‘“… You’d do that? Why?”
‘“Perhaps I appreciate that you stepped to my defence in the stable that day. Perhaps your tale of your sister touched my black and withered little heart. Perhaps I just like those pretty grey eyes of yours.”
‘“Or perhaps you like the idea of me owing you favours? Like Kaveh and Keeper Logan and God knows who else?”
‘Her lips curled into what was perhaps the first true smile she’d gifted me all night. “You know, privy-diving aside, you’re actually quite clever for a peasant boy.”
‘I rolled my eyes again. “Why do I feel like I’m striking a bargain with the devil?”
‘“Oh, I’m twice as crafty as the devil, Gabriel de León. But we’ll not be striking anything lest you ask me nicely.”
‘“What does that even mean?”
‘“Say please, of course.”
‘I looked at her there in the gloom, again struck with the feeling that Astrid Rennier was toying with me. Back in Lorson, a lingering look was all it took to win favour from most of the lasses in my village. But here in Astrid’s presence, I felt a particularly plump mouse bargaining with an especially hungry cat.
‘But she spoke truth. This archive was too vast for me to search alone. And so, I got down on one knee. And I took her hand. And again, I brushed my lips against her knuckles.
‘“Please, Majesty.”
‘“Majesty?” she scoffed.
‘I shrugged. “You’re a fucking queen, remember?”
‘She looked me in the eyes, her own glittering as she smiled.
‘“Oui. We shall get along famously.”’
Gabriel fell silent, refilling his drink. Lost in remembrance of an angel’s eyes, a devil’s smile. Despite the wine, the memory was sharp as broken glass. He feared he’d cut himself if he lingered in it too long. And yet he remained, holding tight as he could.
‘De León?’ Jean-Fran?ois finally asked.
‘We stayed up for hours,’ he said, pale grey eyes coming back to focus. ‘Reading in silence. It’s strange how much you can learn about a person by just sitting together and shutting your fucking mouth. Astrid Rennier read swiftly, and in at least a dozen tongues. She sat straight-backed like a lady of breeding, swore like a taverneful of Ossian sailors, and chewed her fingernails like a girl with far too many secrets.
‘As she warned, most of the forbidden section read like the rantings of moonstouched fanatics. But I knew this search might take months. And so, undeterred, perhaps an hour from dawn, Astrid Rennier and I said our farewells.
‘“Godmorrow, Initiate.”
‘“Will you be back again this eve, Sisternovice?”
‘Astrid smiled. “That enchanted, are we?”
‘“I’ve a will to get to the bottom of this swift as I may.”
‘She inclined her head. “I sneak out most nights for a smoke. If you think I’m bitchly now, you should see me after a few days without a pipe. I arrive around midnight. If you’ve a notion to meet again, might I suggest you climb through the roof on your return to Barracks? The tiles are old in this place. They come away easily.”
‘“Merci, Majesty.” I bowed. “God go with you.”
‘She curtseyed like a lady at court. “And you, Initiate.”
‘With nothing else to say, we stole out the front door, which Astrid locked firmly behind us. I’d no ken where she’d got her keys, but I suspected she’d lie if I asked. The wind was freezing after the Library’s shelter, cutting through my coat like knives as we parted.
‘Mornbells rang in the Cathedral belfry, rousing cooks to the kitchens, brothers to the Breadbasket. I’d lingered longer than intended – I was supposed to report to the stables for my first date with a barrow and fucking shovel. I could see Logan by the sky platform, silhouetted by his chymical lantern. Cutting across the monastery, I approached as if from Barracks, hands in my leathers. The thin gatekeeper grunted greeting in his Ossway brogue.
‘“Fairdawn, young cub.”
‘“Godmorrow, good Keeper. I’m to report below to—”
‘“Aye, aye, Greyhand tol’ me all aboot it. Yer first ’unt sounded a dark one, laddie. Dead chil’ren and all. Bad business.” The keeper spat on the winch and unlocked it, squinting at my swordarm. “Decided what ye’ll ’ave inked yet?”
‘I shrugged, climbing aboard the sky platform. Skin tingling as I wondered if Astrid would again do the inkwork. “Almost.”
‘“Well, my congratulations, young’un. Not all survive the Trial of the ’unt. An’ you pay nae mind to what those other lads say behind yer back neither. Yer blood might be thin as watered Sūdhaemi cat’s piss, and yer stock might be sheep-rutting Nordish trash, but yer doin’ God’s work. When ye die, I’ll say a prayer o’er yer stone, sure and true.”
‘“… Merci, good Keeper.”
‘“Too right, laddie.”
‘Logan gave a toothy grin and lowered me down. The valley was still shrouded in gloom and freezing mist, the platform alighting with a heavy thump. Kaspar and Kaveh would usually be at work already, but Greyhand had informed the grooms of my punishment as promised. A shovel and barrow sat in the snow before the stable gates, a note pinned to the unlit lantern within.
‘GATE UNLOCKED. DOWN AFTER MORNMEAL. MERCI! – K & K
‘Cursing beneath my breath, I hung the lantern from the barrow, and wheeled through the creaking gates. I spared a hello for Justice, giving him a long hug and one of the sugar cubes he loved so much.
‘And spitting on my hands, I started shovelling shite.’
IX
BLOOD ON THE STAR
‘SUCH WAS TO be my life for the next two weeks. Horseshit in the morning, training during the day, and after a few hours of stolen sleep, dusty tomes and the company of Sisternovice Astrid Rennier. Truthfully, I could conjure worse ways to spend my evenings.
‘The days were another matter.
‘Even though we were only newly returned to San Michon, Greyhand gave Aaron and me no reprieve. Instead, he’d set us straight to work in the Gauntlet, working us until we were dripping, despite the chill. Though I knew Greyhand might have ended me if Khalid had ordered it, the fact that I’d not been taken to the Bridge told me his wisdom had won out over Talon’s fears about my lineage. Cruel and hard as Greyhand could be, he’d spoken my praises to the seraph in the Foundry. Some part of me yet wanted to please him. The rest of me just feared him. In truth, I knew not where I stood with my master now.
‘A few other initiates were returned from the Hunt, and the Gauntlet was almost crowded. We were training one day; de Coste and his fish-faced crony de Séverin working on the Scythe, me pounding away at the Thorned Men with young Fincher beside me. Our form was being studied by the watchful eyes of Greyhand and Fincher’s master – a hulking brother with a booming voice named Frère Alonso.
‘Alonso was broad, dark-haired, Nordish born. A long, jagged scar was torn down the left side of his face, giving him a frightening, feral mien. He’d cast off his greatcoat, revealing heavily scarred arms covered in beautiful portraits of the Mothermaid, Raissa, the Angel of Justice, and my namesake, Gabriel, Angel of Fire. He watched Finch and me like a hawk, sipping occasionally from a silver flask.