by Jay Kristoff
“Astrid flew to the door, and I roared at her to stop, knowing in my heart she never would. And as she flung it wide to the night fallen outside, I felt him, like snow upon my skin, I saw him, like every nightmare waking, I knew him, like I knew the teeth of time and the taste of blood and the warmth of hell awaiting. Standing upon the threshold of the little home we loved, the little life we’d built: a debt long since due. A fond smile was on his lips, and his eyes were heavy-lidden coals, sharp as the sword sheathed in my hand.
“‘Papa?’ Patience whispered.
“‘Oh, God,’ Astrid breathed. ‘No…’
“He stood on the cusp of night, arm about my daughter’s shoulder. He held the flowers she’d picked in one pale hand, like a courter come calling. Clad in long white satin brocade, unblinking, unmoving, unchanged from that moment I’d first laid eyes on him so many years before. As if all the moments and miles between then and now were but a dream from which I’d finally woken.
“‘May I come in, Gabriel?’
“‘Oh no, NO!’ Astrid screamed, and I lunged, stopping her from flinging herself against his stone. And I held her tight as she thrashed and roared, and the thing outside our door drew Patience closer and ran one bone-white claw down the curve of her cheek.
“‘Oh, God…’ I breathed.
“Fabién Voss looked skyward, searching all the gables of heaven. And his gaze returned to mine, and he whispered the question I’ve been asking ever since.
“‘Where?’
“‘Please,’ I begged. ‘Don’t hurt her.’
“‘Let me in,’ the vampire promised, ‘and I vow I shall release her.’
“The greatest lies are the ones we tell ourselves. The deadliest poison the one we swallow willingly. And yet sometimes we clutch at those deceits like a drowning man at straws, because the alternative is simply too awful to fathom. We believe in life after death, because oblivion is too dark an abyss to stare into. We tell ourselves our creator cares, because the thought of a maker who doesn’t is too terrifying to consider. And standing there, with Astrid trembling in my arms, I convinced myself Fabién Voss spoke truth. That he was only here for me, that ma famille were blameless, that he would let them go. Because the alternative would’ve simply shattered me like glass to look at.
“Instead, I looked into my daughter’s eyes, wide and frightened and fixed on me, her papa, her mountain, the man who would do anything, give anything, to keep her safe.
“‘Papa?’
“‘Shhhh,’ the vampire cooed. ‘Hush, child.’
“‘All will be well, love,’ Astrid told her. ‘Listen to me. All will b-be well.’
“The vampire stared at me, the windows to his soul looking in on an empty room. The ink upon my skin burned with cold radiance, but his eyes were narrowed only slightly against it; the dark power within him stronger than mine. I glanced to Ashdrinker in my hand, desperate thoughts awhirl in my mind. But Voss only shifted his hand on Patience’s shoulder, fingertips drifting slightly closer to her neck.
“‘May I come in, Gabriel?’
“All that stood between us now were two words. So much power. So much peril. How many hearts have been made complete by words so small as ‘I do’? How many more have been shattered with a breath as tiny as ‘It’s over’?
“Two little words.
“You mustn’t.
“No choice.
“My baby.
“‘Come in,’ I told him.
“He smiled. Beautiful. Terrible. And scuffing his boots politely upon the doormat Astrid had woven, the Forever King stepped across the threshold and into our home. I saw shapes behind him in the dark, other figures, half a dozen; Princes of Forever all, steeped in terror and blood. I knew their names: Alba, Alène, Kestrel, Morgane, Ettiene, Danton. But none made to step closer, hovering on the edge of night, bearing silent witness as their dread father walked slowly inside. I can’t tell you what I felt to see it—that monster with my baby on its arm. So much terror and fury I could barely bring myself to speak.
“‘Let her go.’
“‘Soon,’ he replied.
“‘If you hurt her…’ Astrid hissed, teeth bared. ‘God help me…’
“The Forever King smiled then, waving to the dining table.
“‘I have interrupted thee at repast. Apologies, I beg. May I sit?’
