Page 48 of The Fallen and the Kiss of Dusk (Crowns of Nyaxia #4)

MISCHE

O ur guards seemed eager to set off immediately, and Asar and I were in no position to object.

The Bloodborn had an entire stable of horses, which delighted me.

The Nightborn rarely used mounts—wings were much more efficient.

The Shadow-born did occasionally, though they were a luxury reserved for the upper class, seeing as horses were naturally (and understandably) quite wary of vampires.

When I saw the herd—herd!—of horses in the pasture, my eyes nearly bugged out of my head.

They looked like entirely different creatures than the flighty beasts I’d seen in other Houses.

They were heavily muscled, white with black noses and cropped manes that stood straight up.

Unlike the other horses in Obitraes, they didn’t seem nervous in the presence of their vampire masters.

Even when Luce trotted up with us, they merely gave her several uneasy snorts before returning to their grain.

“They’re gorgeous,” I breathed.

“You’ve seen horses before, Iliae,” Asar said, amused.

“Not like these.” I threw my hands out toward a big white horse who trotted curiously closer to me. “Look at this beauty!”

“She bit me when I arrived,” Atrius grumbled.

But he stroked the horse’s nose, anyway. It was an instinctual movement, the type that came only from genuine affection. It gave me no choice but to like him.

The horse turned to me, and I reached out on instinct before I caught myself and clasped my hands behind my back.

No touching the horses, Mische. No touching anyone at all.

“Sorry, girl,” I murmured to the horse. “I would if I could.”

The horse nickered in a way that said, I understand, which I appreciated. When Luce nuzzled me instead, I stroked her head in thanks.

Still, I was selfishly delighted when I was given the mare as my mount.

I was careful to layer large blankets under her saddle, shielding her from my skin.

If Atrius and Sylina noticed my fussing over this peculiar task, they were mercifully silent about it.

“What’s her name?” I asked Atrius as we set off.

He looked at me like this was a strange question. Then he glanced down at the mare.

“Six Six.”

I followed his stare to a brand on the horse’s shoulder: VI VI. Six Six.

I frowned. “That’s a terrible name.”

How judgmental, Asar said into my mind. Some horses probably think Mische is a terrible name.

I wrinkled my nose at him.

“These are war horses,” Atrius said. “They’re loyal and fearless partners in battle. Not pets.”

“She can be a loyal and fearless partner while still having a name.”

“A formidable name like Luce?” Atrius said drily.

Luce growled.

Asar looked legitimately furious.

“Luce is a loyal and fearless partner. And she does have a formidable name.”

Luce sniffed in agreement.

Maybe the Bloodborn were just bad at names. Septimus was the seventh Bloodborn prince, and his name sounded like his parents simply ran out of inspiration by the time they got to him.

“Agreed,” I said. “You could have been a little more creative.”

“And what would you have suggested?” Atrius said.

“Something majestic. Like?.?.?.” I didn’t even think before the word was leaving my lips. “Saescha.”

Immediately, I snapped my mouth closed. Why the hell did I just say that?

I could feel Asar’s stare burning into the side of my face, though I looked straight ahead.

It hurt—actually hurt—to say Saescha’s name aloud. I wasn’t expecting it. When was the last time I’d spoken her name? Was it in the Descent, when I’d begged her forgiveness? Or was it when I killed Atroxus and damned her for the second time?

But Saescha was a beautiful name. The horse was powerful and strong and majestic, just like she had been. There were worse namesakes. Right?

“Saescha,” Sylina repeated slowly. “Pretty.”

“It is,” I murmured.

It is, Asar agreed softly into my mind, and he reached out to brush my thigh with a brief, comforting touch, as we kept on riding.

I had thought that one upside of this whole ordeal might be that I’d finally get to see the House of Blood.

I was, despite myself, very curious. Raihn had been there before we met, but had always objected to traveling there during our years wandering together.

When I’d asked him what it was like, he’d just said, “Fucking bleak.”

