Page 73 of The Fallen and the Kiss of Dusk (Crowns of Nyaxia #4)

MISCHE

W e had hours left until the end of it all.

Asar and I worked and worked and worked until there was nothing left to do, then returned to the basement and reassessed the final pieces of our glyphs.

A crack had spread straight through the center of the room, where the glyphs spiraled into a circle.

The light that pulsed within it—shades of purple and red and black—looked eerily similar to the shade of Asar’s scars.

I felt?.?.?.? tired wasn’t the word. I felt far away . A hum thrummed in the back of my head, so loud it made it difficult to hear when people were talking to me. Asar, I knew, was feeling it, too. Too often I’d catch him staring off into space, face blank, until I pulled him back.

We fixed the final glyphs. They were rushed and hurried compared to the first sets, their shape crafted on guesswork rather than knowledge.

Faith, I corrected myself. Not guesses. Faith.

Eventually, Raihn heaved a sigh and sank into a rickety chair that barely held his weight. “Vale will be here in a few hours. You two look like shit. Rest a little before you try to save the world.”

So, reluctantly, we returned to our chambers. Luce dragged herself to the sitting room and collapsed in front of the fireplace, asleep before she hit the ground. I went to the washroom and splashed water on my face. I stared at myself in the mirror. Wisps of smoke rolled from my skin.

Raihn was right. I did look like shit.

I looked dead.

I felt dead.

I left the washroom to see Asar perched at the edge of the bed, back straight, hands folded in his lap. His eyes were wide open, but blank, as if he was looking straight through the walls and sky and earth into whatever great unknowns lay beyond.

I touched his shoulder. His gaze flicked to me. For a moment, he looked confused—as if he wasn’t sure why I was speaking to him—before his face flooded with recognition, and he was my Asar again.

I swallowed a wave of terror at that. How distant he had become.

I collapsed beside him on the bed. His hand fell to my back immediately, like he’d just been waiting to touch me again.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to see the monsters in the darkness.

That little girl. Reaching for me. Just like Saescha had.

Gods fucking damn it.

I could feel Asar’s hurt, too. Just as strong as mine.

“Stupid,” he muttered beneath his breath. “ Naive. I should have known she would follow. Should have known that I’d be creating a path right back to us, when I brought you here, and that it would mean?—”

He bit down on the words, swallowed them like bitter liquor.

Silence. The hard truth sank in.

The girl had followed us, just as Asar knew she would.

His use of the spira had opened a path right to the House of Night, and the monster the girl had become had followed, tearing through the veil all the way.

The underworld was on its way to collapse either way.

But the fact that it was happening here, and now—that was our fault.

All from our hope. Our hope that we could save this one child. This one innocent soul.

And now, it was all collapsing beneath us.

The guilt sickened me.

I sat up and laid my head against his shoulder. His arm fell around my body, like a boat tethering to shore.

“I’m sorry, Mische,” he murmured.

For one child he couldn’t save. For the destruction of my friend’s home. For so much more.

“I was arrogant,” he went on. “I thought I could help something. I thought?—”

“Hush with that.” I straightened and put my hands on either side of his face, tilting it to me. “There’s still the future. That’s why we’re doing this, Warden. I still believe what I told you in the Descent. You make things better.”

He flinched at this. Like it was physically painful to hear. And I knew he wanted to argue. I could feel the words right under the surface: That is not true.

“We can’t change what we’ve done in the past,” I said.

“But there’s still a whole damned future out there waiting.

You and me. We’re in this together. I need you to believe in this with me.

You can do a lot of good in this world, Asar Voldari.

Don’t you dare give up on it now, when it needs you most.”

I took in his face. The scars. The pulsing white glow of his left eye, the deep, rich brown of his right. The inflamed lines of purple that still traced the shape of the mask over his face, like infected wounds.

“Tell me you understand,” I commanded.

Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.

His eyes crinkled with an almost-smile. “I understand, Dawndrinker.”

“And swear to me that you won’t let it take more than you offer it.” This next one spilled out before I could stop it. “If we do this. Promise me you won’t let it take you away.”

There was no compulsion in this command. Because I wanted his oath to be true—even though I knew, in this moment, that it was a promise he could not make.

He was silent. Then he took my hands in his, pressing my fingertips to his lips. “I will make that promise if you make the same one.”

Like the one I asked of him, it was a promise I could not make. Already, I could feel the underworld dragging me back down. But I had already borne the marks of so many pretty lies. What was one more?

