Blood & Honey

Page 6

But the water never came. Instead, impossibly crisp air flooded my mouth, and with it, the sweetest relief. Though I still couldn’t see—though the cold remained debilitating—I could breathe. I could think. Coherency returned in a disorienting wave. I took another deep breath. Then another, and another. This—this was impossible. I was breathing underwater. Like Jonah’s fish. Like the melusines. Like— Like magic.

A sliver of disappointment pierced my chest. Inexplicable and swift. Despite the water around me, I felt . . . dirty, somehow. Sordid. I’d loathed magic my entire life, and now—now it was the only thing saving me from those I’d once called brothers. How had it come to this?

Voices broke around us, interrupting my thoughts. Clear ones. Each rang out as if we stood beside its owner on the shore, not moored beneath feet of water. More magic.

“God, I need a piss.”

“Not in the pool, you idiot! Go downstream!”

“Be quick about it.” A third voice, this one impatient. “Captain Toussaint expects us in the village soon. One last search, and we leave at first light.”

“Thank God he’s eager to return to his girl.” One of them rubbed his palms together against the cold. My brow furrowed. His girl? “Can’t say I’m sorry to leave this wretched place. Days of patrols with nothing to show for them except frostbite and—”

A fourth voice. “Are those . . . clothes?”

Lou’s fingernails drew blood now. I barely felt it. My heartbeat roared in my ears. If they examined the clothing, if they lifted my coat and shirt, they’d find my bandolier.

They’d find my Balisarda.

The voices grew louder as the men drew closer. “Two piles, it looks like.”

A pause.

“Well, they can’t be in there. The water is too cold.”

“They’d freeze to death.”

Behind sightless eyes, I imagined them inching closer to the water, searching its shallow blue depths for signs of life. But trees kept the pool shaded—even in the rising sun—and silt kept the water clouded. The snowfall would’ve covered our footsteps.

Finally, the first muttered, “No one can hold their breath this long.”

“A witch could.”

Another pause, this one longer than the last. More ominous. I held my breath, counted each rapid beat of my heart.

Tha-thump.

Tha-thump.

Tha-thump.

“But . . . these are men’s clothes. Look. Trousers.”

A haze of red cut through the unending blackness. If they found my Balisarda, I’d tear my feet from the silt by force. Even if it meant losing said feet.

Tha-thump.

Tha-thump.

I would not yield my Balisarda.

Tha-thump.

I’d incapacitate them all.

Tha-thump.

I would not lose it.

“Do you think they drowned?”

“Without their clothes?”

“You’re right. The more logical explanation is that they’re wandering around naked in the snow.”

Tha-thump.

“Perhaps a witch pulled them under.”

“By all means, go in and check.”

An indignant snort. “It’s freezing. And who knows what could be lurking in there? Anyway, if a witch did pull them under, they’ll have drowned by now. No sense in adding my corpse to the pile.”

“Some Chasseur you are.”

“I don’t see you volunteering.”

Tha-thump.

A distant part of my brain realized my heartbeat was slowing. It recognized the creeping cold down my arms, up my legs. It pealed a warning bell. Lou’s grip around my chest slowly loosened. I tightened my arms on her in response. Whatever she was doing to keep us breathing, to strengthen our hearing—it was draining her. Or perhaps it was the cold. Either way, I could feel her fading. I had to do something.

Instinctively, I sought the darkness I’d felt only once before. The chasm. The void. That place where I’d fallen as Lou lay dying, that place I’d carefully locked away and ignored. I fumbled to free it now, reaching blindly through my subconscious. But it wasn’t there. I couldn’t find it. Panic escalating, I tipped Lou’s head back and brought my mouth to hers. Forced my breath into her lungs. Still I searched, but there were no golden cords here. There were no patterns. There was only freezing water and sightless eyes and Lou—Lou’s head drooping against my arm, her grip slipping from my shoulders, her chest stilling against mine.

I shook her, my panic transforming to raw, debilitating fear, and wracked my brain for something—anything—I could do. Madame Labelle had mentioned balance. Perhaps—perhaps I could— Pain knifed through my lungs before I could finish the thought, and I gasped. Water flooded my mouth. My vision returned abruptly, and the silt around my feet disbanded, which meant— Lou had lost consciousness.

