“IT WAS AN ordinary day. I’d spent it working in the loft of the lighthouse. The brick was warm under my bare feet. The sweat cool on my skin. I could see our house below, the spire of stone it was built upon, falling down into the ocean. Patience and Astrid were feeding the chickens together. The water was almost blue. That’s the awful part about it: the worst days of your life start out just like any other.
“It’d been fifteen years since the Battle of the Twins. My service in San Michon felt a lifetime ago. The war was creeping closer, year by year, but we’d gone as far south as we could. I hadn’t smoked the sacrament in ten years. Despite all they’d warned me of—the thirst within, my father’s curse—all of it was held in check by the bliss Astrid nightly gifted me from her veins, and in the simple joy of her arms. The Forever King’s war, the things I’d been and done—it was almost far enough away to forget, and in truth, I was happy to let myself. And that’s the thing that wakes me up at night, see. I should’ve known there’d come a reckoning.
“He told me he had forever, after all.
“I don’t know how he found us. Nor how long ago he’d learned where we hid. Maybe he’d always known—allowing me a few years to taste happy, to delude myself into thinking he might forget. I know only that it was springtime when he came. The breeze off the ocean was soft and cool. The silverbell trying to bloom among the stones.
“We had a rule to always be inside by dark. Always. But Patience loved the scent; Astrid, too. And while my wife finished in the kitchen and I set the table for supper, Patience had gone outside to gather flowers for the centerpiece. Just for a minute. That’s all it takes for your world to turn upside down, you know. A second’s distraction. A single moment that haunts you every moment for the rest of your life.
“The waves were crashing on the rocks, but there were no gulls singing in the air. That was what crept on me first; a small silence, a tiny note of wrongness that planted a sliver of ice in my gut. Astrid was singing in the kitchen, and what was left of the sun was pressing dark red lips to the horizon, and I fell slowly still, listening. And that splinter of ice became a stone, sitting cold in the pit of my belly as Astrid called over the song of the sea.
“‘Patience, dinner!’
“Not a sound, save shushing waves and whispering wind and the silence where the gull song should’ve been. And I felt it then; the dread I should’ve cherished all those waking years. The tiny part of me that had known, that had always known, bid me walk to the fireplace, to reach to the dark wooden plaque above it, to the blade I’d hung there so many years before with a prayer I’d never need draw her again.
“But as my hand closed on Ashdrinker’s hilt, I heard it, quiet on the breeze. A voice soft as silverbell blooms, laced with a brittle note of fear. ‘Mama?’
“Astrid turned to the door. ‘Patience?’
“‘Mama?’
“And there came a knocking, gentle as feathers upon the door. Three raps on the wood—I remember that clear as daylight: One. Two. Three. And I felt a heat then, like I’d not felt in years; a fire long dormant now flaring like a phoenix in the ashes of what I’d been. I looked to the ink on my hands, and the icy stone in my belly became a knife as my aegis began to glow. And our eyes met, my love’s and mine, across the flagstones of the home we’d built, and in that moment, I think a part of us both knew.
“Astrid flew to the door, and I roared at her to stop, knowing in my heart she never would. And as she flung it wide to the night fallen outside, I felt him, like snow upon my skin, I saw him, like every nightmare waking, I knew him, like I knew the teeth of time and the taste of blood and the warmth of hell awaiting. Standing upon the threshold of the little home we loved, the little life we’d built: a debt long since due. A fond smile was on his lips, and his eyes were heavy-lidden coals, sharp as the sword sheathed in my hand.
“‘Papa?’ Patience whispered.
“‘Oh, God,’ Astrid breathed. ‘No…’
“He stood on the cusp of night, arm about my daughter’s shoulder. He held the flowers she’d picked in one pale hand, like a courter come calling. Clad in long white satin brocade, unblinking, unmoving, unchanged from that moment I’d first laid eyes on him so many years before. As if all the moments and miles between then and now were but a dream from which I’d finally woken.
“‘May I come in, Gabriel?’
“‘Oh no, NO!’ Astrid screamed, and I lunged, stopping her from flinging herself against his stone. And I held her tight as she thrashed and roared, and the thing outside our door drew Patience closer and ran one bone-white claw down the curve of her cheek.
“‘Oh, God…’ I breathed.
“Fabién Voss looked skyward, searching all the gables of heaven. And his gaze returned to mine, and he whispered the question I’ve been asking ever since.
“‘Where?’
“‘Please,’ I begged. ‘Don’t hurt her.’
“‘Let me in,’ the vampire promised, ‘and I vow I shall release her.’
