Empire of the Vampire

by Jay Kristoff

  “My mind was swimming as Talon turned to the young woman next to him.

  “‘Good Sœur?’

  “Aoife opened her oaken box, producing an ornate silver pipe. It was fashioned in the guise of Naél, the Angel of Bliss, her hands cupped to form a bowl. As I watched, Talon poured a tiny measure of sanctus into the angel’s palms.

  “‘Now, the monster who bellied up your mother belonged to one of these four lines. And you will possess his bloodgift, albeit in a lesser form. Do you recall the first time you exhibited some strange ability? Did you show an affinity for animals as a boy? The knack of constantly getting your way? Perhaps you knew what others would say before they spoke?’

  “I chewed my lip. ‘My sister Amélie. She was murdered by a coldblood and returned to our village as one of the wretched. I fought her off with my bare hands.’

  “‘Mmmn.’ The thin man nodded. ‘Dyvok, perhaps. The same accursed blood as flows within our abbot. Very well. We shall begin there.’

  “I looked to the bleachers, where Khalid met my eyes and nodded. The thought I might be the same bloodline as a man so mighty set the butterflies loose in my belly once more.

  “Talon beat his cane upon the ground three times. I heard the oiled grinding of stone upon stone, and saw the center of the sevenstar opening wide.

  “Rising up on a plinth of dark granite was the very same wretched that Greyhand had hauled to the monastery from Lorson. Its flesh was a wasteland, blotched and grey; its mouth, a pit of razors. A silver chain bound it to the floor, metal sizzling where it touched that rotten skin. Looking into the wretched’s empty eyes, I found myself back in my village, the day my sister came home.

  “Other segments of the sevenstar opened, and on the rising plinths, I saw a pack of rough-bred mongrels—half wolf, half dog—held fast by steel chains. They were going berserk, snarling at the wretched in the center of the star. But the monster stared only at me, eyes filled with an endless, ageless hunger.

  “Talon lifted the long-stemmed silver pipe toward my lips.

  “‘Breathe deep,’ he advised. ‘As San Michon caught the Redeemer’s blood upon the wheel, and turned the sin of his murder to God’s own holy cause, so too do we remake our own sin. From the greatest horrors are the greatest heroes forged.’

  “I glanced to my master, then to Sister Aoife, still uncertain. Her brilliant blue eyes met mine, and beneath her veil, I saw the sister’s lips moving. Mouthing the very same words Greyhand had spoken to me:

  “Heed the hymn.

  “My heart was beating quick. Fear in my belly. But if this was a testing, I was determined not to fail it before the eyes of every luminary in the Order. Seraph Talon placed the pipe on my lips, striking his flintbox and bidding me breathe, breathe.”

  Jean-François was sketching in his book, his voice a low murmur.

  “The first taste is ever the sweetest. And the darkest.”

  “So Greyhand promised,” Gabriel nodded. “If only I knew then what I know now. I would have run until I reached my mama’s arms, slamming the door on the dark and the monsters who haunted it and these men who walked it with silver heels. Because it wasn’t a hero Talon forged that day as I breathed that beautiful poison into my lungs. It was a chain. And one I shall never break.

  “I saw it begin in that angel’s silvered hands. A thin wisp of scarlet, dancing on my tongue. I felt it crash upon me, heavy as lead and light as feathers, all of me aflame. And inside it, I heard the first notes of a symphony, bright as heaven and red as blood.

  “Heed the hymn, Little Lion.

  “‘Oh, God,’ I gasped. ‘Oh, sweet and blessed Redeemer…’

  “I know not how long I lost myself. Fighting to ride that bloody wave, to bring my scattered senses to bear, awash in boiling crimson. I only remember the sound that finally dragged me up and out of it. Beneath that blood-red symphony, another noise was building, sharp enough to shake me, loud enough to wake me. Metal on stone.

  “I opened my eyes and saw it. My heart dropping and thudding in my chest.

  “The wretched was charging right at me.”

  X

  BLOOD OF THE FRAIL

  “SERAPH TALON AND Sister Aoife were nowhere to be seen. I was alone. Unarmed. Minutes were hours, moments were minutes, the monster running at me with fingers curled like claws. The mongrels were barking, driven mad in the coldblood’s presence. My heart was racing. And in the palm of my left hand, a fire was burning, silver bright.

