"THE LAST I'D seen her, Chloe Sauvage was wearing the vestments of the Silver Sorority; a starched coif and a black habit embroidered with silver scripture. She'd been weeping then. She was clad as a warrior now; a dark, padded surcoat over a shirt of mail, leather britches and heavy boots—all soaked from the rain. A wheellock rifle hung on her shoulder, a longblade was slung at her belt with a silver-trimmed horn beside it. A silver sevenstar dangled about her neck.
"She was still weeping, though. I have that effect on my friends.
"'Oh, sweet and blessed Mothermaid, I thought I'd never see you again!'
"'Chloe,' I murmured, my face still buried in her chest.
"'In my heart I hoped. But the day you left—'
"'Ch-chloe,' I wheezed, struggling to breathe.
"'Oh, sweet Redeemer, I'm sorry, Gabe.'
"She released her grip on my head, finally letting me inhale. I blinked hard, black spots clearing in my eyes as she patted my shoulder. 'Are you well?'
"'Still alive…'
"She squeezed my hand, smiling wide. 'And I thank the Almighty for it.'
"I smiled thin, looked her over with a careful eye. She'd always been small, had Chloe Sauvage. Freckled skin and wide green eyes and a stubborn mass of brown curls. Her accent was pure Elidaeni, prim and nobleborn. If there was a woman under heaven more at home in a nunnery, I'd yet to meet one. But she seemed harder than she'd been back in San Michon. Nothing like the girl who'd stood at the altar the night I'd been branded with my sevenstar. Chloe was road-worn now. She wore no holy vestments, but the sevenstar still hung about her throat, etched on the pommel of that longblade at her waist. The sword was too big for her by far.
"Silversteel, I realized.
"She glanced across the commonroom, and I saw four figures had come in behind her. An elderly priest stood at their fore, grey hair shorn to stubble, his beard long and pointed. Like most of the folk around us, he was Sūdhaemi born, dark eyes and deep brown skin, wrinkled with age. But he had a bookish look to him—supple hands and spectacles perched on a pointed nose. I summed him up in a blink: soft as baby shite.
"A tall young woman stood beside him. Strawberry-blonde hair was shaved on one side of her skull, knotted into slayerbraids on the other, and two red stripes were interwoven on her face, running down her brow and right cheek. Naéth, I realized; the warrior tattoos of the Ossway Highlanders. She wore a collar of tooled leather, a heavy wolfskin cloak on her broad shoulders, and more blades than a fucking butcher. An antlered helm was slung under her arm, and a battleaxe and shield at her back. I didn't recognize the clan colors on her kilt at first. But she could crush a man's throat between those thighs of hers, and no mistake.
"A young fellow stood behind her, and I picked him for a soothsinger at a glance. He was perhaps nineteen, lock-up-your-daughters handsome—big blue eyes and a square jaw dusted with stubble. A six-string lute of fine bloodwood was slung on his back, he wore a silvered necklet with six musical notes hanging on it, and his bycocket cap was tilted in a fashion that could safely be described as 'rakish.'
"Wanker, I thought.
"And last among the group, stood a boy. Fourteen maybe. Thin and gangly, not yet grown into his bones. He was pale, pretty, maybe of Nordlund blood. But his hair was white—and I don't mean ashen now, I mean white as a dove's feathers. He wore it messy, draped over his eyes in a tumble so thick I wondered how he could see at all.
"One glance at his wardrobe, you'd be forgiven for thinking him a princeling. He had a beauty spot on his cheek, and he wore a nobleman's frockcoat, midnight-blue with silver curlicue, ruffled sleeves. But his leather britches were patched at the knees, and his boots were falling to pieces. He was gutterborn for sure, pretending to be something finer.
"The boy saw Chloe standing with me, made to walk across the commonroom to us. But the woman held up her hand, almost too quick.
"'No. Stay with the others, Dior.'
"The lad glanced to my half-empty bottle, then fixed me with suspicious eyes. I met his gaze, and he squared his scrawny shoulders in his stolen coat and stared in silent challenge. But our contest was put to rest by the landlady's shriek.
"'Mother and blessed Maid!'
"The commonroom filled with gasps as a final newcomer slunk over the threshold, dripping rain onto the boards as it shook itself, nose to tail. It was a cat. Well, a fucking lion, if I'm honest—one of the mountain breeds that used to haunt the Ossway Highlands before all the big predators died off for want of game. Its fur was russet red, its eyes speckled gold, a scar cutting down its brow and cheek. It looked a beast that'd gobble newborns for breakfast, then wash them down with a healthy serving of toddler.
