Like the gauntlet, the swords lay on velvet-wrapped cushions. They were beautiful blades, and my heart leaped into my mouth at the sight of them.
I stammered something incoherent, possibly something about not being worthy of the blades, and Nuriye laughed. "You're not," she said, "Which is why I expect you to bring them back."
That made me blush, that vote of confidence. It was the nicest thing someone had said to me in some time. Funny how that sort of thing can spin your world so readily.
"Thanks," I said.
Nuriye nodded and shut the case. "Thank you, Lightbreaker. Your curse is about to become a gift to others. That may be the finest choice you ever make." She bowed her head, and the Chorus-for once-was completely silent.
The tiny room that had held the Grail seemed darker and smaller without the presence of the Cup, but there was a fine radiance gleaming from the portraits on the wall. Each of the figures was outlined in a luminescent halo, a dusty glow like the sort of iridescence found on fungal growths in deep caves.
Vivienne had changed into ceremonial robes, a simple frock of white and silver that left her arms bare. Her hair was down, cascading like a river of gold down her back, and on the inside of either arm were tattoos of stars. Constellations of her own invention, star charts for realms fixed in her imagination.
She stood next to the basin, and it was filled with something other than water now. Shiny, and less fluid than water, but not as stiff as Jell-O. "Aqua vitae," she said as I peered at the surface of the liquid.
"Really?"
She favored me with the sort of smile a patient parent gives their underperforming child.
"Right," I said, straightening up. I rested my hands-both of them-on the rim of the basin. "Are you ready to do this?"
Her smile faltered slightly, and she swallowed. "Yes."
Vivienne was going to take all three spirits from me. There were a number of ways this exchange could go horribly wrong, not the least of which was me accidentally breaking her spirit. But Vivienne had argued if anyone was going to be put at risk, it was going to be her. And only her. She would take all three, and if she determined that she could pass them on to other daughters, she would consider it.
I hadn't mentioned that I doubted they would stay very long. I had a feeling the construction of the Chorus was what had enabled the Architects to stick around. Without that web, they would fade into the subconscious of whomever held them. Whether or not Vivienne kept what knowledge they still had was up to her. And them, I suppose.
I couldn't quite tell, but I had the feeling that Philippe wasn't as pissed about this as I had thought he would be. Lafoutain welcomed the transfer, and the impression I got from Cristobel was that the arrangement was more than satisfactory. Philippe was, I think, still reserving judgment. On both me and his fellow Architects.
Or not. For all I knew, we were still unwinding along the path he had laid out for us. I didn't know anymore, and I think-more than anything-that was all he had wanted from me. All his obfuscation had only been intended to keep me from doing what I thought he wanted me to do. You will be your own agent; that is all you will ever be.
Sometimes, what he said is what he meant. Which only makes everything he says that much more convoluted.
Vivienne put her hands on the edge of the basin as well, and stood there expectantly, waiting for something to happen. I took a few slow breaths-in through the nose, out through my mouth-until she caught the hint and started to mirror me. Once we synced up with the breathing, I began to slow them down, making each exhalation last a little longer; and with each inhalation, I took in a little more of the light in the room. Each time, a little more of her innocence died; each time, we got closer and closer to the ragged edge of the Abyss.
With each cycle, I broke a little more of her mental defenses down, and the change was so gradual, so incremental, that by the time she realized the Chorus was in her head-what I know, I pass to you; what you know, passes to me; Father, daughter, Holy Spirit; let these secrets be revealed-we were already done.
For a moment, I felt their reunion-father and daughter-and was filled with an overwhelming sensation that I had done the right thing.
Nuriye's hair stirred about her face. I had expected it to be windier at the top of the tower, but the atmospheric pressure was so heavy that nothing more than a thin breeze could survive. She faced east, looking toward the glowing white shape of Sacre-C?ur on Montmartre. Her cheeks were damp, and though there were goosebumps on her bare arms, she didn't seem cold. At her feet, in one of the clear spots on the roof, was a white circle, filled with squirming sigils.
"The light is coming," she said, nodding toward the faint line splitting the eastern horizon as Vivienne and I joined her. "It is nearly time."
"Right," I said, adjusting my grip on the case with the swords. "I guess I'd better get on with it then." I hesitated for a second as Vivienne touched my arm.
"Nothing has changed," she said, and I shivered at the echo in her voice. That echo of other egos, and I wondered again if that was how everyone heard my voice or if I was more sensitive to the sound. "The events that have led us to this place have not been undone. There is still culpability and responsibility for the choices that have been made. Innocents died because of the actions of those who were entrusted with the secrets."
"I know," I said. "We all still have a lot to answer for."
She looked at the gauntlet attached to my arm for a moment, and then her gaze moved up to my face. "Nevertheless," she said. "We may stand up in here in the open air because of your gift. Thank you."
I nodded. "You are welcome." I looked at Nuriye. "All of you."
Nuriye pointed toward the white shape of Sacre-C?ur. "The circle is calibrated to land you on the roof, near the statue of St. George and the dragon. There is an observation tower-a tourist lookout-nearby, with stairs that lead down to the side of the main chapel. You are still outside, but, at least, you are not at the bottom of the steps."
"Close enough," I said.
"I have called Viator Vraillet. Do you know him?" When I nodded, Nuriye continued. "He is friend of the family, and is willing to do us a favor in that memory."
"That is very kind of him."
"He won't kill any of his brothers. At least, no more than he has already. But he will aid you as best he can."
"Hopefully, it won't come to that."
"I hope so too," Nuriye said. She raised her face to the heavy clouds overhead, and the wind toyed with her hair again. Vivienne's long blonde hair danced around her shoulders, crackling with static electricity. "The wind is changing," Nuriye said.
The blackness of Heaven was fading, and the gray clouds that had besieged Paris for the last day were breaking up, fleeing the dawn. As if they knew what was going to happen in less than an hour. One way or another, the Land would make a choice.
It was too bad that I was probably going to miss the turning of the season.
Nuriye was thinking the same thing, but she kept the thought off her face-mostly-as she raised her fingers to her lips. She kissed them, and knelt to activate the circle. The white writing glowed bright, and the thrum of magick crystallized into the round sigil written onto the roof. The Chorus touched the conduit between the circle and its destination; they could sense the golden statue of the angel and the dragon on the roof of Sacre-C?ur.
"It is ready," Nuriye announced, as she stepped back from the flight circle. She kissed her fingers once more and touched them to the edge of my metal wrist, and the electric touch of her blessing lit the trailing edge of the Chorus. "Good luck," she said.
I smiled at her as I took a step forward and felt the tingle of the circle's magick take hold of my leg. I met Vivienne's gaze, and saw the glimmer of her Chorus watching me, and I nodded farewell to them. Salve, patres. Nunc, meam viam indagabo.