Page 109 of The Fallen and the Kiss of Dusk (Crowns of Nyaxia #4)

MISCHE

W hen Saescha at last melted back into the forest, and I returned to Asar, I blurted out with certainty, “You did that.”

Asar tucked his hands into his pockets and kept walking.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You couldn’t lie to me when you did it for Eomin, and I know you much better now. Don’t even try, Warden.”

“You were the one who helped her pass.”

“But you found her.”

A beat. And then, “I helped her find you. It wasn’t difficult. She was already looking.”

My heart ached. I pressed my palm to it. All this time, I had been certain that Saescha would never want to see me again. Had been certain that even if she did make it to the underworld intact, even her restful soul would run from me.

As if Asar heard this unspoken fear, he said, “You gave her peace. That’s no small gift.”

It was smaller than she deserved. But if it was the best I could offer, I would offer it over and over again.

Asar’s hand threaded in mine.

“Should we go back?” I asked.

“Let’s keep going a little farther.”

We crested a hill, and below, a poppy field spread out before us.

The flowers were alive again, red and black, lush and swaying beneath the gentle breeze.

Silver butterflies danced from blossom to blossom.

Asar and I wandered down to it, hand in hand.

The flowers had grown since I was last here.

The silver grass was now past my knees, and extended out to the horizon, rolling like silver waves under the red sky.

I turned to survey it, breathless all over again with the beauty of it. It was different every time I came here, and yet, always so familiar.

“You’re right,” I said. “It was worth?—”

I turned and stopped short.

Asar stood in the center of the field. He had conjured a circle around him, drawn in delicate lines of silver and shadow, five glowing points around its circumference. It looked like a ritual circle, the kind used to conduct necromancy.

“What is that? Are we repairing something?” I glanced at the arch nearby. It didn’t look broken, and this didn’t look like any repair spell I’d ever seen.

Asar finished the final stroke of his circle. And when he lifted his eyes to mine, gods help me, he looked pale. His white eye pulsed, smoke trailing off to the sky.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, alarmed.

“This,” he said, “is a Vathysian wedding ceremony.”

My hearts—both of them, divine and mortal—stopped beating.

“It hasn’t been practiced in a few thousand years,” he went on, “though there are aspects of it that are still found in Obitraen weddings today. But the more I read about it, the more it seemed?.?.?.?right. If you are interested.”

I couldn’t move.

I couldn’t even speak.

My silence stretched.

Asar cleared his throat. “You are uncharacteristically quiet.”

I finally managed to repeat, “?‘If you are interested.’?”

Sun take me, he actually looked nervous.

“If you aren’t?—”

“I am, you idiot. I am interested. It’s just the most Asar marriage proposal I’ve ever heard.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “?‘I am, you idiot,’?” he repeated. “The most Mische proposal acceptance I’ve ever heard.”

Gods help me, this man.

“I was promised gaudy chaos,” I said.

“You will have your gaudy chaos. Your friends are already here. Esme can throw together quite a party on short notice. But I just thought?.?.?.”

His voice trailed off. But I knew what he meant. That this ceremony, this oath, felt too tender to belong to anyone but us. And I would have it no other way.

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.”

“That’s beautiful,” I murmured.

His hand squeezed mine. “I think so, too.”

I lifted my gaze to his. The clouds in his left eye were calm now, like the mist rolling over the distant mountains. The other, his brown eye, was a million miles deep.

“How does the spell go?” I said.

He held my stare for a long moment, head bowing forward, lips almost, almost brushing mine, like he couldn’t help himself.

“Mische Iliae?—”

“Asar Voldari?—”

His fingers fell over mine, just as they had over the bow of a cello, the night we dreamed a future together.

“I give you my body,” he said.

“I give you my body,” I repeated.

In the first position of the circle, together, we drew a glyph. Then he lifted our intertwined hands and drew the same one over my palm, and then his. It burned there, mingling with my scars and his, my Heir Mark and his, as if it was always meant to be there.

“I give you my breath.”

“I give you my breath.”

Now, he drew a glyph over my lips, and then his.

“I give you my psyche.”

“I give you my psyche.”

Now we drew the glyph over my forehead. Then his. I could feel his presence intertwining with mine, his love and his nervousness and his vulnerability spilling out, mirroring mine.

“I give you my secrets,” he murmured.

“I give you my secrets.”

We drew the glyphs over our throats, mine, and then his, tracing over the scars we had left the first time we fed from each other.

His forehead now leaned against mine. My body was nearly pressed to his. The magic burned around us, breaking down the walls between us brick by brick. But then, what walls had I ever had, with him?

And at last, the final piece. This time, we spoke together.

“I give you my soul.”

The final glyph, we drew over my heart, and then his. Our poor, wounded, stitched-up hearts, human and vampire, god and mortal, alive and dead.

“From this night,” he murmured.

“Until the end of nights,” I finished.

“Your pain is my pain.”

“Your heart is my heart.”

And then, together, “I bind myself to you.”

I had always thought that wedding ceremonies were more ritual than magic. And yet, with those words, as the spell burned and swirled around us, it felt so unquestionably real .

He slipped his hand free and held my face, pressing his forehead against mine. We swayed together. And despite every wrong in this world, every challenge, every fear, I was so happy that I thought I could burn up in it.

I smiled and tasted salt.

“Never thought a necromancy wedding could feel so romantic.”

He kissed the tears from one cheek, then the other.

“I think it’s perfectly fitting,” he murmured. “You have resurrected me, Dawndrinker.”

I laughed, even as I cried. “Sun take me, you are such a sap.”

His mouth moved to my lips. “I suspect you love it,” he whispered against me.

And he was right. I did.

Later, Asar and I would throw the big, chaotic party he had once promised me.

I would wear a beautiful dress. Luce would carry a wreath of poppies.

Raihn would get drunk and try not to cry.

Oraya would watch with her quiet, reserved amusement.

Esme would lead us through song after song after song, and Asar would oblige, and we would dance until our mortal, fallible bodies collapsed in exhaustion.

And when it was all done, Asar would take me back to our room. He would play one final song for me—a song that sounded like me, and like him, and the future we once had thought would only belong to the ghosts.

Later.

But now, my husband, my partner, my ally, kissed me again, deep and soft and full of hope. As the lines of our spell dissolved into our kingdom, he lay me down in the poppy field, and here, in this moment, I understood what it was to feel 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.