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

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  “I go by several names. The Dark One. Bastard. Cas. Prince Casteel Da’Neer,” he said, and there was no mistaking the slight widening of her eyes. She hadn’t known that—who he truly was. “Call me whatever you like as long as you know it will be my voice that will be the last sound you hear.”

  “Prince Casteel,” she spoke the words as if she’d been presented with an entire chocolate cake…or with an elemental Atlantian. She laughed. “Oh, I’ve heard all about you from our Queen and King. They always wondered where you disappeared to. What happened to you. Now I can tell them that their favorite pet is well and alive.”

  Pet? The grip of the bow dug into my palm.

  “You know, I might just let you live, Duchess. Just so you can return to your King and Queen to let them know their favorite pet cannot wait to see them again.”

  Teerman smiled even broader. “I’ll be sure to do so. That is if you allow me to live.” There was a coyness to her tone that skated across my nerves. Was she flirting with him? “But before you get to the killing, I’m here to prevent death.”

  “Is that so?” Casteel asked.

  She nodded. “You have to know that there are more than those who stand behind me.” A hand extended with all the elegance of a ballroom dancer. “One of your dogs made it back to you, did he not? The other, well, our horses have been well fed.”

  Nausea seized me. She couldn’t be serious. I wanted to vomit.

  “You know that we outnumber whatever you have behind those walls. There can’t be many living in ruins,” she said, giving away the knowledge that she knew very little of Spessa’s End. That eased some of the horror churning within me. “Even if it were hundreds of Descenters with a few—albeit one less—overgrown mutts, you will not walk away from this. So, I am here to prevent that.”

  “And I am here to tell you that if you refer to a wolven as a dog one more time, I will strike you down before those knights have a chance to blink,” Casteel warned.

  “My apologies.” Teerman bowed her head. “I meant no offense.”

  Really? I rolled my eyes so hard that it was no wonder they didn’t get stuck back there.

  “I do hope we can come to an agreement. Believe it or not, spilled blood makes me squeamish,” she said. “It’s so…wasteful. So, most of my armies have remained back in a show of good faith. In hopes that you will listen.”

  “It doesn’t appear as if I have the choice not to listen. So, please. Speak.”

  The Duchess heard the insolence in his tone. It showed in the tensing of her jaw. “You have what belongs to us. We want it back. Give us the Maiden.”

  Belonged to them? It? I drew on every ounce of willpower I had not to lift the bow and send a bloodstone arrow straight through her mouth.

  “Give the Maiden back to us, and we will leave this pit of bones untouched for you to cross back to whatever remains of your once-great kingdom.”

  If her words represented the entirety of the Ascended, they truly had no idea what they were up against. What kind of hailstorm could descend upon them if something did happen to Atlantia’s Prince.

  “And if I did, you would just walk away? Allow me and mine to live?”

  “For now? Yes. You’re far too valuable to kill if we can capture you, but right now, the Maiden is the priority.” Her pitch-black eyes reflected no light. “And there will be more chances to capture you later. You’ll be back. For your brother, correct? Isn’t that why you took our Maiden? To ransom her for him?”

  Casteel stiffened, and the fact that he remained silent was evidence of his willpower.

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there will be no ransom. You either give her to us or…”

  When Casteel said nothing, she inclined her head, searching the battlements. “Penellaphe? Is she up there? I’ve heard you have grown quite…familiar with her.”

  Casteel said nothing as I stared down at her, not allowing myself to think too hard on how she could’ve learned that.

  “If you are up there, Penellaphe, please say something. Show yourself,” she called. “I know you must think terrible things of us now, about our Queen and King. But I can explain everything. We can keep you safe as we always have.” Her gaze flickered past where Casteel stood. “I know you miss your brother. He’s learned of your capture, and he’s sick with worry. I can bring you to him.”

  I almost stepped forward, almost opened my mouth. She knew how to get to me, but she also must’ve thought I was an incredible imbecile if she thought that would work.

  “Do you know what happened to the last Ascended who came looking for the Maiden?” Casteel asked.

