Blood & Honey

by Shelby Mahurin

  For everything.

  He caught the strand of my hair, and we both watched it slide through his fingers. I willed him to hold me, to kiss away this tension between us. He handed me a clean shirt instead. “I know.”

  The rigidity of his shoulders said what he did not.

  But it’s still gone.

  I wanted to shake him. I wanted to scream and rage until I shattered the reproachful silence he cloaked himself in like armor. I wanted to tie us together until we bruised from the binds and force him to talk to me.

  Of course, I did none of those things.

  Whistling low, I trailed my fingers across the lowest shelf. Unable to sit still. Baskets of dried fruit, eggs, and bread cluttered the space, along with wooden toy soldiers and peacock feathers. An odd coalition. “I can’t believe you found others so quickly. I’d gone my entire life without meeting a single one.” I shrugged and a slid a peacock feather behind my ear. “True, most of that life I spent sequestered in the Chateau—where no one would believe such a thing—and the rest I spent thieving in the streets, but still.” Whirling to face him, I stuck a feather behind his ear as well. He grumbled irritably but didn’t remove it. “I know I’m the first to flip fate the bird, but what are the chances?”

  Reid stuffed the last of his clothing in his bag. “Deveraux collects things.”

  I eyed the cluttered shelves. “I can see that.”

  “No. He collects us.”

  “Oh.” I grimaced. “And no one thinks that’s weird?”

  “Everything about Deveraux is weird.” He cinched his bag shut, throwing it over his shoulder—then stilled, gaze falling to the table. Mine followed. A book lay open there. A journal. We both stared at it for a split second.

  Then we lunged.

  “Ah ah ah.” Snatching the book from beneath his fingers, I cackled and danced away. “You’re getting slow, old man. Now—where were we? Ah, yes.” I pointed at the leather cover. “Another delicious journal. One would think you’d have learned your lesson about leaving these lying about.” He sprang at me, but I leapt atop his cot, swinging the pages out of reach. He didn’t return my grin. A small voice in my head warned I should stop—warned this behavior, once entertaining, was now decidedly not—even as I opened my mouth to continue. “What shall we find in this one? Sonnets praising my wit and charm? Portraits immortalizing my beauty?”

  I was still laughing when a leaf of parchment shook free.

  I caught it absently, turning it over to examine it.

  It was a drawing of his face—a masterful charcoal portrait of Reid Diggory. Clad in full Chasseur regalia, he stared up at me with an intensity that transcended the page, unnerving in its depth. I leaned closer in fascination. He seemed younger here, the lines of his face smoother, rounder. The cut of his hair short and neat. Save the four angry gashes peeking above his collar, he looked as immaculate as the man I’d married.

  “How old were you here?” I traced the captain’s medal on his coat, vaguely recognizing it from our time together at the Tower. It’d been nondescript then, a simple piece of his uniform. I’d hardly noticed it. Now, however, it seemed to consume the entire portrait. I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

  Abruptly, Reid stepped backward, dropping his arms. “I’d just turned sixteen.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “The wounds at my neck.”

  “Which are from . . . ?”

  He tugged the portrait away and shoved it into his bag. “I told you how.” His hands moved swiftly now, gathering my own bag and tossing it to me. I caught it without a word. The beginning of a memory took shape in my mind, blurry around the edges. Sharpening with every second.

  How did you become captain?

  Are you sure you want to know?

  Yes.

  “Are you ready?” Reid threw his bag over his shoulder, eyes sweeping the clutter of the cot for any forgotten belongings. “If we’re going to reach Le Ventre by nightfall, we need to leave now. Les Dents is treacherous, but at least it’s a road. We’re venturing into the wild.”

  I stepped down from his cot on wooden legs. “You’ve been to Le Ventre before, haven’t you?”

  He nodded tersely.

  A few months after I joined the Chasseurs, I found a pack of loup garou outside the city.

  “There won’t be any bounty hunters or thieves there,” he added. “No witches either.”

  We killed them.

  I grew roots at the realization.

  Glancing at me over his shoulder, he pushed open the door. “What is it?”

  “The werewolves you found outside the city . . . the ones you killed to become captain . . . were they—?”

