“What you have wrought and brought upon these realms will not heal you or steal away your pain,” I said, and her other arm snapped. “It will not bring you glory, peace, or love.”
Isbeth’s left and right legs broke at the knee, and I took in the pain, let it become a part of me.
“And for what you have done to those of her blood, you will be erased,” I proclaimed. Blood seeped from Isbeth’s eyes. Her nose. Her mouth. “Nothing of you will be recorded in the histories that are yet to be written. You will not be known, neither for the deeds you’ve done as a mortal nor for your infamy as a Queen. You are not worthy of remembrance.”
Isbeth’s spine cracked. Her upper body wilted backward, and the pain…it was absolute.
A sudden awareness pressed upon me. An awakening. One that echoed not through this realm, but in Iliseeum and deep within the City of the Gods as Nektas landed behind me. A presence filled me, and when I spoke, it was the voice of the true Primal of Life. “I was once taught that all beings are worthy of an honorable, quick death. I no longer believe in that. For your death will be dishonorable and endless. Nyktos awaits the start of your eternity in the Abyss.”
The presence eased from me as Nektas’s wings spread out, scattering the ashes of those who had been destroyed. In the following seconds, all I felt were opposites. Apathy and sorrow. Loathing and love. Relief and dread. I pitied the shattered woman before me, one who had been broken long ago. I hated what she’d allowed herself to become.
Isbeth had never been a mother, but I…I’d once loved her, and she’d loved me in her own, twisted way. That meant something.
But something wasn’t enough.
I lowered my hand, and dots of blood appeared all over Isbeth’s skin. Her pores bled. I trembled as her flesh cracked and peeled, as muscle and ligaments tore, as bones splintered and hair fell, no longer rooted to skin.
“Don’t look,” I heard Casteel saying as he tried to reach me. “Close your eyes. Don’t—”
But I looked.
I made myself watch as my mother, the Blood Queen, took her last breath. I made myself look until Isbeth was no more—until the realm fell away from me.
Chapter 50
Slowly, I became aware of a soft touch against my cheek. A brush of fingers along the curve of my jaw and below my lips. A hand smoothing my hair. A voice. Voices. Two stood out the strongest.
“Poppy,” one called.
“Open your eyes, My Queen,” another said—pleaded, really—and I could never deny him.
My eyes fluttered open, locking with ones the color of honey and framed by a thick fringe of lashes. Him. My husband and King. My heartmate. My everything. Blood streaked his face, matted his hair, but his skin was unmarked beneath it, rich and warm. His fingers were warm against the skin below my lips. “Cas.”
Casteel made a rough sound that seemed like a cross between a laugh and a groan, and it came from somewhere deep within him. He lowered his lips to my forehead. “Queen.”
I reached up, touching the side of his jaw. He shuddered as he pressed his lips against my forehead. Slowly, I became aware that my head was cradled in his lap, but it was not his arm that braced my neck, or his hand on my cheek. Casteel’s head lifted, and my gaze drifted to eyes the shade of winter.
Kieran smiled down at me as he dragged his thumb down the side of my cheek. “Nice of you to decide to rejoin us.”
“I don’t…” I swallowed. My mouth felt weird. I reached up—
Kieran caught my wrist. “Before you even ask, yes.”
My breath snagged as I gingerly ran my tongue along the line of my upper teeth. They felt normal until I hit a small, sharp point, drawing blood. I winced.
“Careful,” Casteel murmured. “They’ll take a little bit to get used to.”
Oh, my gods. “I have fangs.”
Kieran nodded. “Cas is going to have to walk you through getting used to them. Not my wheelhouse.”
My gaze swung to Casteel. “What do they look like?”
His lips twitched. “Like…fangs.”
“That tells me nothing.”
“They’re adorable.”
“How can fangs be adorable—wait.” Fangs weren’t the most pressing issue here, nor even the fact that I had finished the Culling. I sat up so quickly, both Casteel and Kieran jerked back so I didn’t collide with them. My gaze swung over the cracked pillars, and Naill—
Naill sat with his back against one, his head tipped up, his eyes closed, but his chest was moving up and down—a chest that had been ripped open. His deep brown skin had lost the ghastly gray pallor of death.