But to my disappointment, the city we’d arrived in was the only town we passed through. Our first escort had apparently brought Asar and me to the northernmost bounds of Bloodborn society.

Still, what little we did see of the House of Blood did not strike me as the depressing place Raihn had described.

We hugged the coast at first, where the mountains met the sea, and then veered inland.

The land rolled out in endless plains, stark against the distant peaks of the mountains.

The grass was silver and the dusty earth white.

Even the mountains were white, like bleached bone.

Sometimes, we could see the distant skylines of one Bloodborn city or another, out there shielded by the ivory cliffs, red silhouettes bloody beneath the moonlight.

But mostly, there was nothing out here. Nothing but the cold and the silence.

Still, though it wasn’t the grand magnificence of the House of Night’s rolling dunes and grand marble towers or the House of Shadow’s lush flowers and metal spires, it held a sad, ethereal beauty.

Time passed like that, nights blending into each other beneath the moon that never changed and the sun that never rose. Eventually, when we gathered to rest, Atrius drew a clumsy map in the dirt with a stick. It looked like a crooked, convoluted maze.

“We’re close now to the maze of arches,” he said. “That’s where Nyaxia tore her passageway through the deadlands back into the mortal realm.”

He dragged a path through his drawing, then tapped the end of his streak. “We’ll encounter the Keeper here.”

“The Keeper is actually r-r-real?” It was now nearly impossible to hide my shivering. The air was frigid, but the cold seemed to come from within, and no amount of cloaks or blankets eased it. “I thought he was a myth.”

“Most do,” Atrius said. “And he’s very good at keeping himself hidden so it stays that way. Thus?.?.?.” He tapped the drawing with his stick. “The maze.”

“Why didn’t the gods just seal the passage?” I asked.

“The gods weren’t concerned with the passage. The Keeper took it upon himself to safeguard it. The gods probably forgot it existed at all. I’m not sure why anyone would expect differently.”

The bitterness in his voice was palpable, but before I could press further, he went on, “The Keeper is a lesser god. One of the few that still lives. If we challenge him in battle, he’ll reward our victory by opening the door to the deadlands. But defeating him is no small task.”

“ One lesser god?” I said cheerfully. “That’s nothing.”

I sounded more confident than I felt. I had to work to keep another shudder from my voice.

Atrius did not look convinced. “I had an army of elite Bloodborn warriors the last time I did this.”

“Right. But this t-time, you have us.”

He glanced between us, unimpressed. “Mm-hmm.”

What is that look on his face? I said to Asar silently. I’m a god slayer!

Even though the god slaying still felt like a bit of a fluke.

But Asar was quiet. His brow was drawn low over his eyes.

I glanced at him and noticed that his hand was at his waist, drifting closer to the pack slung over his shoulder, as if by instinct.

When I reached for his presence, I felt a peculiar, unfamiliar fog clustering around the mind I now knew so well.

Asar? I nudged, and he jumped slightly, like I’d startled him. He blinked, turning his attention to the map.

“Once we get past this Keeper,” he said, “what then?”

Atrius said simply, “Then we’ll be in the deadlands.”

“And once we’re in the deadlands,” Asar said, “how long until we reach the execution site?”

“That depends.”

Trying to get information out of Atrius was like trying to drink blood from stone.

Asar did not hide his annoyance. “ Depends on what?”

“It depends on how injured we are after our encounter with the Keeper. It depends on how difficult the passage is through the door. It depends on what adversaries are waiting for us on the other side. It depends on the skies and the winds. It depends on how much has changed since I was last there. I hear you know the Descent, Shadowborn. Does it ever remain the same for two minutes at a time? The deadlands are even more unpredictable.”

Sylina smirked, lifting her shoulder in a half shrug. “It depends on fate.”

Asar scoffed.

She cocked her head. “What? You don’t believe in fate?”

I felt Asar’s stare take stock of the shivers I hid, the transparency in my skin, the way I no longer even mimicked breath.

“It doesn’t matter if I believe in it,” he said. “I certainly don’t trust it.”