The Lion & the Deathless Dark — Chapter 39

C HA P T E R T H I R T Y-N I N E

OOM!

The earth shook. Cold water pelted my skin. My stomach lurched,B vomit rising in my throat. I rolled over in thick, wet mud. It was so dark that I couldn’t see anything at all. I groped blindly in the dirt until my hand fell around something hard and familiar.

Zefiah.

The relief at feeling her hilt against my palm was all-encompassing.

And then, so was my dread at her continued silence.

I pushed myself to my hands and knees. The ground was so saturated

that my hands sank to my wrists.

“Septimus!”

I could barely hear my own voice over the pounding rain and thunder. I staggered to my feet, dragging Zefiah’s limp weight up with me. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, but only just. I was in a forest, I thought—or something like it. The terrain was littered with strange shapes I couldn’t make out. Cliffs? Rocks? This area had been known for its lush trees and rolling plains. It was flat out here, at least from what I remembered. Maybe something had gone wrong with the door—maybe we’d been dropped somewhere else entirely, since Septimus was breaking the gate as we

stepped through.

Where the hell was he?

“Septimus!”

The name was swept up in the wind and dragged away, just another inconsequential piece of debris.

Gods fucking help me. I couldn’t see shit. I staggered forward and nearly tripped over a stone or rock or log or who-even-fucking-knew what.

I shot a frustrated glare down at Zefiah, who barely glowed beyond the faint light pooling in her inscriptions.

Fine, Zef. You’ve appropriately punished me. I appreciate you so very much. Now help me out here.

But she was silent. Her glow remained weak and steady. It struck me, terrifyingly, that perhaps she had meant it when she said she would withdraw. I didn’t even know she could do such a thing. Ridiculous that her response to, apparently, not wanting to watch me die was to disappear so that I was even more likely to actually fucking— Movement out of the corner of my eye. I whipped around, Zefiah

drawn.

“Septimus?”

BOOM, as another roll of thunder shook the ground. Lightning snaked across the sky. I was temporarily stunned by it. I had never seen lightning like this before—so bright that I could have sworn it danced through rainbow colors, and so big that it arced all the way across my field of vision, as if literally splitting the sky in two.

It drenched the world in seconds of light.

Trees. And— My brow furrowed. The shapes weren’t rocks, as I had thought.

They were buildings.

Ruined stone buildings.

How— Something moved out of the corner of my eye. I turned abruptly as darkness fell again. My heart pounded fast, fast, fast. Through the chill, sweat beaded at the back of my neck.

It had been so long since I’d been without Zefiah’s presence in my mind that in some ways, my own emotions were unfamiliar to me. It took me a split second too long to realize that the fear wasn’t just my own.

That it was unnatural, seeping into my skin like sweat, from the

presence of a— The high-pitched scream rocked the air.

I barely raised Zefiah as the soulless careened into me.

Pain ripped through my shoulder. I was so used to Zefiah’s godlight repelling the soulless that I didn’t compensate enough in my strike. I hit the

ground. Something hard and sharp jammed into my lower back, knocking me breathless.

Another strike of lightning doused the world in blinding white.

Just in time to see a twisted face—teeth bared, eyes slitted—lunging toward my own.

In that split second, time slowed. It occurred to me just how similar this soulless’s face looked to that of a Bloodborn in the final stages of their

curse.

Time crashed down around me.

I grabbed Zefiah’s hilt and swung. Hit something hard, and only knew it was flesh when a piercing shriek rang out, and all at once, the weight was gone.

I rolled, pushed myself up. Pain shot up my spine, tore through my left arm. At least it wasn’t my sword arm this time. But my movements were slower than I was used to, especially without Zefiah’s help. I was soaked through from the rain, too wet to feel the blood running down my body, but I knew I was bleeding, and probably a lot.

Bad news, with soulless around.

But— BOOM, as thunder drowned out the soulless’s next shriek. —at least hunger made them sloppy.

The thunder faded just in time for me to whirl around, as the creature pounced at me — I raised Zefiah at just the right moment. The soulless skewered itself on the blade.

Rancid blood spattered over me. Its face, inches away, slackened as it slumped over. I felt a surprising twinge of pity for the thing.

I prepared to slide my blade from the carcass— Agony tore across my back. A wave of paralyzing fear crashed over me.

Fucking hell. Another one.

I frantically yanked Zefiah from the dead soulless and barely turned in time to dodge claws. The key to fighting soulless was to make sure you never ended up in close quarters. But this one was already on top of me, and now its shrieks surrounded me, echoing, melding with the roar of the rain.

