‘Soon to be nothing at all.
‘His dark eyes were fixed on mine, the perfume of his blood rising over the sanctus rush, and despite the horror of it, setting a dark, delicious hunger in my belly. I cursed then – what I was and what I’d become and what he, in his omniscience, had made me. And looking into the priest’s fading eyes, I shook my head and sighed.
‘“Where’s your God now, old man?”
‘“Get the fuck out of my way!”
‘Dior slammed into me, gasping and furious, blood-soaked hair in his eyes.
‘“The bloody hell are you doi—”
‘“Gabriel, stand aside!” Chloe cried, pulling me back.
‘I shrugged off her bloody hand and glowered at the sister, her surcoat and blade spattered with gore. But she had eyes only for the boy. I saw Dior press his hands to the rends in the priest’s throat, his eyes wide and wet with tears.
‘“Seven Martyrs, he’s finished, boy. Let the man die in p—”
‘“Shut the fuck up!”
‘Dior’s arm was still bleeding, his neck too, and the boy smeared the blood from his own wounds onto his palm. And as I watched, he pressed that crimson hand to the gaping hole in Rafa’s throat, and my heart fell still. Because I swear by God and Mothermaid and Redeemer too, at his bloody touch, that wound stitched itself closed.
‘“Chloe …” I whispered.
‘Dior scrambled across the snow, Saoirse removing her grip from Bellamy’s throat. The soothsinger’s lips were pink with froth as the boy slicked his palm with his own blood again and pressed it to those awful wounds. And just as with the priest, I stood amazed as the gashes knitted closed before my eyes, not a scar nor scratch in their wake.
‘“Bellamy?” Dior whispered, desperate. “Can you hear me?”
‘The young soothsinger still seemed weak, skin sheened with sweat. But his breath came easy and his eyes shone, and he pressed a bloody hand to Dior’s.
‘“M-merci, M-monsieur Lachance.”
‘“Great fucking Redeemer …” I breathed.
‘I looked to Rafa, sitting up in the snow. The old man was shaking, robes drenched red. But still, he was hale and breathing, where a heartbeat ago he’d been almost a corpse.
‘“Y-you asked me … where my God was, Chevalier de León.”
‘The priest looked to Dior and managed a bruise-blue smile.
‘“And there he is.”’
VIII
FROM HOLY CUP
‘“WHAT IN THE name of the Father, Mothermaid and all Seven Martyrs is going on?”
‘I stood in the Hammered Smith, hands crusted with ashes and blood. Bellamy and Rafa were slumped by the fire. Chloe stood beside Dior, Saoirse nearby, cleaning the gore off Kindness. Phoebe had followed the wretched, whether to take them down one by one or ensure they retreated, I hadn’t a clue. But I’d no care for a few ragtag corpses.
‘My eyes were fixed on Chloe, Ashdrinker in my hand. My old friend was avoiding my eyes, tending the wounds at Dior’s throat and arm. The little bastard’s cravat and shirt were soaked with blood, but the boy was staring me down, defiant as ever.
‘“Well?” I demanded. “Spit it out, Chloe. What did I just see?”
‘Know ye, what we have w-witnessed, Gabriel.
‘I glared at the blade in my hand, sharp teeth gritted.
‘Faithless may ye be, but yet ye have eyes to see, to see. A mirac—
‘I slammed the sword home and silenced her voice, glowering at Chloe. She tutted and fussed about Dior like a mother hen, wrapping his wounds in swaddling until at last the boy winced and waved her off. “I’m fine, Sister Chloe. God’s truth.”
‘Chloe sat back, bloody hands to hips, a bone-deep fear in her eyes. “Blessed Mothermaid, that was too close, Dior. I told you to run to the cathedral.”
‘“And I told you,” the boy said. “I’ll not leave my friends to fight my battles for me.”
‘“You can’t risk yourself like that! You’re too important!”
‘“Why?” I demanded.
‘Chloe finally met my eyes. Secrets locked behind her lips.
‘“Goddamn you, Chloe Sauvage, speak! You’re the one who dragged me into this cavalcade of arsefuckery, and the enigmatic silence is wearing thin. You want my help, you’d best start singing, else I’ll leave the lot of you to the fucking Dead!”
‘The holy sister slumped cross-legged upon the floor, glanced around the room. Saoirse shook her head, scowling black. Bellamy licked bloodstained lips and nodded once. Rafa remained silent, staring at Dior.
‘The boy was looking at me, wincing as he slipped his arms back into his pretty coat. As he glanced to the blade at my side, I could see a grudging respect in his eyes – the knowledge they’d all likely be dead if not for me. But still, his gaze slipped to the pipe in my coat, the scarlet wash glazing my eyes, and I saw that same contempt I’d seen in the church.
‘Bad men never realize when the monster is them.
‘Dior glanced to the holy sister, and finally, reluctantly, he nodded.
‘“… Do you remember the night you first trained me in the Library, Gabe?”
‘I looked to Chloe, and back across that ocean of time. It stood so deep and far, I almost couldn’t see the shoreline. The current was black and perilous, threatening to drag me into the depths as I pictured the two of us sparring in the stained-glass light, Astrid sketching by the window. Such a simple moment, so unsullied by blood and death and futility that it made my chest hurt.
‘Godsakes, we were only children …
‘“I remember.”
‘“We trained. Then we read. Then we talked. You, me, and Azzie.”
‘“What a world this would be,” I smiled, “were it not held wholly and solely in the grip of stubborn old men.”
‘She smiled too, and I could see the girl she’d been in her eyes. “And then?”
‘“… The star,” I finally realized. “That falling star.”
‘She nodded, eyes shining. “I told you at the time it was auspicious. I said God intended great things for us. And I was right. But far grander than the three of us meeting, that falling star marked another triumph. One it took me almost sixteen years to find the truth of. A miracle, Gabriel.”
‘Chloe looked to the boy standing bloodied and bruised by the fireside.
‘“And there he is.”
‘“What the fuck are you talking about, Chloe?”
‘“How well do you know your Testaments, Chevalier?” Bellamy asked.
‘I glanced to the soothsinger, huddled by the fire. “A damn sight better than you, I’ll wager.”
‘“And what do you know of the Aavsenct Heresy?” Rafa asked.
‘I frowned, scratching at the drying blood on my chin. “I think … I remember a book about it, perhaps? In the forbidden section of San Michon?”
‘“There’s a tale to be told here, Silversaint.” Rafa nodded to the ’singer. “I think we should leave it to our expert to do so.”
‘I glanced at Bellamy. “You’re not going to fucking sing it, are you?”