Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The world burst into white. The illusion around us shuddered through a thousand different settings too quickly for my senses to adjust to them—a ballroom, a mountain, a hillside, a forest, a desert, a sea, and finally, at last, landing us back where we were, in this misty nothingness on an endless plane of white marble.
Where Ix’s body had been beneath me, now was only a puddle of blood and a pile of flower petals, rotten at the edges.
Everything hurt. My skin was raw, as if I’d been dragged by a galloping horse across a rocky ground. My grip on Zefiah’s hilt was slippery with blood. She glowed so bright I could barely open my eyes.
I swayed as I straightened. Septimus was beside me, on his knees. His hands were wounded, even the backs. He struggled to lift his head, and when his eyes met mine, they were entirely red, the silver gone.
{He is deeply unwell,} Zefiah said, but I could barely hear her over the pounding of blood in my ears.
I sank down beside him. “Septimus—”
“She was going to betray me!” Kajmar’s voice boomed, and the boundaries of this illusionary world shook with it.
He stood over what remained of Ix. His beautiful form shifted more quickly now, gold to silver to rainbow hues of black, his eyes alight.
“She would have done it. She would have killed me if I had not struck first. After all I had done for her.”
In a breath, he loomed over us, moving with the frenetic grace of a leaf blowing in monsoon wind. All of his pristine perfection was now terrifying, like an uncontrollable natural disaster.
My body slipped in front of Septimus’s. His hand, charred, dug into mine.
“I loved her.” The words ripped from Kajmar’s mouth like a wave crashing down as he lowered himself in front of us. “I loved her, and she betrayed me.”
I watched, frozen, confused—for whose benefit was this performance?
{Even the gods lie to themselves,} Zefiah said. {Perhaps he believes it to be true.}
A humorless, delirious laugh choked from my lips, because I didn’t know how else to react, and it died just as quickly as Kajmar reached past me and grabbed Septimus by the throat, lifting him like a rag doll.
I jumped to my feet.
“Let him go!” I blurted out—stupid, useless words.
Kajmar’s face darkened, cold and vicious.
“A fallen one killed Ix,” he said. “And I will avenge her death. I will show my siblings the body of the one that slayed her. I will show them how I avenged her.”
His fingers tightened, tightened around Septimus’s limp body. Purple bloomed around his grip on pale flesh.
“Stop!” I screamed. “I need him!”
Kajmar scoffed.
“No, you do not,” he said. “I will make sure you have everything that you need. You will not even miss him.”
I felt the warmth of sun on my face. The warmth of breath on my neck.
The hold of a small hand that might have once belonged to me, in another life.
A pleasant, unnatural warmth bubbled up within me, beckoning.
The pull of every night I spent drunk in my room.
Every elusive peace I chased with every swallow of alcohol, of drugs, of blood.
You could stop here, a voice crooned. You could just rest forever.
I closed my eyes hard, hard, hard, until tears squeezed out the edges.
No.
I pushed through the illusion Kajmar crafted for me. Septimus’s eyes opened, just barely. They met mine with a silent understanding.
We had done this his way. And now we’d do it mine.
Kajmar had somehow grown taller, it seemed, in these last few minutes, now towering over us.
I lunged at him, Zefiah raised, but only managed to strike his torso.
Still, Kajmar let out a hiss of pain and lurched away.
The strike hit, but it didn’t even draw blood, let alone kill.
Septimus was still clutched in his grasp. I could feel his life draining away.
I screamed, “Septimus!”
His lashes fluttered. His weak gaze locked to me like a compass finding north. Then, it slipped pointedly down, to the ground.
Down, I realized, to the harp, now discarded on the floor.
It was a gamble. The prophecy had specified that the harp would be used to kill Kajmar. But I didn’t know how a harp could possibly be used as a weapon, even one that created illusions.
{You cannot follow the prophecy,} Zefiah snapped, burning for another shot at Kajmar. {You know this—}
I did know it. At least, I thought I did.
But I also knew that Zefiah had only been able to kill Ix because she had been weakened by her own arrows. Kajmar was at the peak of his power.
He started toward me, and in a split second, I made my choice.
I let Zefiah clatter to the floor, and dove for the harp.
Blood burst from Septimus’s palms.
I had seen Septimus use Bloodborn magic before. But something about this was different. Tendrils of black-red sprung from his skin, wrapping around Kajmar’s throat like vines. It was oddly beautiful, in a grotesque way. But what was even more surprising was that Kajmar actually reacted to it.
He jerked backward as the blood looped around his throat, sliding into his nose and eyes. He threw Septimus to the ground, and his body landed like a bag of bricks, but those ropes of blood just kept on coming.
