Under a canopy of glittering ruby instead of gold, we climbed the Skotos Mountains at a harsh pace that left little room to question what had happened to the trees of Aios. Not that either Casteel or Naill had an answer. I could feel their shock and unease just as strongly as I felt the same emotions radiating from the wolven as red instead of gold glistened from the bark of the magnificent, sweeping trees.
We split into groups as before, even though there were only faint wisps of mist seeping through prickly shrubs and curling along the thick moss covering the forest floor on the mountain. Kieran and Delano stayed with us as we moved steadily up. There were no sounds of birds or any animals, and while the branches, heavy with gleaming crimson leaves, swayed above us, there was no echo of wind, either. No one spoke beyond Casteel asking if I was hungry or Naill offering his flask, claiming the whiskey would help keep us warm the farther we traveled. Hours into the journey, we stopped long enough to take care of personal needs, feed the horses, and for both Naill and Casteel to don their cloaks. Once I was basically swaddled in the blanket Casteel had brought from the cabin, we continued on in the mountains that were still beautiful in a quiet, unsettling way. I couldn’t stop staring at the leaves above me and the deep red ones that had fallen to the ground, peeking out from behind rocks and shrubs. It was as if the entire mountain had turned into one massive Blood Forest—one absent of the Craven.
What had changed the golden trees that had grown through the foothills and the entire mountain range after the goddess Aios had gone to sleep somewhere in the mountain? That question haunted me with each hour that passed. I may enjoy dabbling in denial every now and again, but there could be no coincidence between the change that had occurred here and what had happened to me. Three times now, a tree had grown rapidly where my blood had fallen, and in the ruins of Castle Bauer, the roots of
that tree had seemed to gather around me—around Casteel and I both, as if the tree had tried to pull us into the ground or shield us. I didn’t know, but I clearly remembered Kieran tearing through the slick, dark gray roots.
Roots that had been identical to the ones that had wrapped around the bone chains.
Had my near-death done this to the trees here? And the deformed woods outside of the hunting cabin? Had the potential loss of my mortality been the storm that swept through the woods and changed the trees of Aios to blood trees? How, though? And why? And had it impacted the goddess who slept here somehow? The one who Casteel and Kieran believed had awoken to stop me from plummeting to my death?
I hoped not.
Despite the uneasy nature of the mountains and the brutal pace, exhaustion dogged me, and I began to sink farther and farther into Casteel’s embrace. Each time I blinked, it became harder to reopen my eyes to the beams of sunlight streaking through the gaps in the leaves overhead.
Under the blanket, I curled my fingers loosely around Casteel’s arm as I shifted my gaze to where Kieran and Delano ran side by side ahead of us. My thoughts wandered as my eyes started to drift closed. I had no idea how long I’d slept after Casteel gave me his blood and we arrived at the cabin. I hadn’t thought to ask, but it felt like I’d slept for a while. But that sleep hadn’t been deep. Not all of it anyway because I had dreamed. I remembered that now. I had dreamt of the night my parents died, and those dreams had been different than the ones before. My mother had pulled something from her boot—something long, slender, and black. I couldn’t see it now, no matter how hard I tried to remember, but someone else had also been there—someone she’d spoken to, who had sounded nothing like the voice I’d heard in the past—the one who had spoken with my father that I now knew belonged to Alastir. This had been a figure in black. I knew I had dreamed more, but it kept slipping out of reach within my tired mind. Was whatever I dreamed old memories that were finally revealing themselves? Or had they been implanted there, becoming a part of my imagination because of what Alastir had claimed about the Dark One?
But what hadn’t felt like a dream, what had felt real, was the woman I’d seen. The one with the long, silvery-blonde hair, who’d filled my mind when I was in the Chambers of Nyktos. She had appeared when I was no longer a body, without substance or thought, floating in the nothingness.
She had looked like me a little. She had more freckles, her hair was different, and her eyes were odd—a fractured green and silver, reminding me of how the wolven’s eyes had looked when they came to me in the Chambers.
A bloody tear had slid down her cheek. That meant she had to be a god, but I knew of no female gods who were depicted with such hair or features. A weary frown pulled at my lips as I tried to sit up straighter. She had said something to me, too—something that had been a shock. I could almost hear her voice in my mind now, but just like with the dreams of the night at the inn, clarity frustratingly existed on the fringes of my consciousness.
Casteel shifted me so my head rested more fully against his chest. “Rest,” he urged in a soft voice. “I’ve got you. You can rest.”
It didn’t seem right for me to do so when no one else could, but I couldn’t fight the lure. It wasn’t the deepest of sleep. Things I wanted to forget followed me. I found myself back in the crypts, chained to the wall. Bile crept up my throat as I turned my head to the side.
Oh, gods.
I came face to face with one of the corpses, its empty eye sockets tunnels of nothingness as it shuddered.
Dust sifted through the air as its jaw loosened, and a raspy, dry voice came out of the lipless mouth. “You’re just like us.” Teeth fell from its jaws, crumbling apart as they did. “You will end up just like us.”
