I found myself in borrowed clothing once more as Casteel and I left the room. The heavy sweater was a deep, forest green, warm and soft, but this time, the pants were a size or two too big. Gathered around my waist with gold rope, the breeches were baggy through the entire leg. I was positive the tie was normally used to hold curtains back from a window. I felt a little foolish, like a small child playing dress-up in adult’s clothing, but I wasn’t going to complain. The clothes were warm and clean, smelling of lemongrass.
As we reached the bottom of the stairway, Casteel took my hand in his. A charge of awareness seemed to pass between our joined palms, traveling up my arm. I glanced up at Casteel in surprise.
He stared down at me, lips parted enough that I could see the hint of fangs. The amber hue of his eyes was luminous in the dim stairwell.
“Sparks,” he murmured. “What?”
Smiling slightly, he shook his head. “Come. There is something I want to give you when you’re done with the injured.”
Casteel pushed open the door before I could further question him about what he’d meant or what he planned to give me.
People huddled around the open doors of the front entrance of the keep, staring out. Wind had blown in a dusting of snow, but no one seemed too aware of the cold air creeping in.
“What are they looking at?” I asked.
“Something unexpected,” Casteel replied, and my brows knitted in a frown.
Now beyond curious, I started toward the doors. Casteel didn’t stop me. Becoming aware of the Prince’s arrival, the people parted, bowing at the waist, their pale faces and distracted gazes returning to the outside.
Walking forward, I saw more standing outside, arms wrapped tightly around their waists. They faced the stable. As the bright morning rays
stretched across the snow-covered ground, we rounded the corner of the keep.
I came to a complete stop, my hand going lax in Casteel’s grip.
Ahead of us, where the space had been emptied, where Lord Chaney had found me the night before, was a tree.
My gaze lifted, following the wide, glistening bark and over the thick limbs stretching as tall as the keep, heavy with leaves gleaming crimson in the bright morning sun.
This was no freshly planted sapling. The tree was well rooted, as if it had stood there for decades, if not hundreds of years. Moisture seeped through the bark, beaded and rolled slowly to the tips of the leaves, falling in droplets of red, splashing against the snow.
A blood tree.
“How?” I whispered even though no one knew how the trees in the Blood Forest grew, why they bled. Why did one grow here overnight, where one hadn’t stood before?
“They’re saying it’s an omen,” Casteel answered quietly. “Of what?”
“That the gods are watching.” His grip tightened on my hand as I shivered. “That even though they still slumber, they are signaling that a great change is coming.”
 |
“Did you happen to forget about the blood tree?” I asked as we returned to the keep. “And that’s why you didn’t mention it?”
“To be honest, I had more pressing concerns.”
I arched a brow. “Really? What is more pressing than an omen sent by the gods?”
“You waking up uninjured was more pressing than a vague, rather unhelpful message from the gods,” he replied as we entered the banquet hall, and I almost tripped.
“You cannot be serious,” I stated.
He frowned. “I’m completely serious.”
There was no way he was being honest. The omen was far more important than anything that had to do with me. When was the last time the
gods had sent any sort of message? There was nothing in the history books, and even if there had been, it was doubtful it would’ve been accurate.
But there was something more pressing than the blood tree, and it was what awaited us here.
The injured had been placed in a room adjacent to the banquet hall. Before the doors even opened, I could feel the pain radiating through the stone walls. My pulse tripped, even though my steps didn’t slow.
Casteel stepped in before me, and was immediately greeted by Alastir. “I see you’ve returned,” Casteel said as I took in the room, thoughts of
the blood tree fading. Six cots were set up, all of them occupied by men, except the last one. Red stained the bandage around her neck. I recognized her. One of the knights had grabbed her, and I was surprised to see that she had survived. But her skin was only a shade away from death, and she was impossibly still. An older woman sat beside her, hands pressed together as her lips moved in a silent prayer.
“And I see I should’ve returned earlier,” Alastir commented.
“You returned soon enough, according to Elijah.” Casteel clasped the older wolven’s hand. “I heard you and your men took care of the rest of the knights.”
