Page 270 of Vasmora

I carefully lifted his head and slid behind him, offering him more comfort than the gritty floor. Tears wavered in my eyes and broke free down my cheeks. A glance over my shoulder showed Zevander’s hands trembling, as he fought the webs Branimir had wound so tightly his blade hardly made a dent.

“The webs held strong,” I said, stroking my hand over his brow.

He nodded, a tear slipping down his temple. “Zevander … promise me. You won’t … let her see … me. Like this.”

Zevander paused sawing, his shoulders twitching.

Lips pressed tight, I swallowed back the sob in my throat. “We promise,” I answered for him.

Another wet, barky cough had him shuddering in my arms. Blood spurted from his chest that time, and as the ringing in my ears heightened with his fading life, I closed my eyes. Through the void, his heartbeat slowed. So fatally sluggish, it was a wonder he bled at all. He was withering in my arms like a dying rose.

“Will you … sing?”

I didn’t even know if I could muster the voice to sing, given the tight lump in my throat. Another glance over my shoulder showed Zevander had cut through enough to see Rykaia’s silvery hair.

The others gathered, forming a circle around us. Fennyx and Daelan to the right. Verena standing guard beside Torryn. Kazhimyr to the left. Even Gavroche stood with a rock clutched in his hand. All of them turned away, weapons drawn.

I sang the first note of the song, and Branimir stared up at me, a shine of tears in his blackened eyes. In spite of the gnawing pain, the rage tearing across my heart, I sang to him, forcing a calm softness in my voice.

His eyes fluttered closed.

I placed my hand against his ravaged chest and closed my eyes.

His heartbeat slowed further, life fading, guttering like a candle reaching the end of its wick.

A curtain of darkness parted for the light, and I opened my eyes to a field of white asphodels. Across from me, stood a man who resembled Zevander, but leaner, his eyes a warm blue, skin pale. Handsome and healthy.

Branimir.

The way he would’ve looked.

The man he should’ve been.

Rays of golden sunlight fell upon him, and he lifted his face toward the sky. “I can’t remember the last time I felt the sun. It’s been so long.”

Blinking hard failed to stem the tears slipping down my cheeks. A suffocating ache crushed my chest as I watched him savor the warmth pouring over him.

“I always imagined Death to be violent and terrifying.” His lips pulled to a slight smile. “I never imagined her to be so kind and gentle. Merciful.”

A choke of a sob escaped me, and I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth, desperate not to break.

“No tears,” he said. “Tell them I am at peace. And tell Zevander to check the stone. He’ll know what you mean.”

More tears fell, and I quickly wiped them away, swallowing hard. “I will.”

“Will you visit me again?”

A nod was all I could muster, my throat tight, body cold and trembling.

His eyes held the shine of sadness. “Goodbye, Maevyth. And thank you. For being kind and merciful.” The same words he’d used to describe Death moments before.

It was then I realized, perhaps our friendship had always been intentional. Maybe that was why he’d felt at peace around me. “Have you always known?”

“Yes.” Without another word, he turned away, his outstretched hands, brushing over the tops of the asphodels as he walked away.

“Branimir … wait.” I lurched after him. “Wait!”

He faded into a soft, white mist.