A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire

A faint smile appeared. “A fitting name for the Maiden, I imagine.”

“You wouldn’t think that if you knew her,” Casteel replied, and I clamped my lips shut against a retort.

“Then I cannot wait to do so.” Alastir’s smile tightened.

“You will have to wait a little longer.” Casteel glanced back. His eyes briefly met mine, but it was long enough for me to know that he wished for me not to challenge what he said next. “Penellaphe was just about to retire.”

Kieran stepped closer, placing his hand on my lower back to urge me forward. I squelched the urge to refuse, having enough sense to realize that Casteel didn’t want me around this man, and there was probably a good reason for that.

I walked forward, well aware of several gazes following me. I’d made it halfway to the door when I heard Alastir ask, “Is it wise to allow the Maiden to roam freely?”

I stopped—

“Keep walking,” Kieran said under his breath. The handle of the knife I’d stolen dug into my palm.

“It wouldn’t be wise to refuse her to do so,” Casteel said with a laugh, and it took everything in me not to throw the blade at him.

Kieran kept pace with me as we passed the men who’d returned to standing sentry at the large wooden doors. Striding forward, I told myself not to look up, but my eyes lifted anyway as I passed the impaled body of Mr. Tulis.

Pressure clamped down on my chest. He and his wife had come before Duke and Duchess Teerman, pleading to keep their third-born son, their only remaining child, who had been destined to go into service to the gods during the Rite. I’d felt their soul-deep pain and desperation, and even without my gift, I would’ve been affected. I’d planned to plead their case to the Queen. To do something, even if I weren’t successful.

But they’d escaped. His entire family, his wife and infant son, given a chance at a new life. And he’d taken that opportunity to deliver what would’ve been the wound that killed me if it hadn’t been for Casteel.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell, “why?” as I stared at the pale face and the dried blood that stained his chest. Why had he made that choice? He’d thrown everything away for a short-lived sense of retribution. Against me, who had done nothing to him or his family. None of that had mattered in the end. Now, his son would grow up without a father.

But at least he would live. If he’d been given over in the Rite, he’d likely face a future worse than death. I had no idea how long the third sons and daughters survived within those Temples. Were they…fed upon immediately, even as infants? Small children? Third sons and daughters were given over annually, while the second sons and daughters were given to the Court between the ages of thirteen and eighteen. They lived—well, most of them. Some died at Court due to a sickness of the blood that took them during the night. Casteel had said the vamprys struggled to control their bloodlust, and I now doubted that there’d been an ailment that took them. Instead, it was like what had happened to Malessa Axton, who’d been found with a bite on her throat and her neck broken. It was never confirmed, but I knew Lord Mazeen, an Ascended, had killed her and left her body there, half exposed for anyone to find.

At least Lord Mazeen will harm no one else, I told myself as a savage wave of satisfaction flowed through me. I easily recalled the look of shock etched onto his face when I chopped off his hand. I’d never thought I would be glad to kill anything but a Craven, but Lord Mazeen had proven that false.

The violent joy came to a swift end as thoughts of the children crept back in. How could anyone, mortal or not, hurt young ones like that? And they had been doing it for years—hundreds of years.

Realizing I’d come to a standstill, I started walking again. Chest heavy, I didn’t even bother to look at Jericho. I could tell by the pitiful whimpers coming from him that he was still alive.

I believed everyone deserved dignity in death, even him, but I didn’t feel even one iota of empathy for what he’d brought upon himself.

And Landell? Did I feel sorry for him? Not particularly. What did that say about me?

I didn’t want to think of that so I asked, “Who was that man?”

“His name is Alastir Davenwell. He’s the advisor to the King and Queen. A close family friend. More like an uncle to both Casteel and Malik,” Kieran said, and I jerked a little at the mention of Casteel’s brother.

“Is that why Casteel didn’t want me around him? Because Alastir is an advisor to his parents? Or because he too will wish to chop me into pieces?”

“Alastir is not a man prone to violence, despite the scar he carries. And while he knows his place with the Prince, he is loyal to the Queen and King. There are things that Casteel would not want to get back to his father or mother.”

“Like the ridiculous marriage thing?”