Alastir nodded absently as he surveyed the room, lips set in a thin line. “Damn them. These people didn’t deserve this.”
“The Ascended will pay.” “Will they?” Alastir asked.
“It is a promise that won’t be broken,” Casteel answered.
Alastir let out a shuddering breath as he turned to me. “I’m glad to hear that you were safely returned, Penellaphe, and that they were unsuccessful in their attempts to retrieve you.”
Unsure of what he’d been told, I nodded as I murmured my thanks. My skin buzzed with the need to move forward. Only one, the woman, seemed to have moved beyond pain. I twisted to Casteel.
Catching my eye, he nodded. I hurried forward, to the first man. He was an older gentleman with more gray than black in his hair. I didn’t know what his injuries were, but his unfocused gray eyes tracked me. I opened myself, sucking in a sharp breath as anguish, both mental and physical, came from the beds and those perched beside them. It crowded out the air, choking and suffocating. My gaze briefly swept to the woman and then to
the elder beside her. Some would not leave this room. Others knew this. Hands giving in to a slight tremor, I focused on the man before me.
“I’m sorry about what was done to you,” I whispered, and the man said not a word as I placed my hand on his.
Normally, it took a few moments for me to call upon the kind of memories that led to the easing of pain. I’d think of the sandy beaches of the Stroud Sea, of holding my mother’s hand. But this time, I felt warmth in the skin of my palm. I didn’t have to pull upon anything, only thought of taking the pain. I knew the moment my gift reached him. His mouth went lax as his chest rose with a deeper, steadier breath. I held his hand until the clouds left his eyes. He stared, but did not speak, and neither did the man beside him, one too young to carry the haunted look in his eyes. I eased his pain from whatever wounds the blanket covered and from what ran deeper. Grief. Raw and potent.
“Who did you lose?” I asked once he’d stopped trembling, aware that no one was speaking. Not Alastir. Not Casteel, who shadowed me through the room.
“My…my grandfather,” he said hoarsely. “How did you…how did you know?”
Shaking my head, I placed his arm by his side. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Eyes followed me as I made my way to the next man and knelt. In the back of my mind, I wondered if it was Casteel’s blood that made it easier for me to use my gift or if it was because of the Culling. Either way, I was happy to find that it worked with little effort. Continuing to dwell upon happier times was not easy when death clouded the room.
The man before me was slipping in and out of consciousness, twitching and moaning softly as I placed my hand on his, channeling my energy into him. His sweat-dampened brows smoothed out within seconds.
“What did you do?” a young woman demanded as she fell to her knees beside the man, dropping an armful of clean towels. “What did she do?”
“It’s okay.” Casteel placed a hand on her shoulder. “She only eased his pain long enough for Magda to return.”
“But how…?” She trailed off, her brown eyes widening as she placed a hand over her chest.
Meeting Casteel’s gaze, I rose and went to another, one with eyes of winter. A wolven. I had no idea how old he was, but in mortal years, he
appeared to be a decade or so older than me, his onyx-hued skin drawn into tense lines. A deep slash ran across his bared chest, where a sword had sliced open tissue and muscle.
“I’ll heal,” he said gruffly. “The others, not as easily.”
“I know.” I knelt. “That doesn’t mean you need to be in pain.”
“I suppose not.” Curiosity seeped into his eyes as he lifted his hand.
I folded mine over it, and again, I sensed there was pain that ran deeper. Years and years’ worth of sorrow. My palm warmed and tingled. “You also lost someone.”
“A long time ago.” His breath caught as his breathing slowed. “Now, I understand.”
“Understand what?”
He wasn’t looking at me. I followed his gaze to Casteel. Behind him, Alastir stood as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Maybe we should’ve warned him.
“Jasper will be interested,” the wolven said, a faint grin appearing as he leaned his head back against the flat pillow.
“I’m sure he will be,” Casteel commented, eyes lightening. “Be well, Keev.”
The wolven nodded, and I rose, curious as to who Jasper was as I moved to the man beside Keev, the one that had watched me the entire time. I started forward.
