Chapter 56
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Nyaxia had been beautiful when I saw her last. But here, she was transcendent.
A moon against the ink-black night. A lone shooting star.
Her power was so devastating I felt it on my skin, in my lungs.
It was as if this place, a cage once created to torture her, now only made her more powerful.
Like she drew strength from the broken pieces of her would-be prison.
She lowered slowly. Licks of intertwined shadow and light rolled from her silver-dipped body. Her hair, long and black and reflecting flecks of galaxies, floated as if caught in a perpetual breeze. And those eyes—little shards of night itself—pierced me with their cruel delight.
That terrible dread choked me. Nyaxia’s blood was so near I could taste it. We had never been closer to our goal.
And yet, somehow, I became certain it was slipping away.
“Septimus,” I begged. “Look at me.”
His shoulders rose and fell heavily. A wordless groan rasped from his throat. And when he lifted his head at last, revealing eyes that were pure red and empty—
It was only confirmation of what I already knew.
I didn’t realize until this moment how deeply I had come to know Septimus. His movements, his mannerisms, the way he spoke and moved and breathed. Because the sheer wrongness of him now seemed offensive. Like the way Valentina’s corpse had looked, hijacked by the goddess she had once served.
He was gone.
His curse had taken him. Right here, on the cusp of our victory, when we were so close to Nyaxia’s heart I could reach out and grab it.
And yet, hers was not the heart I craved now.
I opened my mouth, looking for some magic words, something that would call him back. Instead, a near-sob choked free.
Nyaxia let out a low laugh.
“Look at you,” she said. “Such heartbreak. You understand now. This is the danger in trusting one of them. Worse, loving them. They are born traitors. No matter how they resist it, it always comes for them in the end. They will never move beyond the sin of their blood.”
Septimus rose to his feet, swaying, the movement lurching and choppy, as if he was fighting himself the whole way. His eyes remained tethered to mine. His nostrils flared, his breath coming in deep gasps. And yet, he didn’t move.
He didn’t move.
A sea of hope spilled in that split second.
I dragged myself closer. “Septimus, she is right here—”
But then Nyaxia let out a bored sigh and lifted one lazy hand.
I went flying backward. With a crack, I hit the wall. Consciousness dipped into blurry oblivion. Liquid pattered to the ground in a sickening waterfall.
Then, the pain.
Through the haze, I looked down to see some discarded metal piece of Nyaxia’s altar skewering my thigh. Another flick of her wrist, and it was ripped away, skittering across the mosaic floor.
And gods, the blood.
So much blood.
I was seventeen again, looking at the red tracing my every step. Knowing it would damn me.
Septimus drew in a sharp breath through gritted teeth. He lost a battle with himself. He stalked closer, my blood rising slowly with the narrowing distance.
“Wait—” I started.
But it was too late.
His restraint snapped. He descended upon me.
I barely managed to drag myself out of the way.
I flailed, reaching behind me to grab something, anything, to buy myself time, and ended up holding up a piece of broken railing to shield myself.
He struck it with such force that he crushed me against the wall, the sharp pressure against my damaged arm agonizing.
His nose brushed mine. His eyes, those eyes that had captivated me for far longer than I would ever admit aloud, were so close that I stared directly into them. But there was none of the man I now called a friend—a lover—in them.
“You’re here, Septimus,” I gritted out. “Please.”
Fresh blood bubbled from my wound, running down my thigh. My body burned, all my muscles pulling toward him as his magic called to me.
His mouth curled into a snarl, and I forced my weak body along the wall just quickly enough to avoid his teeth. I wildly swung the twisted metal railing, and struck flesh—right across his face, opening a gash across that perfect left cheekbone. It barely fazed him.
Nyaxia laughed as we continued like that—me stumbling backward, barely holding Septimus off, barely dodging him. And gods, I hated her for that sound. Hated her for it almost as much as I hated her for all the death and bloodshed.
Because my heart was breaking with every beat, every rising dread, as the certainty that Septimus was truly lost rose within me. And Nyaxia looked at this and laughed. Laughed, with such genuine amusement.
“Do not bother,” she said. “He is gone, child. Or at least, the parts of him that could stop this are.” She cocked her head, as Septimus cornered me against a broken pillar, and I nearly sent myself toppling backward trying to slip his grasp.