  “I do,” Duchess Teerman replied. “That will not happen here.”

  “Are you sure?” he retorted. “Because what you seek never belonged to you in the first place.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Teerman countered. “She belongs to the Queen.”

  My self-control snapped, and I moved before I could stop myself, reaching the battlement as I said, “I belong to no one, and especially not her.”

  Casteel slowly turned his head toward me. “This is not staying unseen,” he said in a low voice. “In case you’re unsure.”

  “Sorry,” I muttered.

  Duchess Teerman’s tight, toothless smile returned. “There you are. You were up there this entire time. Why didn’t you say something earlier?” She held up her hand. “No need to answer that. I’m sure it’s because of what you’ve been told—one very biased side of the story.”

  “I’ve heard enough to know the truth,” I told her. “Have those who stand behind you? Do the soldiers know the truth of what you are? Of what the King and the Queen are?”

  “You have no idea what Queen Ileana is, and neither does the false Prince standing beside you,” she replied. “And you’re wrong, Penellaphe. You belong to the Queen. Just like the first Maiden did.”

  “The first Maiden? The one I supposedly killed but never met?” Casteel demanded. “The one that probably doesn’t even exist?”

  “I may have insinuated that you were directly responsible for her fate,” the Duchess replied. “But the first Maiden was very real, and she too belonged to the Queen. Just like you do, Penellaphe. As did your mother.”

  “My mother?” The string of the bow was taut between my fingers as I kept the arrow pointed down. “My mother was her friend. Or at least that was what I was told.”

  “Your mother was so much more than that,” she called back. “I’ll tell you everything about her—about you.”

  “She knows nothing,” Casteel said. “The Ascended are masters of manipulation.”

  “I know.” And I did. “There is nothing you can say that I will believe. I know about the Rite. I know what happens to the third sons and daughters. I know how the Ascension works. I know why you need me.”

  “But do you know that your mother was Queen Ileana’s daughter? That you are the Queen’s granddaughter? That is why you are the Maiden. The Chosen.”

  My lips parted on a sharp inhale.

  “You’re not even a good liar,” Casteel snarled. “What you’re suggesting is impossible. Ascended cannot have children.”

  The Duchess tilted her head. “Who said that Queen Ileana is an Ascended?”

  “Every Ascended in Solis has claimed as much. Your history books have stated it,” I exclaimed. “The Queen herself has called herself an Ascended. Are you seriously trying to say she is not what she is? When she does not age? When she does not walk in the sun?”

  “They were lies designed to protect the truth—to protect your mother and you,” she replied.

  “Protect me?” I laughed, and the sound was harsh to my ears. “Is that what you call keeping me locked in my rooms? Forcing me to wear the veil and forbidding me to speak, eat, or walk without permission? Is that what the Duke was doing when he took a cane to my back simply because I breathed too loudly or didn’t respond in a way he found appropriate? When he put his hands on me? Allowed others to
do the same?” I demanded as Casteel stiffened even more. Anger flooded me, and I almost lifted the bow then, almost released the arrow. “Is that how you and the Queen protected me? Don’t tell me you didn’t know. You did, and you allowed it.”

  Duchess Teerman’s porcelain features hardened. “I did what I could when I could. If he hadn’t met his fate at the hands of the one beside you, he surely would have once the Queen knew.”

  “You mean, my grandmother? Who sent Lord Chaney after me? Who bit me?” I demanded. “Who most likely would’ve killed me?”

  “I didn’t know that,” she argued. “But I can explain—”

  “Shut up,” I said, done with her, done with their lies. “Just shut up. There is nothing you can say or do that will make me believe you. So get whatever it is you think you’re going to do here over with, Jacinda.”

  Her features sharpened at the use of her first name, something she sporadically required from me.

  “Feisty,” Casteel murmured. “I like it.”

  “I’m this close to shooting her in the face with an arrow,” I warned him.

  “I like that, too,” he replied.

