Empire of the Vampire

by Jay Kristoff

  “‘Good.’ I winced as I climbed up behind her. ‘Because dramatic chases with immortal hordes gets the blood pumping and all, but I’m not as young as I used to be.’

  “‘Should I fetch your walking stick, old man?’

  “‘Cheeky bitch.’

  “‘Coming after me was foolish, you know. You said it’s always better to be a bastard.’

  “‘Privileges of being a father. Don’t do what I do, do what I say.’

  “She smiled faintly, blue eyes still on the bloody ice. ‘Merci. For following me.’

  “‘I told you. My friends are the hill I die on.’

  “‘We’re still friends, then?’

  “‘The strangest sort. But oui.’ I breathed deep and sighed. ‘Still friends.’

  “She smiled wider, impish, and leaning up, she kissed my bloody cheek.

  “‘The fuck was that for?’ I growled.

  “‘No reason,’ she lied.”

  XXIV

  THIS ENDLESS NIGHT

  “IT ROSE UP before us like it had that findi seventeen years ago, wreathed in snow-grey fog. And though I’d seen it a thousand times, still, I knew what Dior felt as she looked to the bluffs above and breathed a frozen sigh.

  “Simple, jaw-dropping awe.

  “‘Fuck my face,’ she whispered.

  “Seven lichen-covered pillars towered above the frozen valley, crowned with the familiar haunts of my youth—the Gauntlet, the Armory, the Cathedral. I remembered the years I’d spent here: quiet moments in the Library’s dusty stacks, feasts of victory and hymns of praise and stolen moments of bliss in the arms of she who was my love.

  “Before I’d lost it all.

  “I felt a wave of nostalgia, that sweet poison seeping into my heart, that vain and selfish desire to dwell among glories of the past, when days were better and simpler, when all the world seemed bright, tinted rose-red in the halls of memory. But it’s a fool who looks with more fondness to the days behind than the ones ahead. And it’s a man drenched in defeat who sings that sad refrain; that things were better then.

  “Fincher told me that Kaspar and Kaveh had both married, moved back home to Sūdhaem, and I didn’t know the lads who came out from the stables to take our horses. I didn’t know the gatekeep who winched us up on the sky platform, nor any of the Silver Sisters who stood with Chloe and watched me sidelong as we rose up from the valley floor. They knew me of course—the Lion the dark had feared, the boy Empress Isabella had knighted with her own blade, the fool who’d stolen a bride from God. And in returning to this place, I felt like a man who’d found an old coat he wore as a boy, slipping it onto his shoulders and discovering it no longer fits.

  “Sad for youth lost.

  “Proud that he has grown.

  “But most of all, uncomfortable.

  “‘We must begin our preparations with Dior,’ Chloe said, her voice almost trembling with anticipation. ‘The Rite must be conducted at dawn, and there is much to make ready.’

  “‘What is this Rite?’ I asked. ‘Where does it come from?’

  “‘Unearthed in the depths of the Library’s forbidden section. An ancient text written in bloodscript, penned by a Grail scholar before the rise of the empire, and translated with poor Rafa’s help over many years.’ Chloe made the sign of the wheel, hung her head. ‘The book is very old. So fragile the pages might turn to dust if you touch them ungentle. Hence, I couldn’t bring them with me in the search. But this is fitting anyway.’ She smiled at Dior like a mother twice proud, waved to the grand Cathedral as we rose into view of it. ‘It is here, in the church of the First Martyr, that San Michon’s descendant shall put an end to the endless night.’

  “As ever, Chloe’s fervor was contagious, and the ’saints and sisters around us murmured, staring at the girl beside me in soft awe. ‘Véris.’

  “Dior gazed at the Cathedral in wonder. With Isabella’s patronage, it had been restored to its full glory, thrust skyward like a spear unto heaven, black stone and beautiful windows of glittering stained glass. ‘Do I … do I need to do anything?’

  “‘Perhaps a bath is in order?’ Chloe chided. ‘But no, love. You need only be yourself. Almighty God, the Mothermaid, and Martyrs shall do the rest.’

  “Dior looked to me, and I nodded. ‘Go with Chloe. I’ll not be far.’ And taking Dior’s hand, the sisters led her across the rope spans toward the Priory. Greyhand murmured that he must prepare for duskmass, that we would talk anon. De Séverin slapped me on the back, and Fincher grinned. ‘What say we buy ye a drink meantime, brother?’