  “I’d been raised deep in the One Faith. I’d gone to chapel every prièdi as a boy, still said my prayers before I slept every night. I loved God. Feared God. Worshipped God. But for the first time in my life, I could actually feel God. His love. His power, made manifest in me. And I moved then, as if my shoulders were crowned with angel’s wings. The wretched’s mouth was agape, tongue swollen between its fangs. But I twisted aside from its grasping hands, and the monster careened past, ploughing into the wall.

  “I snatched up the silver chain still wrapped about the wretched’s neck, cracking it like a whip. The creature turned, and I felt its unholy strength as dead hands closed about my throat. But I found myself just as strong—as strong as I’d been the day Amélie came home. I rolled my arm, once, twice, wrapping that silver chain around my fist. And drawing back, I smashed it right into that monster’s black fucking maw.

  “Bone shattered. Teeth splintered. I struck again, dimly aware of the dull, wet crunch of silver into rancid flesh. My old friend hatred crouched upon my shoulder, my mind alight with the sight of my sister dancing to music only she could hear, the hymn I could now hear also—red, red, red. And when I was done, the monster’s head was a dark splatter upon the wall behind it, a ragged pulp lolling at the end of a broken neck.

  “Heed the hymn, Little Lion.

  “I let the body drop. A red wash flooded my eyes, all the angels singing in time. My right hand was a bleeding mess, knuckles ripped back to bare bone. I was so fucking high I could have stood on tiptoe and kissed the lips of the Mothermaid herself. But Talon called from the gathering in the bleachers, ‘I fear not. Next!’

  “I heard running feet, claws on cold stone. And turning, I saw that pack of starving mongrels charging across the circle. I gripped the chain in my bloody hand, uncertain what to do with myself. There were a dozen of the bastards bearing down on me like arrows, eyes wild, teeth bared. In a growing panic, I swung the chain about me to fend them off. The dogs slowed, snarling and barking, forming a tight circle around me as I backed up to the wall. I’d no ken why they were attacking me. I’d no wish to hurt them, but I’d no wish to be dinner either, my mind racing with the bloodhymn as that length of bloody chain whooshed around my head.

  “‘Tell them to stand down!’ Greyhand called. ‘Command them!’

  “‘Sod off!’ I bellowed at the beasts. ‘Away with you, bastards!’

  “‘Not with your voice, you cack-brained yak-fiddler!’ Talon spat. ‘With your mind!’

  “I hadn’t the first clue how to do what the seraph wanted, but still, I tried. Swinging my chain to keep the mongrels at bay, I fixed my stare on the biggest—a snaggletoothed brute with mottled fur and flashing eyes. I bared my teeth and roared at him in my head, feeling an utter fool all the while. And as I focused my attentions on the big fucker, one of the little shits took his chance, darting under my chain and leaping at my chest.

  “With a curse, I battered him aside. But something heavy struck me from the flank, and I felt fangs sinking into my forearm. I screamed as my flesh ripped, punching and flailing at the dog who had me. Another struck my legs and bore me down, I felt teeth rip into my shoulder, hot blood spilling down my back. I lashed out again, bodies flying, but there were so many of them, I didn’t know which way to turn. My arms were up around my face, and I was roaring as they tore me up, wondering what drove them to such madness. They seemed possessed, almost as if their wills were not their own.”

  “Ah,” Jean-François said. “I see.”
<
br />   “Oui,” Gabriel replied. “And as swift as they’d come on, the jaws around my limbs unlocked. I rolled to my feet, covered in blood, snatching up my chain again. But the mongrels were backing away, licking bloody jowls, their eyes now fixed on Frère Greyhand. My master waved one hand, and the half-wolves returned to their places in the sevenstar, like trained Nordish sheepdogs at their shepherd’s call.

  “As the others looked on, Seraph Talon stepped back into the circle. His boots rang on stone as he walked toward me, Sister Aoife beside him. I could barely stand, hot blood running down my shredded arms and legs. The bloodhymn was a dirge in my ears, the sanctus still rushing in my veins along with my rage at what they’d done.

  “‘Well, you’re definitely not Chastain. No affinity for beasts in you, sure and true.’ Talon took hold of one of my tattered hands. ‘Nor a Voss, either, by the look. Your lily flesh ripped easy as paper, didn’t it, boy?’

