Empire of the Vampire

by Jay Kristoff

  “‘And why would I want you to do that?’

  “‘If what Chloe said was true—’

  “‘If?’ He folded his arms, scoffing. ‘You know, when Sister Chloe and Father Rafa found me, I admit it took a while to believe what they said. You grow up like I did, it’s best to assume everyone you meet is a fucking cunt. That way, when they turn out to be just regular cunts, you’ll be nicely surprised. But you? You grew up with all this. Martyrs and Mothermaids and Redeemers. And there’s still not a drop of belief in you for any of it.’ He looked from the phial in my hand, up into the grey of my eyes. ‘I don’t want your blood, hero. I don’t want you following me. I want you to sod off back home to your wife and your sprat and your bottle and your smoke, and leave me right the fuck alone.’

  “He spat once on the floor. And shouldering past, he strode out the door.

  “So we set out, the seven of us, into falling snows. We left Winfael behind, trekking northeast, Dior scowling up a storm behind Chloe on her horse. And though I couldn’t conjure much affection for the little bastard, I still had to face it. I still had to wonder. Could it be true? A descendant of the son of God?

  “An end to daysdeath, here in the palm of my silvered hand?

  “Chloe believed. Rafa and the others. The Inquisition, sweet fucking Mothermaid, even Danton Voss believed, which of course meant his father did too. I finally understood a fraction of what was at stake here. The boy wasn’t just bait on my hook anymore. This was bigger than me. Bigger than all of it.

  “I could feel dark currents about us, deeper than I could see the bottom of. And I thought again of that mysterious highblood who’d accosted us at the watchtower outside Dhahaeth. Midnight-blue hair and bloody blade, dead eyes narrowed as she held out her hand to the boy. ‘Come with usss, child. Or die.’

  “Too many mysteries here by half …

  “‘That coldblood bitch with the mask and fancy red coat,’ I called. ‘The one Rafa saw off with his wheel. Have any of you seen her before?’

  “The group shook their heads, silence all around.

  “‘Why do you ask, Silversaint?’ Rafa replied.

  “I looked to the falling snow behind. ‘Danton will have found a way across the river by now. We lost days to that storm. And we still have the Inquisition to worry about. I’m wondering where that other highblood stands. No friend of our Forever Prince, I wager.’

  “Bellamy tilted his head. ‘The enemy of my enemy—’

  “‘Is just another enemy, Bouchette. I’m only pondering which will pay a visit first.’

  “‘Well, I still believe we should pay visit to San Guillaume,’ Rafa said. ‘The abbot may have got word from Pontifex Gascoigne by now. For all we know, there is an army of God-fearing soldiers in His Holiness’s colors, waiting to escort us to San Michon.’

  “‘For all we know, the Pontifex will declare our tale a heresy,’ Bellamy said.

  “‘The Church has been ruled by fear and misplaced fervor in past nights, ’tis true.’ Rafa nodded. ‘But Pontifex Gascoigne is a good man. He near emptied the Church’s coffers feeding the dispossessed who flooded to Augustin after daysdeath fell. He is a true and holy servant of God.’

  “‘Trust me, Father,’ I scoffed. ‘He’s like every politician I’ve known, holy skirts or no.’

  “The priest ignored me, looking to Chloe. ‘We should head to San Guillaume, Sister.’

  “‘One capitaine,’ Chloe replied. ‘One course.’

  “Rafa pursed his lips, but held his objection along with his tongue.

  “‘What’s in San Michon that you’re so keen to get back to, Chlo?’ I asked.

  “‘There’s no safer place for Dior in all the empire. And it’s not just the silversaints. San Michon also has its Library. The forbidden section, the secrets inside. Words are our greatest weapons in this war, Gabe. It’s not just the tale of Esan. The Prophecy speaks of a way daysdeath can be ended, and I believe I found that too.’ She looked to the boy behind her, and her eyes shone as if she looked upon the Redeemer reborn.

  “Adoration.

  “Belief.

  “‘Dior is going to save us all.’

  “The boy smiled, but I saw uncertainty in his eyes. For all the holy sister’s fervor, the shit he’d given me, I could tell Dior himself still wondered at all this. I knew what it was to be a lad that age. To have a weight on your shoulders you’d no wanting of. Truth told, he handled it better than most. But he met my gaze, and I saw his own harden.