“Something like that.” Kieran shifted the conversation as we rounded the corner and entered the common area where the air was free of the stench of death. “Do you feel pity for the mortal? The one Cas helped escape the Ascended with his family?”

Cas.

Gods, that sounded like such a harmless nickname for such a dangerous man.

I glanced at Kieran as we entered the narrow stairwell, noting that he was without his short sword and bow as he moved in front of me. But he was far from defenseless, considering what he was. I didn’t even bother to make a run for it. I knew I wouldn’t make it more than a foot. Wolven were incredibly fast.

Kieran stopped without warning, spinning around so suddenly that I backed up, hitting the wall. He took a step toward me and dipped his head to mine. Every muscle locked as he inhaled deeply.

Was he…?

His head lowered, the bridge of his nose brushing my temple. He inhaled again.

“What are you doing?” I jerked to the side, putting space between us. “Are you smelling me?”

He straightened, his eyes narrowed. “You…smell different.”

My brows lifted. “Okay? I don’t know what to tell you about that.”

He didn’t seem to hear me as his eyes brightened. “You smell like…”

“If you say I smell like Casteel again, I will punch you in the face,” I promised. “Hard.”

“You do smell like him, but that’s not it.” He shook his head. “You smell of death.”

“Wow. Thanks. But if I do, that is not my fault.”

“You don’t understand.” Kieran eyed me for a moment longer and then turned, starting up the stairwell once more.

No. I didn’t understand, and I really didn’t want to.

I sniffed the sleeve of my tunic. It smelled like…roasted meat.

“Earlier, you said you didn’t feel sympathy for any of them,” he said as I followed him.

“That hasn’t changed,” I said. “They wanted me dead.” We stepped out of the stairwell and onto the covered walkway. Damp, cold air greeted us. “But I can’t help but feel pity for Mr. Tulis.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Well, I do.” Shivering, I ducked my chin against the sharp gust of wind. “He was given a second chance. He threw it away. I feel pity for that choice and for his wife and son. And I guess I feel sorry for the families of any of them that are now on that wall.”

Kieran fell into step beside me, taking the brunt of the wind. “The pity for the families is rightfully placed.”

I stopped in surprise but said nothing.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I murmured.

He issued a soft chuckle. “You think I’m not capable of compassion?”

I glanced out over the yard below. A fine layer of snow shone brightly in the moonlight. Beyond, I saw nothing but the thick darkness of the encroaching woods. It was strange to look out and not see a Rise, the often-mountainous walls constructed from limestone and iron mined from the Elysium Peaks. The sleepy town of New Haven had one, but it was much smaller than what I was accustomed to in both Masadonia and Carsodonia.

“I don’t know what you’re capable of,” I admitted, touching the banister’s cool wood as the wind picked up, lifting the shorter strands of my hair that had escaped my braid. “I hardly know anything about the wolven.”

“My animal side doesn’t cancel out my mortal one,” he replied. “I’m not incapable of emotions.”

My gaze cut to his. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just…” I trailed off. What had I meant? “I guess I did mean it like that. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. It’s not like you’ve met many wolven,” he reasoned.

“Yes, but that’s no excuse.” I gripped the railing with one hand. “There are a lot of different people from various places that I haven’t met and know nothing about. That doesn’t mean it’s okay to make assumptions.”

“True,” he replied, and I almost cringed. How many times had I made assumptions about the Atlantian people? The Descenters? Biases were taught and learned. Maybe that wasn’t my fault, but that didn’t make it acceptable.

But nobody at that table had even twitched in their seats as Casteel killed Landell. What did that say about them? “Is what happened tonight common?”

“Which part? The marriage proposal or the open-heart surgery?”

I shot Kieran a dark look. “Landell.”

He studied me for a moment, and then his stare turned to the yard and the trees. “Not particularly. Even if you don’t see this yet or don’t want to, Cas is not a murderous tyrant. Honestly, it’s rare that any question him. Not because what he does or doesn’t do is always reasonable, but because he has no problem getting blood on his hands to assert his authority to get what he wants or to keep those he cares for safe.”

There was a measure of relief, knowing Casteel didn’t rip hearts out of chests often. That was a good thing…I guessed. Although, I didn’t dare believe that I fell into the category of those he cared for. I was someone he needed.     PrevNextTip: You can use left and right keyboard keys to browse between pages.

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