  “‘Get your fucking hands off me!’

  “Talon called to Khalid. ‘I believe he’s upset, good Abbot!’

  “‘They could have killed me!’

  “Talon scoffed. ‘You’re a paleblood, boy. You don’t die that easily. In a few hours, you’ll have not a mark on you.’ The seraph smoothed his impressive moustache, spun his accursed cane between his fingers. ‘Our gifts manifest in times of duress. This trial is designed to inflict that. So cease your whining, you bucktoothed little gongfarmer.’

  “‘You did this on purpose?’ I looked to the eyes above. ‘Are you mad?’

  “‘Are you, whoreson?’ Talon smiled.

  “I gritted my teeth. Feeling my fingers curling into a fist.

  “‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you, my little bumblefuck,’ Talon warned. ‘Striking a Seraph of the Silver Order unprovoked would see you whipped like an inquisitor on the feastday of the Angel of Bliss.’ He brushed his long dark moustache, a small smile creeping onto his face. ‘But perhaps … if I were to strike you first…’

  “‘… What?’

  “‘If I strike you first, you can strike me back. Blood for blood, eh, Abbot?’

  “Up in the bleachers, Khalid nodded. ‘Blood for blood.’

  “‘So make me do it, you worthless gobblecock,’ Talon spat. ‘Take the anger. Take the fury. Take the indignation that sets that pretty lip all aquiver, and force it onto me. If I hit you first, you can hit me back. So make me angry, boy. Make me furious.’

  “‘I…’

  “Swakk!

  “‘Do it! Make me feel it!’

  “‘I don’t…’

  “Swakk!

  “‘Seven Martyrs, fucking stop it!’

  “‘Give it to me!’ Talon slammed me back into the wall, frightening strong. His face was inches from mine, and I could see his eyes were run through, red with blood as he hissed with bared fangs. ‘Embrace what is within you! The curse within your blood!’

  “I clenched my jaw, temples pounding. Sister Aoife made no move to help me. The Order’s elders looked on, cold and pitiless. But I knew this was still a testing, and I wanted desperately to carve myself a place here, to learn the truth of the gifts my father had passed down to me. So, I tried to do as Talon bid. I embraced my fury, that Nordling fire within my blood, so real I could feel its heat beneath my skin. And I imagined the seraph burning with it instead, flames flooding out from me and setting him ablaze. Bloody fists clenched, chest heaving as I gathered up all my anger and all my pain and pushed it onto him.

  “Talon’s eyes widened. He drew one short and shallow breath.

  “‘No,’ he finally sighed. ‘Nothing at all.’

  “Talon released my tunic. Piss-hole eyes twinkling, the Seraph of the Hunt turned away, stroking his moustache as he glanced to the luminaries above. Seraph Argyle was scowling, his iron hand cupped to Khalid’s ear as he whispered. Greyhand’s face was a mask. Archivist Adamo seemed to have fallen asleep on Charlotte’s shoulder. I hovered, uncertain, the pain of my wounds a dim fire under the sanctus rush. Blood dripped down my fingers, puddled inside my boots. Sister Aoife looked at me with concern, but still, she took no steps to help me. The seraph scuffed his heels as he turned a slow circle, lips pursed.

  “‘We haven’t seen one of you in a while. How very depressing.’

  “‘… What do you mean?’

  “‘I mean you’re not particularly strong.’ Talon motioned to the crushed wretched. ‘Strong as an ordinary paleblood, of course, but certainly not one descended from the Blood Dyvok. You have no affinity for beasts, no resilience to wounds of the flesh, so that strikes Chastain and Voss off the list. But it seems you’ve as much talent for emotional manipulation as a cuntful of cold water, so you can’t be Ilon, either.’

  “‘So … what am I?’

  “Talon looked me over with sour expression. ‘You’re a frailblood.’

  “I looked to my master. ‘A what?’

  “‘The child of a vampire too young and weak to have passed on his legacy,’ Talon replied. ‘You have no bloodline. No bloodgifts, other than those we all of us share.’

  “The pain of my wounds was forgotten. I could feel my belly sinking without quite knowing why. ‘A-are you certain? Perhaps you’ve not tested me ri—’

  “‘I have been Seraph of the Hunt for a decade, boy. I have conducted this Trial enough to know a frailblood when I see one.’ Talon’s lip curled. ‘And I see one in you.’

