Saint's Blood: The Greatcoats Book 3 (21 page)

‘Saint Shiulla-who-bathes-with-beasts,’ Brasti swore. ‘Are those . . .
butterflies
?’

‘Blood moths,’ Talia replied. ‘That’s what the woman who took my coat called them.’

The swarm slowly flittered up into the sky. I followed as Talia approached the corpse of Saint Gan. With the moths gone, I could now see the dozens of tiny shallow cuts on the flesh of his arms, his chest, his legs.

‘The moths did this?’ Kest asked.

‘No,’ Talia replied, ‘the woman . . . There was some sort of ritual to all of this. She forced liquid through the opening in the mask – I don’t know what it was – and then took a knife and made those small incisions you can see all over his body. She was methodical about it – patient, I’d say. She had this box – a plain thing, really, made of something like sandalwood, and the blood moths were inside. They start out white as snow, but after she placed them on the wounds . . . they just sort of turned red. Not just the bodies, but the wings, too.’

‘But why?’ I asked. ‘What’s the point?’

She didn’t reply, but went back to reciting her story as though she had to get it out all at once or risk being unable to speak of it. ‘The moths just sit there, unmoving – I thought maybe they’d died from gorging themselves on the blood. But they aren’t dead. After a while, that crazy bitch would reach over and very carefully pick one off the body.’ Talia shuddered visibly. ‘Then she ate it.’

Ethalia, who had been silent for a very long time, said quietly, ‘This is what they did to Birgid.’

The way she said it transformed the words from an observation to a vow. She locked eyes with me, I think because she wanted me to see that the pale blue ocean that had once been there had hardened into its own kind of iron. Ethalia would do whatever was required to fulfil her role as the Saint of Mercy now. Everything else was in the past.

My thoughts were pulled back by the sound of Kest shattering the clasps on the mask of infamy covering Saint Gan’s face.

‘He looks . . .
ordinary
,’ Brasti said. ‘He could be any country drunk betting black pennies in the tavern.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ I said, but I was lying. I had no idea what the man tied to the tree looked like because I couldn’t see his face.

‘Falcio? What’s wrong?’ Ethalia asked.

‘I’m fine,’ I said.

‘You aren’t fine. You’re shaking . . .’ She reached out a hand to touch my face and her fingertips felt like burning embers. She stumbled back, breaking contact, gasping for breath. ‘The terror . . . it’s . . .’

‘It’s nothing,’ I said. It wasn’t true, of course, but that was all I could manage just then.

‘You’re white as a corpse, Falcio,’ Kest said. ‘I think you should . . .’

His words sounded further and further away, and I felt myself drifting closer to the body tied to the tree. When I stared into the man’s face I didn’t see Brasti’s country bumpkin; I saw my own face, staring in frozen agony at the cold, empty world. It was my broken body hanging from the tree.

Stop this
, I told myself.
That’s not you.
But I could feel the ropes binding me, so tight my arms and legs were numb. There was nothing but darkness. There was no land, no roads, no people, only the tree. Only the needles and the pain and the endless torment.

They’ve come to give me the Lament again.

*

‘What the hells is wrong with him?’ Allister’s voice was calling out.

Thin branches full of leaves were swatting at my face.

Odd. I don’t remember seeing any leaves on the tree.

The words of Heryn, the Dashini Unblooded who had overseen the Lament, repeated themselves over and over in my ears: ‘
Shall we begin?
’

Breathe
, I told myself, willing my heart to slow.
Heryn is dead. Darriana killed him. The Lament is over.

Over? What a foolish thing to say . . .

‘What’s going on?’ Talia asked.

‘It’s the Lament – the torture he experienced months ago,’ Ethalia said.

‘But he’s recovered,’ Brasti said.

‘No. He hides it, he holds it in, but the Lament is always with him.’

Distantly, I felt something inside her reach out to me, something that tried to ease the fear, and for a moment, I felt myself coming back – then Ethalia fell to her knees and again I was drawn back into it.

‘I’m not strong enough,’ she cried. ‘I can’t help him.’

It’s not the Lament
, I told myself.
You’re in a forest hundreds of miles from the place they held you. The Lament is over. It’s over. It’s
over
.

Someone slapped me hard across the face and only then did I realise it wasn’t the first time. I opened my eyes to see Kest, his face impassive, but behind his eyes I could see concern and sadness and guilt mixed together.

