A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire

Looking behind me at the small hole of darkness, I shook my head. Momma wouldn’t fit in there. “I wanna stay with you.”

“I’ll be right here.” Her hands touched my cheek. Her skin was damp as she turned my head towards her. “I need you to be a big girl and listen to me. You have to hide—”

The high-pitched howl came again, and I clamored for her, clutching at her sides. My fingers dug into the sticky waist of her dress. “You have to let go, baby. You need to hide, Poppy.”

I held tighter, feeling wet warmth coursing down the sides of my face.

Momma jerked at the sound of something—a voice. Someone spoke, but my heart pounded too loudly in my ears for me to hear. It sounded like a rushing fall of water, and the nightmare sounds were louder, closer. Then, there was a voice again. And Momma, her hands were wetter, stickier…

Someone knocked a lamp over somewhere. Glass shattered. Momma yelled as her arms folded around me, the words mushed together, making little sense except for one—

Screams. Someone was shrieking. Momma? She was torn from me, her hands sliding down my arms, her fingers catching mine and then slipping. A body crashed into us—me—and I tottered to the side, losing my hold of Momma. Fiery pain sliced across my face, stunning me. I fell back. Hands grabbed at me. Hands that were too heavy. Hands that hurt. I screamed—

There was a voice again, somewhere in the darkness, living under the screams.

What a pretty little flower.

What a pretty poppy.

Pick it and watch it bleed.

Not so pretty any longer…

Poppy.

I jerked awake, a scream ringing in my ears, burning my throat as I gasped for air, struggling to move but unable. My arms were trapped against my sides, my legs tangled in thick warmth. My eyes peeled open, and it took a moment for my surroundings to make sense. I focused on the steady thumping under my cheek as I slowly dug out the thorns of panic and fear.

Faint gray light seeped in through the narrow window across from the bed. I wasn’t at the inn, being ripped and torn into. I was in the keep, in bed, with a warm, hard chest against my cheek, a hand that continuously smoothed over my hair, a voice that whispered my name over and over, telling me it was okay, promising me that it was safe. I was nestled in his lap, held tightly to his chest as if he tried to keep the tremors at bay with his hold alone.

Casteel.

Reality came back to me in pieces as the disorientation from the nightmare eased, and I began to realize that he was slowly rocking us.

I knew I needed to pull away, should put some distance between us, but something about his embrace was grounding. Something that felt inexplicably right in the aftermath of the blood and terror. Maybe it was because I often woke alone after the nightmares, shaken and terrified, especially after Ian left for the capital. And even with my screams often waking Tawny, I never allowed such…comfort. I’d always been too embarrassed to seek it from my lady’s maid. But there wasn’t another option now, and it was the first time I’d ever been relieved to have the choice taken from me. I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of Casteel’s body soak into mine.

A hint of shame sifted through me even though he’d known about the nightmares. Vikter had warned him about them, and I knew that Vikter had done so not for Casteel’s benefit but mine. Sorrow tightened my chest. I missed Vikter, missed him so badly, and waking from these blood-soaked nightmares, the loss was raw.

But embarrassment also warmed my skin. How incredibly silly Casteel must think me to be suffering nightmares so many years later. I started to pull away. “I’m sorry,” I said, wincing at the hoarseness of my voice. Only the gods know what kind of sounds I must’ve made to scratch my throat so raw. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“When I was younger and I left Atlantia for the first time, I saw a Craven outside a small village. I’d never seen anything scarier in my entire life. I didn’t think there could be anything worse out there.” Casteel’s arms tightened around me. “Having been in its state for quite some time, it looked like a walking corpse. It was far more terrifying than anything my imagination could’ve created when I was a child. And hearing the way it wailed? I swore it would haunt my sleep, and it did. For weeks, even far away from any Craven, I woke in the middle of the night, swearing I heard it screaming.”

The tremors were subsiding as he curved his hand around the back of my head. “But then I was captured. And the worst part? It was my fault. I was still young and foolish. I thought I could solve everything by taking out King Jalara and Queen Ileana myself. I truly believed I could do it. I got close—near enough to make my move. Obviously, I failed. And then I learned what true terror was. You asked me earlier what they did to me. They refused me blood, kept me on the edge, giving me just enough to survive—sometimes barely, but the constant low supply affected my ability to heal.”

