“The hellequin,” I whisper.
“The hellequin. They wish to atone for their sins and find redemption. I believe sparing thousands of lives will grant them that.”
The bishop clears his throat. “Can they be trusted to ride on such a mission without you leading them?”
Slowly, Mortain turns to face the bishop, causing the other man to flinch. The grim acceptance in his eyes causes a dark ribbon of unease to unfurl inside me, even before he speaks. “I will be leading them.”
Father Effram steps forward, his hands clasped together and his head bowed in deep obeisance. “My lord, you do know what will happen if you choose to involve yourself in mortal affairs, do you not?”
Mortain looks at the old priest, almost as if he is surprised by his question. “I do,” he says.
When no one says anything further, I cannot contain myself. “What? What will happen if you involve yourself in the affairs of mortals?”
Mortain looks back down at the map, avoiding my eyes. “Then I will die as one.”
The duchess offers to prepare a chamber for Mortain, but he politely declines. We now stand up on the ramparts with the warm summer wind buffeting at our hair. “You cannot do it!” I tell him.
“You can give your life for your country but I cannot give my life for yours?”
“The weight of your life is far different from that of mine, measured out in centuries rather than simply years.”
He turns away from me. “I have learned that the quality of life is not determined by its longevity. And I would argue that your life is worth more than mine. At least to me. Besides, the world is changing and the age of gods coming to an end. Just as smaller kingdoms are being devoured by larger ones, so too are we gods being assimilated by the One God. Our time is drawing to a close.” Almost as an afterthought, he swivels his head around and scowls down at me. “Do you think so very poorly of my military skills that you are certain we will fail?”
“No! But the whole reason you and the hellequin will be riding out is to save others from certain death. The nature of the mission hasn’t changed—it is most likely a one-way ride. The only thing that has changed is that you will be going, and I am not certain if I can bear it if you don’t return.” Saying such things makes me feel slightly foolish, for we have not talked of a future together. Well, except for the suggestion that I join him in the Underworld.
However, if he is gone, I will be utterly alone, without even Mortain’s presence to sustain me with his strength and courage as he did when I was a child, for the god will have stepped fully into the mortal world.
But, I remind myself, that is his choice to make, just as being the one to fire the arrow is my choice to make, and so I keep silent.
“What will you do?” he asks. “After.” He does not say after he has died, but the words sit heavy in the night air.
I stop and think. What will I do? I have given no thought beyond our goal. The answer comes to me, unexpected and surprising. “I shall return to the convent.” I pull his hand into mine and squeeze it. “I will return to the convent and tell the others of their father, and what sort of man—and god—he was.”
I have surprised him. After a moment’s silence, he smiles. It is white and dazzling and rips my soul fair in two.
“And then?”
“And then? I do not know.”
He looks down at our entwined hands. “I will wait for you. Before passing on to whatever is next, I will wait for you in the realm of death so we may travel there together.”
My eyes burn with the unexpectedness of his gift. “No,” I say fiercely. “I do not want you to suffer any longer than you must. You have already been stuck there an eternity.”
He smiles. “I will not be suffering.” He reaches out and places his palm upon my chest, over my heart. “You will always open to me. Through you, I will watch my daughters grow, feel the life flowing through your veins, bask in the love that fills your heart. It will pass like no time at all.”
He pulls me into his arms then, our time for talking over. He lowers his lips to mine, placing them over my mouth gently, our kiss bearing the weight of a thousand we may never have.
Chapter Fifty-Four
THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, in a distant corner of the city, just as the sun begins to drop low in the sky, the hellequin begin trickling over the city walls, using the very same ladder that the French used to breach our defenses. They come spilling over, a shadowed, rippling darkness that makes no noise. The air itself seems to recoil at their presence, and the few soldiers who witness it cross themselves, the utter paleness of their faces giving voice to their fear even though they do not.
My eyes go immediately to Balthazaar. He is at his most human, wearing black leather and chain mail. His cheeks are covered in dark stubble, disguising somewhat his otherworldly pallor.
Fifty of them have volunteered for this mission, including many that I know: Begard, Malestroit, Sauvage, and Miserere, who is the last to scale the wall. I try to assure myself that their presence has nothing to do with their knowing or caring about me—they are hellequin and have assured me dozens of times that they care for no mortal; they are intent only on redemption. Half will be escorting me, and the other half—led by Miserere—will be raiding on the French supply wagons, the diversion they have settled upon.
They will not be coming back. Their only role is to provide us an escape route to allow us to get from the king’s tent back to the postern gate and the safety of the city walls.
Beast has found four charbonnerie to accompany us, their mission to get to the cannon and use them against our enemy and buy us time.
The Arduinnites too have joined us and have offered their archers to act as cover when needed. As they are the best archers in the land, we gladly take them up on it.
Marshal Rieux has secured the strongest, fastest, and most skilled horses to be found in the city, but Aeva surprises me by dismounting and leading her horse to me. “Here,” she says. “Ride this one.”
While it is kind of her—and she is rarely kind—I politely decline. “I wish to ride Fortuna, for she has been with me since the beginning of my journey.”
“My offer is not a slight against Fortuna, who is a fine horse. But my horse has been trained in the ways that Arduinna does battle and has some skills that even the noble Fortuna does not.”
“What sorts of skills?” I ask, intrigued in spite of myself.
“If you whistle, like this”—she puts two fingers in her mouth and lets loose a piercing note—“she will come to you. And if you press your knees and twitch the reins just so”—she demonstrates—“she will stumble and appear to fall, putting your opponent off-guard.” She goes on to show me a half a dozen tricks the horse knows, and in the end, I realize I cannot refuse her offer. Too much depends upon this mission’s success.