  “‘Throw in a tunic and new greatcoat, and I’ll get the first round,’ I smiled.

  “The brothers laughed and saw me to the Barracks to wash the blood and ashes from my skin, and from there, to the Armory. Seraph Argyle was in the forge, among his blackthumbs as ever—an old man now, but still broad as barns and hard at work, his iron hand wrapped about the blade he was hammering. He nodded greeting, but seemed not overjoyed to see me, even after all those years; the stain of my sin didn’t wash out that easily. But he didn’t protest at least as I grabbed myself some fresh leathers.

  “Looking about me, I saw again the mark of coin in the walls and the works—San Michon was a splendor once more. Yet I couldn’t help but notice it seemed emptier somehow. Emptier even than in the days of my youth. Paleblood numbers had always been thin, but it seemed that here, like everywhere else in Elidaen, the war had carved its mark.

  “The sun was sinking by the time I was done, and the bells were rung for duskmass. I knew I’d need to attend the Cathedral for the Rite at dawn, but I’d no stomach for prayer that night. And so, I fetched a bottle from the refectory beneath the stares of curious kitchenhands, and made my way to the Library. I wandered among the stacks for a time, drinking from the neck and thinking on all that had been. The great map of the empire was laid out at my feet, the wolves of Chastain and the bears of Dyvok and the ravens of Voss spread like a bloodstain across all the five countries of the realm.

  “What will this world be, I wondered, if the sun were truly restored on the morrow?

  “What if it has all been worth it?

  “God Almighty, I couldn’t even remember the color the sky had been …

  “I walked into the forbidden section, my old boots heavy on the creaking timbers. I navigated the dusty shelves, the books and scrolls and strange curios. I remembered the scent of blood hanging in the air the first night I came here, half-expecting to see my love as I rounded the corner to the room we’d first spoke, first kissed, first sinned. But it was empty, of course—empty save for the long table we’d once sat at years ago, looking into each other’s eyes and welcoming the fall that awaited us both.

  “I looked at the tome laid out on the table, thicker than my thigh, trimmed in tarnished brass. It was so old the leather had been bleached grey, the vellum turned brown with countless years. The book was near falling to pieces, but the lettering was still visible, faint and faded, oui, but still there. This, too, was a strange immortality, I realized. Poems, stories, ideas, frozen forever in time. The simple wonder of books.

  “I ran my fingertip just above the page’s surface, a breath shy of the spidery lettering. I could read not a word of it save one.

  “Aavsunc.

  “I remembered Rafa explaining the word’s meaning to me in Winfael: old Talhostic for essence. The essence caught by the First Martyr in her womb. The birthright Dior now carried in her veins. The blood of the Redeemer himself.

  “From holy cup comes holy light;

  “The faithful hand sets world aright.

  “And in the Seven Martyrs’ sight …

  “‘Mere man shall end this endless night,’ I murmured.

  “The bells rang to end the duskmass, and I wondered about Dior. She’d eat in the refectory maybe, or perhaps the Priory. And though there was no safer place for her in all the empire than upon the holy ground of San Michon, though she’d proven more than capable of looking afte
r herself, I was ill at ease at not having seen her for a time.

  “I left the Library, intent on the Priory. But I found my feet dragging me toward that great spire of granite and stained glass in the monastery’s heart. I walked past the fountain of angels—Chiara and Raphael, Sanael and my namesake, Gabriel—through the dawndoors, and into the belly of San Michon Cathedral. Trudging up the aisle, emptying the last of the vodka into my belly, I found myself before the altar. The place Astrid had scribed the aegis into my skin, where I’d sworn the vows we’d broken. I stared up at the Redeemer on his wheel, my fingertips drumming Ashdrinker’s hilt. I let the bottle fall from my hand and roll along the stone at my feet.

  “‘Still no brother of mine, bastard,’ I said. ‘But I hope your blood rings true.’

  “‘How is Astrid?’

  “I turned at the voice, saw Greyhand climbing the spiral stairs from the sacristy beneath the altar. It was his duty as abbot to speak the mass, of course—he must have been down there changing out of his robes. He was back in silversaint garb now, his eye flooded red from the sacrament the brethren all took at services, the gouge Laure Voss had torn through his empty socket covered by a patch of black leather.

