Page 35 of The Fallen and the Kiss of Dusk (Crowns of Nyaxia #4)

ASAR

T he past and the present merged. I’d thought that my nervousness over what we were about to do would keep me sharp.

But when I was at the Window with Egrette, conducting the spell to lift the veil between the past and the present, everything had gone hazy.

The ritual was more ceremonial than anything—it was no great magic.

Yet, as I walked the past, step by patient step, toward the present, I felt myself slowly submerging into a deeper, more powerful well of magic.

As if I was returning to a natural base state I hadn’t even known I had.

Bit by bit, the House of Shadow, the home that had never wanted me, fell away. And in its place rolled in Vathysia. An ancient kingdom of death.

It reminded me of how I’d felt the first time I had successfully conducted necromancy. Like I was operating on instinct, not logical knowledge.

As soon as the ritual was over, I swept down the stairs of the dais and out of the ballroom. I felt disoriented, the ground too light under my feet, my head swimming. The nearness of the past—the dead—was thrilling.

Mische had taken too long to leave, distracted by her argument with the Nightborn king—the fucking fool, walking straight into the Shadowborn court. Another unpredictable factor we didn’t need. Still, I felt for him. His worry had been palpable—a feeling I knew, firsthand, all too well.

I hoped he had listened to her. For his sake and for hers. I was acutely aware that the line between success and failure was perilously thin, and already, I felt our balance wobbling.

I strode down the hallway. The hum of the party faded behind me—unnaturally so, as if I were now underwater.

A quickening breeze blew through the open windows, sending the sheets of black chiffon undulating.

It was oddly mournful, superimposed over the ghostly outline of the past. There was no living soul here, only the dead, pacing the grounds in rote repetition of lives more than two thousand years past. A maid bearing an armful of folded table linens passed by, and I found my steps faltering.

The visions of the Melume weren’t ghosts.

It was an image of the past—not the same as wraiths in the Descent or the souls in the underworld.

And yet, I could have sworn that, just for a moment, that maid’s eyes slipped toward me.

When her intangible form barely clipped my shoulder, I felt her presence jolt through me theway I felt it when I touched a wraith. The same desperate hunger.

But I didn’t have time to analyze what could be off tonight.

“Asar.”

I bit back a curse.

Elias.

I turned to see him standing at the other end of the hall, half a dozen of his men behind him. His green guard’s cloak rippled in the breeze. “You shouldn’t be out here alone. Lots of enemies within our walls tonight.”

I wished I could have ignored him. But he would follow me if I didn’t throw him off.

“Noted. I’ll be so very careful,” I said. “Egrette knows I have work to do tonight.”

I started to walk away, but he said again, sharper, “Asar.”

“Go back to the party, Elias. I’ll be?—”

“We found Gideon.”?’

And with that, I stopped.

Shit.

I knew Gideon would be discovered eventually. And I knew that when he was, it would be obvious who was responsible. I just thought we’d have more time until that happened. Who had alerted Elias? The maids despised Gideon. Surely not them.

Unless he had recovered faster than I’d expected. His eyes in those last moments flashed through my mind, dark with a fury far more powerful than his physical strength, and I tamped down an uneasy chill.

I kept my face blank and turned around.

“Found him? Found him where?”

Elias laughed softly. “This is your problem, Asar. You think everyone around you is stupid. You know, Egrette actually believed in you. Actually thought you could do great things together. I told her, Bullshit . Asar is too arrogant for that.”

More footsteps. I glanced down the hall to see six more Shadowborn soldiers rounding the corner—cutting me off.

Messy, messy, messy.

“You know this is a losing game for you,” I said. “Let’s not play it.”

But I knew that no matter what I said, Elias was not going to let me walk away. He was, as much as I disliked him, a good soldier. He was devoted to Egrette, and that meant he was going to make me kill him before he’d let me go.

Sure enough, Elias sighed and drew his sword. But I saw through his performative resignation. He would enjoy this.

So goddess-damned close.

I hadn’t yet been able to retrieve a sword. I had no blade save for the little knife I kept in my belt, the same one that had carved the glyphs into Gideon’s skin. It was no weapon.

But I didn’t need a piece of metal to do the work for me. I had something better.

I stretched my fingers at my side, opening my palms to the past—to the dead. The darkness swelled beneath the swaying sheets of black.

Maybe a small part of me was grateful to have the opportunity for payback.

“Let’s get this over with,” I muttered.

And Elias smiled as they descended upon me.