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

Chapter 38

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

M y breath caught in my throat. Fear paralyzed me. I had basked in Atroxus’s love for so long that I had thought nothing could hurt as much as his abandonment.

I was wrong. His hatred was obliterating.

“Get up,” he commanded. His voice boomed through the room, and my body rushed to obey before my mind told it to. I stumbled off the slab of marble and dropped to my knees. I was naked, still. But this place wasn’t the room where Asar and I had fallen asleep—at least, it wasn’t completely. Some of it seemed the same—the arrangement of the altar, the white stone, the glass window and ceiling. But while that place had been dark and broken, here everything was blindingly bright and clean. The world beyond the glass was cloudy nothingness. There were no statues, Atroxus standing instead where the broken idol had loomed.

Where was I?

Where was Asar?

How could Atroxus be here? I thought gods couldn’t see into the in-between realm of the Descent. The gravity of my miscalculation rolled over me with the slow, steady rise of my panic.

“My light—” I started.

“I sent you here with a purpose you have squandered. How weak of me to believe that you could still be deserving of the sun, even as your heart rotted with Nyaxia’s disease.” A hand grabbed my chin and wrenched it up. Pain shot through me at his touch. The scent of burning flesh surrounded me. But I forced my eyes to meet his—stars of utter rage.

“And this is how I find you? Naked and reeking of death, covered in its desecration? You spilled blood upon an altar. Did you think I would not see you?”

I cursed myself. The altar. Blood over an altar could thin the veil between the mortal and god realms. We were getting close to the end of the Descent. The boundaries must have been just thin enough…

Atroxus’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “I have been too fond of you for too long, a’mara. I did not see you as the animal that you are.” He released me, sending me stumbling backward. “Cover yourself. I don’t wish to look at you.”

He thrust his hand to a pile in the corner. My panic choked me as I slipped on the white shirt and pants. The fresh burns on my face throbbed.

The first time I had disappointed my god, I had spent hours self-flagellating at the feet of his altar, begging for his forgiveness. And maybe in my heart I was still that little priestess girl, because that was my immediate urge now—to let him hurt me. Add more scars on top of scars to show him just how much I loved him: Look how much I suffer for you. Don’t you enjoy my pain?

But something was different in me now. This time, beneath the wave of shame, something dangerous sparked.

Anger.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” he hissed. “Tell me why I should not burn you like the monster that you are.”

I heard my sister’s voice: Why am I here with the monsters?

“You’re right.” I turned to him. I was shaking with fear, but it didn’t show in my voice. “I am a monster. You have every right to burn me. But Saescha—why did you allow Saescha to come here?”

A pause.

“Saescha,” he repeated.

He didn’t know who she was.

I didn’t know why that would surprise me. He was a god. He had countless worshippers. He never even used my name, and I was one of his chosen, his special brides. Did he, I wondered for the first time, even know what it was?

Does one memorize the name of every exotic fish in a tank? Every golden bird in their cage?

“She was one of your most devoted followers.” My voice wavered as I lifted my head to face him, his brilliance staggering and terrifying. Once I started talking, I couldn’t stop. The words poured out. “A member of the highest echelons of the Order of the Destined Dawn. She gave her life to you. And she was promised peace in the life that came after in exchange for her loyalty. But instead, she is here, trapped between worlds. Why did you let this happen to her?”

He stared at me for a long moment.

And then his fury exploded.

Flames tore over the tile, surrounding us both. The sun of his eyes flared searing white. His lips curled in rage.

“How dare you speak to me with such insolence. You allow death to defile you. You let an acolyte of the sun die with hate in your heart. You desecrate yourself with the base impulses of your tainted flesh. You spit upon your vows. And now .” He grabbed me, pushing me to the wall. I couldn’t struggle—I didn’t even try. “And now, you immoral wretch, you cast blame upon me for the fate of your kin?”

He leaned closer, his breath fanning over my face. Once, that breath had felt like the kiss of dawn. Now, it was the promise of damnation.

“No,” he hissed. “No, that is not mine to bear. Do you wish to know the truth of your sister’s end?”

My momentary reckless bravery had burned away.

A tear slid down my cheek.

I didn’t want to know.

But Atroxus was not in the business of sharing information. He was in the business of punishment, and punishment did not wait for permission. He shoved my face against the stone, turning it to the fire.

I wanted to fight it. But the past, like the dawn, was inevitable.

I am so sick. Fever rages in my veins. My vision is garbled, too sharp and too blurry all at once. I do not know how long it’s been since the vampire left me. One moment, he was shoving his wrist against my mouth, forcing hot blood down my throat. The next, I am here, crawling down the dusty desert street, death at my heels.

