“EVERY WOBBLY CHAIR and crooked table in the mont had been dragged into the hall for the feast. Piecemeal utensils laid on patchwork tablecloths. Cracked crockery and mismatched tankards. Save the sorry guards upon the walls, most of Aveléne turned out that night.
“I could see familles in the hall, little children, even a few newborn babes, and again, I was stricken with the thought that I’d brought evil to this door. But once the meal began, I forgot the taste of guilt a moment and simply let myself breathe. As Baptiste had said, there was little cause for celebration those nights, and though folk had no clue as to why, still they came, feasting on rabbit stew, mountains of button mushrooms, and hot potato bread. I knew not the secret, but whoever worked the keep’s kitchens was a sorcerer—I even went back for a second helping of spuds.
“A trio of minstrels began belting out merry tunes, and the floor was cleared for dancing. Dior sat at my right side, her plate empty, her belly full. Some poor sod was busy trying to clean the bloodstains out of the clothes I’d bought her, and Dior had been offered a dress to wear. But instead, she’d borrowed an old frockcoat from Aaron. That alone told me that for all the warmth and merriment, she was still ill at ease. Dior wore that coat like armor, hair dragged down over her face. She was also well into her third glass of Baptiste’s homebrew vodka.
“‘Go easy on that stuff,’ I warned. ‘It’s got a kick like a lovesick mule.’
“‘I like mules,’ the girl smirked.
“‘Fine, don’t blame me if your head’s splitting come the dawn.’
“‘Ariiiiiight, old man,’ she sang, flipping me the Fathers.
“‘I keep telling you, I’m only thirty-two.’
“‘Could’ve fooled me with that beard, Grandpapa.’
“I scowled, scruffing at my road whiskers. ‘I told you, I lost my razor.’
“‘Well, find another, you look like a robber’s dog.’ She raised her cup and grinned. ‘Would your wife let you get away with a monstrosity like that?’
“‘No, Astrid hated it,’ I smiled. ‘She used to call my moustache a heresy.’
“Dior screwed up her nose. ‘You had a moustache?’
“‘Not after she called it that.’
“Dior laughed as I poured myself another glass.
“‘That was one of my wife’s many talents, see. She always knew just the right thing to say to get her way. That woman had me wrapped around her little finger, and it only got worse when Patience learned how to do it, too. She took after her mother, that one, sure and true. One look into those eyes, and I’d melt like springtime snow.’
“I laughed to myself, shaking my head. But as I knocked back another cup, I saw Dior was sucking her lip, looking at me twice-strangely.
“‘… What?’
“‘Might I beg this dance, mademoiselle?’
“The pair of us broke our staring contest as Baptiste swept into a low bow before us. Dior blinked at the smithy, rubbing at the bruises on her face. ‘… Me?’
“‘If it does not offend?’ The smith gifted the girl a smile that would’ve melted the Mère. ‘My heart belongs to another, Mlle Lachance. But he’s not the jealous sort. And no flower so divine should be left to wilt in the corner.’
“Baptiste’s dark eyes sparkled with gleeful mischief as he proffered his hand. The crowd cheered as the music about us shifted pitch, the minstrels quickened their pace. But Dior glanced to me and shook her head. ‘Perhaps later.’
“‘You’re certain?’ the big man asked, astounded his smile had failed.
“‘Oui,’ she nodded. ‘Merci, Baptiste. Later, I promise.’
“‘As you like it, mademoiselle. But I shall hold you to that vow.’ The blackthumb swept into another bow and retired. I saw him grab another lass’s hand, waving to Aaron as he swept her out onto the floor. The dancers swayed and seethed across the boards, all the room clapping in time.
“‘You don’t like to dance?’ I asked Dior.
“‘I don’t know how,’ she admitted. ‘Not many galas in the gutters of Lashaame.’
“‘I’ll teach you, then,’ I declared, holding out my hand. ‘It’ll be good practice.’
“‘Practice for what?’
“‘At root, dancing and swordplay are one and the same.’
“Dior blinked as slow realization dawned. She glanced down to Ashdrinker on my hip, and she whooped, planting a swift kiss on my cheek.
“‘You’re a good man, Gabriel de León.’
“‘I’m a bastard is what I am. I’m just your kind of bastard.’
