Page 179 of Blade of the Nightking

The word struck her like lightning.

She froze. Her back went rigid. Her breath caught. Slowly, trembling, she turned.

A little boy stood beneath the willow tree. Dark curls danced in the breeze. Bright eyes shone in the sunlight. His smile was warm and loving and heartbreakingly real.

For a moment, she simply stared, as though she was afraid he might vanish if she moved.

"Dannis," she whispered. The name broke inside her.

The boy's grin widened. "Mama!"

Then he ran.

A strangled cry tore from her throat.

She ran to meet him, her skirts billowing behind her. When he crashed into her, she dropped to her knees in the grass and gathered him into her arms with a sound so raw it nearly stopped my heart.

His small arms wrapped around her neck, his cheek pressed against her shoulder. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair as tears streamed down her face. She bent her head and breathed him in with desperate, shuddering breaths.

I could smell him.

That warm, powdery scent she loved so much.

The smell of her baby.

She laughed then—a sound so full of joy I barely recognized it. The grief that had defined her life simply ceased to exist, evaporated now that he’d returned to her.

She clutched him tighter.

Again and again, she kissed his curls. His forehead. His round cheeks.

And all the while he remained safely tucked against her chest as she folded herself around him, his heartbeat pressed against hers.

The vision began to flicker.

The sunlight dimmed. The flowers dissolved.

Together they began to fade. But Levinica never looked up. She remained kneeling in the grass with her son in her arms, holding him as though she would never let him go.

Then, like the final flame of a candle, they guttered and went out.

And then… there was nothing.

Nothing but Rìan’s magic, swirling through an endless emptiness that stretched in every direction, vast and silent and cold.

And slowly, sadly, he reeled it back.

CHAPTER 37

Ebony tendrils slid around our ankles, our joined hands.

Mine was shaking.

I’d accused him of abandoning her. Of standing by and doing nothing while she died.

And yet… Gods. I’d been so wrong.

When fear had found her beneath the waves and seized her in her final moments, he'd gone to her. He’d stepped willingly into the pain and helplessness of her dying mind—not because he could save her, but because he could ease her through it. He’d cradled his sister all the way to the end, so that when darkness finally came for her, it found her wrapped not in terror or grief—but in peace.