Page 37 of The Fallen and the Kiss of Dusk (Crowns of Nyaxia #4)

MISCHE

W here the hell was Asar?

I bolted down hallway after hallway, Luce keeping pace beside me. I tried to think about the task that lay ahead of us instead of Raihn and his puppy face and the fact that he was here when the world was ending and, and, and?—

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Focus on what’s under your own two feet, Mische.

I had repeated Saescha’s words to myself too many times to count, but now, they weren’t particularly comforting. Maybe because I so often heard them in her voice, and that came with its own slew of anxieties.

My sword, which Luce had retrieved for me, slapped clumsily at my side. Somehow, on a night of ghosts and lost gods, it didn’t feel very useful. I whispered the path I’d memorized like a religious chant— left, right, left, left, right, two doors down, right, down the stairs?.?.?.

With every step, I fell deeper into the past. I was in another version of this world, thousands of years ago, before vampires existed, before the god of death had been killed.

Before Nyaxia had torn the world in two with her vengeance.

Soon, I didn’t need to whisper at all. I just felt the path calling to me.

And all of it seemed impossibly real, impossibly tangible. I passed a woman carrying baskets of folded cloth, and I could have sworn her eyes met mine.

Eventually I reached a door, rendered in translucent silver, three thick iron bars across it. It was magnificent, ornate in a way that reminded me of a warped version of Shadowborn architecture.

I reached out, expecting my hand to pass right through. Instead, I met twisted metal and smooth wood—solid.

I was already behind, and seconds were ticking by.

This needed to be open by the time Asar got here.

I pressed my fingertips to the frame. I could feel the glyphs, the elegant little carvings buried between the twisted decorative whorls.

Even those seemed slightly unfamiliar, as if written in a language too ancient to understand.

I closed my eyes.

Just feel it, Mische.

What a fucking joke. How many times had I given Oraya that advice? Now, it seemed ridiculous.

Luce gave my legs an encouraging nuzzle, which I appreciated.

I reached deep into my magic, then threaded my awareness through the glyphs.

And though the magic that had once forged this lock wasn’t Nyaxia’s at all?.

.?.?it still felt so familiar. Like a melody someone had played for me once, drawing to mind a soft fleeting smirk, a deep brown eye, the scent of frost-dusted ivy.

The keys were different, but I knew the song.

And perhaps it knew me, too, because one by one, the glyphs unfurled like blooming flower petals.

The door swung open.

Slow applause rang out behind me. “I never doubted you, Dawndrinker.”

I turned around and the sight of Asar’s blood-covered body had my heart leaping to my throat.

“What the hell happened?”

He gave me a wan smile and approached the door. He was good at hiding his pain, but I sensed it anyway.

“We don’t have much time,” he said. “Someone up there has probably already discovered them.”

“Them?”

“Elias. Some of his soldiers.”

Shit.

I drew in a gasp through my teeth. “You killed him.”

“They came after us. I didn’t have any choice.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Elias was Egrette’s closest confidant. Not some nameless guard who could go missing without attracting any notice.

Upon seeing my expression, Asar conceded, “It’s?.?.?.?not ideal.”

He leaned against the doorframe and peered into the room beyond it.

“I haven’t seen this,” he murmured, with a note of admiration, “in a long, long time.”

Together, we stepped inside. The room was circular, the walls lined with ornate arches and stained glass windows revealing stark nothingness. A shallow pool of water filled the center, mirror-still.

Except?.?.?.?no, it wasn’t water. It looked like the veil between the mortal world and the Descent.

But this seemed a little more solid, glittering silver, as if covered with luminescent algae.

Dark forms moved beneath the surface, though I couldn’t make out what they were. I narrowed my eyes, leaning closer?—

Then leapt back with a curse.

“Shh,” Asar hissed. “They’re likely already looking for us.”

“Sorry,” I whispered, hand to my mouth.

But really, could he blame me?

The shark circled the perimeter of the pool, just under the surface, rendered in the same translucent strokes as the ghosts and the rest of the room. It wore a gleaming metallic skull.

A guardian.

If it noticed us, its steady, unbroken path showed no sign.

“It’s not real,” Asar said. “Just a ghost of Alarus’s old guard.”

“Would we really call the ghosts ‘not real’?” I said, thinking of the way the woman I had passed in the hall had really, really seemed as if she had been looking right at me.

Asar paused in that way that I knew meant he wasn’t sure. Then he gestured to the center of the pool.

“The mask is there,” he said.

I’d been so distracted by the shadows—and the shark—that I’d somehow managed to miss it, which now seemed ridiculous, because it was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.

It sat just under the water, staring up with an eyeless gaze.

It somewhat resembled a jawless, humanoid skull, bearing two pointed canines.

The shifting light played over intricate carvings that covered its copper surface.

