Empire of the Vampire

by Jay Kristoff

  Gabriel stared for a long moment at the wine in the bottom of his goblet. Watching the way the light played in the red, the sound of broken glass and breaking hearts echoing in his head. He drained the last of it, poured another.

  “Doesn’t matter. Didn’t come true.”

  “But the appearance of that star changed your life?”

  Gabriel nodded. “We’d not learn ’til years later what it actually meant. But the sight alone was enough to push the pebbles that would become the avalanche. Chloe’s jaw hung open as she looked up to that falling light in wonder, and from there, into my eyes.

  “‘Auspicious,’ she murmured. ‘Most auspicious indeed.’

  “‘What do you mean?’

  “She looked around the forbidden section, the dust-dry tomes and words forgot. ‘I mean it’s not by chance the three of us met among these shelves tonight. That much is plain for any with eyes to see.’

  “‘… Chloe?’ Astrid asked.

  “The little sisternovice looked back to that burning star above. ‘The divine light of the Almighty shines upon us. I admit I doubted, but I was right to trust you, Azzie. God Himself has marked this moment.’ She glanced between us, a fervent smile on her lips. ‘I think he intends great things for us, mes amis. I think this meeting was ordained.’”

  In the reaches of that lonely tower, Jean-François of the Blood Chastain stifled a yawn. “She sounds positively unbalanced.”

  “As I said, Chloe Sauvage was one of the shrewdest bitches I ever met.”

  “An errant speck of flotsam plummets through the firmament, and she feels the breath of God upon her neck? The girl was clearly deranged, de León.”

  “No.” The Last Silversaint shook his head. “To a simpleton’s mind, she might’ve appeared such. To someone not raised in a place like San Michon, surrounded every day by trappings of the holy and words of the Almighty. But Chloe Sauvage was no lunatic. She was something twice as dangerous. Something I was too back then. But will never be again.”

  “And what is that, Silversaint?”

  Gabriel met the vampire’s eyes, a bitter smile on his lips.

  “A believer.”

  XI

  SILVER HEELS

  “THE STAR WAS still lancing through the dark as I slipped from the Library, and in my heart, I felt a strange sense of hope. I wasn’t certain if I believed in this portent as deeply as Chloe, or if we were God-fated to meet as she said. But I admit the sisternovice’s fervor was contagious. I was only a peasant boy, like I said. But more, perhaps for the first time since I’d come to San Michon, I felt I’d found people I truly belonged with.

  “Not brothers. But friends.

  “Snow was falling from the burning heavens as I stole across the monastery. I could see lights in the windows about me, folk silhouetted against the glass as they peered skyward. It was still an hour until I’d start my stablework, and I wanted nothing more than to get back to bed. But as I drew near Barracks, I froze, as still as the angelic statues in the Cathedral cloister.

  “In the gloom ahead, I’d seen another figure.

  “A lad in a black cloak was sneaking from the Armory doors. As I ducked out of sight near the Gauntlet, he looked to the marvel above, and I recognized him by its holy light.

  “Aaron de Coste.

  “Initiates weren’t allowed out after evebells, and though I was guilty of the exact same crime, my hackles were up as I watched Aaron pull his hood low and sneak back to Barracks. Our brawl in the Gauntlet was fresh in my mind. His warning that I should watch my back ringing in my skull. Why was this insufferable prick faffing about in the Armory?

  “I checked the Armory doors and found them locked. Listening within, I heard no sound, pondering now what to do. If de Coste was only just sneaking back to bed, he’d never miss me doing the same, and he’d squeal about it for certain. And so, I decided to seek shelter elsewhere while I waited out the hour.

  “The Cathedral.

  “I crept through the double doors in the east wall—the doors for the living and the dawn, taking shelter in an alcove by the votive candles. I always felt at peace within the Cathedral, breathing deep of the still and whispering a prayer to the Almighty. I looked to the great sevenstar window above, the Martyrs etched in stained glass. My eyes fell on Michon; armor-clad, the Grail held high in her hand as she led her army of the faithful. My mind was still on that falling star. And then, I heard it. Soft in the dark. A sound that told me I wasn’t alone.

  “The sound of weeping.

