“‘YOUR SISTER’S NAME is … Celene. But that is not what you call her.’
“Seraph Talon sat across the fire from me, dark eyes on mine. The cave about us was small, warm, the blaze reflected in Master Greyhand’s stare as he looked on. My brow was knitted as I met Talon’s gaze, my head filled with as much noise as I could conjure.
“‘Black hair,’ the thin man declared, stroking his moustache. ‘Black eyes. A troublemaker. An instigator. Hence, you call her … Hellion.’
“‘Shit,’ I whispered.
“I broke our staring contest, sighing as I massaged my temples. My head was aching, my heart low. Despite my best efforts, the seraph had once again plucked the images and truths out of my head after only a minute or so.
“‘You’re improving, my spud-witted little shit-bucket,’ Talon declared. ‘But not enough. If I can still pierce your defenses, an elder Voss will shatter them in a bloody blinking. Work at it.’
“‘I have been working at it, Seraph. Every day since we left San Michon.’
“‘Day and night, then,’ Greyhand growled. ‘When we find our prey, you must be ready.’
“I kept my face stone, but inside, I scoffed. When we found our prey?
“Great Redeemer, we’d been on this Hunt for months.
“Seraph Talon, Aaron, Greyhand, and me. A stranger company I’d never known. After setting out from San Michon, we’d headed northwest to the Godsend Mountains, following a month-old trail through a vista of chill black peaks and dying trees. Winter hadn’t truly bitten when we set out, but now, the snows fell heavy, the roads, lonely and bleak.
“As we traveled, Frère Greyhand had used gifts of the Blood Chastain to track our quarry, murmuring to wise old owls and conferring with sly foxes as we bedded down. Many of the beasts had no clue about our prey; others whispered of different monsters, dark shapes rising in the southern weald and faekin stalking the moors with knives of gleaming bone. Still, a precious few had spoken of a woman—darkthing, deadthing—riding lonely roads in the company of other shadows. Heading north. Always north.
“And like good hounds, we’d followed.
“We’d visited the bustling town of Almwud and found a tale akin to Skyefall—the daughter of the alderman murdered, a bevy of highborn gentry fallen to a wasting sickness. The nest we’d burned out was small—a single fledgling who knew nothing of what it was. In the crossroad hamlet of Benhomme and the silver mining town of Tolbrook, we heard similar tales. And slowly, we’d begun to paint a portrait of the thing we stalked. This pale huntress who filled children’s graves wherever she walked.
“This Marianne Luncóit.
“Raven Child.
“She was beautiful—all mentioned that, and ever first. A grace so perilous that men and women alike couldn’t help but adore her. She hunted among high society, all flattery and silken finery, striking like a spider at their sons and daughters as she departed.
“A half dozen kept her company. The first, another coldblood who masqueraded as her son—a dark-haired, gilded youth named Adrien. Five other men attended the pair as servants. In Tolbrook, Luncóit had informed the alderman she was surveying a claim in the hills above the town, just as she’d done in Skyefall. In the high-walled keep of Ciirfort, the charming madame and her handsome son had been treated to a tour of the garrison by an enraptured capitaine, whose daughter was later found murdered in her bed. We had no real certainty as to why this vampire was stalking towns along the Godsend, but she was doing so with intent. And we were always a few steps behind.
“The rivers were crusted with ice now, wintersdeep approaching on cold feet. We were camped beneath a snow-capped peak named for Eloise, the Angel of Retribution. A little farther north loomed the mountain named for Raphael, Angel of Wisdom. And in the valley between lay the next stop in our months-long search—the richest silver mining town in the province, and as fate would have it, high seat of Aaron’s stepfather.
“The Barony of Coste.
“We were on bitter terms, Aaron and me. I was still sure the bastard had tried to have me killed back in San Michon, and got poor Sister Aoife murdered in the process. I was ill at ease with the idea that we were journeying to his former home, that I’d be laying my head down among his people. For his part, Aaron treated me as shitty as he always had. Watching me across the fire at night with silent menace. But as we’d traveled closer to his birthplace, I’d expected our lordling’s mood to brighten at least a little. He’d always spoken of his mother fondly, and I thought he’d be joyous at the thought of reunion.
“And yet, the nearer we drew to Coste, the darker his mood became.
“That night before we arrived, we were camped in a cave on Raphael’s eastern flank. Our sosyas were clustered at the entrance, snow clinging to their shaggy coats. Talon had been schooling Aaron and me in matters of mental defense along the road, and while I didn’t like the seraph in my head, I knew vampires of the Blood Voss could read the thoughts of lesser men. Better Talon in my mind strengthening it than one of them pillaging it.
“Our lesson done for the night, the seraph held his hands to our fire. ‘Great Redeemer, it grows cold enough to freeze the blood in a man’s veins.’
“I rubbed my aching brow, glanced northward. ‘And the rivers in their beds.’
