Текст книги "The Ashes & the Star-Cursed King"

Автор книги: Carissa Broadbent

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 28 (всего у книги 37 страниц)

58

RAIHN

I’d lost track of just how many men I’d killed. I was in the Kejari all over again, thrown into senseless, indiscriminate, unending violence.

Maybe I wasn’t any better than Neculai, or Vincent, or Simon after all. Maybe I was just another cursed king.

Because I fucking loved it.

I barely felt the scream of my muscles or the bite of my wounds. Something more primal took over. Rational thought disappeared. My magic surged in my veins, grateful for the opportunity to finally be set free, fully unleashed—and this was what it wanted to do. Kill. Reclaim. Possess.

I wasn’t relying on sight anymore, and that was a gift, because I couldn’t see anything even if I’d tried. Through the smears of black blood in my eyes, my field of vision became nothing but fragmented flashes of wings and weapons and steel buried in bodies. The blinding black-white of my Asteris followed my every stroke. Defeated enemies hurtled to the ground like limp rag dolls, falling onto the roofs of the buildings below.

Time, physicality, space ceased to exist. I thought about nothing but the next strike, the next kill, the next inch of ground I could gain toward that castle—my castle.

Until him.

The shift was immediate, so strong it actually managed to knock me from my bloodlust—so strong it made my muscles freeze at the most inopportune moment, interrupting my counter against the Rishan soldier attacking me and earning me a vicious cut over my shoulder.

I grabbed the soldier, skewered him, and let him fall to the ground, but I wasn’t looking at him anymore. Instead, my gaze flicked up.

Up to the castle.

Simon was there, standing on the very same balcony where he had tried to kill me. Even through the carnage, through the endless bodies, I knew he was there. I knew it because I felt him, the way one felt ripples in a pond when something terrible circled beneath the water.

And this was something terrible.

I had never sensed anything like this before, but that certainty ground into my bones immediately. I’d awakened something primal in myself, and now, that beast was recognizing a threat—a threat that did not belong, here or anywhere else.

What was that?

I was too far gone to be afraid. I’d spent too damned long fearing Simon and the people like him, even if I refused to admit it to myself or anyone else.

I was pushing through the warriors before Vale even had the chance to call after me. Cutting through bodies, wings, weapons—anything standing between me and him.

I was going to fucking kill him.

He stood on the balcony waiting for me, amber wings spread, sword drawn, hair pulled back tight in a way that emphasized the hard, cruel planes of his face.

I didn’t slow down as I flew for him. Instead, I pumped my wings, surging faster, so fast I couldn’t see anything but his slow, predatory smile, split seconds before we clashed.

We met in a deafening thunderclap of steel and a burst of magic, my Asteris dousing us in a mantle of black light. Our bodies slammed against each other. His sword met mine, metal screaming against metal.

Immediately, he countered. He was a strong warrior, even after all these years. Despite his age, he met me strike for strike, step for step. Even my magic didn’t seem to deter him, even though, spurred by hatred, it poured from every stroke of my blade, punctuating each clash.

I was wounded. I was tired. My body didn’t care.

I was going to kill him.

Through the red of my rage and the black of my Asteris, Simon’s face looked so uncannily like his cousin’s. It was my former master who sneered at me in the seconds between strikes and blocks, taunting me, urging me on.

How many times, back then, had I imagined what it would be like to kill Neculai?

Countless. Seventy years. Twenty-five thousand days to lie there in bed and close my eyes and think about what he might sound like with blood filling his lungs, think about what it might look like to peel his skin back inch by inch, think about whether he’d piss himself in his final moments.

I’d thought about it so many times.

I wasn’t the one who had gotten that satisfaction in the end. That had gone to another cruel king. I’d told myself I was alright with that. Let them tear each other apart.

I had been lying to myself.

I had wanted to be the one to do it.

And now, this seemed almost as good.

The first time I struck skin, opening a river of red-black across his arm, I actually fucking laughed—loud and crazed.

