Down Falls The Queen: A Splitting Worlds Novella (The Splitting Worlds Series)

by Katherine D. Graham

  Of all the Oracles they could have sent, she lamented as she yanked a blood-splattered spear from the youth’s body, they send Dorathea to see her nephew’s fall.

  She was sniffling by the time the last spear was thrown aside, and she barely managed to support Aya’s broken body with her own. Something warmed within her—a warm glow of her Angel blood long locked away by the gods. She allowed herself to bask in the familiar glow of righteous fury and pain. She allowed fleeting temptations to regrow her forgotten wings and Ascend to her sister’s throne—to spare young Ayangelo his duty—to flow through her mind.

  “No, Dorathea,” she told herself as she had thousands of times before when no one was around to coach her. “The gods need balance. One heir in each Kingdom, a rebirth. No. Dorathea, you cannot change this.”

  Hoisting her charge onto her shoulders, she turned to leave. Her blood ran cold when her gaze fell on the bright-red ones of her other nephew.

  Is he still my nephew, though? Or is he only a Demon now?

  Chapter Eight

  “What… who… are you?” I demand, shaking but trying to stay on my knees in front of the onyx throne. “Where are you? Lucef?!”

  You know where he is. My heart whispers the thoughts I don’t want to hear. She is gone. This isn’t Riara. Her soul is gone.

  “Riara!” I cry desperately, ignoring the nagging truth in the back of my mind. “I know you’re in there somewhere! Come back to me!”

  A lightning clap strikes through the roof and pain shoots through one of my legs. Electricity halts my breath as it seizes my body. I jerk in place, unable to move as pain radiates through me until my screams echo off the walls, returning me to my senses. Falling forward onto my face, my nails scratch splinters in the tatami beneath me. My breathing comes out in pants that ring loudly in my ears.

  It takes me a minute to clear my head, but when I do, I see Riara—or the Harpy possessing her—glowering down at me from the throne. Her white kimono is streaked with pinks and oranges in a pattern resembling a sunrise.

  I force myself up on my palms, but my leg is pinned through the knee by a jet-black spear sunken deep into the floor.

  How?

  “Still alive, sister.” She practically spits the title at me.

  Before I can say a word, another lightning bolt strikes my other leg. The world warps around me, light fading to a dim blackness where I can only barely make out shapes. Buzzing in my ears is the only sense I can pinpoint.

  Focus on staying awake, I coach myself.

  I scour my mind for sensations to ground myself with. The throbbing, burning pain in both knees that pins me to the floor is the first and overwhelming feeling, then a sunburned sensation across my skin. And then…

  My teeth hurt? That can’t be right?

  “Did we kill her?” Riara’s voice echoes in the otherwise quiet room. It is both carefree and genuinely curious at the same time. “Tsk tsk, Lucef, I told you to leave the little crow to me.”

  Crow?!

  The slur shoots adrenaline through every inch of my being. Working my fingers first, I find enough purchase on the mats with my flushed palms to struggle upright.

  “We… are… not…”—coughing interrupts me, blood sputtering onto the floor and the ache of coughs sending white through my vision—“crows.”

  Somehow, miraculously, I lift my torso with a scream to find myself kneeling, leaning on my hands. My eyes snap with a fire so strong I can almost feel it flowing through me.

  “I… am not… weak. Take… me… instead.”

  My hearing fades in and out. The room spins, but I force myself to remain still.

  I won’t lose Riara to the Devil. Not after all I’ve done for the gods. Not like this.

  “Release her!” I scream, not caring how desperate I sound.

  The swooshing of her silken skirts as she stands sends my warrior reflexes into motion, but I’m unarmed and pinned. I watch her petite feet in a matching pair of red socks descend one stair at a time until she’s standing before me.

  Focus. Breathe. Stay awake long enough to trade places with her. Then it doesn’t matter.

  “Hand of Justice,”—Lucef’s voice echoes through the room, too faint to be here with us—“there must always be balance. Each House has one head. You know this. Only one heir remains from each House—each House but yours.”

