‘But as my hand closed on Ashdrinker’s hilt, I heard it, quiet on the breeze. A voice soft as silverbell blooms, laced with a brittle note of fear. “Mama?”
‘Astrid turned to the door. “Patience?”
‘“Mama?”
‘And there came a knocking, gentle as feathers upon the door. Three raps on the wood – I remember that clear as daylight: One. Two. Three. And I felt a heat then, like I’d not felt in years; a fire long dormant now flaring like a phoenix in the ashes of what I’d been. I looked to the ink on my hands, and the icy stone in my belly became a knife as my aegis began to glow. And our eyes met, my love’s and mine, across the flagstones of the home we’d built, and in that moment, I think a part of us both knew.
‘Astrid flew to the door, and I roared at her to stop, knowing in my heart she never would. And as she flung it wide to the night fallen outside, I felt him, like snow upon my skin, I saw him, like every nightmare waking, I knew him, like I knew the teeth of time and the taste of blood and the warmth of hell awaiting. Standing upon the threshold of the little home we loved, the little life we’d built: a debt long since due. A fond smile was on his lips, and his eyes were heavy-lidden coals, sharp as the sword sheathed in my hand.
‘“Papa?” Patience whispered.
‘“Oh, God,” Astrid breathed. “No …”
‘He stood on the cusp of night, arm about my daughter’s shoulder. He held the flowers she’d picked in one pale hand, like a courter come calling. Clad in long, white, satin brocade, unblinking, unmoving, unchanged from that moment I’d first laid eyes on him so many years before. As if all the moments and miles between then and now were but a dream from which I’d finally woken.
‘“May I come in, Gabriel?”
‘“Oh no, NO!” Astrid screamed, and I lunged, stopping her from flinging herself against his stone. And I held her tight as she thrashed and roared, and the thing outside our door drew Patience closer and ran one bone-white claw down the curve of her cheek.
‘“Oh, God …” I breathed.
‘Fabién Voss looked skywards, searching all the gables of heaven. And his gaze returned to mine, and he whispered the question I’ve been asking ever since.
‘“Where?”
‘“Please,” I begged. “Don’t hurt her.”
‘“Let me in,” the vampire promised, “and I vow I shall release her.”
‘The greatest lies are the ones we tell ourselves. The deadliest poison the one we swallow willingly. And yet sometimes we clutch at those deceits like a drowning man at straws, because the alternative is simply too awful to fathom. We believe in life after death, because oblivion is too dark an abyss to stare into. We tell ourselves our creator cares, because the thought of a maker who doesn’t is too terrifying to consider. And standing there, with Astrid trembling in my arms, I convinced myself Fabién Voss spoke truth. That he was only here for me, that ma famille were blameless, that he would let them go. Because the alternative would’ve simply shattered me like glass to look at.
‘Instead, I looked into my daughter’s eyes, wide and frightened and fixed on me, her papa, her mountain, the man who would do anything, give anything, to keep her safe.
‘“Papa?”
‘“Shhhh,” the vampire cooed. “Hush, child.”
‘“All will be well, love,” Astrid told her. “Listen to me. All will b-be well.”
‘The vampire stared at me, the windows to his soul looking in on an empty room. The ink upon my skin burned with cold radiance, but his eyes were narrowed only slightly against it; the dark power within him stronger than mine. I glanced to Ashdrinker in my hand, desperate thoughts awhirl in my mind. But Voss only shifted his hand on Patience’s shoulder, fingertips drifting slightly closer to her neck.
‘“May I come in, Gabriel?”
‘All that stood between us now were two words. So much power. So much peril. How many hearts have been made complete by words so small as “I do”？ How many more have been shattered with a breath as tiny as “It’s over”？
‘Two little words.
‘You mustn’t.
‘No choice.
‘My baby.
‘“Come in,” I told him.
‘He smiled. Beautiful. Terrible. And scuffing his boots politely upon the doormat Astrid had woven, the Forever King stepped across the threshold and into our home. I saw shapes behind him in the dark, other figures, half a dozen; Princes of Forever all, steeped in terror and blood. I knew their names: Alba, Alene, Kestrel, Morgane, Ettiene, Danton. But none made to step closer, hovering on the edge of night, bearing silent witness as their dread father walked slowly inside. I can’t tell you what I felt to see it – that monster with my baby on its arm. So much terror and fury I could barely bring myself to speak.
‘“Let her go.”
‘“Soon,” he replied.
‘“If you hurt her …” Astrid hissed, teeth bared. “God help me …”
‘The Forever King smiled then, waving to the dining table.
‘“I have interrupted thee at repast. Apologies, I beg. May I sit?”
‘I nodded, my hand still on Ashdrinker’s hilt. Fabién moved, liquid, the preternatural grace of centuries at his call. There was nothing unconsidered about him; no wasted motion, no squandered breath. He moved like a statue come to life, every part of him bleached bone-white by the hands of time, save those eyes, black as the holes between the stars. One hand wrapped around my daughter’s waist as he settled her upon his lap.
‘“Wouldst thou do me the honour of joining me, old friend?”
‘I sat opposite, tense as a bowstring. My eyes locked on his. Terror in me, then. Complete and total terror.
‘Voss gazed about the room, at the roaring fire, the pots and pans, the hook where I hung my coat; these tiny fragments of our life, now so inconsequential. He took the silverbells Patience had gathered and slipped them into the vase.
‘“A bright little lair thou hast crafted thyself, I see. A pleasant clime to while away thine autumn, afore cruel winter comes.” He glanced to Astrid, hovering beside me, anguish and horror in her eyes. “We have travelled far to be here. My throat, I fear, is parched. Might I trouble thee, dearest madame, for a glass of wine?”
‘“We have none,” Astrid replied.
‘“The Beaumont, my dearest. Hidden in the pantry?”
‘Astrid paled a little at that, and with a desperate glance into my eyes, she slipped towards the kitchen. Voss turned to me, a conspiratorial smile on bloodless lips.
‘“She intended it as surprise for thine anniversary. Touching, no?”
‘I knew he was in her mind then. I could feel him in mine also. Slipping like a thief through our secrets, our thoughts, nothing sacred, nothing hidden. The images of murder filling my head, the sword in my hand buried in his throat, the lunge for the burning logs in the fire, the desperate maths of how I might save them – my daughter, my love – all unveiled. Patience looked at me, and she whispered again, “Papa?” and a tear slipped down her cheek. Voss turned to her, his voice like black silk.