Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
Crymson
The Dead Queen shifts forward at my words, her eagerness apparent, but at the moment, she seems wholly focused on the children she was forced to leave behind so long ago.
She’s waited in ash all these years for this opportunity, but she’d never allowed them to see her fully in her current state.
I understand why she’s okay with it now.
This is the end, I think.
We’re so close to the end of everything now, and she’s going to be there to see it through.
“My boys,” she says, smiling, but her smile is a little off, a little tinged by time or possibly insanity. She looks to Delilah at my side. “My baby girl.”
Delilah shifts back a step, still afraid, still confused. I offer her my hand, and she takes it gratefully, desperately, as if I’m her lifeline. She doesn’t speak, but she remains, a testament to her strength.
“I’m so proud of who you’ve all become,” the Queen continues, and as she smiles, her flesh around her mouth splits, giving some of the most grotesque imagery I’ve ever seen.
The Dead are not called the Dead for nothing.
The Dead Queen looks like she’s decomposing, albeit slowly.
There’s a strangely sweet, putrid smell coming from her that’s somehow not so overpowering that it makes me retch.
I don’t understand the magic of it all, but I do know she’s sane enough to ensure my rising.
Even if it had to come with intense pain.
Anger suddenly flickers across Thorn’s face, and he raises his sword again. Instead of pointing it at the circling Dead, he points it at Christian aggressively.
“Your father did this!” he snarls. “And you didn’t help!” He lurches forward, but I hold up my hand, stopping Thorn in his tracks as if it’s second nature. His eyes widen as he looks at me, his wings vibrating with his fury.
“Stop,” I growl. “Christian was just a child when this transpired. Boris is the enemy. No one else.”
Thorn’s shoulders relax, and I release him. Surprisingly, he steps back, his face pained. “You’re right, mate. I forgot myself in my anger.”
I step forward and caress his cheek, only just realizing how truly dirty I am. My slender fingers are each dipped in a splattering of dry blood. What a sight I must make, caked in mud and old blood, glowing with power I don’t fully understand and also somehow do.
“I understand your fury,” I whisper. “And he’ll pay for what he’s done. This I can promise.” My power touches his skin, and his eyes widen just a bit. Not in fear, but something else. Something more primal. “I have risen to ensure it.”
Thorn wraps me in his arms in a crushing hug, but I hug him back just as hard.
A moment later, the others join, wrapping me in their arms, holding on tight, reassuring themselves that I’m alive.
They must have been so worried. I hate that I did that to them, that I left without letting anyone know.
But had I not done that, the Dead Queen would never have been able to do what she’d done.
“He did this to you,” Thorn growls when we finally break apart, his eyes on his mother. “Boris.”
With a frightening tilt of her lips, she smiles. “And now revenge will be had.” She looks at me, proud. “I’ve made sure of it.”