My heart kicked at my chest at the unexpected change of subject. “I figured it was a name that belonged to whatever poor soul you most likely killed.”
He laughed, but there was no humor. Suddenly, I realized that his laughs, like his expressions and even his smiles, were also like masks—each representing a different Casteel, a different truth or falsehood. “There was no poor soul who owned that name. Or at least not that I’m aware of. If there is or was, that would be a pure coincidence. But I chose Hawke for a reason.”
I wanted to tell him that I didn’t care, but I did. Oh gods, I wanted to know.
He lowered his hand. “In Atlantia, it is tradition to be given a second name, a middle one, so to speak. It's given in honor of a cherished family member or friend, usually picked by the mother, and it is a well-guarded secret only shared outside of the family with the closest of friends and with those who hold a special place in one’s life. My mother chose my middle name in honor of her brother. His name was Hawkethrone. My full name is Casteel Hawkethrone Da’Neer. When I was a small child, my mother took to calling me an abbreviated form of that name. And so did my brother. They, and only they had ever known me as Hawke,” he said. “Until you.”
Chapter 6
Hawke…
The name didn’t belong to someone else. It was real. Hawke was real?
“To be honest, the only time my mother calls me Casteel, it generally includes my full middle and last names, and it usually means she’s irritated by something I did or didn’t do,” he continued. “Although Kieran doesn’t call me Hawke, he knows the origin of the name. He was the one who chose the last name, Flynn. He thought it sounded like it fit with Hawke.”
“We…we don’t have middle names,” I heard myself say.
“I know.”
“Are you telling the truth now?”
His features tightened as some sort of emotion flickered across them. “I’m telling the truth, Poppy.”
My gift pushed against my skin, and what Kieran had said about my abilities resurfaced. I’d said that I had no intention of handling the Prince, but my gift could tell me what he was feeling and maybe help me determine if he was lying. Lies and truths were so often tied to emotions, and a person could try to hide what they were feeling. Sometimes, they were successful, even with the most extreme mental anguish. But while people could lie to someone about what they felt, they couldn’t lie to themselves.
Opening myself up was always easy. It required no effort. My senses stretched out, and it was like a cord formed between Casteel and me, connecting us. It wasn’t always like that, so singular. Sometimes, crowds overwhelmed me and pulled me in. Some people were projectors, their anguish so deep and raw that they formed the connection with me without trying. With Casteel, it took a few seconds for me to process what I was picking up from him. Emotions had a certain taste and feel to me, and what I felt now was both tart and tangy in the back of my mouth. Discomfort and…sadness.
His sorrow was familiar. It was always there, shadowing his every step, every breath. I often thought about how he could laugh and tease. How he could be so ridiculously vexing while feeling such grief. I wondered if the teasing and his all-too-easy laughter were also masks because I knew his pain started and probably ended with his brother.
I didn’t know what the discomfort was tied to, but I didn’t feel anything that made me think he wasn’t telling the truth now.
And maybe…maybe that meant the name Hawke was real. That it wasn’t a lie.
The next breath I took felt thin. “Why are you telling me this about your name? Why does it matter?”
He was quiet now, his features smoothing out. “Because knowing that Hawke is a part of my name, a part of me, matters to you.”
“Can you read minds?” I asked, thinking I’d probably asked that before but I felt like I needed to ask again. Mind reading couldn’t be too farfetched considering he could force his will upon others, and especially since what he said was true. It did matter to me. Why? I had no idea, because what did it change? At the end of the day…nothing.
A faint grin appeared. “No, I cannot, which is a disappointment when it comes to you. I would love to know what you’re thinking—what you’re really feeling.”
Thank the gods he didn’t know, because what I was feeling was messier than when I attempted to knit.
“I am Hawke,” he said after a moment. “And I am Casteel. I’m not two separate people, no matter how badly you want to believe that.”
I tensed, my grip tightening around the handle of the knife. I hated how well he knew me. “I know that.”
“Do you really?”
A rush of frustration scorched my skin because I did often think of him as two different people, but mainly that there were simply different masks he wore, and there’d been one for Hawke.
But it didn’t matter. It couldn’t.
“I know you are the same,” I said. “You are the one who lied to me from the beginning, and you’re the one who is holding me captive now. It doesn’t matter what name you used while doing it.”
He arched a dark eyebrow. “Yet you haven’t called me Hawke since you learned who I was.”
The frustration quickly flamed into anger. “And why does that matter, Hawke?”
A smile crept across his lips then, one that showed the barest hint of fangs. “Because I miss hearing you say it.”
I stared at him for what felt like a small eternity. “You’re ridiculous, Casteel.”
He laughed, and the sound was warm and deep and real. I felt his amusement through the connection, a sprinkling of sugar on my tongue. That almost angered me enough to do something very reckless with the knife yet again. Somehow, I managed to resist the impulse that proved just how violent I could be.
His humor faded. “I haven’t lied to you since you learned who I was.”
“How am I to believe that?” I demanded. “And even if you haven’t, that doesn’t erase those lies.”
“You’re correct. I don’t expect you to believe, nor do I expect you to ever forget those lies,” he said. Again, through the connection I had left open, I felt sadness with the fading taste of humor. “But I have nothing to gain from lies now. I have what I want. You.”