  The Duchess stepped forward. “I can see that nothing I say at this time will help make this go smoothly. Perhaps the gifts I brought will change both of your minds.”

  Casteel straightened as she tilted her head back, toward the soldiers. Several moved to the catapults. Soldiers gripped the sacks, emptying whatever was in them and then knelt as releases were thrown. I tensed as metal groaned.

  The catapults swung forward, one after the other, releasing the gifts as Casteel grabbed me, shielding my body with his.

  But what was sent at us flew high above us. They flung through the air, over the battlements. We turned as they hit the stone walls behind us. The sound of them, the fleshy smack, the smear they left behind on the walls that could be seen even in the moonlight and along the floor as they tumbled forward, turned my stomach as the bow loosened in my grip. The nocked arrow trembled.

  One had long, black hair.

  Another a shroud of silver.

  A glimpse of skin that was once a beautiful onyx.

  An expression frozen in fear for an eternity.

  Heads. They were heads.

  So many of them.

  Magda.

  The mother of the woman who’d died.

  Keev, the wolven.

  The Atlantian man who’d refused my touch.

  A head rolled to a stop by Casteel’s feet. The moment I saw the blood-stained beard, my throat sealed.

  Elijah.

  Chapter 39

  I staggered back a step, my horrified gaze lifted to Casteel and then to where Duchess Teerman had stood. She was no longer there. I turned back to Casteel.

  His chest expanded, but no breath left him as he stared down at the gift.

  “Casteel,” I whispered.

  Slowly, he turned from the grotesque sight and eyes nearly as black as an Ascended’s met mine.

  And I knew there would be no more talking.

  Locking down my senses and shutting off my emotions, my horror and fury, I exhaled roughly.

  “Kill as many of them as you can.” Releasing the golden swords from his sides, he spun back to the edge and leapt.

  He leapt from the top of the Rise, a dozen feet or more above the field.

  Rushing to the edge, his name was a scream not given sound. He landed in a crouch, swords at his sides as he rose before an army of hundreds.

  “Nice of you to join us,” a knight called out. “The Dark One all alone? The odds are not in your favor.”

  “I am never alone,” Casteel growled.

  Piercing screams rang from every side of me, pitching and falling in a battle cry that would send a bolt of dread through the most seasoned warrior.

  The Guardians.

  They moved as silently as wraiths, appearing on the battlements. They swept their swords above their heads, bringing them together in a thunderous clap. Sparks erupted from the swords, igniting. I sucked in a breath as golden flames spiraled over the blades, encasing the stone blades in fire. Flames erupted across the Rise. Then they too went over the side, one by one, falling like golden stars. By the time they landed, Casteel was nothing more than a blur among leather and armor, cutting a path into the line before they even knew he was there as he headed straight for the carriage. He was going to kill the Duchess.

  And for once I cared nothing for dignity in death.

  Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, I lifted the bow and nocked the arrow once more as the first wolven burst from the shadows, taking a guard down from his horse. To my left and right, the oldest among those here lifted their bows. I searched for flashes of black—of mantles that signified a knight instead of a guard and took aim as the others spilled out from the trees that crowded the right walls of the Rise.

  Catching sight of a knight on horseback, charging a man who’d shoved a sword deep into the chest of a soldier, I took aim. The knight’s hand whipped out, and a barbed chain uncurled. The metal and spikes spun with dizzying speed as I focused on the one weak area not armored.

  I released the string. The arrow flew across the distance, striking the knight in the eye. The impact knocked the knight from the horse, his body disintegrating as it fell to the ground.

  Quentyn skidded into the space beside me, placing a shield against the stone walls. He stretched up, peering over the wall, jaw hard as he leveled his bow.

  “Where’s Beckett?” I asked, not having seen him.

  “He’s with the ones who can’t fight.”

  I nodded. “The ones with black mantles are knights. Vamprys. Aim for their heads.”

  “Got it.” His eyes squinted.

