by Jay Kristoff
“‘Wait here,’ de Coste ordered. ‘Touch nothing.’
“The lad stepped through another set of doors, and I caught the familiar song of hammer and anvil beyond. I saw figures in leather aprons, muscular arms glinting in forgefire. I ached with homesickness at the sight. I missed my sister Celene, Mama, oui, even my papa. I supposed I needed to stop calling him such in my head, but Seven Martyrs, that was easier said than done. I’d lived my whole life thinking of Raphael Castia as my father. Never once guessing I was the son of a real monster.
“As the heavy doors swung shut behind Aaron, I stepped closer to the longblades, marveling at their beauty. Each pommel was decorated with a sevenstar, the crossguards all some variation of the Redeemer hanged upon his wheel, or angels at wing. But the silver patterns in each blade were like whorls in lengths of fine timber; each subtly different from the next. I reached for the closest sword, and brushing the back of my hand against the edge, I was rewarded with a sliver of pain and a thin line of red across my skin.
“Razor sharp.
“‘You have fine taste,’ came a deep voice behind me.
“I turned, startled to find a young Sūdhaemi man watching me. He’d entered the hall through a second door, lithe as a cat and quiet as a mouse. He was in his early twenties, ebon-skinned like all his folk. He wore no tattoos on his flesh, but the scorched hairs on his forearms and the leather apron he wore told me this young man was a smith, through and through. He was tall, crushingly handsome, hair worn in short, knotted braids. Striding across the hall, he took the sword from my hand.
“‘Who told you how to test a blade like that?’ he asked, nodding to my cut.
“‘A swordsman’s strength rests in his arm. But his finesse lies in his fingers. You don’t risk them on the blade’s edge. My papa told me that.’ I caught myself then, clenching my teeth. ‘Well … the man I thought was my papa, anyway…’
“He nodded, soft understanding in his eyes. ‘What’s your name, boy?’
“‘Gabriel de León, my lord.’
“The young man laughed then, so deep and loud I felt it in my own chest. ‘I’m no lord. Although I am his devoted servant. Baptiste Sa-Ismael, Brother of the Hearth and Blackthumb of the Silver Order, at your service.’
“‘Blackthumb?’
“Baptiste grinned. ‘It’s Forgemaster Argyle’s expression. They say a man with a love for growing things has a green thumb. So we with a love for the anvil and the fire and the rule of steel…?’ The smith shrugged. Cutting the air with the longsword, he smiled at it fondly. ‘You’ve a keen eye. This is one of my favorites.’
“‘You forged all these?’
“‘Only some. My brother smiths crafted the rest. Every blade in this hall was made for recruits like you. A tiny piece of the maker’s heart left in every blade. And once forged and cooled and kissed farewell, the silversteel waits here for the hand of its master.’
“‘Silversteel,’ I repeated, enjoying the word on my tongue. ‘How is it made?’
“Baptiste’s grin widened. ‘We all of us have secrets within these walls, Gabriel de León. And that secret belongs to the Brothers of the Hearth.’
“‘I have no secrets.’
“‘Then you’re not trying hard enough,’ he chuckled.
“At first, I suspected he might’ve been mocking me, but there was a warmth in the blackthumb’s eyes I took an instant liking to. Folding his arms, he looked me over, toe to crown. ‘De León, eh? Strange…’
“Turning to the weapons behind us, Baptiste walked down the row. Almost reverently, he took a blade from the wall. And returning to me, he placed it in my hands.
“‘I forged this beauty only last month. I knew not for who. Until now.’
“I looked at him in utter disbelief. ‘… Truly?’
“In my shaking hands was the most beautiful sword I’d ever seen in my life. Eloise, the Angel of Retribution, was wrought on the hilt, her wings flowing about her like silver ribbons. Bright whorls of silver rippled along the blade’s darker steel, and I could see beautiful script from the Testaments engraved down the length.
“KNOW MY NAME, YE SINNERS, AND TREMBLE. FOR I AM COME AMONG THEE AS A LION AMONG LAMBS.
“I met Baptiste’s dark eyes and saw him smile. ‘I think perhaps I dreamed of you, Gabriel de León. I think perhaps your coming was ordained.’
“‘My God,’ I said, all awonder. ‘Does … does it have a name?’
