‘“Let him go.”
‘The voice was clear, crystal, bringing a strange stillness to the room. All eyes turned to Dior, standing behind the ring of his comrades. The boy crushed out his cigarelle underheel, tossed his head, ashen hair flipping from his eyes, and for the first time, I saw they were a pale and piercing blue.
‘“Dior …” Chloe began.
‘“Can’t you see?” the boy scoffed. “He doesn’t give a damn about you. He doesn’t care about this town or its problems. He’s no hero. He’s just a drunk. And a dead man walking.”
‘A silver whisper echoed in my head.
‘From the mouth of b-b-babes—
‘But I silenced the voice, slamming Ashdrinker back into her sheath. A little unsteady, I wobbled towards the hearth to retrieve my boots. Straightening with a wince, I peered around the room, settling on the blurry triplets of the publican behind the bar.
‘“I’ll take breakfast at noon, if you please, madame.”
‘Chloe looked at me with wounded eyes. The bishop and his men with simple bewilderment. But without a backwards glance to anyone, I staggered upstairs to bed.’
VII
STARS IN A YESTERDAY SKY
‘I WOKE WHEN dark ran deepest, and hope seemed farthest from the sky.
‘I opened my eyes in the velvet black. I could still taste vodka on my tongue, a hint of candlesmoke, the scent of leather and dust hanging in the gloom like an old promise. My arm didn’t hurt any more. I wondered where I was, what had woken me. And there it came again – the sound that always did, that set my heart beating swift against my ribs and dragged me up through the tattered wall of sleep.
‘Scratching at the window.
‘I sat up, bedclothes tangled about my legs, squinting towards the sill. And though my room sat on the taverne’s upper floor, still, I saw her outside, waiting for me. Floating, as if submerged beneath black water, arms open wide as she trailed her fingernails across the glass. Pale as moonlight. Cold as death. No breath on the window as she brought her heartbreak-shaped face closer and whispered.
‘“My lion.”
‘She wore nothing save the wind. Her hair was silken tar, flowing about her body like ribbons on a moonsless tide. Her skin was pale as the stars in a yesterday sky, her beauty born of spiders’ songs and the dreams of hungry wolves. My heart hurt to see her – that fearful kind of hurt you couldn’t hope to bear, save for the emptiness it would leave if you put it behind you. And she looked at me, out beyond the window glass, and her eyes were black gravity.
‘“Let me in, Gabriel,” she breathed.
‘She ran those pale hands up her body, lingering over the bare curves I knew as well as my own name. Bloodless lips parted as she whispered again.
‘“Let me in.”
‘I stepped to the window and opened the latch, invited her into my waiting arms. Her skin was cold as shallow graves, and her hand was hard as tombstones as she wove it up through my hair. But her lips were pillow-soft as she dragged me down, my eyes fluttering closed at the sound of her sigh, and I could feel my tears running down my cheeks, staining our kiss with salt and sorrow.
‘Her hands were on my body and her mouth urgent against mine, and I tasted fallen leaves and the ruin of empires on her tongue. I felt her teeth then, sharp and white at my lip; an ecstatic stab of pain and a rush of bloodwarm copper, and her whole body shivered as she leaned harder into my embrace. She pushed me backwards towards the bed, and her teeth grazed my throat as she stripped away the cloth and leather between us, leaving me more naked with every kiss.
‘And then she was atop me, bare and pressed against me, all shadow and milk-white, growling in the hungry hollow of her breast. Her kisses descended, and she hissed in pleasurepain at the sizzling touch of silver ink to her mouth. But there were no tattoos below my belt, no aegis to bar the way to her prize, and there at last she sank, sighing as she reached into my britches and set me free, aching and hot in the cool of her hand. I gasped as she gently stroked me, blew breathless breath upon me, as she wet red lips with the tip of her tongue and then ran it up my length, leaving me shaking, aching.
‘“I miss you,” she sighed.
‘Her lips brushed against my crown as she spoke, curling into a dark smile, teasing tongue and gentle touch setting every inch of me aflame.
‘“I love you …”
‘And she parted those ruby lips and swallowed me whole, and my back arched and the timbers creaked as I gripped the bed and held on for dear life. I was powerless then. Adrift in the motion of her hand, her lips, her tongue, a rhythm as old as time and deep as graves and warm as blood. She dragged me ever higher into a starless, burning heaven, and all I knew was the feel of her, the sound of her, the hungry moans and silken flickers pulling me ever closer to my brink.
‘And at last, as I fell, somewhere between the sighs and blinding light and the flood of my little death into her waiting mouth, I felt it; the stab of twin razors, a slice of agony amid the bliss, a rush of red before the rush of my ending.
‘And she drank.
‘Long after I was finished, still she drank.’
VIII
AT THE GATES
‘I WOKE TO find a legion of tiny devils throwing a revel inside my skull.
‘Most were taking turns kicking at my brain with rusty hobnail boots, though one had apparently crawled into my mouth, vomited, and died. I risked opening my eyes, rewarded with a shear of light so blinding, I thought for a moment daysdeath had finally ended, and the sun had returned to full and blessed glory in the skies.
‘“Fuck my face,” I groaned.
‘My arm had healed as if the break had never been. I reached up to my neck, down into my britches, felt no trace of wounds. The thirst crouched on my shoulder like an unwelcome friend, magpie and mockingbird. I pushed away the memory of pale curves and lips red as blood as what sounded like an enraged stallion kicked at my door.
‘“Chevalier de León?”
‘The hinges screamed as the serving lass poked her head into the room. I was lying on my bed shirtless, britches unlaced and dragged dangerously low. The window was unlatched. After a shy glance at my tattooed skin, the lass turned her gaze downwards. “Pardon, Chevalier. But the bishop sends for you.”
‘“What t-time is it?”
‘“Past noon.”
‘I squinted at the pitcher in her hand. “Is that m-more vodka?”
‘“Water,” she replied, handing it over. “I thought you’d have need.”
‘“Merci, mademoiselle.”
‘I took a long, slow gulp, then upended the rest onto my face. The strangled daylight streamed through the open window like a white-hot lance. My insides began making noises like they’d prefer to be outside, and could find their own way if I refused to show them.
‘“Chevalier,” the girl said, voice unsteady. “The Dead are at the gates.”
‘I hauled myself upright with a groan, dragging the sodden hair from my face. “No fear, mademoiselle. You’ve men aplenty and strong walls besides. A few wretched won’t—”
‘“These are no wretched.”
‘I glanced up at that. My sluggish pulse tripping quicker. “No?”