‘“Daysdeath,” I whispered, suddenly intrigued. “Have you found anything?”
‘She pointed at a few books, one at a time. “Horseshit. Pig spunk. Lunatic nonsense. Honestly, I think the only reason half this collection is forbidden is out of the profound embarrassment someone was fucking stupid enough to collect it in the first place.”
‘Sitting beside her, I looked at the books with renewed interest. “Why are you searching for the secret to daysdeath?”
‘“Well, as long as I’m stuck in this arsehole, why wouldn’t I be? The empire shall soon be under siege by an ever-expanding mob of bloodthirsty corpses. It’s all well and good for you. You get to gallivant about the countryside in fabulous leather coats, turning coldbloods to ashes and peasant girls to puddles. But nobody in authority seems particularly concerned about what caused the phenomenon that led to this fucking calamity to begin with. They’re just …” – the sisternovice flailed her hand – “reacting to it.”
‘“I’ve sometimes thought the same myself,” I confessed.
‘“Well, then, it seems the Almighty gifted you a functional brain. Huzzah and hurrah. They seem in rather short supply around this fucking place.”
‘I just stared. She was a curious one, this girl. One second turning on her charm easy as breathing. The next, spitting venom like a greensnake.
‘“Apologies,” she sighed, dabbing again at her nose. “I’m a dragon on her moonstime when I’m fiending. We should remedy that.”
‘She rose from her chair, walked to one of the shelves and fished about behind a stack of books. From some secret hiding place, she drew a long-stemmed pipe, and to my astonishment, I saw it was solid gold. I watched her take out a peck of powdered traproot and a larger pinch of a sticky green substance from a small golden case.
‘“What’s that?” I asked.
‘“Rêvre,” she replied.
‘“… Sisternovices are allowed to smoke dreamweed?”
‘“Of course. I just sneak out for a pipeful in the freezing dead of night for the jollies.”
‘I rolled my eyes. “Touché, I suppose. Where’d you get it?”
‘She shrugged. “Keeper Logan and Kaveh both owe me favours.”
‘“Kaveh?” I asked. “Kaspar’s little brother?”
‘Astrid nodded. “He goes on the supply runs to Beaufort with the good Keeper, and I’ve still some friends down there who keep him well-paid and me well-supplied.”
‘Truth told, and to my shame, I admit I’d mistaken Kaveh as something of a simpleton. But between his odd meeting with Sister Aoife, and now this revelation, it seemed there was more to the mute young groom than first met my eye.
‘Astrid frowned, tongue protruding between her lips as she blended the rêvre and traproot. Packing her pipe, she slipped it between her lips, and leaning into the candle, she drew down a deep draught. Her long, smoky lashes fluttered against her cheeks, and she rocked back, holding her breath.
‘Traproot was common enough – it had been a favourite among Sūdhaemi sailors for centuries, and served in pipes across the empire now that the tobacco plant had become too hard to grow. But dreamweed was a hard narcotic, favoured of soothsingers, authors, and other worthless tossers. It was near impossible to cultivate since daysdeath, and cost a small fortune; this girl obviously had wealth. And staring at the golden case, I was astonished to notice its embossed design: a unicorn rampant against five crossed swords.
‘“Where did you get that?” I breathed.
‘Astrid held up a finger, still holding her lungful. My mind was racing through the ways she might have acquired such a prize. Larceny seemed most obvious for a dreamfiend, but I forced myself to truly study this girl. Looking past the beauty, the blood, and thinking like the hunter they were training me to be.
‘From the softness of her hand, she’d not done much hard work in her life. She carried herself like Aaron de Coste, not some gutter-running drug addict – that same accent and arrogance, softened by her looks and charm. And the seal on that case …
‘Astrid moved to the window, breathed a soft grey sigh into the night outside. “Martyrs and Mothermaid, that is better.”
‘I pointed to the case again. “That’s the crest of Alexandre III. Emperor of all Elidaen.”
‘“So?” Astrid asked, her voice now lazy and soft.
‘“So either you’re a common thief or some kind of princess.”
‘Astrid lifted her pipe. “I told you already. I am no thief, Gabriel de León.”
‘I scoffed. “Princess, then?”
‘She drew deep on the smoke and said nothing for a long time, simply holding her breath. But finally, she exhaled a sweet narcotic cloud into the dark beyond the glass. And she spoke then, the warm blur in her bloodshot eyes belied by the steel in her voice.
‘“I’m no princess. I’m a fucking queen.”’
VIII
DEALING WITH THE DEVIL
‘“THAT SEEMS UNLIKELY,” I replied, trying my best to look unimpressed. “There’s but one female sovereign of this realm, and her name is Isabella the First.”
‘“Devils fuck that syphilitic whore,” Astrid growled.
‘Again, that shook me. The Emperor was chosen by divine right, his union blessed by God Himself. To speak so of the Empress was not only treasonous, but blasphemous. And this sisternovice seemed to give not a beggar’s cuss about either.
‘As if remembering herself, Astrid offered me the pipe.
‘“Merci, no.”
‘“I thought you palebloods enjoyed your smoke?”
‘“Sanctus is a holy sacrament,” I scowled. “Not an indulgence of base vice.”
‘“Whatever scratches your itch, Initiate.” Astrid took another drag, exhaling out the window. “My mother is Antoinette Rennier, former courtesan in the court of Emperor Philippe IV, and favoured mistress of his son Prince Alexandre.”
‘“You mean Emperor Alexandre.”
‘“Well, he wasn’t emperor when mother started bedding him.”
‘“You’re … daughter of the ruler of all Elidaen,” I breathed, my eyes awonder. “Benefactor of the Order of San Michon, Protector of the Realm and Chosen of God Himself.”
‘“You make my father sound far more impressive than he is, trust me.”
‘I could scarce believe what I was hearing. But I could feel the weight in her words. Astrid Rennier had the air of nobility, oui. But more, behind the smoke-blur in her eyes, I could sense an indignity and rage that left me little doubt she spoke truth.
‘“You’re actually … royalty …”
‘“A bastard is what I actually am.”
‘“… I never really thought of girls being bastards.”
‘“That’s because girls can’t inherit property. But I am indeed a royal bastard.” Astrid tucked a lock of raven black behind her ear. “Sometimes a royal bitch besides.”
‘“Well, I wasn’t going to be the one to suggest it …”