  “I squinted in the gloom, illuminated by the harbinger’s pale light. And down by the altar, I saw a figure knelt in the front row. Though I couldn’t see her face, my paleblood senses recognized her auburn curls, the tune of her voice.

  “It was Sister Aoife. Seraph Talon’s aide.

  “Her head was bowed, sobs echoing on dark stone. I knew not what made the young sister weep, and she sounded heartsick with it. But though she’d been ever kind to me, to ask her troubles was to reveal the fact I was out of Barracks. So instead, I held still and listened to her cry. Only once in that whole hour’s weeping did she speak; a plaintive prayer to a statue near the altar. Her arms wrapped tight around herself as she whispered, ‘Oh blessed Mothermaid, show me truth. Be this curse or blessing you’ve gifted me?’

  “I sat still in the dark, silent as graves. Finally, the belfry rang to rouse the cooks to the kitchen. Sister Aoife smoothed her curls and tried to find some measure of calm. Before she could spot me, I slipped out the doors and into the night outside. Skirting the fountain of angels, I stole away from the Cathedral, finding Keeper Logan by the sky platform.

  “The thin man’s eyes were fixed on the faint light still above. ‘D’ye see it, boi?’

  “‘Oui.’ Once more, I looked to that harbinger tumbling from heaven. ‘I see it.’

  “‘D’ye fancy it bodes for good or ill?’

  “I thought of Sister Aoife weeping in the Cathedral, Chloe’s proclamation that all this was ordained, the light of that falling star playing on the curve of Astrid’s cheek.

  “‘All on earth below and hea’en above is the work of my hand,’ I said.

  “‘An’ all the work o’ my hand is in accord with my plan.’ Logan made the sign of the wheel as he finished the Testaments quote. ‘Well said, laddie.’

  “‘I have my moments.’

  “The keeper looked at me from the corner of his eye, smiling fondly. ‘You know, you’re not half the sniveling backwater scab the other lads make ye oot to be, de León. I quite like ye, in fact. For a Nordish-born prettyboy sheepfucker, like.’

  “‘… Merci, good Keeper.’

  “Logan winked. ‘Too right, laddie.’

  “Just like every morn before, the stables were dark, my faithful shovel and barrow awaiting me at the gates. The horses were skittish, which I put down to the star tumbling from above. I left my barrow and lantern near the first pen, and wandering down the row, I arrived at my Justice, the horse snuffing and stomping at the sight of me. I gifted him a sugar cube and a hug, pressing my smooth cheek to his shaggy one.

  “‘Fairdawn, boy.’

  “Justice nickered and sniffled at my tunic, and I laughed and gave him another hidden cube. Wheeling my barrow into the main pen, I cast a wary glance at the two wretched suspended from the ceiling, wrapped in their silver chains. The pair were kept here to get the steeds used to the presence of the Dead, but that didn’t mean the horses liked them, and in truth, working underneath them the last fortnight had my hackles up too. Both were male, one a portly older corpse, the other a thin scrap, maybe seventeen when he was murdered. Their hungry eyes were fixed upon my throat as I hauled off my tunic, hefted my shovel, and got to it. Each pen was rife with shite, and I had to work swift—my punishment would only worsen if I missed dawnmass.

  “I was seven barrows into it when the vampire hit me.

  “This story would have been a far shorter one had I not been given warning. But as the shadow flew a
t my back through the stable gates, Justice shied and shuddered enough for me to turn my head. And so, as the monster crashed into my back and bore me down to the ground, her fangs tore a gouge through my shoulder instead of my throat. Roaring and lashing out with my fists, I realized who’d struck me.

  “Vivienne La Cour.

  “The vampire bit deeper, teeth sinking into my flesh. I bellowed again, slamming my elbow back into her head as we rolled in the dirt. She was in a frenzy, claws locked about my neck. I tried to throw her off, but mighty God, she was strong, pushing my face into the muck as she gulped another mouthful of my blood. The rapture of the Kiss rushed through me then, my skin thrilling, veins singing, and I realized how easy it would be to close my eyes and let it take me, drown me, swallow me whole.

  “It was a tempting thought. To die in bliss instead of pain.

  “Could I? I wondered.

  “Would I?

