by Jay Kristoff
“I could see faint light ahead. My unease growing along with the bloodscent. And rounding a shelf of bleached and silent secrets, I found the strangest sight I’d yet seen in the Library.
“‘God Almighty…’ I whispered.
“A table of stout oak, piled with books and surrounded by leather chairs, lit by a single candle. A girl in the pale vestments of a sisternovice was slumped flat upon the table, long dark hair over her face, blood puddled thick around her cheek.
“Sweet Mothermaid, it smelled like heaven’s perfume …
“It looked like someone had struck the girl while she sat there reading, cracking her skull. I crept forward, heart thumping. And as I reached out to move her hair in search of a wound, the girl opened her eyes, looked right at me, and fucking screamed.
“I yelped and leaped backward. She reared up from the table, face slick with blood, lifting the candlestick to brain me. And looking about with wide, dark eyes, she pressed one pale hand to her heart and whispered in a crisp, highborn accent.
“‘Oh, you cunting bastard…’
“‘… I beg your pardon?’
“The girl dragged a shaking hand through her long dark hair and sighed. ‘Beg all you wish, boy. You almost gave me a fucking heart seizure.’
“‘… You’re the sisternovice who inked my aegis,’ I realized. ‘The one I saw getting whipped in the stables.’
“‘And you’re the peasant who took my horse.’
“‘I’m no peasant,’ I scowled. ‘I’m an initiate of the Silver Order.’
“‘Those are hardly mutually exclusive properties.’
“‘Are you aright?’
“She shrugged. ‘Just resting my eyes, if that’s any of your concern.’
“‘Facedown in a pool of blood?’
“The sisternovice blinked then, realizing her face was sticky red, yet more blood pooled on the table in front of her. ‘Oh, fuck it all,’ she snarled, reaching into her vestments for a bloodstained kerchief. ‘Apologies. It looks rather more dramatic than it is.’
“I stared at the blood on her lips, pulse drumming in my temples. This was the first time I’d been alone with a girl since I’d almost killed Ilsa. Remembering the sensation of that warm red rushing into my mouth as she writhed and sighed …
“‘I thought your skull was broken,’ I managed.
“‘It’s my nose,’ she replied, swabbing her face. ‘It bleeds a great deal lately. I suspect it’s something to do with the altitude in this godforsaken pigsty.’
“My mind was awash. I wondered what in the Sevens’ names this girl was doing there. Alone, after dark, against the rules. But more, and despite the blood—or likely because of it—I couldn’t help noticing how beautiful she was. Skin like milk. Beauty spot beside the gentle bow of her bloody lips. She had the eyes of a dark angel.” Gabriel smiled. “And the mouth of a she-devil on the rag.
“‘I’ve seen you about,’ she declared with a toss of her hair. ‘And though I’ve stabbed you repeatedly, we’ve not been formally introduced. My name is Astrid Rennier.’
“‘Gabriel de León,’ I replied, still more than a little flustered.
“‘Oui. De León.’ Dark eyes roamed me, toe to crown. ‘You don’t look much of a lion. Then again, you are out of bed after evebells. Which means you’ve more courage than the rest of these boorish little boys.’
“Ever so slowly, she extended her hand.
“‘I think we shall get along famously.’
“I blinked at her hand as if it were a serpent coiled to strike. This girl had seen me half-naked, after all, touched me in places few others had. The scent of her blood was stirring that memory now, and my own blood besides. But she was a novice of the Silver Sorority, soon to be wedded to God. I was an initiate of the Silver Order, servant of that same heavenly father. I shouldn’t even have been talking to her, let alone …
“‘Courtly manners dictate a gentleman kiss a lady’s hand when he meets her,’ Astrid said helpfully, wriggling her fingers.
“‘Suppose I don’t want to kiss it.’
“‘Then I suppose you’re the ill-mannered peasant I first took you for.’
“She gifted me an ingenue’s smile, but I saw the trap she’d laid: Obey her command or be rude. Problem was, I wanted to do neither. Holy vows and godly laws aside, this girl reminded me of Aaron de Coste and the other initiates who made my life such a misery, with their lordly accents and upturned noses. Beautiful as she was, incredible as she smelled, Astrid Rennier struck me as something of a bitch.
