‘Liathe still looked injured from our brawl in San Guillaume – her chest yet marred from Ashdrinker’s kiss, her hands yet charred from the blade’s touch. But she held her sword and flail nonetheless, both sculpted from her own blood, glistening red in my burning light.
‘“Who art thou?” Danton snarled.
‘“Call usss Liathe.”
‘The Beast of Vellene pressed his lips thin. He could sense the power in this one, wounded though she was. “Step aside then, Liathe. This prey belongs to the Blood Voss.”
‘“We will not,” she replied. “The child comes with usss.”
‘“Us?” Danton spat. “Thou art but one, cousin. Know ye who I am? Know ye my dread king and father in whose affairs ye now meddle?”
‘The vampire tilted her head, long black locks flowing in that howling wind. “We know Fabién. Knew him, long before he laid claim to his hollow crown. Long before you did, Danton.” She stepped forward, raised her bloody blade. “Tonight we drink your heartsblood, little prince. Tonight your father grieves another child.”
‘Danton’s face twisted – fury and perhaps the slightest trace of fear. But a prince of the Blood Voss wasn’t about to be denied when so close to his prize, nor, I suspect, did he have any desire to explain to his father that the Grail had been plucked from his very fingertips by another leech. And so, he turned to his black circle and snarled with all the weight of the sovereign blood in his veins, “Butcher her! And I shall take the girl myself!”
‘The highbloods obeyed, moving like a storm of crows, black and swift. I had time to see Liathe raise her bloody blade, sling back her bloody flail, and then Danton was upon us. I raised Ashdrinker to meet his charge, roared to Dior “Get behind me!” as the Beast came on. His sabre crashed upon my blade, sparks flying as the edges kissed. We stared at each other a moment over crossed steel, eyes burning with purest hatred.
‘“Tonight you sleep in hell, de León,” he hissed.
‘“This is hell, Danton,” I smiled. “And the devil loves his own.”
‘And then, it began in truth.
‘When last we’d faced each other, I’d been starving, weak, and he’d spitted me like a pig. The time before, with the weakling sun in the sky, I’d taken his arm off at the elbow and torn the heart from his daughter’s chest. But now there would be no excuses, no measure found wanting. The night was bitter cold and sin-black, the Beast’s full power at his command. But I burned like a beacon, my aegis aglow, the bloodhymn ringing in my veins. No mercy asked, no quarter begged, the debt I owed hanging above us like a headsman’s blade, and a pale shadow – a beauty of edgeless winters and lightless dawns – standing at my shoulder.
‘“My lion,” she whispered.
‘I could feel them, I swear it. My angels. Their love. Their warmth.
‘And with that inside me, I was unbreakable.
‘But alas, so was the skin of my foe. It’d been years since I faced an enemy like this; an ancien Ironheart, a prince of the Dead. His flesh was stone as I struck it, Ashdrinker almost jarred from my hand with every blow, and though deep cracks appeared in his marble skin after each strike landed, I felt like I was chipping away at a mountain. Danton’s blade flashed quick as silver, reflecting the burning red light of my aegis, and though the glow kept his eyes part blinded, burned him as he drew close to strike, still he did, like thunder, like the monster he was – a bleak lord of carrion, too heavy with the weight of centuries to be bested by my faith alone.
‘Ashdrinker caught him across the throat, a chunk taken from his pale skin. His riposte cut through my shoulder, blood sluicing across the snow and the burning lion on my chest. I reached towards him, desperate to get a grip and unleash my bloodgift. But the Beast of Vellene knew the fate that had befallen the Wraith in Red – knew that for me to get my hands on him might spell his end. And so, he kept his distance, circling like a snake and rearing back as I drew close, almost taking my hand off at the wrist as I reached towards him.
‘He smiled, wagging a finger. “Learn a new trick, dog.”
‘“No dog, leech. The blood of lions flows in these veins.”
‘“Thou art weak, de León. So weak ye could not even defend that which ye loved most dear. And I shall make thee watch as I take another from thee.”
‘Behind me, Dior raised her silversteel. “I’ll burn your heart out, bastard.”
‘The Beast laughed, and we clashed again, sparks and blood raining into the black. I could hear screams behind me, the sound of snarls and steel – I knew not how Liathe fared, but nor could I risk a glance to tell. Danton came on again, again, his sabre cutting a bone-deep gouge though my chest, another across my arm, and I felt the slack weight of muscles sliced loose from their anchors of bone, my left arm hanging heavy now, my speed failing. Ashdrinker’s voice rang in my mind, spurring me on, silver-bright.
‘They knew us, Gabriel. The b-blade that cleft the dark in twain. The man the undying f-feared. They remembered us. E’en after all these years.
‘The silvered dame smiled in my mind.
‘And so do I.
‘We feinted, shifted, and finally lunged, everything we had behind that strike. Ashdrinker split the night in two as once she had, arcing between the falling snowflakes and towards the Beast’s chest. With snarling, sinuous speed, Danton raised his blade, turned Ash aside, and instead of sundering his long-dead heart, the broken blade pierced his shoulder, driven in to the hilt. The Beast roared in agony, fangs bared bloody. But I saw my folly now – same as Saoirse on the walls of San Guillaume. My blade was stuck in the stone of his flesh, his hand locking about mine on the hilt. His claws whistled as they came, speeding towards my throat, Dior screaming my name as I tore myself loose, talons shearing across my chin as I tumbled backwards and landed with a crunch on the ice.
‘The Beast towered above me now, gasping as he tore Ashdrinker free. His hands smouldered at her touch, and with a dark curse, he flung her away into the dark. And on he came, plunging his blade towards my heart. I rolled aside, kicked his knee with silver heels, rewarded with a crunch, a curse. But he swung again, again, blinded by my aegis, by his fury, at last striking true, his sword spearing my bicep and pinning my left arm to the ice. I roared in pain, thrusting my free hand towards his throat as he lunged atop me. We struggled, fangs bared, breath hissing through my teeth. All I needed was one moment, one second with my fingers around his neck.
‘“I’ll k-kill you, bastard,” I spat.
‘“Bastard?” He smiled ruby red as he leaned in harder. “Nay, halfbreed, no bastard, I. I am of the Blood Voss. The blood of kings. I am a Prince of F—”
‘The vampire grunted as Ashdrinker plunged down through his back. His black eyes grew wide, and he stared stupidly at the blade of broken starsteel protruding from his chest, bewildered at how Ash had bested his flesh.
‘But still, still, he was the son of Fabién Voss, ancien Ironheart, and the bastard didn’t die. He snarled at the girl who’d stabbed him – Dior, standing behind him now like a thief come in the night. She was gasping, ragged, her hands slicked with blood as she tore the blade loose. The Beast reared up towards her, serpent-swift, furious.