The Songbird and the Heart of Stone (Crowns of Nyaxia #3)

Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

A sar’s hand was wrapped around mine. It was the first thing I became aware of as I collected my senses again. Quickly followed, of course, by the delightful assortment of aches and pains.

We were crumpled up together at the bottom of the stairs upon a floor of reflective, polished ivory. It was silent—so much so that I thought at first, Maybe we died.

We weren’t dead. Everything hurt too much for that.

Asar opened his eyes and held mine for a second that seemed to last an eternity. Luce danced around him, nudging him with her snout. Chandra was next to me, helping me up.

Asar’s grasp slid from mine, and he avoided my gaze.

I sat up, and the unbelievable weight of everything I’d just seen crashed down upon me at once.

“Oh, gods—what was—and with the—” The words poured out of me too quickly to form a proper sentence. “What was she?”

Who was she?

But before anyone could even attempt to answer, a voice rang out:

You reek of the living.

It went beyond the mortal bounds of sound. I wasn’t sure if I was hearing it aloud, or if the words embedded directly into my mind. I knew instantly that it was not human, nor vampire, nor mortal at all.

Slowly, so slowly, I turned my head.

There were no walls, only endless black in all directions. A circular pool of crimson sat, mirror smooth, before us. Within it was a single ivory altar lit by a streak of warm light.

Beside it, a panther emerged from the shadows.

It was golden, translucent, like its form was crafted from the bright streaks of sunbeams in a waning afternoon. Its spots were inkblots of midnight, rippling over lean muscle. Its face was bone. A skull, like Luce’s, though gold to her bronze.

Elias coiled, readying his weapon. Chandra made the sign of the sun. Luce curled around Asar’s legs, a low, gravelly hiss rising from her throat.

I froze mid-movement, mid-breath. The panther’s empty eyes fell to me.

You are a very long way from home. It settled on its haunches. Its body was thin, the jut of bones visible beneath the sheen of its fur. It lifted its head, revealing chipped, glistening fangs.

Many years, many years, since we last scented the sun upon these hallowed halls. Many years since we have allowed it through. Many have fallen to the hands of the traitor. The decay spreads. The guardians wither. He tried to banish us, too. But still we stand. Thousands of years, and we protect our charge. That will not end tonight.

Something moved beyond the panther. At first, I couldn’t make sense of the squirming masses. But slowly, more lithe bodies of smoke and bone faces of gold took shape. First two, then four, then too many to count. Some of the panthers were whole, like the one that stood before us. Others bore the wear of their endless watch—their teeth chipped or masks broken, faces slashed in two.

“Gods help us,” Chandra whispered, but the irony of that plea was not lost on me.

The gods wouldn’t help us. Our gods that damned us. These beasts had been here a long, long time. Long enough to remember Atroxus’s betrayal of his brother. Hell did not forget. And as they encroached, I couldn’t help but wonder what other betrayals they might smell on me, too.

Above, we could still hear the dim echoes of a tempest raging. Elias stepped backward, glancing up the stairs. His hands closed around the hilt of his sword, his calculation clear: Which horror was worse? The one in here, or the one out there?

The truth, of course, was that we wouldn’t survive either. It was just a matter of deciding whether we were food for ghosts or food for gods.

The panther prowled closer, teeth bared. Before I could give myself time to think, I blurted out, “We come only to right an ancient wrong, g-great guardian. We mean no harm to you.”

I mostly kept my voice from shaking. Mostly.

The panther cocked his head in a way that gave me the distinct impression it was laughing at me.

A truth that is not a truth. A lie that is not a lie, it crooned. Oh, the curse of mortal tongues. Do you think we do not see your soul, fallen one?

My heart lurched. Its stare pinned open my ribcage, revealing all the ugly complications within. For a moment, I was frozen in fear, terrified my truth was about to be revealed.

But Asar nudged past me. He approached the altar, then set down his sword and lowered to his knees. The beasts circled him. No matter how powerful he was, I knew they could tear him apart. But if Asar was frightened, he didn’t show it.