  “‘The fuck are you gawping at, hero?’

  “I shook my head and sighed.

  “Still an obnoxious little prick, though …

  “We headed north, days on end through the rising chill. This stretch of Ossway seemed utterly abandoned, its folks likely fled south after Dún Cuinn fell. We passed ruined farmsteads, roadside tavernes, ghost towns—all empty, save for the rats. Those bastards swarmed thick, grown fat and fierce on the dead and all they’d left behind. I knew why this place had been left to rot. With no Laerd Lady to protect them, there’d be little sense staying here to be preyed upon. One more slice of the empire gone. One more jewel snatched from old Alexandre’s hollow crown.”

  The Last Silversaint tilted his head ’til his neck popped, drained the last from his wineglass. Jean-François looked up from his tome.

  “Laerd Lady?” the vampire asked.

  Gabriel nodded, refilling his glass. “Ossway was a matriarchal nation. Before it got fucked seventeen times sideways by the Blood Dyvok, anyways. The whole region had been part of the Elidaeni Empire for centuries, of course. Alexandre III ostensibly ruled it all. But the individual fiefs were ruled by femmes. Clan council run by venerable dames. Husbands from outside the clan took the matriarch’s name when wed.”

  “Sounds positively enlightened,” the vampire murmured.

  “Depends who you ask. The practice was steeped in worship of the Old Gods. A feminine aspect of the Wild, the Hunt, the Moons, called Fiáin. But the Holy Church beat the paganism out of the Ossians over time. A few traditions survived. Women fought in wars beside their men. Women had the rule of the hearth. But instead of Fiáin, local worship shifted to the Mothermaid after the Wars of the Faith. There were more churches and abbeys devoted to her in the Ossway than anywhere else in the empire.”

  Gabriel leaned back, sipped at his wine.

  “It was only in the most remote corners where the ancient ways truly lived on. Old World religion. Worship of Fiáin. Wild Hunts. Fae witchery. All rare enough to be considered folklore by most. But the silversaints knew better. Even before daysdeath, there were places in Ossway where a man wouldn’t dare be caught alone after dark. A few clans up in the Highlands who still took that shit seriously.”

  “Such as the Dūnnsair?” Jean-François asked.

  Gabriel nodded. “Such as the Dūnnsair.”

  “Your good friend Saoirse was one of these … fae witches, then?”

  “Well…” Gabriel shrugged. “There’s magik, and then there’s magik. But there wasn’t an ounce of silver in that axe of hers, and Kindness still went through coldbloods like Philippe the First through his mistresses. And young Saoirse didn’t tattoo her face just for the aesthetics. There’s power in ink, coldblood. And not just the silvered kind.

  “We bedded on high ground when we could. The weather was worsening by the day, but if we were elevated, at least we might spot them coming. Only Phoebe and I could see for shit in the dark, and it’d have been ludicrous to light torches. And so we camped at night, and slept barely a wink. We could risk no flame to cook by, either, so meals were even more of a misery march. And worst of all? The fear that was really chilling my piss?”

  “That Danton must surely be tracking you?” Jean-François asked. “That you knew nothing of that masked highblood, yet she seemed to know you exact? That the Inquisition was surely still stalking you, and yet you’d seen no sign of them since the Ūmdir?”

  “No.” The silversaint scoffed. “My vo
dka was running low.

  “I was sat in the bare branches of an ancient oak, bottle propped beside me, cursing beneath my breath. The tree was one of a dozen in a tall copse atop a rugged hill. The wind blew so fierce and constant from the north that the trees had grown in crooked, the branches swept sideways like windswept hair, wrapped with ropes of asphyxia.

  “‘I hate this fucking place,’ I growled. ‘Nothing grows, save in the wrong direction.’

  “‘What is that, Silversaint?’

  “Bellamy lay on the branch above, nodding to the parchment in my hand. I was shading in the lands of the Cuinn with charcoal, fingertips smudged black. ‘Old map of mine. Just keeping track of the knucklebones Alexandre has lost in this game.’

  “‘Do you know where we are?’ Chloe called from the tree next door.

  “I shrugged, tracing a dark line on the parchment. ‘Must be close to the Dílaenn by now. Things might get easier once we cross, but I’m not sure where we can do that. There used to be a bridge up past Haemun’s Hill, but I’ve no clue if it’s still standing.’