  Reid’s expression shuttered. He didn’t move for a long moment. Then, curiously, he drew a peculiar knife from his bandolier. Its handle had been carved from bone into the shape of a howling—

  The breath left my chest in a rush.

  A howling wolf.

  “Oh, god,” I whispered, acid coating my tongue.

  “A gift from the”—Reid’s throat bobbed—“from the Archbishop. To celebrate my first kill. He gave it to me at my captain ceremony.”

  I retreated a step, knocking into the table. The teacups there shuddered. “Tell me that isn’t what I think it is, Reid. Tell me that isn’t the bone of a werewolf.”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Shit, man.” I charged toward him now, reaching behind to wrench the door shut. The others couldn’t overhear this. Not when we were moments away from journeying deep into the belly of the beast—a beast that’d be much less amenable to an alliance while we carried around the bones of its dead. “Whose bone was it? Fuck. What if it belonged to one of Blaise’s relatives? What if he remembers?”

  “He will.”

  “What?”

  “He’ll remember.” Reid’s voice resumed that irritating steadiness, that deadly calm. “I slaughtered his son.”

  I gaped at him. “You cannot be serious.”

  “You think I’d joke about this?”

  “I think it’d better be a joke. I think a piss poor joke would be a hell of a lot better than a piss poor plan.” I sank onto his cot, eyes still wide with disbelief. “I can’t believe you. This—this was your plan. You were the one who wanted to tear across the kingdom in a mad dash to gather allies. Do you really think Blaise will want to cozy up with the murderer of his child? Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”

  “Would it have changed anything?”

  “Of course it would have!” I pinched the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut tight. “All right. We’ll adapt. We can—we can ride into Cesarine with Claud. Auguste might still join us, and La Voisin has already agreed—”

  “No.” Though he knelt between my knees, he took care not to touch me. Tension still radiated from his shoulders, his clenched jaw. He hadn’t yet forgiven me. “We need Blaise as an ally.”

  “Now isn’t the time for one of your principled stands, Reid.”

  “I’ll accept the consequences of my actions.”

  I barely resisted the urge to stamp my foot. Just barely. “Well, I’m sure he’ll appreciate your gallantry. You know—when he’s tearing out your throat.”

  “He won’t tear out my throat.” Now Reid did touch me, the slightest brush of his fingers across my knee. My skin there tingled. “The werewolves value strength. I’ll challenge Blaise to a duel to fulfill my blood debt. He won’t be able to resist the opportunity to avenge his son. If I win, we’ll have demonstrated we’re strong allies—perhaps stronger than even Morgane.”

  A beat of silence.

  “And if you lose?”

  “I’ll die.”

  Until One of Us is Dead

  Reid

  The forest swallowed us when we left the road. Trees grew thicker, the terrain rugged. In some places, the canopy above blocked all sunlight. Only our footsteps broke the silence. It was slightly warmer here. Muddier. From experience, I knew the farther
south we traveled, the wetter the ground would become. With luck, it would be low tide when we reached the cold-water swamp of Le Ventre.

  “What an absolute armpit of a place.” Beau blew into his hands to warm them. “It’s been woefully misnamed.”

  When no one answered him, he heaved a dramatic sigh.

  Coco had taken shelter beside me. Ansel didn’t return her covert glances. With the threat of imminent death no longer upon them, their rift had reopened. He hadn’t spoken a word since our departure. Neither had Lou. Her silence weighed upon me heavily, but I couldn’t bring myself to assuage it. Shame and anger still smoldered deep in my gut.

  “It’s a real pity,” Beau finally muttered, shaking his head and looking at each of us in turn. His eyes shone with disappointment. “I know you’re all too preoccupied with your pining to notice, but I just caught my reflection in that last puddle—and damn, I look good.”

  Coco smacked him upside the head. “Do you ever think of anyone but yourself?”

  He rubbed the spot ruefully. “Not really, no.”

  Lou grinned.

  “Enough.” I hung my bag on a low-lying limb. “We can stop here for midday meal.”

