VIII

LIONHEART

“I WAS STILL uneasy as I stole out from the Library and back toward Barracks. My thoughts were filled with that image etched in blood—two skulls facing each other. A name echoing in my head, like a song I somehow already knew the words to.

“Esani.

“The Faithless.

“Looking skyward, I stared into the dark, to the heaven that must surely lie beyond it. Again, I wondered if all this had been ordained, just as Chloe said. If the key to ending daysdeath did lie in those dusty tomes—a secret only blood might tell. But all thoughts of bloodlines and divine plans and hidden truths were abandoned as I spied a familiar figure, moving like a thief through the dark. I recognized him by his silhouette alone now; after all, I’d hunted with him in the shadows for months.

“Aaron de Coste.

“I crouched in the dark of the Cathedral cloister, the angels in the fountain watching me with sightless eyes. De Coste glanced about, then slipped inside the Armory’s doors.

“I could’ve let it alone. He was still a pompous cock, but Aaron had bled for me in Coste. He’d stopped Greyhand from murdering me, and he’d defended me again earlier tonight in front of Khalid. I was certain he hadn’t been behind the attack in the stable now. Nor Aoife’s death.

“But I still remembered the rage in his eyes when I told him I’d seen him sneaking out of the Armory. And as I’d once told Astrid, other people’s business was ever my favorite kind. Curiosity had killed countless cats, I knew. But cats had nine lives, and lions too.

“Checking the Armory door, I found it locked. But undaunted, I scaled to the roof. Just like the Barracks, the tiles were old, easy enough to shift. I made my way along the upper floor and down the spiral stair to the entry hall, bathed in gloom. Looking to the Scarlet Foundry’s doors, I wondered how many vampires lay within there now, chained to that damnable machine to fuel our sacrament. But then, in the forge behind me, I heard a thump, followed by a pained cry.

“Wondering if devilry was afoot, I took a silversteel blade from the wall and crept across the foyer. Oaken shelves were lined with tools, stacked with barrels of black ignis. The forge beyond was kept warm by the embers, the smell of coal and sweat reminding me of my stepfather’s house in Lorson. Four great furnaces burned within, still aglow from the day’s works. I heard another gasp, a crash, a strangled hiss—what sounded like men fighting. And stealing toward the noise, I finally found Aaron and Baptiste Sa-Ismael, the handsome young smithy of San Michon, moving together in the glow of dying flames.

“But they weren’t fighting, I realized.

“They were kissing.

“I could scarce believe what I was seeing. Aaron’s hands were in Baptiste’s britches, kneading and stroking, the smith groaning all the way from his heart. They moaned into each other’s mouths, hungry as starving wolves. As I watched, Aaron shoved Baptiste backward, the pair colliding with the stone wall. They were heedless of all but each other, lost in passion, too much body and not enough hands. I’d never imagined a scene like this, part of me appalled, part of me fascinated, watching them sway in the forge’s light.

“Baptiste grabbed a fistful of Aaron’s long blond hair and slammed him backward against a stack of crates. Aaron’s breath came ragged as Baptiste turned him about, fumbled with his belt. De Coste’s hands joined Baptiste’s, tearing at his britches, dragging them down. Baptiste hauled off his own tunic, dark skin gleaming in the ruddy light as he spat into his palm. Aaron lowered his head, dripping with sweat, spitting into his own hand. I knew what was coming then. And I decided I’d no right to see more of it.

“I backed away, silversteel in my now-sweating palm. But fool that I was, and not watching where I was going, I stumbled on a bucket of scrap iron. Grabbing it to stop the clamor, I cursed under my breath. And then I heard footsteps, rushing breath, and I was slammed backward into the wall so hard I saw fucking stars.

“‘Treacherous bastard,’ Aaron hissed, pressing his forearm to my throat.

“‘G-get the fuck off me.’

“‘What did you see, de León?’ he demanded, pressing harder. ‘What did you see?’

“‘N-nothing,’ I gasped.

“It was foolishness and lies, and we both knew it. De Coste’s britches were still loosed, his lips bruised red from Baptiste’s mouth. My brother initiate was furious, just as he’d been in his stepfather’s hall. Afraid his whole world was unraveling before his eyes.

“I know what that feels like now. I can’t fault him for hurting me. But back then, I was enraged. And more, frightened. I was as big as de Coste now, maybe even stronger, but with Baptiste beside him, they were two to my one. I could see murder in Aaron’s stare as he crushed his forearm to my throat, looking about to the hammers and anvils and any number of means by which a nosy lad could be ended quick and neat. Finally, his gaze settled on the silversteel I’d dropped as he’d struck me, gleaming in the forge light. He met my stare. His own sharpened by a predator’s gleam.

“‘Close your eyes.’

“But a soft voice spoke then. ‘Aaron. Let him go.’

“‘But he knows,’ de Coste spat, turning to Baptiste. ‘He fucking saw.’

“Running a hand over the tightly knotted braids on his scalp, the young blackthumb heaved a sigh. He looked at the Armory around him, back to the boy pinning me against the wall. ‘We both knew this couldn’t last forever.’

“‘We can fix this, we can—’

“‘Silence him? Is that what you’re thinking? Buy our safety with sin?’

“‘It’s no sin,’ Aaron spat, his face twisted. ‘You and I are no fucking sin.’

“‘But what you’re thinking is. Let him go, love.’ Baptiste shook his head. ‘Let him go.’