“The greatest lies are the ones we tell ourselves. The deadliest poison the one we swallow willingly. And yet sometimes we clutch at those deceits like a drowning man at straws, because the alternative is simply too awful to fathom. We believe in life after death, because oblivion is too dark an abyss to stare into. We tell ourselves our creator cares, because the thought of a maker who doesn’t is too terrifying to consider. And standing there, with Astrid trembling in my arms, I convinced myself Fabién Voss spoke truth. That he was only here for me, that ma famille were blameless, that he would let them go. Because the alternative would’ve simply shattered me like glass to look at.
“Instead, I looked into my daughter’s eyes, wide and frightened and fixed on me, her papa, her mountain, the man who would do anything, give anything, to keep her safe.
“‘Papa?’
“‘Shhhh,’ the vampire cooed. ‘Hush, child.’
“‘All will be well, love,’ Astrid told her. ‘Listen to me. All will b-be well.’
“The vampire stared at me, the windows to his soul looking in on an empty room. The ink upon my skin burned with cold radiance, but his eyes were narrowed only slightly against it; the dark power within him stronger than mine. I glanced to Ashdrinker in my hand, desperate thoughts awhirl in my mind. But Voss only shifted his hand on Patience’s shoulder, fingertips drifting slightly closer to her neck.
“‘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.
“He smiled. Beautiful. Terrible. And scuffing his boots politely upon the doormat Astrid had woven, the Forever King stepped across the threshold and into our home. I saw shapes behind him in the dark, other figures, half a dozen; Princes of Forever all, steeped in terror and blood. I knew their names: Alba, Alène, Kestrel, Morgane, Ettiene, Danton. But none made to step closer, hovering on the edge of night, bearing silent witness as their dread father walked slowly inside. I can’t tell you what I felt to see it—that monster with my baby on its arm. So much terror and fury I could barely bring myself to speak.
“‘Let her go.’
“‘Soon,’ he replied.
“‘If you hurt her…’ Astrid hissed, teeth bared. ‘God help me…’
“The Forever King smiled then, waving to the dining table.
“‘I have interrupted thee at repast. Apologies, I beg. May I sit?’
“I nodded, my hand still on Ashdrinker’s hilt. Fabién moved, liquid, the preternatural grace of centuries at his call. There was nothing unconsidered about him; no wasted motion, no squandered breath. He moved like a statue come to life, every part of him bleached bone-white by the hands of time, save those eyes, black as the holes between the stars. One hand wrapped around my daughter’s waist as he settled her upon his lap.
“‘Wouldst thou do me the honor of joining me, old friend?’
“I sat opposite, tense as a bowstring. My eyes locked on his. Terror in me, then. Complete and total terror.
“Voss gazed about the room, at the roaring fire, the pots and pans, the hook where I hung my coat; these tiny fragments of our life, now so inconsequential. He took the silverbells Patience had gathered and slipped them into the vase.
“‘A bright little lair thou hast crafted thyself, I see. A pleasant clime to while away thine autumn, afore cruel winter comes.’ He glanced to Astrid, hovering beside me, anguish and horror in her eyes. ‘We have traveled far to be here. My throat, I fear, is parched. Might I trouble thee, dearest madame, for a glass of wine?’
“‘We have none,’ Astrid replied.
“‘The Beaumont, my dearest. Hidden in the pantry?’
“Astrid paled a little at that, and with a desperate glance into my eyes, she slipped toward the kitchen. Voss turned to me, a conspiratorial smile on bloodless lips.
“‘She intended it as surprise for thine anniversary. Touching, no?’
“I knew he was in her mind then. I could feel him in mine also. Slipping like a thief through our secrets, our thoughts, nothing sacred, nothing hidden. The images of murder filling my head, the sword in my hand buried in his throat, the lunge for the burning logs in the fire, the desperate math of how I might save them—my daughter, my love—all unveiled. Patience looked at me, and she whispered again, ‘Papa?’ and a tear slipped down her cheek. Voss turned to her, his voice like black silk.
“‘Oh nono, hush now, little flower. It pains thy Uncle Fabién, to see thee cry. Tell me, my sweet, my love, my angel dear, how old art thou?’
“She looked to me, and I nodded, bloody agony in my chest.
“‘Eleven,’ she whispered.
“‘Oh, precious love. Oh, such an age! All childhood’s brightness still cherried in thy cheek, all womanhood’s promise budding ’pon thy horizon. Thy name is Patience, aye?’
