“I need your help,” I say to him, walking back toward the stairs.
Ian goes to steal a truck. There’s no time to worry about renting one, not a second to be spared. He goes to the next neighborhood over and brings it back ten minutes later.
Larkin wrapped my parents’ bodies in sheets. I’m ever grateful that I don’t even have to see them.
I’ve dealt with dozens of bodies over the short course of my career as a mortician’s assistant. I’ve cleaned gruesome things, washed plenty of blood.
It’s different when it’s your own parents. When it’s the man who taught you how to drive, or the woman who put a bandage on your scraped knee.
I turn to Eshan, stone-faced before we leave.
“It’s going to hit later,” I say quietly to him. I look up into his beautiful face. He stares blankly at a streak of blood on the wood floor. “It’s going to sink in later. And it’s going to be bad. But right now we need to leave. I have to get back to Roter Himmel, to Cyrus.”
He still doesn’t look at me, so I place my hands on either side of his face, turning it to me. Finally, his eyes float to mine, and I see the terror in them.
“You’re my brother,” I say, my voice even. “Take away all of this stuff, every bit of it, and that’s still true. You’re my brother and we are family. And I am going to take care of you, Eshan. I promise.”
His eyes clear just a bit as he understands what that means.
That I’m taking him with me to Roter Himmel. Taking him to stay, to live with me.
He looks scared, but he nods.
“Let’s go,” I say, wrapping an arm around him.
Together, Eshan, Ian, Alivia, and I climb into the truck. I slip into the backseat with my brother, and Ian drives us back to the airport.
I pull out my phone and touch the name on the screen.
“Im yndmisht srtov,” Cyrus answers after only one ring.
“Cyrus,” I say, and with his name, my emotional dam breaks open.
“What is it, my love?” he says, and I hear him whip into action. “Tell me where you are.”
I squeeze my eyes closed, pushing out tears. “Cyrus, I have learned so much.”
I can hear him storming through the castle, hear people scrambling to get out of his way, to do as he will demand.
“Talk to me,” he says.
Another sob pushes out past my lips. “I remember it all, Cyrus. Everything.” I take a deep breath in. “I knew there had been an eighth immortal death.”
He’s very quiet now, listening so intently.
“Cyrus, it has not been 286 years since I last died,” I say as my stomach turns. “There was another life. As a descendant of the House of Himura. I tried to come to you. I was on my way.”
A breath slips between Cyrus’ lips.
I can only imagine how his heart is shattering.
It had been so long. Those 286 years are the longest we have ever been separated. The longest by far.
“Old ways of thinking are sparking to life again, im yndmisht srtov,” I say. My voice trembles slightly, my voice going low. “They tried to use me to get to you. I stopped them then. I took matters into my own hands. They tried to get to me again, but we put a stop to it. But they are coming, Cyrus.”
“Sevan,” he breathes.
And finally, it doesn’t hurt so much when he calls me that name.
“I’m on my way home,” I say, looking out the window. We will be back at the airport in ten minutes. “Until I arrive, don’t trust anyone. Not a soul.”
“Sevan, I-”
But suddenly there is a loud, wet thwack sound. There’s a loud clatter, as if the phone fell to the ground.
“Cyrus?” I call. My hands begin to tremble. “Cyrus?”
He doesn’t answer.
I listen hard.
There’s a sound, like something being dragged across a stone floor.
I hear a wet drip.
“Cyrus?” I breathe quietly. My entire body goes ice still. “Cyrus!” I scream.
The other line goes quiet for a second. And then muffled noise. And then a quiet breath.
“It looks like we did not need you after all, Sevan,” a voice says.
“What did you do?” I gasp.
The voice on the other end chuckles. “Oh, how the times will change.”
“What did you do?” I scream.
I hear a shout on the phone, followed by another. The man on the other line makes a startled sound and a quick intake of breath.
More shouts.
Guards.
I can hear them.
Chaos.
“What did you do?” I scream again. “What have you done to Cyrus?”
But there’s a loud cracking sound again, as if the phone was dropped once more, and the line goes dead.
I pull my phone away, staring at the screen, my mouth hanging open.
“What is it?” Alivia asks. “What happened?”
My mouth opens and closes. I shake my head. “I…I don’t know. There was this man, and…”
A fog. A numbing fog takes over my brain.
I can’t think.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t…
I can’t…
“Drive faster,” I grit out.
Chapter 35
It is the longest twelve hours in the long history of man and time.
A long flight on a jet. A drive from the airport through the familiar mountain pass. Circling around the lake I’ve always loved. Down a street that cuts through the village.
It’s my home. But I don’t see any of it.
And finally, finally, there rising before us, is the castle.
The home we built together. The place where we put in so many hours of hard, manual labor to make it livable.
We stop in front of the main gate and I climb out.
People stand to either side of the gate, every one of them bearing a solemn face. But as I look at them, I know they know.
They know exactly who I am.
The guards open the gates and without a second of hesitation, I walk in.
So many Royals line the way, creating a path through the castle. I do not have to ask where to find him, I do not have to ask where to go.
They lead a path straight to the great hall.
I stop when I step inside, my body going cold.
An iron cage sits in the middle of the room, holding a man who only stares at me with a smile.
I take a step forward, and then another step.
Beside the cage is a huge, long table. One that could seat fifty people.
Tears prick my eyes and my throat closes up.
My lips press together and tremble as I continue walking forward.
I stop beside the table, right in the center of it.
“Oh, how the times will change,” the man in the cage says with a voice I will never forget.
Lying on the table is Cyrus.
My eyes rove over his powerful hands. Linger on his powerful forearms. Appreciate his strong chest.
A little tear comes to my eye when I see that incredibly thick hair. When I think of how those lips feel pressed to mine.
But a little scream slips over my lips.
There’s blood.
Torn flesh.
I see bone.
Cyrus’ body is perfectly still.
His head rests on the table, a foot separated from his shoulders.
“I am so sorry, my Queen,” a guard says, kneeling before me. “He was decapitated by this man. The King…” the man’s voice trembles, with horror, and fear. “The King is dead.”
* * *