“No,” the man gritted out, sweat coursing down his face. His eyes were a shade of golden hazel. “I don’t want your touch.”
I halted.
“No offense, my Prince.” His too-shallow breaths filled the silence. “I don’t want that.”
Casteel nodded. “It’s okay.” He touched my lower back, urging me on. I went, looking over my shoulder at the mortal with Atlantian blood.
He watched me, his face already flushed with fever. I connected with him, and immediately severed the connection. The hot, acidic burst of hatred and the bitterness of distrust stunned me. Quickly looking away, I swallowed as my senses stretched out to every corner of the room, and I stumbled under the mixed rush of emotions and tastes. Iced lemonade. Sour and tart fruit. Vanilla. Sugar. Confusion and surprise. Fear and awe. Distrust. Amusement. My heart started kicking against my ribs.
Casteel’s hand flattened against my back as he glanced down at me.
“I’m okay,” I whispered as I cut off the connections, focusing only on the two women in front of me.
The older woman, her eyes a spun gold and brown, looked up at me, watched me as I shifted toward the all-too-still woman on the cot. I knew she was mortal, or at least partially. An Atlantian like Casteel would be healing, but she…
She couldn’t have been all that much older than me, her skin free of lines and untouched by age. I lowered myself, even though I sensed… nothing from the woman.
“You don’t have to do that,” the older woman said.
Hand halting inches from the waxy, limp hand of the wounded woman, I looked across her.
“I know.” She swallowed. “Your gifts would be wasted on my daughter.”
“I…” I didn’t know what to say.
She gazed down at the woman, touching her cheek and then her brow. “I heard of you before I came here. I lived in Masadonia for a time, a few years ago,” she said, surprising me. “They whispered about you—the families of those you attended, that is.”
I pulled back my hand, aware of how intently Casteel was listening. “They said you gave dignity to those cursed.” Her skin creased as she
smiled at her daughter. “Ended their pain before you ended their suffering. I didn’t believe them.” A tear dropped onto the woman’s chest. “I didn’t believe anything raised by the Ascended could give something of such worth. I didn’t believe.” She lifted her gaze to mine.
My breath caught. Her eyes… Flecks of gold seemed to burn brighter as she stared at me, stared straight into me.
“You are a second daughter,” she whispered, sending a chill through me. “Not a Maiden but Chosen nonetheless.”
 |
Unsettled by the emotions of those in the room and the shadow of death waiting to claim the young woman, I wished to go outside where a downpour could wash away the coating on my skin.
“Some of them were afraid of me,” I blurted after Alastir had closed the door behind us. “That guy—the one who wouldn’t let me touch him? He
didn’t trust me at all, and I could feel their fear.”
Casteel’s gaze narrowed on the door. “They don’t understand what you can do.”
“They’ve never seen anything like that.” Alastir joined us by an empty table, his skin still pale. “I haven’t seen anything like that in…”
“Not since there were empath warriors?” Casteel surmised. “I think that’s the line Penellaphe is descended from. A few of them must’ve remained in Solis.”
Alastir nodded as he eyed me. “When did your parents learn of your abilities?” Or when did you first know of them?”
“I don’t know the exact age, but it was before we left the capital. I don’t know if the Ascended knew what I could do at that time.”
“And you have a brother?” Alastir asked, and Casteel’s head swiveled toward him. “Was he your full-blooded brother?”
“I believe so,” I said, realizing that someone must’ve told him about Ian or that he’d learned of him when he first heard of me. “But if he’s like me—half-Atlantian—then why would they have allowed him to become an Ascended?”
Alastir glanced back at Casteel. “You sure he is?”
“As sure as I can be without having seen the Ascension myself.”
A thoughtful look crossed Alastir’s face. “It’s unlikely they would’ve turned him if he was of Atlantian descent, but…stranger things have happened.” He looked over at me and then turned to Casteel. “Has she displayed any more of the empath traits?”
Casteel shook his head, and I assumed that Alastir referred to how the empath warriors could somehow use what they sensed against people.
“But why would they be afraid?” I asked. “They saw me help the first person.”
