest kind, but the scent still flooded my tongue. I mixed the hollyroot, redsalt, queensong, the recipe as familiar as my own name, almost disbelieving that after days of thirst, sweet relief would soon be mine. Spreading the thick red paste onto the foundry’s heating plate, I set it by the hearth and started pacing.
‘Ten minutes.
‘Ten minutes and I’d be home.
‘Dior had flopped down on the mattress, spread-eagled, eyes closed. I looked at her sidelong, shaking my head in disbelief. “I don’t even want to ask how you did it,” I sighed. “It’d take a wagonload of foxes with diplomas in cunning from Augustin University to get inside the Night Market without invitation.”
‘Dior murmured, eyes still closed. “Careful, hero. That sounded a little like praise.”
‘“It was.”
‘She opened her eyes at last, levered herself up onto one elbow. “Sweet Mothermaid. You really are sick, aren’t you?”
‘It was shameful how good I felt. How just the promise of a fix had me light as clouds. I stalked back and forth before the hearth, toying with the flintbox in my britches, watching the flames, the foundry, the sanctus desiccating within.
‘But still, there was a doubt looming now, just beyond the window. I looked towards the empty glass, still half-expecting to see her there. The shadow that had followed me all the way from Sūdhaem, drawing closer and closer with every step.
‘Remember why you left us.
‘“I’ve been thinking …”
‘“Me too,” Dior murmured.
‘I crouched against the wall, arms wrapped tight around my stomach as a new wave of flaming agony swept through me.
‘Just a few minutes more …
‘“Mesdames b-before messieurs.”
‘“As you like it.” Dior sat up in the bed, chewing on a broken nail. “Now … please bear in mind, you’re still the surliest prick I ever met. You’re a drunk. And an addict. You act a fucking bastard, and yet you somehow seem proud of it. By my reckoning, the people who hate other people usually just hate themselves. But still … you stood by me when you’d no reason to. After what happened at San Guillaume, you could have left me behind, but you kept your word to Sister Chloe. Went beyond it, even. I’d be dead if not for you.”
‘I held up one shaking hand. “You don’t have t—”
‘“No, no, let me finish. You might act a fucking bastard, but I’ve been a bitch to you too. I didn’t treat you fair. Growing up the way I did … Let’s just say the men Mama brought home didn’t leave me with the finest opinion of them. But you’re an honourable one. Every bit the hero people say. So,” she breathed as if exhaling poison, “I’m sorry.”
‘“It’s aright, girl.”
‘“You know, I have a name. And you never use it. Nor I yours, for that matter.”
‘She clomped across the room in her beggar’s boots, extended her hand.
‘“Apologies, Gabriel de León.”
‘“Accepted, Dior Lachance. And returned.”
‘She smiled, crooked and pretty. Turning on her heel, Dior walked to the window as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She looked to the dim dawn outside, down at the beaten leather she was draped in. “You know, this coat of yours is possessed of a certain air of dangerousness and all, but I should get my own before we set out. The whole tall, dark, and tattooed look works well for you, but you must be freezing your bollocks off in just that tunic. And it’s bound to be cold as a snowman’s jollies up north.”
‘“Dior …”
‘“Apologies.” She smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I know I talk a lot sometimes. You said you’ve been thinking too?”
‘I chewed my lip, fangs brushing thirsty skin. “After we rest up, w-we should head to the keep. Talk to the capitaine.”