Page 6 of The Fallen and the Kiss of Dusk (Crowns of Nyaxia #4)

Some gods had come to visit me during my time in captivity—Vitarus, Ix, Srana. Several of the gods who’d had the biggest hand in Alarus’s betrayal and death. They were afraid of me—or, more accurately, afraid of him, and whatever of him might be left in me.

Shiket had not visited me, and she was not afraid.

That was fine. Better when they underestimate you.

“Press your hands to the circle,” she said.

I didn’t move.

A flicker of indignation. “Do as you are commanded, prisoner!”

Her voice boomed with divine might. All my mortal muscles begged to obey. Still, I did not move.

Vitarus laughed. “Stupid vampire.”

Srana’s clockwork eyes tick, tick, tick ed. “Not stupid. Stubborn as his ancestor.”

Srana, above all the others, was interested in me, and she never bothered to hide it. Perhaps because she was the goddess of science, and whatever I was defied all logic.

“And how well such defiance had gone for Alarus.” Shiket grabbed the back of my neck and forced me down. “ Kneel .”

My hands flew out before me, pressing to the half wall just before my forehead bashed to the stone.

It took every ounce of my self-control to keep from reacting as the flood ripped through my veins.

I had devoted my life to mastering the darker, less honorable arts of magic. I’d learned how to wield death itself. And yet, that was a candle—this was a wildfire.

I felt myself connected to the sea and sky and earth.

Felt my awareness reach all the way to the boundaries between the mortal and immortal worlds, the underworld, the human world, vampire world.

I felt the deaths of countless mortals at once, stretching out to the oblivion of time.

I felt the musty familiarity of Morthryn, the halls of the Descent, the tormented pain of the ailing guardians, the weight of countless lost souls.

And for a split second, I felt her.

Her.

Far away, buried beneath the onslaught of sensations.

But I’d know her anywhere. I’d memorized her soul. I’d pressed her final moments into my heart like preserved rose petals.

It distracted me, disoriented me. I sagged against the stone wall. The liquid within the reservoir churned and spattered, the flecks of it burning my cheeks.

Dimly, I was aware of the other gods kneeling before the pit. The flood of power grew stronger as each of them pressed their hands to the circle as I did—like spokes of a wheel clicking into place as it turned, faster and faster. The shards of gold shuddered and quivered with the force of it.

My power was being leveraged without my permission, reaching out to the shards that remained of the sun.

My mortal vampire flesh screamed against it.

The pain was unbearable, but I couldn’t pull away.

Before me, the pieces of the sun slowly dragged toward each other.

Searing gold light scorched the surface of the pit, opening burns on my nose, my cheeks.

But magic quickly spiraled out of control.

“Do not let go!” someone cried through the chaos. But it was too late. The surface of the water exploded in foamy waves. A barrage of boiling droplets and razored shards fell over me.

When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at that white empty sky, my back against a freshly cracked stone wall.

“Useless!” a deep voice boomed. “He is useless!” Kajmar, god of illusion and performance, jabbed a finger at me. “Let us slaughter him and return to the ether whatever drops of our power he stole. Perhaps then we can?—”

“We cannot raise the sun, Kajmar.”

Even among gods, the voice, ageless and eternal, stopped the sands of time itself.

Acaeja, goddess of fate and spellcasting.

Her large, white eyes settled on me. Six majestic wings spread out behind her, each offering glimpses of different fates.

Now, each of them depicted glimpses of a world bathed in darkness.

“I have told you this time and time again,” she said. “We must accept what fate has given us.”

A muscle feathered in Shiket’s jaw. An oddly mortal tic. I might’ve found some satisfaction in that, if I hadn’t still been clinging to that ghost of Mische’s presence.

“Look at what is happening while you fight among yourselves. Humans suffer. Justice goes undone.” Shiket violently gestured to the pool.

With a wave, the ripples took a new shape, though the images within were blurry and dim.

It took a moment for me to recognize it: Obitraes.

The blade-sharp peaks of the House of Shadow, the rolling dunes of the House of Night, the frozen mountains of the House of Blood.

The view was distant and dark. Gods of the White Pantheon couldn’t see much of Nyaxia’s territory.

“Nyaxia prepares to take advantage of her new eternal night,” Shiket snarled. “This is not the time to fall into infighting. Especially not when we have one of her own here among us.” Her gaze locked on me. “Let us start with the most deserved punishment.”

