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

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  Turning the pages, I read through birth and death dates, occupations and house numbers, quickly noting that these records were very different. The span of years between the dates of birth and death caught my attention.

  Hundreds of years.

  These were records of the Atlantians who’d once lived in New Haven. The worn armchair creaked as I sat in it. Many of the names were illegible, the ink too faded, as were occupations. Some were easier to decipher. Baker. Stable Master. Blacksmith. Healer. Scholar. It was strange to see these common skills listed beside dates that suggested they’d lived ten or more mortal lifespans. But I supposed that when Atlantia ruled over the kingdom, many of them lived very ordinary long lives. There were occupations and words unfamiliar to me, ones I saw repeated under the column that listed jobs, and words often in parentheses near the names that I could read.

  “What is a wivern?” I asked, unsure if I’d pronounced it correctly.

  “What?” Kieran looked up from the book that rested in his lap.

  “I found records from when Atlantians lived here,” I told him. “The word wivern appears frequently.”

  Kieran drew his legs off the chest and rose, placing his book where his feet were. He came to stand by my shoulder. “Where?”

  “See?” I tapped a finger below the faded black ink. “There are words I don’t recognize. Like here.” I drew my finger down. “Ceeren.”

  “Hell.” Kieran leaned forward, turning the pages back to the title page. “It’s Atlantian records.”

  I arched a brow. “That’s what I said.”

  “I’m surprised this remained here all these years.” He flipped back to the page I’d been looking at.

  “It was behind a couple of other records and covered in dust. It must’ve been forgotten.”

  “Definitely forgotten. The Ascended destroyed any and all records of the Atlantians who once lived here. No matter how inconsequential as a census.”

  “So, what does wivern mean?”

  “A wivern was an Atlantian bloodline that was killed off during the war,” he explained. “They too were of two worlds, mortal and animal.”

  “Like the wolven and changelings?”

  He nodded. “Except the wivern could take the form of cats larger than those that roam the caves in the Wastelands. Here. Draken?” His arm brushed mine as he moved closer to point out a place farther down the page.

  Air hissed out of Kieran’s clenched teeth as he jerked back his arm. I turned, finding him standing several feet from me.

  I lifted my brows, thinking that was a bit of an overreaction to his arm touching mine. “You okay?”

  He stared at me, eyes wider than I’d ever seen before, but bright in an unnatural way. “You didn’t feel that?”

  “You touched my arm. That’s all I felt.” I watched him rub his arm. “What did you feel?”

  “A shock,” he said. “Like being struck by lightning.”

  “Have you’ve been struck by lightning before?”

  “No. It’s a figure of speech.” He glanced at the door before those too-bright eyes settled on me. “You really didn’t feel that?”

  I shook my head. “Maybe it was like that static charge you get when dragging your feet over the carpet.” A faint smile tugged at my lips. “I used to do that all the time to Ian.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me.” Kieran lowered his hand. “The Prince is coming.”

  I opened my mouth, but the door opened a heartbeat later. Was Kieran’s hearing that good?

  Casteel strode in, his hair swept back from his face, and it was like all the air had been sucked out, and the library suddenly became three sizes smaller. It was simply him, his mere presence immediately taking over the space.

  He glanced between Kieran and me. “You two look like you’re having fun.”

  Based on the way Kieran still looked as if he’d seen a spirit, I doubted it.

  “I found a book of records from when the Atlantians lived here.” I picked up the book.

  “Sounds real fun,” Casteel drawled.

  “Perfect timing.” Kieran’s expression smoothed out. “Your fiancée has questions.”

  The way he said the word fiancée made me want to throw the book at his head.

  “Perhaps I have answers.” Casteel leaned against the desk. “And, yes, before you ask, you’re free to do as you please.”

  “Thank the gods,” Kieran muttered, peeling himself away from the built-in bookshelves. He started toward the door. “Is all good with Alastir?”

  Casteel nodded. “He and several of the men left to check the roads.”

  “Good.” Kieran turned. “Have fun.”

  I watched him close the door. “He’s acting weird.”

  “Is that so?”

  “He got a static shock from his arm brushing mine, and he behaved as if I’d done it on purpose.”

  “You know how some electrical wiring can short out? Emit sparks or charges of energy?” When I nodded, he said, “Wolven can lose control over their forms if they come into contact with electricity, even at harmless levels. Sometimes, during a particularly bad lightning storm, they are often affected by it.”

  “Oh. Well, then.” I paused. “He’s still weird.”

  Casteel laughed, and the sound was deep and real and nice. “So, what did you have questions about?”

  I looked up at him and wished I hadn’t. The words he spoke before leaving to speak with Alastir came back to me. Thank you for choosing me. I didn’t choose him, though. Not really.

  Stomach fluttering nonetheless, I dragged my attention back to the book. “I found these words I didn’t understand. Kieran was just explaining that the wivern could shift into large cats, and he was about to tell me what a draken is.”

  “Ah, this is an old book.” He leaned over, scanning the pages. The scent of woodsmoke mixed with his scent. “A draken was a powerful bloodline, one able to sprout wings as wide as a horse, and talons as sharp as a blade. They could fly. Some could even breathe fire.”

