by Jay Kristoff
“I watched the City of Scarlet fade into the snow and mist behind us. The priory bells were still ringing, the perfume of blood hanging in the air. But it seemed we’d avoided pursuit. I took over the oars, watching Dior as I rowed toward the northern banks. The girl sat hunched in her vestments, dragging off her veil and casting it into the river.
“Ice crunched on our hull as we neared the shallows, our prow breaking through the thick rime of dirty frost. I climbed into freezing water, dragging our little dinghy up onto the bank. But Dior just sat in the boat, watching the snow falling all around us.
“‘Dior? You aright?’
“She looked at me, mute and unblinking. Her lip was split and swollen. Her eyes bruised black. Her face pale and spattered with red. I knew not what those inquisitors had done to her, but I’d had a taste myself. For a moment, I wondered if they’d broken something inside her, the wound only felt in the aftermath.
“‘Come on.’ I held out my hand. ‘I’ve got you.’
“But she pursed her split lips. Rubbed her bruised eyes. Gutter-hard and street-sharp, and I saw the truth. Though she’d no clue how to swing a sword, still she’d picked one up to defend me. Though she’d no reason to come back for me, still she’d returned. And though they’d beaten on her hard as they dared, still, she wasn’t broken.
“‘I’ve got me,’ she said.
“And standing, she leapt onto the frozen shore.”
VIII
MAGIK
“IT TURNS OUT nun’s habits burn quite well.
“Dior sat and watched while I got a fire going, ably assisted by the vestments I’d worn in our escape. It had been deadwood and drudgery for miles after fleeing Redwatch, freezing cold, and the pair of us had been too tired and beaten to talk much. The woods about us were long decayed, frozen, but as the sun’s light began failing, we found a place to stop—an ancient oak with a great hollow in its belly. Two branches rose from its flanks, and it reminded me of a penitent man; arms outstretched, head thrown back to heaven.
“I foraged in the gloom for a while before I found what I was looking for—tiny brown caps sprouting in the trunk of a fallen pine. Grinding them into a paste, I boiled the leavings in my foundry, then handed the steaming brew to Dior.
“‘What’s this?’ she asked.
“‘Idleshade.’ I motioned to the awful bruises on her face. ‘It might befuddle your wits a little, but it’ll help with the pain.’
“I broke out a couple of spudloaves, and we ate in silence for a time. The night was bitter cold, snowflakes hissing as the sparks rose skyward, pale moths dancing around the flames. There was something peaceful about it all, but I knew this serenity would be fleeting. Inquisition aside, Danton was still on our trail, and even now, he’d be hunting for a way across the Volta. It might take time. Hell, it might take ’til the river froze over. But wintersdeep was breathing bitter cold upon our heels now, and sooner, not later, the Beast of Vellene would be at our throats again.
“‘You came back for me.’
“Dior glanced up as I spoke. She’d been nursing her tea, eyes on the laughing flames. Her face and lips were black and blue, dried blood under her broken fingernails.
“‘In the priory,’ I murmured. ‘You came back for me.’
“‘Of course I did.’
“‘I thought I told you it’s better to be a bastard than a fool.’
“‘And I thought I told you, you’re not my papa. Don’t tell me what to do, old man.’
“I chuckled at that. She smiled weakly in return, but it soon curdled to a sneer.
“‘I decided I owed it to you,’ she said. ‘It was my stupidity that landed us in that shite to begin with. You warned me too. About trusting those ungrateful fuckers on that barge. You told me to keep my head down, and I didn’t listen. I don’t know why I do that. Don’t know why I haven’t learned my lesson yet. Everybody betrays. Everybody leaves.’
“‘Not everybody. Not always.’
“‘You were going to.’
“I breathed deep, nodding. ‘And I’m sorry for it, Dior. Truly.’
“‘You needn’t be sorry.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m the fool who keeps making the same mistakes and expecting something different to happen.’
“I studied her then, across the crackling firelight. The clenched fists. The tiny sparks of rage in her eyes. And I realized she wasn’t even talking about me anymore.
“‘You’re talking about Lashaame.’
“She met my stare. ‘They told you, eh? Those inquisitor bitches told you what I did?’