“He shall not be killed, Shiket,” Acaeja said.

A sneer flitted over Shiket’s face.

“Why? What use is he? Even Nyaxia did not want him.”

“Nyaxia is ruled by her emotions. If she had been thinking strategically, she would have taken him. And she may still change her mind yet.”

“All the more reason to eliminate him. If there is ever a time to stand for what is right, is it not now?”

Right, she said.

A smirk brushed the corner of my mouth. Barely a twitch, and yet, Shiket still saw it.

“Justice is funny to you. Typical of a fallen one.”

“I think it’s amusing,” I said, “that creatures as powerful as you are so stupid.”

Shiket drew herself up to her full formidable height. Her helmet gleamed. Her six blades glowed. And even I, through my hatred, had to admit that she looked every bit the legend.

I almost regretted speaking.

Almost.

Shiket’s revulsion radiated from her like smoke from a funeral pyre. She hated me, and she did not bother to hide it.

But she had not looked at Mische that way. I, with my drop of immortal blood and my crown and my confusing origins, was at least worthy of Shiket’s revulsion. Mische had simply been inconsequential.

That earned my hatred, too. Hot enough to match that of a goddess.

“No mortal speaks to a god that way,” Shiket hissed. “Not without punishment.”

But I was already lunging for her.

There were no shadows up here, and yet, my magic was stronger than ever. I could feel the darkness speaking to me, as if through roots driving all the way down to the underworld.

Shiket, of course, was ready for me, the Blade of Retribution drawn.

We collided in an explosion of gold and darkness.

She was not trying to kill me. If she were, I would already be dead.

Still, I held my own against her. I poured all my newfound power into my strike.

When I countered, my fist closed around a jagged rock, and when she drew back to strike me, I reached for her mind and twisted.

The rock made contact with the side of her face.

I sensed her surprise—so satisfying—for only a split second before she recovered, hitting me with the flat of her blade so hard that I flew back against the edge of the basin.

I barely caught myself before I toppled into the pit, my fingertips brushing the surface of the water with a wave of searing pain.

I lifted my head with great effort and gave her a bitter smile. I tasted blood at the corner of my mouth. The rest of the gods watched with vague amusement. Even in the ashes of their king, these fights were little more than petty entertainment. To a god, after all, nothing really mattered.

I leaned back against the wall to hide that I wasn’t sure if I could stand.

“Why stop there?” I sneered.

Half a taunt. But half a genuine plea: Send me to the underworld. Send me home. Send me to her.

Shiket looked all too ready to oblige.

“He has the blood of Alarus in his veins,” Acaeja’s voice said from behind me.

She spoke quietly. But the words made Shiket halt mid-movement. And though she hid it well, I felt it anyway:

Uncertainty.

I was no major god. I should— should —fall outside of the pact that prevented the killing of major gods by each other.

But they didn’t know what I was any more than I did.

Shiket’s lip curled. “And it makes him so very arrogant, just like his ancestor.”

One arm extended to her nearest Sentinel, and before my eyes could even track the movement, the guard’s head was off in her hands with a wet tear and a brief, garbled shriek.

Silver blood spattered me, pouring from the Sentinel’s now-severed head.

Sentinels were not quite alive, but they still held some vestiges of their former mortality. Their blood was like molten steel. Beneath the crystallized rot, it still held the unmistakable scent of humanity.

I hadn’t felt hunger in captivity. But at the sight of the blood, a sudden, excruciating wave of starvation struck me. I jerked forward, stopping just short of lapping up the puddle from the ground.

Shiket’s laugh slithered around my throat.

“Look at him. A slave to his desires, like all Nyaxia’s fallen ones.” She kicked the broken body aside. My eyes tracked every smeared streak across the floor. “He is no god. Take him away.”

The Sentinels—seemingly unmoved by the unceremonious death of their comrade—seized my arms and hauled me to my feet. I snarled and spat, fighting against their hold with every step.

And I waited until I was back in my cell, alone in the dark, before I let my attention turn to it : the key to my freedom, stolen beneath the distraction of my performance. A performance so good because it was exactly what they expected me to be. Just an animal.

I smiled a little at the steady throb of it, tucked beneath my shirt, right against my heart.

That little broken shard of the sun, burning like a grudge.

It didn’t take long for the gods to decide to kill me.