That one drop of blood awakened something in me. My next blow was harder, faster, blade seeking out his flesh like a starving animal. When he managed to get in a return strike, I barely felt it, instead using the force of his hit against him.

I was so lost in my own frenzy that it took me far too long to notice exactly what was so off about him. To notice that Simon didn’t seem concerned at all, even though I’d wounded him. Not even when I struck him again, sending him staggering back.

I pushed him against the wall, licks of night rolling from my sword, the smell of his blood thick in my nostrils.

This was it.

I wanted to look into his eyes when he died. Wanted that satisfaction.

I wanted to see the fear on his face when he realized that the slave he had abused two hundred years ago was going to be the one to kill him.

But when I met Simon’s eyes, I didn’t see fear. I didn’t see much of anything, actually. They were vacant and bloodshot, glazed over, like he was looking through me instead of at me, at something a million miles past the horizon.

A sour drone thrummed in the air, nagging at my magic, burrowing deep into my veins.

I hesitated. And finally, I heard the voice in my head—the one that insisted, This isn’t right.

My eyes flicked up for a moment, catching movement through the glass window over Simon’s muscled, armored shoulder.

Septimus stood in the middle of the empty ballroom, enjoying the view through those floor-to-ceiling windows, utterly calm. He smiled at me, a lazy trail of cigarillo smoke rising between his teeth.

This isn’t right.

Simon wasn’t moving, even though I had him pinned. The pulse in the air grew thicker, louder. The unnatural ripples that called to my magic seemed to pull tighter, like lungs inflating in an inhale, drawing me closer.

I actually took in Simon’s appearance for the first time since I saw him, my head clearing.

He wore old, classic Rishan battle leathers. Finely made stuff. But oddly enough, he’d left the top unbuttoned down to his chest, revealing a long triangle of skin.

Skin marked with black, pulsing veins.

And all those veins led to a chunk of silver and ivory, buried right into the flesh of his chest.

It was so grotesque, so unnervingly wrong, that at first, I couldn’t make sense of what I was looking at.

And then I recognized it:

The silver was Vincent’s pendant, smashed and melted and warped, smeared with Simon’s blood.

And the ivory was...

Teeth.

Teeth, welded into the metal.

The memory of Septimus’s voice floated through my mind:

I found some, in the House of Blood. Teeth.

What the fuck does one do with the teeth of the God of Death? Oraya had asked.

And in a sudden moment of clarity, I realized: This was what someone did with god teeth.

They created a fucking monster.

This thought crossed my mind only briefly, as Simon’s face finally broke into a chilling, blood-lined smile, and he unleashed a burst of magic that rearranged the entire Goddess-damned world.

59

ORAYA

I was running.

Running through those tunnels, even though I’d outpaced Jesmine, even though I didn’t even know exactly where I was going—only that I was going up, and out, as fast as I possibly fucking could.

We were, thankfully, close to the end. I practically wept with joy when I saw the stairs before me. I dove up them, flinging open the door at the other side—taking only seconds to evaluate where I was, at the foot of the castle. Mother, it was chaos out here, flinging me into a sea of blood and steel and death, Bloodborn and Rishan and Hiaj and demons all ripping each other apart.

I barely paid attention to it.

Instead, I looked up—up to the top of the castle, to the balcony where I had saved Raihn’s life not long ago. I couldn’t see anything from this angle, but I could feel it, the epicenter of this noxious sensation.

My wings were out and I was in the air before I could question myself.

I’d never flown so fast before. Faster than I even knew I was capable of.

I rose to the balcony, only to immediately be knocked back by—

What was that?

It was like Asteris, maybe, but stronger—red, not black. It seemed to rip apart the air itself and reorder it. It lasted for only a moment—at least, I thought it did—but when I regained awareness, my wings weren’t working, and I was falling.

With a gasp of air, I righted myself, pumping my wings just in time to avoid hurling myself into a pillar.