  “Sweeping his moustache, the seraph stalked away across the sevenstar. Sister Aoife at last reached out toward me, patted my bloody shoulder as she murmured, ‘You shall still do God’s work here, Initiate. Keep the Mothermaid’s love in your heart and the Almighty’s teachings in your head, and all shall be well.’

  “I looked to Greyhand and Abbot Khalid, my gut sinking. And as I stood there in the rush of the bloodhymn, my torn limbs shaking, sweat-damp hair hanging over my eyes, I heard Talon’s parting blow like a punch to my belly.

  “‘Disappointing.’”

  XI

  HOW STORIES WORK

  “DISAPPOINTING.

  “That was the word hanging over my head later that night. If Master Greyhand was discouraged at the news about his new apprentice, he hid it well—remaining stoic as ever as he walked me back to Barracks. But still, Forgemaster Argyle’s dark scowl, Prioress Charlotte’s pursed lips, Seraph Talon’s words—none of them would leave me. And as I sat on my bed cleaning the blood out of my new boots, I could still hear his voice ringing in my ears.

  “Disappointing.

  “‘Should’ve knocked his fucking block off anyway,’ I growled.

  “‘Well, look what the maggots left behind,’ came a voice.

  “I glanced up and found Aaron de Coste staring at me from the Barracks door. He stood with another initiate—a tall, dark-haired lad named de Séverin, who carried himself in the same silver-spoon-up-his-arse manner as de Coste. From the shit-eating grin on Aaron’s face, word of my Trial had already circulated among the other initiates.

  “‘I knew you were lowborn, Kitten,’ he sneered. ‘But not so low as that.’

  “‘Eat shit, de Coste. I’ve not the patience for this now, I warn you.’

  “‘I suppose it makes sense,’ the lordling mused to de Séverin. ‘Vampire peasants bedding human peasants. All part of the gutter’s rich tapestry?’

  “His crony chuckled as the fire inside me flared.

  “‘My mother was no peasant. She was of the house of de León.’

  “‘Oh, madame of the manor, I’m sure. That squalid little hole we dragged you out of was her summer home, then?’ Aaron frowned, as if in thought. ‘Summer hovel, perhaps?’

  “De Coste was older than I. Three years, give or take, and he had a few inches on me back then. I wasn’t certain I could take him, but I swore to God if he made one more crack about my mama, I’d fucking try.

  “‘So I’ve not got a bloodline,’ I snapped. ‘I’m still paleblood. I can still fight.’

  “De Coste chuckled. ‘I’m certa
in the Forever King is trembling in his boots.’

  “‘He fucking should be,’ I spat, returning to cleaning mine.

  “The lordling wandered to his cot, picked up a copy of the Testaments by his bedside. But he still stared at me. ‘That’s how you see yourself, is it? Plucky little Gabriel de León, charging up to Fabién Voss’s throne of corpses with his new silver sword and saving the realm single-handed?’ Aaron chuckled. ‘You really have no bloody idea what’s happening here, do you?’

  “‘I know all I need to. I know I was fated to be here. And I know this Order is the one true hope against the Forever King.’

  “‘We’re the true hope against nothing, Kitten.’

  “I scowled. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  “‘I mean that my brother Jean-Luc is a chevalier in the imperial army at Augustin. The Golden Host. The forces being mustered in the capital will annihilate the Forever King before his shambling mongrels ever reach the Nordlund. Oh, our cause might be righteous. But the sad truth is, nobody at court believes the silversaints will make a difference.’ Aaron waved to the Barracks about us with lip curled. ‘The only reason this monastery is being financed at all is because Empress Isabella is enamored of mysticism, and Emperor Alexandre enjoys getting his cock sucked by his new bride.’

  “‘That’s horseshit, de Coste,’ I said.

  “‘And what would you know about it, frailblood?’ de Séverin sighed.

  “‘I know God meant for me to be here. My sister died at the hands of these monsters. And if I can do something to stop them, I will.’

  “‘Good for you,’ Aaron said. ‘But in the end, for all your faith and fury, you’ll be nothing but piss in the wind. I mean, look at you. Ma famille can trace our lineage back to Maximille the Martyr. My mother is baronne of the richest province in Nordlund and—’