‘“Initiate,” he grunted. “May God grant ye strength this day.”
‘“This is S?ur Aoife,” Khalid said. “Adept of the Silver Sorority.”
‘The abbot motioned to a young sister beside Charlotte, watching me with curious blue eyes. She was slender, pretty, a hint of auburn curls at the edge of her coif. She held a thin box of polished oak, and her fingernails were chewed to the roots.
‘“Godmorrow, Initiate.” She bowed. “Mothermaid bless you.”
‘“The good sister will be assisting in today’s trial. And as for your trial master,” here Khalid shared his cut-throat’s smile with Greyhand, “I shall allow him to introduce himself.”
‘I glanced to the brother in question, standing beside the abbot like a sharp black shadow. His dark grey moustache was so long it could’ve been tied in a bow atop his shaved skull, and his eyes looked like piss holes in his head. He seemed older than Khalid and Greyhand – past forty, I guessed. He was slight of build, his greatcoat collar laced high and tight about his throat. Save for a long cane of polished ashwood, he was unarmed.
‘“My name is Talon de Montfort, Seraph of the Hunt,” the thin man declared in a sharp Elidaeni accent. “You will learn to hate me worse than the whore who spat you from her belly, and the devil who squirted you into it.”
‘I glanced at my master, then at Khalid, taken aback. This Talon was Seraph of the Hunt, the second-highest ’saint in the Order. But still, no bastard alive speaks that way about my mama. “My mother was n—”
‘Swakk! came the sound of Talon’s cane across my legs.
‘“Ow!”
‘“During this trial, you will speak when spoken to. Am I understood?”
‘“O-oui,” I managed, massaging my whipped thigh.
‘Swakk!
‘“Oui what, you pig-buggering little shitwizard?”
‘“O-oui, Seraph Talon,” I gasped.
‘“Splendid.” The thin man glanced to Greyhand, the other luminaries. “You may take your places in the rings, godly Brothers and Sisters. The weather is chill, but this shall not take overlong. By hour’s end, the Trial shall be concluded or the funeral underway.”
‘I blanched a little at that. But my master only patted my shoulder.
‘“No fear. Heed the hymn, Little Lion.”
‘Greyhand turned, and with Abbot Khalid and the prioress beside him, he marched up to the bleachers. Argyle assisted Archivist Adamo, the old man taking the smith’s iron hand and shuffling slowly from the star. Cold winds whispered between Talon and me, tossing my hair into my eyes. Sister Aoife stood beside the seraph, that wooden box in her hands. The thin man looked at me like an owl summing up a particularly juicy mouse, and I watched that switch in his hand as if it were a viper set to strike.
‘“What do you know of the coldblood who sired you, boy?” Talon asked.
‘The question caught me off-guard, mostly because I had no good answer. I thought of my mother then, a pang of resentment in my chest. All those years she spent warning me of the hungers within, and never once did she warn me of what I truly was. I supposed she was ashamed by the sin of it all. But she could have told me something …
‘“Nothing, Seraph.”
‘Swakk!
‘“Ow!”
‘“Speak up, you ill-bred twatwaffler!”
‘I glanced to the stony faces in the gallery, spoke louder. “Nothing, Seraph!”
‘He nodded. “Now, I need ask this question like the world needed your mother to shit you into it, but are you at all versed in the divine mysteries of chymistrie?”
‘My heart quickened at that. Chymistrie was a dark craft, spoken of in hushed tones about my village. My mama once told me it was something between alchemy, witchery, and lunacy. But to be on the safe side, I shook my head.
‘Talon sighed. “Then let me enlighten your so-called mind, you spunk-brained fuckweasel. The foes you will face on the Hunt are the deadliest creatures under God’s own heaven. Coldbloods. Faekin. Restless. Duskdancers. Fallen. But the Almighty has not left you bereft of tools in the endless night. And we shall teach you how to craft them all. Black ignis powder that explodes with all heaven’s fury at a single spark. Silver caustic to burn the flesh of your foes like acid. Kingshield. Angelgrace. Ghostbreath. Griefthorn …” From within his greatcoat, Talon produced a phial of dark scarlet dust. “And last, his greatest gift of all.”
‘My mouth ran dry. It was the same powder I’d seen Greyhand and de Coste smoke along the Hollyroad, their eyes flooding blood-red as they breathed it down.
‘“What is that, Seraph?”
‘“This, you lackwitted piss-puddle, is sanctus. A chymical distillation of the essence in our enemies’ veins. Through it, we alleviate the dark thirst inherited from the monsters who sired us. And unlock the gifts God granted us to help send them back to hell.”
‘“You mean that’s …”
‘He nodded. “Vampire blood.”
‘“Fuck me,” I breathed.
‘“The Testaments name sodomy a deadly sin, so I’d rather not.” Talon offered a brief smile. “But you’re very pretty, de León, and I appreciate the offer.”
‘I chuckled, thinking he was making a jest.
‘Swakk!
‘“Ow!”
‘“Sanctus is the holy sacrament of San Michon. A paleblood’s greatest weapon against the endless night, and our damned natures. Today, you begin to wield it, and your gifts. And our first step, my cherry pauperstain, is to determine which of the four bloodlines your father’s deathless cock belonged to. But before we begin …” He twirled his cane between his fingertips and scowled. “You must give me permission to do so.”
‘I swallowed, massaging my leg. “Permission, Seraph?”
‘“It is forbidden for palebloods to use their gifts upon each other without consent, under punishment of the lash. We are brothers-in-arms, in purpose and in blood, and we must trust one another above all else, de León. So. Do you consent?”
‘I looked to Sister Aoife, uncertain. “What happens if I don’t?”
‘Swakk!
‘“Ow!”
‘“Do. You. Consent?”
‘“I consent!”
‘Talon nodded, narrowed his gaze. I felt the strangest sensation then. Like fingertips brushing soft along my scalp. Like a whisper slipping through my eyes. I winced as if looking into the sun, my head swimming. “What … w-what are you doing?”
‘“All vampires have common abilities, which palebloods inherit. But each bloodline also has unique talents.” Talon pointed to one of the unfamiliar crests on the wall – a white raven wearing a golden crown. “The Ironhearts. The kith of Blood Voss. They have flesh akin to steel. It can turn aside silver. The eldest among them can even withstand the fury of the flame. But far more sobering is their ability to read the minds of weaker men.”
‘I realized that was the sensation I felt – the seraph was in my fucking head. I could feel him now, like a shadow inside my skull. But just as swift as it began, the feeling ended.