I soared back up to the balcony.

Raihn. Raihn, locked in a battle with—Mother, was that Simon? He looked so different—not just because of his armor, a stark contrast from the fineries I’d seen on him before, or even because of the whorls of red magic that surrounded him. He felt different, like he’d been pushed beyond some boundary that no mortal should cross. Like a part of him no longer even existed anymore.

Every shred of my awareness balked at his presence.

And that instinct reacted viciously at the sight of Simon leaning over Raihn, sword raised, eerie red mist clinging to the blade.

I didn’t remember landing, or running, or lunging. Only the satisfying spurt of blood that sprayed across my face as the Taker of Hearts found its mark, skewering through Simon’s back, right between his wings.

A deadly shot for anyone, human or vampire.

But Simon, I realized immediately, was not just a vampire right now.

He let out a snarl and reared back, dropping Raihn and whirling to me as I yanked my sword from his flesh and danced backward. When his bloodshot eyes fell to me, vacant and vicious, I felt like I was looking into the face of death itself.

And then I saw it:

The... thing fused into the skin of his chest. Metal and... bone?

My magic reacted to its proximity. Suddenly, Vincent’s presence seemed so much closer—but twisted, enraged.

Twisted, just like the pendant had been twisted, shattered. Melded with...

Teeth?

God teeth, I realized.

Fucking Septimus.

It seemed outlandish. It seemed ridiculous. The horror of it fell over me distantly. I didn’t have time to let myself acknowledge it.

He lifted his sword, but before he could bring it down, I lunged at him.

He responded immediately, our blades meeting, each clash more vicious than the last. He was bigger, stronger; I was faster. Still, he kept pace. My body crumpled beneath his blows and the force it required to deflect them. It took all my focus—but I remained perpetually aware of Raihn out of the corner of my eye, crumpled on the ground. When he slowly pushed himself up, I breathed a sigh of relief.

For a split second, before Simon was on me again.

My muscles screamed. His magic rivaled mine, even as my Nightfire poured from my skin, surrounding us. The burns didn’t seem to bother him, not even when the flames ate away at the delicate flesh around his mouth and eyes. He just stared through them, and smiled.

An empty smile. A dead smile.

I couldn’t remember when his first hit was—my side, perhaps, making me stumble just enough to make it difficult to evade his next lunge. When I looked up again to see his sword raised, I thought, This is it. The end.

Just as a streak of black-red came hurling in from his left side, sword drawn.

Raihn threw himself at Simon, the two of them tangling in a dance of destruction.

I hadn’t been able to hear anything over the violence and my own breath and heartbeat throbbing in my ears. But as I steadied myself, I chanced a glance down below—to the city of Sivrinaj.

It was a bloodbath.

Our opponents had been holding back. Now the full numbers of Bloodborn forces poured from the castle grounds, seeping through the city streets like a wave of fire. Ketura’s men had been beaten back, the squeals of dying demons drowning beneath the screams of dying vampires. Jesmine’s forces had risen from the tunnels, only to be met with a formidable force that was expecting them, and far outnumbered them.

And Simon—and whatever terrible, twisted magic he wielded—hadn’t even made it down there, yet.

We were fucked.

We were utterly fucked.

We needed to retreat. We needed to retreat now.

Raihn had seen what I did, or maybe the dawning horror on my face told him everything he needed to know.

When I launched myself back at Simon, he rasped out, “Go.”

The one word he could choke out.

I knew what he meant: Go to the armies. Go lead them away.

I didn’t even consider it.

We had only one shot at salvaging this, and that was by killing Simon here and now. I wasn’t going to run away. I wasn’t going to leave this man here to keep my throne and this twisted power he’d gotten from my father’s magic.

I’d had enough. My entire life, these people thought they could take everything from me.

And the thought of ceding one more single second to them enraged me.

My heartbeat throbbed in my ears, hot beneath my skin.