“You do not have me.”
One side of his lips curled up. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that. Ask me something, Princess. Ask me anything, and I will tell you the truth.”
A hundred different questions arose. There was so much I could ask him. Two things dominated.
Did you ever care for me?
Was any of it real?
I wouldn’t ask those questions again. “And I’m just supposed to believe you?”
“Whether or not you do is up to you.”
It wasn’t just a question of me choosing to believe him, but I didn’t point that out. There was another question that rose to the forefront, something I’d been thinking about earlier.
“Did you kill the first Maiden?” I asked.
“What?” Surprise filled his tone, and I also felt it through the cord—cool like a splash of ice water.
I told him what the Duchess had claimed about the first Maiden’s abilities. “She said that the Maiden had been unworthy, even though she was still to be given to the gods. But her decisions and choices led her to the Dark One. To you.” Just like me. “The Duchess basically said that the Dark One killed her.”
“I don’t know why the Duchess would tell you that. The only Maiden I have met is you,” he answered, and I could feel the hot, acidic burn of anger radiating from him. “I don’t even know if there truly was another Maiden.”
I… I had not considered the possibility that there had been no other Maiden. That could explain why there was nothing written about her, not even a name. But for her to not exist at all?
“I have a lot of blood on my hands, Poppy. Sometimes, so much that I don’t think they’ll ever be clean. So much that I don’t know if I ever want them to be.”
My gaze shot to his.
“And I’m sure you’ve heard a lot about me—about the Dark One. Some of it is true. I kill the Ascended every chance I get, in Carsodonia and in every city I’ve visited. And, yes, I do find unique ways to end their lives. I am drenched in their blood.”
Skin chilled, I was unable to look away. “You were responsible for Goldcrest Manor—Lord Everton?”
“Lord Everton was not alive when I left the city of Three Rivers. Nor were any of the mortals who aided him when it came to his penchant for feeding on young boys—a predilection that went beyond that. And as I’m sure you’ve realized, some mortals know the truth, and they helped to cover what happened in the Temples and what they did when there was no Rite.”
I’d figured that the Ascended had help. They had to. The Priests and Priestesses in the Temples had to know. The Mistresses of the keeps and those who served the Ascended closely.
“And I’m sure you heard the rumor that my affair with Lady Everton was what allowed me to enter the manor?” he said. I had heard that. “I will admit that I’ve used every weapon I have. After all, the Ascended taught me that.”
I flinched.
“She was known for her affairs. Servants helped to sneak her lovers inside the manor. Many never left, but I made sure she saw me. Eventually, she invited me to her bed, and that was how I gained entry. But I did not lay a finger on her in that way. Never.” There was a low rumble in his tone. “And if she hadn’t run as the flames began, she wouldn’t have escaped either.”
I didn’t doubt that for one second.
Tipping forward, he held my stare. “It’s not just the Ascended that stain my hands. There are innocents. Mortals and descendants of Atlantians alike, caught between what I want and me. Your guard, Rylan, was one of those.”
My throat tightened.
“As were the ones who traveled here with us, and countless others. Each by arrow, poison, or fall. Anything that stood between you and me.” He didn’t look away, not for one second. “And Vikter? Those Ladies at the Rite? I didn’t kill them, but you were right. Those who support me acted on their own, but they did so enflamed by my words, urged by my lead. So, their blood is on my hands, too. I should’ve taken ownership of that from the first moment.”
A shudder worked its way through me, one of pain and sorrow. “Does any of it stain your soul?” I whispered.
“Much of it does.” He sat back. “But this Maiden is not a part of that. If she did live, and she was like you—part Atlantian, and shared your gifts or something similar—she wasn’t given to the gods. She was most likely used in the same way they plan to use you.”
The breath that left me was ragged. “If…if they’ve had your brother, why would they have needed her?”
He eyed me from his chair. “Atlantians need Atlantian blood to survive. One who is only half-Atlantian can provide the necessary sustenance. That was how I was kept alive.
I swallowed thickly, hurting for him despite everything. Hurting for her, a woman I didn’t even know, wasn’t even sure existed. “She could’ve been held captive to…to feed him? To keep him alive?”
“Without Atlantian blood, we don’t die,” he said.
I frowned. “How could you not survive but still live?”
“Because what we become is not something I would compare to being alive,” he answered. Before I could question that, he spoke. “If there was a first Maiden, she was either keeping my brother alive, or she was used in the same manner as he is. Possibly both. But either way, I imagine that she has long since perished. What you should be asking is why they need you. Why would they make you the Maiden, keep you closeted away, under their protection and under their ever-watchful gaze? Why did they wait until now for your Ascension?” He spat out the last word. “Earlier, after the Craven, you were right about why they forced you to stay quiet about being bitten and told you never to use your abilities. Someone could’ve discovered what you were, and that would have brought their entire house of bones down on them. So, why did they wait so long and take that risk? Please tell me that you’ve asked yourself these questions.”