Where was it? I couldn’t see, couldn’t get a grip on— Something lunged from my left side, and I threw myself behind a pile of ruin, half tripping on a beam, barely evading the strike.

Two of them. There were two more of them.

Another shriek. I shrank behind the stone wall and tried to count the

calls.

Three. Four.

Another wail.

Fuck. Five. I had to take out five of these things without godlight.

Zefiah, if you want to help me— A cry from behind me. I jumped up, blade drawn, only to hear yet another. Where? I couldn’t place it. I turned and turned, trying to orient the

noise.

And then I realized.

It was coming from above.

I looked up just as the soulless leaped down from a crumbling balcony.

Time stopped. I was there, with my single blade, caught between one soulless coming at me from behind and another dropping from above. Two targets and only one sword.

I thought to myself, Well, this is how I die.

Or not-die, as Zefiah had so emphatically warned me. A consciousness that lived on even as soulless feasted on my flesh. I prayed that if Septimus found me, he’d know how to end it.

I tried to decide which of the two soulless looked like it had the less painful bite. The one above, I decided. I redirected Zefiah to the one charging from ahead and braced myself.

Then a red mist surrounded me. Ropes of black ripped the soulless above me from the sky and sent it slamming to the ground.

BOOM, as the thunder shook the earth.

A flash of light, illuminating half a dozen soulless in the ruins.

And at their center now, Septimus.

I let out a ragged breath of relief. Red mist clustered around his hands.

His white clothing was torn and drenched. Streaks of black-red shot from his hands, from his back, from every exposed wound on his body—from mine, too, reaching for him like vines crawling to the light.

One of the soulless let out a scream as its limp body hurled against a tree, surrounded by black blood. Another pounced for me. I easily skewered its heart, then hurriedly kicked the corpse off my blade just in time to slash the throat of another setting its sight on Septimus.

Not that he needed the help. Gods, he was magnificent. No—he was monstrous. He didn’t even have a sword. He wielded blood and bodies like they were fine instruments, primed to be used against themselves.

A burst of red, then black, and then rancid liquid drenched me. I didn’t stop fighting, seized every opening Septimus offered. Shrieks reverberated in the air as the soulless fell.

The final beast ripped in two, black reaching up into the air in its death throes.

And then, at last, silence, save for the wild beat of the wind and rain.

Septimus peered at me over his shoulder. A crack of lightning drenched the world in cold light, and what I saw in that split second of harsh illumination had my heart shuddering.

This man looked nothing like the refined prince I knew. This was not the man who had told me he “didn’t get his hands dirty.” Suspended swirls of blood still hovered around him. There was no sign his shirt had ever been white. His hair hung in dripping, messy tendrils around his face. And his eyes—they drank me in with such feral hunger.

This was the creature I had seen lurking beneath his frosted-glass surface. Before, only in glimpses. Now, under the unforgiving light of that lightning strike, dragged out into the open.

BOOM—as the world plunged into darkness again.

Septimus straightened, pushing his hair away from his face. “Here,” he called, gesturing ahead. The sheets of rain swallowed the sound of his voice. I followed as he ushered us behind some fallen ruins. Perhaps once it had been some sort of cottage or shop, though now, nothing remained but two walls, a perilous section of roof, and piles of debris that were too dark to make out. Still, I was grateful for any shelter.

I sagged against the stone beside him. My eyes lifted to the horizon, brow furrowing. Where the trees parted, I could see a faint gold light rising into the sky—misty, and slow moving, like the sun refracted through water.

Septimus’s eyes swept over me, and then, in a blink, he lurched away

from me.

“You’re hurt,” he said.

He was staring at me—at the blood soaking through my armor. A burning started just under my skin, and I glanced down to see threads of red rising from the wound on my arm, drifting toward him.

“I’m fine,” I said. But he didn’t speak. Didn’t react. His own blood quivered over his skin, too. And there was so much of it. I could see it even

in the darkness.

Fear clenched in my heart.

“Septimus.” I snapped my fingers. “You here?”

He blinked hard. Then shook his head and smiled weakly. “I’m here.”

He tore his gaze away and looked over his shoulder, through what remained of what had once been a window. “Well, this will be fun.”

I followed his stare and my heart dropped.

“What the hell is that?” I blurted out, approaching the window before I could stop myself.

