by Jay Kristoff
“‘I’m sorry, Gabe,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I’m sorry I took you from Astrid and Patience. I should never have done that.’ Hanging her head, she slipped her leather gauntlet back on. ‘There are a lot of things I shouldn’t have done, I suppose. But I did them all for the best. Because I believed. In Dior. In you. And I still do. There is nothing, nothing I will not do to see this done.’
“Staring toward the falling sun, she sighed.
“‘But I’m sorry.’
“I closed my eyes, saying nothing as she walked away. The beast in me crashed against its bars, howling for me to follow, to take, to swallow, just one mouthful, just one fucking drop. And the awful thing of it was, I knew deep down Chloe wasn’t a fool to offer what she had—that I was weak and starving, and I’d need all my strength if ever I hoped to make it through this night alive, let alone best a Prince of Forever. But I’d made a vow. A promise whispered in the dark, cold as tombs and black as hell. Never again.
“Never. Again.”
Jean-François ceased his writing, dipped his quill into the ink at his side.
“A promise to whom, Silversaint?”
But Gabriel only shook his head.
“Patience, coldblood.”
XV
A PRINCE OF FOREVER
“WE PREPARED AS best we could in the time we had. Which is to say, terribly.
“I’d fought a half-dozen sieges before, but never with so little. We had holy water in abundance, and that was welcome news. An elaborate pump ran down the cliff to the depths of the Volta, used by the monks for their daily needs. Bellamy turned the crank as fast as he was able, while Rafa called down blessings on the water, and the courtyard fountains besides. I’d found a little chymist’s workshop in the distillery, scattered phials of salpêtre and sulfur—enough to mix up a few handfuls of black ignis, at least.
“Saoirse hauled barrels and bottles up from the distillery below. It smote my black and shriveled heart to waste liquor as sharp as this, even if it was fucking vodka. But still, we soaked the battlements and forecourt around the gates, sluicing the stone with the stink of high-grade spirits, adding a sprinkle of sawdust from the monastery’s coopery for punch. We used all they had, emptying every drop. And yet, I saved myself a single bottle, downing it all to dull the pain of my ever-growing thirst.
“The dark sun was setting now, only a few minutes of feeble light left before night fell like a headsman’s blade. I glanced around the company, broken glass in my belly. Saoirse and Rafa looked steady, Bellamy and Chloe a little shaky. Dior was stone.
“‘Right,’ I said. ‘If that Liathe bitch spat any kind of truth, Danton has gathered every wretched for miles to his side. They’ll go where their bloodlord wills them, which means they won’t come mindlessly this time. Saoirse, you and I keep them off the walls as long as we’re able. But when they break through, and they will, Bellamy lights the spirits with his bow, and we fall back to the cathedral. It’s not holy ground, but most of the windows are too narrow to crawl through, and there’s only two passages in and out.’
“Dior chewed a ragged fingernail, then spat. ‘Maggot trap.’
“‘You what?’ I asked.
“‘It’s a grift I thought up with my friends back in Lashaame,’ the boy mumbled. ‘You get a pretty girl, have her flash around a heavy purse in a seedy taverne, leave after one drink. Some prick’s bound to follow with intent of relieving her of her coin, probably more besides. But the girl leads the fellow down a blind alley, where you and your crew are waiting. And you roll him hard and take everything he’s got, then go to sleep content you stomped a bastard who deserved it.’ Dior shrugged. ‘I called it a maggot trap.’
“‘And you did this for recreation?’ Rafa asked.
“‘We did it to eat. But there’s nothing wrong with enjoying your job.’
“‘In military terms, it’s called a bottleneck,’ I said.
“The boy sniffed. ‘My name’s better.’
“‘As you like it.’ I sighed, waved to the circular building behind us. ‘Now, bad news is, after dousing the battlements, there was only enough vodka left to soak one passage into the cathedral. The westward one. Good news is, in a nice enclosed space like that and with time to evaporate, spirits that strong will burn like a trencherman’s fart in a candleshop. So when you fall back, fall back through the westward door. The wretched will follow. And Dior will be waiting with the spark.’
“‘And after that?’ Chloe asked.
