A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire

I could accept that. “I wish you weren’t here,” I whispered. “I wish they weren’t coming.” I let a little of the fear through. “We still plan to free your brother and see mine, right? We still plan to prevent a war?”

He nodded.

“But after tonight?” I swallowed as I looked out to the western sky. “It may be too late. War has come to us.”

“It’s never too late. Not even after blood has been drawn and lives have been lost,” he said. “Things can always be stopped.”

I hoped so. I really did.

He turned to me, touching my cheek. “We may be absurdly outnumbered, but everyone who picks up a bow or sword to fight for Spessa’s End, for Atlantia, does so because they want to. Not for money. Not because joining the army was their only option. Not out of fear. We fight to live. We fight to protect what we’ve built here. We fight to protect one another. None of them—the Ascended, the knights, Solis soldiers—will fight with heart, and that makes the difference.”

I blew out a steadier breath. “It does.”

He was quiet for a moment, and then I felt his lips against my cheek, against the scars. “I will ask one other thing of you, Poppy. Stay up here. No matter what. Stay up here and use the bow. And if something were to happen to me, run. Go to the cavern. Kieran will know to find you there—”

“That’s asking two things of me.” Pressure clamped down on my chest.

“You are what they want,” he said. “With you, they will be able to do more harm to both Atlantia and Solis than if anything happens to me.”

“If anything happens to you—” I cut myself off, unable to go there when everything between us now was still so new, when it would breathe life into the fear I already felt. “These people need you more than they need me.”

“Poppy—”

“Do not ask me to do that.” I looked at him. “Do not ask me to run and hide while someone I care about is hurt or worse. I will not do that again.”

He closed his eyes. “This is not the same.”

I started to demand how it wasn’t when I heard the low call of warning from the fields. Both of us turned as fire sparked and a torch flamed to life in the distance, one after another until light spilled across the empty road.

Casteel signaled back as he reached for the hood of my cloak, pulling it up. As he fastened the row of buttons at my throat, the archers rushed forward, dropping behind the battlement walls.

Heart rate kicking up and breaths becoming too quick, I picked up a bow and an arrow out of the quiver—it was the kind I was familiar with—and stepped back so I wouldn’t be seen beyond the stone walls. Casteel remained where he stood, the only person visible to the approaching regiment. Instead of what marched forward, I stared at him, focused on the straight line of his spine and the proud lift of his chin. And as the silence gave way to the sound of dozens of boots and hooves falling upon the packed earth and the creak of wooden wheels turning, my senses stretched out to him. There was the bitter taste of fear, because he was no fool, but it was such a small amount because he was no coward.

“This kind of reminds me,” he noted, “of the night on the Rise in Masadonia. Except you’re not wearing slippers and a rather indecent nightgown. I don’t know if I should be relieved or disappointed.”

My heart slowed, and my breaths were no longer shallow. My spine straightened, and my chin lifted. “You should be grateful. You won’t be distracted tonight.”

He laughed softly. “Still a little disappointed.”

I smiled as my grip tightened on the bow.

There were no more words then as we watched the soldiers of Solis draw closer, shoving torches into the road and embankments. Their front lines were mortal soldiers, carrying heavy broadswords and wearing plates of leather. Horses pulled three catapults, and beyond them were the archers and mounted soldiers in metal armor, wearing black mantles. Knights. They were maybe two dozen or so of them. Not many, but enough to be a problem.

The knights parted as a windowless, crimson carriage rolled forward between two of the wooden catapults. There was something in them. I squinted. Sacks? It wasn’t gunpowder or other projectiles. Instead of relief, unease blossomed.

Soldiers parted, making way for the carriage that bore the Royal Crest. Several of the knights rode forward, surrounding the conveyance as the wheels stopped, protecting whoever was inside.

It had to be a Royal.

The door opened, and someone stepped out—someone so heavily cloaked that when they moved around the door, I could not tell if it was a man or a woman who walked forward, flanked by knights. Whoever it was, took their sweet old time, stopping once they stood in front of the soldiers. Gloved hands rose, shoving back the hood.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I muttered under my breath.

Duchess Teerman stood before the Rise, her face as pale and pretty as I remembered, but she wore no finery in her brown hair tonight. It was pulled back from her face in a simple twist as she stared up at the Rise.

And it was then when I truly feared what I would discover when I saw Ian with my own eyes. Duchess Teerman had been kind—well, she had never been particularly cruel to me. She’d been as cold and unreachable as most Ascended were, but when I killed Lord Mazeen, she had told me not to waste a moment more thinking of him. I believed that perhaps she too had been a victim of the Duke’s perversities. Maybe she had been, but the fact that she was here could only mean one thing.

She was the enemy.

Would that make Ian one, too?

Her berry-red lips curved into a tight, humorless smile. “Hawke Flynn,” she said, her voice too familiar as I quietly nocked an arrow. “Or is there another name you prefer?”

“It doesn’t matter what name you call me,” he answered, sounding about as bored as Kieran did during, well, everything.

“It would be rude if I called you by a false name,” she replied, clasping her hands together. The soldiers and knights remained silent and still behind her. “I don’t want to be rude.”

“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.”     PrevNextTip: You can use left and right keyboard keys to browse between pages.

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