Page 63 of The Fallen and the Kiss of Dusk (Crowns of Nyaxia #4)

ASAR

M y forehead pressed to the wall. My eyes were closed. Visions of the present and past smeared by.

I remained in the room that the Nightborn locked me in for a long time.

The chamber was fine enough. It was, of course, a prison cell, but it was one that for all intents and purposes looked like a bedchamber.

In vampire society, the line between “guests” and “prisoners” was often very thin, and places intended for one could easily be swapped to suit the other.

The Nightborn made no secret of which one I was.

I had gotten out of rooms more heavily fortified than this one countless times. I could have the door off its hinges or some poor guard beheaded on the carpet in minutes.

I didn’t. I sat patiently.

{An insult, that they dare to imprison a king,} a voice whispered.

{They will be inconsequential in the end,} another added. {Just like all the rest.}

In the darkness, I saw Srana’s face. Felt the metal of her body splintering under each blow. C-cl-c-cl-c-cli ? —

I remembered how she had leaned over me and smiled when she handed Atroxus the?—

No, not me. Alarus.

Alarus.

Something warm and hard nudged my arm. A low whine interrupted my thoughts. I opened my eyes to see Luce nuzzling my hand. She looked both worried and disapproving. A familiar expression by now.

I rubbed the top of her head.

“Don’t give me that look,” I grumbled. “I did what I had to.”

Luce continued giving me that look.

I scoffed. “You’ve been spending too much time with her. Such preachiness.”

I didn’t even have to name Mische anymore. She was just her —a constant presence.

Luce rubbed against my knees. I ran my hand over her soft, shadowy body.

For the first time in a long time, I thought of the first time she’d let me do that—back when she was so different than what she was now.

I’d sat so still, not even breathing, for fear that I’d scare her away. But inside, my heart was leaping.

It was the first time in my short life that I had experienced true affection from any other living being. And I had known from that moment, when that frightened dog decided to trust me, that I would never, ever betray that trust. Luce had a friend in me for life. And, it turned out, for death, too.

Luce let out a whine and glanced to the door.

I’d lost track of how many hours we’d been waiting here.

Time moved strangely, though I wasn’t sure if that was because of my worry, the aftereffects of traveling through the spira, or because everything still felt vaguely dreamlike since I removed the mask.

“She is going to be alright,” I murmured. It was a reassurance to myself, too—even though I knew it was true. I wouldn’t have agreed to leave her otherwise.

Mische, Luce, and I came through the spira directly onto the Nightborn palace grounds. I remembered that, though not much else. Just flashes. Shouting, meeting the royals, bringing Mische into the palace. The way she just kept bleeding .

Even now, I couldn’t quite recall what I had done to help her. I’d brought us through the spira. I had used the power of the mask and the eye to heal her wounds. But all of it had felt so far away, like I was watching my own actions from a great distance.

By the time I let the axe fall and removed the mask, I had brought Mische back to the cusp of life. And when the Nightborn had ordered me imprisoned, I let them take me away without a fight, even though every shred of me resisted leaving Mische’s side.

We needed their trust. She was out of danger. And when I saw them fall to their knees at her bedside, I knew they thought her life was just as precious as I did.

I touched my cheek. The scars hurt more than they had in decades. My left eye stung. I still felt the imprint of Alarus’s mask on my cheekbones—the ghostly weight of a crown of the dead. Blood beaded at the outline where it had lain against my face.

The hum of indecipherable whispers rose again. I glanced at the bag across the room, the mask tucked away within it. The axe stood beside it, propped against the wall and wrapped up in a makeshift sheath of fabric, but the eye at its blade glowed straight through it.

Luce let out a low growl, and I tore my gaze away.

A presence approached down the hall. Then footsteps. I was waiting at the door by the time it opened.

The Nightborn head of war stood there—the lithe woman with an ash-brown braid over her shoulder. She looked me up and down with a piercing violet stare. She was better than most at guarding her thoughts, but she didn’t bother hiding her distrust.

“Against my professional recommendation,” she said drily, “you have been allowed to see Mische. I’m here to bring you to her chambers.”

Allowed. Cute.

But ever the grateful guest, I simply rose and followed.

Mische looked so alive. She looked so alive that it struck me across the face when I walked into her chambers, closing the door firmly behind me. The color was back in her cheeks. Her hair flew about her in wild curls. She wore clean Nightborn clothing, a silky purple blouse and trousers.