This is my kingdom, Vincent whispered, the words pulsing through my skin, my veins, my heart. This is my castle. Do not let anyone take it from me.

Mine, my heartbeat echoed.

This was mine.

I would not let anyone take it away. And I sure as fuck wasn’t going to let them kill Raihn to do it.

Raihn whirled around as more Rishan soldiers ran from the castle doors, surging for him—distracting him in this critical moment.

Not me. I barely noticed them.

I let my rage blind me, drive me, drown me as I threw myself at Simon.

My awareness narrowed to the satisfying sensation of my blade parting Simon’s flesh, the Nightfire swelling and overtaking my body, my magic flourishing in the depths of my uncontrollable rage.

Simon actually flinched, his body lurching.

Someone laughed and it took a few seconds to realize that it had been me. My cheeks split with a smile as he straightened and faced me, all that terrible power focused only in one spot.

I wasn’t afraid.

We lunged at the same time, our weapons meeting again, each blow unrelenting. At first, I was lost in the intoxicating haze of vengeance, and I loved it, each wound a shot of alcohol, an unnatural high.

But Simon didn’t let up.

Raihn, surrounded by Rishan soldiers, was not coming to help me.

And Simon just kept coming, and coming, and coming.

The first little nagging shard of fear came when he struck me so hard I thought I felt something crack when I blocked his weapon. The pain shot through me in a lightning bolt, stealing my breath.

No time to recover, though. No time to counter.

Because the onslaught continued, that one devastating strike turning to two, three. Soon I couldn’t do more than evade, block, stumble backwards to get my footing—

But I’d been knocked off balance. And I had no time to regain it.

The realization that I was fucked was slow and certain.

He opened a wound on my shoulder, my arm, my hip. Each one came with a breathtaking stab of pain, deeper than flesh. His magic, that red, noxious smoke, surrounded us both. The twisted creation in his chest pulsed unnaturally.

I could feel Vincent’s cold rage, his need for dominance, thrashing inside me, but it had nowhere to go. The magic of the Taker of Hearts was powerful, but it wasn’t as strong as whatever Simon had done to himself.

I leapt backward in a dodge and found myself against the balcony railing. Fuck. Nowhere left to go.

A hot breeze surged, blowing my hair back and yanking strands of Simon’s from its binding, making him look even more monstrous as he loomed over me, a bloody smile spreading over his lips.

Behind him, Raihn’s eyes locked onto me, as he cut through one Rishan soldier, two—

He wouldn’t be fast enough.

Mother, I was going to die.

But, oh, what a death it will be.

I wondered if it was Vincent’s voice, or mine.

Simon reached out and touched my face, turning it toward his, as if in curiosity.

His smile soured.

“Just a human,” he said. “That’s all.”

A fighter’s death, I promised myself, as Simon raised his sword, and I raised mine.

His strike was devastating.

A burst of magic blinded me. A deafening crack left my ears ringing. Something sharp flew back against me, opening little cuts in my cheeks, my arms.

I barely felt them, because the pain was everywhere.

Simon had staggered backwards, doubled over, but it was too late.

I was falling, too. My body went over the railing in what felt like slow motion. The last thing I saw was Raihn, his eyes wide and terrified, as he yanked his sword from a body and ran for me—

He looked so, so scared.

I reached for him, but I was already falling.

Worlds blended together in my weightlessness.

In one world, I couldn’t hear anything over the sound of screams and explosions and desperate commands.

In another, I could hear nothing but my father’s voice from an old memory. Could feel nothing but his grip, so firm it hurt—but then again, that was Vincent’s love, hidden in sharp edges and always just as painful.

I told you not to climb that high, he said, voice harsh. How many times have I told you, you can’t do that?

I know, I wanted to say. I’m sorry. You were right.

“Oraya!”

Raihn’s scream cleaved through the air, even through the sounds of a kingdom falling. I forced my eyes open to see smears of blurring color.