“‘With fortune, we thin their number enough for me to get my hands on Dant—’
“I gasped, bending double as a spasm of pain ripped through my belly. I could feel my nails stirring at the tips of my fingers, my fangs in my gums. The thirst was all I knew for a moment—the warmth, the scent of the company around me, the thudding pulse of that luscious, hot crimson beating just below their skin …
“‘Gabe?’ Chloe asked. ‘Are you aright?’
“‘I’m f-fucking w-wonderful…’
“‘Ye look like puddled shite, Silversaint.’ Saoirse lifted Kindness, her face grim. ‘Leave the bonny Prince of Forever to me. It’s not my fate to die today. Nor tomorrow, neither.’
“Bellamy nodded, grim. ‘I will not go to my grave with my song still inside me.’
“‘Blessings to you all,’ Chloe said, watching me with wide, worried eyes. ‘May God and Mothermaid and all the Martyrs bring us victory over this evil.’
“I looked to Dior, my stomach still burning. ‘You be ready for my signal, boy.’
“‘I’ll be ready, hero.’
“I looked to Rafa. ‘Do me a favor, Father?’
“‘Ask it, Silversaint.’
“‘If you should happen to meet our Maker tonight, kick him in the cock for me.’
“Saoirse, Bellamy, and I took to the walls, wreathed in the stink of evaporating vodka. Rafa and Chloe stood in the bailey’s guttering torchlight, Dior hidden in the cathedral. The cliffs at our flanks meant there was only one path by which Danton could approach, but as darkness deepened, thick and frozen, I’d no clue if we had strength enough to stop him.
“And the thirst … Great Redeemer. I was so fucking thirsty …
“‘Remember,’ I hissed. ‘Retreat through the westward passage into the cathedral. The doors for the dead.’
“‘Poetic,’ Bellamy muttered. ‘If we live through this, there’s a hell of a ballad in it.’
“Saoirse’s jaw clenched, her grip tightening on Kindness’s haft. ‘They come.’
“I looked into the dark, saw a multitude swarming up the hill. Fangs bared, I drew my sword from her sheath, that silvered dame on the hilt ever smiling at me.
“‘Good fortune, Ash…’
“Die not on me n-now, Gabriel. We’ve bastards seven to slay, to s-slay.
“They charged toward San Guillaume, dark figures rushing through the falling night. I counted a hundred or more wretched, but against our little company, they may as well have been an army of thousands. And somewhere in the dark, their grim general awaited. I couldn’t see him yet, but I could feel him, like a shadow at my back. I’d fought things like him most of my life, and still, a part of me found the thought of Danton Voss utterly horrifying. Not frightening, mind you. Just … horrifying.”
“Why?” Jean-François asked.
Gabriel shook his head. “I used to wonder what it was that drove people like him to become the monsters they became. If it was a consequence of all that time, maybe—the need to indulge ever-darker desires, just to stave off the crushing boredom of forever. But you live long enough, you look into the mundane murk of people’s souls often enough, you see Danton didn’t really become anything. He’d just had the shackles of consequence removed. Give someone the power to do anything they want, and they’ll do exactly that. That’s the horrifying part—the only thing holding some folk back from the worst atrocities they can imagine is the fear they might not get away with it.
“
His wretched came on, half rotten and all silent. I watched them, tipping my last few flakes of sanctus into my pipe. Inhaling red smoke, I closed my eyes, listening to the feet coming through the snows, feeling tiny snowflakes melting cold upon my skin, the faint notes of death and blood in the air, Saoirse’s leathers, Bellamy’s fear—
“‘Gabriel…’
“—the song of the wind above and the waters below, the weight of the sword o—
“‘DeLeón!’
“I opened my eyes, found Bellamy staring at me incredulous as the enemy came on, ever closer, dead eyes and rotting tongues and—
“‘Should you not be silverclad? If never before, we need the aegis now! At the siege at Tuuve, your faith burned so bright, the Dead were struck blind. At the Battle of Báih Sì—’
“‘Have ye not figured it out yet, Bel?’ Saoirse asked.
“‘Figured what out?’
“The slayer glanced to me and sighed. ‘What worth all that pretty ink? What use a conduit for faith? If a man has no’ a drop of faith left inside him to give?’