  “‘We can ask Saoirse when she returns,’ Chloe said.

  “Bellamy shivered, curling over in his furs. ‘I must confess, mes amis, when I set out from the capital two years back, I’d no notion I’d end up in a place such as here. Not that the company isn’t of finest quality,’ he added hastily, ‘but on nights like this, I miss Augustin. Her little cafés and broad boulevards, doe-eyed lovers wandering her canals arm in arm.’ He shifted on his branch, sending a smattering of snow onto my head, and he sighed all the way from his soul. ‘My heart aches to see her again. My Augustin, and her empress divine.’

  “I scowled upward, brushing the snow from my hair. ‘You know Isabella?’

  “‘Know her?’ The soothsinger smiled, those pretty blue eyes staring out into the dark. ‘I can say I serve her, as loyally as any knight or maid-at-arms. I can say I have written songs for her, as beautiful as could make angels weep. But know her?’ He shook his head. ‘What man can truly say that of Isabella, Silversaint?’

  “I looked at Bellamy with his silly hat and his perfect stubble and his dreamer’s eyes, and it struck me how young he was then. How young all of them were.

  “‘Leastways you’ve been to the capital,’ Dior muttered, blowing on his hands and shoving them in his armpits. ‘I’ve never even seen it.’

  “The soothsinger brightened then, handsome as a pocketful of princes.

  “‘We shall see it together, mon ami.’ His voice grew deep and dramatic, hand sweeping the sky. ‘When all this is done, I shall take you there myself. Good Sœur Sauvage and Père Sa-Araki can visit the Cathédrale d’Lumière, there to pray in the honeywarm glow of the light eternal. Mlle Saoirse can bathe in the perfumed fountain beneath the Pont de Fleur—heaven knows she needs it.’ He winked at the boy, eyes shining. ‘And you, me, and Chevalier de León shall take in a show on the Rue des Méchants.’

  “‘You shall not,’ Père Rafa scowled.

  “‘Why?’ the boy asked. ‘What happens on the Rue des Méchants?’

  “‘Sex,’ I replied, taking a long swallow of my vodka.

  “Chloe scowled, made the sign of the wheel. Bellamy tutted and tipped his ridiculous cap. ‘That is not all that happens there, Silversaint…’

  “‘Well, no, not all,’ I admitted. ‘There’s a great deal of gambling. A goodly dose of dreamweed dealers and poppydens and burlesque. But there’s also a tremendous amount of sex. In fact, I bet you’d not be able to fling a royale on the Rue des Méchants without hitting someone either openly offering, desperately looking for, or enthusiastically engaged in s—’

  “‘Godssakes, Gabriel, we understand.’

  “A hot blush was pinking Chloe’s cheeks, and I threw her a teasing wink. ‘Do you really? I didn’t think the books in the forbidden section were that risqué, Sister.’

  “Chloe aimed a furious scowl my way, signed the wheel. I chuckled, leaning back in my branch and wondering if I should have another smoke now, or stretch it out an hour more. Dior watched the flush die in the silver sister’s cheeks, pouting in thought.

  “‘Did you always want to be a nun, Sister Chloe?’

  “My old friend glanced up to the boy, breathed deep. ‘Since I was a little girl.’

  “‘Did you…’ The lad cleared his throat, uncertain. ‘I mean to say, have you ever…’

  “‘Careful, boy,’ I growled. ‘You’re sailing awfully close to the shores of a little island most call None of Your Fucking Business.’

  “‘There are many kinds of love, Dior,’ Chloe said. ‘If you are asking what I think you are asking, I gave up the love of men for the love of God most high.’

  “‘Do you … miss it?’

  “‘A woman who has never seen the night cannot miss the moons.’

  “‘Aright, then, do you not … wonder?’

  “Chloe glanced sidelong to me, both of us aware of how thin the ice she now trod upon was. But still, I felt a flicker of cool anger as she spoke. ‘Desire is no sin, save when we indulge it. But I’m sure Père Rafa would agree God’s love sustains beyond all earthly appetite.’

  “‘True.’ The old man shrugged. ‘Still, I miss it.’

  “Four heads swiveled to the priest. Four sets of eyebrows shot to the sky.

