Empire of the Damned (Empire of the Vampire, #2)

by Jay Kristoff

The road is black ahead,’ I told her. ‘And it’s hard to keep walking when you can’t see the ground beneath your feet. But that’s what courage is. The will to keep walking in the darkness. To believe the end is just beyond your outstretched hand, rather than a million miles away. And while some might falter, some might fail, some might curl up like babes rather than walk on through that lonely night, you are not that girl.’

The Redeemer’s blood will end daysdeath, child. You will bring the sssun back to the heavens. And an end to this empire of the damned.’

‘Measure yourself not by where others are, but where you used to be.’

‘A life without books is a life not lived, Dior. There’s a magik like no other to be found in them. To open a book is to open a door—to another place, another time, another mind. And usually, mademoiselle, it’s a mind far sharper than your own.’

“‘I heard ye were dead, de León.’ “‘Heaven was full. And the devil was afraid to open the door.’

“‘I’m s-starting to suspect the Almighty m-might be genuinely annoyed with me…’ “Ye committed m-m-mass murder on sanctified ground n-not two weeks ago.

“Better to be a bastard than a fool.” Jean-François smiled. “You are not a bastard, de León. You are a cunt.” “Well. You are what you eat, vampire.” “Charming.” “My wife certainly thought so.”

She loathed being told what to do, and yet she desperately needed to be.

“She let you fall,” Jean-François mused. “Your sister.” “Well, for the sake of historical accuracy, it’s probably safer to say she dropped me.” “That was rather mean-spirited of her.” Gabriel nodded, rueful. “Celene was a behemothic cunt.”

watched the prisoners below, ruby lips curling. ‘You … people … only believe our new world cruel because in it, for the very first time, thou art the prey.’

The wise man learns more from his enemies than the fool from his friends, but even the fool can learn if his friends are willing to call him one. Surround yourself with folk who confront you. If you’re not being challenged, you’re not learning anything. If you’re the smartest man in the room, you’re in the wrong fucking room.

The ragout’s excellent. Whatever you do, do not order the Potato Surprise.’ “‘Any particular reason?’ “‘The surprise is dysentery.’

This is no world for happy songs,’ Fionna said. ‘But that’s exactly why we sing them.

Truth is the sharpest knife, eh? You’re right to loathe me, boy. I’m nothing close to the songs they sing about me. I’m nothing like the myth they made of me. I’m just a man. As flawed and frail and fucked up as the rest of you. But for all my failings, all my sins, never once did I think it right to spill the blood of an innocent child.’

“‘I know what it is to grow up with a mother who doesn’t care. I know a woman who has a statue of herself erected in her own bloody foyer probably had some demons, and growing up in that statue’s shadow probably left you with some too.’

The folk who follow you tonight don’t do so because you were born Niamh’s daughter. They do it because the fire in you warms all the folk around you. Because nothing feels quite as impossible when you’re near.’

But as I held that woman in my arms, I knew she’d spoken truth—that if we’re blessed, we might find someone whose edges fit against our own, like pieces of the same puzzle, or shards of the same broken sword. Someone who, in their own broken way, makes our brokenness whole, and our shattered edge complete.

The Holy Blood of the Redeemer, secreted within a keg of homebrew Ossian piss by a girl who’d been on the grift in the gutter long before she’d taken on the mantle of Savior of the World.”

Oh, my beautiful man. What have they done to you?’ “Aaron met Baptiste’s eyes and smiled. ‘Nothing I did not want them to.’ “‘I’m sorry, brother,’ I called. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you, as you helped me.’ “‘Oh, Gabriel,’ Aaron sighed. ‘You fail everyone you love. Why would I be different?’

“‘He begged before he died, you know. Your mighty Tolyev.’ I raised Ash between us, my rage at Aaron’s fate boiling in my veins. ‘You all beg, Nikita. That’s what they don’t tell you. When you see the end coming, past all the bluff and bluster, the thees and thous, in that final moment, you all beg like fucking children. And you die like fucking dogs.’

But the blackthumb was on him then, lost in roaring fury. The rage of a lover wronged, a husband betrayed, coupled with the strength of a thrall; falling atop the stumbling Nikita and smashing that hammer down, again, again, bone and brain pulping, blood and silversteel sizzling, the vampire shrieking, flailing, cursing. “‘He was mine before he was yours, bastard,’ Baptiste spat. “And bringing the hammer down, he smote the Blackheart’s head to ruin.