The illusion around us darkened. The sky was now red, the mists the smoke of funeral pyres.
I dragged myself to the harp. My fingers closed around it.
What the fuck was I supposed to do with this? How the hell could this thing be a weapon?
{Take me!} Zefiah roared. {Let me drink his blood!}
She was too far away. I had to choose, and now, as I held the useless harp, I questioned the decision I’d made.
Kajmar loomed over Septimus, who seemed so small, so fragile, as he dragged himself backward.
“I will end you,” he breathed. “I will end you and I will take her and make her my assassin, and—”
I frantically strummed the strings. A sickening, saccharine melody played. Silhouettes of sex and vengeance and lost souls danced in the mists, and Kajmar ignored them all.
{Kyrene!} Zefiah bellowed, her glow sputtering and flaring in the darkness.
I whirled around. Kajmar dragged Septimus up by his throat.
He was going to kill him.
I didn’t think.
I smashed the harp on the ground.
Again.
CRACK, as wood splintered.
And then I launched myself onto Kajmar’s back, and I looped the harp’s string, now loose, around his throat.
And pulled.
Discordant notes sawed through the air. Kajmar lurched upright, clawing at my arms. My flesh opened like rotten fruit. The pain was unbearable. But I just kept pulling.
Septimus dragged himself upright, hands raised, those ropes of red holding Kajmar steady. My blood now joined them, snaking from my arms.
The illusion flickered, faster and faster, from vision to vision—the seedy, sex-drenched pleasure house, Septimus and me against the wall; the pub where I had spent my last night with Valentina and Marko and Mirie, their silhouettes drinking and dancing behind a curtain of fog; the temple at Vostis, holding strong, untouched; the sun, sputtering and burning in the sky.
And one little girl reaching out for me through the curtains of mist.
I pulled tighter, tighter. Blood ran down my hands where the string sliced my fingers. Resistance popped where it sawed through Kajmar’s flesh. I was so fucking close. But my hands were growing so slippery that my grip nearly failed.
“You foolish mortal,” Kajmar ground out. His voice was still a melodic ballad, even on the cusp of death. “I could have given you everything you ever wanted.”
I murmured into his ear, “Not everything.”
Septimus forced himself to his knees. His eyes, flooded red, met mine.
He lifted his hand, beckoning rivers of crimson.
My body went rigid, as if he’d called my blood to reinforce every failing muscle. And enhanced with his strength, I threw myself against the string with everything I had left.
The illusion crashed down around us—pillars falling, glass shattering, beauty bursting into white flames.
The resistance gave out.
A flash of brilliant light. A surge of agony. I was falling.
I watched Kajmar’s head tumble to the ground as I did. His body sank to its knees.
My back hit the ground. Or, I thought it did, but I felt like I was still falling. Consciousness threatened to slip away.
I saw Valentina kneeling beside me. Or was it the child? I couldn’t tell. They looked so alike.
“You alright, Ky?” Valentina said. My hand had slipped into my pocket. My thumb traced the imprint of Shiket’s profile.
“I just had the strangest dream,” I said.
I stared up at the sky. The stars were brighter than I’d seen them in a long time.
Drip, drip. Something wet struck my forehead. I tried to wipe it away, but my arm wouldn’t work.
{Kyrene,} a distant voice called. {Kyrene, look. Be ready.}
But every thought slipped away just as I was about to wrap my fingers around it. The sky was strange. Flecks of rainbow light danced in the dark.
Septimus peered down at me. He looked terrible.
One eye was still flooded red. That ever-present smirk twisted his lips, but his jaw was tight, and I could see the worry in his eyes—could feel it.
He collapsed. Pain, as his body fell against mine.
Something hard slipped into my hand, and with it, a jolt of strength.
Zefiah.
{Stay here, Kyrene,} Zefiah murmured. {Stay here. You have work to do yet.}
He had dragged her to me, I thought dimly. Even though he was on the edge of death himself. This realization stirred my heart in an unexpected, warm jolt.
Septimus’s forehead pressed to mine.
“You shocked me once more, lyri,” he murmured. “Stay long enough to do it again.”
{Stay,} Zefiah echoed. {Because our true target is coming.}
I forced my eyes open. Watched the rainbow light dance in the stars. My fingers tightened around Zefiah’s hilt.
“My,” a silken voice purred, “what a sight of beauty indeed.”
Septimus turned, dragging his body upright only to sink into a bow.
“Dark Mother,” he said. “It is an honor.”
Nyaxia stepped through the darkness.