‘“Hold!” cried a voice from above the gates. “Who goes?”
‘She was a stout Nordish lass, dark of hair and pale of skin. She watched as I pulled the glove off my left hand with my teeth, held my palm up in the freezing air.
‘“A friend,” I called.
‘The lass looked me over, scowling. “If you knew our capitaine, Frère, you’d know how little weight that star holds beyond these walls. No friend of Aveléne bears it.”
‘“I know your capitaine, mademoiselle,” I replied. “Better than most. I pray you run now, and bring news that Gabriel de León is come to see him.”
‘“The Black Lion …” someone whispered.
‘The watchlass looked me over, growled to the boy beside her. “Run, Victor.”
‘We stood in the freezing cold below the walls, Dior shivering on my shoulder, my breath frozen at my lips. I was relieved beyond measure to be here, but as I looked at the youngsters along the battlements, my guilt gnawed me to see it – this tiny spark of light to which we’d brought such danger. I could only hope my friends would understand the peril we faced, and why I’d dragged it to their door.
‘Truthfully, we had nowhere else to go.
‘After an age, I heard metal on metal, a dim cry. And with the splintering of ice upon frozen hinges, the drawbridge lowered. I saw a figure, broad-shouldered, dark-skinned, squeezing through the gates before they were barely open, and in a rush, he was running at me, his smile so bright it almost made me cry. He was older now, as we all were, flecks of grey at his temples, a few wrinkles in mahogany skin. But damned if he wasn’t still as handsome as he’d been the day I walked into his armoury all those years ago.
‘“LITTLE LION!” Baptiste roared.
‘He crashed into me, knocking the breath from my lungs as he roared. And I laughed as he lifted me off the ground, howling, and Great Redeemer, the joy in his eyes was enough to break my heart. I simply held on, tight as I dared, his baritone deep in my chest as he bellowed my name, and God, try though I did, I couldn’t hold back my tears.
‘Baptiste let me down after an age, and he kissed me on both cheeks, bewildered. “Good God Almighty,” he breathed. “I never thought to see you again, brother.”
‘“Nor I you,” I grinned. “But never in my life have I been happier to be wrong.”
‘“Admitting you were mistaken?” came a voice. “Well, that’s a first, sure and true.”
‘I looked beyond Baptiste’s shoulder, and saw him striding across the drawbridge towards me. As princely as he’d ever been: long golden hair swept back from his scarred brow and cheek, his jaw set, his features proud. But his eyes were tempered with wisdom now, shining with tears as he opened his arms.
‘“Fairdawning, Peasant,” Aaron grinned.
‘“Godmorrow, Lordling,” I laughed.
‘And he threw his arms around my shoulders and dragged me into an embrace, and all the years between us were nothing then. We were but boys again, paleblood born, brothers-in-arms, who’d stood side by side and stared into the face of hell together. Hard as iron. Strong as silversteel. Still unconquered.
‘“It’s so fucking good to see you, brother,” I whispered.
‘“And you, brother,” Aaron breathed, his voice breaking.
‘I grabbed his cheeks, pressed our foreheads together. And at last, reluctantly, he broke from my embrace. “Last we heard, you were down in Sūdhaem with your wife and girl. What in God’s name brings you back here, Gabe?”
‘“We need your help, brother.” I looked to Dior behind me, huddled against the chill in her lordling’s coat. “She needs your help.”
‘Baptiste raised one heavy brow. “She?”
‘Dior gave a graceful curtsey, like a lady in the Emperor’s court.
‘“Best fetch a few bottles,” I told them. “We’ve much to talk about.”’
XIV
CHTEAU AVEL?NE
‘“I SWEAR BY the Almighty, Mothermaid, and all Seven Martyrs,” Aaron sighed, “I’ve never heard a tale half so strange as this.”
‘“The Holy Grail of San Michon,” Baptiste breathed, making the sign of the wheel.
‘Aaron stood beside a roaring hearth, staring at Dior with curious eyes. Baptiste was likewise studying the girl, firelight gleaming on dark skin. The pair had brought us through the gates without question, ushering us up the mont to their crumbling keep, and we were now seated in a great stone hall. Threadbare tapestries hung on the walls beside a grand map of the empire. Regions fallen to the coldbloods were marked – by Aaron’s hand, no doubt – bears to the west, snakes and wolves to the south, and to the north and east, the white ravens of the Blood Voss, sweeping ever closer to the capital, Augustin.
‘Ch?teau Aveléne was old, her stone cracked and her halls draughty, but good God, it was a welcome change from the weald. We’d been brought drink, fresh food – real, actual meat, no less – and Aaron and Baptiste had listened intently as I told our tale.
‘They looked well, my old brothers. Aveléne had been near a ruin when they settled here years ago, but they’d reclaimed it from the hands of time, and now it stood like a lighthouse in an ocean of darkness. The bailey had been full of folk as we’d been ushered inside, not just soldiers, but women and children – familles, carving out a little life beside this burning hearth. In truth, it was a marvel to see.
‘Baptiste was still hard as nails – he’d obviously kept up his smithing in the years we’d been apart. He’d cropped off his hair, stubble across his scalp now, salt and pepper at his temples. He wore old dark leathers trimmed with pale fur, hands still broad and callused from his hammer.
‘Aaron’s hair was longer, and he’d grown a short beard, trimmed razor sharp. He still wore lordling’s attire: a fine frockcoat in the emerald green of his famille and a cloak of grey fox. If the cloth was old, a few buttons missing, he still cut the noblest sort of pose. And though his face was still scarred from the Wraith in Red’s claws, though this castle was not so fine as the ancestral keep at Coste, my brother still stood proud as ever he’d been.
‘“The tale strikes me just as strange as you,” I told them, swallowing another mouthful of vodka. “And I’m living it. But on my life, on my name, I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Dior’s blood turning vampires to pillars of flame. Bringing back men from the verge of death. And the Forever King believes it too. Hard enough to set his son on our tail.”
‘“The Beast of Vellene,” Aaron murmured. “Laure’s baby brother.”
‘“He must be across the Volta by now.” I nodded to the map upon the wall. “I know not if he’ll find us here, but he’s been at us like a damned hound up to this point.”
‘“There’s something in my blood,” Dior said quietly. “It draws them, like beggars to silver. It happened near Lashaame and Dhahaeth. Again at Winfael, and all the way through Ossway. Wherever we are, coldbloods seem to find us.”