He was diving down after me, wings spread, covered in blood, a single hand reaching out for me.

Something about this image looked so familiar, and then it clicked—the painting of the Rishan man falling, one hand outstretched. I’d always thought he was reaching for the gods.

He was reaching for me.

Everything went black.

60

RAIHN

Retreat.

I flew over the battlefield, a sea of carnage, Oraya’s limp body in my arms. She was covered in so much blood I couldn’t even tell where she was injured, only that whatever Simon had done to her had been devastating.

She wasn’t dead.

She couldn’t be dead.

I could feel her heartbeat, slow and weak. I refused to accept the possibility that it would stop. That was not an option.

She was not dead.

I knew Simon was not far behind me, launching himself down into the fighting. And I knew—I knew the minute he landed, it would be over for all of us.

Retreat.

I found Vale in the midst of the bloodshed, hacking apart a Rishan rebel who plunged from the sky. I didn’t recognize my own voice when I screamed his name. He turned and took in Oraya and I in less than a second, his brow immediately contorting in grim dread.

Then his eyes lifted over my shoulder and widened.

Simon.

I just choked out, “Retreat. Now. Get as many out as you can.”

And I didn’t stop flying.

I needed somewhere safe. Somewhere close. Somewhere secret. Somewhere no one would think to look for her. Somewhere she could get help now, right now, because I wasn’t about to let her die in my arms after everything we had been through together.

Couldn’t go back to the camp—no one could help her there, not fast enough.

Couldn’t get back to the rendezvous point in time.

Couldn’t go anywhere in Sivrinaj, where Simon and Septimus would be looking for her.

My thoughts did not make sense. I didn’t know how or why I chose our destination. It wasn’t a conscious choice. Just the memory of a name and a place scribbled on a twenty-five-year-old letter, and blind hope, and sheer fucking desperation.

Some distant part of my subconscious made the decision without me, while I could think about nothing but Oraya in my arms, and her limp body, and her heartbeat—growing steadily slower, weaker.

Vartana was not far from Sivrinaj, just a few cities over. It was a small town, barely noticeable from above—the kind of place you only went to if you had a reason. I half-surprised myself when I landed, clumsily, in the dusty streets of the human districts.

They had to help her. They had to.

I was in the town square. It was quiet here after nightfall. I barely glanced at my surroundings—the brick buildings, the packed-dirt streets, the fountain well at the center of the square. A young couple was perched at its edge, probably interrupted from some midnight tryst, staring at me in wide-eyed shock.

I was only distantly aware of what I must’ve looked like, landing in front of them, clutching Oraya’s bleeding body. Wild-eyed, enormous, covered in blood.

The man pushed the woman behind him slightly, the two of them staggering back.

I just choked, “Help. I need help.”

The name. Fuck, what was the name?

“Alya,” I blurted out. “Alya. There’s someone here by that name. A healer. Or there used to be—”

I couldn’t even string a Goddess-damned sentence together.

What was I doing? What kind of wild guess was this? Twenty years was a long time. Who knew if they were even still—

Oraya’s breath stuttered, slowed, and my panic overwhelmed me.

“Tell me,” I ground out, taking a step closer. The woman nearly threw herself into the fountain trying to get away from me, the man grabbing her arm and sliding fully in front of her.

They were terrified. And I couldn’t even blame them for that. Or at least I wouldn’t have, if I could even think, could even breathe, could even consider anything but—

“I’m Alya.”

A voice came from behind me. I whirled around to see a middle-aged woman standing in a townhouse doorway, eyeing me warily. She had waist-length black, gray-streaked hair, and a serious, lined face.

I drew in a shaky breath and let it out. “I need—I’m—”

“I know who you are.” Her gaze fell to Oraya, and her face softened. “I know who she is, too.”

My exhale of relief was almost a sob.

“Can you—”

“Come in,” she said, stepping aside. “Quick. And stop yelling before you alert half the district.”