"Men about the commonroom reached for their weapons. But the Ossway lass with the slayerbraids only scoffed. 'Take yer wobbling baps in hand, ye damn blouses. Phoebe here'd nae hurt a mouse.'
"The publican pointed a shaking finger. 'That is a mountain lion!'
"'Aye. But she's tame as a hoose cat.'
"As if to prove the point, the beast sat on the doorstep and began cleaning its paws. I saw it had a leather collar, tooled with the same design the lass wore. But still, the publican remained on the safe side of unimpressed. 'Well … it cannot come in here!'
"'Tch.' The Ossian lass rolled her eyes. 'G'wan, then. Oot to the stables, Phoebe.'
"The big cat licked her nose and huffed.
"'Don't sass me, ye cheeky bitch! Ye know the rules. Oot!'
"With a soft growl, the lioness hung her head and slunk back out into the rain. The Ossian lass settled into the booth with no more fuss, the priest and dandyboy slipping in beside her. The wanker called for drinks. As a semblance of calm returned to the commonroom, I turned my eyes back to Chloe, one brow raised.
"'Friends of yours?'
"She nodded, pulling up a chair. 'Of a sort.'
"I smirked, the vodka bringing a warm glow to my cheeks. 'A nun, a priest, and a lioness walk into a bar…'
"Chloe smiled briefly, but her tone was grim. 'How've you been, Gabe?'
"'All sunshine and flowers, me.'
"'Last I heard you were living in Ossway?'
"I shook my head. 'South. Past Alethe.'
"Chloe whistled softly. 'What are you doing all the way back up here?'
"'I know a leech who needs killing.'
"'Eleven years, and you haven't changed a bit.' Chloe brushed back her impossible curls and grinned. I saw the thought form in her eyes. The inevitable question.
"'… Is Azzie with you?'
"'No,' I replied.
"Chloe craned her neck and searched the booths, as if expecting to see her face.
"'Astrid's at home, Chloe.'
"'Oh.' She nodded, settling in her chair. 'Of course. Where else would she be?'
"'Oui. Where else.'
High in the reaches of that lovelorn tower, Gabriel de León leaned forward, rubbing his stubble, and he sighed from his very heart. The historian looked on in silence. The wind whispered about them as Gabriel hung his head, long locks of ink-black hair tumbling about his scarred face. Sniffing thickly. Spitting once.
"Astrid Rennier," Jean-François finally said. "The sisternovice who named your horse. Tattooed your palm. You still knew her then? After all those years?"
Gabriel glanced at his chronicler. His jailer. He realized Jean-François was illustrating another page—an image of Dior. Frockcoat, vest, fine features and pale eyes.
"You have the gift," he commented, grudging.
"Merci," the vampire murmured, continuing to draw.
"Can you see him in my eyes? Or in my head?"
"I am of the Blood Chastain," Jean-François replied, not looking up. "Our dominion is over the beasts of earth and sky. Not the mind. You know this, Silversaint."
"I know it's not for nothing that Margot names herself Empress of Wolves and Men. But the blood is fickle. Ancien coldbloods can display … other gifts."
"I believe you are attempting to unlock my secrets, de León. But I am master of keys here, not you. It had been seventeen years since you entered San Michon. More than a decade since you'd roamed the roads of the empire. Who was Astrid Rennier to you now?"
Silence rang out in reply, the scratching of the vampire's pen and the song of the mountain wind the only sounds. And when Gabriel finally answered, he ignored the question, marching on with his tale instead.
"'So this leech you're hunting,' Chloe said. 'Where is it?'
"'Elidaen. Somewhere near Augustin.'
"'You're heading north, then.' She raised her eyes heavenward. 'Thank God.'
"I took a swig from my vodka, wincing at the burn. 'Thank him for what?'
"Little Chloe nodded to her comrades gathered in their booth. The priest had his head bowed in prayer. The ashen-haired boy was smoking what looked to be a traproot cigarelle, staring at me like something he'd found on the bottom of his boot.
"'We're traveling that way too,' Chloe said. 'We can share the road.'
"'Ohhhh,' I breathed, taking another drink. 'Won't that be lovely?'
"Chloe frowned, uncertain at my tone. 'There's safety in numbers. Ossway is rough country, believe me. And some of the feet following us don't belong to mortal men.'