‘I’m fine,’ I said, pushing him away.

‘You’re anything but fine,’ Allister shouted. He turned to the others. ‘What in name of Saint Zaghev-who-sings-for-tears is going on with him?’

‘Leave it,’ Kest said. Even I could hear the warning in his voice now.

‘Well, the First Cantor can stand here until winter comes,’ Talia said, removing Brasti’s coat and handing it back to him, ‘but I’ve got work to do and I don’t feel like waiting around for Falcio to get his courage back.’

Though she didn’t elaborate on that work, I knew exactly what she meant. And I also knew the way she was speaking to me was intentional; it was the same way Allister spoke to me, testing boundaries. I reached down to help Ethalia up, but she shook her head and I knew it was because she wasn’t strong enough at that moment to endure my touch.

‘Falcio?’ Kest said, and we exchanged glances.

What was I supposed to do now, let Talia go off and start looking for revenge against anyone she could find? Did I even have the right to refuse her?

Of course you don’t have the right, you fool
, I cursed.
You have a Gods-damned
duty
to refuse her.

I looked at her and at Allister both. There was precious little admiration in the way they looked back at me and I couldn’t blame them. The Greatcoats had been disbanded for years and we’d all been apart ever since the King had died. Why should they listen to me now?

Because there’s a reason why the King named the Cantors, and, no matter how stupid and slow you are now, there’s a reason he made you the First.

‘Brasti, go back to the road and get Talia’s coat. Kest, help Ethalia, then go with him.’

Kest seemed to sense what was happening. ‘Falcio, I’m not sure that’s—’

‘Just do it,’ I said. ‘Consider it an order.’

Without further complaint, Kest gently lifted Ethalia by her shoulders and helped her make her way back to the road.

‘I’m not leaving her here,’ Brasti said.

Talia gave him a wan smile. ‘Why, Brasti Goodbow – have you decided that you love me after all this time?’

He looked at her awkwardly for a moment, then turned and went towards the road.

Talia shook her head. ‘Who would’ve thought . . .’ She looked up at me and any affection that had been in her voice disappeared. ‘Well, you might as well ask whatever it is you were too uncomfortable asking in front of Brasti. They didn’t rape or torture me, if that’s what you’re wondering. The woman burned my clothes. She kept saying I was
unclean
– which, given how long it’s been since I had a ba—’

‘I need to know if you’re a still a Greatcoat.’

Even before the words had finished leaving my mouth, Talia had let the tip of her spear drift down towards my chest. ‘I don’t know if you’re genuinely stupid, Falcio, or just tired of life.’

‘Both.’ I didn’t bother to push away the spearhead. ‘But I’m also the First Cantor of the King’s Greatcoats, so get your weapon out of my face and answer the damned question.’

The command struck her like a blow. For the first time since we’d found her, I saw tears in her eyes. ‘My name is Talia Venire,’ she said. ‘I am the King’s Spear and yes, you fucking sack of dirt, I am a Greatcoat.’

‘And you?’ I said to Allister.

He snorted. ‘Sorry, Falcio, but you don’t get to talk to me that way any more. From what I can see you’ve pretty much screwed up the whole—’

‘Either answer my question or take off the damned coat so I can give it to someone who can.’

Allister’s hand gripped his staff a fraction tighter and the iron-shod end twitched towards me a fraction.

Damn, but he’s quick.

‘You really think you’re fast enough to draw that rapier of yours on me the way you did with that idiot Knight? Who in all the hells do you think you are to tell the rest of us—’

‘I’m Falcio val Mond,’ I said, ‘called the King’s Heart, and, in case you’ve forgotten, I
am
the fucking First Cantor of the Greatcoats. So either answer my question or make your move and find out just how fast I can be.’

Allister’s jaw was so tight I could hear his teeth grinding.

He’ll go with the back of the staff first
, I thought.
He’ll feint with the top and then
—

Whatever move he was planning, he let it go and set the bottom of his staff against the ground. ‘My name is Allister Ivany. I was named the King’s Shadow, and yes, I’m still a Greatcoat.’

I let out the breath I’d been holding in for a long while. What replaced it was more guilt than relief. How long had the other Greatcoats spent on the road, reviled by one half of the country and hunted by the other half? Was dressing Talia and Allister down like this really the best way to remind them of who they were? Talia had been captured, beaten and forced to watch her brother tortured to death. Was I bringing her back, or breaking her spirit?