  My chin snapped up, and I stared at him. “Like…like a dragon?”

  Casteel nodded.

  “I thought dragons were myths.” I remembered reading stories about them in the books I’d borrowed from the city’s library. Some even had drawings of the frightening beasts.

  “Every myth is rooted in some fact,” he answered.

  “If there were draken who could fly and breathe fire, how in the world could the Ascended even gain the upper hand against Atlantia?” I asked.

  “Because the draken were basically gone before the first vampry was even made.” He picked up a strand of my hair and started to twist it around his finger. “If they had been there, nothing would remain of the Ascended but scorched earth.”

  I shivered. “What do you mean by basically gone.”

  “Well, my very curious Princess, legends state that many of the draken didn’t die. That they slumber with the gods or protect their resting places.”

  “Are the legends true?”

  He unraveled the strand of hair. “That, I cannot answer. I’ve never seen a draken, which is a shame. Would have loved to see one.”

  “So would I,” I admitted, imagining that a draken would be a fierce but majestic sight.

  Casteel was looking over the page as he spun my hair around his finger once more. “The ceeren were here? Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

  “Why?” I snatched away my hair, pulling it free from his hand.

  He pouted. “Because there is no sea or large body of water nearby. Ceeren were also of two worlds, part mortal and—”

  “Water folk?” I whispered, heart lurching.

  “I imagine some may have called them such. They would grow fins—not like a lamaea—” He grinned, and a hint of the dimple appeared. “Their fins were in the right places, but their bloodline also faded out before the war.”

  Was it a coincidence that Ian had written a story about two children befriending some water folk?
I’d thought it nothing more than a figment of his imagination. But maybe he had discovered the ceeren.

  “How did they die?”

  “There’s a lot of debate surrounding that one. Some of the older Atlantians say it’s because they fell into a depression once Saion went to sleep, losing their will to live. Others believe that through generations of intermingling with other bloodlines, there simply were no pure ceeren left.”

  “I hope it was the latter,” I said, even though that was a weird thing to hope for. “Them dying off because of a god going to sleep is far too sad.”

  “That it is.” Casteel turned the page. “You should find this interesting.” He dropped his finger to the middle of the page. “Senturion.”

  I refocused. “What is that?”

  “A general term for multiple, old bloodlines who were warriors born and not trained.” He placed his hand beside mine. “There were dozens at one time, each line marked by their own special talents that made them dangerous to face in combat. Many of the warrior lines died out hundreds of years before the Ascended.”

  “How?”

  “All kingdoms are built from blood. Atlantia is no different,” he explained. “The war that ended most of the warrior lines started with an uprising of elemental against the ruling line.”

  Remembering what Kieran had told me, I said, “The…the deities?”

  “Someone has been talking with you.”

  “Kieran told me about some of them, but I don’t understand. He made it sound like the deities held unquestionable authority—that they were the children of the gods and created the elementals.”

  “I’m sure Kieran would say that.” He snorted. “But, yes, they created the elementals and most of the warrior lines, but there always comes a time when the creation seeks to rise above the creator. The elementals and several of the other lines orchestrated a massacre, managing to kill several deities, which I imagine wasn’t entirely easy. A few of the warrior lines sided with the elementals, and some with the deities. The war didn’t last as long as it did with the Ascended, but it was far more destructive. In the end, nearly all the deities had been slain, entire bloodlines were gone, and a deity still maintained the throne until he was finally cast aside and killed—this time for reasons that went beyond my ancestors deciding they were better fit to rule.”

  “And what was that?”

  “I’ve already told you why, once before.” He inclined his head when I glanced up at him. “He created the first vampry.”

  “King Malec? He was a deity?”

  Casteel nodded.

  Good gods, that meant that Casteel’s mother had been married to a deity? “Had he been alive since the beginning? Or was he a descendent of the line?”

  “He was the child of two ancient deities.”

  I gave a shake of my head, feeling as if my brain would implode. That didn’t stop me from asking more questions. “What kind of talents did these warriors have?”

  The dimple deepened as he said, “Some were able to use the earth in battle—summon the wind or rain. They were of the primordial line. Others could call upon the souls of those who were slain by the one they fought. The one listed near the top?” His pinky brushed mine, sending a shock of energy I hadn’t felt when one had passed to Kieran. “Pryo? They could summon fire for their blades. Underneath that is one of the cimmerian line?”

  His pinky slid over mine as I stared at the word written in ink too faded for my eyes. I nodded.

  “They could call upon the night, blocking out the sun and leaving their foe blind to their movements.”

  “All of that…all of that sounds too fantastical,” I admitted as his finger traced the line of mine, sending a wave of awareness through me.

  “It would, but so are wolven to a lot of mortals.” He had a point there. “And I imagine so are empaths.”

  “Empaths?”

