VII
A LIBRARY OF GHOSTS
‘THAT EVE, I did something I never imagined myself doing when I first
entered San Michon.’
‘And that was?’ Jean-François asked. ‘I broke the rules.’ The vampire’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘Scandalous.’
‘Mock if you will.’ ‘Merci, I believe I shall.’ ‘Fuck you,’ Gabriel scowled. ‘You’ve no ken what it was like, you bloodless prick. All my life, I was raised in the One Faith. Deception sat as well on me as a rope around my neck. San Michon was a holy place, and in the last seven months, the commandments of the Order had become as the laws of the Almighty to me. In breaking them, I felt I was going against God Himself, and being paleblood, I knew my soul was already at eternal peril. But there was nothing for it. And it wasn’t the blood of lambs that flowed in my veins.’ Gabriel sighed, gulping a mouthful of wine. ‘I never used to drink anything but water at meals, for fear of what the liquor had done to my stepfather. But Aaron had shared a bottle with Baptiste as promised, and as I bedded down that night, he was already drooling into his sheets. His crony de Séverin lay on his back, breathing softly, returned from a recent Hunt near Aveléne. Theo Petit was snoring loud enough to shake the floor. But I was wide awake, and taut with fear. ‘I lay there with Lionclaw hidden under my blankets, one hand wrapped around its hilt. Heart hammering. Mouth dry. Waiting to hear Talon and Greyhand open the door, set to drag me to Heaven’s Bridge. I knew I couldn’t take them, yet I vowed to fight with all I fucking had if they came for me. But hours slipped by, and I heard no heavy footfalls, no death march to the foot of my bed. And finally, I realized Abbot Khalid must have deemed that I be
allowed to live. That whatever the truth of my bloodline, it wasn’t yet worth killing me for. ‘I let myself breathe a sigh of relief. My belly slowly unknotting itself. But despite my reprieve, I knew no peace. Greyhand had deceived me. Talon loathed me. My life might still be at risk, I wanted the truth of all this, and there was only one place I could think to find it.’ Jean-François raised an eyebrow in mute question. ‘The Great Library. The forbidden section. There must have been a reason that we initiates weren’t allowed to visit it. If any word about this fifth bloodline could be found in San Michon, I supposed it awaited me there. ‘The Barracks were locked after nightfall, but I’d already pondered a way out of the doghouse. I rose shaking from my bed, and on whispering feet, found my way to the privy. ‘Waste disposal in San Michon was a simple affair – the Barracks was built with one wall jutting out over the vast stone pillar it rested upon. A bench ran along that wall, a dozen holes cut into it, with the waters of the Mère River waiting five hundred feet below.’ ‘Sounds charming,’ Jean-François murmured. ‘Better than chucking it out the window.’ Gabriel shrugged. ‘I lifted the privy cover, looking down to the silver ribbon of the Mère and wondering if I was insane to be doing this. I was already on thin ice after Skyefall. If I were caught sneaking out after evebells, Talon might convince Greyhand to take me to Heaven’s Bridge and be done. But this wasn’t just idle curiosity now. My life might be at risk. I knew no other way to learn the truth of what I was. And after drubbing that vampire barehanded, I was still feeling a touch invincible. So, taking a deep breath, I slipped down through the privy spout.’ Gabriel paused, staring at the coldblood.
