‘But then I smelled rot in the walls, vague hints of fresh blood and stale mould and rat. The soft sounds down the hall belonged to Dior, the boy now moaning in his sleep. And the silk-soft scratching at the window belonged to …
‘“Gabriel.”
‘I sat up in bed and saw her, suspended and breathless in the night beyond the window. Her hair was blackest velvet, her cheek, the curve of a broken heart. Her skin was pale and bare as the barrow-bleached bones of long-forgotten queens. In her eyes, I saw the answer to every question, every wanting, every fear I’d never known the naming of, and she pressed herself to the glass, hands and lips and breasts, all smooth curves and shadows full of promise, whispering soft as the sleep she’d stolen me from.
‘“Let me in.”
‘I rose from my furs, bare feet on hard boards, bare chest in chill air. The silver troth ring on my finger felt heavy as lead. She tracked my movement like a wolf ahunt, and she swayed, drifting away into the snow-kissed dark and then surging back, pressing harder now against the window. Black fingernails whispered up over her hips, sinking like claws into the soft swell of her shoulders, dragged deep down her arms and then, red and dripping, scribbling, scratching, on the glass once more. Eyes on mine, she bit down, a dark pearl of promise welling on her lip.
‘“Let me in, my lion.”
‘All that stood between us now were two words. Strange how so much power, so much peril and promise, resides in so tiny a thing. Two little words can carry weight enough to see empires rise and kingdoms fall. Two little words can begin the end of everything. How many hearts have been made complete by words so small as I do? How many more have been shattered with a breath as tiny as It’s over? Little sounds that reshape or unmake your entire world, like great spells of old to redraw the very lines by which you see yourself and all else about you. Two little words.
‘“Forgive me.”
‘“Do it.”
‘“I can’t.”
‘“You must.”
‘I could already feel her lips, warm as old autumn, the taste of burning leaves on her tongue. I could imagine pale hands slipping into my britches, pale legs wrapped tight around my waist, my teeth grazing her lip and her blood singing between us, filling the empty inside. She pressed against the window as I drew closer, hunger and sheerest wanting, and she smiled, all the colours of despair. With shaking hands, I unlocked the window and pulled the sill up slow. And with a voice that sounded not quite like my own, I spoke two words.
‘Two little words.
‘“Come in.”’
X
NO FLOWER BLOOMS
‘THE STORM BROKE four days later, and all the land was empty grey.
‘The weight of it still hung on me, heavy as the broken sword at my side. Every time I looked to Chloe and Dior, the strangeness struck me harder. Over the course of my life, I’d seen my share of impossible. Castle walls crumbling under blows from long-dead fists. Monsters who danced in the skins of beasts and wore the faces of men. Legions of the Dead and the eyes of a king eternal, boring black and bottomless into my own.
‘“I have forever, boy.”
‘Truth told, I’d never tasted impossible like this. I’d only agreed to accompany Chloe for a chance to strike at Danton. But I couldn’t forget what I’d seen.
‘And so, the morn we prepared to leave Winfael, I’d gone searching. I found the boy in the ruined cathedral again, staring up at that window of San Michon like it held an answer to some unspoken question. The floor was thick with new-fallen snow, my breath hanging chill. I could smell his wounds – old, scabbing, a bandage at his throat where he’d been bitten. As miraculous as his blood was, the boy didn’t seem able to heal himself.
‘As I walked inside, Dior glanced over his shoulder and sighed. “What do you want?”
‘“Chloe’s fretting on you. You shouldn’t wander alone.”
‘“I need your advice like I need a donkey dancing on my dick, hero.”
‘“You know, that chip on your shoulder must get awful heavy some days. And most folk would spare a merci for the man who saved their lives, Lachance.”
‘“If you just came here to give me shit—”
‘“I came to give you this.”
‘The boy looked to my outstretched hand. In my palm was an old sanctus phial, the sacrament long since smoked, the glass now filled to the stopper with ripe, fresh blood.
‘“I don’t smoke that shite, what am—”
‘“It’s not vampire blood. It’s mine.” I gritted my teeth, scowling. “I have … gifts, boy. Gifts that most palebloods don’t. I don’t know the working of many of them, but I know if you carry this with you, I can sense you. Follow you. Find you anywhere in the empire.”
‘“And why would I want you to do that?”
‘“If what Chloe said was true—”
‘“If?” He folded his arms, scoffing. “You know, when Sister Chloe and Father Rafa found me, I admit it took a while to believe what they said. You grow up like I did, it’s best to assume everyone you meet is a fucking cunt. That way, when they turn out to be just regular cunts, you’ll be nicely surprised. But you? You grew up with all this. Martyrs and Mothermaids and Redeemers. And there’s still not a drop of belief in you for any of it.” He looked from the phial in my hand, up into the grey of my eyes. “I don’t want your blood, hero. I don’t want you following me. I want you to sod off back home to your wife and your sprat and your bottle and your smoke, and leave me right the fuck alone.”
‘He spat once on the floor. And shouldering past, he strode out the door.
‘So we set out, the seven of us, into falling snows. We left Winfael behind, trekking northeast, Dior scowling up a storm behind Chloe on her horse. And though I couldn’t conjure much affection for the little bastard, I still had to face it. I still had to wonder. Could it be true? A descendant of the son of God?
‘An end to daysdeath, here in the palm of my silvered hand?
‘Chloe believed. Rafa and the others. The Inquisition, sweet fucking Mothermaid, even Danton Voss believed, which of course meant his father did too. I finally understood a fraction of what was at stake here. The boy wasn’t just bait on my hook any more. This was bigger than me. Bigger than all of it.
‘I could feel dark currents about us, deeper than I could see the bottom of. And I thought again of that mysterious highblood who’d accosted us at the watchtower outside Dhahaeth. Midnight-blue hair and bloody blade, dead eyes narrowed as she held out her hand to the boy. “Come with usss, child. Or die.”
‘Too many mysteries here by half …
‘“That coldblood bitch with the mask and fancy red coat,” I called. “The one Rafa saw off with his wheel. Have any of you seen her before?”
‘The group shook their heads, silence all around.
‘“Why do you ask, Silversaint?” Rafa replied.
‘I looked to the falling snow behind. “Danton will have found a way across the river by now. We lost days to that storm. And we still have the Inquisition to worry about. I’m wondering where that other highblood stands. No friend of our Forever Prince, I wager.”