‘“Here.” I unbuckled my dagger and sheath from my swordbelt. “If you hit water, stab it into the ice, pull yourself out. Just be mindful of the current.”
‘She hefted the blade, looking at the sevenstar embossed on the pommel, the Angel Eloise with wings spread across the hilt. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured.
‘I nodded. “Forged by the finest smith San Michon ever knew. I’ve owned that blade seventeen years. Wore it through the Battle of the Twins. Báih Sìde. Triúrbaile. Tuuve. Not many folks in the empire deemed worthy to carry silversteel.”
‘“I’ll give it back on the other side, I promise.”
‘“Keep it. It’s yours.”
‘Dior gazed at the dagger in her hand, fingertips running over the coat I’d given her. She brushed her hair down over her face, pressed her lips thin.
‘“You’re not going soft on me, are you, Lachance?”
‘She scoffed, dragging her armour back on. “Hard as fucking stone, me.”
‘“Just don’t sink like one. I don’t fancy diving in after you.”
‘And she smiled then. Because she knew I would.
‘Dior slipped down the frozen bank and took her first steps out onto the Ròdaerr. She moved in a crouch, lithe, fearless, sweeping the snow off the frozen surface with her palms as she went. The ice was pale grey, darkening as it grew thinner, and I imagined the river’s current, still rushing deadly and swift below that frozen crust.
‘Her path across the ice was wandering, zigzag, and my heart was climbing up into my throat watching. But finally, she reached the opposite bank, waved to me in triumph.
‘“Come on, old man!”
‘“I’m thirty-fucking-two!”
‘She snapped a branch off a nearby tree, held it aloft. “Walking stick for you!”
‘“Little bitch.” I scratched Jezebel’s chin. “Aright, girl. Sunset waits for no saint.”
‘Taking the horse’s reins, I led her carefully down to the icy shore. The mare knew not what to make of the frozen water at first, but she followed faithfully as I shuffled slowly out onto the glass-smooth grey. It was easy going to begin with, the river frozen solid close to shore. But as we walked farther out, the crust grew thinner, shifting from snow grey to a deeper iron. The ice groaned a little under us now, bright ticking sounds ringing in my ears as tiny fractures began appearing under our feet. But Dior was no fool, and the path she’d chosen was true. If it hadn’t been for God’s insistence on shoving his prick into my earhole at every opportunity, we’d have been gold as a sailor’s best teeth.
‘Jezebel sensed them first, ears pricking back, snorting. I caught something on the wind, tilting my head to listen. And I heard it then, soft as a feather and quick as a knife in the dark. Footsteps. Behind.
‘“Gabriel!” Dior shouted.
‘I turned, eyes narrowed as I spotted them: a ragged boy, an old man, a woman, young and broad. Three wretched were stumbling down the frozen banks behind me, hands and mouths black with dirt and old blood.
‘Now, normally this wouldn’t have meant more than a daily session of sword practice. Like I say, we’d stumbled across a few rotten coldbloods on our road. But none of those bastards had appeared while we were halfway across a frozen fucking river.
‘I drew Ashdrinker, the sword glinting in my hand as the rotten little boy took his first step out onto the ice.
‘R-r-run, Gabriel.
‘“They’re only three,” I growled. “Why the hell should I run?”
‘Because she w-will.
‘I realized it too late. I was too used to riding with Justice, see. But Jezebel was no bold sosya, raised in the belly of San Michon to be fearless of the Dead. And after the massacre at San Guillaume, she seemed to hate and fear them more than most beasts. So when she caught a good whiff of those wretched on the wind, she huffed and reared up, and Dior’s path be damned, Jezebel thundered right the hell across the ice.
‘The ticking sounds turned to snapping, and the snapping to splintering. Deep, white cracks spread out like spiderwebs as a thousand pounds of terrified mare galloped across the river glass. The wretched were sprinting towards me, the old bastard slipping and scrabbling, the boy loping on all fours like a wolf, clawed fingers digging into the frozen surface. I felt the ice shift, pitching underneath me like the deck of a storm-tossed ship as Dior roared warning, as Ashdrinker’s voice rang inside my head.
‘Run, ye blasted fool!
‘I turned and bolted, skipping across the shattering surface. The ice was breaking apart ahead of me; I saw it give way under Jezebel’s hindquarters, the mare screaming as she plunged through. A chunk of ice splintered under my silver heels and I stumbled, leaping onto a buckling shelf. And then, the entire world gave way under my feet.
‘I made a jump for it, sailing through the air as the shelf collapsed. But not quite far enough. The surface flipped and shattered as I struck it, splintering in maddened spiral patterns as my boots smashed through, the rest of me following, Ashdrinker roaring in my head as she slipped from my fingers and went skittering across the ice. And with a short, pitch-black curse, I plunged into the frozen Ròdaerr.
‘The shock punched me hard in the chest, and just as I promised Dior, all the breath fled my lungs. I’d cracked my skull on the shelf as I went under, tasting blood in my mouth as the cold stabbed my bones. It was a few heartbeats before I pulled myself together, shook off the shock, looking about the gloom and kicking upwards towards the light. But I cursed as I cracked my skull again on the ice overhead. With sinking belly, I realized the current had me, dragging me downriver away from the hole I’d plunged into.
‘I kicked hard, punching with all my strength, ice splintering under my fists. But I had no air in my lungs, black spots bursting in my vision as I punched the surface again.
‘Thump.
‘Crunch.
‘Nothing.
‘I was being dragged, fighting the current now, pressed against the ice above. The surface was smooth as glass under my gloves, nothing to cling to, and I cursed as I reached for my dagger, remembering I’d given it to Dior. I could see a dark shape through the crust above me now – a dim shadow and dimmer voice, barely heard above the fearful tempo of my pulse. Of all the places I’d been, the horrors I’d faced, it seemed idiotic that this was the way I might end; suffocating under a mere foot of frozen water. I cursed myself a fool for not having taken the sacrament – if I were fresh sated, I could have punched my way out. But as it was, even paleblood fists weren’t strong enough to tear free of this tomb.
‘I slammed my fist into the ice again, again, hearing cracks reverberate along the frozen grey. Black flowers were blooming in my eyes now, beautiful, paralysing, the pressure in my chest, the need to breathe burning like flame.
‘I was slipping along in the current’s loving arms, the light growing dim. All fire was fading. All hope was lost. Hell beckoned, forever arms open wide, but I supposed it might at least be warm there. And then came a crashing sound, and through the black veil over my eyes, I saw the ice above me split, shattering like a comet had crashed upon its face. And though I’d no breath in me to scream, still I tried as four and a half feet of razored starmetal came plunging through the ice and speared me right through my gut.