Page 54 of A Kingdom of Death & Darkness
Carver
Like Christian,I frantically look around the clearing for Crymson, but I don’t find her. I can feel her like never before, her heartbeat in my throat, nearly choking me with it, but she’s not here where the fight is happening. Not that I can see. My clever Crymson. Where is she? Where is she? Where is she?
As I stand there, searching for her, desperately trying to get my eyes on her form and reassure myself she’s okay, the feeling in my chest shifts, and I whip my head to the right. A few seconds later, Christian follows my gaze. The feeling in my chest grows so strong, I drop to my knees again, clutching at my heart where she lives, where she threatens to explode.
“My goddess,” I rasp, and stare at the trees.
“You see her?” Christian asks, his voice lacking the normal ego he usually carries. “Where?”
I smile despite the pain in my chest. If I died right this second, I’d smile for her in all her power and her beauty. Thepain eases as light begins to glow from the direction I look. “There. There she is,” I growl. “Beautiful, powerful goddess.”
In front of me, Crymson steps from the trees, ethereal despite the blood coating nearly every inch of her skin. There are no wounds on her, but the blood smells like her. Somehow, she’s healed from fresh wounds, and she healed different. Her thin slip is torn and ragged around her, fluttering in an invisible wind. Her bright red hair flows around her shoulders, pristine and moving in the same phantom wind. Those eyes glow with power as she steps forward and looks over all of us. Though she stands there, and though Delilah appears just behind her, wide-eyed and clearly confused, that’s not what I focus on.
No. It’s the other woman at her side. A familiar face I know from years long past.
Christian’s features go slack. Thorn’s hand falls loosely at his side, and he nearly drops his sword. Together, they speak at the same time.
“Mother?”
The lady from my window when I was little smiles at them and then at me. The Queen of the Dead. My chest throbs as she looks at me.
I smile.
“Mother,” I breathe.
THIRTY-FIVE
Seven
I’ve never seensomething so beautiful.
Crymson stands before us in all her glory, the same, but not. Before, she was beautiful, of course. Everything about Crymson is perfect, but now, she feels ethereal. Power rolls off her in waves as she stands before us, bloody and strong. Her bright red hair flutters around her small frame despite the dirt and leaves trapped there. She’s different now, changed, like me. I can feel a kinship between us, but it’s vastly different. Unique. Just like Crymson.
No one moves. Even the Dead stop fighting, pausing to look at Crymson and their Dead Queen. But I’m not shellshocked by the sight of the strange Queen like the others are. She’s not my mother. But Crymson is mine, and she’s all I care about right now.
“Crymson?” I say, stepping forward.
She turns glowing eyes to me, and my hair stands on end.
THIRTY-SIX
Rorrick
Among all of us,I’m somehow the only pure vampire left. Seven is changed now, different from me in ways I can’t comprehend. Christian and I have never really been alike, not ever. Of course, I’m different from the fae. So here I stand, the only one of my kind left, and now Crymson stands just as different, vastly so.
I watch everyone carefully, not trusting the Dead to actually remain still. They’ve stopped lurching at us now, but they linger along the edges of the clearing, eagerly clacking their fangs at us. If given the opportunity, I have no doubt they’ll bite. I don’t trust their stillness.
Right now, everyone feels like an enemy. Christian, who stares at what appears as a gruesome image of his mother, feels like he could snap at any moment. Thorn has his sword lowered, clearly struck dumb. Carver is on his knees, staring at the woman in awe. Only Seven and I seem to be focused on Crymson, who stands before us with the presence of a goddess.
A verypowerfulgoddess.
Along her skin, dried blood leaves streaks that appear to be from wounds, but there is not a scratch on her. She must have been bitten many times, but there is only a single wound that appears on her neck. Despite the wounds or the lack of them, despite being covered in old blood and dirt, she stands regally before us, a new Queen in all her glory.
Because there’s no mistaking what’s happened. She has risen. We belong to this woman.
It’s me who walks up to her. It’s me who slides his sword into its sheath and moves close enough to feel her power across my skin.
And it’s me who takes a knee before her before I bow my head.
