A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  The door clicked shut, and then Casteel landed behind me. I turned, wondering if he’d jumped, but he turned to face me. Suddenly, we were chest to chest. Under the scent of rich soil, there was the hint of him. Of pine and spice. His eyes met mine, and I quickly looked away, unsettled by…everything.

  “What is this?” I asked, hoping my voice sounded steadier than it felt.

  “It is different things to different people.” Casteel stepped around me, his shoulder and hip brushing mine. I knew the shiver had nothing to do with the surroundings.

  His hand curved around mine once more, and the spark of his skin touching mine traveled up my arm. “To some people, this is a place of reflection,” he said as he began walking, and I wondered if he felt that charge of energy. We continued down the tunnel. “For some, it is a place to bear witness to what many strive to forget.”

  The shadows ahead disappeared as the tunnel came to an end. Several feet of stairs led down into a space that opened into what appeared to be some sort of circular chamber with high ceilings and…dear gods, it had to be the length of the keep itself. Dozens and dozens of torches jutted out from the stone, casting light across the chamber’s walls. Only the center was in shadows. Within that gloom, there appeared to be several benches.

  “To others, this is simply a tomb. Hallowed ground.” Casteel let go of my hand. “One of the few places in all of Solis where those who have lost family members to the Ascended can mourn.”

  I was moving before I knew it, walking down the stairs and then onto the chamber’s floor. Pedestals were situated every couple of feet, and upon them rested slender chisels and hammers. I went to the right, my gaze crawling over the wall—over what was etched into the stone. There were words. Names. Ages. Some with epithets. Others with none. As I drew closer, I saw sketches carved into the stone. Portraits rendered by capable, artistic hands. A shuddering breath left me as I followed the curve of the wall. The names…there were so many of them. They flowed over the surface, from floor to ceiling, but the dates were what formed a knot in my chest, each marking the birth and then the death. The realization that many shared the same death dates moved the knot to my throat, and the recognition of those dates caused the carvings in the wall to blur.

  Quite a few of the death dates were sporadic, some several hundred years ago. While others were only a decade or five years ago, or last year, or…or a couple of months ago. But many others had dates that lined up with the Rites of the past.

  And the ages…

  My hand clutched at my chest. Two years of age. Seven months of age. Four years and six months of age. Ten years of age. And on and on. There were so many. Thousands. Thousands and thousands of children. Babies.

  “They…they are from the Rites,” I broke the silence, my voice thick and hoarse.

  “Many are, but others are Descenters who were killed,” he answered from somewhere behind me. “Some died of what the Ascended call a wasting disease, but in truth, it was due to uncontrolled feedings.”

  My eyes squeezed shut as Mr. and Mrs. Tulis appeared in my mind’s eye. They had lost two children that way. Two.

  “And some of the names, the ones you’ll notice have no end dates?” He was closer now. “They represent those who’ve disappeared, presumed to have become Craven or are dead.”

  Opening my eyes, I blinked back tears. I stepped closer, reaching out to trace the grooves that formed cheeks and eyes, but stopped short. Below, set against the wall, were old, dried flowers. Some fresh ones. Pieces of jewelry that glimmered faintly in the firelight. A necklace. A bracelet. A ring. Two wedding bands laid to overlap one another. My hand shook as I drew it back to my chest. I stopped in front of a stuffed animal. An old bear with a pale ribbon as a crown. My throat burned.

  “These are only a small fraction of the lives taken by the Ascended. There are large chambers with not a single space left for even one more name. And these are only the names of the mortals who were taken.” Each word bitterly clipped. “In Atlantia, walls that travel as far as the eye can see carry the names of our fallen.”

  Swallowing hard, I spread my fingers over my cheeks, brushing away dampness as I stared at the bear.

  “I am not without sin. I’m sure that I’ve caused names to be carved into different walls, but I am not them.” His voice was quiet in the chamber, and yet it somehow still echoed. “We are not them. And all that I ask is that the next time you think I am no better than an Ascended, you think of the names on these walls.”