"'Only some?'
"Chloe fell silent as the taverne lass returned, plonking my room key down in front of me, along with a bowl of steaming mushroom ragout and a slab of potato bread. Eyeing the spudloaf with contempt, I began shoveling down the rest.
"'Anything else, adii?' the lass asked.
"I took another swig to wash down my ambitious mouthful. 'More vodka.'
"The lass eyed me with clear skepticism. 'Are you certain?'
"'Terribly certain, mademoiselle.'
"The girl glanced at Chloe and then shrugged, spinning on her heel. I smiled as I felt the room spin in her wake, pushed my bottle across to Chloe. 'Drink?'
"The sister was looking at me strangely. Pretty green eyes roaming my face, the sword on the table in front of me, the needle holes in the breast of my greatcoat where a sevenstar had once been stitched. She sat silently as I finished my meal. I even stuffed the potato bread down in the end. And finally, she spoke.
"'Are you well, Gabriel?'
"'I'm fucking marvelous, Sœur Sauvage.' I thumped the empty vodka bottle down. 'But forget me. Last I saw, you were holed up in the San Michon Library, eleven years and a thousand miles ago. The hell are you doing down here in Sūdhaem?'
"Chloe glanced around the taverne, wary of the few curious eyes still on us. She pulled her chair closer, speaking in conspiratorial tones. 'God's work.'
"I looked at the gear she was wearing, the companions she traveled with. 'I wasn't aware sisters of the sorority were permitted to leave San Michon unaccompanied by silversaints? Let alone dressed like a common sellsword?'
"'It's … complicated.' Chloe lowered her voice to a whisper. 'I'll not speak of it here. But things changed a great deal around the monastery after you and Astrid—'
"She caught herself, looking up into my scowl.
"'Go on,' I told her. 'After we what?'
"Chloe combed one mousy curl off her freckled cheek. She spoke slow, choosing her words with utmost care. 'You and Azzie didn't deserve what they did to you. I was sick with it every day afterward, and I'm sorry that—'
"'So sorry you didn't even come to tell us good-bye?'
"'You know I wanted to. Don't be a bastard, Gabriel.'
"'In life, always do what you love.'
"Chloe frowned then. 'You're drunk.'
"'You're perceptive.'
"The lass returned with my second bottle, and I gave her a dramatic bow, apparently charming enough for her to muster a smile in return. My arm didn't hurt at all anymore.
"'Merci, chérie,' I sighed, breaking the wax. 'Your blood's worth smoking.'
"'Perhaps I should leave you to it.' Chloe eyed me up and down as I took a fresh swallow. 'We can talk more in the morn when you've a clear head.'
"'… Talk about what?'
"'About the road we're to share. When you wish t—'
"'I don't think we'll be sharing roads anytime soon, mon amie.'
"'You said you were traveling north?'
"'Oui.' I toasted her with my new bottle. 'But I plan to float, not walk.'
"Chloe's frown deepened. 'Gabe, this is no jest. The roads through Sūdhaem and Ossway are thick with the Dead. I've need of a sword like yours.'
"'Have you now?'
"The sister turned her stare to the blade on the table before us, speckled with mud and blood. 'It's not through chance alone that I find the Ashdrinker again tonight. Nor blind luck to be reunited with her master after all these years.' She looked up at me, fire in her eyes. 'This is Almighty God's will. And blessed are we who share in his divine providence.'
"'Well, huzzah and hurrah,' I nodded, swallowing another burning mouthful.
"Chloe glanced around the room again. Leaning forward, she lowered her voice, barely audible above the taverne's hubbub. 'Gabe, I've done it. I've found it.'
"'Congratulations, Sœur.' There were three Chloes in front of me now, and I directed my query at the middle one. 'But … what's it?'
"'The answer.' She reached out her little hand and grasped my own. 'The weapon we need to win this war, and finally put an end to this endless night.'
"'A weapon?'
"She nodded. 'One no coldblood under heaven can withstand.'
"I felt my brow furrow. 'Is it a blade?'
"'No.'
"'Some work of chymistrie, then?'
"Chloe squeezed my hand again, her voice brimming with fervor. 'It's the Grail, Gabriel. I'm talking about the bloody Grail.'
"I looked Chloe Sauvage in her big, pretty eyes.
"I leaned slowly back in my chair.
"And then, I fell off it laughing."