‘I scowled upwards, brushing the snow from my hair. “You know Isabella?”
‘“Know her?” The soothsinger smiled, those pretty blue eyes staring out into the dark. “I can say I serve her, as loyally as any knight or maid-at-arms. I can say I have written songs for her, as beautiful as could make angels weep. But know her?” He shook his head. “What man can truly say that of Isabella, Silversaint?”
‘I looked at Bellamy with his silly hat and his perfect stubble and his dreamer’s eyes, and it struck me how young he was then. How young all of them were.
‘“Leastways you’ve been to the capital,” Dior muttered, blowing on his hands and shoving them in his armpits. “I’ve never even seen it.”
‘The soothsinger brightened then, handsome as a pocketful of princes.
‘“We shall see it together, mon ami.” His voice grew deep and dramatic, hand sweeping the sky. “When all this is done, I shall take you there myself. Good S?ur Sauvage and Père Sa-Araki can visit the Cathédrale d’Lumière, there to pray in the honey-warm glow of the light eternal. Mlle Saoirse can bathe in the perfumed fountain beneath the Pont de Fleur – heaven knows she needs it.” He winked at the boy, eyes shining. “And you, me, and Chevalier de León shall take in a show on the Rue des Méchants.”
‘“You shall not,” Père Rafa scowled.
‘“Why?” the boy asked. “What happens on the Rue des Méchants?”
‘“Sex,” I replied, taking a long swallow of my vodka.
‘Chloe scowled, made the sign of the wheel. Bellamy tutted and tipped his ridiculous cap. “That is not all that happens there, Silversaint …”
‘“Well, no, not all,” I admitted. “There’s a great deal of gambling. A goodly dose of dreamweed dealers and poppydens and burlesque. But there’s also a tremendous amount of sex. In fact, I bet you’d not be able to fling a royale on the Rue des Méchants without hitting someone either openly offering, desperately looking for, or enthusiastically engaged in s—”
‘“Godsakes, Gabriel, we understand.”
‘A hot blush was pinking Chloe’s cheeks, and I threw her a teasing wink. “Do you really? I didn’t think the books in the forbidden section were that risqué, Sister.”
‘Chloe aimed a furious scowl my way, signed the wheel. I chuckled, leaning back in my branch and wondering if I should have another smoke now, or stretch it out an hour more. Dior watched the flush die in the Silver Sister’s cheeks, pouting in thought.
‘“Did you always want to be a nun, Sister Chloe?”
‘My old friend glanced up to the boy, breathed deep. “Since I was a little girl.”
‘“Did you …” The lad cleared his throat, uncertain. “I mean to say, have you ever …”
‘“Careful, boy,” I growled. “You’re sailing awfully close to the shores of a little island most call None of Your Fucking Business.”
‘“There are many kinds of love, Dior,” Chloe said. “If you are asking what I think you are asking, I gave up the love of men for the love of God most high.”
‘“Do you … miss it?”
‘“A woman who has never seen the night cannot miss the moons.”
‘“Aright, then, do you not … wonder?”
‘Chloe glanced sidelong to me, both of us aware of how thin the ice she now trod upon was. But still, I felt a flicker of cool anger as she spoke. “Desire is no sin, save when we indulge it. But I’m sure Père Rafa would agree God’s love sustains beyond all earthly appetite.”
‘“True.” The old man shrugged. “Still, I miss it.”
‘Four heads swivelled to the priest. Four sets of eyebrows shot to the sky.
‘“I miss it like …” The priest waved a vague hand, pushed his spectacles up his thin nose and glanced to the soothsinger. “Help an old man out, Bellamy?”
‘“Like … the desert misses the rain?”
‘Rafa winced. “A touch clichéd.”
‘“Like the dawn misses the dusk?” Bellamy sat up straighter and snapped his fingers. “No … like a large-breasted woman misses lying on her stom—”
‘“Shut the fuck up, Bouchette.”
‘Dior was looking at the priest with a wicked grin. “Père Rafa … you’ve …”
‘“I was not always a servant of the cloth, Dior.” The old man smiled fondly. “I was once a young man like you. I even came close to marrying once.”
‘“What was her name, Father?” Bellamy asked.
‘“Ailsa.” The priest looked to the dark above, sighing her name like sugared smoke. “A huntress who sold vellum to San Guillaume. I was an acolyte when we met, my vows still unsworn. We fell in love, so deep and sudden I was tempted to leave behind all I’d studied for. But Ailsa could see my suffering, torn between love of her and love of God. She told me no flower blooms that grows in two beds, and still, I could not decide. So one day, she kissed me farewell, set out ahunt, and never returned to San Guillaume. I searched for her. Months and miles. But I never saw my sweet Ailsa again.”
‘Bellamy sniffled, reaching for his lute. “No flower blooms that grows in two be—”
‘“Don’t you fucking dare, Bouchette …”
‘“That’s sad,” Dior murmured, looking at the priest. “I’m sorry, Rafa.”
‘The old man smiled. “It was God’s will. If I had married Ailsa, I would never have been contacted by Sister Chloe, never have found you, Dior. And the good Sister is correct. God’s love sustains me where no mortal love could ever have endured.” He clutched the wheel about his neck in one wrinkled, liver-spotted hand. “This weak flesh melts all too soon, my child. But the love of the Lord is evergreen. And it shall see me to his kingdom eternal.”
‘“Seems a little sadistic, though, doesn’t it?”
‘Rafa spared me an indulgent glance. “What does, Chevalier?”
‘“Giving you desires, then denying you the sating of them? Look, but don’t touch? Taste, but don’t swallow? Why make you want what you can’t have?”
‘“To test our faith, of course. To judge if we are worthy of the kingdom of heaven.”
‘“But he’s all-seeing, isn’t he? All-knowing? God knows whether you’re going to pass his test before he ever gives it to you. And if you succumb to your desire? He condemns you to burn. He sets you up to fail, then has the balls to question his own handiwork.”
‘“It is not for mortals to know the mind of God, Silversaint.”
‘“The wise man knows you don’t blame the blade, priest. You blame the blacksmith.”
‘“A parent’s kindness is oft-times cruel. You have a daughter, do you not? I would wager the crown jewels to a ha-royale you love her more than anything under heaven.”
‘“Of course I do.”
‘“Did you ever deny your Patience that which she wanted as child? The sweets she cried for before supper? A smack to her knuckles before she burned herself on the flame? The pain you inflicted came from a place of purest adoration, though she may not have understood it at the time. But you hurt her for her own good.”