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A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire: A Blood and Ash Novel

Page 11

by Jennifer L. Armentrout


  Casteel was gone when I woke, and that had been a welcomed discovery since waking up in his arms was not something I needed to experience again. The memories of such were already hard enough to forget. But hours later, as the snow fell steadily and the wind howled outside the narrow window, whatever gratitude I’d felt had shriveled up and died.

  Delano had stood guard outside nearly the entire day. I knew because the last time I had pounded on the door, he’d answered through the heavy wood. He’d replied in virtually the same way each time I demanded to be let out.

  “No one wishes to chase you through a snowstorm.”

  “I’d rather not be gutted by the Prince, so no.”

  “The Prince will return soon.”

  My favorite was when I’d said that I just wanted some fresh air. “Nothing personal, but there is literally no way I would trust you enough to crack this door open to allow even an inch of fresh air to enter your chamber.”

  How was that not personal?

  I started toward the door, planning to bang my fist off it until the whole keep came running—

  The door suddenly swung open as Delano rushed inside, hand on the hilt of his sword. He drew up short, eyes bright as he checked me over and scanned the room.

  “Are you okay?” he demanded. Delano had the kind of face that often tricked you. Except for the nearly constant crease between his fair brows, there was a boyishness to his features. As if he would be grinning the second he thought you weren’t looking. But in that moment, with the hard set to his jaw and the steeliness in his eyes I’d never seen before, he looked as if he were a breath away from lopping off someone’s head.

  “Other than being angry about being trapped in here? Yes.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You weren’t yelling?”

  My brows lifted. “Not externally. Did you hear me yelling?”

  Delano’s head tilted. “What do you mean by…not externally?”

  “I was probably screaming internally for being locked in here.”

  “So, you weren’t screaming?”

  “No. Not out loud.” I crossed my arms.

  His already light skin seemed paler. “I thought… I thought I heard you calling my name.” The crease between his brows deepened. “Screaming for help.” Letting go of his sword, he ran a hand through his nearly white-blond hair. “It must’ve been the wind.”

  “Or your guilty conscience.”

  “Probably the wind.”

  I started toward him.

  There it was, a flash of a grin. “Sorry to interrupt.”

  “Interrupt what? I’m stuck in this room. What could—?” I shrieked as the door closed and locked. “Now I am yelling!”

  “It’s the wind,” he yelled back through the door.

  I stomped my foot once and then twice instead of giving in to the urge to really scream.

  Throwing myself onto the bed, I pictured all the different places I could stab Delano, but then I felt a little bad about that. It wasn’t his fault. It was Casteel’s. So, I pictured putting as many holes in him as I could until I started to doze. I didn’t fight it. Being unconscious was far better than rage-pacing. I had no idea how long I slept, whether it was minutes or hours, but when I opened my bleary eyes, a patchwork quilt had been draped over my legs, and I saw that I wasn’t alone. Across from the bed sat Kieran, in the same chair as the night before, practically in the same position—one booted foot resting on a bent knee.

  “Good afternoon,” he said as I blinked slowly, looking between him and the quilt. “The quilt wasn’t me. That was Cas.”

  He’d been in here? While I slept? That son of a—

  “Though I’m glad you finally woke up. I was going to give you another five minutes before I risked life and limb to wake you. Unlike Cas, watching you sleep is not something I find all that entertaining.”

  Casteel watched me sleep? Wait. How long had Kieran been sitting there? “What are you doing in here?” I rasped.

  “Other than wondering exactly what choices I made in my life that led me to this exact moment?” Kieran asked.

  My eyes narrowed. “Yes. Other than that.”

  “Since I figured Delano would like a break and wondered if you might be hungry. I’m hoping that you are because I would like to eat, too.”

  My stomach immediately decided that yes, it would like some food, and grumbled loudly.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Feeling my cheeks flush, I shoved the blanket off and stood. “Am I actually allowed to leave this room?”

  “Of course.”

  My brows lifted. “You say that as if I’m asking a stupid question. I’ve been locked in here all day!”