I didn’t pause to think, to watch the gold flickering in my periphery take shape. Clutching her limp body, I launched to the surface.


Pretty Porcelain


Lou


Heat radiated through my body. Slowly at first, then all at once. My limbs tingled almost painfully, nagging me back into consciousness. Cursing the pinpricks—and the snow, and the wind, and the coppery stench in the air—I groaned and opened my eyes. My throat felt raw, tight. Like someone had shoved a hot poker down it while I slept. “Reid?” The word came out a croak. I coughed—horrible, wet sounds that rattled my chest—and tried again. “Reid?”

Cursing when he didn’t respond, I rolled over.

A strangled shriek tore from my throat, and I reeled backward.

A lifeless Chasseur stared back at me. His skin was bloodless against the icy shore of the pool, as most of said blood had melted the snow beneath him, seeping into the earth and water. His three companions hadn’t fared much better. Their corpses littered the bank, surrounded by Reid’s discarded knives.

Reid.

“Fuck!” I scrambled to my knees, hands fluttering over the enormous, copper-haired figure on my other side. He lay facedown against the snow with his pants haphazardly laced, his arm and head shoved through his shirt as if he’d collapsed before he could finish dressing.

I rolled him over with another curse. His hair had frozen against his blood-spattered face, and his skin had turned an ashen blue-gray. Oh god.

Oh god oh god oh god

Pressing a frantic ear against his chest, I nearly wept with relief when I heard a heartbeat. It was weak, but it was there. My own heart pounded a traitorous beat in my ears—healthy and strong—and my own hair and skin were impossibly warm and dry. Realization swept through me in a wave of nausea. The idiot had almost killed himself trying to save me.

I flattened my palms against his chest, and gold exploded before me in a web of infinite possibilities. I skipped through them hastily—too panicked to delay, to think about the consequences—and stopped when a memory unfolded in my mind’s eye: my mother brushing my hair the night before my sixteenth birthday, the tenderness in her gaze, the warmth of her smile.

Warmth.

Be safe, my darling, while we part. Be safe until we meet again.

Will you remember me, Maman?

I could never forget you, Louise. I love you.

Flinching at her words, I yanked at the golden cord, and it twisted beneath my touch. The memory changed within my mind. Her eyes hardened into chips of emerald ice, and she sneered at the hope in my expression, the desperation in my voice. My sixteen-year-old face fell. Tears welled.

Of course I do not love you, Louise. You are the daughter of my enemy. You were conceived for a higher purpose, and I will not poison that purpose with love.

Of course. Of course she hadn’t loved me, even then. I shook my head, disoriented, and clenched my fist. The memory dissolved into golden dust, and its warmth flooded over and into Reid. His hair and clothing dried in a burst of heat. Color returned to his skin, and his breathing deepened. His eyes drifted open as I attempted to shove his other arm through his sleeve.

“Stop giving me your body heat,” I snapped, tugging his shirt down his abdomen viciously. “You’re killing yourself.”

“I—” Dazed, he blinked several times, taking in the bloody scene around us. The color he’d regained in his skin vanished at the sight of his dead brethren.

I turned his face toward mine, cupping his cheeks and forcing him to hold my gaze. “Focus on me, Reid. Not them. You need to break the pattern.”

His eyes widened as he stared at me. “I—I don’t know how.”

“Just relax,” I coaxed, pushing his hair off his forehead. “Visualize the cord linking us in your mind, and let it go.”

“Let it go.” He laughed, but the sound was strangled. It held no mirth. “Right.”

Shaking his head, he closed his eyes in concentration. After a long moment, the heat pulsing between us ceased, replaced by the bitter bite of cold, wintry air. “Good,” I said, feeling that cold deep down in my bones. “Now tell me what happened.”

His eyes snapped open, and in that brief second, I saw a flash of raw, unadulterated pain. It made my breath catch in my throat. “They wouldn’t stop.” He swallowed hard and averted his gaze. “You were dying. I had to get you to the surface. But they recognized us, and they wouldn’t listen—” Just as quickly as it’d come, the pain in his eyes vanished, snuffed out as the flame of a candle. An unsettling emptiness replaced it. “I didn’t have a choice,” he finished in a voice as hollow as his eyes. “It was you or them.”

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