Circle of Death (27 page)

As if she was reading my thoughts, she looked back, to where K’ujul’s body still was. I didn’t wait for her words and went to retrieve the body. One look around showed me that the demons were moving away and that the one who had fought the Nameless wasn’t where I left him.

With K’ujul’s body in my arms, we went back to the old city, where I knew we were expected.

K’ujul was buried in Death’s Sanctuary, like everyone who had accepted the responsibility before her. Lucio was there, and so were Pietro and Semele, representing the vampires. The Fae king had attended, accompanied by Avés, his son. He wasn’t happy with the fact that the Fae hadn’t joined the main fight, but the result of our plan had been the best for everyone, and not even him would argue about it. Ivan and Dara, along with a few more of the people who lived in that old city we had spent the last days in, and my neighbors, completed the ones who were expected for the ceremony. Besides them, to everyone’s surprise, came a delegation from the demons, led by one of the lords, who had stared at Alice without trying to hide his pride.

But, of all them, only the Keepers knew who was really being buried there. No one else even knew who K’ujul had been, and had no idea that Death wasn’t the same person anymore. To them, it was Kelene Mares who was being buried, after using her bond to the Nameless to drag him to the Veils, giving her life so that we could win. It was better if they thought like this. Death’s Power would make sure they didn’t recognize me: they would see what they expected to see, be it K’ujul’s image, be it Death’s archetype.

When the ceremony was over, everybody left. Alice would go back home to find out I had left my apartment for her, and would live a normal life, even though she was one of the Santuary’s Keepers. And Lucio needed to organize the vampires, who were still in a delicate balance since Seth was destroyed. I could see in his eyes that he wanted to stay, and part of me wanted it, too. But I needed to be alone. I needed time to understand what was ahead of me.

On that day, walking through the Sanctuary’s halls, I cried. I cried for K’ujul, the mother who had been so close to me, but whom I had never really know. I cried for my betrayal, for using the bond between father and daughter as a tool of destruction. I cried for my lost humanity, for the dreams that were now beyond my reach and for the life I had left behind. Nothing would ever be the same, not now that I had become Death, and was bound to that role until it was my turn to be replaced.

I could feel the power inside me, urging me to believe I was invincible. I had something of the Nameless’ power besides Death’s Power, mine through blood and through choice. Who could face me? Who, in any future time, could be stronger than me? It was hard to keep that under control, but I would never see myself like this. I wouldn’t allow it. I wouldn’t make the same mistakes K’ujul made, this would be her last lesson to me.

Death… I still didn’t understand what, how it had happened. I was Death
–
no longer Kelene, no longer the White Hand. Death. I had no idea of what would happen after that. My only certainties were that Death’s Sanctuary would rise again, and that I would guard my mother’s last lesson.

Death should be above mortal weaknesses. And now, Death would remember that she had once been mortal, and that not even she would be eternal.

I need to thank a lot of people for helping me make this book a reality, and the first of them are Carine Ribeiro and Fernanda Barone. I don’t know what I would have done without both of you when I was working on the English version – it was madness, and I wouldn’t have made it without your help. Thank you very, very much for being there for me!

My friends from Dark Insanity were the first ones to really notice my passion for writing. Between gothic parties and nights spent drinking together, you made me believe I should give it a try. Without you this story (and many others) would still be lost somewhere in my notebooks. All my friends who read chapters or excerpts when I needed an outsider’s opinion. All the friends I made since the first publication: you made me believe I really
am
an author, you made me trust my stories once again. Thank you.

My father, who always stays by me side and helps with anything he can. Iana Domingos and Mayara Foscolo (from Studio Le Photographie), who jumped in when I told them about my idea for the cover and helped me make it true.

And a big “thank you” to everyone who believed in me, helped me, and told me chasing my dreams was worth it.