Within those pillars I make a few startling discoveries.
First are the two bodies splayed across the cobbles, pooling in their own blood: Vanison and Indokkus Shirin.
Standing over them, protecting the closed doors of the cathedral, is Skartovius Ashfen with a grim expression on his face.
My heart swells. His eyes brighten with recognition as I crest the hill, and then we’re closing the gap and wrapping our arms around each other. Over his shoulder, I see Lukain making his way up the hill from the west.
My mates have all lived. We’re together again.
“I couldn’t go into the cathedral,” Skar tells me, shame tightening his features. “Valenthia’s unholy work prevents vampires who aren’t blessed by her Damned from entering. Your Silverknight friend went in alone.”
I suck in a sharp breath.
Skartovius scans the hillside, listening to the wailing vampires across the Faith Ward who are now on their knees and losing their minds. “Judging by what’s going on out here, I’d say he succeeded in his mission.”
My brow furrows.
“This seems to me like Valenthis Yurlyth has perished, and her countless zombified thralls are feeling the mental anguish of that loss. If so, this is an unexpected victory. You’d best go check on your Silverknight to make sure. We’ll be out here waiting.”
Vallan growls, “My bloodsight will keep close watch on you where we can’t, silverblood.”
I nod to my mates, just as Lukain ascends the hill. Tossing him a quick half-smile, filled with loss and love, I rush to the cathedral doors and push them open.
“Fuck.” My voice comes out as a croak.
I’m stalled at the front of the cathedral nave—a beautiful, ornate room that would impress me if it wasn’t in such squalor. The ceiling is vaulted, the stained glass is cloudy and reflective, and the pews dance with glittering lights from this high windows.
The place is also a fucking mess. Pews and benches are strewn about, some broken. Vampires are dead or dying, blood splattering the walls and marble floor.
It’s the view at the front of the building that gets my heart pumping, my stomach sinking, and the word “Fuck” pushing involuntarily past my lips.
Silver armor. A collapsed figure. Blood trickling down the single stair between the choir hall and the apse.
I sprint to Rirth, my head spinning, my boots clacking. Sliding to my knees, I stare down at his slack face, noting the dagger hilt that sticks up in his belly. “Rirth, no!” I rasp, lifting his head and putting it on my lap. Leaning forward, I listen closely, putting my ear against his chest and then his neck.
Thump-thump . . . thump-thump . . .
“You’re alive!” My voice cracks from sheer relief.
He’s alive but dying. There’s no two ways about it. That jab to the gut is certainly riling his insides as we speak, twisting and destroying everything good in there.
The Silverknight captain doesn’t have long.
The altar is cleared except for him, which I find odd—
And that’s when I notice the pile of ash and skeletal remains nearby. I wonder if Skar’s claim could be true.
Reaching into my tunic, my hands shake and tremble, slick and sticky with blood and sweat and fear, as I find a vial of Silverblood. I unstopper the potion, muttering nonsense under my breath about how difficult Rirth is being in trying to get his mouth open.
“G-Get . . . that shit . . . a-away from me.” His voice is a low scraping sound.
I gasp in shock, mouth falling open—
And his hand blindly swipes through the air, smacks my wrist precariously, and knocks the vial out of my hand.
All I can do is watch as it crashes to the ground, shatters, and spills its priceless contents across the marble floor. I’m stunned for a moment.
Then: “You fucking stubbornass!”