  Notching another arrow, I scanned for Casteel, spotting him in the middle of the Royal Army ranks, sweeping his sword through the neck of one and the stomach of another. My gaze skipped over flaming swords, cutting down those with fire. A knight raced toward a Guardian. I released an arrow, and it caught him in the mouth.

  “Archers!” a knight shouted. “On the battlements.”

  Aiming at a guard who rushed toward a wolven, I only saw the arrow pierce the leather, spinning the mortal to the ground a second before a volley of arrows ripped through the air.

  “Incoming!” someone yelled.

  “Down!” Quentyn shouted as he lifted a shield that had to weigh nearly as much as he did. We knelt as the arrows zinged down, clanging off stone and the metal of the shield. Shouts of pain tugged at my senses, telling me that some had found their marks.

  Quentyn lowered the shield, and I popped back up as I placed an arrow over the bow.

  “Do you see him?” Quentyn asked, releasing an arrow. “The Prince?”

  I shook my head as I surveyed the chaos below. There was too much going on—there were too many. I could barely even see the Guardians’ flaming swords in the clash of regular swords and bodies. “He’ll be okay,” I told Quentyn—told myself—as I pulled back the string, forgetting about the knights. I focused on the soldiers, going through a quiver of ammunition before several of them broke through the wolven and Guardians. A dozen or more reached the door. The shouts from below caused my gift to swell inside me. I knew they were going to make it inside.

  Another wave of arrows went up, and I cursed as we ducked under the shield again. Several clattered off, hitting the floor beside us. Screams tore through the air. My gaze swung in the direction of the stairs. There weren’t enough out there to hold them back. They’d keep coming, just like Craven would. They’d swarm us before the larger army even arrived.

  And I was up here, hiding behind a shield.

  My gaze met Quentyn’s. “You’re really good with a bow?”

  He nodded. “I think so.”

  “Good. Cover me.”

  “What?” His golden eyes widened.

  “When you see me down there, cover me.” I dropped the bow.

  “You can’t go out there! Casteel—I mean,
the Prince will—”

  “Expect little else from me,” I told him. “Cover me.”

  Without waiting, I darted toward the stairs, unsheathing my dagger as I raced past the gruesome gifts. I sped down the winding staircase, my steps slowing as I heard the clang of stone against stone.

  They’d made it inside the Rise.

  I inched down the rest of the steps, keeping close to the wall.

  A body stumbled across the mouth of the stairs, falling to the ground. A Royal Guard appeared. All I saw was a young face splattered with blood. A face too young. Blue eyes. Did he know what he fought for? He had to. He had been out there when the Duchess spoke. It didn’t matter either way.

  Sword dripping with blood, he halted for a fraction of a second. That was all I needed. I sprang forward, shoving the dagger under his chin. His breath gurgled as he pinwheeled backward, the sword clanging off the ground.

  Stepping out of the stairwell, I switched the dagger to my left hand and picked up the fallen sword. Testing its weight, I scanned the torch-lit yard, the bodies standing and the ones falling. And then I did what Vikter had taught me through our hours of training.

  I closed it down.

  Shut it all down.

  The horror. What my eyes wanted my brain and heart to recognize. The fear, especially the fear—of being injured, of stumbling, of missing my mark, of dying—of losing those I cared about. Vikter had once told me that when you fought, you had to do so as if each breath may be your last.

  I stalked forward, the cloak billowing out from behind me, catching in the blood-rich wind. And all I saw when a soldier turned to me were the faces of their gifts.

  The soldier raised his sword, his face a mask of violence. There were different kinds of bloodlust. What vampry and Ascended felt, and what mortals experienced when violence spilled into the air. I dipped under his arm, spinning back as I thrust the sword into his back. Yanking the blade free, I turned, shoving the dagger deep into the chest of another soldier. The bloodstone pierced leather and bone.

  Whirling, I sliced through the neck of a soldier who went to drive their sword down on one who’d fallen. Wet warmth hit my cheeks as I turned, shoving my elbow into the throat of another. Bones crunched and air wheezed behind me as the pain of those around me scraped even harder at my senses.