‘I tore my gaze from the flames, looked the girl in the eye.
‘“What I can tell you, is that the only heaven I’ve found in all this hell was in the people I loved. Friends. Famille. So, you need to keep on thinking the best of folk, despite seeing the worst of us. Hold onto that fire inside you, girl. Because it makes you shine. And once it goes out, it goes out forever. Know you’ll make mistakes. Understand that it will bruise – hell, it might even break. But don’t lock it up inside your chest.”
‘I reached across and squeezed her hand.
‘“Aim your heart at the fucking world.”
‘Dior pawed at her eyes, and I saw that fire still burning in them. She was bloodied, oui. Battered. But yet unbroken. She looked down at my fingers wrapped around hers, eyes shining with unspent tears as she read the name etched across them.
‘“That’s your daughter? Patience?”
‘I nodded. “Astrid inked it after Patience was born. All the rest of this …” I pulled up my sleeves to show the edges of my aegis. “… angels and Mothermaids and Martyrs, none of it mattered in the end. I wanted something that did.”
‘Dior chewed her lip, pensive.
‘“You know … Ashdrinker told me.” She glanced to the blade at my side. “About what the Silver Order did to you and your wife. I understand why you wouldn’t want to go back to San Michon after that. I don’t blame you for wanting to get back to your famille, Gabriel. You didn’t ask for any of this. And it isn’t your fight.”
‘“If what Chloe said is to be believed, you’re everyone’s fight.”
‘“But you don’t believe.”
‘I looked into the fire, sighed from somewhere old inside. “I can’t believe in a God that loves us. Not after all I’ve seen. But I believe this: my friends are the hill I die on. I forgot that lesson for a while. But I vow it now, never again. So if your path is San Michon, I’ll walk it with you.” I squeezed her hand again, hard as I dared. “I won’t leave you.”
‘She smiled. “We’re friends, then?”
‘“The strangest sort. But oui. Friends.”
‘She brushed the hair from her eyes, lips pursed in thought. “You know … you treat me different now you know I’m not a boy.”
‘“No. I treat you different now I know you’re not a cunt.”
‘She laughed, and it made me laugh in turn to see. I could tell she was letting go of something heavy inside with that laughter. Something she’d carried a while.
‘“Here.” I smiled. “I got you something.”
‘I turned to the bundle I’d nabbed from that dockside storefront in Redwatch. It was wrapped inside the folds of a heavy foxfur coat I’d taken for myself. But I threw the rest at Dior, one by one across the flames.
‘“New britches,” she breathed. “And boots!”
‘“Can’t have you running around the provinces dressed as a nun. I’ve a bad enough reputation for that kind of nonsense as it is. I got you a shirt too. And this.”
‘Her eyes lit up as I proffered a fine-cut gentleman’s frockcoat. It was snow grey, knee-length, embroidered with beautiful golden curlicues. The buttons were embossed with designs of tiny roses, a neckpin of the same motif for the cravat. The fabric was stout but soft, the inners lined with fur, warm and fine. It was a coat fit for a lord.
‘“It was the fanciest they had,” I said. “Wasn’t sure about the colour.”
‘“No …” She looked up at me with shining eyes. “No, it’s perfect.”
‘“Try it on, then.”
‘With a grin wide as the sky, Dior hauled off her priory vestments. I winced to see the wounds and bruises beneath, but the girl still moved like she was dancing, slipping the shirt and coat onto her shoulders and bracing up the buttons. She stretched out her arms, adjusted the line and twirled on the spot, whooping with delight.
‘“You’ll have the whole forest down on us,” I growled. “Calm your tits.”
‘“I’ve got no tits, remember?” She kicked a toeful of snow at me, did another graceful pirouette. “Well? How’s it look?”
‘I simply smiled.
‘“Magik.”’
IX
A SHADOW MOVING SLOW
‘A CRACKLE SOUNDED in the deadwood behind us, and Dior fell still, her eyes growing wide. I was on my feet in a second, all joy from our tiny festivities forgotten, drawing Ashdrinker from her sheath and cursing myself a fool, an idiot, a— ‘There was a fine maid from Dún Fas, who had a r-remarkable ass; not rounded—
‘“Shut up, Ash!”
‘I narrowed my eyes, peering out beyond the circle of our fire. The forest was black, chill, frozen to its bones, and again I heard it; something heavy, snorting and trudging through the dead scrub towards us. Dior snatched up a burning log from the fire.
‘“A coldblood?”
‘“No,” I whispered. “I can hear it breathing.”
‘Not the Beast of Vellene, at least, at least …
‘“A beast of some sort, though. That’s the sound of four feet, not two.”
‘“Another one of those deer?” Dior hissed.
‘I remembered that rotten stag we’d faced in the Forest of Sorrows, its head peeling apart as it screamed with a little girl’s voice. Saoirse had warned us that the Blight up here was far worse than in the south. And though we weren’t yet in the northern weald, still I wondered if this was some new horror stalking us in the dark, Blight-riddled and twisted.
‘I saw it coming now; a shadow moving slow towards us. My grip tightened on Ashdrinker, and as Dior hissed warning, I stepped out to meet it, teeth growing long in my mouth as I raised my blade … only to lower it again just as swiftly.
‘“Sweet Mothermaid,” I whispered.
‘“What is it?” Dior hissed.
‘“Jezebel …？”
‘The mare nickered as I spoke her name, tossing her head and stomping one hoof. She stood there in the falling snow, a grey shadow against the deeper dark. Her legs were bramble-scratched, her mane tangled, her hide filthy. But still, I couldn’t believe my eyes, laughing as I stumbled through the frost to her side. Dior shouted in amazement once she recognized the dray, running into the dark and throwing her arms around Jez’s neck. The mare nickered again, apparently just as happy to see Dior as Dior was to see her.
‘“Seven Martyrs, how did she get here?”
‘I shook my head, just as baffled as the girl. “Last I saw this dame, she was charging out the gates of San Guillaume like her tail was afire. She must have been so frightened by the Dead that she swam across the Volta to escape them. Poor wretch.”
‘“She’s not a wretch, wash your mouth out!” Dior scowled. “Come on, love, come over by the fire. Let’s get you warmed up, eh?”
‘We led the mare back to the light, and I watched Dior fret and fuss, combing out the tangles from Jez’s mane, feeding her a handful of dried mushrooms from our supplies. Again, I shook my head in wonder. The mare had always shown the grit of ten stallions, but her survival, letting alone finding us here … well, it was nothing short of a miracle. And though I wasn’t one to put stock in miracles, still, I cast one wary eye towards the heavens, wondering if our luck had finally changed.’