Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
Crymson
I take them all in with new eyes. Eyes that feel like mine and somehow also don’t.
My skin feels strangely tight, like I’ve been stretched out or like I can’t contain myself any longer.
It’s not uncomfortable, more like a settling, as if I put on a new pair of clothes I haven’t grown accustomed to yet.
The five men I’ve given my heart to stand around the clearing, all in defensive poses that could never be rocked.
There’s an awestruck aura about them as they look at me, Delilah, and the Queen of the Dead.
Delilah hasn’t said much, her eyes wide and confused as she follows us along.
I haven’t asked if she’s okay yet, but she’s uninjured.
I needed to see my men first. My monsters.
I needed to be reassured that they’re okay.
I wonder how different I appear to them right now, how strange I must look. I feel powerful. The Dead Queen reassured me I’m as powerful now as I need to be in order to change the realm forever. I certainly feel as if that’s true. Will they shy away from my changes? Will they hate me now?
But as I look down at Rorrick before me, kneeling with his head bowed, I understand that they would never hate me. They don’t run from me like I’m a monster. They remain, watching me carefully, wary but still very much caring. Their hearts are in my hands, just as mine is in each of theirs.
“Rise,” I say, and my voice echoes strangely, like there are two voices flowing from my lips. Rorrick looks up at me as I speak, his gaze tracing my face. “You do not kneel to me.”
Rorrick grins that devilish grin he’s so good at and slowly rises to his feet, towering over me.
“What about for you?” he quirks, unbothered by my newfound power.
His question is teasing, his eyes alight with a desperate hunger I feel in my chest. He understands what I am now, how I’ve changed. The others may not yet.
I laugh at his question and smile as I reach for his hand. He takes it without hesitation, squeezing my fingers in reassurance. As if my laugh does it, the tension snaps and breaks, easing so that the others can venture closer. Had they expected me to attack? To be vastly different?
I’m still Crymson. I’m still me. I just feel . . . bigger somehow.
Christian takes strong but careful steps forward, his eyes flicking between me and his mother.
I understand how it must seem, how it probably feels to lay eyes upon someone you thought was truly gone.
The Queen of the Dead, the mother of three of my hearts, stands still beside me, her eyes very much on them and the daughter she was forced to leave behind so long ago.
I offer her my hand, and she takes it, her grasp surprisingly firm despite her state of decay. She’s strong enough to see this through, to make sure I seal my fate.
“She helped me rise,” I offer as explanation to them, letting them know she’s safe, that she helped me. Delilah was unharmed during her kidnapping. The Queen had kept the other Dead from harming her. As for me . . . I’d needed to be harmed to rise.
Thorn’s eyes flicker between me and his mother, a woman he thought was gone forever. Carver, to his credit, doesn’t seem surprised. If anything, he seems almost bubbly in his happiness to see her.
“So . . .” Seven starts, his shoulders tense as the Dead still circle them without attacking. “What now?”
My eyes crinkle, and I look toward the darkness of the Blood Kingdom, toward the ash that rains from the sky.
“Now,” I say, steeling my spine. “We finish what Boris started.”