“Is she going to turn into one of those things?” Seren demanded, fear in her wild eyes.
“No,” Théo assured her, the relief evident in his voice. “Only the Blood Countess can create Vámpír. These were mere minions. Ayla will heal. She’ll be fine.”
I remembered the old tales of the Blood Countess. I had recounted them not too long ago as I told Seren ghost stories in the Váracis Erva.
“We need to do the ritual,” Ayla rasped. Her voice was rough from screaming, and tight with the pain of her injuries.
“You were just attacked,” Safiya countered, care seeping into her tone.
“Ayla’s right,” Seren frowned. “Though I hate that it is so, we must do this, and we must do it now.”
Ayla nodded, moving back into position. “I can do it.”
Seren followed suit, taking up her place on the dragon’s other side.
“Are you sure?” Théo asked, but he was already lighting up with mágik once more.
“Yes,” they replied, together.
With a flash, white mágik enveloped the three of them again.
I watched, helplessly, as they brought their hands to the Drakány's stone face.
They made contact, and their heads tipped back, light pouring from their bodies in a brilliant wash of pure white.
Seren lit up silver, and Ayla, gold. The stars above flickered brighter, then duller, and brighter again—as if they were calling to each other. Blinding white illuminated the forest, scalding the mountain face, then blackness rushed in, stronger than ever.
Seren and Ayla pitched backwards. Their hands remained pressed to the shrine, but their bodies dangled, limp and suspended impossibly in midair.
Fear rushed through my limbs, flooding me to the very tips of my fingers. The hairs on my arm stood on end. I reached for her, but the darkness pressed upon me.
I crawled toward Seren.
When had I fallen to my knees?
My awareness dimmed, thoughts scattered, but I knew I needed to help her. I needed to be there for her as I promised that I would be.
My palms scraped against sharp stone. They bled as the skin tore. I fought to make it to her side, but despite my promises—despite my bleeding effort—the world went completely and utterly black.
Chapter fifty-four
Seren
The world was a spinning, tilting mess of dark purple-blue and startling bright light. It was warm—warmer than I remembered—but I could not recall where I had been. I did not know where I was now.
I blinked, the movement sluggish—lashes dragging. It felt as if I were moving through honey, thick, viscous liquid slowing my brain and body.
A voice sliced through the haze, clear as a bell and even more beautiful. It sharpened my surroundings, and I wondered if I was only just waking.
My eyes widened at the sight that surrounded me. I was no longer on the mountain in the Sárkhona Draum.
A midnight sky wrapped around me like a downy quilt, soft and warm and tangible in a way I could not have imagined. The bright lights that had burned my eyes were now in focus, so clear and impossible in the same measure.
Stars.
I was surrounded by thousands of brilliantly sparkling stars.
My soul had left the mortal realm. I was among the Celestials.
