V

CLEVER AS CATS

“‘HERO.’

“The voice broke through the sweats, the brittle rime of sleep.

“‘Hero!’

“I opened my eyes, gasping, sitting up in bed and regretting it dearly. Blinking, bleary-eyed, I dragged the hair from my fevered brow and stared. Dior stood at the foot of my bed, ashen locks tossed back from twinkling eyes. She dumped an armful on the mattress at my feet; a packet wrapped in dull burlap tied with string. And I stared in gobsmacked bewilderment as she stripped the bow and showed me what lay within.

“Mortar. Pestle. Foundry. Hollyroot. Redsalts. A dozen more herbs and chymicals. And at the last, like a cluster of jewels in a stolen crown, a dozen phials of dark, dried blood.

“‘The old lady wrapped it,’ Dior smiled. ‘Just like she said.’

“‘Tell me you did not give those dusty bitches your blood.’

“Dior planted her boot on the bed, fished inside, and twirled a thin leather wallet between her fingers. I recalled us sniping at each other outside that pub in Winfael.

“You’ve got a key, smartarse?

“To every lock in the empire, dumbarse.

“‘You stole these?’ I hissed.

“Dior grinned, proud as a lord and twice as crooked.

“‘Did they fucking see you?’

“She shook her head. ‘Clever as three cats, me.’

“‘Cheeky bitch…’

“‘Flatterer.’

“It was a fool who filched from the likes of Souris and the Night Market, but God’s truth, I could worry about the spill later. Instead, I lurched from the bed like the Redeemer risen, snatched up the mortar and pestle, and set to work.

“Breaking the wax seal on the first phial, my hands were shaking so hard I almost spilled my prize. The blood looked to be the poorest kind, but the scent still flooded my tongue. I mixed the hollyroot, redsalt, queensong, the recipe as familiar as my own name, almost disbelieving that after days of thirst, sweet relief would soon be mine. Spreading the thick red paste onto the foundry’s heating plate, I set it by the hearth and started pacing.

“Ten minutes.

“Ten minutes and I’d be home.

“Dior had flopped down on the mattress, spread-eagled, eyes closed. I looked at her sidelong, shaking my head in disbelief. ‘I don’t even want to ask how you did it,’ I sighed. ‘It’d take a wagonload of foxes with diplomas in cunning from Augustin University to get inside the Night Market without invitation.’

“Dior murmured, eyes still closed. ‘Careful, hero. That sounded a little like praise.’

“‘It was.’

“She opened her eyes at last, levered herself up onto one elbow. ‘Sweet Mothermaid. You really are sick, aren’t you?’

“It was shameful how good I felt. How just the promise of a fix had me light as clouds. I stalked back and forth before the hearth, toying with the flintbox in my britches, watching the flames, the foundry, the sanctus desiccating within.

“But still, there was a doubt looming now, just beyond the window. I looked toward the empty glass, still half-expecting to see her there. The shadow that had followed me all the way from Sūdhaem, drawing closer and closer with every step.

“Remember why you left us.

“‘I’ve been thinking…’

“‘Me too,’ Dior murmured.

“I crouched against the wall, arms wrapped tight around my stomach as a new wave of flaming agony swept through me.

“Just a few minutes more …

“‘Mesdames b-before messieurs.’

“‘As you like it.’ Dior sat up in the bed, chewing on a broken nail. ‘Now … please bear in mind, you’re still the surliest prick I ever met. You’re a drunk. And an addict. You act a fucking bastard, and yet you somehow seem proud of it. By my reckoning, the people who hate other people usually just hate themselves. But still … you stood by me when you’d no reason to. After what happened at San Guillaume, you could have left me behind, but you kept your word to Sister Chloe. Went beyond it, even. I’d be dead if not for you.’

“I held up one shaking hand. ‘You don’t have t—’

“‘No, no, let me finish. You might act a fucking bastard, but I’ve been a bitch to you too. I didn’t treat you fair. Growing up the way I did … Let’s just say the men Mama brought home didn’t leave me with the finest opinion of them. But you’re an honorable one. Every bit the hero people say. So,’ she breathed as if exhaling poison, ‘I’m sorry.’

“‘It’s aright, girl.’

“‘You know, I have a name. And you never use it. Nor I yours, for that matter.’

