Their breathing created white frost clouds in the air, and all around them was silent.
Even the wolves had ceased their howling, waiting for the victor to be declared.
Hargreaves was not a swordsman, but it was clear that St. Silas was winning.
Martin was an older man now. His footwork had slowed, his breath tearing out in gasps. And although St. Silas’s attacks lacked the rhythm of a highly trained swordfighter, his energy was undiminishing, and his strength clear. More than once, he forced Martin to reel backward under the power of his assault.
Hargreaves began to wonder if the rumors that swirled about the Saint of Silence’s lack of proficiency with a sword were deliberately untrue, likely put about by St. Silas himself to gain an advantage…
Percy’s linen shirt had been drenched in crimson. He’d looked down at it mutely, touched his abdomen, then looked back up at Hargreaves. His eyes were beseeching—
It was time.
Hargreaves deftly put away his pistol and switched his sword to his dominant hand, his boots crunching the frost as he walked to the two fighters. St. Silas’s attention was focused on Martin’s strikes, leaving his back entirely exposed. Hargreaves knew that the Al-Sayer boy was watching him, but it was too late now.
Hargreaves readied his sword, the murky sunlight glinting off the steel.
“St. Silas, your back!” Al-Sayer shouted.
St. Silas turned—too late. Hargreaves had already lurched forward, slicing a jagged tear along St. Silas’s left flank.
A grunt.
St. Silas’s weapon clattered to the ground as he clutched his side, pain twisting his face.
It was done.
Despite Hargreaves giving clear orders the previous evening for Martin to cease his attacks once Hargreaves struck, Martin still made a final charge toward St. Silas, lifting his sword with deadly intent.
Hargreaves should have predicted this. Martin was now enthralled by the idea of St. Silas’s death, burying all his secrets with him.
A gunshot sounded, shattering the air like glass.
Beside Hargreaves, Martin crumpled sideways onto the ground, blood pouring from his shoulder in rivulets, marking the snow like a butcher’s stockroom. His body lay unmoving, and Hargreaves could not say for sure if he still breathed.
Reckless fool.
Hargreaves did not spare Martin another glance. Alive or dead, he never suffered a fool.
Instead, his attention swung back to St. Silas, who hadwithdrawn a second pistol hidden inside his right boot, holding it in one hand and his wounded side with the other. Smoke still coiled from the muzzle, from the shot that felled Martin.
“Drop the sword,” St. Silas said, punctuating each word like an attack.
Hargreaves allowed the blade to fall from his hand, the crimson on the steel splattering the snow. He knew that he should’ve searched Bram at the start of the duel for both the red diary and a concealed weapon, but being so close to such a ferocious beast, even with a pistol in his own hand, did not bode well for Hargreaves. Instead, he’d waited until he had a chance to weaken St. Silas entirely. A hidden weapon complicated Hargreaves’s plan, but did not ruin it.
In his peripheral vision, he saw the Al-Sayer boy drop to his knees, stretching his arm to reach for Hargreaves’s discarded blade.
“My apologies, Bramwell,” Hargreaves began. St. Silas’s eyes hardened at the use of his given name.
St. Silas struggled to his feet, the pistol still firm in his hand. “I have one bullet left, Hargreaves. I would be very wise with my next words, if I were you.”
The snow had begun to fall with force, as if attempting to shroud their shame.
“My sword—the very same one that sliced you—was coated with rare demon poison.” Hargreaves watched St. Silas’s expression, but there was neither a flicker to his eyelids nor a tightening of his brows. If he was afraid, he did not show it. “Without the antidote, you will be in your grave in less than a week.”
Silence.
The weight of Hargreaves’s own actions bore down on him. For a moment he did not see the Saint of Silence, but a small child with two missing front teeth, showing him the birdhouse he was building in a tree.