I realized, upon closer examination, that they were glyphs—thousands of tiny, tiny glyphs.

Even separated by thousands of years, the weight of its presence was staggering. No part of me questioned that I was witnessing something powerful.

Some deep, primal discomfort pushed me half a step backward.

“We just?.?.?.?walk up to it?” I found myself whispering. Suddenly everything seemed very, very quiet.

“For a few minutes. Yes.”

I watched the shark as it made another pass around the pool. It was so close I could’ve reached down to touch it. “And the guardian?”

“It shouldn’t bother us.”

“You just hesitated before you said that.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Yes, he fucking did, but fine.

The dark forms wriggled beneath the water like fish in a frozen pond. Were they a trick of the light? Something?.?.?.?more? I couldn’t tell, but I didn’t love that they grew more numerous, now, slithering toward the surface.

Asar took his first steps into the circle. The water only came up to his calves, as if he stood upon an invisible sheet of glass.

I followed, shivering as I stepped into the water. The shark passed below us, seemingly unbothered. But the shadows seemed restless, pressing up against the underside of the surface like faces to a window.

“Come,” Asar said. “We don’t have much time.”

This eclipse between the past and present would only last for a few minutes. Asar and I waded deeper, to where the mask stared at us with gaping black eyes.

This was the crown of the god of death. The king of the underworld. The urge to kneel before it, bury myself in its power, was overwhelming.

Asar crouched down. “Here.”

The circle of glyphs was tiny, nearly invisible, floating suspended around the mask. There were empty spots in the pattern, like puzzle pieces lost.

“That’s what you got from Gideon?” I said, and Asar nodded.

The shark passed beneath us again, and I couldn’t help but admire it. The guardians that still remained in the Descent were starving and battered. But this—a guardian at its peak—was one of the most majestic creatures I had ever seen.

Luce danced back and forth at the shore, not bothering to hide her urgency.

“Ready?” Asar peeled his gloves off, and I did the same. Under this light, my hands had a ghostly, silver sheen. Before I even touched the surface of the water, writhing forms were collecting beneath them.

“Ready,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure I was.

Asar and I began our work. He used the glyphs that he’d taken from Gideon, integrating them into the seal like the missing threads into a grand tapestry, his needle perfectly placed.

And just as I had over so many broken gates in Morthryn, I helped him complete each stroke, the spell stronger for every time we passed it between us.

A bead of sweat trickled down his brow, plastering a whorl of dark hair to his temple. The white of his scarred eye grew searing bright.

With each glyph we snapped into place, the water slowly rose—or was the floor falling? The surface was soon around my thighs, then my hips. The mask grew clear, its haunting call louder. A roar built in my ears.

The shark passed again. Now, it swam around us.

More and more shadows pushed to the surface. They had become unmistakably humanoid, hands outstretched, mouths open. An uneasy realization clicked into place:

Asar and I had spent months closing gates to the underworld.

Now we were tearing one open.

But the mask, rising nearer, commanded my full attention. The dead gathered around us, all of the ghosts of the palace’s past gathering in wait around the edge of the circle.

Three more glyphs.

“Be ready,” Asar ground out between clenched teeth, as he moved to the last keys.

Two more.

But then he paused. I sensed his concentration flicker, and then realized why.

There were two glyphs left in the key he had gotten from Gideon. But only one remaining slot in the spell.

After a brief hesitation, he wove in the final glyph, only to wince and hiss a curse. I felt the jolt, too, like an unyielding lock’s tumbler crashing back down.

With a grunt of exertion, Asar withdrew the incorrect glyph. At first, I thought that mistake would send our entire spell, so carefully woven, spinning out of control. The momentum of it was overwhelming. The dead crowded us now, uncomfortably attentive.

But Asar slid the final glyph into place.

Our spell was complete. The door snapped open.

Suddenly, the mask was here, solid and real, ready for the taking.

Asar shook with the effort of holding the gate open.

“Now!” he commanded.

I reached for the mask?—

Too late, I saw another shape approaching behind the wall of ghostly figures. Its body was long and serpentine, eyes bright white sores, and mouth open to reveal gaping nothingness.

A souleater.

Rushing straight for the door we had just opened.

The creature leapt up from the underworld, tearing through shrieking souls like they were wet paper, coming right for me.

I had seconds.

Asar’s widening eyes settled on the souleater. I saw his decision before he had time to make it. He would slam the door closed to protect me.

But we had one chance, and I wasn’t about to waste it.

I grabbed the mask.

At its touch, a gasp ripped through me. Its ancient stare peered into my soul, seeing more than I revealed to it.

Immediately, I flung it toward Asar.

The souleater grabbed me, just as Asar’s spell collapsed, and the door between the living and the dead crashed closed again.

The last thing I heard was Asar screaming my name.