Malachai's Arc

Chapter 5 of 11

Malachai left his brother on the altar step and walked down the nave. The great doors stood open. Cold air moved past him and stirred the smell of iron in the hall. He stepped out under the arch of the black stone temple. Red light bled from the crimson windows above and painted the stones at his feet. He almost missed her. She lay against the base of a pillar with her legs folded under her, one arm bent at a bad angle. A white shirt clung to her ribs, soaked through. Her hair was black and stuck to her cheek. Her boots were dark with someone else's blood. She was still breathing. Small, wet breaths. Malachai knelt in front of her. He knew her face from the congregation. She had been near the front bench. She had used a candlestick. He had watched her bring it down on the man beside her, then on two others who tried to run. The man had been her husband. She had said his name once before the first blow. "Look at me," Malachai said. Her eyes opened. Dark, tired, clear. "Deborah," he said. He remembered it now. "You did well." Her mouth moved. No sound. "You gave him four. Four souls with your own hands. The master saw it. He counted every one." He brushed the hair off her face. "He is pleased with you." A sound came out of her that might have been a laugh. Blood slid from the corner of her mouth. "You did more tonight than my brother did in ten years," Malachai said. He leaned in and kissed her. Her lips were slick and warm. He held her jaw and did not hurry. When he drew back he licked the blood from her lower lip, then from the corner of her mouth. She watched him the whole time. She did not flinch. "You are not going to die here," he said. "I have a use for you." He slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back. She cried out once when he lifted her. He carried her down the temple steps and out past the carved doors. Her head rested against his collarbone. Her breath dampened the bone of his coat. He thought of the empty seat at his own altar. Shae's chain. Shae's book. A priest was a tool the master needed sharpened and kept. This one had already drawn blood without being told. She would learn faster than his brother ever had. "Stay awake," he said. "You have work in the morning." Her fingers closed weakly on the front of his coat. Malachai carried her home. The count sat at his back, patient. Diablo's warmth pressed behind his eyes, curious about the woman in his arms, waiting to taste what she would bring him next.