‘Well, you arse,’ Talia said, ‘we answered your damned question. Now what? Are you waiting for us to kneel down for you, too?’

Okay, not much danger of breaking
her
spirit.

‘Greatcoats don’t kneel,’ I said. ‘Kest, Brasti and I are going to find a sanctuary for Ethalia and then get to Aramor so we can put Aline on the throne before the whole country goes mad.’

Allister shook his head. ‘Do you really think a fourteen-year-old girl is going to—?’ He stopped abruptly. ‘All right. Tell us what you want us to do.’

‘If Greatcoats are being hunted, then we need to get the word out. Find the Bardatti – start with the ones from the inn if you have to, then go north. Tell them what’s happening, and find a way to gather the rest of the Greatcoats safely and bring them back to Aramor alive.’

‘How are we supposed to do that?’ Talia asked. ‘I’m not even sure that’s possible.’

‘It may not be,’ I admitted, ‘but you’re Greatcoats. Doing the impossible comes with the coat.’

*

While I waited for Kest and Brasti to return with Ethalia, I forced myself to look up at the dead Saint, wondering how long it would take until the features of his face stopped looking like my own, how long until I stopped feeling the ropes tight against my skin.

I glanced back over at Harden, who also wore my face.
It’s possible that you’ve been beaten, poisoned and tortured one too many times to ever hope to stay sane.

For some reason it bothered me that they’d stripped him naked. I wasn’t sure why, since it had likely been the least of Harden’s worries at the time. But something was gnawing at my thoughts.

‘Well, you’re not dead, so that’s something,’ Brasti said, approaching me with Kest and Ethalia alongside. ‘Though from the look on Talia and Allister’s faces you might want to sleep with your rapier next to you.’

Why not?
I thought, trying not to look at Ethalia.
No one else wants that spot any more.

It was a petty, small-minded thought. There were vastly worse things happening in the world than my love life. I could almost feel someone turning the screws, as if Heryn was still driving his little needles into my flesh.

Heryn’s dead. Stop conjuring him up. Leave the Lament behind. Focus on the next problem.

My vision of Aline came back to me, her words ringing loud in my ears. ‘You can’t beat him unless you see what isn’t there.’

So what isn’t here?

‘Falcio?’ Kest asked.

‘What?’

‘You’re drifting off again.’

‘I’m not . . . I . . . Something’s wrong. I’m missing something important.’

My eyes went back up to Harden’s naked corpse, wondering again what perverse satisfaction his killers had taken in stripping him bare, in taking his—

‘Hells!’ I shouted, ‘Harden’s greatcoat – where is it?’

‘Why? What does it matter now?’ Brasti asked, but Kest was already moving through the tents, knocking them over and rummaging through their contents.

‘I’m not finding anything but rags and bits of food,’ Kest said.

‘Maybe they burned it?’ Brasti suggested.

‘Check the firepit,’ I said, running to the centre of camp.

Brasti, Ethalia and I knelt down in front of the firepit and the three of us started running our hands through the ashes looking for any sign of Harden’s coat.

‘Falcio, there’s nothing here,’ Brasti said, showing me his blackened hands. ‘Even if they did burn Harden’s coat we’re not going to find anything.’

‘The buttons are gold, assuming Harden hadn’t already used them,’ Kest said, joining us.

Brasti stopped. ‘Even if he had them, the killers would’ve taken the gold, wouldn’t they?’

‘The buckles,’ I said, ‘the rivets – there’s metal all over our coats. Find
something
!’

‘There’s nothing here, Falcio. Saint Felsan-who-weighs-the-world, what’s wrong with you?’

‘Where was Aline headed after she left Baern?’ I asked Kest.
Please, tell me it’s Aramor. Tell me she went back to
—

‘The Ducal Palace of Luth,’ Kest replied. ‘She insisted on going ahead with the plan to visit each of the Duchies, to show everyone she’ll have their interests at heart when she rules.’

I was already on my feet before he finished his sentence and running back towards the road.

‘Falcio, what—?’

‘They took Harden’s coat,’ I shouted back.

‘So you think they’re laying more ambushes?’ Brasti asked, chasing after me. ‘Isn’t that what you sent Talia and Allister to deal with?’