  “If you could be trusted not to run, then perhaps you wouldn’t be locked in here.”

  “Maybe if you weren’t holding me captive, I wouldn’t have to try and escape!”

  “Good point.”

  I blinked.

  “But it is what it is.” Kieran arched a brow. “Do you wish to leave the room and eat, or would you rather sit here and stew? Your choice.”

  My choice? I almost laughed. “I need to use the bathing chamber first.”

  “Take your time. I’ll just sit here and stare at…nothing now.”

  Rolling my eyes, I started to turn, and then my stupid mouth opened. “Where is His Highness?”

  “Highness? Man, I bet Cas loves being referred to as that.” Kieran chuckled. “You miss him already?”

  “Oh, yes. That’s exactly why I’m asking.”

  He grinned. “He’s been speaking with Alastir and several of the others in town. If he wasn’t the Prince of Atlantia, with all his princely duties, I’m sure he’d be here…” His pale eyes glimmered. “Watching you sleep.”

  “Thank the gods that he has something to pass his time with then,” I muttered.

  Ignoring that, I hurried into the bathing chamber. I took care of my needs and then grabbed the brush from the small vanity. My hair was a mess from sleeping on it, and there was a good chance that I tore half of it out while trying to get the knots out. Once I finished, I placed the brush back and then looked in the small mirror, tilting my head to the side.

  I wasn’t looking at the scars, though I thought they seemed less noticeable somehow—could be the lighting. Rather it was my eyes that I stared at. They were green, passed down from my father to Ian and me. My mother’s were brown, and I thought of how the Atlantians had golden or hazel-colored eyes. Had my mother’s been a plain shade of brown? Or had they been a golden brown? Was I just assuming that all Atlantians had some shade of gold in their eyes?

  Turning my head to the side, I saw that the bite mark was now just a pale purple bruise. It looked like one of the love bites I’d read about in Miss Willa Colyns’ diary. I flushed as I quickly braided my hair. Once completed, I tossed the plait over my shoulder, hoping the thick tail would stay in place, concealing the mark.

  My gaze lowered to my hands. I have a lot of blood on my hands. As angry as I was at Casteel, his words still haunted me, as did what he’d shared about the time he’d spent as a captive. He didn’t deserve that.

  Part of me still couldn’t believe that he’d taken ownership for Vikter and the others, and I couldn’t help but wonder if their deaths were part of what stained his soul.

  I also wondered if what he hadn’t been able to control when he was held also darkened his soul.

  If so, that sat even heavier on my heart, and I wasn’t sure what to do with any of that. Horrific things had been done to him. He’d done terrible things. Neither canceled out the other.

  Kieran was at least standing when I exited the bathing chamber. He faced the banked fire, and I wondered if that was as far as he’d moved.

  “Do you ever get bored?” I asked.

  “With what?” he replied, sounding as disinterested as possible.

  “With standing around and waiting for me? It seems like you are tasked with doing so quite often.”

  �
�It’s actually an honor to guard what the Prince values so highly,” he replied. “And since I’m never quite sure what you’re going to do from one second to the next, it’s not even remotely boring. That is, except when you’re sleeping.”

  I made a closed mouth sound of annoyance as my heart immediately went to war with my brain over why I was considered something the Prince valued. My heart, which gave a happy little flop, was obviously stupid.

  I went to the fireplace and picked up the thigh sheath. Relieved to find the supple leather dry, I asked, “Have you seen my dagger?”

  “The one fashioned from wolven bone?”

  I cringed. “Yes, that one.”

  “I have not.”

  Feeling a bit contrite and insensitive, I turned to him. “About the…the handle. I have no idea how that came into creation or when. It was given to me as a gift—”

  “I know,” he interrupted. “Unless you are the one who carved it from the bones of a wolven, you don’t need to apologize. I imagine it was created shortly after the War of Two Kings. Many of my kind fell during the battles, and not all the bodies could be retrieved.”