“We stepped out onto the floor together, fumbling through our first steps, the room about us awhirl. And though she was three cups in, still Dior followed with an innate rhythm that told me she might one day be a fine sort of blade. She trod on my feet a few times, of course, but her laughter was brighter than the music around us, and to see her happy made me happy in turn. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed as hard as I did that night, and for a while, it was enough. But the whole time, it was growing in me—a shadowed melancholy that deepened with every cup I snatched from a passing tray, every burning mouthful I swallowed in my quest to drown it.
“And so it was, when Baptiste returned and asked Dior to dance again, I gratefully made my escape. I’d had too much by then, and I knew with a few more, I’d be stumbling. The smiling faces about me seemed like death masques now, the music a dirge, and as the minstrels broke into a merry jig and all the crowd began stamping in time, I realized there was nowhere on earth I wanted less to be. Dior howled as she twirled arm in arm with Baptiste, spinning and stumbling through the throng, and I snatched a bottle from a table and pushed through the great wooden doors, out into the lonely chill.
“The wind made my eyes water as I trudged the cobbled path, shoulders hunched for warmth. I knew where I was headed, walking without thought, tugging another swallow from the bottle as it rose up before me like a lodestone. I could see candlelight through stained glass, smell the votive incense, hear echoes of the mass long sung.
“The Chapel of Aveléne.
“It was a tiny affair, nothing so grand as the Cathedral of San Michon. Still, it had seemed a palace not so long ago. And as I stepped inside that wintersdeep night, I saw myself as I’d been all those years past. Walking on colt’s legs through the dawndoors, Aaron at my side, down to the altar and the angel waiting there. She’d stood in a beam of dimmest daylight, hands over her belly, and I know it sounds cliché, but she’d been aglow with it. The Order had cast us out like bones and chaff, and I should’ve been ashamed. But walking to Astrid’s side that day, promising to be with her forever, I knew only love. Purest love.
“I stood now in that empty church more than a decade later, and all was cold and silent. A wheel of rowan wood still hung above the altar, a carving of the Redeemer lashed upon it, spinning gently in the wind as the door creaked open behind me. I took another pull from the bottle, swaying on my feet. I knew I’d be a sorry bastard come the morrow.
“‘Fairdawning, Aaron,’ I called.
“‘Godmorrow, brother,’ he replied.
“I could feel him standing beside me now, as he’d done on that happiest of days, carrying the troth rings Baptiste had forged with his own hands. I offered Aaron the bottle, and he took it, drinking from the neck. We stood side by side, and I stared up at the wheel spinning over our heads, slowly shaking mine.
“‘Did that ever strike you as odd?’
“‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
“‘The wheel.’ I nodded to it. ‘Why they chose that as the symbol for the One Faith.’
“‘It’s a symbol of the Redeemer’s sacrifice. The offering that laid the foundation for his church on this earth, and our salvation. By this blood, shall they have life eternal.’
“‘But doesn’t it strike you as a little morbid? Seems to me maybe they should’ve found something that celebrated the days he lived. The words he said. Instead, the symbol of his church is the thing that killed him.’ I shook my head. ‘Always struck me as strange.’
“Aaron handed me back the bottle. ‘Are you aright, Gabe?’
“I looked at him then. My friend. My brother. I’d never visited the ruins of Coste, but I’d heard the tales of what Voss had done to the city after he crossed the Bay of Tears. I’d always wondered if Aaron wished he’d been there. Falling into ruin along with his famille before the advance of the Forever King. And I sighed, staring up at the Redeemer again.
“‘How can you still pray to this bastard, Aaron?’
“‘He is my God. All I have, I owe to him.’
“‘All you have?’ I scoffed. ‘They took everything from you. They cast you out of the order you’d devoted your life to. You stood in defense of this empire and his Church, and the men of both were set to flay the skin off your back for who you loved. Because of a few words in some dusty fucking book. All you are is what God made you to be, and yet they turned on you for it. How can you pray to him after that?’
“‘It’s as you said, brother. It was men who did that to Baptiste and me. Not God.’
“‘But he allowed it to happen. All on earth below and hea’en above is the work of my hand. And all the work of my hand is in accord with my plan.’
“Aaron gazed at the Redeemer above us, shaking his head.
“‘You’re looking at it wrong, Gabe,’ he sighed. ‘God may have sent the storm, but he gave me arms to swim for shore. He might bring the winter snows, but he gave us hands to light the flame. You see the suffering all around you but not the joy right beside you, and you curse him for the worst but don’t thank him for the best. What the hell do you want from him?’ Aaron looked to me, searching my eyes. ‘If Baptiste and I had never been cast out of the Order, we’d not have been here all those years ago when you and Astrid came pounding on our gate. And I’d not have been standing here beside you when you swore your love for that woman, nor had the chance to see you weep as you held that baby girl in your arms. If we’d stayed in San Michon, we’d not have been here to answer when you and Dior came stumbling in out of the snow today. And if that girl is the answer to ending all this suffering, isn’t my suffering worth that?’