  The words I know you’re not like them rose to the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t speak. I was barely holding it together.

  “I can promise you that the vast majority of those I’ve killed, who’ve ended in tombs or on walls, deserved it. I don’t lose a single moment of rest thinking of them. But the ones who were innocent?” Casteel spoke again, his voice low and as sharp as the chisels that awaited fingers shaking with grief. “The ones caught in the middle or who died by those who support me? I lose sleep over them—over the Lorens and the Dafinas of the world. The Vikters—”

  “Stop,” I rasped, unable to move for what felt like a small eternity.

  Casteel quieted, and I didn’t know if it was because he’d said all that he needed to or if it was a small gift that he was bestowing upon me.

  My lips trembled when I was finally able to move again. I walked on, discovering fresher flowers, newer dates, and more common names—and far too many too-short date ranges, and ones left open-ended.

  I don’t know how long we stayed in there, but I felt like I needed to walk every foot of the chamber, see every name that I could read, commit as many to memory as possible, and bear witness just as others had to the horrific and painful loss of life.

  Casteel had been right when he said that this was something no one wanted to see. I didn’t, but I needed to see this. No one could fake this. They just couldn’t.

  Slowly, I turned around.

  He stood by the entrance. “You ready?”

  Feeling as if I’d just battled a legion of Craven, I nodded.

  “Good.” He waited until I joined him before he climbed the stairs. Neither of us spoke until we emerged to discover that day had long since given way to night.

  I watched him close the door and move the limb over it. “Why did you remove the bodies from the hall?” I asked.

  He remained kneeling. “Does it matter?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  Lifting his head, he stared out over the moonlight-drenched snow. “I didn’t lie when I told you that I had helped those cursed by a Craven die with dignity. I did. Because I believe there should be dignity in death, even for those I loathe. I’d forgotten that in my anger and in my—” He cut himself off and then looked up at me. “You reminded me that as Hawke, I believed in that.”

  As Hawke.

  “Thank you,” I said hoarsely. I wasn’t sure if I was thanking him for remembering or for showing me what I never wanted to see but needed to.

  His head tilted as he stared up at me, and then he rose. “Come,” he said quietly. “We have a lot to discuss before it gets too late.”

  His proposal that wasn’t a proposal.

  Our future that really wasn’t one.

  I said nothing though as we walked back toward the keep, nor did I resist when he took hold of my hand once more. I had no idea why he did it. I doubted he feared I’d run. Maybe he simply liked holding my hand.

  I liked my hand being held.

  The last to do it so often was Ian, and that had only been when no one was around. But that felt nothing like this.

  Maybe I liked it so much because my mind was still in that chamber—no, that crypt with no bodies, among all those people who would never hold hands again. Perhaps it was because my mind was still in the moment where Casteel remembered a part of him that was Hawke.

  We didn’t speak the entire walk back to the keep or up to the room. Once inside, he led me over to the hearth. I stood by it, letting the fire war
m my chilled skin.

  “Will we leave tomorrow?” I asked, breaking the silence.

  “The storm is weakening, but it will have to clear a little from the roads.” Flakes of snow melted and disappeared in the dark strands of his hair as he looked to the rattling window. “The wind should help with that…and possibly blow down this keep if it keeps up like this for another night.”

  I laughed out loud, thinking of the tale Ian had once told me he’d heard. Casteel turned to stare. “Sorry,” I said. “I was just thinking about this story Ian once heard. About a wolf blowing down the homes of pigs. For some reason, I thought of a wolven doing that.”

  “You don’t need to apologize,” he said. “You’re beautiful when you’re quiet and somber, but when you laugh? You rival the sunrise over the Skotos Mountains.”

  He sounded so genuine, as if he truly meant that, and I couldn’t understand it. “Why do you say things like that?”