“‘A version of it.’ I shrugged. ‘One I didn’t put stock in.’
“‘They tell you I killed someone?’
“‘A bishop.’
“‘He wasn’t a bishop, he was a bastard. A fucking…’
“Her voice failed, and she clenched her jaw, turned back to the fire. She looked tired and beaten then, all the weight of the world on her shoulders. I could see a scab here, one she wanted to pick at. But I’d no ken how much it might bleed if she tore it loose.
“‘You don’t have to tell me, Dior. I’ll not judge you ill.’
“She sighed, pawing her hair down over her eyes. I’d noticed she did that when she wanted to stop people from seeing her. A shield, ash-white, hiding her from the world, like that damned magik coat. ‘You remember you asked what I wanted to be when I grew up?’
“‘Dangerous,’ I nodded. ‘And you proved yourself that today, sure and true.’
“‘It was a lie, though. I never really cared about being dangerous. I just didn’t want to be alone. That’s how my mama went out, you know. Even I abandoned her in the end.’ She laced bloodstained fingers together, voice soft. ‘Everybody leaves. Even me.’
“Dior spat into the fire. I stayed soft and still, just listening.
“‘After Mama died, I fell in with those gutter runners I told you about. Ten of us, living in a warehouse in the Lashaame docks. The place was run by an old locktalker. Called himself the Narrowman. He was a grumpy bastard like you, but God … I loved it there. He gave us jobs, took a cut, kept us off our backs and knees. Even taught us how to read with an old copy of the Testaments. It almost felt like we were famille for a few years.’
“‘Sounds … an interesting place.’
“‘It was educational,’ she smirked. ‘I learned the game there. Shadow-work and rip-runs. Maggot traps and honeypots.’ She chewed a fingernail for a moment, her voice dropping a little. ‘There was a pickpocket in Narrowman’s mob. Smart. Silver-quick with a knife. She used to dress as a boy too, but I spotted her right away. She wore an old top hat and halfcoat, like gentry.’ Dior smiled faintly. ‘Called herself Toff.
“‘I didn’t know girls could love girls. I just knew I loved being with her. And one night, she and I were sitting on the warehouse roof talking and laughing, and she touched my cheek and told me I was beautiful. And then she kissed me.’
“Dior shook her head, trailing fingertips along her lips.
“‘Nobody ever kissed me like that before. I didn’t know you could get kissed like that. It was like … like my whole body was powder and she was flame. One of those kisses you’re going to compare to every kiss that comes afterward, you know?’
“I smiled softly. ‘Oui.’
“‘But I could see a shadow on her.’ Dior glanced at me. ‘Same as I see on you. Toff used to have nightmares. And sometimes she’d wake up crying. I wanted to help, to make it better. I’d always ask her what was wrong, but it took almost a year before she told me. About a man. A priest. Named Merciér.’ Dior spat the name like poison. ‘Toast of the city, he was. Guardian of the poor. Bishop of Lashaame. He made his bones running the city orphanage. Toff used to stay there, before she shacked in with the Narrowman.’
“Dior snarled a little, running her thumb over the scars across her palms.
“‘Turned out the toast of the city liked little girls. And when Toff was younger, he…’
“I s
hook my head and snarled. ‘Fucking bastard.’
“‘I was so furious for her. I said we should stomp the prick. Just … snuff him out like a fucking candle. But even after everything that happened to her, Toff still believed. In God. In the Testaments the Narrowman used to read us. She used to drag me to mass every prièdi. Killing a priest was a sin, she said. It was God’s place to judge him. Not ours.
“‘But I convinced her we could roll Merciér, at least. Man of the cloth. Fat cat. Toff deserved some payback after what that fucker did. So we broke into his estate one night while he was at a private service. We were halfway through cleaning the place out when the bastard came home. Forgot his spectacles, the stupid pig. We could’ve run. Made it out clean. But when Toff laid eyes on him … she just … snapped.
“‘Like I said, she was silver-quick with that knife of hers. And she drew it and just went at him. Screaming. Stabbing. She stuck him a dozen times before he fell. When she was done, she left the knife buried to the handle in his privates.’
“Dior’s voice was a whisper now, edged with tears.