  “And eat.” Lou pulled out a hunk of cheese with a moan. Deveraux had kindly supplied us with rations for the journey. Breaking off a piece, she offered it to Ansel. He didn’t accept.

  “When you’re finished,” he murmured, sitting on the root beside her, “I thought maybe we could train. We skipped yesterday.” To me, he added, “It’ll only take a moment.”

  Lou barked a laugh. “We don’t need his permission, Ansel.”

  Beau helped himself to Lou’s cheese instead. “I hope this isn’t alluding to his not-so-valiant attempt at swordplay last night.”

  “He was valiant,” Lou snapped.

  “Don’t forget I was there when the men burst into our wagon, Beau,” Coco said sweetly. His eyes narrowed. “You almost pissed down your leg.”

  “Stop it.” Voice low, Ansel stared determinedly at Coco’s feet. “I don’t need you to defend me.”

  “That’s rich.” Beau pointed to Ansel’s arm. “You’re still bleeding. You tripped and cut yourself during the fight, didn’t you? You’re lucky the brigands disarmed you.”

  “Shut your mouth, Beau, before I shut it for you.” Lou shoved to her feet, dragging Ansel up as well. She examined the cut on his arm before handing him her knife. “Of course we can train. Just ignore that bastard.”

  “I don’t think I am the—”

  I interrupted before he could finish. “We don’t have time for this. The Chasseurs were near last night. Ansel will be fine. He trained with us in the Tower.”

  “Yes.” Lou knelt over me, tugging another blade from my bandolier. The sheath by my heart remained painfully empty. “That’s the problem.”

  My lip curled of its own volition. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s just that—how do I put this—” She tilted her head to consider me, puffing air from her cheeks with a crude sound. “Don’t be offended, but Chasseurs have a certain reputation for being, well . . . archaic. Gallant.”

  “Gallant,” I repeated stiffly.

  “Don’t get me wrong, those injections of yours were a vicious step in the right direction, but historically, your brotherhood seems to suffer from delusions of grandeur. Knight errantry and the like. Protectors of the meek and defenseless, operating under a strict code of moral conduct.”

  “And that’s wrong?” Ansel asked.

  “There’s no place for morality in a fight, Ansel. Not with bandits or bounty hunters. Not with witches.” Her gaze hardened. “And not with Chasseurs, either. You’re one of us now. That means you’re no longer meek or defenseless. Those men you called brothers won’t hesitate to burn you. It’s life or death—yours or theirs.”

  I scoffed. “Ridiculous.”

  Yes, Lou had cut down the bounty hunters with relative ease. She’d slaughtered the criminals in the smithy and defeated the witch in the Tower. But if she thought she knew better than generations of Chasseurs . . . if she thought she could teach Ansel more than the best fighters in the kingdom . . .

  She knew nothing. Trickery might work against bounty hunters and common criminals, but against Chasseurs, skill and strategy were necessary. Fundamentals built upon through years of careful study and training. Patience. Strength. Discipline. For all her skill, Lou possessed none of these. And why would she? She was a witch, trained in darker arts than patience. Her time in the streets—clearly her only education in combat—had been short and furtive. She’d spent more time hiding in attics than fighting.

  “Ridiculous,” I repeated.

  “You seem quite confident, Chass.” She lifted my knife slowly, angling the blade to reflect the afternoon sunlight. “Perhaps we should give Ansel a demonstration.”

  “Very funny.”

  “I’m not laughing.”

  I stared at her. “I can’t fight you. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  Her eyes flashed. “I agree. Not fair in the slightest. But I fear Ansel isn’t the only one in need of a lesson today. I would hate for either of you to walk away with the wrong impression.”

  “No.” Rising, I crossed my arms and glared at her. “I won’t do it. Don’t ask me.”

  “Why not? You have nothing to fear. You are the strongest of us, after all. Aren’t you?”

  She stepped closer, her chest brushing my stomach, and stroked a finger down my cheek. Her skin flickered, and her voice deepened. Multiplied. Just like it had in the pub. Blood pounded in my ears. Without my Balisarda, I could feel the pull of her magic beneath my skin. Already, my muscles began to relax, my blood to cool. A pleasant numbness crept down my spine.