“De Coste turned back to me, fury in his eyes. But I could also see the beginnings of tears. For a moment, he held on, squeezing tighter. But at last, he stepped back. Gasping, I slithered down the wall. Afraid. Horrified. Angry. These two were sworn members of a holy order of God. And they …

“‘I locked the door,’ de Coste whispered. ‘I locked it.’

“Baptiste stepped up behind Aaron, pressed his lips to the boy’s bare shoulder. De Coste closed his eyes, cursed softly. And then Baptiste reached down to me.

“‘Are you well, Little Lion?’

“I stared up at the smithy, at the small burn scars etched on his mahogany skin. There was no rage in his eyes. Sadness, maybe. Fear. I looked at the hand he offered. Broad and callused like the man who’d called himself my papa. A blacksmith’s hand. A genius’s hand. A hand that had forged the blade that saved my life in Coste.

“I took it.

“We stood in uncomfortable silence, and I pawed at my bruised throat. Aaron looked chagrined, furious, but more than all, afraid. Baptiste met my eyes. ‘It would be … unpleasant,’ he said, ‘if Abbot Khalid or Forgemaster Argyle were to learn of this.’

“I met the older lad’s gaze. Unpleasant? We both knew that was a whisper telling tale of a hurricane. The One Faith was no jest to the men within these walls. The scriptures were clear, the word of God Himself; that God we’d all devoted our lives to.

“‘The Testaments name it a sin,’ I said softly.

“‘The Testaments also say it is God’s place to judge. Not man’s.’

“‘You’re a brother of the Silver Order, Baptiste,’ I said, indignity rising. ‘You swore the Oath of San Michon. Obedience. Fidelity. Chastity.’

“‘I swore to love no woman save the Mother and Maid. And to that I hold.’ Baptiste took Aaron’s hand and squeezed it, defiant. ‘’Tis no woman I love.’

“‘Nor I,’ de Coste replied softly.

“I looked into Aaron’s eyes. This slick highborn bastard who’d spat at me every chance he got. This brother I’d fought and bled beside. ‘Then why stay here?’

“Baptiste frowned. ‘As you say, we are sworn to the Silver Order.’

“‘But why risk it? Why remain in a place where discovery might cost your lives?’

“Baptiste folded his arms and glowered. ‘Because we are sworn to the Silver Order. The dark is rising. A dark that threatens all men. And we are men, Gabriel de León. So, we choose to stand against it.’

“Aaron squeezed Baptiste’s hand. ‘Together.’

“I remembered the tale Aaron had told me in his stepfather’s hall. The lover that the Baron de Coste had beaten to death. And I realized that ‘Sacha’ was a boy’s name as well as a girl’s.

“I understood now why Aaron stayed here despite his claims that all this would come to nothing. I understood now why he worked so hard to earn a place he seemed to have no real wanting of. And I understood in some small way the bravery it must have taken to remain within these walls. God only knows what Khalid and the others would do if they learned the truth. The vows of chastity that silversaints swore were to ensure we created no more paleblood abominations like ourselves. But still, the Testaments were clear.

“Aaron and Baptiste could have fled. Gone to live in Asheve or Augustin, where such a life would not be so scowled upon. But they chose to stand at the coal face and risk the flame. Because, despite it all, they believed that the dark must be fought.

“All my life, I’d been raised to see the word of God as law. But I was a sinner myself, wasn’t I? I’d broken the rules of San Michon this very night. Astrid had broken the same in helping me, but through it, we’d found a way toward the truth of what I was. A meeting that, if Chloe were to be believed, was ordained by the Almighty Himself.

“And I wondered then: Could goodness come of sin?

“And if so, how could it be sin at all?

“What care I, the life these two lived? The Dead cared not for who we loved, nor creed nor kin nor any other measure. And if I were to risk all against them, I’d want the brothers beside me to be those who’d risk no less. Aaron de Coste and I weren’t friends. At that moment, I still doubted we ever would be. But we were brothers. And as the old truth goes, you can choose your friends, but never your famille.

“‘I’ll not tell the abbot,’ I declared. ‘Nor Forgemaster Argyle, nor Master Greyhand either. I’ll not breathe a word.’

“Aaron and Baptiste looked at each other. Astonished. Uncertain.

“‘Do you vow it?’ the smithy asked.

“‘I vow it, brother,’ I said, offering my hand. ‘On my fucking life.’

“Baptiste waited a heartbeat longer, then took my hand and pulled me into a fierce embrace. There were tears in the young smith’s eyes, and even though he smiled, Aaron’s eyes were also shining. He slapped my back, sighed as if exhaling the weight of the world.

“‘Merci,’ de Coste nodded. ‘Merci, Little Lion.’

“I nodded to him, matching his smile. As I said, I didn’t know if he and I could ever be friends. But perhaps now we might be something more than two boys who spat and sniped at each other while the shadow around them grew ever deeper.

“‘You’ve a good heart, Gabriel de León,’ Baptiste told me. ‘A lion’s heart.’

“I only shrugged. ‘My brothers are the hill I die on.’

“I took my leave, left the pair standing there etched in the light of the forges. And swift as I could, I stole back to Barracks under cover of darkness. My mind was awash with all I’d done and seen that night. But one thought called louder than the others—more than the mystery of my heritage, of shifting friendships and new allies, a question burning brighter than that star, falling from the black embrace of heaven.

“What is sin at all?”