  “If this is about Natius becoming the Demon King,” I manage to say through my pain, “or about Father’s death, then I don’t care if Riara becomes the Ascended! Kill me!”

  Giggling, Riara’s possessor twirls my sister’s hair around her fingers.

  “Get out of here, Lucef,” the Harpy croons. “This is my toy. We had a deal.”

  “D-deal?” I whisper.

  The lack of reply leaves me with dread. Kneeling beside me, the Harpy—who is streaked with blood—giggles again as she twirls a knife recklessly through her fingers. Leaning forward, not minding the blood seeping into her fine garments, she pushes my hair out of my face and places her cheek beside mine.

  “Your affection, little crow, is what makes you weak. Your sister is dead.”

  “No…” I whisper, but the truth in her words is undeniable.

  My mind flashes back to the moment of sheer panic in the eyes of the Harpy whose body we burned. Eyes strangely human, I think, looking back. A body connected to my sister’s.

  Tears threaten to overflow—tears even my wounds had not allowed up until now. When the Harpy sits back, my sister’s eyes are gone. The Harpy’s solid black ones stare gleefully back at me from my sister’s face.

  No… I… I couldn’t have…

  “You ordered her burned,” she teases me, laughing as she stands, “as I recall.”

  “Lies! Riara! Riara!” I pound my fists into the floor, tears flowing freely as I scream my sister’s name over and over again.

  I did everything right. I served the gods. We don’t deserve this!

  Circling to stand behind me, the Harpy grabs my hair and jerks me upright. The pressure on my knees forces a scream out of me.

  “Do you see now, crow?” Her words burn and dig into me like a blade covered with acid. “The gods don’t care. You were always only a pawn.”

  My heart breaks, darkness engulfing me. My arms fall limply to my sides. The pain numbs me as I accept the truth in the horrid creature’s words. If Father’s murder, Riara’s possession, and the slaughter of our people is all punishment for my love for my family, a strength the gods value highly in all other races, we are truly nothing more than pawns to them.

  The Harpy abruptly releases my hair, and my face smashes into the floor. I scream as one of the spears is jerked from my leg. As I turn my head, something flies over me, slamming into the throne with a sickening crack of bones. Blood splatters across my face, leaving spots of red on the floor in a trail.

  Lifting my gaze, I see Riara’s lifeless body. Once again, her normal Tengu form hangs suspended from the back of the throne, impaled on the same black spear that pinned my leg moments before. I shudder, my chest constricting and my lips trembling as sobs wrack my body. My thoughts escape me, replaced by the anguish and sorrow I didn’t allow myself to display for Father or my warriors.

  When the other spear is yanked brutally from my other leg, I am already wailing beyond control, barely able to breathe.

  Riara! My… my Riara! Everything… everything I did… I did this to you…

  My chest clenches, my breath cut off in my lungs.

  “Rei!”

  The voice of the one I can only assume is rescuing me is strong and masculine, but I cannot place it and am too overwhelmed to try. He kneels at my side, supporting me in his arms. He turns my face to look at him. Snot clogs my nose and drips all the way down to my chin. Strong, warm hands caress my face, moving the hair plastered to my face away from my eyes. My heart breaks all the more when I realize he sees the broken husk of a creature I have become.

  “Natius,” I sputter. “Natius… I�
� Riara…”

  “Shh…” he whispers, and his skin flushes red.

  Fangs protrude from his mouth, with which he nicks one of his wrists. I try to wrench myself away as he holds his wrist to my mouth, but his grip on my head strengthens enough to keep me in place.

  “You need it to heal. Drink.”

  Shaking my head, I only barely manage to keep the blood away from my mouth.

  “I don’t deserve to live! Not if she’s…”

  “Rei.” His eyes are kind, understanding, and filled with a sorrow that strikes me to my core.

  Those eyes remind me of the battle I left him with.

  If he’s here… then…

  “I know, Rei,” he whispers with a shudder. “Trust me, I know. But there is only one from each House now. Don’t take our people’s leaders away.”