‘… Well?’ ‘Well, what?’ ‘This is the part you make some quip about human waste and my relationship to it.’ ‘Please, de León, I stopped being a twelve-year-old decades ago.’ ‘No jabs about how I was throwing my apprenticeship down the sewer or suchlike?’ ‘If I were to quip, I’d be far more amusing than that.’ Gabriel scoffed. ‘The wind was knives, snatching at my hair and turning my fingernails blue. I swung down onto the scaffold into a crouch, hands out for balance. An ordinary man would’ve broken his legs in that drop, but though I wasn’t yet a man, I was nothing close to ordinary either. Slipping along the
timbers, then scaling the rock wall barehanded, I found myself perched on a thin ledge skirting the building. Refusing to look down, I shuffled until at last, a touch light-headed, I reached the Barracks courtyard.’ ‘There were no guards? No nightwatch?’ ‘I could see a chymical lantern near the Ossuary, held by a dark figure that I guessed was Gatekeep Logan. But other than that, not another living soul. I made the sign of the wheel as I passed under the Cathedral’s eaves, begging God to forgive my disobedience. As I stole over the next bridge, I wondered if he’d just pluck it loose and send me plunging to my death. But soon enough, I found myself before the entrance to the Great Library. ‘The doors were sealed, of course. Huge copper-clad slabs they were, fashioned in baroque legends of the Martyrs – Cleyland with his key to hell and Michon with her silver chalice. I wondered if I’d have to force them to get inside. But strangely, as I pressed one hand upon them, I found the doors already unlocked. And with held breath and thumping chest, I crept into the vast hollow of San Michon’s Library. ‘The room was one vast chamber, lined floor to ceiling with books. Brass fixtures gleamed in the dim light, and the ceiling above was frescoed with angels of the host. Ladders on runners stretched to the loftiest stacks. Peering about the gloom with paleblood eyes, I saw the familiar sight of leather-bound volumes, dusty scrolls, beautiful tomes. Awash with dull rainbows of moons-light, spilling through windows of stained glass. ‘Most curious of all, the floor was painted as a great map, outlining the empire and the five kingdoms it had been forged from. To the northwest, the frozen reaches of Talhost, now lost to the Forever King. To the east, the seat of Emperor Alexandre, great Elidaen. Nordlund ever in between, and Ossway and Sūdhaem to the south, the mighty spine of the Godsend Mountains running down Nordlund’s west flank. It was ever the strangest feeling, walking through the Great Library. The knowledge of the entire empire was gathered on the shelves around you, and the empire itself laid out beneath your feet. ‘I stole through long shadows, past countless books with countless stories to tell, until I reached the heavy wrought iron gates sealing off the forbidden section. Through the thick bars, I could see a long room, a maze of overflowing shelves. Strangely, I could smell candlesmoke. And ever so faint on the air, the
soft perfume of … ‘“Blood,” I whispered. ‘My hackles were up now. My mouth watering. I’d been given the sacrament at duskmass as always, but the beast within was never truly sated, and I could feel it stirring. I remembered Frère Yannick having his throat slit in the Red Rite the first night I arrived in the monastery. That fate awaited every paleblood
the first night I arrived in the monastery. That fate awaited every paleblood alive. ‘Me sooner than others, if Talon got his way. ‘I set my mind back to task, and took hold of the gates into the forbidden section. I thought perhaps to prise the bars wider with my dark strength and slip inside, but as I flexed, they parted like the waters of the Eversea before San
Antoine’s prayers. ‘Already unlocked … ‘The hinges made not a whisper as I stole inside. The scent of blood grew stronger as I navigated a warren of dusty shelves, loaded with books and scrolls and the strangest curios. The skulls of men with the teeth of beasts. Sevenstars made of human bones. Metal puzzle boxes carved with arcane glyfs. I saw a skeletal creature pickled in a glass jar, and I swore it blinked at me as I passed by. The tomes were all shapes and sizes, but each was bound in pale leather, bleached with time. They were like the corpses of books rather than books themselves. It felt as if I stalked through a library of ghosts. ‘I could see faint light ahead. My unease growing along with the bloodscent.
And rounding a shelf of bleached and silent secrets, I found the strangest sight
I’d yet seen in the Library. ‘“God Almighty …” I whispered. ‘A table of stout oak, piled with books and surrounded by leather chairs, lit by a single candle. A girl in the pale vestments of a sisternovice was slumped flat upon the table, long dark hair over her face, blood puddled thick around her cheek. ‘Sweet Mothermaid, it smelled like heaven’s perfume … ‘It looked like someone had struck the girl while she sat there reading, cracking her skull. I crept forward, heart thumping. And as I reached out to move her hair in search of a wound, the girl opened her eyes, looked right at me, and fucking screamed. ‘I yelped and leapt backwards. She reared up from the table, face slick with blood, lifting the candlestick to brain me. And looking about with wide, dark eyes, she pressed one pale hand to her heart and whispered in a crisp, highborn
accent.
‘“Oh, you cunting bastard …” ‘“… I beg your pardon?” ‘The girl dragged a shaking hand through her long dark hair and sighed. “Beg all you wish, boy. You almost gave me a fucking heart seizure.” ‘“… You’re the sisternovice who inked my aegis,” I realized. “The one I saw getting whipped in the stables.” ‘“And you’re the peasant who took my horse.”