“Aaron met my eyes, nodding also. We may have been at odds like fire and ice, but in one dread, we were of accord. ‘The Forever King will march from Talhost soon.’
“‘Probably,’ Greyhand grunted. ‘Yet not a certainty. Patience is a quality that ancient vampires have in abundance. Fabién Voss will march when he is ready.’
“‘We should be doing more,’ Aaron scowled. ‘Not just chasing ghosts and shadows.’
“‘An elder Voss is not east of the Godsend at trivial purpose, de Coste,’ Talon growled. ‘In thwarting Luncóit, we thwart whatever part she plays in Fabién’s design.’
“We settled into silence, staring at the flames. I understood we needed to be as patient as our quarry, but like de Coste, I felt we’d been stalking Marianne Luncóit forever. The threat of the Forever King’s legion hung over the Nordlund like a headsman’s axe now. The Emperor’s armies were split between the cityforts of Avinbourg in the north and Charinfel in the south, and we still didn’t know where the blow would fall.
“‘Blessed Mothermaid,’ I growled. ‘It’s cold as a bog hag’s tit in here.’
“Seraph Talon’s eyes glittered under the black arcs of his brows. Smoothing his long moustache, the little man rummaged in his saddlebag, produced a silver flask. Taking a deep swig, he offered it to me. I could smell the vodka from where I sat.
“‘Merci, no, Seraph.’
“‘Come now, frailblood.’ The little man waved the flask in my face. ‘Kindness spurned is ire earned, so sayeth the Lord. And the Testaments name drink no sin.’
“‘It’s not the sin of it, Seraph. I’ve just no wish to follow in my stepfather’s footsteps. He was a devil on the drink.’
“‘Hmmf.’ Aaron reached for the flask in Talon’s hand. ‘Mine also.’
“I blinked at that, studying de Coste across the flames as he took a long, slow pull. Our lordling had only ever spoken of his mother, never the fellow who raised him.
“‘My stepfather was a soldier,’ Greyhand declared. ‘Loved a drink. I remember he got right slovenly one eve, lost his key. So when he finally dribbled home, he dragged himself through the window, crawled into bed with what he thought was my mama. It turned out to be the magistrate’s house, and the dame in question, his wife.’
“Chuckles rolled around our fire. Even Greyhand managed a whisper of a smile.
“‘The magistrate was not pleased.’
“‘Ah, but what about his wife, Master?’ I asked.
“Greyhand fixed me across the fire, deadpan. ‘You’d have to ask her, cub.’
“I laughed again, spitting onto my whetstone as I sharpened Lionclaw. ‘When I was little, Mama got so fed up with my stepfather’s drinking, she hid his clothes so he couldn’t hit the taverne. He put on her church dress and went anyway. Just marched down the street in her prièdi best, proud as a lord. I remember it was white. Had blue flowers on it.’
“‘Sounds fetching,’ Greyhand nodded.
“‘He did have fine ankles,’ I admitted grudgingly.
“Seraph Talon took another long swig, then handed his flask back to Aaron. ‘Do you remember that Hunt down in Beaufort, Greyhand?’
“‘With old Yannick? How could I forget?’
“My ears perked up at that. I’d known Frère Yannick only as a broken man, put out of his misery in the Red Rite that first night I’d arrived in San Michon. But I always loved hearing the stories of old silversaints. Tales of horror and glory and blood.
“‘You two hunted together?’ I asked, looking between the men.
“‘I was not always a Seraph of the Order, shitblood,’ Talon growled. ‘I earned my aegis when you were still a tadpole paddling about in your godless father’s janglesack.’
“‘It was many years ago, Little Lion,’ Greyhand said. ‘I was only newly sworn. A duskdancer had been stalking the Beaufort docks for months. Old Abbot Dulean sent the three of us down there to put a righteous end to it.’
“Talon nodded. ‘The more a duskdancer takes the shape of his beast, the more the beast leaves its mark on him. This bastard was an old one. Wolfborn and hideous. Even when he wore the skin of a man, he had a wolf’s eyes. Wolf’s tail. Wolf’s feet. So he’d developed a taste for streetwalkers, luring them into the shadows with the promise of coin and then gutting them like lambs. We decided to use bait to lure him out. So we drew straws, and old Yannick found himself in a wig and backless dress, smothered in whore’s perfume and parading up and down the fucking jetty like ha-royale strumpet.’
“Greyhand shook his head. ‘Finest legs I’ve ever seen on a man.’
“‘They worked too. Not even that bastard duskdancer could resist. Mark me now, frailblood. A good hunter uses the appetites of his prey against them. Want is a weakness.’
“Greyhand sighed as he stared into the fire. ‘I miss that mouthy old dog. It was Yannick who named me Greyhand.’
“‘He was a good hunter,’ Talon nodded. ‘And a good friend.’