“‘Swords are only tools. Even those wrought of silversteel. And a man who names his weapon is a man who dreams others will one day know his name too.’
“Baptiste glanced about us, his eyes twinkling as he leaned close to whisper.
“‘I call mine Sunlight.’
“I shook my head, unsure what to say. No blacksmith’s boy under heaven had ever dreamed of owning a sword as peerless as this. ‘I’ve … I’ve no way to thank you.’
“Baptiste’s mood grew somber. His eyes were far away then, as if lost in distant shadow. ‘Kill something monstrous with it,’ he said.
“‘There you are…’ came a voice.
“I turned and found Aaron de Coste at the door he’d left by. The dark mood that had fallen on Smith Baptiste vanished as if it had never been, and he strode across the room, arms open. ‘Still alive, you bastard!’
“Aaron grinned as he was caught up in the older boy’s bear hug. It was the first genuine smile I think I’d ever seen on his face. ‘Good to see you, brother.’
“‘Of course it is! It’s me!’ Baptiste released Aaron from his embrace, nose wrinkling. ‘Sweet Mothermaid, you stink of horse though. Time for a bath, methinks.’
“‘Such is my intent. Once this filthy peasant is situated. You,’ Aaron growled. ‘Little Kitten. Come grab your damned gear.’
“De Coste carried black leathers, a heavy greatcoat, stout boots with silvered heels like his. Without ceremony, he dumped the lot onto the floor. But I’d no interest in new boots or britches. Instead, I hefted my magnificent new sword, testing the balance.
“The silversteel gleamed in the dim light; the angel on the crossguard seemed to smile at me. The uncertainty I’d felt as I stepped into the monastery faded just a breath, the thought of home made me ache just a little less. I knew I had much to learn; that in a place like this, I had to walk before I ran. But truth was, despite the sin I was born of, the monster that lived inside me, I still felt God was with me. This sword was proof of that. It was as if the smiths of San Michon knew I was coming. As if I were fated to be there. I looked down at the beautiful scripture on my new blade, mouthing the words to myself.
“I AM COME AMONG THEE AS A LION AMONG LAMBS.
“‘Lionclaw,’ I whispered.
“‘Lionclaw,’ Baptiste repeated, stroking his chin. ‘I like it.’
“The smithy handed me a belt, a scabbard, a sharp silversteel dagger to match the blade he’d gifted me—the Angel of Retribution spreading her beautiful wings along the crossguard. And looking at the sword in my hand, I vowed I’d be worthy of it. That I would slay something monstrous with it. That I’d not just walk. Not just run.
“No, in this place, I’d fucking fly.”
VII
SHAPED LIKE HEARTBREAK
“IT WAS LATE afternoon of that first day when I met her.
“I’d washed the filth of the road away in the bathhouse, changed into my new gear. Black leather britches and tunic, heavy boots, knee-high and silver-heeled. The soles were embossed with the sevenstar, and I realized I’d leave the mark of the Martyrs wherever I walked. In casting off my old clothes, in some way I was casting off what I’d been. I’d no idea what I might become yet. But as I returned to Barracks, I found Abbot Khalid waiting, a smile in his eyes to match the one that haunted his cutthroat’s face.
“‘Come with me, Little Lion. I’ve a gift for you.’
“I followed the abbot to the gatehouse, marveling at the sheer size of the man. He was a mountain walking, long knotted braids tra
iling down his back like untamed serpents. The elevator swayed in the chill wind as we descended, and I watched him sidelong, eyes drifting to the horizontal scars bisecting his cheeks.
“‘You’re wondering how I got them,’ he said, eyes on the cold valley below.
“‘Apologies, Abbot,’ I said, lowering my gaze. ‘But Frère Greyhand … he said we palebloods heal as no ordinary men do. The night he took me from my village, I was cut so deep the knife struck bone. But now, there’s barely even a mark.’
“‘You shall heal all the faster as you grow, and your blood thickens. Though we do share some of the weaknesses of our accursed fathers—silver will cut us deeply, for example, and fire will leave its mark. But you are wondering what scarred me so?’
“I nodded mutely, meeting his green, kohled stare.