‘“And you’re the peasant who took my horse.” ‘“I’m no peasant,” I scowled. “I’m an initiate of the Silver Order.” ‘“Those are hardly mutually exclusive properties.” ‘“Are you aright?” ‘She shrugged. “Just resting my eyes, if that’s any of your concern.” ‘“Facedown in a pool of blood?” ‘The sisternovice blinked then, realizing her face was sticky red, yet more blood pooled on the table in front of her. “Oh, fuck it all,” she snarled, reaching into her vestments for a bloodstained kerchief. “Apologies. It looks rather more dramatic than it is.” ‘I stared at the blood on her lips, pulse drumming in my temples. This was the first time I’d been alone with a girl since I’d almost killed Ilsa. Remembering the sensation of that warm red rushing into my mouth as she writhed and sighed … ‘“I thought your skull was broken,” I managed. ‘“It’s my nose,” she replied, swabbing her face. “It bleeds a great deal lately. I suspect it’s something to do with the altitude in this godforsaken pigsty.” ‘My mind was awash. I wondered what in the Sevens’ names this girl was doing there. Alone, after dark, against the rules. But more, and despite the blood – or likely because of it – I couldn’t help noticing how beautiful she was. Skin like milk. Beauty spot beside the gentle bow of her bloody lips. She had the eyes of a dark angel.’ Gabriel smiled. ‘And the mouth of a she-devil on the rag. ‘“I’ve seen you about,” she declared with a toss of her hair. “And though I’ve stabbed you repeatedly, we’ve not been formally introduced. My name is Astrid Rennier.” ‘“Gabriel de León,” I replied, still more than a little flustered. ‘“Oui. De León.” Dark eyes roamed me, toe to crown. “You don’t look much of a lion. Then again, you are out of bed after evebells. Which means you’ve more courage than the rest of these boorish little boys.”
‘Ever so slowly, she extended her hand. ‘“I think we shall get along famously.” ‘I blinked at her hand as if it were a serpent coiled to strike. This girl had seen me half-naked, after all, touched me in places few others had. The scent of her blood was stirring that memory now, and my own blood besides. But she was a novice of the Silver Sorority, soon to be wedded to God. I was an initiate of the Silver Order, servant of that same Heavenly Father. I shouldn’t even have been talking to her, let alone … ‘“Courtly manners dictate a gentleman kiss a lady’s hand when he meets her,”
Astrid said helpfully, wriggling her fingers. ‘“Suppose I don’t want to kiss it.” ‘“Then I suppose you’re the ill-mannered peasant I first took you for.”
‘“Then I suppose you’re the ill-mannered peasant I first took you for.” ‘She gifted me an ingénue’s smile, but I saw the trap she’d laid: Obey her command or be rude. Problem was, I wanted to do neither. Holy vows and godly laws aside, this girl reminded me of Aaron de Coste and the other initiates who made my life such a misery, with their lordly accents and upturned noses.
Beautiful as she was, incredible as she smelled, Astrid Rennier struck me as something of a bitch. ‘Still, she’d done an artful job with the ink on my chest. And Mama had raised me to always treat girls the way I’d want them to treat me. There are three ways men view the women of the world, Gabriel. Enemies to be overcome. Prizes to be won. Or as people. My advice is choose the latter, my love. Lest they begin
considering you the former. ‘And so, I took Astrid Rennier’s hand. ‘Her skin was wondrous warm after the chill outside. I could smell the scent on her hair – rosewater and silverbell mixed with the dizzying perfume of her blood. I suppressed a shiver at the memory of her touch upon my bare chest, the pain of her needles in my skin. And supposing a chaste kiss couldn’t anger God too much, I brushed my lips across her knuckles, trying to sound courtly.
‘“Enchanted, mademoiselle.”
‘“Not yet,” she promised. ‘“What are you doing in here?” ‘“I could ask the same of you, good Frère.” ‘“I’m not a brother of the Order yet. My proper title is Initiate.” ‘“Oh, is that what we’re being now?” She raised one dark eyebrow. “Proper?” ‘I peered at the books Astrid was reading. Most were written in languages I’d no ken of, but the ones I could comprehend seemed a strange mix. The pages were covered in mad scrawls, filled with strange geometrical shapes and arcane symbols. I ran my finger along one of the pale spines, murmuring aloud. ‘“A Full and Complete Accounte of that Peril Which Godly Men Did Name the Aavsenct Heresy, Told in Seven Partes, This Being Parte the Thirde.” ‘“Not a very creative title, is it?” ‘“Of Astrological Portents and Prognostications Dire – A Complete Historie.” ‘“Look, do you fucking mind?” Astrid said, covering the books protectively. ‘“What are you reading about in here? And why at night?” ‘“What business is that of yours?” ‘“None at all. Which I suppose is my favourite kind.” ‘She smiled a little at that. “Still. Why would I share mine with you?” ‘“We’re both breaking the rules here.” I shrugged. “Honour among thieves?”
