The Inquisition's chief judge was a young man, quite pleasing in appearance, but in character, just as Amon, patriarch of the Tzimisce clan, had said, an out-and-out monster—when the king was still young and all power rested in the hands of Bishop Mazarin and Queen Mother Anne, he paid no attention to the king, because the king could neither benefit him nor help him climb any higher. His relationship with Bishop Mazarin was less that of superior and subordinate than a transaction: as long as Bishop Mazarin paid him, he ensured that Paris remained peaceful; if not, then vampires could kill people at his side, and he would not care in the slightest.
Though such conduct drew condemnation from staid monks and holy knights, Yilalue did not care at all... Yes, what did it matter to him who ruled France? What did it matter to the Inquisition? What did it matter to the Inner World? Nothing. From the very beginning, those laughable people who fought the dark creatures of the Inner World had placed themselves in an utterly awkward position. If they had truly been angels and saints, that would have been one thing, but they too felt cold, hunger, thirst, desired love, and needed to reproduce... Born human, yet placing themselves upon the pedestal of carved stone and molded clay—it was no wonder they had never managed to secure the position they deserved.
Yilalue's only regret was that he had been born in 1625 rather than 625. The last struggle the ancestors of the Inner World had been able to make was to establish the Inquisition, yet not only had they failed to gain true freedom, they had instead aroused the vigilance of the Holy See—they continually tried to seize that power, which did not belong to mortals, for