“She clomped across the room in her beggar’s boots, extended her hand.

“‘Apologies, Gabriel de León.’

“‘Accepted, Dior Lachance. And returned.’

“She smiled, crooked and pretty. Turning on her heel, Dior walked to the window as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She looked to the dim dawn outside, down at the beaten leather she was draped in. ‘You know, this coat of yours is possessed of a certain air of dangerousness and all, but I should get my own before we set out. The whole tall, dark, and tattooed look works well for you, but you must be freezing your bollocks off in just that tunic. And it’s bound to be cold as a snowman’s jollies up north.’

“‘Dior…’

“‘Apologies.’ She smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. ‘I know I talk a lot sometimes. You said you’ve been thinking too?’

“I chewed my lip, fangs brushing thirsty skin. ‘After we rest up, w-we should head to the keep. Talk to the capitaine.’

“‘About the road to San Michon?’

“‘About finding some soldiers to escort you there.’

“‘… You mean to come with us?’

“‘I mean there’s bound to be a few of the officers I served with in the Ossway campaigns still hanging around in a fort this big. I can put in a good word. Get you some well-hard bastards to watch your back. A solid horse, some—’

“‘Wait…’ She stared hard, all her world falling still. ‘You’re leaving me?’

“‘Not alone,’ I insisted. ‘These are good men. Veterans. They’ll see you through t—’

“‘You’re leaving me.’

“I clenched my teeth, hung my head. This wasn’t why I came here. Babysitting this girl wasn’t why I’d left home. I had a famille. A debt, dark as night and red as murder. No matter the blood in Dior’s veins, this task wasn’t mine. I was no believer. No zealot. Prophecies were for fools and fanatics, and after all God had done to me, I was the last bastard alive he’d be choosing to safeguard his own flesh and blood.

“I had a daughter of my own to think about.

“But still, the look in Dior’s eyes struck me to the heart. So wounded that I had to turn away. A tear spilled down her cheek—the first I’d ever seen her cry, even with all the blood and pain we’d lived through. And her lip curled, and she looked down to those knife scars carved across her palms, and she sighed.

“‘I fucking knew it—’

“The door smashed off its hinges, crashing along the floor. I rose to my feet as a dozen soldiers burst into the room, dressed in scarlet, cudgels in hand. Ashdrinker was leaning against the wall, and I lunged for her, desperate. But the thirst was still red and raw within me, my muscles weak as four of the bastards crashed atop me.

“‘Get off me!’ Dior screamed. ‘Let go!’

“I heard a crunch, a deep-throated squeal that told me someone’s crotch had met Dior’s boot. I thrashed, feeling a jaw pop as my elbow crashed into it. But the cudgels fell like rain, and above the sound of my pulping flesh, I heard slow footsteps coming along the boards toward me. They stopped just before my face, and I squinted through the bloody haze: tall-heeled, knee-high, wrapped in strips of spiked hide. My eyes roamed the leather-clad legs beyond, up to their owners.

“Their hair was black, cut in pointed fringes, eyes hidden by tricorns with short, triangular veils. Ornate black gauntlets covered their right hands, fingertips sharp like claws. And my belly ran cold as I saw that their blood-red tabards were marked with the flower and flail of Naél, the Angel of Bliss.

“The first inquisitor stalked into the room, lifted Ashdrinker from the floorboards where she’d fallen. ‘You’ve done the Almighty’s work this day,’ the woman declared.

“‘Merci, godly daughters,’ said the second, glancing over her shoulder.

“I heard Dior curse as I saw two refugee lasses in the doorway, staring with eyes of old sky blue. The eldest nodded, made the sign of the wheel. ‘Véris, Sisters.’

“‘You treacherous fucking sows!’ Dior roared. ‘I saved your papa’s life!’

“The first inquisitor slapped Dior. The girl’s head whipsawed on her shoulders, blood spattering. ‘Silence, witch. You’ve led us a merry dance. But now the song is done.’

“I sighed, looking up at the other. She was staring at me, finger toying with the ragged boulette hole in her tabard. ‘Had a f-feeling I’d see you bitches again.’

“‘Bitches?’

“The woman smiled, lifting her foot.

“‘Oh, the hymns we shall sing, heretic.’

“And her boot came down like thunder.”