“‘The dark is full of horrors, de León. And though coldbloods concern us most these nights, brothers of the Silver Order have hunted all manner of evil, and been hunted in kind.’ He traced his scars. ‘These were gifted to me by the claws of a duskdancer. A monster, accursed, who could take the form of beast and man. I sent her to the hell she deserved.’ His scarred smile widened a fraction. ‘But she refused to leave without a good-bye kiss.’
“We touched down, and with a soft chuckle, Khalid patted my shoulder and led me onward, a hundred questions brawling behind my teeth.
“The stable was carved within the heart of the Cathedral’s pillar, supported by columns of dark rock. It stank inside, as stables do: horse and straw and shite. But ever since the night I’d drunk Ilsa’s blood, I could swear my senses had grown sharper, and beneath the everyday stink, I caught a whiff of death. Decay.
“Two boys were saddling a shaggy chestnut mare near the entrance—dark-skinned Sūdhaemi lads like Khalid. The first was around my age, the other, perhaps a year younger. They were fit, dressed in homespun with dark curls cropped close to their scalps. By the shared hazel of their eyes and the cut of their chins, I guessed they were famille.
“‘Fairdawning, Kaspar. Kaveh.’ The abbot nodded to the older lad, then the younger beside him. ‘This is Gabriel de León, a new recruit to the Order.’
“‘Fairdawning, Gabriel,’ Kaspar said, grasping my hand.
“‘Godmorrow, Kaspar.’ I nodded, looked to his brother. ‘Kaveh?’
“‘Apologies,’ Kaspar said. ‘My brother was born tongueless. He does not speak.’
“The younger lad stared at me as if in challenge, and I could guess why. In superstitious parts of the empire, such affliction might have been taken as the taint of witchery, the babe burned, his mother beside him. But my mama had taught me such thinking was folly, born only of fear. That the Almighty loved all his children, and that I should strive to do the same. And so, I offered my hand.
“‘Well, I’m not that interesting to talk to anyway. Fairdawning, Kaveh.’
“The lad’s scowl softened as I spoke, and as our palms met, his lips curled in a smile. Abbot Khalid grunted approval, called out across the stables in his warm baritone.
“‘And a fairdawn to you also, Prioress Charlotte. Sisternovices.’
“Following the abbot’s eyeline, I saw a half-dozen figures around a stack of feedbags—sisters from the Priory above, I realized. They were all clad in dove-white novice robes and coifs, save a severe-looking woman in a black habit, who stood where the others sat. She was older, so thin she was almost gaunt. Four long scars cut down and across her face—as if she’d been attacked by some wild animal.
“‘Godmorrow, Abbot.’ The woman glanced at her charges. ‘Give blessing, girls.’
“‘Godmorrow, Abbot Khalid,’ the sisters sang, all in unison.
“‘This is Gabriel de León,’ Khalid said. ‘A new son of the Ordo Argent.’
“I kept my head bowed out of respect, but looked the sisters over through my lashes. All were young. Sitting on the bags with blocks of paper on their laps, charcoal sticks in hand. They’d been drawing the horses, I realized. I noted a novice among them so slight she seemed almost a child, with big green eyes and freckled skin. And seated at their forefront, like an angel fallen to earth, was one of the most beautiful girls I’d ever seen.”
Jean-François rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair.
Gabriel looked up and scowled. “Problem?”
“I said nothing, Silversaint.”
“I heard a distinct groan just now, coldblood.”
“The wind, I assure you.”
“Fuck off,” Gabriel growled. “She was beautiful. Oh, perhaps not the kind you’d find hanging in a portrait gallery or gracing some rich bastard’s arm. She wasn’t a beauty you wrapped in silk or hid inside a golden bower. But I can still recall the sight of her that afternoon. All the years between then and now, and it seems only yesterday.”
Gabriel fell so still he seemed a mirror to the vampire opposite. Even the monster seemed aware of the weight in the air, sitting patiently until the silversaint spoke again.
“She was older than me. Seventeen, at a guess. A beauty spot was placed as if by the Mothermaid herself, just to the right of her lips. One eyebrow was arched higher than the other, giving her a constant air of mild disdain. Her skin was milk; her cheek, the curve of a broken heart. There was no perfection to her. But her asymmetry commanded … fascination. She had the face of a half-heard whisper, of a secret unshared. She sat with a block of parchment in her lap, partway through a beautiful drawing of a big black gelding.