My skin chilled. “I have. They…they want to use me to make more vamprys. But why? They have—”
“And why do you think they waited this long?” he repeated. “Why did this supposed first Maiden conveniently disappear around the same time her abilities began to grow? There is no Ascension for you. The gods require no service. They waited so you could be useful to them.” He sat forward. “There’s a reason the Ascended wait until a certain age to Ascend. Do you know what happens when an Atlantian reaches the age of nineteen?”
I did. I’d read about it in The History of The War of Two Kings and the Kingdom of Solis. The answer had been in that damn book I’d been forced to read a hundred times. Probably the only part that was true. “An Atlantian reaches a state of maturity. You call it…the Culling, when they go through physical changes.”
“And when certain other abilities begin to manifest or strengthen for some,” he added, his eyes bright in the dimly lit room. “For me, it was compulsion. As a child, I could be somewhat persuasive, but once I went through the Culling, I could force my will onto another if I wished.”
A hollowness spread in my stomach. “Then why haven’t you just made me go along with whatever it is you wish for me to do?”
His brows furrowed together. “Because I may be a monster, but I’m not that kind of monster, Poppy.”
There was a catch in my chest as I looked away from him.
“Besides, compulsions are temporary, only useful for immediate gains,” he said. When I looked at him again, his expression had smoothed out. “And interestingly, just like you can’t pick up on emotions from the Ascended, compulsions do not work on them either.”
I cleared my throat. “Do you know why?”
“Some believe it’s because they have no soul.”
I thought of Ian and then shut those thoughts down. “So you think my abilities are changing because I’m going through the Culling?”
“A version of it, yes. Your blood wouldn’t have been useful to them until you at least hit nineteen, even if your abilities took the next two years to morph.”
As I processed what he was telling me, my brain went in one direction. “Will I develop…fangs?”
He lifted his brows. “Doubtful. Half-Atlantians don’t need blood, so they don’t need fangs.”
“What about…immortality?”
“Would you not want that?”
I thought of the Ascended, of how long they lived, and I wasn’t sure their lack of humanity was due to what they did to survive or because they lived to see everyone around them die several generations over.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “Will I?”
He shook his head. “Only full-blooded Atlantians have what mortals would think of as immortality.”
I wasn’t sure if I should feel relieved or not. “Can I even Ascend then? Be made into a vampry?” I asked, thinking of Ian. If he were part Atlantian like me…
“I honestly don’t know, Poppy. It is forbidden for any Atlantian to Ascend anyone with a drop of mortal blood in them. Even the half-Atlantians that live in Atlantia are not Ascended. They live and die just like mortals,” he explained, and that was something I didn’t know about those who lived in Atlantia. That not all Atlantians were like him. “I would imagine a half-Atlantian going through an Ascension would be the same as a mortal. They would become a vampry.”
Meaning, they would be ruled by bloodlust, just not as consumed by it as a Craven. Pressure settled in my chest. “When a person is turned—made vampry—what happens to them?”
He was quiet for several moments before he said, “They are fed upon by other vamprys, brought to the brink of death by blood loss, and then fed blood from an Atlantian. Sometimes, the change is immediate. Other times, they can appear dead for hours. But they wake up and…they are hungry. As uncontrollable as a Craven, it
often takes several Ascended to subdue them.” His jaw worked as his gaze shifted to the fire. “Even after being fed, they’re consumed by hunger. I’ve heard that it can take weeks, sometimes months for a newly made vampry to control his or her thirst.”
A sinking sensation threatened to pull me through the floor. There had been a space of time after Ian’s Ascension that I hadn’t heard from him. It was when he’d married, and it had been months.
“And I know that for those who could not abide by what was now needed of them, they ensured that they would not harm another,” he added quietly.
“How?” I asked, instinct telling me that the answer wasn’t going to be an easy one.
“They choose to walk when the sun is at its highest. It doesn’t take long, but it is not quick by any means. Nor is it painless.”
Oh, gods.
Now that…that sounded like something Ian would do. But he was alive. He’d been sending letters. He had to be alive.
I swallowed. “Those you saw turned? Did all of them seem aware of what was happening?”
His gaze shifted back to me. “I know where you’re going with this, and I don’t think the answer will change things in the way you wish.”
“Will you just answer the question?”
His lips thinned. “The Ascended held a ceremony for it. Mortals were brought in dressed in robes and wearing masks. Meaningless words were chanted, and candles were lit. Some seemed to know what would occur. Most appeared intoxicated. I had no idea if they knew exactly what was happening.” His chest rose with a deep breath. “Some seemed drugged. I doubt they even knew if they were awake.”
I stared at him, stuck in this terrible place between relief and horror. Suddenly, I understood why he hadn’t wanted to answer the question. If Ian had been drugged to the point where he hadn’t been aware—if others hadn’t been aware of what was happening—that was far worse.
Casteel watched me silently. “There is no reason for an Ascended to turn a half-Atlantian. Doing so would taint the blood—the part they need to either turn other Ascended or to keep an Atlantian alive. That is why they made sure you were healthy and safe, why your precious Queen cared so tenderly for you,” he said. My entire body went as taut as a bowstring. “Your blood meant nothing to them before now, and it would mean even less to them if you went through the Ascension.”
A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire Page 8
