‘Dior in her arms.
‘Their lips were pressed together in a tender kiss. She was taller than him, arms about his shoulders, the boy’s around her waist. Saoirse’s fingertips traced Dior’s jaw, threading up through his pale curls. The boy pulled her in gently, their kiss deepening. Dior’s hands roamed lower, and Saoirse laughed as he reached the edges of her kilt.
‘“Slow down, flower,” she whispered. “Nae rush.”
‘His eyes shone as he smiled at her. “You’re beautif—”
‘“Not interrupting I hope?”
‘The pair hissed and broke apart, and Saoirse’s axe was off her back in a blinking. Her eyes narrowed with soft rage as she straightened her kilt, lips bruised pink from the press of Dior’s mouth. Behind her, the boy looked aghast, hastily fixing his buttons.
‘“You’re supposed to be on watch,” I said, staring at Saoirse.
‘She wiped her chin and scowled. “Ye seem to be watchin’ enough for both o’ us.”
‘“Get a good look?” Dior demanded.
‘“If the things hunting us strike us unseen in the night, you’re going to get a good look, boy. At your fucking insides.”
‘Saoirse shook her head, tucking a knotted braid behind her ear. “There’s nae a mouse within a mile of us hasn’t already been marked, Silversaint.”
‘“I waltzed right up behind you, and you’d no ken I was here.”
‘“P’raps not. But she did.”
‘I smelled her before I heard her – a hint of feline musk and a low growl at my back. Turning to the dead trees behind, I saw golden eyes, slitted and glittering. As Phoebe prowled out from the darkness, I had to admire the beast – paleblood senses or no, I’d no idea the lioness had been stalking me.
‘“She’d have carved your pretty backside up like saintsday cake if she fancied you a threat.” Saoirse smiled. “Phoebe sees what I don’t, Silversaint. Nae fear with us awatch.”
‘Dior had finished buttoning his coat, hissing through clenched teeth. “So perhaps you’d best mind your fucking business in future?”
‘Cheeks still burning with embarrassment, the lad shot me a look to kill by and stomped back towards camp. I watched him stumbling over uneven ground in the gloom, cursing up a storm. Stone-faced, I turned back to Saoirse’s cold, green gaze.
‘“He’s a little young, isn’t he?”
‘The lass leaned on Kindness and tossed her braids off her shoulder. Mute and fierce as the lioness now circling through the rot-roots to my left.
‘“There’s not many lads his age with sense enough to rebuff a tumble from a pretty girl. But I’d have thought you’d know better than to offer one. What are you, twenty? And him maybe fourteen?”
‘“I’m nineteen.”
‘“Oh, well, pardon me all to hell.”
‘“Yer nae his da. Yer nae his friend. Why do ye give a shit, Silversaint?”
‘I chewed on that a minute. Saoirse hadn’t been shirking her watch as I’d suspected. That lioness of hers moved softer than I did and probably saw just as well in the dark. So finally, I shrugged. “You know, you’re right, Mlle Saoirse. I don’t give a shit.”
‘And turning on my heel, I made to leave.
‘“Why are ye here?” she demanded.
‘I turned back to face her. Studying her like hunter to prey. She was tall, broad-shouldered, hard-muscled – she’d likely trained with that axe and shield all her life. Her wolfskin cloak and mail were adorned with trinkets of red moons in crescent, her braids threaded with gold rings. Her leathers were embossed with patterns of entwined claws, the collar about her throat woven of everknots – the same design that graced the neck of her lioness. All that to say, she came from wealth. And perhaps, a little bit of witchery.
‘“Just helping an old friend,” I replied.
‘“Bollocks,” Saoirse sneered. “Ye were quick enough to turn that old friend aside in Dhahaeth. More concerned with helping yerself to the bottom of a bottle, way I remember it. And yer surely nae stickin’ around out of religious sentiment.”
‘“Same could be said of you.”
‘“Oh, aye?”
‘I pointed to the patterns of black and green on her kilt. “Took me a while to remember the weave. It’s similar enough to á Rígan. But I met one of your lot at the attack on Báih Sìde. You lied to Chloe and the others. You’re not Clan Rígan. You’re Clan Dúnnsair.”
‘Phoebe growled at me, low and deep.
‘I bared my fangs at the she-lion and growled right back.
‘“So what?” Saoirse yawned.
‘“So while you might mime along while old Rafa mumbles the Godthanks, we both know you’ve as much of the One Faith in your whole body as I’ve in my little toe.”
‘“I’ve faith aplenty, Silversaint. Just nae fer Almightys and Martyrs and suchlike.”
‘I nodded, looking at the two stripes of ink woven down her brow, eye, cheek. “Keeping it all for the Mothermoons, eh?”
‘“I keep it for them who deserve it.”
‘“But that boy is supposed to know the wheres of San Michon’s Grail. The chalice that caught the blood of the holy Redeemer himself. Which begs the question: why the fuck is a godless pagan risking her life to find a cup she wouldn’t even believe existed?”
‘“Risking my life?” Saoirse bared her teeth in a bright, feral smile. “I risk naught, Silversaint. It’s not my fate to die today. Nor tomorrow, neither.” She tapped the tattoo on her face. “Nae man can kill me. And nae devil would dare try.”
‘“No jest now. Why are you travelling with Dior?”
‘“He’s a fine kisser.”
‘“Depends how raw you like your meat, I suppose.”
‘“Nice and bloody like you, eh, halfbreed?” Saoirse’s eyes drifted to the pipe in my coat. “You know, me grammy warned me about folk like you.”
‘“Folk like me?”
‘“Monsters. Monsters who wear the skins of men.”
‘Saoirse stepped closer, just a few inches away now, six foot if she was an inch. I could hear the lioness circling at my back, feel the heat of her breath.
‘“You’ve nae need to know my reasons for being here, Silversaint. We reach the Volta, and ye’ll be back home to yer pretty wife and pretty daughter and a nice deep bottle, no a care in the world. ’Til then, keep yer eyes to yerself and yer opinions likesame, and we’ll get along smashing well. Fair enou’？”
‘The slayer didn’t wait for a reply, tossing her braids and stalking past me. The lioness lingered a moment before slinking into the shadows after her mistress.
‘Following along behind, I sighed.
‘“Fair enough.”’
IV
ONE CAPITAINE, ONE COURSE
‘“WITH ALL DUE respect, good Father, you’ve your head square up your backside.”
‘“With all respect due you, good Sister, a man my age simply isn’t that flexible.”