“Abbot Khalid looked at her work. It was hard to tell with his scars, but I realized he was genuinely smiling. ‘You’ve a keen eye and a keener hand, Sisternovice.’
“The girl lowered her eyes. ‘You honor me, Abbot.’
“‘’Tis the Almighty that guides our hands,’ Prioress Charlotte said, with a disapproving glance at the young sister. ‘We are merely his vessels.’
“The girl looked up to her prioress and nodded. ‘Véris.’
“I knew I shouldn’t gawp. On the road to San Michon, Greyhand had told me silversaints swore vows of celibacy, for fear we might perpetuate the evil of our birth and make more paleblood abominations like ourselves. After what I’d done to Ilsa, I confess that the thought sat well enough with me. I could still see the terror in her eyes if I tried, and the horror that I’d hurt her haunted me still. I’d no desire to touch another girl as long as I lived, and these weren’t just girls, either—these were novices of the Silver Sorority. Soon to be married to God Himself.
“But still, something about this girl drew me in. As I watched, her eyes flickered up and met mine. I didn’t look away. But surprisingly, neither did she.
“‘Well, Godmorrow, godly daughters.’ Khalid bowed. ‘Mothermaid bless.’
“‘Fairdawning, Abbot.’ The prioress snapped her fingers. ‘Back to work, girls.’
“I broke my stare, and the abbot clapped my shoulder, led me to the stable’s heart. And all thoughts of raven-haired sisternovices fled my head at what I found there.
“A throng of horses waited in a wide pen. They were tundra ponies from Talhost—that hardy breed known as sosyas. Smaller than their Elidaeni cousins, sosyas have shaggy coats and stomachs of iron, ideally suited to the years of privation that followed daysdeath. Those bastards will chew on anything. I once knew a man who swore blind his sosya ate his fucking dog. These beasts seemed of the finest stock. But as I stood admiring them, again I caught that whiff of decay. And looking up, I finally discovered its source.
“‘Mother and Maid…’
“Two wretched coldbloods were hanged from the ceiling. An older male, thin and rotten, and a boy, no older than I. Their skin was pallid, their clothes were rags, and their eyes burned with hunger and malevolence as they glared down at me.
“‘Have no fear, de León,’ Khalid said. ‘Bound in silver, they’re helpless as babes.’
“Looking close, I saw that the vampires were strung up by silver chains, swaying like ghastly chandeliers. The grooms and sisters and even the a
nimals themselves seemed entirely unconcerned. And at last, I realized why these coldbloods were here.
“‘You keep them for the horses…’
“‘Just so,’ the abbot nodded. ‘God’s creatures cannot abide the presence of monsters of the night. But these steeds are meant to bear us into battle against the dark. So, we expose them early and often, that they become accustomed to the evil of the deathless.’ Khalid gave one of his scar-face smiles. ‘You’ve a sharp mind, Little Lion.’
“I nodded, seeing the wisdom in it. The abbot handed me a few sugar cubes—a luxury since the crops had all failed, but one that San Michon could apparently still afford with the Empress’s patronage. ‘Take your pick, son.’
“‘God’s truth?’
“Khalid nodded. ‘A gift, for your trials to come. And mind you choose well, lad. This horse will bear you into battle against all the horrors that call the dark home.’
“‘But then … how should I decide?’
“‘Trust your heart. You’ll know the one.’
“Ma famille hadn’t owned so much as a sheep when I was a lad. It was only the nobleborn who could dream of keeping beasts as fine as these. Marveling at the fortune that saw me gifted my own sword and steed on the same day, I stepped into the pen. And there in the throng, I found him. His stare was deep as midnight; his shaggy coat, darkest ebony. His mane was tied in thick plaits, his tail the same, switching from side to side as I approached. I realized he was the same gelding that the talented sisternovice had been drawing, and glancing in her direction, I found her dark eyes upon me again. She seemed to bristle as I closed in on the horse. But still, I did.
“‘Hello, boy,’ I murmured.
“He took the sugar cube I offered. Nickering, he nuzzled my face in search of more, and I stroked the shaggy satin of his cheek, laughing for joy.”
Gabriel shook his head.
“Cynics say there’s no such thing as love at first sight. But I loved that fucking horse the moment I met him. And feeding him another cube, I knew I’d made a friend for life.
