Page 32 of The Fallen and the Kiss of Dusk (Crowns of Nyaxia #4)

I didn’t like to think about what Malach would have done to me if Oraya hadn’t freed me when she did. But those possibilities had visited me in my nightmares ever since.

Septimus adjusted a button at his wrist.

“I will take full responsibility for the first two things,” he said, “but not the third. That was all your friend’s doing. What was his name—Cairis? Even I thought it was terribly cold.”

A stab of betrayal twisted in my gut.

Cairis had nursed me back to health after I’d nearly died in the Kejari. He had been a friend when I had needed one most.

I’d liked him. Trusted him. We all had.

“I don’t believe you,” I said.

But perhaps the darkness had already taken its toll on me, because secretly, I did believe it. Cairis had always known what people wanted and had always been so shrewd in using it.

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

He stared out the window beside me. An exhale of smoke rolled against the glass. “Quite a sight, isn’t it?”

“How did you even manage to worm your way into another castle, after what happened in the House of Night?”

Not long ago, the House of Shadow had so disapproved of the House of Night’s decision to ally with the Bloodborn that they almost went to war over it.

A smirk curled Septimus’s mouth. “When a goddess calls, you answer. There’s an eternal night to be seized.

Haven’t you heard? Of course the House of Blood is honored to heed her call, and if doing so means allying with the Shadowborn, then perhaps we shall all let bygones be bygones.

” His brow twitched. “Though I confess, I was surprised that the House of Night doesn’t appear to be involved.

Tell me, how are Raihn and Oraya these days?

Are they pacifists, I wonder, unwilling to answer Nyaxia’s call? Or did she not call upon them at all?”

“And yet she called upon the Bloodborn?” I asked. “After two thousand years of hating you?”

“A surprise to us, too,” Septimus said. “But we are such loyal subjects. Happy to go crawling back after centuries of getting kicked in the face. Like a good little dog.”

His fingertips brushed the bruise on his cheekbone—a little too dark for the strike I’d given him. His eyes slid to me, sparkling with a smirk.

“Your husband knows that, it seems. Crawling back to his sister. Unless his intentions aren’t as straightforward as her arrogance would have her believe.”

What the hell was I doing? This was a dangerous conversation to have. I could feel Septimus picking me apart like a splayed-open carcass.

“I have to go,” I said and began to turn away.

But behind me, Septimus said, “I hear that you need to get to the deadlands, and quickly.”

I stopped short, whirling around. I bit back the words before they made it up my throat: How did you know that?

“That’s ridiculous,” I said plainly.

“No disagreement there. The deadlands are notoriously dangerous, and besides, it would take a newcomer decades just to figure out how to gain entry to the damned place.” Septimus slid his hands into his pockets. “So yes. It’s ridiculous. And yet you’re still standing here.”

He was right. I should walk away.

But I thought of the ticking clock, and our rapidly diminishing options, and just how desperate I was to protect the House of Night.

And I did not move.

“I know someone who has been there, actually,” he said. “My cousin spent years doing the bidding of our Dark Mother. It so happens that he’s in Obitraes now. If you were looking for passage to the deadlands, and if you did need to find it quickly, he may be willing to guide you.”

Responses swirled in my head.

Denial— I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Dismissal— I would never take your help .

Disbelief— I don’t believe you.

I said none of them.

Instead, I only asked, “For what payment?”

“Call it a favor.”

I scrunched up my nose, and he chuckled. “My, what a reaction.”

“Well, I’m not stupid. It’s just such an obvious lie.”

“Look into my mind if you wish, Shadowborn. I’m not lying to you. Perhaps our interests align in this particular scenario.”

I was silent, staring at him hard.

He was a handsome man, objectively, though all his features were a little too sharp, like touching him might draw blood. An acquired quality, I knew. He’d been broken until his edges were jagged.

Most of Obitraes looked at the Bloodborn like they were animals.

But it had always struck me as cruel and reductive.

No one outside the secretive Bloodborn inner workings even knew what the original disagreement between the House of Blood and Nyaxia was that had earned their ire, nor did we know the details of the curse that ate away their sanity and lifespans.

But I knew they had suffered immensely for something that had happened long before their birth.

Whatever the truth was, it couldn’t justify what had happened to them.

Still, none of that meant I trusted Septimus. The opposite, actually. Most vampires fought for glory. Septimus fought for survival. That made him twice as dangerous.

He gestured to his temple, cigarillo between his fingers. “Go ahead. Really.”

I hesitated. I had never looked into a mind on my own, at least not with any specificity. But I could feel Septimus’s mind, a door cracked open for me.

I had insisted that we couldn’t go to the House of Night. I didn’t exactly have the freedom not to explore every other possible option.

I wasn’t actually sure how to do this, and I tried not to let Septimus know that. I closed my eyes and concentrated. I could sense his presence beside mine, carefully guarded, save for that single opening left for me. I reached into it. And then, with all my strength, I flung it open.

An avalanche of images crashed over me.

First, I saw myself as he saw me. I felt the offer on his lips, and glimpsed a man with long white hair before a cold empty gate, and felt the genuine hope that his gift might be accepted.

But I kept pushing, pushing.

I saw a palace of red and gold and white, snow-dusted, cradled in stone. Saw a severed head, a blond man, eyes wide open, black blood congealing around the ragged cut at his throat. Saw claw marks running down stone, leading to a crumpled form on the floor. Heard a million screams of decimation.

And I felt rage .

Here, as he stood over the army he’d summoned at Nyaxia’s call. Here, as he stared into my face, staring into his, looking into all his secrets. And?—

Septimus jerked away. The door in his mind slammed closed.

“Eager, aren’t you?” he said coolly. But his fingertips rubbed his temple, and I sensed that perhaps he hadn’t been expecting me to pry quite so deep.

I stared at him, brow furrowed.

Because I really hadn’t sensed any lie in his offer.

“Why?” I asked.

“I heard that you used to be a missionary. We have some things in common, then. I, too, greatly enjoy being the solution to a problem.”

I said nothing. My eyes narrowed.

“You still think I’m lying.” He let out a puff of smoke. “Even after I opened my mind to show you I’m not.”

“No. I think you’re telling the truth. I just don’t think the problem that you’re talking about is mine.”

“I will admit it, dove, you had me fooled. You are more perceptive than any of them give you credit for.”

“I’ve traveled to a lot of places and met a lot of people. After all that, you learn that everyone is the hero of their own tale.”

Septimus chuckled to himself. It was an oddly sad sound. “Some tales don’t deserve a hero. I think your husband knows that, too.”

He sank down into a chair by the window, then gave me an expectant look and gestured to the empty one across from it.

“So,” he said, “will you be joining me?”

For a long moment, I did not move.

Septimus had attempted to kill my best friends. Had stood by as I was chained up and presented as a gift. Had come alarmingly close to destroying the House of Night.

But it was now mere hours before Asar and I would have mortal and divine enemies alike at our heels, and we had no options for our next move save for the one that I refused to make.

I sat down.