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

Chapter 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

W armth surrounded me. I was curled up, my head tucked against Asar’s chest, which rose and fell in peaceful breaths. Another body was pressed against my back—Luce? I was still half-asleep, too far away from coherent thought to make sense of the logistics and too happy to question it. I’d always been a touchy person, thriving on those brushes of affection. It wasn’t sexual or romantic. Sometimes, you just need a hug. Vampires, unfortunately, were not a very huggy bunch.

Asar’s arms wrapped around me, the two of us intertwined like the light and shadow of the moon. Luce must have come in once she was confident there were no threats to us, and she curled around my back, completing the circle.

I didn’t want to move, lest I disturb this perfect equilibrium.

I opened my eyes. Asar was still fast asleep. I didn’t fully realize until this moment just how well I had memorized his face over these last few months. I knew the arrangement of his scars, all the hidden meanings of all the minuscule twitches of muscle he didn’t know he made, the full delightful array of his expressions. Yet, this one—utter peace—struck me because I had never seen it before. His brow was smooth, his mouth full and relaxed. He looked so young, like the little boy I had seen in his memories.

How long had it been since Asar had truly been at peace?

He was always handsome—I’d given up on denying to myself that I thought so. But now, watching him, a bittersweet longing tightened in my heart.

In another life, I might have liked to see this tranquility across this perfect face every night.

In another life.

I touched his cheek before I could stop myself, fingers tracing the harsh lines over soft angles.

And gods, I wanted.

His eyes fluttered open. The right one was an endless sea of deep brown darkness. The left was calm, the abyss within gently pulsing like clouds in a summer sky.

His smile bloomed easily over his face, as if seeing me was a delightful surprise.

“Hello, Warden,” I whispered.

“Hello, Dawndrinker.”

That term pierced the haze of my comfort, letting the uncomfortable reality flood back in.

The memory of Asar’s blood on my tongue, his mouth on my neck—gods, my hand between my legs—came back to me with a rising tide of shame.

I’d drunk blood. I’d given blood. I’d let Asar hold me as I indulged in the pleasure of it. All while bound to a god giving me a chance I didn’t deserve.

But the real sin of it all was that I’d wanted it. I’d wanted more.

Even now, I wanted more.

That was what we had always been warned of, back in the Order. Desire begot desire. Sin begot sin. Selfishness begot selfishness.

I sat up, suddenly nauseous. The movement was too abrupt and startled Luce, who didn’t seem to appreciate the rude awakening.

“Sorry,” I muttered, scratching the top of her head in an offering of penance, which she reluctantly accepted.

I could feel Asar’s stare as he sat up, too. It swept over my injuries one by one. I had no doubt that he was comparing them against a meticulous inventory, making sure that I was healing to his satisfaction.

Again, that pang in my heart.

“I take it you’re feeling better?” he said.

I nodded. I felt a lot better, actually. The wounds on my abdomen had even closed while we rested, my vampire healing restored.

“What about you?” I asked. He looked much better, too. He actually didn’t look tired for maybe the first time since I’d met him. Though that typical weariness of his now seeped back in, like he was remembering all the reasons he had to be irritated with the state of the world.

“Better,” he conceded.

“Good. That’s good.”

It was good. At least it reinforced my mental narrative that there were only logical, practical reasons for why I had offered him my blood.

Logical. Practical. Completely in service to the mission given to us by our gods.

Asar frowned. “Are you all right?”

I smiled brightly. “Yes. I am wonderful.”

His frown deepened.

Luce looked between us, as if sensing the tension, and let out a low yip.

“She’s right,” I said. “We should be going, shouldn’t we? Before a bunch of angry wraiths find this place?”

I stood up, and a rush of cool air had me conscious all over again of exactly how undressed I was. I crossed my arms over my chest, avoiding Asar’s gaze.

“Clothes first. Then we go.”

I was really, really grateful that I wouldn’t have to go conquer the Sanctum of Secrets while practically naked. I’d grown surprisingly affectionate toward Morthryn these last few months—more affectionate than I ever thought I’d be toward a magical death prison—but when we went through the few remaining functional drawers and happened to find a shirt and trousers that, miraculously, fit me, I actually hugged the doorframe.

“Thank you, Morthryn. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“It was probably a coincidence,” Asar said, amused.

A coincidence? What were the chances? “I choose to believe it’s a gift.” I patted the cracked wall. “And I think Morthryn should be thanked for her efforts.”

“Her?”

“Morthryn has feminine energy.”

Luce barked in agreement, and Asar, wisely, didn’t argue.

Now, we ventured back out into the forest—forest for me, at least. Asar was presumably seeing something else entirely, a fact that I was reminded of when he stepped out and blinked in surprise, like he was startled by it all over again. I knew the feeling. Our little ruin of Morthryn was removed from the illusions of the Sanctum, so the moment we stepped from its door, the sheer presence of Vostis overwhelmed me all over again—the scent, the sun, the steamy heat. It brought me straight back to my past.

The sensation clashed violently with the still-fresh memories of what had happened the night before. I found myself touching my neck. Asar’s bite had healed immediately, but I could still feel it. I suspected I always would.

A knot pulled tighter and tighter in my stomach.

Outside, I squinted up at the Citadel looming over us. Odd—at a casual glance, everything inside me recognized it as the Citadel. But when I forced myself to stare at it carefully, I realized that so much about it was different from my old home—spires misplaced, the layout wrong, its shape in the skyline off. Asar was right—what I saw was just an illusion draped over the terrain of the circle, like a skeleton skinned with the flesh of my past.

“The relic must be somewhere in that castle,” Asar said. “It’s too central. Fortified. He must have kept it in there.”

Castle. I gave Asar a sidelong glance as he stared up at the Citadel. What did he see, I wondered?

“The Shadowborn castle?” I guessed.

Was that where he was right now? In the capital of the House of Shadow, about to enter the castle that, if we survived this, would become his when we returned?

He blinked, momentarily confused. “Oh. The—yes. The Shadowborn castle.”

For someone so committed to being mysterious, he was such a horrific liar. But I still had a hard time wrangling the emotions that bubbled up in me when I looked at Asar for too long, so I decided to let it lie.

We’d come a good ways from the beach the night before, but we still had a long walk up to the Citadel. Despite the conflict that roiled in my gut when I thought about Asar’s blood on my tongue, I wouldn’t have been able to make the journey without it. We tramped up the winding brick path through the forest. The scent of it was so overpowering that it started to give me a headache, the flowering musk sticky-sweet. Patches of sun filtered through the leaves, painting bright gold on the deep ashy brown of Asar’s hair and the rich hue of his skin. It seemed to pass right through Luce’s shadowy body entirely. When we reached a clearing in the trees, I paused and tilted my face up. I stared at the sky, blue and clear as a firefinch egg, then closed my eyes.

“What are you doing?” Asar asked from ahead.

I breathed in. Breathed out.

In Vostis, the sun had felt like home. I could close my eyes and slide into it, let it roll over my skin like honey.

But right now, there was no warmth, no embrace. Just a false imitation of the real thing. Convincing, but falling short in all the ways that mattered.

It shouldn’t have been a disappointment.

“Nothing,” I murmured, and turned away.