“Still, she’d done an artful job with the ink on my chest. And Mama had raised me to always treat girls the way I’d want them to treat me. There are three ways men view the women of the world, Gabriel. Enemies to be overcome. Prizes to be won. Or as people. My advice is choose the latter, my love. Lest they begin considering you the former.
“And so, I took Astrid Rennier’s hand.
“Her skin was wondrous warm after the chill outside. I could smell the scent on her hair—rosewater and silverbell mixed with the dizzying perfume of her blood. I suppressed a shiver at the memory of her touch upon my bare chest, the pain of her needles in my skin. And supposing a chaste kiss couldn’t anger God too much, I brushed my lips across her knuckles, trying to sound courtly.
“‘Enchanted, mademoiselle.’
“‘Not yet,’ she promised.
“‘What are you doing in here?’
“‘I could ask the same of you, good Frère.’
“‘I’m not a brother of the Order yet. My proper title is Initiate.’
“‘Oh, is that what we’re being now?’ She raised one dark eyebrow. ‘Proper?’
“I peered at the books Astrid was reading. Most were written in languages I’d no ken of, but the ones I could comprehend seemed a strange mix. The pages were covered in mad scrawls, filled with strange geometrical shapes and arcane symbols. I ran my finger along one of the pale spines, murmuring aloud.
“‘A Full and Complete Accounte of that Peril Which Godly Men Did Name the Aavsenct Heresy, Told in Seven Partes, This Being Parte the Thirde.’
“‘Not a very creative title, is it?’
“‘Of Astrological Portents and Prognostications Dire—A Complete Historie.’
“‘Look, do you fucking mind?’ Astrid said, covering the books protectively.
“‘What are you reading about in here? And why at night?’
“‘What business is that of yours?’
“‘None at all. Which I suppose is my favorite kind.’
“She smiled a little at that. ‘Still. Why would I share mine with you?’
“‘We’re both breaking the rules here.’ I shrugged. ‘Honor among thieves?’
“‘I’m no thief, Gabriel de León. But if you must know, I am reading at night because Archivist Adamo won’t permit sisternovices into the forbidden section during the day. Even if I were a full-fledged sister, I’m still possessed of a pair of breasts, which disqualifies you from all sorts of things around here. And I am wading through this collection of horseshit, pig spunk, and lunatic nonsense in an attempt to get to the bottom of daysdeath.’ She blew a dark lock of hair out of her eyes. ‘Satisfactory?’
“‘Daysdeath,’ I whispered, suddenly intrigued. ‘Have you found anything?’
“She pointed at a few books, one at a time. ‘Horseshit. Pig spunk. Lunatic nonsense. Honestly, I think the only reason half this collection is forbidden is out of the profound embarrassment someone was fucking stupid enough to collect it in the first place.’
“Sitting beside her, I looked at the books with renewed interest. ‘Why are you searching for the secret to daysdeath?’
“‘Well, as long as I’m stuck in this arsehole, why wouldn’t I be? The empire shall soon be under siege by an ever-expanding mob of bloodthirsty corpses. It’s all well and good for you. You get to gallivant about the countryside in fabulous leather coats, turning coldbloods to ashes and peasant girls to puddles. But nob
ody in authority seems particularly concerned about what caused the phenomenon that led to this fucking calamity to begin with. They’re just…’—the sisternovice flailed her hand—‘reacting to it.’
“‘I’ve sometimes thought the same myself,’ I confessed.
“‘Well, then, it seems the Almighty gifted you a functional brain. Huzzah and hurrah. They seem in rather short supply around this fucking place.’
“I just stared. She was a curious one, this girl. One second turning on her charm easy as breathing. The next, spitting venom like a greensnake.
“‘Apologies,’ she sighed, dabbing again at her nose. ‘I’m a dragon on her moonstime when I’m fiending. We should remedy that.’
“She rose from her chair, walked to one of the shelves, and fished about behind a stack of books. From some secret hiding place, she drew a long-stemmed pipe, and to my astonishment, I saw it was solid gold. I watched her take out a peck of powdered traproot and a larger pinch of a sticky green substance from a small golden case.
“‘What’s that?’ I asked.
“‘Rêvre,’ she replied.