“‘I was so scared. All my front, all my talk of being dangerous … fuck…’ She stared down at those stained hands again. ‘You know how much blood there is inside a person?’
“I nodded, my voice soft. ‘I’ve a notion.’
“‘I tried to drag her away. Get the hell out of there. But Toff was staring at the blood on her hands. And while she stood there shaking and crying, Merciér dragged himself to his feet and put that shiv right in her chest. Once. Twice. I tried to take the knife away, and he cut my hands up pretty bad before the blood loss got him. But when he fell, he stayed down, and I grabbed Toff and ran, dragging her back to the Narrowman’s. And I put her on the floor and our friends all came out, and Toff … she was just lying there trying to breathe and there was so much fucking blood and I just wanted to stop it. So I pressed my hands over the holes, screaming for someone, anyone, to help me.’
“‘Your palms were cut up,’ I murmured, looking to her scars. ‘Your blood…’
“Dior nodded. ‘That’s when I learned what I could do. There in a place I called home, surrounded by people I thought of as famille, saving the life of the girl I thought I loved. And they all stared, pale as ghosts, as Toff’s wounds closed over and she sat up and blinked at me with those eyes I used to drown inside.’
“Dior shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks.
“‘And they called me a w-witch. All of them. Even … even her. Toff looked at me like I was the one who’d hurt her, not saved her. I tried to take her hand, tell her I loved her, and she flinched away like I burned her. Like she was … scared of me.’
“I nodded, remembering the terror in Ilsa’s eyes that night I learned what I was.
“‘I know what that feels like.’
“Dior wiped the tears from her cheeks. ‘They handed me over to the magistrate. I got blamed for Merciér’s murder. All Lashaame was baying for my blood. They hung me in one of those fucking gibbets for people to spit on, throw shit at. The church sent word to the Inquisition, and those twin bitches arrived to burn the Bishop Killer. The heretic. The witch.’
“She shrugged, chewing a ragged nail.
“‘Then Sister Chloe and the others showed up. Busted me out of my cage in the dead of night and we hightailed it, hard and fast as we could. All the shite I’d been through, and I still let myself think it might be aright with them. Sister Chloe saved my life. Bel was sweet as honey. And Saoirse, she…’ Dior shook her head. ‘But the same thing happens. Again and again. All the people I care about leave, or they get taken away. And like an idiot, I keep doing the same thing over and over and expecting it to be different. I don’t know why I do that. I don’t know why I don’t just learn my lesson.’
“‘You’ve a good heart, girl. That’s why.’
“‘For all the good it does me. I’ve dragged my arse halfway across the empire over this prophecy shite, and for what? People who’d lock me in a gibbet or burn me at the stake? I should just be like you. Do what you need. Take what you want. Fuck the rest.’
“‘You don’t want to be like me, Dior.’
“‘Why not? You’re doing aright. You’ve a wife. A daughter. A few people who love you. But the rest of the world? Just … fuck it all.’
“I hung my head then. Seeing what she saw in me.
“‘My wife used to tell me hearts only bruise. They never break. I don’t know if I believe that anymore. I know this world is cruel. That saints and sinners suffer one and the same. I know every time you give a piece of yourself to someone, you risk them breaking it. I know there are some wounds that never truly heal, and sometimes all that’s left of people are their scars. I know time eats us all alive.’
“Dior watched me rub the ink across my knuckles, toy with my troth ring.
“‘I’ve seen the worst this world can conjure, girl. I’ve seen people kept in cages and farmed like cattle to slake the thirsts of monsters spat straight from hell’s belly. I’ve seen armies of faithful men slaughtered like hogs while God stood by and did nothing. I’ve seen parents eat their children. And I can’t say it gets better. I can’t tell you I believe like Chloe did—that you’re going to be the one to fix all this. I won’t lie to you like that.’
“I tore my gaze from the flames, looked the girl in the eye.
“‘What I can tell you is that the only heaven I’ve found in all this hell was in the people I loved. Friends. Famille. So, you need to keep on thinking the best of folk, despite seeing the worst of us. Hold on to that fire inside you, girl. Because it makes you shine. And once it goes out, it goes out forever. Know you’ll make mistakes. Understand that it will bruise—hell, it might even break. But don’t lock it up inside your chest.’