Past the lump in my throat, I choked out, “Deal.”

He smiled. “Deal.”

I didn’t feel better. I didn’t feel better at all.

I leaned against him again. We sat together, nothing more to say. But then, I spotted a shape across the room.

My heart jumped, eager for the distraction—even if this one felt like it came from another life. I straightened abruptly. “ Oh! I’d forgotten!”

I leapt up and went across the room. A smile tugged at my cheeks. Apparently I was really, really desperate for distraction, because the joy that I felt upon seeing this was disproportionate. It leaned in the corner of the room, wrapped up in cloth.

“What is that?” Asar asked.

“It’s?.?.?.?it feels a little silly now.” The thing was heavier than I expected it to be, or maybe I was weaker. I staggered slightly under its weight.

Asar half rose. “Goddess’s sake, woman, what are you?—”

“It’s for you. And you know, if we’re all about to die, I figure?.?.?.?you should have it, shouldn’t you?”

I dragged the object across the room, gracelessly laid it against the bed, and unbuttoned the case. When I slid the fabric free, I splayed out my hands.

“Behold!”

Asar stared at it.

His silence was deafening.

My smile faltered.

“It’s a?—”

“I know what it is.”

“You said you wanted one. When we were walking through the Descent.”

“I recall.”

“And I am a woman of my word, Asar. So here you are. A cello.”

Asar was so still and so silent.

I cleared my throat. “It’s heavy. So?.?.?.”

He took the instrument and braced it between his knees. His fingertips danced over the curves of the polished wood, then over the strings, eliciting a low whine. His touch was almost reverent. It reminded me of how he touched the walls at Morthryn. It reminded me of how he touched me .

I handed him the bow, and he traced that with his fingers, too. Still, he said nothing.

“Is it a good one?” I said. “It’s just?.?.?.?whatever the castle had in storage. If I had more time, I would’ve?—”

“It’s perfect, Mische,” he murmured. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

I beamed. “If you’re so grateful, then play it for me. Maybe another song that sounds like me. I liked that one.”

“I know how to play the violin, but I’ve never played a cello before. Might not be a particularly pleasant song.”

He ran the bow over the strings and winced when his chord went sharply askew.

I let out an exaggerated scoff. “It can’t be that hard. You’re about to ascend to godhood.”

He gave me a sly, sidelong glance. “You try it, if you think it’ll be so easy.”

I raised my hands. “Oh?.?.?.?no, I’m bad at that.”

“Perhaps I just need the moral support. You do make the impossible seem possible.”

He raised his brows at me expectantly, pushing the instrument aside to offer me a seat.

Reluctantly, I agreed, shimmying into the space between his body and the cello. The scent of ivy surrounded me. The warmth of him enveloped my body as his arms settled around mine and I pressed my back to him, letting him place me.

“Here. And here.” He handed me the bow and arranged my fingers on it, his hand over mine, then did the same to my grip on the instrument’s neck. My skin prickled where it touched his. His breath skittered along my cheek.

“There,” he murmured. “Now we can both be imperfect together.”

His mouth brushed my ear as he spoke, as if he couldn’t resist it.

My lashes fluttered. I wanted to sink into him. Into this final reprieve before the end.

I said, voice light, “What’s next?”

“You play, Iliae.”

“Play what?”

Another brush of his mouth, this time over my throat. Almost a kiss. “Whatever is in your precious heart.”

I really, really didn’t think it worked that way.

But it was hard to argue with a beautiful man kissing my neck, so I gave it my best try, anyway. The bow screeched and wailed over the strings, making me cringe.

“I’d hope my heart would sound better than that.”

Asar chuckled softly. The sound rustled my hair.

“How about?.?.?.?something more like this.”

He rearranged his fingers over mine, and guided my hands. After a few awkward false starts, a melody—beautiful, albeit slightly clumsy—rolled from the strings. The notes were sweet and mournful. Sadder than they had sounded from a piano, a life and a death ago.

My eyes stung.

I choked out, “I think I know this one.”

“All my favorite notes. The easiest ones to play. You were the one who asked me to think about the future, Dawndrinker.”

Sap.

Still, a tear rolled down my cheek.

I closed my eyes and let the music roll over me. Let my fingertips feel the notes vibrate through my fragile, mortal skin.

“What else?”

“Hm?”

“The future. What else?”

The song faltered.