“And then the Dead were on us, and there was no more time to talk. Some crashed into the gates and began battering, others flowed up the stonework like water. I lit an ignis bomb and tossed it over the wall, the powder igniting, nails and scrap metal ripping through the coldbloods. Saoirse and Bellamy rose up, letting fly with holy water and burning crossbow shots, and wretched began to fall. But others yet were climbing, dead eyes and hungry mouths, and soon enough, they began spilling over the walls.
“It was bladework then, and miles of it, running back and forth across the highwalk in a desperate attempt to stem the tide. Bellamy backed off along the eastern walk, no longer shooting flame for fear of igniting the liquor beneath us, Saoirse and I cutting into the Dead. A wizened old man, a skinny lad, a rotten mother with a belly still swollen from the babe she’d been carrying when she was murdered—all fell under Ashdrinker’s edge. But an ill feeling was growing in the back of my mind, darkening with every moment.
“Where the hell was Danton?
“Bellamy gasped, hand to brow. ‘I … I can f-feel him … i-in my head…’
“‘Force him out, Bel!’ Saoirse cried.
“‘I-I can’t…’
“‘Mothermoons, where is he?’
“‘GABRIEL!’
“I turned at Chloe’s scream, heart sinking. And there I saw him, like a shadow, perched behind us atop the western battlements. A host of wretched were scrambling up the stones around him, dozens of them. And with sinking heart, I realized the Dead had used their unholy strength to simply crawl around the cliffs on our flank, completely avoiding the firetraps we’d laid.
“‘Clever bastard…’ I whispered.
“‘Back!’ Rafa raised his wheel, burning silver in the dark. ‘Back now!’
“The foulbloods began spilling down into the bailey, but Chloe and Rafa stood tall, the sister brandishing her silversteel, the wheel in the priest’s hands burning like flame. Phoebe pounced upon the first wretched to touch the courtyard stone, tearing it apart as Chloe sliced another off at the knees. I cut down a foulblood on the wall, roared to Saoirse, ‘We’re outflanked, fall back!’
“Bellamy lit his crossbow shot, raising his bow. ‘He was in my head, he—’
“‘LIGHT IT, BOUCHETTE!’
“Saoirse leaped off the battlements to the stone below. The gates began to buckle, more wretched spilling up over the walls as Bellamy fired at the highwalk under my feet. The liquor and sawdust burst into flames, bright and seething. Wretched fell, flesh catching like tinder, a few hissing in agony as they crashed among their fellows below and set more ablaze. But yet more came on, a relentless, starving flood. And so I turned away, eyes upon their general. Fire rising at my back, I charged along the western highwalk, set to slay this dark shepherd and watch his sheep scatter.
“‘DANTON!’
“He turned to face me as his flock spilled into the courtyard below. Clad all in black, frockcoat and ruffled sleeves, cravat stained with the blood of the last poor wretch he’d killed. The strength of murders centuries deep unfurled in his veins and coiled behind his eyes.
“Lay b-but one hand upon him, Gabriel …
“He raised his saber, met Ashdrinker on his blade, and turned her aside. I was dimly aware of Bellamy on the eastern walk, firing flaming shots into the courtyard below now. Silver light burned in Rafa’s hands as Chloe and Saoirse fought side by side. But I had eyes only for my enemy. Our blades sang as we crashed across the highwalk, fury twisting my lips into a snarl. Danton’s blade sliced my arm, and I felt not a thing. Another blow carved my cheek to the bone, and I didn’t even blink.
“‘Ye look thirsty, halfbreed,’ he hissed.
“‘You look frightened, leech,’ I spat.
“‘I like thy new nun. A little shorter than the last one. How does she taste?’
“His strike sent me skidding back across the boards, fangs bared.
“‘No, tell me not,’ he smiled. ‘I shall learn for myself soon enough.’
“I heard Chloe scream, Bellamy cry out. More wretched had flanked us, cresting the eastern walk now. The soothsinger was struck from behind, dropping his bow. The Dead came at him from both sides, and in desperation, he slung his lute off his back, dipped that beautiful bloodwood into the burning barrel beside him, and started swinging it like a club.
“‘Back, you bastards! BACK!’