“I reached across and squeezed her hand.
“‘Aim your heart at the fucking world.’
“Dior pawed at her eyes, and I saw that fire still burning in them. She was bloodied, oui. Battered. But yet unbroken. She looked down at my fingers wrapped around hers, eyes shining with unspent tears as she read the name etched across them.
“‘That’s your daughter? Patience?’
“I nodded. ‘Astrid inked it after Patience was born. All the rest of this…’ I pulled up my sleeves to show the edges of my aegis. ‘… angels and Mothermaids and Martyrs, none of it mattered in the end. I wanted something that did.’
“Dior chewed her lip, pensive.
“‘You know … Ashdrinker told me.’ She glanced to the blade at my side. ‘About what the Silver Order did to you and your wife. I understand why you wouldn’t want to go back to San Michon after that. I don’t blame you for wanting to get back to your famille, Gabriel. You didn’t ask for any of this. And it isn’t your fight.’
“‘If what Chloe said is to be believed, you’re everyone’s fight.’
“‘But you don’t believe.’
“I looked into the fire, sighed from somewhere old inside. ‘I can’t believe in a God that loves us. Not after all I’ve seen. But I believe this: My friends are the hill I die on. I forgot that lesson for a while. But I vow it now, never again. So if your path is San Michon, I’ll walk it with you.’ I squeezed her hand again, hard as I dared. ‘I won’t leave you.’
“She smiled. ‘We’re friends, then?’
“‘The strangest sort. But oui. Friends.’
“She brushed the hair from her eyes, lips pursed in thought. ‘You know … you treat me different now you know I’m not a boy.’
“‘No. I treat you different now I know you’re not a cunt.’
“She laughed, and it made me laugh in turn to see. I could tell she was letting go of something heavy inside with that laughter. Something she’d carried a while.
“‘Here.’ I smiled. ‘I got you something.’
“I turned to the bundle I’d nabbed from that dockside storefront in Redwatch. It was wrapped inside the folds of a heavy foxfur coat I’d taken for myself. But I
threw the rest at Dior, one by one across the flames.
“‘New britches,’ she breathed. ‘And boots!’
“‘Can’t have you running around the provinces dressed as a nun. I’ve a bad enough reputation for that kind of nonsense as it is. I got you a shirt too. And this.’
“Her eyes lit up as I proffered a fine-cut gentleman’s frockcoat. It was snow grey, knee-length, embroidered with beautiful golden curlicues. The buttons were embossed with designs of tiny roses, a neckpin of the same motif for the cravat. The fabric was stout but soft, the inners lined with fur, warm and fine. It was coat fit for a lord.
“‘It was the fanciest they had,’ I said. ‘Wasn’t sure about the color.’
“‘No…’ She looked up at me with shining eyes. ‘No, it’s perfect.’
“‘Try it on, then.’
“With a grin wide as the sky, Dior hauled off her priory vestments. I winced to see the wounds and bruises beneath, but the girl still moved like she was dancing, slipping the shirt and coat onto her shoulders and bracing up the buttons. She stretched out her arms, adjusted the line and twirled on the spot, whooping with delight.
“‘You’ll have the whole forest down on us,’ I growled. ‘Calm your tits.’
“‘I’ve got no tits, remember?’ She kicked a toeful of snow at me, did another graceful pirouette. ‘Well? How’s it look?’
“I simply smiled.
“‘Magik.’”
IX
A SHADOW MOVING SLOW
“A CRACKLE SOUNDED in the deadwood behind us, and Dior fell still, her eyes growing wide. I was on my feet in a second, all joy from our tiny festivities forgotten, drawing Ashdrinker from her sheath and cursing myself a fool, an idiot, a—
“There was a fine maid from Dún Fas, who had a r-remarkable ass; Not rounded—
“‘Shut up, Ash!’
“I narrowed my eyes, peering out beyond the circle of our fire. The forest was black, chill, frozen to its bones, and again I heard it; something heavy, snorting and trudging through the dead scrub toward us. Dior snatched up a burning log from the fire.
