Chapter 53
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Time, despite my best wishes, forged on. Septimus and I dozed briefly in each other’s arms, right there on the floor. Then finally, we rose, dressed, prepared. Sylina’s knock at the door would come at any time, and we would need to be ready.
I could feel Septimus’s eyes on my bare body as I tucked away all that skin beneath layers of clothing and armor.
And I felt them even more acutely as I retrieved what remained of Zefiah, laying her out on the bed in those three jagged pieces so I could stow them—imperfectly—in three short sheaths at my side.
The minute I returned to her, of course, she knew.
{Lady’s sake, Kyrene. Do not touch me with those filthy hands.}
Her tone was so disgusted that I smiled despite the raspy weakness of her voice.
I’m probably going to die. Don’t deny me a final pleasure . . . or three.
{I wish I could say I was surprised. But this is, sadly, the most predictable plot turn. Indeed, perhaps I even wish that you had spared us the drawn-out dramatics.}
You don’t really wish that. Think of what you’d have witnessed on the road.
She considered this.
{No,} she conceded. {Likely not.}
I laughed softly to myself, swallowing a surge of warmth in my chest. It faded as Septimus approached. His jaw was set, mouth thin and serious, as he looked at what remained of Zefiah, and I knew exactly what he was thinking.
“Blessed sword, blessed dagger,” I said lightly. “What’s the difference?”
{Dagger?} Zefiah repeated in disgust, as if I’d just levied a grave insult.
But Septimus was serious. “We are no longer following prophecies, Kyrene. It occurs to me that there’s no reason for you to—”
“Oh, my fancy sword is broken, so I’m useless now. Is that what you’re saying?”
He stopped me before I could turn away. “You know it’s not.”
I swallowed thickly.
I did know.
And honestly, even if it was, he wouldn’t have been wrong for it.
I was no chosen one. The only thing that ever had made me useful was now reduced to a few shards of broken steel.
I was a human among vampire warriors, preparing to go up against a goddess herself.
Wiser minds than mine might have even called me a liability.
{Do not be so pathetic,} Zefiah spat, offended by the thought. {If you deny me Nyaxia’s blood—}
Oh, shush. You know me better.
And aloud, I said the same to Septimus. “You know me better than that by now. If you try to deny me my chance to end this, I’ll just sneak up behind you and come along anyway.”
The corner of his mouth curled. “Jump out and attempt to behead Nyaxia at the worst possible time, I’m sure.”
He said it with such sincere affection. A strange sensation fluttered in my chest.
“It would be terrible,” I said. “Your duty as a king is to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“Of course.” His thumb traced the curve of my lip. “Just had to say it.”
I hesitated. My eyes returned to Zefiah. My friend. Perhaps, in some ways, the greatest love I’d ever had.
I swallowed thickly.
“I have a favor to ask of you,” I said. “I can’t die unless Zefiah kills me. No matter how broken my body may be.”
I sensed Zefiah stiffen at the mention of this—the edge of her old memories about Ferdinan, begging for death.
I lifted my gaze to meet Septimus’s, as he watched me seriously, steadily.
“I expect,” I said, “that I’ll likely be pretty damned broken by the end of this.”
His face softened. And there was such tender understanding in it that I ached to witness it. A kindness that hurt more than so many harsh words.
“I’ll give you a lion’s end,” he said. His hand folded around mine, tight.
I swallowed a lump in my throat. I squeezed his hand back. “And I’ll give you one befitting a king.”
I would not allow Septimus to become a monster. Would not allow him to live a deathless life devoid of the dignity he so treasured. His curse, I vowed, did not deserve his heart.
No one had ever looked at me quite like he did then. His eyes gleamed. He began to lean forward, but before our lips touched, a knock rang out at the door.
We startled. I looked down at myself. I was still obviously half dressed. Septimus looked amusingly disheveled. He waved me off and I ducked behind the doorframe of the bedchamber as he opened the door.
“Ah, Sylina. You’re back,” Septimus’s voice said, in a tone that made my nose scrunch. You’d never guess this was a man who had been dealing in secrets for decades. One good fuck and all that finesse just fell apart, apparently.
A beat of silence.
“What?” Septimus said.
“I don’t see with my eyes,” Sylina’s voice replied. “You are aware of that, right, Kyrene?”
My face heated. I begrudgingly stepped out from around the corner. Septimus looked actually bashful. Gods, I wished I could capture that image.