  “I heard a wet thud, the crack of splitting bone. La Cour shrieked as she was flung backward, rolling to rest against one of the stable’s pillars. Opening my eyes, I saw Justice above me, nostrils flared, eyes wild—he’d smashed clean through his pen to save me, delivered a pummeling kick to the vampire’s ribs. The awful bliss of her kiss faded, and I realized how close I’d come to death. And as I staggered to my feet, blood streaming down my chest, I found that red heaven replaced with my oldest, dearest friend.

  “Hatred.

  “Vivienne rose to face me, still dressed in her funeral finery. Her skin was grey, sunken and drained by that dreadful machine in the Foundry. Her wrists and lips were blackened by the silver that had kept her bound, dark eyes fixed on me, bloody tears spilling down her cheeks.

  “‘You killed them,’ she whispered. ‘You killed Eduard and Lisette.’

  “About us, the horses whinnied their distress, but Justice stood like a rock at my back. I’d no weapon save my shovel and the silver on my skin, but I’d taken down a highblood bare-handed before. Again, I felt that burning in my palm and chest; the holy fire of God alight in the ink of my aegis. I raised my hand, sevenstar flaring bright, the vampire hissing a black curse as she turned her head.

  “‘Get back, leech,’ I spat.

  “‘Leech?’ she whispered, fangs glittering. ‘You holy men. You children of God. You bind us in silver and suck us dry and dare name me parasite!’

  “She circled the edge of my light, eyes cold and black with malice.

  “‘How did you escape the Foundry?’ I demanded, edging toward my wheelbarrow.

  “La Cour’s blackened lips curled in a smile then. ‘Mayhaps your holy kin do not love you so dear as they should, boy.’

  “I spat in the straw. ‘Dead tongues heeded are Dead tongues tasted.’

  “‘Come taste it, then!’

  “She lashed out with her charred fist, and too late, I saw she’d maneuvered closer to the chain holding those other wretched suspended above the pens. With a crack, the bracket snapped, and unmoored, the chain slithered free. The two wretched plummeted from the ceiling into the main pen, crashing in the midst of the now-shaken horses.

  “And just like that, it was three on one.

  “Vivienne flew at me out of the dark, burned hands twisted into claws. Still, her eyes were near blinded by my sevenstar, the lion upon my chest, and I stepped aside, bringing my shovel down across her skull. The haft snapped, the blade buckled like paper, but it was enough to stagger her, bloodied and gasping.

  “An unholy howl tore through the stables. The older wretched was loose from its chains, charging me. I raised my left palm, silver flaring bright as the monster brought its hands up to shield its face. And swinging overhand, I buried what was left of the shovel’s handle into its eye socket, the broken spar bursting out the back of the coldblood’s skull.

  “The second wretched was still trying to drag its way loose from the silver that bound it, and I leapt the pen’s fence and dashed past the now-rattled horses toward it. But Vivienne La Cour struck me out of the darkness again, slamming me into another pillar. She was strong as death, eyes closed against the light of my aegis as her mouth sank toward my throat. I pressed my palm to her cheek, rewarded with her unearthly shriek of pain. She reeled backward and I kicked her hard, sending her crashing through the fence.

  “Free of his chains, the younger wretched came on now, mad with bloodlust. But he’d likely been a peasant boy when he died, and I’d trained at the feet of one of the finest swords of the Silver Order. I seized his arm, slinging him into the pillar beside me. His shoulder popped as I twisted, forcing him down into the straw. I hadn’t brought Lionclaw along to muck out the stables, but I realized I still carried silver wherever I went. And lifting my foot, I stomped up and down on the wretched’s head with my silvered heels until its skull burst like ripe fruit, rotten brains splashing the straw.

  “I was hit from behind, the other wretched smashing me face-first into the pillar, the shovel spar still rammed through its skull. My nose broke, my cheek split, and I roared as it bit into my neck. I might have ended then and there, but again, Justice came to my aid, and with a savage kick, the wretched was sent flying with a staved-in chest.

  “As my horse began stomping on the roaring monster, Vivienne struck like a serpent, hands knotted in my hair as she dragged my head back toward her fangs once more. Desperate, I tore myself away with all my strength, howling in pain as I left a thick chunk of ripped and bloody scalp dangling in the vampire’s fist. Rolling across the straw to my barrow, I snatched up the lantern and hurled it into La Cour’s chest. Glass burst. Oil sprayed. And the black scream that tore up out of her throat seemed born in the belly of hell.

