Read Online Saint's Blood: The Greatcoats Book 3 by Sebastien De Castell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sebastien De Castell
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Brasti. ‘Someone decided to shoot an arrow about a hair’s-breadth from the cleric’s hand, and might have followed up with some rather . . . elaborate threats. It triggered something of a diplomatic incident. Neither the clerics nor Duchess Ossia were pleased.’
I looked at Brasti, who didn’t look even the faintest bit embarrassed. ‘You were unconscious, and everybody else was useless. So I asked myself, “What would Falcio do in this situation?” and I thought, “Well, he’d draw a weapon and make some kind of dramatic pronouncement, wouldn’t he?”’
It’s hard to know what to say to something like that, so I just said, ‘Come here.’
He looked up at me, eyes narrowed. ‘What? Why?’
‘Just come here.’
He did, slowly, warily as if he thought I might hit him. When he got close enough I grabbed him in both arms and hugged him. See, the thing about Brasti’s idea of friendship is, it’s completely unconstrained by logic or forethought. He doesn’t stop to wonder about the consequences of his actions. He just does whatever it is he thinks you’d want him to do for you in that situation. ‘Some days I love you,’ I said.
He started patting me awkwardly on the back. ‘Um . . . all right. Let’s not make a thing of it, shall we?’
I found myself laughing for the first time since this latest mess began. I let him go and turned to Kest. ‘So in the six days I’ve been unconscious, the Saint of Mercy has slipped into a coma, we’ve been consigned to some half-deserted martyrium and Brasti has shot a cleric.’
‘I barely grazed the skin of his hand,’ Brasti clarified. ‘He’s still perfectly capable of praying. Maybe even more so, now.’
‘There’s actually one more thing,’ Kest said, and led the way down a path that went around the side of the sanctuary. Through the sparse growth of trees we could see the main gates of the martyrium, where a great crowd of people covered the grassy field outside. Some were huddling around makeshift tents, others were kneeling by the gates with their hands clasped together, and many just stood there, staring through the gates. None of them looked very happy.
CHAPTER NINE
The Evidence
‘Who in all the hells are they?’ I asked, staring at the mass of humanity outside the martyrium.
‘Pilgrims, if you can believe it,’ Brasti replied. ‘Around a hundred of them.’
‘Word of the attack on Birgid spread quickly,’ Kest added. ‘People from all over the Duchy have been coming here – some are praying for her blessing and some are protesting.’
‘Protesting what?’
Brasti snorted. ‘Whatever the nearest cleric is telling them to protest.’ He pointed at a man in dirty orange robes standing in the centre of a particularly large group. ‘That one appears to think the attack on Birgid is a conspiracy by the Greatcoats to destroy the Saints.’
Of course, because when in doubt, blame a Greatcoat.
‘You can’t really fault them on that, can you?’ a voice called out from behind us and Jillard, Duke of Rijou, resplendent in a purple and silver coat, his black hair freshly oiled and looking entirely out of place, walked through the overgrown vegetation to join us. ‘After all, by my count you’ve killed not one but two Saints of Swords now.’
I always find it difficult to think of what to say to a man who’s tried on multiple occasions to have me killed and who still has no compunction about inserting himself into my affairs. ‘You look . . . well, your Grace,’ I said finally.
‘You look much as you always do, Falcio,’ Jillard replied. ‘Beaten, bloody, and confused by the world.’
Damn – why does he always sound so much cleverer than I do? ‘While I’m gratified at your concern for my wellbeing, I’m rather busy at the—’
‘I rather thought you might want to have a little chat about this.’ The Duke took a cloth bundle from inside his coat. He unwrapped it, letting the cloth drift down to the ground,
I looked at Brasti, who didn’t look even the faintest bit embarrassed. ‘You were unconscious, and everybody else was useless. So I asked myself, “What would Falcio do in this situation?” and I thought, “Well, he’d draw a weapon and make some kind of dramatic pronouncement, wouldn’t he?”’
It’s hard to know what to say to something like that, so I just said, ‘Come here.’
He looked up at me, eyes narrowed. ‘What? Why?’
‘Just come here.’
He did, slowly, warily as if he thought I might hit him. When he got close enough I grabbed him in both arms and hugged him. See, the thing about Brasti’s idea of friendship is, it’s completely unconstrained by logic or forethought. He doesn’t stop to wonder about the consequences of his actions. He just does whatever it is he thinks you’d want him to do for you in that situation. ‘Some days I love you,’ I said.
He started patting me awkwardly on the back. ‘Um . . . all right. Let’s not make a thing of it, shall we?’
I found myself laughing for the first time since this latest mess began. I let him go and turned to Kest. ‘So in the six days I’ve been unconscious, the Saint of Mercy has slipped into a coma, we’ve been consigned to some half-deserted martyrium and Brasti has shot a cleric.’
‘I barely grazed the skin of his hand,’ Brasti clarified. ‘He’s still perfectly capable of praying. Maybe even more so, now.’
‘There’s actually one more thing,’ Kest said, and led the way down a path that went around the side of the sanctuary. Through the sparse growth of trees we could see the main gates of the martyrium, where a great crowd of people covered the grassy field outside. Some were huddling around makeshift tents, others were kneeling by the gates with their hands clasped together, and many just stood there, staring through the gates. None of them looked very happy.
CHAPTER NINE
The Evidence
‘Who in all the hells are they?’ I asked, staring at the mass of humanity outside the martyrium.
‘Pilgrims, if you can believe it,’ Brasti replied. ‘Around a hundred of them.’
‘Word of the attack on Birgid spread quickly,’ Kest added. ‘People from all over the Duchy have been coming here – some are praying for her blessing and some are protesting.’
‘Protesting what?’
Brasti snorted. ‘Whatever the nearest cleric is telling them to protest.’ He pointed at a man in dirty orange robes standing in the centre of a particularly large group. ‘That one appears to think the attack on Birgid is a conspiracy by the Greatcoats to destroy the Saints.’
Of course, because when in doubt, blame a Greatcoat.
‘You can’t really fault them on that, can you?’ a voice called out from behind us and Jillard, Duke of Rijou, resplendent in a purple and silver coat, his black hair freshly oiled and looking entirely out of place, walked through the overgrown vegetation to join us. ‘After all, by my count you’ve killed not one but two Saints of Swords now.’
I always find it difficult to think of what to say to a man who’s tried on multiple occasions to have me killed and who still has no compunction about inserting himself into my affairs. ‘You look . . . well, your Grace,’ I said finally.
‘You look much as you always do, Falcio,’ Jillard replied. ‘Beaten, bloody, and confused by the world.’
Damn – why does he always sound so much cleverer than I do? ‘While I’m gratified at your concern for my wellbeing, I’m rather busy at the—’
‘I rather thought you might want to have a little chat about this.’ The Duke took a cloth bundle from inside his coat. He unwrapped it, letting the cloth drift down to the ground,
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