  His gaze searched mine. “Because it’s the truth.”

  “The truth?” I laughed, stepping back from the fire. The burn was back in my throat, threatening to overwhelm me. “Will you add my name to the walls once you hand me over? I’ll be dead eventually. That’s the truth. So, don’t say things like that.”

  “But it’s not the truth. Not at all,” he said, his gaze catching and holding mine. “It’s why we must marry.”

  “Why are you so adamant about the marriage?” I demanded. “It makes no sense.”

  “But it does. It’s the only way I can get what I want, and ensure you stay alive. Hopefully so you can live a long, free life.”

  Chapter 10

  “What?” I repeated, this time barely above a whisper. Live a long life? Free? How was that possible if he got what he wanted—his brother’s freedom in exchange for my captivity?

  “Will you let me try to make sense of it for you? I’m not asking you to trust me.”

  “Trusting you is not something you have to worry about.”

  He leaned back, the line of his jaw hardening. “Neither am I asking for your forgiveness, Penellaphe.”

  The use of my formal name was jarring, sending my heart racing as it silenced all the bitter words rushing to the tip of my tongue.

  “I know what I’ve done to you is not something that can be forgotten,” he continued. “All I’m asking is that you listen to what I have to say. And, hopefully, we will come to an agreement.”

  I forced myself to nod. My need to understand what he was suggesting far outweighed my desire to argue with him. “I…I will listen.”

  There was a slight widening of his eyes as if he expected me to refuse, and then his brow smoothed. “Remember when I left to speak with my father? Of course, you do,” he added after a moment. “That was when Jericho went after you.” The line of his jaw tightened. “My father hadn’t been able to show, sending Alastir in his place. There had been issues at home that he had to attend to.”

  “Issues with the wolven and running out of land?” I surmised.

  He nodded. “Not now, but soon, with the scarcity of the land, we will have a lack of food and other resources.”

  A small part of me was surprised that he had answered the question. “When Alastir spoke to Kieran, it sounded like the people of New Haven would be leaving for Atlantia soon.”

  “They will be.”

  “Because you took me, and the Ascended will come here, looking for me.”

  His gaze met mine. “There were plans to move them to Atlantia before I took you. My actions move up that timeframe, but the lack of land wouldn’t have been resolved before then.”

  I thought that over. “So, the resources are about to be stretched even further.”

  “They will be, but we’re not at the breaking point. Not yet,” he said. “Some want a more aggressive stance on alleviating our shortages. Many of the wolven are among that group, as many Atlantians are. Some of the conversations surrounding what should be done have grown heated, and that is why my father had to remain behind.”

  Casteel rose then, walking to a small table under the window. He picked up a glass decanter full of some kind of amber-colored liquid that I suspected was liquor. “Would you like a drink? If I recall, you liked to sneak a whiskey or two with Tawny.”

  Tawny.

  I wanted to see her so badly, to know for sure that she was okay. But if she had been here…

  I briefly closed my eyes, hoping Tawny was safe. More than ever, I was grateful that she wasn’t here. She could’ve become an issue dealt with in the same way Phillips and the other guards had been.

  Drawing in a deep breath, I opened my eyes and asked, “Would you have killed her? Tawny? If she had traveled with me, would you have killed her?”

  Casteel paused as he reached for a glass and then gripped it, pouring the whiskey until the glass was half full. “I don’t make a habit of killing innocent women.” He poured a second glass. “I would’ve done all that I could to ensure that it would not have been necessary, but her presence could’ve caused a complication that I wouldn’t wish to solve.”

  Meaning that, if he had to, he would have. However, he had ensured that the situation hadn’t arisen by forbidding Tawny to travel with me. I didn’t know how to feel about that. What was right or wrong there? None of this meant that Tawny was entirely safe, though. She was destined to Ascend.