I am so hungry ? —

No. I tried to look away, but Atroxus’s grip held me, forcing me to the past.

I am so hungry. I have stuffed my mouth with bread and plants. I have gulped water. All of it does nothing.

I collapse sometime in the night, and when I close my eyes, I’m certain I won’t open them again.

But then I hear her.

“Mische.”

Tears prickled my eyes. I wanted to close them as the image of my sister’s face appeared. But I couldn’t. The door had been shredded. The memory crawled out like a starved beast. I couldn’t lock it up again.

Saescha is my savior. I am so grateful to see her that I start to cry. I am eight years old again. My sister always comes when I need her. She always makes it safe when I am frightened. And right now, I am so, so frightened.

She falls to her knees before me, cradling my face. “What happened to you, Mische?” she weeps. “Holy gods, what did he do to you?”

I cling to her, and I keep saying the only thing I can think:

“I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.”

She strokes my hair like she has a thousand times since I was a child.

“I know, my love. I know. I’ll take you home.”

And for one beautiful moment, I believe her.

I couldn’t. I couldn’t see this.

“Look,” Atroxus spat. “Look at what you are.”

But then, there is the smell.

The smell changes me. It makes my pupils dilate, my nostrils flare. It makes my muscles go rigid.

I am so, so hungry.

I do not know what is happening to me.

I turn my head against Saescha’s neck, breathing deep.

“Stop,” I begged. “I understand. I’m sorry. I?—”

“You will look at what you are!”

And I had no choice.

I watched.

I watched myself become the monster.

Saescha doesn’t realize what’s happening at first, when my teeth first sink into her throat. She does not yet know what I have become. I do not know, either. Already, the world is blurring again, my thoughts disappearing beneath blind, mad hunger, drowning in the fever of my Turning sickness.

She tries to pull away, confused. But at that first taste of blood, my impulses take over. I fall back into darkness.

My teeth sink into Saescha’s throat, again, and again, and again.

I do not get to go home.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but it did nothing to stop the images. It wasn’t Atroxus showing me Saescha’s final moments anymore. The memory ravaged me.

I never thought I could envy the traumatized girl Raihn had rescued, so terrified of all the things she couldn’t remember. But gods, I wished I was her again. I wanted to hug her and tell her, Just let the fever burn it all away. Never look back.

But it had always been there, hadn’t it? A shadow that I ignored. Easy enough to look away when I could bury myself in everyone else’s problems and tell myself that it was my calling, instead of just another word for selfishness.

My last words to my sister were, I want to go home.

This isn’t my home, I had said to Raihn, the night I told him I was leaving, and he’d looked at me with that devastating sad puppy face. He had so wanted to give me a home, and I had so badly wanted to let him. Even then, I wasn’t quite sure why it didn’t feel right, why I couldn’t just accept it.

Now I knew. Because I’d lost my home years ago. I had ripped it apart with my own cursed teeth.

I didn’t even feel it when Atroxus released me. The next thing I knew, I was on my hands and knees, retching.

Atroxus’s flames ebbed, as if he found some minor satisfaction in my punishment. He stared at me, chin raised, lip still curled in disgust. I was only dimly aware of how pathetic I must look, on the floor in a puddle of my own sick.

“Such terrible final moments,” he said softly. “To die at the hands of a monster wearing her beloved sister’s face.”

The thought made bile rise in my throat again. Now I understood her wraith’s fury.

Whatever she said wasn’t true, Asar had told me, looking at me with such affection.

He’d been wrong. It was all true. Every word of it.

“Do you understand how fortunate you are that I have given you this chance?” Atroxus said.

“Yes.” My voice was so small.

“Rise,” he commanded. I did, mildly surprised that I could support my own weight.

“You understand more than any the consequences of Nyaxia’s actions,” he said. “You will finish your task.”

I couldn’t speak. I could barely keep myself standing.

“Answer me,” Atroxus spat.

“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes.”

I lifted my gaze—not to Atroxus, but to the clouds beyond him. They reminded me of the storm that had raged beyond the temple windows in Secrets.

“What will happen to this place?” I shouldn’t be speaking. But I couldn’t help myself. The words were sticky and rough. “To the Sanctums? It could—it could be healed. So many souls are lost here and?—”

“There is nothing but suffering here. The world is better off without it.”

Nothing but suffering? That wasn’t true. I shook my head without meaning to, and again, Atroxus’s eyes flashed.

“You disagree?”

I shut my mouth. Shook my head.

But Atroxus snarled, “ Speak .”

His command dragged the words from me.

“It’s just—Alarus fueled this place with his love. It isn’t all bad. It couldn’t be.”