  Nodding, I part my lips enough for Natius to drip some blood onto my tongue. His blood—the first Demon blood I’ve ever tasted—ignites feelings and thoughts within me I’ve always hidden away. As his soul rejuvenates my own, a fire lights within my heart.

  Shouting outside, followed by a few armed Tengu warriors, jerks me back to reality. The blood is enough to save my soul and stop some of the bleeding, but the wounds in my knees will take months to heal. I hail the warriors, only to be swept to the side by Natius as a spear lands where we’d been sitting seconds before.

  “Murderers! They’ve murdered Riara-hime!” Mirada shouts behind us as Natius forces his way through them and out of the compound.

  “Stop them!”

  “Halt!”

  “Don’t let them out the gate!”

  The gates are closing ahead of us. Despite Natius’ newfound speed, we won’t make it out in before they seal us in.

  “Hold on!” I whisper, stretching my wings wide.

  “Rei, wait! Your injury!”

  The world spins. My wings carry us over the gate with inches to spare. We tumble to the ground outside, where an entire Demon horde waits with arrows for pursuers. The sky, grass, and trees fade to darker shades of gray than even the normal gray tint the Between lends them.

  “Rei!” Natius shouts.

  The world warps…

  Chapter Nine

  The pale sun of the Between lends less warmth than usual as I stretch my wings on the balcony of my room in Natius’ castle. In the three months since the Demons’ arrival in the Between, the long-abandoned castle to the eastern-most border of the Between has been completely renovated in the ghastly gothic fashion of its new owners.

  In the courtyard below, Ghouls work together to construct a wall to keep out non-existent enemies. Despite the lack of the Tengu Ascended to keep the flames up between borders, few Other-Worlders wanted to stay in the lands my family once ruled.

  They say it’s cursed.

  I chuckle bitterly, tenderly stretching out my still-recovering legs with a wince.

  “Rei?”

  Natius joins me on the balcony, taking a seat on the cold stones by my side.

  “We could use some chairs,” I say, trying to head off any personal questions before my savior can ask them, “or zabuton cushions at least.”

  Taking my hand, Natius says nothing. I fight back the urge to remove my hand.

  Touching is commonplace for Angels, I remind myself. He won’t get that from the Demons. It’s the least I can do to repay him.

  “Rei,” he whispers, capturing my gaze and smiling sadly at me.

  My heart cries at the tenderness I find in his naïve eyes. Those eyes saw the death of the only family he’d ever known at the hands of the creatures he personally vouched for. His own twin is gone, under the protection of the Oracle Dorathea.

  Even being the Demon King, Natius didn’t turn his back on the gods. That’s the only proof I need to know he’s still the man I know, even if his Angel blood is sealed away.

  “What now?” his question hangs heavily between us.

  I take in a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh.

  He needs my guidance, but I’m as lost as he is.

  “I may be older than you, Natius,” I whisper at last, “but I’ve never betrayed everything I value before. I… I don’t know.”

  A tear slides down my cheek with the confession. My heart breaks anew, imagining the chaos of a leaderless Tengu trying to scrap together a life with my father, Riara, and me all gone. The throne sits empty, as does the Hand of Justice’s commission.

  “I guess Mother will lead until a new Ascended appears,” I say, leaving my doubts as to whether she’s alive unspoken.

  “The Oracle told me Aya is the new Hand of Justice,” Natius whispers, glancing away from me as though ashamed, “when I confronted her about saving him. He is untouchable.”

  I imagine cocky, self-absorbed Aya assigned to the one role that strips all sense of self from a being and shudder. The betrayal I saw on his face all those months ago still haunts my dreams.

  “Are you… going to go back?” Natius asks me after the silence between us grows uncomfortable.

  The question surprises me.

  Can I go back?

  Lucef’s cold, calculating use of the Harpy to attack my sister and convince me to burn the body in which my own sister’s soul was trapped cost me everything. Digging my nails into my palms, I clench my jaw and straighten my back. I try to calm down but only imagine the notorious Originator’s head on a pike.

  “Maybe,” I seethe, glaring off into the distance.

  “Or maybe you’d like a trip to the Lower World?”

