All Chapters of Born of Ash and Night : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

They burn Maereth at dawn.Not because Moonfall Keep is cruel—but because it is old, and old places know what happens when powerful witches linger after death. The stones remember. Spirits cling. Magic rots if it isn’t released. So they build the pyre in the outer courtyard, where the wind can carry what’s left of her into the mountains she loved and feared in equal measure.I don’t cry.That unsettles everyone more than screaming ever could.The fire takes slowly, reverently, like even the flames understand who they’re touching. Bone charms blacken and split. Bundles of herbs pop softly—sage, starflower, ashroot—her smell, her wards, her life. Smoke coils skyward, thick and bitter and unbearably familiar.Home.Cain stands behind me, close but not touching. He hasn’t touched me since the night she died. Ashton isn’t here at all—too busy holding his kingdom together with rage and blood and denial.Maereth would’ve called him a fool.Then she would’ve forgiven him anyway.I stare into

POV VThe Vampire Queen’s war chamber no longer feels like a tomb.It still smells like iron and incense—old blood sanctified by older magic—but now there’s movement in the air. Purpose. Strategy. The kind of tension that comes when people believe they might actually survive what’s coming.That alone feels dangerous.Cain stands beside me, close enough that I can feel the steady pull of our bond—warm, grounding, chosen. Not the sharp ache of obligation. Not the cold drag of resentment. This is different. This is ours.I lace my fingers with his without thinking.He squeezes back.Across the chamber, Ashton stands near the table, shoulders squared, jaw set—but there’s something lighter about him now. Not healed. Never that. But steadier. Grounded.The mark at his throat is unmistakable.Raine’s mark.I notice Cain glancing at it too, quick and assessing. Then his gaze flicks to me, just to check.I smile faintly.“I know,” I murmur. “And I’m happy for them.”His brow creases, surprised

POV VThey try anyway.Of course they do.Cain refuses to believe in cannot. He never has. Not with me. Not with anyone he loves. He kneels in the center of the shattered ward circle, blood already smeared across his palm, eyes bright with that dangerous hope that has always been his greatest strength—and his fatal flaw.“Do it,” he tells Maereth’s empty space like she might still be there. Like the world still listens to rules.The Vampire Queen stands opposite him, face carved from stone and grief. Her hands glow faintly as she traces sigils into the fractured floor—ancient ones, forbidden ones, the kind she swore never to use again.I sit between them.Or rather… I exist between them.My body is here. I can feel Cain’s fingers digging into mine. I can hear my own breathing—too shallow, too slow, like my lungs are forgetting their purpose.But something essential is missing.The Queen closes her eyes. “Begin.”Cain doesn’t hesitate. He never does.The blood burns as it always does.

POV CainShe isn’t breathing right.That’s the first thing I register—before the blood, before the ruin, before the way the world feels thinner without wards to hold it together. Vaelira’s breath stutters in my arms, shallow and uneven, like her body is forgetting the rhythm.“No,” I whisper. “No, no—stay with me.”Her lashes flutter. Her hand twitches weakly against my chest, fingers curling into my coat as if instinct alone knows I’m the last solid thing she has.The Queen is shouting orders somewhere behind us. Wolves and vampires scramble through the wreckage, dragging the wounded from collapsed stone and burning magic scars etched into the courtyard. None of it matters.Only her.I press my forehead to hers, pouring power into her without thinking—ancient vampire magic meant to heal flesh, knit bone, slow death.It slides off her like water.Panic—real panic—rips through me.“Why isn’t it working?” I snarl.The Vampire Queen kneels beside us, her expression grave, hands already g

POV VDying is quieter than I expected.Not peaceful—never that—but soft around the edges, like the world has decided to speak in whispers so it doesn’t startle me on the way out.I can’t feel my hands anymore.That’s the first thing I notice. Cain is holding me—I know he is, I can feel the shape of him, the heat, the anchor-that-isn’t—but my fingers don’t curl back. They rest in his palm like they’ve already forgotten how to belong to a body.My magic is gone.Not drained. Not stolen.Finished.There’s a difference.Magic usually hums, even when it’s low. A pulse. A breath. Mine is silent. The place where my anchor lived feels hollow, scooped clean, like someone carved me out and forgot to put anything back.Every breath hurts.Each one comes later than it should, like my lungs are hesitating, asking if it’s worth the effort.Cain is saying my name.Over and over.He sounds broken in ways I didn’t know he could be. The bond between us flickers—ragged, unfinished, grasping for somethi