The Fallen and the Kiss of Dusk (Crowns of Nyaxia #4)

by Carissa Broadbent

Never. Mische Iliae would be remembered by the bones of time itself, and I knew it because I would write her story there with my blood if I had to.

Welcome home, the breeze whispered again, and I was certain that it wasn’t talking about Morthryn, it was talking about her.

“Mische Iliae, Dawndrinker or Shadowborn, living or dead, I will never let you go.”

“Stop thinking like an acolyte and start thinking like a vampire.”

And a voice, quiet and booming at once, said, “Get your hands off my wife.”

She looked at me with such abject, undeserved affection. It made me think of how a sunrise I’d never witnessed must feel.

cryingg

Septimus half shrugged. “Suit yourself, dove. I have never been afraid to bear the mantle of the villain.”

“For whatever of your mistakes, Mische Iliae,” he said, quietly, firmly, “for whatever of your faults, for whatever unintended pains you may bring this world, I will love you anyway.”

“You are an event, Mische Iliae,” he murmured. “God slayer. Dawndrinker. Shadowborn queen. And I would die to taste your skin.”

“Maybe greatness should come not from the sacrifices you make, but the ones you refuse to.”

“I don’t regret it,” I said. “I would do it a thousand times over. A thousand times, if it means that I get to hear you berate me for it here rather than imagine those words over your corpse. You are the sacrifice I will not make, Mische. You. Don’t ask me to apologize for that.”

But my answer was still the same. “I don’t care.” I kissed those scars one by one, just as I had the first night she had shown me them. Then, I had hated them because of the pain they represented to her. Now, I loved them, because they meant she was here.

eeek

How easily our bodies aligned around each other. Like the sun and moon meeting in an eclipse.

“You are not an offering. Not to Atroxus or any other god. Any of them would be lucky to kneel before you.” He pressed his mouth to my bare shoulder, tongue briefly tasting skin. “As am I.”

We did not speak. We did not have to. Morthryn played the final notes of our song to the rhythm of our shared heartbeat. And I knew: this was true ascension. My queen. My light. My darkness. My future. The answer to every question. The ending to every sentence.

“In some, your endings are pleasant. In others, painful. But how curious, that in every one, you change the world together.” I let out an ugly, ragged exhale. The intensity of my relief was matched only by my grief. I looked down at Mische—Mische, whose face held the greatest parts of divinity and mortality. Mische, who was the most extraordinary soul I had ever met. “Of course she does,” I murmured. “She is an event.” “She was no one,” Acaeja said dismissively. “But perhaps that is what makes her remarkable. Such is the glory of fate. It is forged, not born.”

“It’s simple enough. Be deliberate in choosing your next actions. Be ruthless in executing them.” His gaze flicked down to my chest—where, even in this dream world, I felt such an unnatural heaviness sitting beneath my ribs. “And guard that heart of yours.”

He somewhat hurriedly pressed the parchment into my hands, then turned away. In elegant script, a name was written on the envelope: Little Serpent. “I thought you said that you had nothing more you could say to her,” I said. He said, after a pause, “I was told that it was worth trying, anyway.” My chest tightened. I took the parchment. “I will give it to her.”

“I told you that strength is measured by the sacrifices we refused to make,” she said softly. “You were mine.”

complete. In the darkness, I found solace. In the underworld, I found hope. And here, in this twin soul, in this love we built together, I finally found it: Home.