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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

“Why? What’s happening?” Anton asked, pulling on a pair of pants.

Jude smiled. “It’s King Hassan’s coronation.”

56

HASSAN

“Are you sure about this, Hassan?” Khepri asked, hands lingering on Hassan’s collar as she pinned a gold scarab to his brocade jacket.

Hassan looked down at himself. “I think it looks good.”

Khepri’s mouth tilted into a wry smile. “Not the clothes.”

He caught her hands. “I’m sure. This is what Herat needs. For the good of its future.”

“There are many who will disagree,” Khepri said.

“Do you?”

She didn’t answer for a moment, looking down at their joined hands. “You know where I stand,” she said at last. “Where I’ve always stood.”

He kissed her knuckles. “I hope you will remember you said that when you’re stuck sitting through your fiftieth meeting about tax law with me.”

Khepri groaned, leaning her forehead against his shoulder.

“Where are your brothers, by the way?” Hassan asked.

“They’re with Zareen,” Khepri said. “Helping with some sort of light display.”

“That worries me.”

Behind them, the doors suddenly flew open.

“Hassan!” his mother cried. “Everyone’s waiting for you in the throne room.”

She paused at the threshold, her gaze locked on Hassan, eyes soft.

“What is it?” Hassan asked.

She stepped toward him and smoothed her hands over his shoulders. “Your father would have been so proud.”

Hassan gave her a watery smile and stepped forward to embrace her as anticipation and nerves churned in his gut. He hoped she was right—that his father would be proud of who Hassan had become, and what he was about to do.

Zareen had done an admirable job with the lights, Hassan had to admit. Gold light shimmered from beneath the water that surrounded the pyramid-shaped dais. Sunlight streamed through the now open ceiling, illuminating the throne perched atop the pyramid. Even the painted falcon on the wall behind it seemed to glow.

Khepri remained at the edge of the moat as Hassan and his mother ascended the stairs up to the top of the pyramid, followed by the crownkeeper. It was tradition for a civilian, not of noble birth, to be chosen to carry the gilded box that contained the crown of Herat. For this sacred duty, Hassan had chosen a familiar face—Azizi, the refugee boy whom Hassan had first met in the agora of Pallas Athos so many months ago. He, along with the other refugees, had arrived back in Nazirah the night before.

Hassan smiled at the boy, his heart bursting with joy that he had managed to keep the promise he’d made to him. That he would make Nazirah safe for him to return to. Azizi didn’t quite smile back, trying his very best to look serious and solemn as he carried the crown reverently up to the top of the pyramid.