  “‘Sœur Sauvage told me you two had wed?’

  “I looked at my old master, tongue thick in my mouth. ‘What of it?’

  “‘She said you had a daughter. Patience?’ Greyhand shook his head, fixing me with his one good eye. ‘Thank God and Mothermaid for the small mercy she was not a son, I suppose. To bring another paleblood into this world—’

  “‘Spare me the sermon, Abbot. I’m not drunk enough for it.’

  “He sucked his teeth, nodded slow. ‘So how is she? Your beautiful wife?’

  “‘I didn’t think you cared, old man.’

  “‘Astrid Rennier was Mistress of the Aegis in San Michon for five years, Gabriel. I knew her well as any, and better than most. Of course I care.’

  “‘Care so much you cast us out into the cold without a thought?’

  “‘I had thoughts aplenty,’ he said, eye flashing. ‘First among them being that you both knew what you did was wrong, and yet you did it anyway. Second, that you lied to me with every breath you could muster after the night you took her into your bed. And last, that I had been a fool to place the trust in you I did. I thought the years between then and now might have cooled your head on the matter. But I see that was vain fantasy.’ He looked me up and down, shook his head. ‘You are as you ever were.’

  “‘What should I have done, then? Forgive? Forget? Fuck that. And fuck you. You turned your backs on us. After all we did.’

  “‘I told you once and I’ll tell you again,’ Greyhand said. “It’s a fool who plays at the precipice, but only the prince of fools blames another when he falls. You cost us dear when you walked out those doors, Gabriel. The war has been going ill ever since, and our numbers dwindle by the year. Theo Petit, Philippe Olen, Philippe Clément, Alonso de Madeisa, Fabro—’

  “‘There’s a reason I didn’t attend mass tonight. Don’t preach at me. And don’t you dare try to paint me with their blood. That’s on your hands, not mine.’

  “‘And when was the last time you did attend mass, Gabriel?’

  “I blinked, frowning. ‘What year is this again?’

  “‘’Tis true, then, what Chloe said. Faithless as the blood that flows in your veins.’ He glanced at the empty bottle at my feet. ‘You could’ve been the greatest of us…’

  “‘I was the greatest of you.’

  “‘Was,’ he snapped, fire in his pale green eye. ‘And now? An oathbreaker. A drunkard. Ever you lacked the humility to think beyond your own desires. To put aside your pride and do what truly needed to be done. I once told you that you had the telling of your own story. That you could choose what kind it might be. And this was your choice.’ He shook his head again. ‘God, what a disappointment you are.’

  “‘I gave my life for this empire!’ I roared. ‘And I’m still giving it! I dragged that girl halfway across hell to these walls, and still you give me no credit!’

  “‘And yet still you seek it, as you always have!’ We were nose to nose now, the bitterness of resentment that had festered over long years rushing forth, like poison from a wound. ‘Even now you dare to speak of sacrifice when that girl shall pay a thousand times the sum of your own on the morrow! She shall be the one to spill her blood in the name of this empire, not you!’

  “The Cathedral rang with Greyhand’s words, like the echo of a wheellock shot.

  “‘… What did you say?’

  “Greyhand lowered his gaze, teeth bared.

  “‘What the fuck did you just say?’ I demanded again.

  “‘Too much,’ the abbot growled, turning away. ‘I’ll speak no more of it.’

  “I grabbed his arm, incredulous. ‘You’re going to…’

  “Greyhand snatched his arm free, a dangerous glint in his bloodshot eye. ‘Get your hands off me, Gabriel.’

  “My mind was racing now, and I thrice cursed myself a fool. I thought back upon that dusty tome in the Library, the word Aavsunc scribed on the faded pages. Again, I remembered Rafa explaining the word’s meaning in Winfael, but this time, I remembered true. Aavsunc wasn’t Old Talhostic for Essence. It was the word for Lifeblood. And that was what they intended to spill in this ritual come the dawn.

  “‘You’re going to kill her,’ I hissed.

  “‘… Such is the price.’ He turned his head to avoid my gaze, his voice a wet-gravel snarl. ‘For the end of daysdeath. For the salvation of the empire.’

  “‘Does Chloe know about this?’ I demanded, incredulous.

  “‘’ Twas she who unearthed the ritual, Gabriel.’

  “My heart felt cleaved in two at that, my belly turning cold and hard. ‘And what about Dior? Does she know? Did you tell her?’