“I serve your master,” he said. “I have stood watch over his realm for one hundred and fifty-four years. This, I know, is a blink compared to your eternal vigil. I know, too, that I am but a fallible mortal. I have little to offer but my intentions. But I see the way this realm hurts. I see your sacrifice.” He bowed his head. “I ask you, guardians, to trust me with the relic Alarus left behind. Trust me to restore this realm to what it once was.”

Asar could not lie to a guardian. This was a being that saw truth.

And yet, though he made no mention of Nyaxia and the task he had been given, I could sense that this was truth. Asar was a vampire, a child of Nyaxia. But his heart belonged to the dead.

The leader regarded him. Then lifted its head. It had no eyes, and yet I thought it looked straight at me.

We are no soothsayers. Yet we are close to the threads of fate. We can feel how they vibrate with your intentions. Indeed, a noble mission for such fragile souls. But no mortal can complete such a task. You will not survive the journey you attempt.

“Death is not the same as failure,” Asar said.

A sibilant hiss of amusement.

Perhaps, the guardian replied. But what I say is true all the same.

It examined us, as if rifling through our souls.

For millennia, we have stood, it said. We grow weak. The inevitable bears down upon us. Soon, our bones will collapse beneath it, to be buried beneath the million other damned innocents whose fates balance upon your shoulders. Tell us, do you still wish to cure the incurable?

Asar’s answer was immediate.

“Yes,” he whispered.

The panther lowered its chin. Very well.

It stood and curled around his body. Another panther joined it, and another, and another, until the mass of spotted bodies enveloped him in a sleek ocean of gold and black. The mists hissed from the corners of the room, thickening until there was nothing left to see.

And then, the memory came:

Nyaxia is surrounded by flowers. The poppies paint red around her as she lies back in the grass. The galaxies in her hair have grown more vivid these recent weeks.

Above us, rivers of blood weave through the sky. The breeze shivers through the field. Fate stirs. It has been restless since she arrived, and I should care, but I do not.

She plucks a poppy from the earth and slips it into her mouth. I watch how the petals caress her lips, and I want.

“I like it here,” she said. “But you should have made more of it.”

“Why?” I ask, and she laughs.

“Why not? Because you can.”

Nyaxia is eternally hungry. I see now that this is why my siblings resent her. Because they fear her.

They are right to. She is terrifying.

But I have grown fond of her, and now, when she speaks of great plans of bigger worlds, I see them reflected in the eternity of her eyes.

I touch her cheek and tilt her face toward me. Red, the stain of a poppy petal, smears her lower lip.

It is a mistake. I know this. My heart is heavy in my chest, my breath close to the surface of my ribs. Mortality looms over me. It is intoxicating to feel so fallible. Even gods crave danger.

It is a mistake.

Still, I kiss her.

The images faded. The fog cleared. I was left swaying on my feet. The remnants of fear and desire rushed in my heartbeat—the remnants of Alarus’s, his gift to the Sanctum of Breath.

The panthers now sat silently at the edges of the room. The darkness had parted, revealing a stone wall beyond the altar, and a familiar arched, golden door.

Asar was left kneeling alone, his hands cupped around blots of red. Poppy petals.

The guardian bowed its head as its brethren settled at the edges of the pool. Perhaps I imagined that beneath that mask of gold, it actually looked sad.

We were not created to understand such things, it said . He could have had any woman. And yet his heart was so hungry for her that he let it devour the world for a fleeting taste.

It lifted its head. Staring at Asar?

Or staring at me?

Asar bowed in thanks, then slowly rose. One by one, we followed him in a silent procession to the waiting door. The guardians did not stop us. Only that one still stood, watching us go.

Be wary, mortals, of such deadly cravings, it said.

I tore my gaze away. Still, its gaze skewered my back as I passed, the arrow of its accusation lodged deep in my heart.

I smell fate upon you, its voice echoed.

But I also smell hunger.