Empire of the Vampire (Empire of the Vampire, #1)

by Jay Kristoff

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.

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.’

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.’

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?”

Oh this hurt

“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.

“I kissed her lips, red as rubies, cold as midnight. “I saw her lashes stirring on her cheeks. “And I picked up my sword. “Two little words. “‘Forgive me.’ “Do it. “‘I can’t.’ “You must. “‘Oh, God.’ “And I did.

And with the smoke of the fires I lit rising to the sky behind me, I dragged on the shape of what I’d been, and I remembered; there is a time for grief, and a time for songs, and a time to recall with fondness all that has been and gone. “But there is a time for killing too. “There is a time for blood. “And a time for rage. “And a time to close your eyes and become the thing hell wants you to be. “And so. I did.”

“I looked down into her face, her shattered blade, the words etched down her length that only she and I knew the telling of. We’d waded through rivers of blood together, she and I. We’d carved our names into the pages of history. “‘Never blame the blade. The failure was mine. But I’ve a will to set the ledger to rights amorrow night, if you’ve a will to help me. I’ve a need to slay something monstrous.’ “Always. Always.

“But Aaron wouldn’t share the smile I shot him. ‘This is foolishness, Gabriel.’ “‘Let’s call it reckless. Such was ever my nature. Now tell me farewell, brother, and bid me Godspeed, and if you’ve a will to pray for her, I’ll not curse you for it.’ “‘For her but not for you?’ “‘He doesn’t listen, Aaron.’ I smiled, sadly. ‘He never has.’

And at the last came the Beast of Vellene. I could see him now if I squinted. Rage flaring at the memory of him standing outside my home the night his father knocked three times on my door, bearing silent witness to the atrocities within. “I owed his famille blood. And tonight, tonight, I vowed, I’d begin to repay the sum.

“‘I warned thee, Silversaint,’ he said. ‘Ye should have stayed buried.’ “I clenched my fangs. ‘Papa should have killed me when he had the chance, bastard.’ “‘But he did kill thee, de León. Not the hero who songs were sung for, the chevalier who defeated undying armies, the man who became legend. Not even the boy who slew my sister dear do I see before me.’ Danton shook his head, their circle drawing tighter. ‘A shadow is all that remains of thee. A hollowed cur, a drunkard and a wretch, sodden with spirits and with spirit broken.’

“And I saw the truth then. The truth of it all. No matter the vengeance I’d sworn, nor the life that had been stolen from me, nor the endless ache inside my chest. Because even in darkest hours, that ache let me know I was still alive. It was as my love had told me, as she’d always said. Hearts only bruise. They never break. “And in the end, I knew I’d not take back a breath of it. Not the bliss I knew then, nor the pain I felt now. Not all the forsaken hours I’d spent without them, the ache of my lips without Astrid’s kiss, the emptiness of my arms without Patience’s embrace. In those few moments I had them, and if only then, I was immortal. Because they were immaculate. And they were mine. “And no matter the God I’d turned my back on. No matter the father I cursed and the heaven I defied. Because in the end, it matters not what you hold faith in. So long as you hold faith in something.

“It began as an ember, just a spark to tinder, finite and small. But like to the summer-bleached grasses of my youth, the spark began to smolder, and that smolder became flame, burning down my arm and into the palm of the hand that now held Dior’s. I felt it like fire in the ink Astrid had scribed upon my skin. I felt it like her lips upon mine. And releasing my grip, looking to the sevenstar on my palm, I saw it burning with light—not cold and silver as in days of old, but hot and crimson. Tearing my coat away, the tunic beneath, I saw the lion on my chest ablaze with that same furious light, red as the heat of my stepfather’s forge, as the blood I’d spilled and seen spilled in kind, as all the fires that surely burn in the hate-drenched heart of hell.

YES. DOESNT MATTER WHAT YOU BELIEVE IN AS LONG AS YOU BELIEVE IN SOMETHING AND DIOR IS THAT SOMETHING

Tonight you sleep in hell, de León,’ he hissed. “‘This is hell, Danton,’ I smiled. ‘And the devil loves his own.’

“I could feel them, I swear it. My angels. Their love. Their warmth. “And with that inside me, I was unbreakable.

“I dragged myself to my feet, trembling, staring at the bloody waif before me. “‘Great Redeemer,’ I whispered. “‘Flatterer,’ she gasped. “The Beast of Vellene was dead.”

“‘The Lord is my shield, unbreakable!’ “The roar rang across the frozen Mère, a small flare lighting the distant dark. A glow I’d long ago forgotten brightened the night, silver-blue and charging toward us. Goosebumps prickled my skin—not at the freezing cold, but at the sight of the Mothermaid and Redeemer, the angels of the host, bears and wolves and roses, throat to wrist to waist. That holy magik, wrought by the hands of Silver Sisters. The armor of the silversaint. “Four figures ran down the ice out of the north, the holy light on their skin burning like ghostflame. They carried silversteel blades, and their eyes were fierce and wild. “‘I’ll be damned…’ I breathed.

We know who she is,’ Greyhand said. “‘Gabe?’ came a wild cry. ‘Dior?’ “My heart dropped and rolled in my chest, Dior’s eyes lit up, and we both turned toward the shout. And stumbling down the frozen riverbank, among a cadre of Silver Sisters armed with wheellock rifles, I saw a face I never thought to see again. “‘Sister Chloe!’ Dior cried.