I pressed back as far as I could go, feeling the bindings tighten on my wrists and my legs. “This isn’t real—”
“You’re just like us,” another echoed as its head jerked toward me. “You’ll end up just like us.”
“No. No.” I struggled against the bindings, feeling the bones cut through my skin. “I’m not a monster. I’m not.”
“You’re not,” a soft voice intruded, coming from everywhere and nowhere as the corpses along the wall continued shuddering and moving, their bones rubbing and grinding together. The voice sounded like… Delano? “You are meyaah Liessa. Wake up.”
The thing beside me’s mouth fell open in a scream that started silently but turned into a long, keening howl—-
“Wake up. Poppy. You can wake up. I’ve got you.” Casteel. His arm was tight around me as he gathered me as close as he could to his chest
while Setti’s powerful muscles moved under us. “You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you.” His mouth pressed against my temple, warm and comforting. “Never again.”
Heart thumping erratically, I dragged in deep breaths. Had I screamed? I blinked rapidly as I struggled to free my hands from where they were tucked between Casteel’s arms and the blanket. I managed to pull one free and hastily wipe at my cool cheeks as my eyes adjusted to the faint traces of pale sunlight and the dark, almost-black leaves above us. Swallowing hard, I glanced to where Naill rode, facing straight ahead, and then before us. The white wolven ran beside the fawn-colored one, turning his head to look back at us, his ears perked. For a brief second, our gazes connected, and I felt his concern. The buzz in my chest hummed as a singular pathway opened along the connection to the wolven’s emotions, a clearer cord that fed something other than feeling. A springy, featherlight sense that had nothing to do with relief. It was almost like a brand—an imprint of Delano, of who he was at his core—unique only to him.
The wolven broke eye contact as he loped over a boulder, moving ahead of Kieran. I let out a ragged breath.
“Poppy?” Casteel’s fingers brushed my chin and then the side of my neck. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low.
Pulling my gaze from Delano, I nodded. “I’m fine.”
His fingers stilled, and then he lowered his hand, picking up the strands. “What were you dreaming about?”
“The crypts,” I admitted, clearing my throat. “Did I…did I scream? Or speak?”
“No,” he said, and I silently thanked the gods. “You started to squirm around a bit. You were flinching.” He paused. “Want to talk about it?”
I shook my head.
He was silent for a few moments and then he said, “They felt you. Felt whatever you were dreaming. Both Kieran and Delano. They kept looking back here,” he told me as my gaze tracked back to the two wolven. They raced over the ground—ground that was no longer as mossy. “Delano started howling. That’s when I woke you.”
“I…do you think it’s the Primal thing?” I asked, wondering if I had really heard Delano’s voice. That didn’t make sense because he had answered what I’d said in my dream.
“The Primal notam? I imagine so.”
Leaning into Casteel, I looked up. The trees were thinning, and I could see patches of the sky now painted intense shades of pink and deep blue. “Have we crossed the Skotos?”
“We have,” he confirmed. The air wasn’t nearly as cold as it had been before I’d fallen asleep.
We rode on, the sky turning dark, and the land under us smoothing and leveling out. Casteel loosened the blanket around me as we broke free of the last of the trees, and the remaining wolven poured out from our sides, joining the group. I twisted at the waist and looked behind Casteel, but it was too dark to see the trees of Aios.
I didn’t even want to think what the people of Atlantia felt when they saw the trees change. My heart tripped over itself as I faced forward again, scanning the rocky and jagged terrain. I didn’t recognize the land, even though the air seemed to warm with each passing moment.
“Where are we?” I asked as I caught sight of the large silver wolven moving ahead. Jasper easily navigated the boulders, leaping from one to another as the other wolven followed.
“We came out a bit farther south of Saion’s Cove,” Casteel explained. “Closer to the sea, at the Cliffs of Ione. There’s an old Temple here.”
“You might’ve been able to see the Cliffs from the Chambers,” Naill advised as he slowed his horse when the terrain became more uneven. “But probably not the Temple.”
“This is where my father is waiting, and Alastir is being kept,” Casteel told me.
I sat straighter, catching the blanket before it fell and tangled around Setti’s legs. Tall cypress trees dotted the landscape, thickening in the distance. The air carried the distinctive scent of salt.
“We can stop here, or we can travel onward to Saion’s Cove,” Casteel said. “We can deal with Alastir now or later. It is up to you.”
I didn’t hesitate, even though dealing with Alastir meant facing Casteel’s father. “We deal with this now.”
“You sure?” “Yes.”
Something akin to pride drifted from Casteel to me as his lips touched my cheek. “So strong.”
To our left, the sound of running water reached us. In the moonlight, water glistened from the face of the Skotos Mountains and rushed across
the wide strip of land. The water tumbled and spilled off the cliffs, reaching the rocks below.
Stars shone across the sky as the rippling light of numerous torches became visible through the soaring trees, casting an orangey glow over columned sides nearly as tall as the surrounding cypress.
Kieran joined his father as they darted between the trees, racing toward the wide steps of the enclosed Temple. People stood on the colonnade, dressed in black, and I knew without asking that these were Casteel’s men and Guardians of Atlantia. Those he trusted.