“The people, even those who have lived in Solis, can be wary of things they haven’t seen before and don’t understand,” Casteel explained, and it struck me then that maybe their reaction was why he hadn’t wanted me to help in the first place.
“Some in Atlantia, our oldest who survived the war, would remember the empaths.” Alastir touched the back of a chair, silent for a moment. “And that could be a problem. I’m sure you’ve seen that damn tree out there. The gods have sent a warning.”
“Come now, Alastir, when did you become such a fatalist?” Irritation flashed across Casteel’s features. “The omen is not necessarily a warning. Change can be good just as much as it can be bad. And either way, it has nothing to do with her.”
Damn straight, that omen had nothing to do with me. The mere idea that it did was ridiculous. I crossed my arms. “Why would the oldest of the Atlantians remembering the warriors be a problem?”
“You don’t have anything to do with that omen. A great change coming doesn’t necessarily mean something bad.” Casteel’s stance widened. “And the empath warriors’ abilities were sometimes feared, mainly because very little could be hidden from them. And out of all the bloodlines, they were the closest to the deities.”
Alastir arched a brow. “And because they could siphon the energy behind the emotions,” he elaborated. “They could feed on others in that way. They were often called Soul Eaters.”
“Soul Eaters?” I stiffened. “But I can’t do that. I don’t get anything from the people I help. I mean, I don’t get energy or anything, and I can’t amplify fear.”
“I know that. We know that,” Casteel reassured.
“But they don’t know that.” The wolven pulled his hand from the chair as he gave me a faint smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Casteel is right. We just need to make sure they understand that you are not capable of what your ancestors could do. And once they get to know you, I believe they will no longer think of the small percentage of your ancestors that incited fear.”
“Really?” Doubt filled me.
Alastir nodded. “Truly. This is not something you need to concern yourself with.”
I really hoped that was the case since there was already enough to worry over.
He refocused on Casteel. “And don’t be so sure that the omen has nothing to do with her—with both of you. You two are to be married. Will that not usher in great change?”
Casteel’s brows rose as his expression turned thoughtful. “Well, you do have a point there,” he said, and my eyes narrowed. “Are you heading out soon?” When Alastir nodded, he took my hand in his, surprising me with how easily he did. The act seemed almost second-nature to him, but each
time he held my hand, it was like a revelation to me. “Safe travels. We will see you in Spessa’s End.”
“Safe travels to you both.” Alastir placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Thank you for coming to the people’s aid, even if some didn’t understand or appreciate.”
I nodded, uncomfortable with the gratitude.
We parted ways with Alastir, walking across the banquet hall. “Is he leaving for Spessa’s End already?”
“While you were resting, I spoke with Emil. After what happened, we thought it was better if we traveled east in smaller groups to avoid drawing attention.”
“Makes sense,” I murmured. “You really think that the omen has to do with our marriage?”
“Could be,” he said, but we were nowhere private enough for me to point out that the marriage wasn’t real. Not in a way where it would usher in any great change.
Unless our plan worked. That would bring about great change.
My thoughts shifted to what else had happened in the room, hopefully dissipating the still-oily feeling on my skin. “The mother in there said the same thing as the woman in the Red Pearl. That I was a second daughter but not like I thought.” Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Alastir at the door. The poor man still looked like a breeze might knock him over. “I didn’t get it then, but now I think she meant I was second-generation.”
“What woman in the Red Pearl?”
“The one who sent me up to the room that you were in. Obviously.”
His brows snapped together as he looked down at me. “I have no idea what woman you’re talking about.”
“Really?” I replied, tone dry. “The one you had send me to your room.
I think she was a Seer—a changeling.”
“I didn’t have any woman send you to that room, especially not a changeling,” he said. “I knew who you were the moment I pulled that hood back, but I had no one send you to my room.”
I stared up at him. “Are you serious?”
“Why would I lie about something like that? I already told you that I knew who you were that night.”
“Then how…?” I trailed off as Casteel hung a sharp left, pushing open a door and pulling me inside a room that smelled of soil and herbs. The
door clicked shut behind us. I looked around, spying cans of vegetables, bushels of potatoes, and satchels of dried herbs. “Did you just pull me into a pantry?”