“It really is a perfect punishment. And so very useful. You have killed the Bloodborn king I had guarding this place, but so kindly provided me with another. Better yet, two of you.”
Two?
My gaze snapped to her as I stumbled backward, barely avoiding another blow.
Nyaxia lowered to the ground, floating as if carried by a wind only she commanded. “You cannot die unless you are killed by your stolen blade, no?” she said casually, and cast a pointed glance to her feet. To the pile of Thastias’s gore, and within it, Zefiah.
All pieces of her.
The two I had used to kill Thastias. And the third, peeking from a discarded sheath, torn from my waist when I fell. My hand moved to my hip as a sheet of ice fell over my heart.
Nyaxia clicked her tongue in exaggerated pity. “Oh, my. I am afraid it does not seem likely you will make it this far.”
I realized the exquisite cruelty of Nyaxia’s final punishment.
That Septimus would destroy my body, and then spend an eternity locked up with the knowledge of what he had not been able to stop himself from doing.
All the while, I would live on, feeling all of it, even after my heart stopped, even after my lungs withered, even as my flesh decayed.
Both of us trapped in a prison of our own bodies. Together, and apart, forever.
“You bitter, sadistic bitch,” I hissed. “You deserved everything that happened to you. You deserved all of it and fucking worse.”
I hurled the words like daggers, and they struck their mark exactly. Nyaxia’s eyes flashed with the light of a dying star. She lunged halfway across the mosaic, the pieces of glass reflecting the blue light of her rage across the walls.
“At least I grant you an eternity with your lover,” she hissed. “I was denied mine. What, do you expect my mercy in this place? This place that represents every wrong that had been levied against me?”
She thrust her hand to the wall, and flecks of fire flung from her touch, smoldering in the stone.
Another fresh gush of blood ran down my thigh. It now smeared under my every step. My movements were too slow. Septimus would not be able to hold himself back.
I spotted an inlet in the ruins, a set of collapsed columns resting against each other. I wedged myself into it, whirling and raising the bent railing just in time to stop Septimus’s pounce. His blood rose around him like wings. Red now dripped from the corners of his eyes.
Crack.
The metal bent. The columns, already crumbling, rained plaster on my head.
My hands shook as I held the bar against Septimus’s grip. Blood pooled where I stood. My arm would give out, or my leg would, or I’d lose consciousness from blood loss.
I managed to free one hand, reaching down to my remaining belt. My fingers wrapped around something hard and metal.
A stringless crossbow, loaded with a silver bolt, built for me by the best damned machinist in Oketia.
Septimus let out a snarl and surged forward. My muscles lurched without my permission, blood reaching for him. The stone cracked on either side of me. Soon, my hiding place would crumble, or my own body would betray me and drag me out of it.
My heartbeat roared in my ears. Death, or a terrible alternative to it, loomed over me. The world slowed into sudden numb silence.
I heard Zefiah distantly screaming, frantic, {Kill him, Kyrene! It is your only chance! Kill him!}
She was right. It was the only logical step.
I could send this bolt through his heart, spare us both terrible fates.
I could offer Nyaxia his head and my fealty and beg her to give me a swift death in return—or perhaps even a life of use to her.
Some would even call it merciful. I was, after all, a bounty hunter, loyalty easily bought or sold when the only loyalty I ever claimed to hold was to myself.
But had that ever been the truth?
I watched Septimus’s face, bloody and feral.
I could still see the traces of the man who had donned such elegance, forever collected.
I had come to understand just how hard he had worked to maintain that appearance, how much he had prized his dignity because he knew that one day it would be stripped away.
Perhaps he had built all those glass walls, pristine and white, just to prove to himself that he could.
Just as he had told himself he did not believe in fairy tales, but read them every night, anyway.
It disgusted me, pained me, to see those perfect features now drenched in blood. I thought of them in smug confidence the first time I’d met him. In raw pain in the aftermath of Estrys. In gentle peace as he held the boy he’d raised. In genuine, honest admiration as he held me.
My heart ached for him now. For myself. For all of us.
Slowly, I raised the crossbow.
Septimus surged at me again, the metal bar squealing with another terrible crack.
It was now wedged between the columns, but wouldn’t stay for long.
More and more tendrils of blood rose around us, like vines preparing to drag us back to the earth.
It occurred to me that it really could be beautiful, that blood.
Red and black intertwined, like hands threading together.