“‘Oui.’ My master shook his head, and I saw sorrow in his pale green eyes. ‘But Yannick made the right choice. I pray Almighty God and all Seven Martyrs grant me the same courage when the thirst calls and my time comes.’
“I could still remember the horror I’d felt at old Yannick’s ending; ritually murdered by the abbot and thrown to the waters of the Mère before the sangirè—the red thirst—could consume him. It was a silversaint’s death. A man’s death. But looking at the sevenstar in my palm, I found myself pondering that same paleblood curse in my veins. No matter how much sanctus we smoked to stave it off, I knew the sangirè would eventually drive all of us to madness. And before that, each of us would have to make Yannick’s choice.
“‘Better to die a man than live a monster,’ I murmured.
“Talon nodded, grim. ‘Véris.’
“‘Véris,’ Greyhand said, stirring the fire.
“Truth beyond truth.
“We sat with the sound of crackling logs, Greyhand and Talon now staring wordless into the flames. The silence stretched on, Aaron drinking deep from the flask, mute and sullen. I finally spoke again to break the uncomfortable quiet.
“‘Why did old Yannick name you Greyhand, Master?’
“‘Mmm. A tale not worth the telling, Little Lion.’
“‘You know, the stonemasons in San Michon have a wager. Whoever learns your real name wins a whole week’s coin without labor.’
“‘Gambling is ungodly. And last I heard it was only three days’ worth.’
“‘It seems your legend grows in the telling,’ I smiled.
“‘Legends always do, Little Lion. And ever in the wrong direction. But a man who sings his own song is deaf to the music of heaven. How shall I hear the word of God, if I am in love with the sound of my own voice?’
“I could feel Greyhand’s quiet confidence. His unshakable faith. He’d no need for mortal accolade or to strum his own lute—his service to the Almighty was enough, and sweet fucking Redeemer, I envied him that humility. But Talon spoke, eyes on our master.
“‘I’ll tell the story, then. Yannick shared it with me one eve over a cup of wine.’
“‘Ah, such impeccable sources,’ Greyhand scoffed. ‘Drunken gossip around the tankards of San Michon.’
“But Talon spoke regardless, his voice dropping as he leaned into the tale. ‘This was back when Greyhand was still an apprentice, see. Tale has it, he and his master were attacked by five coldbloods, deep in an old ruin near Loch Sídhe. His master Michel was slain in the ambush, and Greyhand retreated. But at dawn, he returned alone, nothing but his sword and faith to guard him. And when he emerged from that pit, the ashes of those five leeches were caked so thick on his fists, you couldn’t see his skin. So.’ Talon nodded to our master. ‘Greyhand.’
“‘Mmf,’ he scowled.
“‘I note a marked lack of denials, Master,’ I said.
“‘What point denial? When the gossips have already made up their minds? When next you tell the tale, Seraph, have me slay a dozen. Makes the number rounder.’
“‘’Tis a heavy burden, Master,’ I smiled. ‘To be a hero.’
“‘Hero,’ he scoffed. ‘Mark my words, youngblood. You don’t want to be a hero. Heroes die unpleasant deaths, far from home and hearth.’
“I looked into the flames. Thinking about what I was. The fate that had befallen old Yannick, and the madness that awaited us all. Greyhand spat into the fire, flames hissing.
“‘Enough idle chatter. We reach Coste amorrow. What should your fellows know of the town that birthed you, Initiate?’
“All eyes turned to Aaron as he took another sip, grimacing as he swallowed. Again, the notion that I was stepping into this bastard’s birthden felt like a stone in my belly.
“‘Coste is the richest town in the province,’ Aaron said. ‘Its fortune made in silver and iron. The Baron is favored at court, friend to Emperor Alexandre. My brother Jean-Luc is capitaine in the Golden Host at Avinbourg. My mother, His Imperial Majesty’s second cousin. And then, there’s me.’
“‘We’ve gained ground on our quarry this last month,’ Greyhand said. ‘It may be our Raven Child awaits us within the walls of Coste. And the Feast of San Maximille falls in two days. No doubt the town will be indulging?’
“Aaron sneered. ‘The Baron de Coste is never one to miss a chance to feast.’
“‘Be of good cheer, then. Our quarry is a bon vivant, lured toward the finer things like a bowerbird to shine. If she lurks in Coste’s shadows, she should have occasion to be drawn into the light. So sleep now. Fear no darkness.’ Greyhand threw a warning glance to me. ‘And dream not of heroism, but of faithful service to the Lord your God.’
“We settled abed. I listened to the crackling fire and tried not to think about the cold, the serpent sleeping across the flames from me. I knew not what awaited us in Coste, nor whether Aaron would try to finish what he’d started in San Michon, but I could sense our prey was near. I’d let impatience get the best of me during our hunt in Skyefall, and I was determined not to fail again. But despite Greyhand’s warning, still I dreamed of glory.
“Glory, and a smile framed by a beauty spot, and locks of raven black hair.”