  My jaw drops at Natius’ words. He grins, then stands and gives me a hand up, being mindful to support me so my knees won’t have to strain as hard with the effort. Tossing me the daily bottle of his blood that helps expedite my healing, he pauses at my bedroom door.

  “I’ve been reading some of Draco’s… of Father’s… books,” he says, his smile broad now, “and I think he was onto something with this Hybrid obsession. Seems like they have more power than anything.”

  A slight smile crosses my own lips now.

  Even an Originator?

  “I think you catch my meaning.” He winks at me, then opens the door for me.

  I bow before moving past him. It’s an old habit that always makes him chuckle.

  Watch your back, Lucef, I glower. I’m coming for you.

  The End

  Splitting Dusk

  Chapter One

  While the 17th of the month is always considered an unlucky day to my people, today is shaping up to be one of the unluckiest 17ths of my life. I’ve always tried to be home before the witching hour, respecting my late mother’s beliefs that creatures of darkness steal women away after midnight. Typically, that means skipping out at 11:30 and leaving the midnight closing shift at the café, and half my tips, to one of my co-workers. Tonight, I’m not so lucky.

  Shelly is home sick with mono.

  Shelly, who was covering Luca, who was filling in for Marge, I think bitterly. And on the 17th, too. It’s already an unlucky day.

  I know that, logically, unlucky dates and hours are just superstitious nonsense. Throughout my childhood, my mother found truth in these tales despite being an award-winning biochemist, and I can’t ignore her warnings, even though there’s no proof to back them up.

  Clucking my tongue, I bounce on my toes as I scan the dining room one last time before flipping out the lights. My cheeks sting immediately in the biting wind outside the café door. The keys jingle in my trembling hands.

  I can’t believe I forgot my snow coat on a day like this.

  The thin velveteen layers of my dress coat are pretty but barely protect from the winter chill. It wasn’t this cold when I left for work at the last minute in the middle of the opera. Pulling me painfully back into the real world, one panicked phone call from my boss, Marge, on vacation in Tahiti, started me on my unplanned shift at the café.

  Marge is lucky I even had my phone on vibrate.

  Shoving my keys into my pocket, I scurry d
own the road toward home. It’s a long walk, doubling back from the café to my apartment. The university’s auditorium is fifteen minutes from my apartment. I pass it halfway to work every day.

  Flurries float down around me, the very first frosting of the year so recent the ground is still cold and dry. Delicate, frosty clouds escape my shivering lips with every breath. My last half-drunk cup of double-cream-no-sugar coffee isn’t even warm enough to ease my aching fingers by the time I reach the auditorium.

  Two men stagger my way from an archway standing tall by the auditorium entrance. Their presence sets all my hair on end.

  There’s no way home except to go by them. They’re just drunk; ignore them.

  Gritting my teeth, I clutch my empty purse tighter to my side as I approach them. Mother always taught me to carry a purse to the opera, but the city is dangerous for women out alone, so I keep my license and credit card in a small plastic bag in my shoe or bra instead. The purse is flashy, though, a classy black one I carried to the opera, so I don’t want to give these guys an invitation to try to take it.

  Laughing and shouting incoherent slurs at each other, they stumble over themselves and barely avoid tripping right in front of me. Moving to the side of the sidewalk, almost into the street, I nod to them and pass by, relief washing over me in a flood.

  A hand knocks mine up in the air. Stale, lukewarm coffee splashes into my face, halting me in my steps. A gasp escapes me, the coffee blinding me temporarily. Before I can get my wits about me, my legs go flying out behind me from the impact of a strong kick. My shoulder cracks on the way down, my empty purse snatched away. The concrete’s bite stings the palms of my hands and side of my face.

  Muggers!

  “Help!” I scream, but the second attacker pins my arm behind my back so hard a cry cuts me off.

  Pressing my face down against the frigid ground with one arm behind my back, he frisks me roughly with his free hand. Loose gravel from a rock garden under the auditorium arch digs into my stomach. He grasps clumsily at the pockets of my ultra-tight black jeans I only wear on special occasions.