  “A warrior bloodline that died off shortly after the war, but these were even more unique, Poppy. The ones everyone dreaded to face in battle.” His fingers slid over mine, and I looked up at him. “They were favored by the deities, as they were the only ones who could do what the empaths could—read the emotions of others and then turn that into a weapon, amplifying pain or fear. Sending an army running before a sword was even lifted.”

  My breath caught.

  “This is the bloodline I believe you’re descended from, Poppy. Or at least what I’ve been thinking.” His hand returned to the desk. “Empath warriors. It’s the only one that makes sense. A few could’ve been lost in Solis, unable to return to Atlantia at the end of the war and therefore presumed dead. One of them at some point could’ve met a mortal, years and years later, or the child of two of them did, creating either the first generation that gave birth to you or—”

  “Or one of my parents was…was an empath warrior.” Stunned, I was unable to move. “Did they have a certain eye color? Because I don’t have gold or hazel eyes.”

  “No. Yours are the color of an Atlantian spring—of dew-kissed leaves.”

  I blinked.

  Casteel looked away, clearing his throat. “Anyway, the warrior bloodlines had no specific distinguishing traits.”

  Then my mother or father could’ve been one, or the child of them. “Is it possible that Queen Ileana or King Jalara were so close to them and had not known?”

  “It is possible. But they would have known what the Ascended were if they were an empath warrior.” Bracing his weight on his hand, Casteel dipped his head so we were almost at eye level. “So, I think they were first-generation. And like you, didn’t understand why they couldn’t sense emotions from the Ascended.”

  “But I can’t use it as a weapon or anything like that.”

  “The abilities change once mortal blood is introduced.” His gaze flickered over my face.”

  “How did they die?” I asked, and then immediately realized the answer. “They couldn’t use their abilities against the Ascended, could they?”

  “Either because they couldn’t sense emotion or didn’t know how to. They were still exceptional fighters. It would explain your almost natural talent with weapons.” His voice softened. “Bolder and braver than any of the other lines.”

  My gaze fell to the faded ink. Empath warriors. Could it be that I was descended from a bloodline so powerful they could take out an army before a battle even began? One favored by the children of the gods? Could it be that I was a part of this bloodline? It sounded right. It felt like a final puzzle piece being found. It felt right. The corners of my lips tipped up, and I smiled.

  “Beautiful,” Casteel whispered.

  Startled, my eyes flew to his. The moment our gazes connected, I couldn’t look away. His head was so close to mine, his mouth even closer—close enough that if I tilted my head and leaned in an inch or two, our lips would touch. My heart started pounding. Did I want that? Did I not want that? I didn’t move to put space between us. My eyes began to drift closed—

  Casteel moved back, his head turning to the door. He slid off the desk just as a fist sounded. “Come in.”

  Naill entered, hand on his sword. “One of the watchers signaled that we have company, coming from the western roads.”

  “Who?” Casteel demanded.

  “The Ascended.”

  Chapter 14

  I was already standing when Casteel turned to me. “We must go,” he clipped out.

  I went to move around the desk but stopped. “Wait.” Spinning around, I snatched the book and shoved it back where I’d found it, behind the other records.

  Casteel noted my actions in silence, and when I came around the desk, he took my hand.

  How could they have known that I was missing? It had to be too soon, especially given the storm. It had only clipped the western sides, but they would’ve expected it to slow us down.

  “They’ve already entered the yard,” Naill advised as we left the library, sending my stomach plummeting.

  “Be smart,” Casteel advised.
And with one curt nod, Naill took off. “Come,” he said to me.

  Casteel led me in silence through the dimly lit, winding halls that felt like a maze designed to trap us. We reached an old wooden door that he pushed open with an arm, and entered the kitchens. The faces of those we passed were a blur as they stepped to the side, bowing at Casteel on sight.

  “The Ascended are here,” he said, and several gasps echoed. “Hide the youngest below and warn the others. Do not antagonize the Ascended.”

  An older man stepped forward, thumping his fist off his chest. “From blood and ash.”

  Casteel placed his fist over his heart. “We will rise.”

  The people scattered before we reached the doors that led outside. We were near the stables, the air cold but still as I glanced up at the sky that had given way to night. We headed for the heavily wooded area, neither of us speaking until we were among the snow-heavy limbs. Only then did it strike me how much my life had changed.

  I was running away from the Ascended.

  Not toward them.

  Casteel kept hold of my hand as he navigated the darkened woods.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, my breath forming misty clouds.

  “Just outside until I know for sure what is happening.” He caught a bare, low-hanging branch, lifting it out of the way.

  I kept close as we moved along the fringes of the forest. I realized we’d moved deeper into the woods as we circled the keep and then started to move closer. Perhaps a half-hour passed before the cold began to get to me. I shivered as I curled my free hand so that it was hidden under my sleeve.

  “Sorry,” he said gruffly. “I wish there’d been time to grab a cloak or at least your gloves.”

  “It’s okay.”

  He glanced back at me, but I couldn’t make out his expression. We continued on, drawing even closer to the keep.

  Casteel stopped me. “Wait.”

  The tone of his voice sent a wave of warning through me. “What?”

  He jerked his chin forward. “Something is happening.”