“We have to leave,” she said, without looking at me when I arrived. “We can’t be here. Between the Shadowborn and Nyaxia and—and Shiket?—”

She was gasping between her words, like she wasn’t used to having to catch her breath when she was talking this fast. She rummaged through the piles of discarded clothing on an armchair, throwing them into a bag.

A fresh wave of the scent of her blood—intoxicating—hit my nostrils. “Mische, just?—”

“We cannot be here, Asar. We?—”

She stopped mid-sentence, doubling over, her whole body clenching with pain, and I’d had enough.

“Stop,” I barked. “Sit down. We are not going anywhere right now.”

She collapsed against the edge of the bed, head hanging. But just as quickly, it snapped up again, and the fire in her eyes startled me.

“I told you,” she ground out, “that I did not want to come here. And you still brought me here. They can’t afford?—”

But then her eyes fell to my face. They widened. “What is that ?”

It took a moment for me to realize what she was talking about. She lurched forward, touching her own cheek as if a stand-in for mine, and I realized that she meant the marks the mask had left on my cheekbone.

“Is that from the mask?” she gasped.

{She should be grateful,} the mask whispered, insulted.

{A small price for greatness,} the eye agreed.

I winced, pushing away the voices. To Mische, I said, “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Asar.” She swallowed, and I watched the flex of her throat. It seemed so deceptively alive. “I looked into your face and I didn’t see you there at all. That was terrifying.”

“I came back,” I said.

{Did you?} the eye mused.

Holy hell, I wished they would shut up. The relics weren’t even with me. Why was I still hearing them?

“They are dangerous. You told me that, and I’ve seen it before.” She shook her head, eyes glistening. “You promised me you wouldn’t sacrifice your mortality.”

I’d had enough.

“What was my alternative, Mische? I needed to bring you somewhere safe. Somewhere to save your goddess-damned life. There is no sacrifice I wouldn’t make for that.

Not mine, not theirs. And I have known these people for all of a few hours, and I can already tell that the thing they ‘can’t afford’ is to let you die because you were too prideful to let them help you. ”

A flicker of hurt, then anger, wrenched over her perfect, alive face. But I kept going, approaching her step by step. “I already told you that I would never watch you die again. I made that decision in an Ysrian prison. Have more respect for me than to think I’d break it so easily.”

I blinked and in that split second of darkness, there she was: Mische, in my arms, flesh charred, life draining from her drop by drop, destroyed by the god who had once promised to protect her.

She was not arguing anymore. Her mouth was closed. Her bright, deep eyes searched mine. My hand seized hers before I could think about it.

“I don’t regret it,” I said. “I would do it a thousand times over. A thousand times, if it means that I get to hear you berate me for it here rather than imagine those words over your corpse. You are the sacrifice I will not make, Mische. You. Don’t ask me to apologize for that.”

Silence.

Mische stared at me. Her lips were slightly parted. Her chest rose and fell with breaths that she couldn’t quite seem to catch. The scent of her blood hung in the air, beading at her stitches.

And then, I realized.

We both realized.

Slowly, her gaze slipped to my hand.

Her hand.

My hand holding her hand.

No pain. No burning. No drain of energy that came with the hungry touch of the dead.

Mische tried to snatch it away, but I curled my fingers tight around hers.

“Don’t,” I whispered.

It was the only word I could get out.

Her palm was warm. Her flesh was soft. Her skin was solid and imperfect and wonderful and fucking alive .

Our eyes locked. Hers grew slowly wider.

“Do you feel—” she started.

“You,” I managed. “I feel you .”

I couldn’t bring myself to unlock my fingers, as if I feared that letting go of her would mean I would never find her again. My other hand reached for her cheek. I flattened my palm against her face. Her cheek was soft, the curve of her chin firm. My thumb brushed the underside of her lip.

“How?” she choked out.

“I don’t care.” The easiest answer I’d ever spoken. Perhaps the only time I, a man obsessed with answers, had ever said it.

I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.

I stroked her cheek. Her jaw. The soft slope of her nose. Her breath was shaky. Her lashes fluttered. I didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. I felt like I’d been offered something so precious, so fragile, that I didn’t want to even look too hard lest it fall apart in my hands.

She was real.

She was solid.

Her eyes fluttered closed. She lifted her chin, letting me trace the exquisite contours of her features.

I still was holding my breath.

This, I realized, was prayer.

Her knees were against mine, her body so close I could feel the warmth of it—warmth, actual warmth. My head lowered. Her chin lifted. Her breath warmed my lips.

“I don’t regret it,” I said again.

“Which part?” she murmured.

“Any of it, Mische.”

And then I kissed her.