‘“I’m no thief, Gabriel de León. But if you must know, I am reading at night because Archivist Adamo won’t permit sisternovices into the forbidden section during the day. Even if I were a full-fledged sister, I’m still possessed of a pair of breasts, which disqualifies you from all sorts of things around here. And I am wading through this collection of horseshit, pig spunk, and lunatic nonsense in an attempt to get to the bottom of daysdeath.” She blew a dark lock of hair out of her eyes. “Satisfactory?” ‘“Daysdeath,” I whispered, suddenly intrigued. “Have you found anything?” ‘She pointed at a few books, one at a time. “Horseshit. Pig spunk. Lunatic nonsense. Honestly, I think the only reason half this collection is forbidden is out of the profound embarrassment someone was fucking stupid enough to collect it in the first place.” ‘Sitting beside her, I looked at the books with renewed interest. “Why are you searching for the secret to daysdeath?” ‘“Well, as long as I’m stuck in this arsehole, why wouldn’t I be? The empire shall soon be under siege by an ever-expanding mob of bloodthirsty corpses. It’s all well and good for you. You get to gallivant about the countryside in fabulous leather coats, turning coldbloods to ashes and peasant girls to puddles. But nobody in authority seems particularly concerned about what caused the phenomenon that led to this fucking calamity to begin with. They’re just …” – the sisternovice flailed her hand – “reacting to it.” ‘“I’ve sometimes thought the same myself,” I confessed. ‘“Well, then, it seems the Almighty gifted you a functional brain. Huzzah and hurrah. They seem in rather short supply around this fucking place.” ‘I just stared. She was a curious one, this girl. One second turning on her charm easy as breathing. The next, spitting venom like a greensnake. ‘“Apologies,” she sighed, dabbing again at her nose. “I’m a dragon on her moonstime when I’m fiending. We should remedy that.” ‘She rose from her chair, walked to one of the shelves and fished about behind a stack of books. From some secret hiding place, she drew a long-stemmed pipe, and to my astonishment, I saw it was solid gold. I watched her take out a peck of powdered traproot and a larger pinch of a sticky green substance from a small
golden case.
‘“What’s that?” I asked. ‘“Rêvre,” she replied. ‘“… Sisternovices are allowed to smoke dreamweed?” ‘“Of course. I just sneak out for a pipeful in the freezing dead of night for the jollies.” ‘I rolled my eyes. “Touché, I suppose. Where’d you get it?” ‘She shrugged. “Keeper Logan and Kaveh both owe me favours.”
‘She shrugged. “Keeper Logan and Kaveh both owe me favours.” ‘“Kaveh?” I asked. “Kaspar’s little brother?” ‘Astrid nodded. “He goes on the supply runs to Beaufort with the good Keeper, and I’ve still some friends down there who keep him well-paid and me well-supplied.” ‘Truth told, and to my shame, I admit I’d mistaken Kaveh as something of a simpleton. But between his odd meeting with Sister Aoife, and now this revelation, it seemed there was more to the mute young groom than first met my eye. ‘Astrid frowned, tongue protruding between her lips as she blended the rêvre and traproot. Packing her pipe, she slipped it between her lips, and leaning into the candle, she drew down a deep draught. Her long, smoky lashes fluttered against her cheeks, and she rocked back, holding her breath. ‘Traproot was common enough – it had been a favourite among Sūdhaemi sailors for centuries, and served in pipes across the empire now that the tobacco plant had become too hard to grow. But dreamweed was a hard narcotic, favoured of soothsingers, authors, and other worthless tossers. It was near impossible to cultivate since daysdeath, and cost a small fortune; this girl obviously had wealth. And staring at the golden case, I was astonished to notice its embossed design: a unicorn rampant against five crossed swords. ‘“Where did you get that?” I breathed. ‘Astrid held up a finger, still holding her lungful. My mind was racing through the ways she might have acquired such a prize. Larceny seemed most obvious for a dreamfiend, but I forced myself to truly study this girl. Looking past the beauty, the blood, and thinking like the hunter they were training me to be. ‘From the softness of her hand, she’d not done much hard work in her life.
She carried herself like Aaron de Coste, not some gutter-running drug addict – that same accent and arrogance, softened by her looks and charm. And the seal on that case …
‘Astrid moved to the window, breathed a soft grey sigh into the night outside.
“Martyrs and Mothermaid, that is better.” ‘I pointed to the case again. “That’s the crest of Alexandre III. Emperor of all Elidaen.” ‘“So?” Astrid asked, her voice now lazy and soft. ‘“So either you’re a common thief or some kind of princess.” ‘Astrid lifted her pipe. “I told you already. I am no thief, Gabriel de León.” ‘I scoffed. “Princess, then?” ‘She drew deep on the smoke and said nothing for a long time, simply holding her breath. But finally, she exhaled a sweet narcotic cloud into the dark beyond the glass. And she spoke then, the warm blur in her bloodshot eyes belied by the steel in her voice. ‘“I’m no princess. I’m a fucking queen.”’