“‘… Sisternovices are allowed to smoke dreamweed?’
“‘Of course. I just sneak out for a pipeful in the freezing dead of night for the jollies.’
“I rolled my eyes. ‘Touché, I suppose. Where’d you get it?’
“She shrugged. ‘Keeper Logan and Kaveh both owe me favors.’
“‘Kaveh?’ I asked. ‘Kaspar’s little brother?’
“Astrid nodded. ‘He goes on the supply runs to Beaufort with the good Keeper, and I’ve still some friends down there who keep him well-paid and me well-supplied.’
“Truth told, and to my shame, I admit I’d mistaken Kaveh as something of a simpleton. But between his odd meeting with Sister Aoife, and now this revelation, it seemed there was more to the mute young groom than first met my eye.
“Astrid frowned, tongue protruding between her lips as she blended the rêvre and traproot. Packing her pipe, she slipped it between her lips, and leaning into the candle, she drew down a deep draught. Her long, smoky lashes fluttered against her cheeks, and she rocked back, holding her breath.
“Traproot was common enough—it had been a favorite among Sūdhaemi sailors for centuries, and served in pipes across the empire now that the tobacco plant had become too hard to grow. But dreamweed was a hard narcotic, favored of soothsingers, authors, and other worthless tossers. It was near impossible to cultivate since daysdeath, and cost a small fortune; this girl obviously had wealth. And staring at the golden case, I was astonished to notice its embossed design: a unicorn rampant against five crossed swords.
“‘Where did you get that?’ I breathed.
“Astrid held up a finger, still holding her lungful. My mind was racing through the ways she might have acquired such a prize. Larceny seemed most obvious for a dreamfiend, but I forced myself to truly study this girl. Looking past the beauty, the blood, and thinking like the hunter they were training me to be.
“From the softness of her hand, she’d not done much hard work in her life. She carried herself like Aaron de Coste, not some gutter-running drug addict—that same accent and arrogance, softened by her looks and charm. And the seal on that case …
“Astrid moved to the window, breathed a soft grey sigh into the night outside. ‘Martyrs and Mothermaid, that is better.’
“I pointed to the case again. ‘That’s the crest of Alexandre III. Emperor of all Elidaen.’
“‘So?’ Astrid asked, her voice now lazy and soft.
“‘So either you’re a common thief or some kind of princess.’
“Astrid lifted her pipe. ‘I told you already. I am no thief, Gabriel de León.’
“I scoffed. ‘Princess, then?’
“She drew deep on the smoke and said nothing for a long time, simply holding her breath. But finally, she exhaled a sweet narcotic cloud into the dark beyond the glass. And she spoke then, the warm blur in her bloodshot eyes belied by the steel in her voice.
“‘I’m no princess. I’m a fucking queen.’”
VIII
DEALING WITH THE DEVIL
“‘THAT SEEMS UNLIKELY,’ I replied, trying my best to look unimpressed. ‘There’s but one female sovereign of this realm, and her name is Isabella the First.’
“‘Devils fuck that syphilitic whore,’ Astrid growled.
“Again, that shook me. The Emperor was chosen by divine right, his union blessed by God Himself. To speak so of the Empress was not only treasonous, but blasphemous. And this sisternovice seemed to give not a beggar’s cuss about either.
“As if remembering herself, Astrid offered me the pipe.
“‘Merci, no.’
“‘I thought you palebloods enjoyed your smoke?’
“‘Sanctus is a holy sacrament,’ I scowled. ‘Not an indulgence of base vice.’
“‘Whatever scratches your itch, Initiate.’ Astrid took another drag, exhaling out the window. ‘My mother is Antoinette Rennier, former courtesan in the court of Emperor Philippe IV, and favored mistress of his son Prince Alexandre.’
“‘You mean Emperor Alexandre.’
“‘Well, he wasn’t emperor when Mother started bedding him.’
“‘You’re … daughter of the ruler of all Elidaen,’ I breathed, my eyes a-wonder. ‘Benefactor of the Order of San Michon, Protector of the Realm and Chosen of God Himself.’
“‘You make my father sound far more impressive than he is, trust me.’