Sylina stepped into the chamber as he closed the door behind her.
“Glad you two were getting some rest,” she said drily.
Yet, while I might have expected judgment, or even anger, there was none.
Only a note of bittersweet amusement. As if whatever we faced was so serious that she couldn’t fault either of us for seeking a little pleasure in the meantime, even if she disapproved of it.
But that faded quickly. Her face was serious. I could sense her exhaustion radiating from every muscle in her body.
“You’re done?” Septimus said.
“I’m done.” She held up a map, ink marks tracked across it—every line converging in a single spot, just beyond Vaktrana.
The temple.
Zefiah let out a hiss in the back of my mind, as if already preparing for battle.
Septimus took the map and examined it. I watched the final remnants of the vulnerability I’d witnessed over the last two hours fall away. A cool smirk curled the corner of his mouth.
“Well then,” he said. “I suppose the fun begins.”
The harsh wind stung my cheeks, but on the bright side, I was most of the way to losing all feeling in my face.
I squinted to see through snow swirling with each blistering gust. Perhaps we were miserably unlucky, or perhaps Nyaxia’s rage had manifested in the heavens, because the blizzard was waiting for us the moment we left the shelter of the city walls.
Now, it rendered every step fraught, even the large horses struggling against the wind and the rapidly growing snowbanks.
Sylina took up the front of the group, ahead of Septimus and me.
Behind me was Ilia, and nine Bloodborn soldiers.
It had been a careful calculation to decide how many to bring—too few, and we left ourselves exposed; too many, and we risked attracting Nyaxia’s attention.
There was also the unsettling fact that any Bloodborn, right now, was a liability.
Two were pulled off the mission before we even reached the castle walls because they nearly attacked Sylina and me.
Now, I remained constantly alert. Everyone had seemed to have control of their faculties when we left, but I had witnessed firsthand how quickly that could change.
I touched my hip—where Zefiah’s pieces sat in three short sheaths, and beside her, another weapon hung, too. A stringless crossbow, created by the best machinist I’d ever known.
“How close?” Septimus called to Sylina. A gust of wind whipped his hair back from his forehead. Little flecks of white caught in his eyelashes, making the red of his irises especially stark.
“Very,” she said, and he cast me a knowing glance, as if to say, Ready?
I inclined my chin, even though I wasn’t, really.
The image that Acaeja had shown me so quickly had already partially faded in my memory, the way a dream becomes fuzzy after waking. I didn’t know how I could possibly recognize it with the landscape covered in snow.
But my fears were unfounded, because when we arrived, I just knew.
I blurted out, “Stop!”
Septimus halted, holding up his hand. Sylina turned in her saddle.
Two tall, crooked trees, caked in ice and snow, stood before us. They leaned at sharp angles, twisting around each other to create a black X in the sheet of white. They sat atop a pile of jagged rocks. Ice dripped over the edge of the highest stone, a waterfall frozen in motion.
I recognized this. My entire body reacted to it.
“It’s here,” I said. “This is it.”
We dismounted, because the terrain was impassable for the horses, who instead sought shelter under an overhanging cliff.
Sylina went up ahead, climbing to the twisted trees and looking down.
When I joined her, I could see that the trees stood just before a deep ravine, stark and steep, a hole gauged into the earth.
At its lip stood a stone formation that hadn’t been visible from the road.
A formation that almost looked as if, perhaps, it had once been a door.
“Oh yes, this is something,” Sylina muttered to herself, running her hands over the snow-covered structure. Then, to us, “Step back. This will be difficult.”
We dutifully obeyed, and as Sylina’s hands trailed again over the frosty stone, now, bright gold light pooled beneath them. Carvings that had been invisible before now shimmered to life with her touch—thousands of tiny shapes that I did not recognize, but looked to be some sort of language.
“Ancient Obitraen,” Septimus said.
And then, all at once, what we were seeing had simply . . . changed.
The intertwined trees were now two marble beams, fallen across each other, each inscribed with countless circles of old Obitraen. The formations of stone were now crumbling walls. And the shape before Sylina was now a door, standing open, inviting us within.
I blinked hazily, dizzy. I looked down to see that snow had collected on the tops of my boots. Sylina leaned heavily against the door. Snow dusted her black hair, too, even though I could have sworn her hood was up when she began. How long had we been standing here?