‘“As I say, I fear the blame is mine,” the priest said, scratching his pointed grey beard. “Once Chloe and I assembled a compelling case, I informed the head of my order, and Abbot Liam sent word of my discovery to Pontifex Gascoigne in the capital. We fear someone among the Pontifex’s inner circle may be … compromised.”
‘I sucked my lip, scowling, my mind running over the tale. “Well, it still all sounds like horseshit to me. But if the Forever King has set the Beast of Vellene on you …”
‘“Why do they call him the Beast of Vellene?”
‘It was Dior who’d spoken, the rest of the group falling silent. I looked the boy over, the swagger, the scowl. He had one of those traproot cigarelles dangling from his lips, unlit. As I met her eyes, Chloe shook her head in warning. But I figured the little prick could do with some waking up about the shite we were all in.
‘“Vellene was the first city that fell to the Forever King,” I said. “Seventeen years ago. After the gates came down, Voss had every man and woman within slaughtered to bolster the numbers of his legion. His daughter Laure murdered every babe in the city, and made a bath of their blood. But Voss’s baby boy Danton has a fondness for untouched girls. Rumour has it, he herded every maid he could find into Vellene’s dungeons. Locked them up. Kept them fed. And every night, he’d release ten of them from the city gates.”
‘Dior frowned. “What for?”
‘“For sport. He’d promise they’d be spared if they eluded him ’til dawn. And then, one by one, he’d hunt them down. Tracking them across the frozen wastes, slaughtering them like hogs before setting off after the next. He hunted and killed every girl in the city that way. Took him months. And the last of them, a hollow and broken shell by then, he let live, releasing her only so she might babble tales of the slaughter.”
‘“Great fucking Redeemer …” the soothsinger whispered.
‘“Blasphemy, Bellamy,” Chloe murmured.
‘“That’s who we have hunting us, boy,” I said. “That’s the kind of bloodhound we …”
‘My voice drifted off as I heard the faint thunder of hooves. My pulse quickened, and I wondered if by speaking of the Beast, I’d somehow conjured him. But all thoughts of Danton evaporated as I lifted my spyglass and spotted a dozen riders rushing up the muddy track behind us. Most were men, soldiers, clad in crimson tabards. But the pair in front were women, long black hair cut in sharp fringes over veiled eyes. My belly sank into my boots as I recognized them. Tight leathers. Dark mail. So identical they couldn’t be anything other than twins. They wore black gauntlets on their right hands, blood-red tabards marked with the flower and flail of Naél, the Angel of Bliss.
‘That inquisitor cohort …
‘“Fuck,” I sighed.
‘“Fuuuck,” Dior said.
‘“… Fuuuck?” I asked.
‘“Fuuuuuuuuck,” he nodded.
‘A horn blast rang over a distant shout. “Halt! In the name of the Inquisition!”
‘“Mothermaid curse them,” Chloe hissed.
‘Bellamy slapped his horse and roared, “Hoof it!”
‘And we were off, pounding down the muddy trail with the cohort at our backs. We ran hard, but old Rafa wasn’t a rider’s arsehole, and our mounts were in need of a breather after a hard night’s slog. Glancing behind, I saw the cohort were gaining. And if you’re going to have to fight, coldblood, don’t waste the best of yourself fleeing.
‘I took hold of Ashdrinker’s hilt, drew her into the dull daylight.
‘Be that not the n-nun ye shot, y-ye shot?
‘“That’s her.”
‘She looks upset. You should s-send her flowers. Girls like f-flowers, Gabriel.
‘“Stow that lute, Bouchette!” I roared. “There’s heads need kicking!”
‘“Nae!” came a cry.
‘I caught a flash of movement, saw Saoirse barrelling through the trees swift as a deer, strawberry-blonde braids streaming behind her. Phoebe came running on the slayer’s tail, the lioness just a russet blur. With a skill I’d rare seen like of, the clanswoman leapt aboard Rafa’s galloping horse, shoving the priest back and grabbing his reins.
‘“Nae place to fight that many! Follow!”
‘Saoirse steered the horse into the deadwood around us. Chloe and Dior followed, Bellamy tipping me a wink as he galloped past, lute still in hand. I slowed long enough to crack off the shot in my wheellock, and then I was away, riding hard on the soothsinger’s arse as we crashed through rotten scrub and towering spires of ’shrooms and ’stools.
‘The light plunged dimmer as we rode, branches stretched overhead like a tangle of beggar’s hands. I heard pursuit behind, another shout: “Halt in the name of the Inquisition!” but when the fuck has that worked, honestly? I knew not where she was headed, but the slayer’s woodslore was tip of the top, and she led us along a switching path through frozen bramble and branch before charging us down into a narrow gully.
‘The earth had split wide and deep, the roots of old trees and tendrils of fresh asphyxia forming a matted roof over our heads. Her lioness was nowhere to be seen, but Saoirse held up a hand for a halt, finger to her lips. Chloe’s head was bowed in prayer, old Rafa rubbing his wheel between forefinger and thumb. I heard another peal from that horn, the dim thunder of approaching hooves.
‘“Talya!” a woman cried. “Can you see them?”
‘“Valya! This way!”
‘I like her voice. She sounds pretty, is she p-pretty?
‘I scowled at the sword in my hand, the silvered dame on the hilt.
‘I be not in the mood to slay nuns this d-day, Gabriel. I have done that enough f—
‘“Shut up,” I growled.
‘Rafa glanced over his shoulder. “I said nothing, Silversaint.”
‘“Hssst!” Saoirse hissed.
‘The hoofbeats grew louder, and I heard the ragged breath of horse and man as the riders closed in. If those god-bothering pricks had caught us in that gully, it’d have been red slaughter. But my heart eased as they crashed past, all thunder and fury, a few dozen yards southwards. Chloe made the sign of the wheel, Dior sitting behind her with dagger in fist, cheeks pinched pink with chill, that unlit cigarelle still dangling from his lips. The boy met my eyes through his mop of white hair, and I saw he was more furious than afraid.
‘Whatever else he might have been, it seemed Dior Lachance was no coward.
‘The hoofbeats faded. I flinched in my saddle as a shadow fell over me, but looking up, I saw only Phoebe, standing on the gully’s lip above. The mountain lion stared with glittering golden eyes, the scar cutting through her brow and cheek seeming to curl her jowls into a smile as she growled.
‘“We’re clear,” Saoirse whispered. “Let’s be oot an’ off.”
‘Wordlessly, we obeyed, nudging our horses from the gully. Turning north, we trotted through falling snows, Phoebe loping along at the back of the line and watching Jezebel and me with hungry eyes. I heard the Inquisitors heading away from us, but I knew it’d be only a matter of time before they realized they’d been duped.