“I nodded, my hand still on Ashdrinker’s hilt. Fabién moved, liquid, the preternatural grace of centuries at his call. There was nothing unconsidered about him; no wasted motion, no squandered breath. He moved like a statue come to life, every part of him bleached bone-white by the hands of time, save those eyes, black as the holes between the stars. One hand wrapped around my daughter’s waist as he settled her upon his lap.
“‘Wouldst thou do me the honor of joining me, old friend?’
“I sat opposite, tense as a bowstring. My eyes locked on his. Terror in me, then. Complete and total terror.
“Voss gazed about the room, at the roaring fire, the pots and pans, the hook where I hung my coat; these tiny fragments of our life, now so inconsequential. He took the silverbells Patience had gathered and slipped them into the vase.
“‘A bright little lair thou hast crafted thyself, I see. A pleasant clime to while away thine autumn, afore cruel winter comes.’ He glanced to Astrid, hovering beside me, anguish and horror in her eyes. ‘We have traveled far to be here. My throat, I fear, is parched. Might I trouble thee, dearest madame, for a glass of wine?’
“‘We have none,’ Astrid replied.
“‘The Beaumont, my dearest. Hidden in the pantry?’
“Astrid paled a little at that, and with a desperate glance into my eyes, she slipped toward the kitchen. Voss turned to me, a conspiratorial smile on bloodless lips.
“‘She intended it as surprise for thine anniversary. Touching, no?’
“I knew he was in her mind then. I could feel him in mine also. Slipping like a thief through our secrets, our thoughts, nothing sacred, nothing hidden. The images of murder filling my head, the sword in my hand buried in his throat, the lunge for the burning logs in the fire, the desperate math of how I might save them—my daughter, my love—all unveiled. Patience looked at me, and she whispered again, ‘Papa?’ and a tear slipped down her cheek. Voss turned to her, his voice like black silk.
“‘Oh nono, hush now, little flower. It pains thy Uncle Fabién, to see thee cry. Tell me, my sweet, my love, my angel dear, how old art thou?’
“She looked to me, and I nodded, bloody agony in my chest.
“‘Eleven,’ she whispered.
“‘Oh, precious love. Oh, such an age! All childhood’s brightness still cherried in thy cheek, all womanhood’s promise budding ’pon thy horizon. Thy name is Patience, aye?’
“‘Oui…’
“He looked at her sadly, fingers brushing back her long black hair.
“‘I had a daughter once. Oh, aye, I had a daughter, just as beautiful as thee. And I loved her, Patience. I loved her just as dear as thy brave and noble father loves thee.’
“Astrid placed the goblet of wine on the table, bright and red as blood. And Voss broke his stare with my daughter, looking instead to my love.
“‘Oh, not for me, dear madame.’ His grateful smile vanished, and for a moment, his face was a mask of pure malevolence as his gaze slipped to Astrid’s throat. ‘For thee.’
“‘Voss…’
“‘She is a beauty, Gabriel.’ He was smiling once more, placing a kiss so cold upon Patience’s cheek that I saw her skin pale where his lips touched her. ‘Both of them, radiant as the sun. Proud art thou? Of this lair, this life thou hast made?’
“‘I am.’
“‘Love them, dost thou? As God loves his angels?’
“‘I do.’
“‘And what wouldst thou give to keep them safe, thy angels, thy loves?’
“‘Anything.’
“‘Thy life? Thy liberty?’
“‘Anything! Everything! P
lease!’ I slammed Ashdrinker on the table. ‘PLEASE!’
“‘Four. Centuries.’
“I blinked, my belly grown far beyond chill. ‘… What?’
“‘That is how long I knew my Laure. My angel. My love. My Wraith in Red. Four. Hundred. Years.’ He caressed Patience’s cheek, whisper soft. ‘Thou hast had the keeping of this flower for but eleven, and already thou wouldst give thy soul for her. Nothing from which thou wouldst shirk, Father, to save thy precious daughter’s life. What then, think ye I would not do to avenge my daughter hers?’
“That claw rested still upon her throat. And every desperate notion, every bleak fantasy I could conjure ended only in horror. I knew he wanted me to beg, but still, I did. Hoping for some reprieve, and praying, oh mighty fucking God, praying with every part of me, every mote of my wretched soul that he would spare them this.
“I would have given anything to spare them this.
“‘Voss. Please … Your quarrel is with me.’