“I could scarce believe what I was hearing. But I could feel the weight in her words. Astrid Rennier had the air of nobility, oui. But more, behind the smoke-blur in her eyes, I could sense an indignity and rage that left me little doubt she spoke truth.
“‘You’re actually … royalty…’
“‘A bastard is what I actually am.’
“‘… I never really thought of girls being bastards.’
“‘That’s because girls can’t inherit property. But I am indeed a royal bastard.’ Astrid tucked a lock of raven black behind her ear. ‘Sometimes a royal bitch besides.’
“‘Well, I wasn’t going to be the one to suggest it…’
“‘Ah, he shows some teeth at last. Perhaps there is a lion in him, after all.’
“‘What are you doing in San Michon?’
“‘Being kept out of sight and mind,’ she replied, toying with the stem of her pipe. ‘I was raised at court, you see. My mother kept in customary fashion of a prince’s mistress. But once the prince became emperor and got himself an empress, his new bride took exception to our presence. And so, we suffered the fate of all unwanted noblewomen in this empire. Whisked off to the silence and security of a nunnery.’ Astrid’s lips twisted in a bitter smile. ‘Better than a brothel, I suppose.’
“‘… Your mother is here, too?’
“‘No. Bitch-Empress Isabella thought it unwise to keep us together. Mother’s in Redwatch. The Priory of San Cleyland. I haven’t seen her in a year.’
“‘I’m sorry. That seems…’
“‘Unjust,’ Astrid murmured. ‘Unjust is what it is.’
“‘… That’s why you named him so,’ I realized.
“She looked at me then, her bloodshot eyes puzzled.
“‘The gelding. You named him Justice.’
“‘Ah.’ She nodded, her mood growing fey again. ‘One more thing they took from me. They’re very good at that in this place. Taking, I mean.’ She folded her arms, lips thin. ‘What did you name him instead? Some clichéd nonsense like Shadow or Sooty?’
“‘He kept the name you gave him. Justice suits him well.’
“I watched the beauty spot beside her lip as she smiled sadly. ‘Merci.’
“‘I’m sorry. That they took him from you.’
“‘Hearts only bruise. They never break.’ Astrid shrugged, as if to banish the shadow on her shoulders. ‘But I appreciate you stood up for me against the prioress that day, Gabriel de León. Peasant-born or
no, that took a noble soul.’
“I felt aflame with her flattery. Altogether confounded in her presence. She was older. Obviously deeper in the ways of the world. The ink on my very skin had been carved by her hand. Truth told, though I was taller, stronger, hardened by years of labor and months of bladework, I felt a blundering child around this girl.
“‘How did you get in here?’ she asked. ‘Did you steal a key?’
“‘I’m no thief either, Sisternovice.’
“‘Then how were you planning to make your way about? That surly old bastard Adamo usually has everything locked up of an eve.’
“‘I thought I’d bend the bars. But to be honest, I hadn’t really planned that far ahead. I’m not even sure how I’m going to sneak back into Barracks.’
“‘Presumably the same way you got out?’
“‘No way to do that without wings. I crawled out through the privies.’
“‘That sounds like a shit plan, Initiate.’”
Jean-François paused his writing, chuckling faintly. “You see, that was amusing, de León.”
“Fuck off, vampire.”
The historian gave a small bow and continued scribbling.
“I hung my head, realizing the sisternovice was right. Greyhand had warned me about my impetuousness in Skyefall, yet apparently, I hadn’t learned my lesson.
“‘It was a touch foolish, I suppose,’ I admitted.
“‘Welllll, let’s just call it reckless,’ Astrid declared. ‘Recklessness is a far more admirable quality in a member of the Ordo Argent than foolishness, wouldn’t you say?’
“Looking into her smile, I found myself smiling back.
“‘Enchanted now, aren’t you?’ she asked.
“Astrid offered the pipe again.
“‘Not much left.’
“‘Merci, no. I didn’t come here to smoke.’
“‘Then why are you here, Initiate de León?’
“I studied this sisternovice, trying to ignore the shiver-sweet fragrance of her blood between us. The fact that she was in the forbidden section—and speaking with such disdain for the powers that be—told me she probably wouldn’t go shouting about it if I told her the truth. I didn’t know if I should trust her. But God knew I trusted no one else.