  “Greyhand glowered, his silence speaking all.

  “‘Fuck me,’ I hissed. ‘Fuck me, you cannot do this. She’s sixteen years old!’

  “‘One life,’ he spat. ‘One life for the sake of thousands … nay, hundreds of thousands! I have been sending men to their deaths for a decade. I am fighting a war against an enemy who does not die, who turns our own dead against us. Think of the suffering that could be averted! If the sun rises true on the morrow, the war is over, Gabriel! Every coldblood abroad in the land, wretched and highblood alike, will be burned to ashes with a single stroke of the blade!’

  “‘The blade! At the throat of an innocent child!’

  “He raised his chin, defiant. ‘Almighty God will forgive us our trespass.’

  “‘No, this is wrong. This is purest evil, Greyhand, and you know it! Better to die a man than live a monster, you taught me. Well this? This is fucking monstrous!’

  “‘I vowed to defend this empire, Gabriel. To be the fire between this and all world’s ending.’ Greyhand scowled, dark as dusk. ‘And unlike you, I keep my vows.’

  “My fist crashed into his jaw, splitting his lip. Greyhand staggered, the sanctus in his veins keeping him on his feet. But my sword was drawn now, Ashdrinker gleaming in the light of the chymical globes, that silver dame seeming to glower at my old master.

  “Broken-black, twisted-true, rotten rotten rotten to the core.

  “‘I won’t let you do it,’ I growled. ‘There’s no chance in hell I will let you do this.’

  “I backed away down the aisle, eyes locked with Greyhand. I’d not smoked since morning, and he’d a duskmass dose in him, but I had two hands, not one. And so, he simply followed, roaring, ‘Gabriel, don’t be a fool!’ as I turned and ran. I burst from the dawndoors as he dashed into the belfry tower. Bells began ringing; an alarm echoing across the monastery, entwined with the bitter, howling wind. I ran, ran from the Cathedral and across the rope span toward the Priory, shouting at the top of my lungs.

  “‘Dior! Dior! ’

  “I heard running feet, Greyhand bellowing, circling off to my right and moving sanctus sw
ift. The nightswatchman loomed out of the dark ahead, lantern high, sword in one hand as cries of ‘traitor!’ and ‘treachery!’ rang on the walls. I’d no wish to hurt him, swooping low and kicking his legs out from under him, breaking his nose with a punch that left him senseless on the bridge. But I could see silversaints now: Finch and de Séverin, that Sūdhaemi youngblood, all descending. I ran, but Winter swooped out of the dark, carving a furrow down my cheek with her talons. I gasped and lashed out, the snow hawk retreating quick as lies, and when I’d blinked the blood from my eyes, I saw that Finch stood before me, sword drawn and feet apart, his faeling eyes on Greyhand.

  “‘Abbot, what the hell—?’

  “‘Take him in hand!’ Greyhand bellowed, running toward us.

  “‘Get out of my way, Finch…’

  “‘By the Blood, man, I said bring that oathbreaker down!’

  “‘They’re going to kill that girl, Finch. Get the fuck out of my way!’

  “We’d fought side by side, Fincher and I. He was at Triúrbaile with me when we liberated the Dyvok slaughterfarms. And like I said, there’s a bond between men who’ve placed their lives in a brother’s hands, and asked that brother to do the same. But there’s fanaticism, too. There’s faith unbridled and minds unquestioning; the soldier at the order of his commander, the faithful at the word of their priest. And after breaking my vows, my brother trusted me not so much as once he had.

  “In truth, I couldn’t fault him for it.

  “Finch raised his sword, and though I was his better with a blade, he was dosed with the sacrament. We clashed, both bled, both cursing. I struck again, and he fended me off, roaring, ‘Have ye gone fuckin’ mad?’ as Winter struck again at my back. I lashed out again, furious, smashing Finch’s blade from his hand and slicing his arm bone-deep. But by then, the youngblood had arrived, and Greyhand too, and the old bastard slung his flail and caught my sword hand at the wrist. I roared again, ‘Dior! ’ and flipped Ashdrinker to my left, spitting the youngblood as he came on headlong and leaving him in a bleeding puddle on the stone. I whirled on Greyhand, trying to wrest my hand free from his accursed flail, and finally, de Séverin arrived, striking with the strength of the Dyvok blood in his veins.