‘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!’

Oh no i knew it

“A RUSH OF impossible warmth cascaded down my chest. “I felt the bonds at my wrists loosened. “I felt a hand upon my chest, like a father guiding his son to sleep. “I felt myself falling. “And as the wind filled my ears, as I began that long tumbling drop down into the mother’s arms, as I closed my eyes and the tears came at the thought that finally, finally, I might see them again, I felt one final sensation. “Gentle as starlight. “Soft as first snows upon my cheek. “Moth wings.”

WHAT

“‘Do you truly not ssssee?’ “And it hit me then, like a hammer between my eyes. Memories of a childhood lost, of a home gutted by flame and a town in ashes. But I shook my head. Impossible, I thought, impossible, remembering the day I’d returned to Lorson and beheld the vengeance Laure Voss had meted for my sins. My mama dead in the snow, one hand outstretched toward the chapel. And within, cradled in old Pére Louis’s arms, another figure. Charcoal skin stretched over kindling bones. But I could still tell it had been a girl. A candlemaid.

Omg it’s the hellion

“My baby sister. “My little hellion. “‘Celene…’ I whispered. “My stomach turned as she tried to smile with but half a face. “‘Well met, brother.’

But your blood,’ I breathed, my tongue still aflame with it. ‘Even if you were the child of an ancien, you’re still only a fledgling. And your gifts…’ I looked to the blade in her hand. ‘Sanguimancy is province of the Blood Esani, not the Voss.’ “‘Ssso much you do not know. An ocean beneath your feet you do not sssee. But while you hid in the shadowsss after your fall, brother, I embraced them.’

‘The sun rises! If that girl’s blood is spilled on holy ground, then all will be undone! All of it!’

I’ll return,’ I told her. ‘And then you and I will speak of the last fifteen years. Of those oceans unseen.’ “The snow fell grey in the dark about us; the wind howled in the gulf between us. “‘… It’s good to see you again, Hellion. I’m sorry I never answered your letters.’

“‘I warned you about being a hero, Gabriel,’ he growled, twisting the blade. ‘Heroes die unpleasant deaths, far from home and hearth.’ “I grabbed his hand in one bloody fist, keeping it locked on the hilt. Drooling blood, I dragged myself forward on his sword until the crossguard was pressed against my belly, and with my other hand, I seized his throat. “‘Who the fuck told you I was a hero?’ “The old man’s eye grew wide, his mouth opened in a scream as the flesh of his throat began to blacken.

“I drove the sword into her chest, pinning her to the podium and the tome laid upon it. Chloe grasped the blade, palms sliced bloody, a look of utter disbelief upon her face—as if even here, even now, she expected God to intervene. “Always a believer was little Chloe Sauvage. “‘N-no…’ she gasped. ‘All the w-work of his hand is in ac-ccord with his p-plan…’ “I leaned in close, whispered through bared fangs. ‘Fuck his plan.’

We stood side by side, Dior and I, watching the smoke rise into the stained-glass light. And I felt not one drop of regret. I’d find another way to end the endless night, to bring the Forever King to his knees. Or I’d fall trying. Because some prices are simply too steep to pay. “I looked at this girl beside me. My hill to die on. My shoulder to cry on. I’d no clue what I believed, save only that I believed in her. “‘What do we do now?’ Dior asked softly. “I stared up at the Redeemer and sighed. “‘I suppose you should come meet my sister.’”

The Marquis Jean-François of the Blood Chastain dipped his quill into his ink bottle, scribing the last few words the silversaint had spoken. The pages were filled with his story now, word by word, line by line. Gabriel thought it strange, and in truth, a kind of wonderful; that all he was and would ever be could be distilled into a few elegant lines on a page. The summation of his youth and his glory, his love and his loss, his life and his tears, captured like an errant moth and bound as if by magik into so small and plain a thing. The simple wonder of books.

“I told you, vampire.” Gabriel smiled, his tongue thick with wine. “Everything ends.” “For tonight, perhaps.” The historian nodded, smoothing the tall feathers at his collar. “But we have tomorrow. And tomorrow. And tomorrow.”

“You know, you never answered my question, Chastain.” “And what question was that, de León?” “When your dark mother and pale mistress set you this task … did you think she was locking me in here with you, or you in here with me?” Gabriel’s fist closed about the vampire’s wrist, silver-swift. And with a speed belied by the four bottles he’d downed, he seized hold of Jean-François’s throat. The vampire’s eyes widened, and he opened his lips to shout, but that shout became a scream as the marble of his flesh began to blacken, and the blood within his veins to boil.

The hatch across the barred window in the door slammed aside. Glancing up, Gabriel saw a pair of chocolat-brown eyes, bloodshot with pain and rage and stained by bloody tears. He raised his pipe and gifted Jean-François a grim smile. “Can’t blame a man for trying.” The historian narrowed his eyes and hissed. Gabriel breathed a plume of bloody smoke into the air. “Until tomorrow, vampire.”

He looked down at his hands. Hands that had slain things monstrous. Hands that had saved an empire. Hands that had allowed the last hope for his species to slip and shatter like glass upon the stone. The sky above was dark as sin. The horizon, red as his lady’s lips the last time he kissed her. He ran one thumb across his fingers, the letters inked below his knuckles. “Patience,” he whispered.