Bile crept up my throat, but I said nothing as I stayed in his arms.

“It takes a long time for that effect to occur, and they knew it. They didn’t brand me before they knew the mark would remain.” His chest rose against me. “When the ones they brought in to feed me were close to dying, no longer able to serve their purpose, they killed them right in front of me. Sometimes slowly, putting the same nicks and cuts into their skin until they died. Other times, they snapped their necks. But there were times that I was so hungry that I…” He swallowed. “It was me that tore into their throats and killed them. And they’d leave their bodies in there with me to rot. For days. Weeks. Nothing for me to stare at but the person I’d killed. Nothing to think about but what kind of life they’d lived before that moment, and what kind of future I’d stolen from them. Sometimes, the bodies would pile up, left in there long after the stench had passed.”

Oh, my gods.

My eyes were open but unseeing as I listened to him. Was this also a part of the grief he carried with him? If so, I could understand why. All the terrible things he’d done or caused didn’t matter in that moment. I couldn’t imagine the suffering he must’ve endured. No one deserved that. Even those whose actions warranted death didn’t deserve to be tortured, used, and abused.

And to be haunted by nightmares decades later? Centuries later? I didn’t think I could deal with a hundred years of reliving the night the Craven attacked.

There was an emptiness to his voice as he continued. “And they did things to me—things that caused reactions I couldn’t control. Females. Males. They made me—” He stopped, and I could feel his head shake. “I learned what true fear was.”

A shuddering breath left me. “I…I’m sorry. I wish—”

“You have nothing to apologize for. It wasn’t you, and I don’t want that from you.” His fingers curled around my hair. “I don’t want pity.”

“I don’t pity you,” I told him. “And I know I’m not responsible for what happened to you—and neither are you, even if your actions led to your capture. I still feel horrible for what was done to you.”

“I don’t want you to feel that. I just want you to know that I had nightmares, Poppy. For years after being freed, I woke in the middle of the night, thinking I was still in that cage, shackled by my wrists and ankles. Sometimes, things I did after being freed follow me into sleep.”

His hand slid to my cheek, guiding my head back so my eyes met his. “So, I know all about how the past doesn’t remain where it should. How it likes to pay visits when you’re at your weakest. There is never a need to apologize, nor should you ever feel shame.”

My heart twisted even as some of the discomfort lessened. “How…how did you survive what you did?”

“I don’t think you’ll like the answer,” he said after a moment, looking away. “I promised myself that when I escaped, I would eventually watch the life seep from the soulless eyes of Queen Ileana and King Jalara.” He dropped his hand. “That’s how I survived.”

I swallowed at the utter coldness of his tone. “Revenge, then.” When he nodded, I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to feel about what he’d said. Was I supposed to think poorly of him? I still didn’t know how to reconcile what he’d told me about the Queen and what I knew, what I’d seen.

“How did you survive, Poppy?” His gaze swept back to mine, lashes lowered halfway. “How have you not let the night of the Craven attack make you afraid of everything? Because you are fearless, whether it be facing a swarm of Craven, staring into the eyes of a wolven, or when you push back at me, even knowing what I am.”

His question caught me off guard, as did the knowledge that he saw me as fearless. “I…it’s not that I’m without fear. I do fear things.”

Interest sparked in his golden eyes. “I don’t believe that.”

There was no way I’d admit to him that I feared myself more than I could ever fear a Craven, wolven, or even him. “I survived because I refused to ever be helpless again. That kept me from caving to the fear. That’s what helped me push through the pain of training with Vikter—the aches and bruises.” I thought of the brand on Casteel’s thigh, the pain he must have endured for something like that to scar when he healed so easily. “I can understand how the need for revenge helped you survive.”

His head tilted as his lashes lifted, revealing his bright, intense gaze. “Is that how you’re surviving right now? Picturing all the ways you will kill me?”

No. I wasn’t thinking that at all. Maybe I should be, but I wasn’t.

Slipping out of his embrace, I scooted over to my side of the bed. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and find out.”

A half-grin appeared, revealing the dimple in his right cheek. Too soon, it faded. “Do you remember anything from the nightmare?”

“I’m really trying not to think about it,” I admitted, tugging the heavy blanket up to my chest.     PrevNextTip: You can use left and right keyboard keys to browse between pages.

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