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Back Into the Dying Light Save as PDF
Chapters (72)
  1. Copyright Notice
  2. Dedication
  3. I
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. BEFORE
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. BEFORE
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. BEFORE
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. BEFORE
  25. II
  26. 18
  27. 19
  28. 20
  29. 21
  30. 22
  31. 23
  32. 24
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. III
  42. 33
  43. 34
  44. 35
  45. 36
  46. 37
  47. 38
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. IV
  52. 42
  53. 43
  54. 44
  55. 45
  56. 46
  57. 47
  58. 48
  59. 49
  60. 50
  61. 51
  62. 52
  63. 53
  64. 54
  65. 55
  66. 56
  67. 57
  68. 58
  69. AFTER
  70. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  71. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  72. Newsletter Sign-up

None of these things had happened before, not even in the dreams Anton had walked into.

What is this? he wanted to scream. His mind’s last attempt to torture him. A dream of a life he’d never have. Another vision that would haunt him until the end of his days.

48

HASSAN

The door slammed shut behind Hassan.

He hovered at the edge of the silent throne room, a hushed stillness coming over him in the wake of the chaos of the battle that raged on outside.

“I was hoping you’d get here soon.” His aunt’s voice echoed off the cavernous walls.

She sat with her light green kaftan pulled up to her knees, feet resting in the tiled pool below the throne and the pyramid on which it perched. Her hair was loose, unbound. One hand was wrapped loosely around a jug of wine.

“Drink, nephew?” she said, offering it to him.

Hassan crossed the room toward her. “It’s over, Lethia. We both know it. My mother’s army is outside your gates, and your forces are no match for them.”

“Hmm,” she replied.

“Do you have anything you want to say?”

“Are you going to kill me, Hassan?” she asked, overenunciating the words in a way that made it clear she had drunk most of the wine.

“Will I have to?” he asked. “Or will you surrender and bring an end to this?”

He already knew the answer. He had come here hoping for a different one.

“I thought your father would accept his defeat,” Lethia mused. “Go quietly and give up the throne. I was wrong about that. Do you know what he said, before they cut his head off?”

Hassan’s hand twitched at his side. He did want to know—he wanted to know so badly his heart seized with it. But he didn’t know if he could stand to hear his father’s last words from the mouth of his murderer.

“He said, ‘you may take the throne from me, but Hassan is Herat’s destiny,’” Lethia said. “Destiny. I always hated that word. There are no great destinies for people like me, so I made my own. Who of your beloved kings and emperors can say the same? Everything they had was given to them—I had to take it.”

“And you didn’t care who you had to hurt to do it,” Hassan said. “As long as you had the power you longed for. It’s no wonder you and Pallas worked so well together.”

“Pallas,” Lethia spat. “Well, I knew not to trust him. After what he did to the other Prophets.”

“You knew about that?” Hassan asked sharply.