‘My stomach turned at the thought. I tried to picture entire legions of coldbloods, laying siege to human cities. Creatures old as centuries stalking the day with earthly feet.
‘“And how …”
‘I shook my head, my throat dry. I remembered the honey of Ilsa’s blood cascading over my tongue. The bliss as my teeth slipped through the smooth skin of her thigh. My canines were no longer sharp like they’d been, but still, I could feel them, and that thirst, lying in wait beneath my surface. Wondering if, when, it might rise again.
‘“How do I fit into all this?”
‘Greyhand looked at me sidelong. A log cracked in the fire, a shower of sparks spilling into the dark. “What do you know of your father, Little Lion?”
‘“He was a soldier. A scout in the armies of Phili—”
‘“Not the man who raised you, boy. Your father.”
‘And I understood then. Realization like an avalanche. I knew why my papa’s fists had fallen only on me, not my sisters. What he meant when he said he’d raised a sin beneath his roof. My lips felt numb and swollen. The words too big to speak.
‘“My father …”
‘“Was a vampire.”
‘It was Aaron de Coste who’d spoken, staring at me now across the flames.
‘“No,” I breathed. “No … no, my mama would never …”
‘“She’d hoped you were not his. They both did.” Greyhand patted my knee, and something close to pity softened his gaze. “Fault her not, Little Lion. To eyes that cannot truly see, highbloods are beautiful. Powerful. Their minds can bend even the strongest will, and their mouths drip sweetest honey.”
‘I thought of Ilsa, helpless with passion as I drank her almost to death. I looked at that corpse hanging from the tree branch, and then down at my hands in absolute disgust.
‘“I’m … like them?”
‘“No, Peasant,” de Coste said. “You’re like us.”
‘“You are a halfbreed, boy,” the frère said. “What we call a paleblood.”
‘I looked between the pair, saw that their skin was white as ghosts, just like mine.
‘“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.”
‘“This … Silver Order you spoke of?”
‘“The Ordo Argent,” Greyhand nodded. “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.”
‘“So we … we’re supposed to fight this Forever King and his army?”
‘“Armies fight armies. But Empress Isabella has convinced Emperor Alexandre he has need of a razor as well as a hammer. The Ordo Argent is that razor. We are a brotherhood with a hallowed tradition, but never before have we operated with royal patronage. The Emperor’s generals will lay their sieges and muster their lines. But we will strike the serpent’s head. We will slay the shepherds, and watch their sheep scatter.”
‘“Assassins,” I murmured.
‘“No, boy. Hunters. Hunters with a divine mandate. Hunters of the most dangerous game.” Greyhand looked back to the flames, the fire returning to his eyes. “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.”
‘Greyhand and de Coste both spoke then, their voices as one.
‘“And we are silver.”
‘Frère Greyhand gazed into my wondering eyes. I felt his stare like a fist about my heart. Then he stood, returning to his prayers, as quiet as if he’d never spoken.
‘But he had spoken. And his words now filled my mind. I was afraid like I’d never been. Horrified at the truth of what I was. I’d just learned that my whole fucking life had been a lie. My father was not my father. Instead, I was the child of a monstrous sin, now growing like a cancer inside me. And yet, Aaron and Greyhand were sons of that same darkness, and they stood tall in defence of the Emperor, the Church, the Almighty Himself.
‘Brothers of the Silver Order of San Michon.
‘My mother had always spoken of the lion in my blood. But for the first time in my life, I could feel it waking. My sister had died at the hands of these coldbloods. And though I couldn’t save her then, I could avenge her now, and perhaps, redeem my damned soul besides. Though I was born of darkest sin, this seemed a salvation. And looking into those flames, I vowed that if I were to join these men, I’d be the best of them. The fiercest. The most faithful. That I’d not falter, not fail, not rest until every one of those monsters was sent back screaming to the hell that birthed them, and there, give my sister my love.’
Gabriel sighed and shook his head.
‘I had no fucking idea what I was in for.’
VI
A MONASTERY IN THE SKY
‘WE ARRIVED AT San Michon on the last findi of the month, wreathed in snow-grey fog. Frère Greyhand led the way, Aaron de Coste came next, me on the saddle behind him. As I rode into the monastery’s shadow, I didn’t quite know what to feel. Fear of the sin inside me. Sorrow at all I’d left behind in Lorson. But in truth, what I felt most as I looked to the bluffs above was awe. Simple, jaw-dropping awe.
‘San Michon seemed born from a faerie tale. It was built in a valley along the Mère River, nestled among rocky black crags. Seven massive pillars of lichen-covered stone rose up like spears from the valley floor, as if left there by giants in the Age of Legends. The river flowed between the granite pillars it had carved, like a serpent of dark sapphire. And on those mighty pedestals, the monastery of San Michon awaited me.
‘At a nod from Greyhand, Aaron unslung a silver-trimmed horn and blew a long note through the valley. Bells answered above, butterflies dancing in my gut as we rode down mushroom-covered shale towards the central pillar. Its base was hollowed, the entrance sealed by iron gates wrought with the sevenstar. I caught a whiff of horse within, realizing the silversaints had built their stables inside.
‘Next to the gates, a broad wooden platform was being lowered on heavy iron chains. After handing over our horses to two young grooms, Master Greyhand slung his captured wretched over his shoulder, then strode to the elevator with Aaron and me on his heels. The platform swayed ominously as we rose a hundred, then two hundred feet off the valley floor. This high, I could see the Godsend Mountains to the northwest – that great spine of snowcapped granite splitting Nordlund from Talhost.