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

by Carissa Broadbent

“There is no map for the path we must walk in times like this,” Vincent said. “But we must seize the chances that are given to us. I’ll follow you to help, where I can, though there is only so much I can see up there.”

“You chose this battle. You chose it when you took your first steps into Morthryn, and you choose it again now. You set out to change the world. You set out to create a god. So do it. This is the time for conquering, Mische Iliae. Go.”

There was no way out but through.

But the boy, even at his age, was patient. He built his friendship with the dog slowly, night by night. A year later, and she bounded up happily to see him when he came to visit. She knew his movements; he could have sworn she even knew his thoughts. It was the deepest friendship he had ever known.

At last, his mentor spoke. “Remember that feeling, boy,” he told him. “Remember the anger. This is what makes you great.”

“I couldn’t let you go,” she whispered. And it was this, after everything, that tear that begged to be wiped away, that snapped the final straining threads of my self-control. “Mische Iliae, Dawndrinker or Shadowborn, living or dead, I will never let you go.”

“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.”

“Atrius,” the man said stiffly. “Your guide.”

I missed you, Atrius!

“It sounds like a joke, doesn’t it? Two vampires, a seer, and a ghost walk into a pub . . .”

You have a stronger grip on your magic than you ever have. The dead will happily follow you anywhere. The corner of his mouth twitched in a smirk that made my not-heart flip in my chest. As they should. They have exquisite taste.

Tears welled up in Mische’s eyes. “She deserves better than any of this.” A humorless smile twisted his mouth. “So do we all. And yet, here we are, making the best of the hand we were dealt.”

But here and now, I was a fucking god.

But when my knees hit the ground now, it wasn’t for the eye. It was for her. I wanted to bury myself before her. I wanted to cut myself open for her, let her take whatever she wanted, and treasure the scars for the rest of my pathetic life.

We needed their trust. She was out of danger. And when I saw them fall to their knees at her bedside, I knew they thought her life was just as precious as I did.

You are the sacrifice I will not make, Mische. You. Don’t ask me to apologize for that.”

“I think that we learned how to live a certain way to survive,” I said. “And now we have to unlearn it.”

“And the man follows you around staring at you like you’re a goddess. And when he came to us, when we all thought we were losing you . . .” His face darkened. “I know that look. Like his entire world was ending. No wonder the man is about to go rip apart the fabric of the universe for you.”

Raihn’s brows rose. “Are you actually speechless? Ix’s tits. You must like him.”

“Beautiful.” The word pressed a kiss to my cheek. “You’ve gotten good at this, Dawndrinker. We’ll make a Shadowborn of you yet.” The realization fell over me. It wasn’t Asar’s illusion. It was mine. My painting of the future, bringing life to our shared dreams.

“The underworld is not the territory of the gods,” he said. “It is the kingdom of the dead. And the dead have chosen you.”

Only the heart was silent.

“You should stay here, too,” he said, with sudden certainty. “Stay here with me. It is better.” A twinge of affection in my heart. “Safer, maybe,” I said. “For a little while. But I don’t think that means it’s better.” His fingers threaded through the dog’s—Luce’s—fur, as if to hold her there. “If I leave,” the boy said carefully, “I will make many mistakes.” “Probably,” I agreed. “But you can still do a lot of good. Don’t you think?” “I thought so. A long time ago.”

“You will make mistakes,” I murmured. “And I will love you anyway.” The boy flinched. Looked away. Again, that flicker of the man I’d known. “I never told you how much it meant to me,” he said. I smiled. “Yes, you did. Not with words. But with something even more valuable.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t enough to save you.” “Then we’ll try again. Together.” I held out my hand. “I will never promise you, Asar, that it won’t hurt, because it will. I will never promise you that we won’t fail, because we could. And that terrifies me, too. But it’s in that fear that we hold our greatest strength. We need yours, now.”

This was Asar’s mortality. The thing he had discarded to descend, in the care of the truest version of himself. More precious, I decided, than any divinity.

“It’s perfect,” I whispered. “I will treasure it forever.” He gave me a sad smile. “It always belonged to you,” he said.

Do not fear yourself, Morthryn whispered. You are a queen. Your kingdom stands behind you. I closed my eyes. A million invisible souls, Asar had said once, of the underworld. They needed someone.

At last, the heart spoke: {A challenger.} But the wound below it throbbed with hope.

He remembered it upon his tongue, when he thought he would never know a deeper worship.

“Come back to me,” she whispered again. And then she cupped her hands between them. Within it was a fragile, beating muscle, more mortal than god. Weak and bruised and battered, and yet, all his. The god let his mask clatter to the floor. And he took her face in his hands and kissed her, as she thrust his mortal heart back into his chest, and the underworld consumed them.

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.

“I don’t know that I know how to be an effective ruler alive, either.” “It’s simple enough. Be deliberate in choosing your next actions. Be ruthless in executing them.”

In elegant script, a name was written on the envelope: Little Serpent.

“I heard you aren’t supposed to address a queen by her first name,” I said. “Surely you cannot expect me to call you ‘Highness.’ ” “The rumor is that I’m the queen of the dead. And you are dead. Therefore . . .” His eyes narrowed at me, unamused.

He stepped off into the mists. Then turned, one last time. Lowered his head in an almost-bow. “Be ruthless, Highness,” he said.

He held out his hand. I did not miss that it was trembling. Mine was, too, when I took it and stepped into the circle with him. I observed the ritual lines. “How does this work? It looks like⁠—” “A necromancy spell,” he finished. “Yes. That’s the interesting part. The reason we conduct necromancy this way is because it encapsulates the five core aspects of a living being. And the Vathysians believed that linking one soul to another in marriage deserved the same commitment. The entirety of oneself.”