My finger rested on the trigger. His chest was inches away.
I stared into his eyes. With my free hand, I reached for his cheek. My palm flattened over his cheekbone. My thumb traced the curve of his jaw.
{You made him a promise, Kyrene,} Zefiah begged. {Fulfill it. Save yourself.}
An old memory: You have to save yourself.
I searched Septimus’s eyes. My mind drifted back to one night in Glaea so long ago, when Atrius had lost control in the sparring ring. I thought of him and Sylina, standing together in a position just like this one.
He’ll kill her, I’d said, so certain it was true.
And Septimus had been equally certain when he responded, No. He will not.
I watched Septimus’s shoulders tremble with a heaving breath, as our blood tied us together.
But he did not move. He did not move.
“You always did like someone else to pull the trigger,” I murmured.
I aimed the crossbow and squeezed.
And for a moment, I could have sworn that the ghost of a girl I used to know was there with me, her hand over mine, making one final shot for spite. Just like I taught her.
THWACK.
A streak of silver shot from the bow—
Right over Septimus’s shoulder, and into Nyaxia.
The bolt bounced harmlessly off Nyaxia’s chest, falling to the ground and rolling across the gore. She stared down at it in confusion, and then, slowly, rage fell over her face.
She let out a laugh, lifting her hands, rising back into the air.
“Stupid mortal,” she breathed. “It takes a particular foolishness to make the same mistake twice.”
But I was smiling. Smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.
Because Septimus was with me, gripping my shoulders, but he wasn’t moving. His gaze followed mine. He drew in a sharp, shaky breath, and for a moment, he was here.
And he saw what I did, right there on Nyaxia’s chest, where the bolt had hit:
A single drop of blood, beading on silver skin. Barely a wound at all, and yet, a gift from this place designed to weaken her.
He blinked, and when his eyes met mine again, it was him, and I could have wept for it.
He turned on his heel. All the blood in this blood-soaked room rose with each step. My own floated from my wounds, reaching for him.
Nyaxia turned, white light sparking at her eyes. Her lips parted, but she didn’t have the chance to speak.
Septimus had been working toward this for more than ten years. One might have thought that he would have something poignant to say. Some soliloquy on behalf of those he had lost. Some wrathful condemnation.
Instead, he just ground out, “This ends with me.”
He lifted his hands. The white metallic markings on his torso blazed to life like compressed stars, burning through what remained of his shirt.
And within them, too, ignited the pieces of divinity Septimus had collected over the years—the red of a flower, the white of bone, the silvery opal of blood and gold of the sun.
So many pieces of Nyaxia’s tragic story, converging here to end it.
It happened so quickly. Nyaxia’s blood burst from that tiny scratch as if it had been begging to be freed for two thousand years. Ever the traitor, it flowed to the scriptures on the wall, burning there in glowing white. It surged through the moon mosaic beneath our feet like a bloody eclipse.
She let out a wordless roar of rage and flung herself at Septimus.
But blue chains of light sprung from the carvings on the wall.
I watched in horror, in amazement, as they looped around her throat, her wrists, her ankles, even as she flailed and screamed.
Even as those screams turned from rage to fear.
Every shadow had been drowned by bright white light. It seared every corner and illuminated every hidden ugliness. A pillar of blue fire shot into the sky.
“You traitor,” Nyaxia spat, hurtling herself against the chains. But they had been created for one purpose alone, and they fulfilled it well. Though the wall cracked, the chains held.
I limped toward Septimus. The physical world seemed distant and numb. I wondered if I was imagining that Nyaxia grew smaller, the stars dropping from her hair like dying fireflies, the light ebbing from her galaxy-tinted eyes. As if her divinity itself was being sucked away.
Again, she thrashed against her restraints.
“What have you done?” she screamed, voice echoing between worlds. And yet, it sounded so weak. So . . . mortal.
Slowly, Septimus lowered to his knees, swaying. I dragged myself to his side. My vision was blurring. My blood was pooling. My time tick, tick, ticked away.
But I just kept smiling, and smiling, and smiling.
“You will suffer for this,” she shrieked. “I will punish you in ways that make your curse seem kind.”
“No, Nyaxia,” another voice said. “This time, you will not.”
Far above, the sky swirled with rainbow light. And from the darkness, wings outstretched, stepped Acaeja.