  “‘I miss it like…’ The priest waved a vague hand, pushed his spectacles up his thin nose and glanced to the soothsinger. ‘Help an old man out, Bellamy?’

  “‘Like … the desert misses the rain?’

  “Rafa winced. ‘A touch clichéd.’

  “‘Like the dawn misses the dusk?’ Bellamy sat up straighter and snapped his fingers. ‘No … like a large-breasted woman misses lying on her stom—’

  “‘Shut the fuck up, Bouchette.’

  “Dior was looking at the priest with a wicked grin. ‘Père Rafa … you’ve…’

  “‘I was not always a servant of the cloth, Dior.’ The old man smiled fondly. ‘I was once a young man like you. I even came close to marrying once.’

  “‘What was her name, Father?’ Bellamy asked.

  “‘Ailsa.’ The priest looked to the dark above, sighing her name like sugared smoke. ‘A huntress who sold vellum to San Guillaume. I was an acolyte when we met, my vows still unsworn. We fell in love, so deep and sudden I was tempted to leave behind all I’d studied for. But Ailsa could see my suffering, torn between love of her and love of God. She told me no flower blooms that grows in two beds, and still, I could not decide. So one day, she kissed me farewell, set out ahunt, and never returned to San Guillaume. I searched for her. Months and miles. But I never saw my sweet Ailsa again.’

  “Bellamy sniffled, reaching for his lute. ‘No flower blooms that grows in two be—’

  “‘Don’t you fucking dare, Bouchette…’

  “‘That’s sad,’ Dior murmured, looking at the priest. ‘I’m sorry, Rafa.’

  “The old man smiled. ‘It was God’s will. If I had married Ailsa, I would never have been contacted by Sister Chloe, never have found you, Dior. And the good sister is correct. God’s love sustains me where no mortal love could ever have endured.’ He clutched the wheel about his neck in one wrinkled, liver-spotted hand. ‘This weak flesh melts all too soon, my child. But the love of the Lord is evergreen. And it shall see me to his kingdom eternal.’

  “‘Seems a little sadistic, though, doesn’t it?’

  “Rafa spared me an indulgent glance. ‘What does, Chevalier?’

  “‘Giving you desires, then denying you the sating of them? Look, but don’t touch? Taste, but don’t swallow? Why make you want what you can’t have?’

  “‘To test our faith, of course. To judge if we are worthy of the kingdom of heaven.’

  “‘But he’s all-seeing, isn’t he? All-knowing? God knows whether you’re going to pass his test before he ever gives it to you. And if you succumb to your desire? He condemns you to burn. He sets you up to fail, then has the balls to question his own handiwork
.’

  “‘It is not for mortals to know the mind of God, Silversaint.’

  “‘The wise man knows you don’t blame the blade, priest. You blame the blacksmith.’

  “‘A parent’s kindness is oft-times cruel. You have a daughter, do you not? I would wager the crown jewels to a ha-royale you love her more than anything under heaven.’

  “‘Of course I do.’

  “‘Did you ever deny your Patience that which she wanted as child? The sweets she cried for before supper? A smack to her knuckles before she burned herself on the flame? The pain you inflicted came from a place of purest adoration, though she may not have understood it at the time. But you hurt her for her own good.’

  “‘My stepfather beat the shit out of me as a child, priest. And all it ever taught me was how to hate him.’ I fixed Rafa with a glower. ‘It’s the lowest kind of man who raises a fist to his child and calls it love. And it’s the worst kind of tyrant who demands you adore him above all others.’ I shook my head, looking the old man up and down. ‘That wheel hanging around your neck won’t keep you warm in the dark, priest. It won’t ever love you back. And silver it might be, but one night, you’re going to learn just how little it’s actually worth.’

  “Dior looked at me then, blue eyes drifting to the silver on my skin. It seemed as if the lad were about to speak, when …

  “‘Chloe!’

  “I glanced up at the distant shout, eyes narrowed in the dark. I could see Phoebe loping across the snowy hillside, the lioness just a shadow on the grey. And behind her …

  “‘Saoirse?’ Dior called, sitting up on his branch.

  “The slayer was waving as she dashed toward us, and I tucked away my map and bottle, dropped down from my branch, and ran out to meet her. As she reached my side, Saoirse bent double, chest heaving like a bellows. The slayer looked as if she’d sprinted all the way from Alethe.

  “‘Troubles?’