Well, perhaps that was the wrong question. I knew what it was. It was the Hegaella temple. This place had been seared into my memory. I would recognize it anywhere. Still, it bore so little resemblance to what it once was.

The temple and the surrounding town had been reduced to rubble, and all of it was falling into the depths of a ravine, as if the earth had opened its jaws to swallow it. The streaks of light I had glimpsed through the trees, I could see now, emanated from the ruins of the temple below. The walls still stood, somewhat, and the light that spilled from it was so bright down there that it illuminated every window and door and crack in the stone.

“What happened?” I breathed. “Did the Shadowborn do this?”

“Egrette could only dream of that kind of power. No, Kyrene. You did this. What do you think happens when one slays a goddess?”

My mouth went dry. I looked at the ruins of the building around me— perhaps a home, once—with fresh, horrified eyes. How many people had died here?

“This area had already been vacant,” he said, quickly, as if my thoughts were obvious. “Everyone had fled when the Shadowborn attacked. But now, I hope you understand what I meant when I told you that you were very, very lucky to be alive.”

Gods above. I was lucky. I felt a fresh wave of appreciation for the protection Zefiah had offered me—and then, a fresh pang of complicated grief.

Grief and anger. Thanks for nothing, Zef.

“And yet the damned soulless survived?” I grumbled.

“Easy to survive when you aren’t really alive at all, I suppose.”

Septimus’s lips thinned as he took in the landscape. “But I suspect Egrette had some inkling we would come here and has been flooding the area with soulless in case we do.”

Fucking Egrette. The gift that kept on giving.

“So what’s in there?” I asked, nodding to the remains of the temple.

“Whatever is left of Shiket. Including the five blades.”

And the fact that no one had raided them yet spoke to the truth of what Septimus had said—that only the Vindica Ultis would be able to.

I pushed away the knot of anxiety in my chest at this thought.

“Should we wait until the storm lets up?” I said, voice rising over a fresh wave of rain.

He rasped a humorless laugh. “This storm is never letting up, lyri. It has raged since the day Shiket was killed here, and has only worsened since.”

I looked up at the rainbow-tinted streaks of lightning arcing from horizon to horizon. Not a thunderstorm at all. Just the heavens thrashing

with Shiket’s final fury.

“Wonderful,” I said.

One last punishment from my scorned goddess. One last spiteful jab.

Fine, you judgmental bitch, I told her silently. You’ve sure showed me.

I let out a sigh and took a long moment to survey the landscape, looking for some way around the inevitable. At last, I said, “All right. Looks like we’re taking a long, wet, unpleasant walk. Shall we begin?”

No answer.

I turned. Septimus leaned heavily against the wall, head bowed. Little tendrils of red-black still rose around him, his own blood leaching into the air.

My heart clenched at that sight. Because looking at that blood, looking at the way it moved of its own accord, I realized that perhaps he wasn’t in control at all. And I couldn’t think of anything more terrifying.

“Septimus,” I said.

He didn’t move.

“Septimus.”

His head lifted. He started to turn, and then hesitated, as if stopping himself. As if hiding something.

Cold fear fell over me. I was closing the space between us before I could stop myself. Without thinking, I tilted his chin toward me. “Don’t

hide from me, Septimus.”

And I drew in a sharp intake of breath at what I saw in his eyes. That striking silver-amber that had so captivated me was now gone. His irises were completely red. Our gazes met for just a breath, and the expression that flashed over his face was pure, agonizing hunger. His nostrils flared.

His lip curled. Those eyes locked on me, and my blood called to him.

He wrenched away, moving across the room.

“Get back,” he bit out. The words were rough, inelegant. Nothing like his typical smooth drawl.

I realized, with rising dread, that something was very wrong with him.

That perhaps somewhere in the battle with the soulless, or in pouring his strength into collapsing the doors before we left, he had pushed himself past a threshold he shouldn’t have crossed.

I opened my mouth to speak, but before the words came— A shadow swooped above us.

My face snapped up. Rain pelted my cheeks, and I blinked away water.

Nothing but the trees.

But I knew what I saw. I readied Zefiah. “There’s something up—”

Septimus’s eyes widened, hands raising just as a streak of darkness hurtled down from the sky. I dove for him, but a blast of blue-white light sent me flying back against the stone. I rolled, hit something hard.

Consciousness wavered, but I clawed it back.

I lifted my head to see licks of Nightfire surrounding us. Through them, Septimus was up against the wall.

And holding him there, great wings spread, red painted over them like a warning in the darkness, was Oraya, the Nightborn queen.