“They were overrunning us now, too many, too clever with this leech lord pulling their strings. Desperate, I threw myself at him, Danton’s sword piercing my belly and bursting out my back as at last, at last, my hand closed about his throat.
“Yesssss …
“Danton seized my wrist, my fingers brushing his skin. I lunged, snarling, but bloated with the kill, lips red, eyes flooded, the bastard was just stronger than I. And as I felt my bones grinding beneath his grip, I realized how terrible my folly was.
“I was starving. Weak. And he, the son of a Forever King. Shoulders crowned with all night’s mantle, all his strength, all his power at his command.
“‘Not tonight,’ he smiled.
“My wrist snapped like a twig. The blade inside me twisted. I heard Rafa roaring Bellamy’s name, ‘Run! RUN!’ the soothsinger crying out as his burning lute broke across one corpse’s shoulder, and a multitude of Dead bore him down. The necklet he wore snapped, musical notes spinning into the night as they sank their teeth into his skin.
“‘BELLAMY!’ Chloe cried.
“I gasped in agony as Danton flexed, lifting me off the ground, his saber hilt pressed against my belly, his blade buried in my bowels.
“‘Blood is owed thee, de León. And blood shall be rep—’
“An axe crashed into the side of the vampire’s neck, landing with the song of splintering stone. Danton snarled, and turning on the spot, he slung me with all his strength. I heard Chloe scream as I slid off his blade and flew across the courtyard, weightless, tumbling, crashing into the mosaic floor and smashing it like glass. I felt ribs break. Tasted blood. Black stars in my eyes.
“Saoirse faced Danton on the battlements, the slayer tearing Kindness from the vampire’s skin. Her blow would have lopped an ordinary head from its shoulders, split a tree to its roots. But the Beast of Vellene was an ancien Ironheart, his flesh like stone. Still, his throat was shattered, cracks spreading across his skin like veins through pale marble. And fury lit his eyes as Saoirse slammed her shield into his face and her axe into his belly.
“The highblood staggered as the slayer came on, furious, fearless. They crashed atop the highwalk as Chloe reached my side, bloody silversteel in hand, crying, ‘Gabriel, get up!’ She dragged me to my feet, my left arm broken, Ashdrinker barely clutched in my other hand. Above us, Rafa had gone to save Bellamy, wheel held out, the wretched hissing and scattering as the priest reached the soothsinger’s bloodied body. My ribs were grinding under my skin, blood in my mouth. But I watched Saoirse twirl, strawbe
rry-blonde braids spinning in the air about her as she swung Kindness at Danton once more.
“‘Nae man can kill me, vampire!’ The slayer grinned, feral, face spattered with his blood as she buried her axe into his shoulder. ‘And nae devil would dare try!’
“Danton’s hand closed around Saoirse’s like a vise, her fingers pinned tight on the haft of her axe. ‘No man nor devil, I,’ the vampire said.
“He battered her shield aside, drew back his other hand.
“‘I am a Prince of Forever.’
“And lashing out with clawed fingertips, he tore out Saoirse’s throat.
“Blood sprayed, crimson, brilliant. Phoebe looked up from a wretched’s torn body, the lioness roaring as her mistress staggered. Chloe reached out across the gulf toward Saoirse, screaming, Rafa watching in horror as Danton threw back his head, laughing as twin fountains of the slayer’s blood gushed across his skin.
“Saoirse stumbled to her knees, leathers drenched red. Her hands were pressed to her sundered throat, her eyes wide with disbelief. Phoebe roared in impossible fury, bounding up the highwalk stairs toward her mistress. Rafa had his wheel raised, screaming as he retreated toward the cathedral.
“‘Chloe! Back! Get back!’
“Turning, I saw that the gates had crumbled, wretched charging on through. Yet more dropped off the eastwalk atop me, claws and fangs tearing my skin. As I fought, desperate, punching and stabbing, I heard a scream of animal terror, and something heavy flew past me, smashing the oncoming wretched aside—Jezebel, whipped into a panic by the Dead and the flames. The dray had kicked free from the stables, charging like a spear now, through the wretched and out the broken gates. I couldn’t fault her for fleeing, thinking at least one of us might make it through the night alive. But she’d bought me precious moments at least, enough to climb to my feet and stagger back toward the cathedral.