  “You’re curious.” Her voice was a purr as she circled me, her breath warm against my neck. Ansel, Beau, and Coco watched with wide eyes. “Admit it. You want to know what it feels like. You want to see it—this part of me. This part of you. It scares you, but you’re curious. So, so curious.” Her tongue flicked out, licking the shell of my ear. Heat spiked through my belly. “Don’t you trust me?”

  She was right. I did want to see. I wanted to know. This emptiness on her face was foreign and strange, yet I—

  No. I shook my head fiercely. I didn’t want to see it at all. Only yesterday, I’d watched her nearly kill herself with magic. She shouldn’t do this. We shouldn’t do this. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t Lou. It wasn’t—

  Surrender.

  Those strange, unfamiliar voices brushed against my innermost thoughts once more, caressing me. Coaxing me. “Of course I trust you.”

  “Prove it.” She reached up to run her fingers through my hair. I shuddered at the touch. At the intrusion in my head. “Do as I say.”

  Surrender.

  “I—that’s enough. What are you doing?” I tore her hand away and stumbled backward. Knocked my bag from the tree. No one moved to retrieve it. “Stop it!”

  But her skin only shone brighter as she reached for me—her eyes full of longing—and suddenly, I wasn’t sure I wanted her to stop at all.

  Surrender. Touch her.

  “Reid.” She extended her arms to me in supplication, and I felt myself step forward, felt myself bury my face in her hair. But she smelled wrong. All wrong. Like smoke and fur and—and something else. Something sharp. It pierced through the haze in my mind. “Embrace me, Reid. Embrace this. You don’t have to be afraid. Let me show you how powerful you can be. Let me show you how weak you are.”

  Too sharp. Sickly sweet. Burning.

  My hands came down on her shoulders, and I forced her back a step, tearing my gaze away. “Stop it. Now.” Unwilling to risk her eyes again, I stared instead at her throat. At her scar. Slowly, her skin dimmed beneath my hands. “This isn’t you.”

  She snorted at that, and her skin flickered out abruptly. She shoved away from me. “Quit telling me who I am.” When I hazarded a glance at her, she glared back, lips pursed and brows drawn. One hand on her n
arrow hip. Expectant. “So? Are we doing this or not?”

  “Lou . . . ,” Ansel warned.

  My entire body trembled. “That’s twice you’ve used magic to control me,” I said quietly. “Never do it again. Do you understand? Never.”

  “You’re being dramatic.”

  “You’re out of control.”

  A wicked grin curved her lips. Jezebel incarnate. “So punish me. I prefer chains and a whip, but a sword will do.”

  Unbelievable. She was—she—

  I sucked in a harsh breath. “You really want to do this?”

  Her grin widened, feral, and in that instant, I no longer recognized her. She was no longer Lou, but a true white lady. Beautiful, cold, and strange. “I really do.”

  You met only a few months ago. How well can you really know her? Madame Labelle’s words tormented me. Louder and louder they grew. Louise has started her descent. I know the signs. I’ve seen it happen before. You cannot stop it, and you cannot slow it down.

  “If I agree to this,” I said slowly, “I have a condition.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “If I win, no more magic. I’m serious, Lou. You stop using it. I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to smell it. I don’t want to think about it until all this is over.”

  “And if I win?” She trailed a finger across my chest. The unnatural luster returned to her skin. The unfamiliar gleam in her eye. “What then, darling?”

  “I learn to use it. I let you teach me.”

  Her skin guttered abruptly, and her smile slipped. “Deal.”

  Throat tight, I nodded and stepped back. Finally, we could end this—this madness between us. This tension. This impasse. I would disable her quickly, efficiently. Despite her taunting, I didn’t wish to harm her. I never wished to harm her. I just wanted to protect her. From Morgane. From Auguste.

  From herself.

  And now I finally could.

  Drawing a second knife, I rolled my shoulders back. Stretched my neck. Flexed my wrist.

  A sensation akin to giddiness overwhelmed me as we faced each other, as she twirled my knife between her fingers. But I didn’t let my emotions betray me. Unlike Lou, I could control them. I could master them. I would master them.