The Devils (The Devils, #1)

by Joe Abercrombie

‘Brother Diaz?’ He groaned, dawn stabbing at him with such painful brightness he had to lift a limp hand to shield his eyes. Light of many colours glittered about a dark figure. An angelic visitation? Was he dreaming? Was he dying? He had a gnawing worry that an interview at the gates of heaven wouldn’t go well for him. ‘Brother Diaz?’ When he realised it wasn’t an angel but Princess Alexia, his first feeling was relief at avoiding divine judgement, his second dismay as he remembered the miles and the danger that still lay ahead, his third confusion as he saw the princess had an expression of intense shock and he was lying on something very warm. Something gently rising and falling. Something that made the faintest throaty growl with each breath. ‘Gah!’ He tore free of the blanket, scrambling up only to realise, as Alex’s eyes went even wider, that he wore nothing but the vial of Saint Beatrix, an absurdly inappropriate accessory under the circumstances. He grabbed for the blanket, then saw he couldn’t whip it across his nakedness without exposing Vigga’s in all its tattooed majesty and was obliged to cup his private parts with both hands instead. ‘I can explain!’ he said. Alex looked to Vigga, starting to wriggle faintly under the blanket, then back to Brother Diaz, then down at his cupped hands, her face twisting into an expression of doubt so intense it verged on pity. ‘Really?’ He stood a moment, mouth open, hoping, perhaps, for divine inspiration. But no man had ever ...