“‘Oui…’
“He looked at her sadly, fingers brushing back her long black hair.
“‘I had a daughter once. Oh, aye, I had a daughter, just as beautiful as thee. And I loved her, Patience. I loved her just as dear as thy brave and noble father loves thee.’
“Astrid placed the goblet of wine on the table, bright and red as blood. And Voss broke his stare with my daughter, looking instead to my love.
“‘Oh, not for me, dear madame.’ His grateful smile vanished, and for a moment, his face was a mask of pure malevolence as his gaze slipped to Astrid’s throat. ‘For thee.’
“‘Voss…’
“‘She is a beauty, Gabriel.’ He was smiling once more, placing a kiss so cold upon Patience’s cheek that I saw her skin pale where his lips touched her. ‘Both of them, radiant as the sun. Proud art thou? Of this lair, this life thou hast made?’
“‘I am.’
“‘Love them, dost thou? As God loves his angels?’
“‘I do.’
“‘And what wouldst thou give to keep them safe, thy angels, thy loves?’
“‘Anything.’
“‘Thy life? Thy liberty?’
“‘Anything! Everything! Please!’ I slammed Ashdrinker on the table. ‘PLEASE!’
“‘Four. Centuries.’
“I blinked, my belly grown far beyond chill. ‘… What?’
“‘That is how long I knew my Laure. My angel. My love. My Wraith in Red. Four. Hundred. Years.’ He caressed Patience’s cheek, whisper soft. ‘Thou hast had the keeping of this flower for but eleven, and already thou wouldst give thy soul for her. Nothing from which thou wouldst shirk, Father, to save thy precious daughter’s life. What then, think ye I would not do to avenge my daughter hers?’
“That claw rested still upon her throat. And every desperate notion, every bleak fantasy I could conjure ended only in horror. I knew he wanted me to beg, but still, I did. Hoping for some reprieve, and praying, oh mighty fucking God, praying with every part of me, every mote of my wretched soul that he would spare them this.
“I would have given anything to spare them this.
“‘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.’
“He turned black eyes to the glass of wine, then up to Astrid.
“‘Thou art not drinking, madame.’
“His gaze drifted to the hand she held quivering behind her back.
“‘What is the knife for?’
“‘You,’ Astrid promised. ‘You.’
“‘Voss,’ I whispered. ‘Listen to me. Damn it, LOOK AT ME—’
“‘Know thee the name of thy sin, Gabriel? Thy soul hath the stain of them all, but know thee thy greatest? Come now, and speak its name. If thou wouldst give thy life for theirs, first I shall take thy confession. I shall be thy priest, and thee, my son. Gabriel de León. The Black Lion. The Savior of Nordlund. Liberator of Triúrbaile. Redeemer of Tuuve. Sword of the Realm. Silversaint. What sin, sweetest, is thine?’
“I clenched my teeth, fangs grown long in my gums. Thinking upon my life, the answer that might buy me reprieve, the confession he sought of me. ‘Pride,’ I whispered.
“‘Once perhaps. But no more. Speak again, and true.’
“I looked to Astrid, my breath trembling. The vows broken between us. I’d never think our love a sin, but still, I spoke, desperate now. ‘Lust, then…’
“‘Thy sin, verily. But not the worst. Thy God is listening, Gabriel. Thy trumpets sing. Shalt thou die with soul unshriven?’
“My grip tightened on my blade as I hissed, the things I wanted to do to this bastard and all his wretched kind aflame in my head. ‘Wrath.’
“Voss shook his head, as if disappointed.
“‘’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.’
“‘Voss, please…’
“‘Please,’ Astrid whispered. ‘Don’t.’
“‘So beautiful,’ he whispered, running a claw along Patience’s neck. ‘But already, ye fade, Patience. The sweetness of the fruit is but the prelude to decay. Dying hast thou been, since the day ye were first born.’
“‘Almighty fucking God, Voss, you said you’d let her go!’
“He looked at me. His eyes black glass, like mirrors in which I saw myself. Wretched. Begging. And he spoke then, the words that would unmake my world.
“‘And unlike thee, I keep my vows.’
“His hand moved. Just a flicker. And he…”
Gabriel’s voice faltered. Ashes on his tongue.
To speak it would make it real.
To speak it would be to live it again.
“He…”
Jean-François sat with one pale hand pressed to his chest, a sliver of pity in his soulless eyes. The cell they sat in was cold as tombs, the pale light of dawn not long from the horizon. But the dark in that stone room was deep as any the vampire had known, as long and empty and bleak as a lifetime unloved. 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?”