“‘Quarrel?’ The vampire blinked. ‘Like clerks over a bill? Nay. No thing so shallow as quarrel twixt thee and I. Call it what it is, Silversaint. Vendetta.’
“He turned black eyes to the glass of wine, then up to Astrid.
“‘Thou art not drinking, madame.’
“His gaze drifted to the hand she held quivering behind her back.
“‘What is the knife for?’
“‘You,’ Astrid promised. ‘You.’
“‘Voss,’ I whispered. ‘Listen to me. Damn it, LOOK AT ME—’
“‘Know thee the name of thy sin, Gabriel? Thy soul hath the stain of them all, but know thee thy greatest? Come now, and speak its name. If thou wouldst give thy life for theirs, first I shall take thy confession. I shall be thy priest, and thee, my son. Gabriel de León. The Black Lion. The Savior of Nordlund. Liberator of Triúrbaile. Redeemer of Tuuve. Sword of the Realm. Silversaint. What sin, sweetest, is thine?’
“I clenched my teeth, fangs grown long in my gums. Thinking upon my life, the answer that might buy me reprieve, the confession he sought of me. ‘Pride,’ I whispered.
“‘Once perhaps. But no more. Speak again, and true.’
“I looked to Astrid, my breath trembling. The vows broken between us. I’d never think our love a sin, but still, I spoke, desperate now. ‘Lust, then…’
“‘Thy sin, verily. But not the worst. Thy God is listening, Gabriel. Thy trumpets sing. Shalt thou die with soul unshriven?’
“My grip tightened on my blade as I hissed, the things I wanted to do to this bastard and all his wretched kind aflame in my head. ‘Wrath.’
“Voss shook his head, as if disappointed.
“‘’Tis Sloth, Gabriel. That was thy sin in the end, and worst among them all. Not Pride. Nor Lust. Nor Wrath. Simple Sloth.’ He waved his hand about him, lip curled in disgust. ‘To slink ye here, to this hovel at earth’s end, like a mongrel to its flea-struck bed? To foil my design, to stand in my way—verily, to take my daughter’s life—all these wrongs might I have forgiven had ye but stayed thy course. Long centuries have I sought an adversary worthy of my ire. And for one bleak and blessed moment, as I heard my daughter scream through the death ye gifted her, my hollow heart sang as it hath not for centuries at the thought … perhaps I had found him. That man who could give me but a second in which I might once more taste life through fear. I hoped. Verily, I prayed.’
“He shook his head.
“‘And this is what becomes of thee? This pitiable, ordinary life? Nay. Nay, this, I cannot forgive, old friend. To turn thy back with deed undone? To step from stage with song unsung? Magnificent were ye, Gabriel. And now? Thou art a lion, playing at being a lamb. And that is why by God thou art abandoned, and why he hath unleashed me upon thee.’
“‘Voss, please…’
“‘Please,’ Astrid whispered. ‘Don’t.’
“‘So beautiful,’ he whispered, running a claw along Patience’s neck. ‘But already, ye fade, Patience. The sweetness of the fruit is but the prelude to decay. Dying hast thou been, since the day ye were first born.’
“‘Almighty fucking God, Voss, you said you’d let her go!’
“He looked at me. His eyes black glass, like mirrors in which I saw myself. Wretched. Begging. And he spoke then, the words that would unmake my world.
“‘And unlike thee, I keep my vows.’
“His hand moved. Just a flicker. And he…”
Gabriel’s voice faltered. Ashes on his tongue.
To speak it would make it real.
To speak it would be to live it again.
“He…”
Jean-François sat with one pale hand pressed to his chest, a sliver of pity in his soulless eyes. The cell they sat in was cold as tombs, the pale light of dawn not long from the horizon. But the dark in that stone room was deep as any the vampire had known, as long and empty and bleak as a lifetime unloved. And he stared at this man, this broken wretch, leaning forward in his chair and covering his face, shoulders shaking in silent sobs. And a single, bloody tear spilled from the vampire’s eyes as he whispered.
“Almighty God…”
The Last Silversaint drew a shuddering breath.
Looked to the skies above.
“Where?”
