Page 57 of The Fallen and the Kiss of Dusk (Crowns of Nyaxia #4)

ASAR

L uce let out a howl and bolted across the sands. Even in the presence of a goddess, the sight of Mische toppling into those flames made everything else inconsequential.

I threw myself after her, but a grip caught me mid-stride. Srana lifted me up and examined me like a captured specimen. She now barely looked humanoid at all, just an endlessly expanding being of metal arms and ticking gears, unfolding ever further.

“It seems we have attracted some attention,” she said. “We shall have to make quick work of you with the time we have.”

The forge would, undoubtedly, kill any mortal instantly. But Mische was already dead. Perhaps she had a chance. I reached for her presence through our tenuous link. I could sense her, barely. But she was weak and far away.

Srana drew me closer, eyes tick, tick, tick -ing faster with interest. Her knife-sharp fingers dug into my skin, drawing blood.

I raised my blade and struck her across the face with a wretched CLANG .

Luce lunged at her.

Srana let out a hiss of annoyance. I hit the ground and rolled as she jerked back, batting Luce away like an inconvenient insect. She struck the wall with a high, pained squeal, then slid down in a flailing heap.

The sound sent a bolt of fury through my blood.

{You are capable of much more than this,} the voice urged in the back of my mind.

My attention snapped to my pack, which now lay in the sand on the other side of the forge, the mask humming with power within it.

It was true. I had the blood of a god in my veins, and here, in the spot where he had been murdered, I had his vengeance, too. His power lurked right beneath the surface, ready to be seized.

Shadows gathered around my hands, bubbled up in my chest. When Srana reached for me again, I stepped through them, evading her grasp.

But this only amused her. I leapt from shadow to shadow, slipping from her as we danced around the arena. Tick tick tick tick tick tick, as metal reformed around me, keeping pace.

“You wish to play a game.” Srana’s voice echoed through her web of metal, trembling like the chords of a pipe organ. “Very well. Perhaps we shall craft a bargain.”

I evaded one metal grasp only to nearly run headfirst into another. Her limbs multiplied faster than I could elude them. Even with Luce’s help, distracting Srana as she darted around each reaching hand, I was losing ground.

Again, I pushed my magic out into the searing heat of the forge.

Mische.

Nothing.

“There is a war coming,” Srana said. “Would you like to rule the White Pantheon? Or perhaps you would like to create something new entirely. Either way, you will want to be on the winning side.”

A wall of copper sprang up before me, and I skidded around it. Too slow. Srana seized the back of my jacket, dragging me to her.

Again, I pushed toward those flames.

MISCHE, I bellowed.

“I could make you great,” Srana purred. “Greater than your watered-down blood ever could. Alarus was so powerful, they said. So great, they said. But who created the weapon to best him? Not Atroxus. Not Ix. Not Acaeja. Not Shiket. Srana. ”

Scalpel-sharp fingers turned me around to face her—five, ten, twenty, until I was suspended in a web of metal.

Her gleaming face twisted into a smile. At the edges of the room, the clockwork soldiers quivered, then groaned to life with a grand symphony of ticks and hisses and mechanical squeals. They moved with immortal grace in perfect synchronicity. Dozens of them. Hundreds.

Sun take me. They were horrifically incredible.

Srana’s glee gleamed like polished steel. “Look at what I have already built from nothing at all. Imagine what I could make of you.”

The pack still lay in the sands, barely out of reach. The flap had fallen open, a sliver of bronze peeking out.

In one last, desperate attempt, I lunged after it.

Pain, as my skin split against Srana’s lancet grip.

My fingertips brushed the mask.

And then, with a rush of scalding heat, the forge burst into flames.