The Serpent and the Wings of Night (Crowns of Nyaxia, #1)

by Carissa Broadbent

The king did not know then that his greatest love would also be his ruination—nor that either would come in the form of a tiny, helpless human child.

This was not the stare of a panicked child who didn’t know what she was doing. This was the stare of a creature who understood she was confronting death itself, and still chose to spit in its face.

Because the king of the Hiaj vampires—conqueror of the House of Night, blessed of the goddess Nyaxia, and one of the most powerful men to have walked this realm or the next—saw a fragment of himself in this child.

Hundreds of years later, historians and scholars would look back upon this moment. This decision that, one day, would topple an empire. What a strange choice, they would whisper. Why would he do this? Why, indeed. After all, vampires know better than anyone how important it is to protect their hearts. And love, understand, is sharper than any stake.

No, I wasn’t a vampire. That much was abundantly clear, every second of every day. But I wasn’t one of them, either.

Day to day, I wore only black, plain clothing that attracted little attention and allowed me free range of movement. I didn’t ever wear anything bright (as it would draw unwanted eyes), flowing (as it would allow someone to grab me), or restrictive (as it would impede my ability to fight, or flee).

It did not rain often in the Nightborn kingdom, but when it did, it was a downpour.

Since the goddess Nyaxia created vampires more than two thousand years ago—since before then, some even claimed—the two sects had waged constant war.

She. Mother of night, shadow, blood—mother of all vampires. The goddess, Nyaxia.

Vampires from across Obitraes would travel to participate in the Kejari, drawn by the promise of wealth or honor.

The Kejari only happened once every hundred years, and hosting it was the House of Night’s greatest honor.

Death isn’t frightening when weighed against an insignificant existence.”

Sadness was a futile, weak emotion. At least anger was useful—a sharp edge to cut another’s heart, or a hard shell to protect your own.

companions, I noticed a faint crimson crawling up from beneath the collar of her white leather armor. Her curse. I’d never met a Bloodborn vampire before, but I’d heard that red marks on their skin signaled the end stages of it. If that was true, this woman was far along. The next step would be insanity. And beyond that…

No, relief was for the safe. And as I piled bloody rags higher and higher, safety was far, far from my reach.

“It is perfectly possible for a vampire to wield magic from beyond Nyaxia’s domain,”

“Keep your ally,” he said. “But keep those teeth ready, little serpent. Watch his back, but don’t let him see yours. Because the minute you turn it, he will kill you. Use him. But never allow him to use you.”

I listened, numb, as Mische told me of the end of the trial—that eleven contestants had died, leaving twenty-nine of us.

I didn’t know how to make it stop. I had been taught young that bleeding was dangerous. And though my wounds had closed, the one deep in my chest bled more than ever. It made me just as vulnerable.

This response seemed to irritate him. “It’s that unbelievable that I have respect for human life?” he snapped. “I used to fucking be one of them.”

Turned vampires were very rare, especially in Sivrinaj. The few that managed to survive the process usually didn’t adjust well to their new existence. And the vampires of the House of Night—notoriously territorial—were never all that inclined to turn their food into their peers to begin with.

I was always surrounded by beautiful people—and learned long ago, the hard way, how important it was to numb myself to that—but in this moment, just for a split second, Raihn’s beauty struck me like a blow, so unexpected and staggering my breath caught in my throat. His wasn’t the refined elegance of vampires, perfect cheekbones and perfect lips and perfect, glittering eyes. No, it was rougher, more lived-in. More alive.

It was true. Death was everywhere in the House of Night. Parents killed their children. Children killed their parents. Lovers took each other’s lives in the night, gone too far in the throes of passion. Even the stories of our gods were vicious, lesser deities frequently murdered for little more than sport. The Nightborn forged their people and their blades from steel, hard and cold and unforgiving.

“Do you want to change this world, little serpent? Then climb your cage until you are so high no one can catch you. Break its bars and make them your weapons. Nothing is sharper. I know because I did it.”

“You cannot accomplish anything in this world without power,” he said. “And power requires sacrifice, focus, and ruthlessness.”

“There’s no bonding like bonding over murder,” Raihn said dryly.

My humanness had been the reason why I’d spent a lifetime dimming myself. For these people, it was the reason they burned brighter.

“Don’t be so quick to throw away your humanity, Oraya,” he said. “You might find you miss it once it’s gone.”

He smelled like the sky. He smelled the way air felt as it rushed around you, freeing and terrifying and the most beautiful fucking thing you’ve ever experienced.

I didn’t like feeling things. Emotions were ever-shifting and devoid of logic, and they gave me no way to sink my blade into them. But I felt too many of them now, bubbling up under the surface of my steel exterior.

“You are the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen, Oraya.”

No, a weapon couldn’t protect me from this. I wasn’t sure if I wanted it to, anymore, even though my heart was open and bleeding and so very pitifully, humanly delicate.

“I would beg,” he murmured. “For you, I would. You have fucking destroyed me, Oraya. Do you know that?”

Love was a sacrifice at the altar of power.

“And when I leave this room, and come back with a priestess, you will marry me. You will do it because I can’t kill you. I tried. I can’t. A world without you would be a dark, depressing place. And I’ve already inflicted enough pain without committing that fucking injustice, too. So let me save you.”

Anger made things easy. Love made things complicated.

When it was done, I was married to the King of the Nightborn. I had lost my autonomy, my name, my blood. I had lost my country.