  I wanted to apologize again, especially when I thought about how families hadn’t had the chance to honor their loved ones with whatever burial practices they observed. I resisted the urge to comment as I slipped the bent meat knife into the sheath, half expecting Kieran to say something, but all he did was smile faintly when I glanced at him.

  “Ready?” he asked. When I nodded, he peeled away from the wall. “Lead the way.”

  I did just that, and it gave me great satisfaction to do so. Opening the door, I stepped outside and headed down the walkway. Why did it never feel nearly as cold when it snowed?

  A better question resurfaced as I opened the door to the stairwell. “Are all Atlantians’ eyes a golden shade?”

  “That’s an incredibly random question,” he said, catching the door before it swung shut in his face. “But, yes, most Atlantians have some shade of gold in their eyes. Only those of the elemental bloodline have pure golden eyes.”

  I almost missed a step. “Elemental bloodline?” I asked, looking over my shoulder.

  “Not all Atlantians are the same,” he remarked. “Did your history books leave that out?”

  “Yes,” I grumbled, facing forward. The texts mentioned the wolven as being a part of Atlantia, but nothing had ever suggested there were different…bloodlines. “What is the elemental bloodline?”

  “Those whose blood is purely Atlantian and can be traced back to the earliest known Atlantians,” he answered. “Not descendants by blood but by creation.”

  “They were created by other…Atlantians?”

  “Yes, by the deities, the children of the gods.”

  “Really?” I said doubtfully. “Deities?”

  “Really.”

  My brows knitted as we reached the landing. I wasn’t sure if I believed that, but what did I know? I looked back at him. “Are any of them still in Atlantia?”

  “If there were, Cas would not be our Prince.” A muscle flexed in Kieran’s jaw. “The last of their line was gone by the end of the war.”

  “What does that mean? That Casteel wouldn’t be the Prince?”

  “They were deities, Penellaphe. The ones who created the elemental Atlantians. A drop of their blood is a drop from the gods. They would usurp any bloodline that sat on the throne.”

  “All because they can link their blood back to these…deities?”

  “They ruled Atlantia since the dawn of time, up until the last of them died. They weren’t just a bloodline,” he said. “They were Atlantia.”

  Okay, then. “And Casteel is of the elemental line?”

  “He is.”

  Well, if anyone would somehow be connected to deities and gods, it would be him. It explained his arrogance and high-handed attitude. “So, there are others who live in Atlantia? Besides the wolven?”

  “There are,” he said, surprising me. I half expected him to deem the information confidential. “Those with mortal blood, usually first or second-generation with one Atlantian and one mortal parent.”

  Those had been the half-Atlantians Casteel had spoken of the night prior.

  “Very rarely does a third-generation or more removed have any discernible Atlantian blood or traits. But even though they have mortal lifespans, they aren’t often plagued by illnesses or disease.”

  “Since their blood can feed one of an elemental line and be used to make vamprys, they don’t need blood after their Culling, do they?” I asked, realizing I hadn’t talked with Casteel about that part.

  Kieran raised an eyebrow. “No. They do not need blood.”

  That was a relief, although Casteel’s blood tasted nothing like I’d ever imagined. “Do those of the elemental line need food?” I’d seen Casteel eat. I’d actually seen the Ascended eat. “Do vamprys?”

  “Those of the elemental line can go long periods without food but doing so requires them to take blood more often. Vamprys can eat, but they don’t need to. Food does nothing to slake their bloodlust.”

  I stopped in the stairwell. “The ones who are part mortal…those are the ones with eyes that are hazel but more gold?”

  “You’d be correct in your assumption.”

  “Then why are mine green? Neither of my parents had hazel eyes,” I told him. “My mother could’ve had golden brown, but I’m pretty sure her eyes were just brown.”

  He glanced at the door. “If your mother or father had Atlantian blood in them, that doesn’t mean they were purely Atlantian. They could’ve been second-generation and your memory of their eye color faulty.”

  I frowned. “I remember the color of their eyes.”

