‘“You first, boy,” she promised.
‘“Loose!” the capitaine cried.
‘Crossbows sang, a dozen other quarrels sent speeding after the first. But the coldblood simply stood her ground. The arrows hit her in a dozen places but, again, did almost nothing. One struck her full in the face, leaving naught but a scratch in her porcelain cheek. And when the rain was done, she looked mournfully down at the holes in her outfit, plucking another arrow loose and tossing it to the mud.
‘“I was fond of this dress …”
‘“Oui,” I murmured. “She’s Voss for certain.”
‘“Pitch shot!” the capitaine called. “At the ready!”
‘The militiamen reloaded. But the tips of these new quarrels were bound in homespun, dipped in tar. The archers of Dhahaeth gathered about their burning barrels, ready to set their shots aflame.
‘The coldblood paused at that. She might’ve made a show of standing in the rain, but if there’s one thing all Dead fear, it’s fire. A small tremor of courage ran along the wall at her hesitation.
‘And then the carriage door cracked open.
‘A figure stepped out onto the mud, closing the door with a gentle hand. Through the sleet, I could see he was dressed as gentry – a dark frockcoat, silken undershirt, a beautiful sabre at his belt. A long duellist’s cloak of thick wolf fur hung from one shoulder, lined with red satin. Dark hair was slicked back from his pale brow in a sharp widow’s peak. He was beautiful as a bedful of fallen angels. But his hems were spattered red, and his eyes were like black knife holes in his skull. He joined his companion and took her little hand in his, and a thrill of perfect rage ran through me, toe to crown.
‘“That’s an ancien,” I breathed.
‘“… You know him?” the capitaine asked.
‘I nodded, not believing my fortune. “That’s the Beast of Vellene.”
‘A murmur rippled along the walls. Bishop Du Lac turned pale as babies’ bones.
‘“My name is Danton Voss,” the male declared. “Child of Fabién and Prince of Forever.”
‘The coldblood plucked the ruffled edges of his sleeves, smoothed a stray lock of dark hair from his brow. The wretched girls pulling the carriage remained stone-still, deathly silent. I knew they were all the Beast’s offspring now – held motionless by their maker’s immortal will. The little female was also his get most like, but she’d Become before she had a chance to rot. The monster’s gaze settled on Du Lac, lip curling at the sight of the wheel dangling from the bishop’s neck on its thin silver chain.
‘“Bring him to me, Your Grace. Lest I come in there and fetch him.”
‘I could feel the power in that voice. Cold as tombs and centuries deep. The other militiamen aimed uneasy glances my way. I’d seen the corpses impaled around the fortifications – these men had fought the Dead before today. But it was plain not a one of them had faced foes like these, and plainer still that none were in the mood to die for me.
‘“Do you think he means it?” the bishop asked.
‘“I think he does,” I replied.
‘The capitaine glanced around at the boys and greybeards he led, every one of them aquiver. Chewing his whalebone pipe, he blew a plume of grey smoke into the air.
‘“Then I think we’re fucked.”’
IX
THE BEAST OF VELLENE
‘I LOOKED DOWN at the coldbloods, wondering if today might actually be my last, or the day it all began. I checked the bandolier across my chest, my phials of black ignis and silver caustic and holy water. Then I nodded to the smoke drifting from the burly man’s lips.
‘“Can I borrow your flintbox, Capitaine?”
‘I struck the flame to my pipe as I descended the stairs, dragging dead-red smoke into my lungs. The bloodhymn was rushing by the time my boots touched mud, the thirst in me forgotten, my hangover nothing but a smoke-dream, the war-drum beat of my pulse, primal and screaming and wanting and needing, focused only on that thing waiting outside. I slipped my pipe away, laced my collar about my face and nodded to the gateman.
‘The timbers groaned, the wooden palisade opening wide. I stepped beyond the shelter of Dhahaeth’s walls, a bitter wind blowing my greatcoat about me, head lowered as the gate creaked shut behind.
‘The Beast of Vellene looked at me through the falling sleet, black eyes narrowed as I tipped my tricorn.
‘“Fairdawning, Danton,” I called. “Does your papa know you’re here?”
‘The Dead lass stepped closer, black gaze roaming my boots, my greatcoat, up to my blood-red eyes. “Step aside, mortal.”
‘“Aside? You’re the one who demanded I come out, leech.”
‘She sneered. “We come here not for you?”
‘I blinked at that. Thoughts racing with the sanctus in my lungs. I’d supposed they were hunting me; that the Forever King had perhaps gathered some second thoughts, sent his son to finish the job he’d begun. But a glance into those flint-black eyes told me Danton hadn’t even recognized me yet.
‘I was a dead man, after all.
‘My mind returned to the taverne last night. The words Chloe had spoken: Some of the feet following us don’t belong to mortal men. And I recalled the good sister’s comrades, their fervor and flashing blades, the way they’d stepped in to protect …
‘“The boy,” I realized. “Dior.”
‘“Bring him to us,” the fledgling commanded, empty eyes on mine.
‘“I’d tell you to say please, little one. But he’s not even here.”
‘“Will you lie as sweet, I wonder, with your bleeding tongue in my palm?”
‘“I’d certainly talk a fucksight less than you do, chérie.”
‘The fledgling glowered, black lips pressed thin. But Danton peered at me more carefully, then to the town behind. His long-dead eyes roamed the spiked palisade, the militia atop it. All was silent save for the moaning wind, and he, as still as stone.
‘The Beast of Vellene they called him – the Forever King’s youngest son. He’d earned the name seventeen years back, when his father’s army crushed its first capital west of the Godsend. When Vellene’s gates came down, the Endless Legion slaughtered every man and woman therein. But Danton had a taste for young maidens. Infamous for it, he was. Rumour had it, he’d murdered every girl in the city under the age of sixteen with his own hands.
‘I glanced to the coach behind Danton now. Saw those wretched lasses, completely in thrall of the one who’d massacred them. And Danton turned his black gaze to me, and spoke the way hammers fall.
‘“Tell us where the boy went.”
‘I felt his mind pushing into mine. His will pressing against my own, all the power in his long and darkling years tingling on my skin and in my soul. The desire to obey, to please, was as undeniable as time itself. I wanted to relent. Abase myself before him. But my hate for this thing, for his famille and what they’d taken from me, for what he was and pretended to be, sang even louder. I blinked hard. And I shook my head.
‘“You didn’t honestly expect that to work on a silversaint, did you?”