“I did.” Casteel’s chin dipped as he stepped into me. Dark hair toppled forward onto his forehead.
I stepped back, bumping into a shelf. Jars rattled. He was so tall, I had to crane my neck all the way back to meet his gaze. “Why?”
“I wanted a moment alone.” He placed his hands on the cupboard above my head. “With you.”
Senses hyperaware, I watched him lean in as a confusing tremor of anticipation coiled its way down my spine. “And you needed this moment alone in a pantry?”
He turned his head slightly, lining up his mouth with mine. “I just
needed.”
Tiny shivers hit every part of me. I opened my mouth to tell him that whatever he needed didn’t involve him and me in a pantry, but nothing came out. No protests. No warnings. I simply stared up at him, waiting and…wanting.
“I know how hard that had to be for you.” His lashes swept down as his breath danced over my lips. “Going in there with your abilities, opening yourself up to their pain.”
My fingers curled around the edge of a shelf. “It was nothing.”
“That’s a lie, Princess.” His mouth was closer, just a breath from mine. “You did it even though you felt their fear and distrust. It was everything.”
I felt my lips part. “And that’s what you needed to tell me in the pantry?”
He shook his head, causing my breath to hitch when his lips glanced off the corner of mine. “I wasn’t done.”
“Sorry,” I murmured. “Please, continue.”
“Thank you for your permission,” he replied, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “There are many times when I’m in utter awe of you.”
I stilled. Every part of me.
“I shouldn’t be surprised by what you’re capable of,” he went on. “What you’re willing to do. But I am. I’m always in awe of you.”
A tugging sensation in my chest stole a little of my breath. “Is that what you needed when you pulled me into the pantry?”
“I’m still not done, Princess.”
My pulse thrummed. “No?”
“No.” His forehead dropped to mine. “There is one more thing I need. Something that I’ve needed for days. Weeks. Months. Maybe forever.” The bridge of his nose brushed mine. “But I know you won’t allow it. Not like this.”
The pounding in my chest moved lower. “What…what have you needed for so long?”
“You.”
I shuddered.
“So, maybe, just for a few minutes, when no one is looking—when there’s no one but us—we can pretend.”
Leaning into the cupboard, I felt dizzy, as if I weren’t getting enough air into my lungs. “Pretend?”
“We pretend that there’s no yesterday. No tomorrow. It’s just us, right now, and I can be Hawke,” he said in the heated space between us. I shook once more. He touched my cheek, sending a bolt of awareness through me. His fingers drifted over my chin, my lower lip. “You can just be Poppy, and we can simply share a kiss.”
“A kiss?”
He nodded. “Just pretend.” His lips now a whisper against my cheek. “Just a kiss.”
I shouldn’t.
There had to be a hundred reasons why. It blurred the lines of who we were. I’d told him it would never happen again. He was using me. I was using him. Kissing wasn’t wise. Even with all that I didn’t know, I knew enough to realize that it never stopped with a touch of the lips, even when it did. There was always more. Wanting. Needing.
And I wasn’t sure how I even felt about him since my feelings toward him seemed to change every five minutes. But either way, I shouldn’t allow anything like this. If I did, everything would be harder, even more confusing than it already was. Tawny could perfectly sum up what it was now in two words: a mess.
But a woman was about to die. Her mother said I was still Chosen.
A man in there didn’t want my touch. Some in that room feared me.
Hated me.
I could still feel Lord Chaney’s teeth in my flesh even though there were no wounds.
I could still see the burning coal of his eyes, and feel how I was nothing more than an object to him. Food. Sustenance. A thing.
And I didn’t want to feel any of that.
I wanted to bask in Casteel’s awe of me, and maybe…maybe I already knew, deep down, how I truly felt about him.
“Just pretend?” I trembled as the tips of his fingers skated down the side of my throat, around to the nape of my neck.
“Pretend.” His lips hovered above mine once more, right there, teasing.
I closed my eyes, my voice barely more than a whisper. “Yes.”