  But would her or any of the Lords and Ladies in Wait Ascend now that I was missing? All the Ascensions in the kingdom were tied to mine. They still had Casteel’s brother, and they had to have another Atlantian to keep the Prince alive. Without me, they could proceed with the Ascension, unless…

  Unless something had happened to Prince Malik? I swallowed hard as I shoved that question aside. It would do no good to ask such a thing, and I doubted Casteel hadn’t already considered that.

  He walked the glass of whiskey over to me, and I took it even though I hadn’t asked for it. He moved to stand in front of the fireplace.

  Sliding my thumb along the cool glass, I lifted it to my lips and took a small sip. The liquor burned the back of my throat, but the second drink was far smoother. I still had to clear my throat, though. Tawny and I would sneak drinks, and I had helped myself to a sip or five every once in a while, but not nearly enough for me to be used to it. “What do the issues your people are facing have to do with the whole marriage thing?”

  “That’s what I’m getting to.” He turned toward me, propping one elbow against the mantel. “But first, my people will obey me to their deaths, both Atlantian and wolven.” He swirled the liquid around in his glass. “I hope between that and the actions I took to remind them that you are not to be harmed, it will go a long way in aiding them in making smart life choices. However, these are not normal circumstances. You are not a normal circumstance.”

  “But I have done nothing to your people. I even tried to save one.”

  “Many Descenters have done nothing to you, but you once viewed them all as evil and murderous,” he returned. “You once believed that all Atlantians were nothing more than monsters, and yet an Atlantian had never harmed you.”

  I opened my mouth.

  “It is the same, is it not? The Descenters and I represent death and destruction, although many of them have done nothing more than speak the truth.” His gaze drifted to the softly rolling flames. “You represent a dynasty that has subjugated and decimated their families, stolen from them the lives of the ones they love, their gods, and even their rightful heir. You did none of those things, yet that is what they see when they look upon you. They see the opportunity to take their pound of flesh.”

  His words sat like stones in my liquor-warmed belly, and I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” His brows furrowed.

  Wheezing from the huge gulp of the whiskey I swallowed, I blinked rapidly. “For what was done to your people,” I told him, my voice hoarse. “To your family. To you. I know I said that last night, and you didn’t want my apo
logies, but I need to say it again.”

  Casteel stared at me. “I think you’ve drunk enough whiskey.” He paused. “Or maybe you should have more.”

  I snorted. Like a little piglet. “What you’ve done doesn’t mean I can’t still feel compassion.” I started to take another drink but thought twice. Whatever kind of whiskey this was, it seemed to have a far quicker effect than anything I’d had before. “What you’ve done doesn’t mean I suddenly don’t know or care about what is right and wrong. What was done to your people is horrible.” My gaze dropped to the golden liquid in my glass, thinking of all those names on the walls. Who knew how many were never listed? “And…and what is being done to the people of Solis by the Ascended is horrible. It is all terrible.”

  “That it is,” he said quietly.

  “I guess I get why they hate me.” I thought of Mr. Tulis and took a larger drink. “I wish they didn’t.”

  “As do I. Which is one of the reasons why we must marry.”

  My gaze flew to his as I almost choked. “That’s the part I don’t understand. How you’ve come to that conclusion or why. How will that get your brother back? How will that help with limited resources? How will I be…free?”

  There was a sharpness to his gaze then. “There’s a chance that some may still disobey my commands. Retribution can be a strong motivator. I, myself, love and enjoy the taste of revenge, as I know you do.”

  I started to deny that, but he’d been there when I turned on Lord Mazeen. He would know that my denial would be a lie.

  “I must return home to help ease the concerns of the others, where you will be surrounded by many who believe that anyone from the Kingdom of Solis is the lamaea in the flesh.”

  “Lamaea?”

  “It’s a creature with fins for legs and tails for arms that hides under the beds of children, waiting until the lights are turned off. In the dark, it makes its way out from under the bed to then suck the life from them.”