  “Daylight. Silver. Fire. These were the banes of the deathless. La Cour tore out of the stables, a living torch lighting the dim dawn. The horses broke then, Justice with them, fleeing the flames that had sprung up in her wake. Crushing the other wretched’s skull under my heel, I followed La Cour out into the snow. The stink of burning meat and hair filled my lungs. Flesh scorched down to the bone, Vivienne wailed one last time—a cry more of sorrow than pain. And then she sank to her knees, skin popping like tinder as she collapsed, and the death she’d cheated came to claim her at last.

  “The stables were burning, other horses thrashing in their pens as the blaze grew fierce. And though my shoulder and throat gushed blood, my head had been peeled like fruit, I dashed back in to save them. I heaped the barrow with snow, flinging it onto the rising flames. Another barrow followed. And another. Smoke choking my lungs. Heat scalding my skin. But though wounded, I was still a paleblood, and by the time a baffled Kaspar and Kaveh arrived to begin their day’s labors, I was sitting amid the stink of burned flesh and straw and shite, my chest and shoulder and hair soaked red, the fire defeated, and all three vampires in fucking ashes.

  “‘In the name of Almighty God…’ Kaspar breathed.

  “Kaveh boggled, mute and wide-eyed as his brother knelt beside me.

  “‘What happened, Little Lion?’

  “I nodded to La Cour’s ashes, still smoking in the new snow.

  “‘Tried to kill me,’ I slurred around my broken jaw.

  “The Sūdhaemi lads put the puzzle together in their heads, staring in wonder. Between the two of them, they hefted me to the sky platform. Dark hands soaked with blood, Kaspar pressed my tunic to the wounds those dead fangs had ripped as Kaveh went to round up the horses. Kaspar’s eyes lingered on the black stain of La Cour’s remains below as we rose up out of the snow.

  “‘A miracle you bested them bare-handed, mon ami,’ the lad said.

  “‘God be praised,’ I murmured.

  “Kaspar made the sign of the wheel as I sank to my backside on the platform. Unable to feel the chill, let alone the bleeding tears in my flesh, the ache of my broken bones. Instead, I was reliving the words Vivienne La Cour had spat before she died.

  “Mayhaps your holy kin do not love you so dear as they should.

  “And though I knew the currency of the
Dead was deceit, though I knew I could trust not a single word that unholy bitch had hissed, I couldn’t help wonder how the fuck she’d got loose from the Foundry.

  “I remembered that figure I’d seen sneaking from the Armory doors.

  “Shrouded in black. Creeping like a thief.

  “Aaron de fucking Coste.

  “And I murmured again. Softer this time.

  “‘Tried to kill me…’”

  XII

  A LETTER FROM HOME

  “THE INFIRMARY OF San Michon smelled of herbs, incense, and above all, old blood.

  “It sat on the ground floor of the Priory building, with the sisterhood quartered above it. The entrance hall was a grand, open space, deep-red light spilling through tall arched windows, chymical globes glittering along the ceiling. Tapestries hung on the walls—grand portraits of the Mothermaid and infant Redeemer, angels of the host. But the cell I was recuperating in was more austere: white walls, soft cot, clean sheets. Above my bed was a beautiful stained-glass window depicting Eloise, the Angel of Retribution, face in hands, weeping her tears of blood.

  “The Infirmary was the domain of a sister named Esmeé, and it was into her tender care I’d been placed by Kaspar. Esmeé was a huge woman, with great ham hocks for hands. She seemed as out of place in a priory as a regular nun would be in an actual brothel.”

  Gabriel waved one hand vaguely.

  “Specialist services notwithstanding, of course.”

  “More prostitute humor,” Jean-François sighed. “How very droll.”

  “Fuck off,” Gabriel suggested cheerily, raising his glass of Monét.

  “I think you’ve had rather enough wine, Silversaint.”

  “I think you’re the last bastard in the world to lecture a man about his drinking habits, vampire.” Gabriel leaned back, taking another long mouthful. “It’d been hours since the stable attack, and my bones were mending. But the wounds torn by those dead fangs would take time to scar over, even for a paleblood. And so, I was in the Priory’s care.