The Silver Knight (7 page)

Sufyan ignored the beseeching hands stretched out to him. He nodded at the jumble of bones around the crypt. “And these poor souls—who were they?”

“The blood-fiend's victims.” Everard let his hands fall to his sides. “I tried to give them a Christian burial... or at least I buried them on consecrated ground. They're here to remind me not to slip into the darkness completely.” His eyes shone. “But now I have no need to fear the blood-fiend, because you destroyed it.”

“No,” Sufyan said softly, “we both destroyed it. I may have defeated its physical manifestation, but surely it was the acceptance of your true nature that has made the fiend vanish.”

Everard touched Sufyan's hands, and the caress was cool but not unpleasant. “If I have accepted my nature and reconciled my duality, that's also your doing. You lay with me without disgust or anger or guilt. You lay with me in pleasure, shared yourself with me. You fought by my side. You saved me from myself.”

Sufyan slid his fingers over Everard's hands. “And yet you are still a cursed creature—a blood-drinker.”

“Yes.” Everard's expression dimmed slightly.

“And you bit me.” Sufyan lifted his foot, indicating the clear imprint of where the blood-fiend had sunk its teeth into Sufyan's boot. “The wound stings and throbs as if it's burning. Tell me, will I become like you?”

“If I share my blood with you, yes. Otherwise, the bite is poisonous and you will be dead by sundown tomorrow.”

The statement was spoken so baldly, Sufyan began to chuckle. Seeing Everard's confusion, he explained, “Again I have a choice that is not a choice. Just as I had in Chartres when I stood in the cathedral with a bloody sword and a corpse at my feet. Should I allow myself to be trapped in service or should I go to my death? Should I accept the offer of sharing your curse or should I wait to die in agony?”

Everard seemed to go even paler. “You chose servitude. You chose to live. You can do it again.”

“And what kind of life do you lead, Montparnasse? Skulking in shadows, sleeping in crypts, feeding upon the living—is this truly what you want?”

“If I had someone to share it with me—yes.” Everard lifted his chin, his eyes blazing. “I have spent all these years hiding not just from others but from myself. You are the first man to hold up a mirror to me and make me accept what I am. Will you turn your back on that awakening now? You and I—we could become something more. Something greater than two pitiful creatures hiding in the dark. The blood-drinker who made me walked in daylight. He had powers beyond those of any man. We could be like him. We could find a way to be free of this curse.”

Sufyan considered the impassioned plea. In truth, he'd already made his decision. The pain in his foot had spread now to his leg, and the slow crawl of the poison felt cold and foul. The choice had been as simple as it had been at Chartres. “Share your blood with me. Make me a creature like you.”

“And then?”

Sufyan smiled. “Then we will go together to my master the Prince Bishop, and I will ask permission to travel to the Holy Land.”

Everard drew in his breath. “Why?”

“To find the blood-drinker who made you.” Sufyan put a hand on Everard's waist and drew him closer. “I have many questions for him. Now come, give me your blood. We have plans to make.”

* * * *