“‘You’re telling me there was no other way to get Dior where she needed to be?’
“‘I’m telling you I’ve made my peace with him. You only appreciate the sunshine after you’ve stood in the pouring rain. Everything happens for a reason, Gabe.’
“‘Bullshit!’ I spat, rage rising. ‘This isn’t about reason, it’s about retribution, Aaron! He sets you up to fail, and when you break his damned rules, he punishes you for it. He makes you want, and when you take, he takes it all away. What kind of sick fuck does that?’
“‘Such is the price of sin, Gabe.’
“‘If it’s sin, how can goodness come of it? And who’d let that goodness flower a moment only to tear it out of the earth? A sadist! A blacksmith who blames his own blade! What kind of bastard punishes the people you love in order to punish you?’
“I flung the bottle, the glass shattering on the Redeemer’s wheel. One of the stays came loose, and the wheel dropped, twisting lopsided as I spat in fury.
“‘No fucking brother of mine!’
“Aaron looked at me carefully, a scowl on that handsome brow. ‘Are we talking about me and Baptiste now? Or are we talking about you?’
“I made no reply, staring at that holy fool spinning above us.
“‘… Where are Astrid and Patience, Gabriel?’
“‘Waiting for me.’
“‘At home?’
“‘Where else would they be?’
“‘If they’re at home, why are you here?’
“‘I know a king who needs killing.’
“‘… Voss?’
“‘Voss,’ I hissed, the name like poison on my tongue. ‘Once Dior is in San Michon, I head east to take that whoreson’s head. To end this once and for all.’
“Aaron stepped between me and the wheel so that I’d be forced to meet his eyes. ‘Gabe, Fabién Voss sits at the heart of a legion ten thousand strong. The greatest armies and generals in the empire have fallen back or simply fallen before him. No man of woman born can slay the Forever King. You know this. It’s madness. It’s suicide even to try.’
“‘And yet, here I am.’
“‘… Is that what you want? To die? What about your famille?’ He reached for my arm, seizing tight. ‘Gabriel, look at me. Where are they? Why did you leave them?’
“‘Let it alone, brother,’ I growled.
“‘Gabe—’
“‘Let it alone!’ I bellowed, slapping his hand away. Grabbing his coat, I slammed him against the altar, my face inches from his. ‘You want to huddle here in your crumbling halls until the end comes, so be it! You want to waste your life praying to a God who doesn’t care, as you like it! But I’ll not hide in the dark for fear of sleep, nor sing the praise of a bastard who’d call himself Lord of an earth such as this! By my hand, Fabién Voss will die! By my blood, by my soul—not by your fucking God—I vow it!’
“‘I love you, Gabriel,’ Aaron said low, deadly. ‘But take your hands off me.’
“That predator’s gleam, that old gift of the Ilon stirring in his veins. Paleblood, through and through. And I let him go, ashamed at myself, at all I was and had become. I couldn’t bear to look at him, staring at my hands instead as I whispered.
“‘Forgive me.’
“‘Brother, there is nothing to forgive,’ he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. ‘I know you speak from hurt, and though I fear the cause, I’ll not add to it by asking for its name. I’ll not tell you what to believe, either. Each man’s heart is his own, and in the end, only he has the filling of it. But I tell you this, and if never you have listened to me before, by all the love you bear for me, I beg you listen now. Because I see a shadow on you, brother. And I am afraid.’
“He took my hand, squeezing tight as he searched my eyes.
“‘It matters not what you hold faith in. But you must hold faith in something.’
“I met his gaze, the truth fighting behind my teeth.
“To speak it would make it real.
“To speak it would be to live it again.
“‘The Worst Day,’ I whispered.
“A chill clanging split the air, brittle and sharp, metal on metal. The spell between us broke, Aaron’s pupils dilating as the song grew more fevered. And through the rushing in my ears, the echo of my brother’s words, I realized at last what I was hearing.
“Aaron looked to me, jaw clenched. ‘Alarm bells.’
“I glanced to the Redeemer hanging on his lopsided wheel, and then to the night awaiting us outside. Hissing through sharpening teeth.
“‘Danton.’”