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“You are Gabriel de León, Last of the Silversaints.”
Those who do not learn from the past suffer the future. And as you might imagine, future nights hold quite an interest for the undying.”
“And in sight of God and his Seven Martyrs,” the monster quoted, “I do here vow; Let the dark know my name and despair. So long as it burns, I am the flame. So long as it bleeds, I am the blade. So long as it sins, I am the saint. And I am silver.”
And so, before the Last Silversaint dies, before all knowledge of your order is swept into an unmarked grave, my pale Empress Margot has, in her infinite generosity, offered opportunity for you to speak.” Jean-François smiled with wine-stain lips. “She wishes to hear your story, Chevalier.”
“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.”
The word P A T I E N C E was etched across his fingers below his knuckles. The ink was dark against his pale skin, edged with a metallic sheen.
It had him. Now that the pipe was in his hand, he’d already fallen. Homesick for hell, and dreading to return.
“Whose blood … is that?” “My blessed dame,” the monster replied. “My dark mother and pale mistress, Margot Chastain, First and Last of her Name, Undying Empress of Wolves and Men.”
Histories do not begin halfway. Histories begin at the beginning.”
“The thing you need to know about ma famille, vampire, before we get down to tacks of brass, is that we were Nordish folk. You’re made pretty out east, sure and true. But in the Nordlund? We’re made fierce. The winds off the Godsend cut like swords through my homeland. It’s untamed country. Violent country.
He had no horses, nor goldglass, nor trothships to give. Instead, he vowed to Elaina he would love her fierce as four ordinary men. And to prove his point, as he stood before her throne and promised her his heart, Matteo laid at Elaina’s feet the hearts of her other suitors. Those princes who’d invaded the land of his birth. Four hearts in all.”
Very dark romance vibes!!
“Do they not promise the meek shall inherit the earth?” “I’ve lived thirty-five years with the name my mother gave me, coldblood, and never once have I seen the meek inherit anything but the table scraps of the strong.”
“Perhaps we should begin with daysdeath,” the monster said. “You must have been only a child when the shadow first covered the sun.”
We called it by many names at first: the Blackening, the Veiling, the First Revelation. But the astrologers and philosophers in the court of Emperor Alexandre III named it ‘Daysdeath,’ and in the end, so did we.
When you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. “You were thirteen,” Jean-François said.
“Too much hate will burn a man to cinders, Chevalier.” “Oui. But at least he’ll die warm.”
And as I pressed my tongue inside her, I tasted it, God, I tasted it, and it almost drove me mad. Salt and iron. Autumn and rust. Flooding over my tongue and answering every question I’d never known how to ask. Because the answer was the same. “Always the same. “Blood.
I sensed a stirring in my gums, and running my tongue across my teeth, I felt they’d grown sharp as knives.
And then, then God help me, I sank my teeth into her, her back arching, her every muscle taut as she threw back her head and pulled me closer, trying not to scream.
“‘I am Frère Greyhand, Silversaint of San Michon.’ “He pointed at me. “‘And I am here for the boy.’”
there’s a difference between those who swim with the flood and those who drown fighting it. And its name is Wisdom.
We will triumph. For we are silver.’ “‘We are silver,’ the young fellow echoed.
“He told me one-fifth of three-eighths of fuck all.
Lol that’s one to use in the future!
And both of them had the sevenstar inked in their left hands.”
“Silversaints called it the aegis.
No matter what monster of the night you stalk—duskdancer, faekin, coldblood—none can abide the touch of silver.
Coldbloods do give their curse to those they slay. But not always. They cannot choose who their affliction is passed on to. And there seems no rhyme or reason as to which of their victims will turn and which will simply stay dead. It could be the victim rises only a few heartbeats after death. But more often, days or even weeks pass. And in the meantime, their corpse will go the way of all flesh. When it rises, a coldblood’s victim will be locked forever in the state in which it turned. Beautiful and whole. Or otherwise.’
A few rise as highbloods, forever young and deathless. Yet more become wretched, hideous and rotten. But all those slain are bound to his will. Rumor has it he is the most ancient coldblood that walks this earth. His name is Fabién Voss. But he has declared himself the Forever King.’
My father…’ “‘Was a vampire.’
You are a halfbreed, boy,’ the frère said. ‘What we call a paleblood.”
The change comes upon us near manhood,’ Greyhand said. ‘And worsens yet with time. We inherit some of our fathers’ gifts. Strength. Speed. Other boons, depending on the bloodline they belonged to. But also, we inherit their thirst. The bloodlust that drives them to murder, and us to madness. We are products of sin, boy. Make no mistake, we are the accursed of God. And the only way we might recover his eternal grace and win a place in heaven for our damned souls is to fight and die for his Holy Church.’
The Ordo Argent,’ Greyhand
‘We are the silver flame burning between humanity and the darkness. We hunt and kill those monsters that would devour the world of men. Faekin and fallen. Duskdancers and sorcerers. Risen and wretched. And oui, even highbloods. Once, vampires lived in the shadows. But now, the highbloods do not fear the sun. And the Forever King’s dark legion grows nightly. So we, the sons of their sin, must pay the burden of the cost. We shall stand, or all shall fall.’
‘We are hope for the hopeless. The fire in the night. We will walk the dark as they do, and they shall know our names and despair. For so long as they burn, we shall be flame. So long as they bleed, we shall be blades. So long as they sin, we shall be saints.’
Epic quote
And we are silver.’
“Brothers of the Silver Order of San Michon.
I was finding this highborn prick’s company about as pleasant as a case of crotch lice.
Lol
The Gauntlet is the furnace where silversaints are forged.’
To the northeast is the Priory, where the sisterhood sleep.’ “‘… Sisterhood?’ “Aaron sighed as if I were somehow supposed to know all this already. ‘The Silver Sorority of San Michon.
‘There are two castes within the Ordo Argent. The Brothers of the Hunt are palebloods like me and Greyhand, men who get their hands dirty stalking horrors in the dark. The Brothers of the Hearth are simple men of faith who keep the Library, craft our weaponry and … other tools.
“I AM THE SWORD THAT LAYS THE SINNER LOW. I AM THE HAND THAT LIFTS THE FAITHFUL HIGH. AND I AM THE SCALE THAT WEIGHS BOTH IN THE ENDING. SO SAY’TH THE LORD.
Baptiste Sa-Ismael, Brother of the Hearth and Blackthumb of the Silver Order, at your service.’
Silversteel,’
“KNOW MY NAME, YE SINNERS, AND TREMBLE. FOR I AM COME AMONG THEE AS A LION AMONG LAMBS.
‘I think perhaps I dreamed of you, Gabriel de León. I think perhaps your coming was ordained.’
Lionclaw,’ I whispered.
His sword!
a duskdancer. A monster, accursed, who could take the form of beast and man.
Kaspar. Kaveh.’
Young recruits, brothers?
And seated at their forefront, like an angel fallen to earth, was one of the most beautiful girls I’d ever seen.”
“She was beautiful. Oh, perhaps not the kind you’d find hanging in a portrait gallery or gracing some rich bastard’s arm. She wasn’t a beauty you wrapped in silk or hid inside a golden bower. But I can still recall the sight of her that afternoon. All the years between then and now, and it seems only yesterday.”