“His love ,” he sneered. “You speak as if Alarus was so very pure. As if he, too, did not have his share of mortal lovers in the years before her. As if his interest in Nyaxia was so sweetly selfless. If Alarus had done what was asked of him from the beginning, what a better world this would be.”

I didn’t understand. But I couldn’t question him further. With the memories of Saescha’s last moments lodged behind my eyes, I didn’t care to, anyway.

Atroxus tilted his head, observing me. The fire of his rage dimmed, tempered with a hint—just a hint—of pity. “To think that despite all you are, you still have that sweet human naivete. You cannot help your nature. You will not question this, a’mara. You will complete the task you are so fortunate to have been given. And you will not speak of it until the deed is done.”

“The relic is gone,” I said. “Someone else already took it.”

Atroxus scoffed. “The Sanctum of Secrets is where souls go to hide their shame. Alarus, coward that he was, hid his, too. I helped him build this temple, once, long ago. Look beneath the surface. You will find what you need.”

His eyes slid back to me. Whatever he saw made the disgust fresh in his expression all over again.

Once, Atroxus had looked at all my mortal imperfections with such amused affection. Now, they weren’t charming anymore. A lifetime of training made my supplication an immediate impulse. I wanted to fall to my knees, beg for his forgiveness, lay my undying loyalty at his feet.

But instead, I remained standing.

Through my tears, I chanced a demand.

“And my sister?”

“What of her?”

My voice was shaking. “She was so loyal to you. A better acolyte than I ever was, my light. She deserves so much more than I do. She would serve you forever, if you let her.”

Once, my sister had offered me up to her god to save me. It seemed like a twisted fate that now, years later, I would do the same to her.

He watched me, considering. I fell to my knees, pressing my forehead to the floor. “Please, my light. I know—I know I can’t ask my own salvation from you.” Maybe once I could have earned it back. Not anymore. “But you are so benevolent. So kind to those who give you their devotion. Saescha was the most devoted of all.”

Silence.

And then: “You speak truth that you are beyond saving. But perhaps I can offer your kin the redemption that you have squandered. Should you complete your task, I will offer her life once again—the life she should have had, if you had not cut it short.”

My breath of relief was fractured with a sob. “Thank you. Thank you.”

In this moment, I loved him all over again. At least I could right this one wrong.

But then another face unfurled in my mind.

Atroxus now gazed out the window to the brilliant white beyond, content to be reassured of his generosity.

“I must ask you for one more thing,” I said.

He turned his head slightly, his sculpted profile silhouetted against the light. A dare, a challenge. But I had to ask.

“I know that this is…?that this is a big request.” I swallowed thickly. “But you are so benevolent, my light.”

He faced me, hands clasped behind his back.

“Asar.” The name made my heart ache. “I can’t complete this task without him, even if he doesn’t know it. When this is done, I ask you…?spare him. Please.”

Atroxus’s fury rose in an immediate wave. Heat scalded my face. My arms flew up to cover myself.

“I give you so much more than you deserve, and yet you ask me now for mercy for the vampire lover who defiled you? I do not take kindly to those who sully what is mine?—”

I knew it. And that was why I needed to ensure Asar’s safety—because regardless of what would happen to me when this was done, or what Atroxus’s plans were, I knew he would smite Asar for the sin he’d committed by touching me at all the moment he no longer needed him. And I wouldn’t let that happen.

I’d never been a very good schemer. I was better at fixing straightforward wounds, whether in bodies or hearts. But I thought of the gods and what was most important to them.

Atroxus hated Nyaxia, and even more than that, he hated the world she had built.

“Asar is the Heir of the House of Shadow,” I said. “He’s the rightful king of one of Nyaxia’s kingdoms. If he owes a favor to the White Pantheon, that could be valuable.”

Asar would never be loyal to Atroxus. I knew this in my bones—not because of Nyaxia, but because of the scars on my skin and the fresh burns on my face. But the gods could be petty. Simply undermining the loyalty of each other might be appealing enough to him. Atroxus paused, and I leapt on that opening. “Nyaxia will be angry that you interfered with her followers, of course, but?—”

And just as I hoped, that dangling bait pushed him over the edge.

He waved a hand to silence me. “Very well. Because I am kinder than I should be, I will make you a deal. I will not smite your lover.”

Another tear slid down my cheek. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank?—”

“But you will speak nothing of this to him. And you will do exactly as I command until your end.”

“Yes, my light. I will.”

I meant it. I’d do anything. Everything. For this.

Atroxus’s expression softened. He touched my face, bloody burns trailing his fingertips. I thought of my offering night, when I had believed that being looked at that way by a god was the greatest thing that would ever happen to me.

“Such a shame,” he said softly. “You were so lovely once.”

His grip tightened, tightened, tightened, fingers digging into the back of my neck.

“Remember just how merciful I am.”