XIX
UNMADE
“THERE’S A HATE so pure it’s blinding. There’s a rage so complete it’s all-consuming. It takes you, and it breaks you, and the thing you’ve been is forever destroyed. Burned to ashes and then reborn. And that was all I knew as I rose up and drew Ashdrinker from her sheath, the sword an extension of my arm, my arm an extension of my will, my will a summation of that hate, that rage, that desire to unmake. Not kill. Not destroy. To annihilate. Ashdrinker screamed with me as she sliced through the space between us, too red for me to look at. A blow that might’ve cut the earth in two. A strike so perfect it could have split the sky.
“The blade struck the Forever King across his throat. Starsteel, fallen from heavenly skies, pitted against immortal flesh, ancient when the empire was a madman’s dream.
“I heard the sound of steel striking stone.
“The song of dreams undone.”
Gabriel looked at his hands.
“And Ashdrinker shattered.
“Astrid struck, screaming, the silver knife in her hand flashing. All hell’s fury in her eyes. If she could have given her life to make him bleed a drop, she would have died ten thousand times. But for all her rage, my love was a child’s fist upon a mountainside. And Voss’s hand snaked out around my throat, cinching like an iron vise. I roared as he seized Astrid with his other hand, drawing her to his chest as he looked into my eyes and smiled like all light’s dying.
“‘There he is,’ he whispered. ‘The lion awakened.’
“I snarled, blind fury, strangled rage. And with all the dark might of his ancient blood, Voss lifted me high and hurled me down, his strength so great I was sent crashing through the floor and into the cellar below. My skull smashed upon the stone, and I felt my bones shatter, my body break, my heart inside it. His voice drifted down through the dust, the blood, the hurt, a whisper in my rising dark, too soft for any but us two to hear.
“‘I shall await thee in the east, Lion.’
“And though I would have given my last drop of blood, my very soul to fight it off, still I felt it take me. The awful arms of darkness, reaching up from that splintered stone and dragging me down into sleep unwanted. And the last sound I heard before it took me was not my broken, ragged breath, nor my love screaming my name, nor the sound of all we’d built, all we’d done, all we’d wished for, crashing down around my ears.
“It was laughter.
“Voss’s laughter.
“And then, blackness fell.”
XX
A PROMISE IN THE DARK
“I WOKE IN darkness. Blood in my mouth. Blood in the air. And I wondered if this was hell. No flames, no fallen, no lake of brimstone. Just dark and silence unending. But then I moved,
and pain lanced through me, broken bones and bleeding meat, and I realized life, cursed and hateful, still coursed through this wretched body.
“I felt a weight upon my chest. My fingers roaming old leather, cool metal, familiar. A razored edge, a jagged tip with six inches now missing—my sword, laid out upon my breast as for a king in a barrow of old. My eyes began to pick out details in the black. Shattered bottles and crumpled shelves. I was in our cellar, I realized—the ruins of it, anyway. Ceiling beams held an avalanche of broken stone but a few feet above my head. It looked as if the entire house had been brought down atop me, the lighthouse also—tons of fallen masonry held in check by only a few slivers of wood and the accursed hand of God.
“‘God…’
“Gabriel …
“Ashdrinker whispered in my head, her voice now broken like she was.
“Gabriel, I am s-s-so sorry I f-failed thee, failed thee.
“And then I saw her. Lying on the stone beside me.
“My love. My life. My Astrid.
“My heart, splintering inside my chest.
“She looked more beautiful than she’d ever been. But it wasn’t the beauty of a thousand smiles, nor of the mother of my child, nor of the light of my life. No. Hers was a dark beauty now. Those lips that had once breathed life into mine? Now red as murder. That face shaped like heartbreak? Not milk-white and soft, but marbled and hard. I saw no rise and fall of breath in her breast, no pulse at her throat, still marked by the press of his teeth and the leavings of his feast. And I reared back, almost breaking at the final, awful horror of it. Because she wasn’t dead. She was Dead.
“And I knew the color of desolation then. And its color was red.
“I’ll not give breath to the dark thoughts that entered my mind. Not even for your pale Empress, vampire. I’m sure you can imagine the desperate, vain hopes, the evil, selfish dreamings, as far from heaven as devils can fly. All smothered at last by simple despair.