  He glanced down at me. “It’s also possible that neither of them were your birth parents.”

  I almost tripped again. “Did they just find me in a field or something and decide to keep me?”

  “Mortals often do inexplicable and strange things, Penellaphe.”

  “Whatever.” A lot of things seemed impossible that I was working to accept. Both of my parents not actually being my blooded parents wasn’t one of them. “Are there more…bloodlines?”

  “There are.”

  I waited while he stared at me. “Are you going to tell me what they are?”

  Amusement crept into his wintry eyes. “There were many bloodlines at one time. However, most have either died off naturally or were lost in the war. The changelings are another bloodline, although their numbers have significantly dwindled.”

  “Changelings?” I repeated slowly, having never heard the word before.

  “Most are of two worlds, able to shift their forms.”

  “Like a wolven?”

  “Yes. Some.” His gaze swiveled to the door again, and his eyes narrowed. “Many believe they are distant cousins of the wolven, the offspring of a deity and a wolven.”

  “What kind of forms can they shift into?” I asked, thinking of one of the stories Ian had sent, the one about the water folk. I almost asked if they could shift into part fish, but that was too ridiculous for me to even utter.

  “Many different forms. But that will have to wait. He pressed a finger to my lips when I opened my mouth. “One second.”

  I frowned, but he moved his hand, brushing past me to open the door. I followed on his heels. When he came to a sudden stop, I almost walked right into his back.

  “Kieran.” The familiar, raspy voice caused my heart to lurch, even though I knew it wasn’t Vikter. It was Alastir. “I’ve been wondering where you were today. I expected to see you with Casteel.”

  “I’ve been busy,” Kieran answered. “Is Cas back already?”

  “He’s still with Elijah, speaking about…about the upcoming move.” There was a pause as I peeked around Kieran. Alastir’s hair was pulled back in a knot at the nape of his neck. Without the cloak, I saw that he wasn’t without weapons. A dagger was strapped to one thigh, and a golden-trimmed scabbard held a sword
on his opposite hip. Alastir also wasn’t alone.

  A man with auburn waves and the same vivid gold eyes as Casteel was with him. An elemental Atlantian, I now knew. His gaze slid from the wolven to where I stood, mostly hidden behind Kieran. One side of his lips tipped up.

  Kieran moved to the side, blocking my view of the elemental.

  “As I’m sure you know, there are concerns,” Alastir continued.

  “Concerns from Elijah or you?” Kieran asked.

  “Concerns from all,” Alastir answered. “It’s a sizable group to move and keep healthy and whole during the trip. And once there...”

  My mind rapidly turned that over. Were the people who lived in New Haven making the move to Atlantia? Even the Descenters, who were of no Atlantian descent? I thought the concerns had a lot to do with their limited land. But why were they going there now?

  Kieran crossed his arms. “It needs to be done.”

  “Does it?” came the quiet reply from Alastir.

  “I would think you of all people would know that it does,” Kieran said as I silently stepped farther to the side. “To do nothing is cruel.”

  Alastir’s features were somber as he said, “I agree. Doing nothing is cruel. My hesitation doesn’t come from a place of apathy. Hell, you know I’ve spent the better part of my life locating our people and their offspring trapped in Solis and bringing them home.” Alastir placed his hand on Kieran’s shoulder. “My hesitation comes from a place of empathy. I hope you and Casteel realize that.”

  “We do.” Kieran clamped his hand over the older wolven’s forearm. “It’s just a complicated situation.”

  “That it is.” Alastir turned his head to where I stood. “But not nearly as complicated as this.”

  Kieran started to block me once more, and I’d had it with the ridiculousness. “He can see me standing behind you,” I said. “You’re a giant oaf, but not that giant of an oaf.”

  A wide smile broke out across Alastir’s face, and the elemental behind him laughed.

  Kieran sighed.

  “I was hoping we’d get a chance to cross paths again without the Prince rushing you off.” The wolven’s smile tightened. “He does seem quite taken with you.”

 

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