As several of the wolven climbed the steps, Casteel slowed Setti. “We will most likely see my father first. He needs to see that you didn’t Ascend.”
I nodded as nervous energy and something rawer buzzed within me. “Then we will handle Alastir,” Casteel continued, the arm around my
waist shifting. His hand slid across my stomach, leaving shivers in its wake. “I’ve gotten all I can get out of Alastir that will be of use to us, so you know how tonight will end?”
Nervousness settled as resolve crept over me. I knew how tonight would end. Determination inked itself onto my skin, carving its way into my bones and filling the center of my chest. My chin lifted. “With death.”
“By your hand or mine?” he asked, his lips grazing the curve of my
jaw.
“Mine.”
 |
Casteel and I climbed the steps to the Temple of Saion, our hands joined. Nearly two dozen wolven prowled the colonnade while Jasper and Kieran stood in front of doors as black as the sky and nearly as tall as the Temple.
The tartness of uncertainty and the fresher, lemony flavor of curiosity saturated the air as those waiting between the columns took notice of Casteel and then me. Whatever Casteel had sensed that was different about me, they felt it, too. I saw it in the way the Guardians stiffened, their hands reaching for their scabbards and then halting as their heads tilted to the side
while they tried to understand what it was they sensed. I felt no fear from any of them, not the Guardians or the others. I wanted to ask one of them what they felt when they looked at me—what made them first go for their swords but then stop. However, Casteel’s grip tightened on my hand, preventing me from wandering over to one of the women—which I had apparently been in the process of doing.
Then again, only the gods knew what I looked like at the moment with my hair a curly, knotted mess, the too-tight breeches and boots, and Casteel’s cloak over a too large, borrowed tunic. It was quite possible they thought I was a Craven.
One of the Atlantians stepped forward as we reached the top of the steps. It was Emil, his auburn hair redder in the torchlight as his gaze slid from Casteel to me. His nostrils flared as his throat worked on a swallow. His handsome face paled slightly as he clasped the hilt of his sword, bowing slightly at the waist. “I am relieved to see you here, Your Highness.”
I gave a small jerk. The use of the formal title caught me a little off guard, and it took me a moment to remember that as Casteel’s wife, that was my formal title. It had nothing to do with the whole issue with the Crown. “As am I,” I said, smiling. Another ripple of shock came from Emil as he looked at me as if he couldn’t quite believe I was standing there. Considering the state I had been in the last time he’d seen me, I couldn’t blame him for that. “Thank you for your help.”
The same look Naill had given me earlier when I’d thanked him crossed the Atlantian’s face, but he inclined his head with a nod. He turned to Casteel. “Your father is inside and isn’t exactly thrilled.”
“I bet,” Casteel murmured.
One side of Emil’s lips curved up as Naill joined us. “And neither are the handful of Atlantians and mortals who found their way here, attempting to free Alastir.”
“And how did that go?” Casteel demanded.
“It was a little…bloody.” Emil’s eyes glowed in the torchlight as he looked at his Prince. “Those who are still alive are being kept with Alastir for your…enjoyment.”
A tight, dark smile appeared as Casteel tipped back his head. “Has anyone else become aware that my father’s being held here?”
“No,” Emil answered. “Your mother and the Guards of the Crown believe he is still with you.”
“Perfect.” Casteel looked over at me. “Ready?” I nodded.
Emil started to step back but stopped. “I almost forgot.” He reached to his side and under his tunic. I stiffened at the low rumble of warning as Jasper took a step forward, his head lowering. Casteel shifted ever so slightly beside me, his body tensing. The Atlantian shot a nervous glance over his shoulder at the large wolven. “This belongs to her,” he said. “I’m just giving it back.”
I looked down to see him withdraw a blade—one that gleamed reddish black in the firelight. Air lodged in my throat as he flipped it over, offering me the bone handle. It was my bloodstone dagger. The one Vikter had gifted me on my sixteenth birthday. Other than the memories of the man who risked his career and most likely his life to make sure I could defend myself, it was the only thing I had left of him.
“How…?” I cleared my throat as I closed my fingers around the cold wolven bone. “How did you find it?”
“By pure luck, I think,” he said, immediately stepping back and nearly bumping into Delano, who had silently crept up behind him. “When I and a few others went back to look for evidence, I saw it lying under the blood tree.”
I swallowed the knot in my throat. “Thank you.”
Emil nodded as Casteel clasped the Atlantian on the shoulder. I held onto the dagger, slipping it under the cloak I wore as we walked forward, crossing the wide colonnade. A young, slim male stood against the wall, and I almost didn’t recognize the somber, soft, almost fragile lines of Quentyn Da’Lahr’s face. He wasn’t smiling—he wasn’t chattering away, brimming with energy like he normally was as he came toward us with hesitant steps. The moment my senses connected with his emotions, the tang of his anguish took my breath. There was uncertainty in him and the sourness of guilt, but there was also an undercurrent of something…bitter. Fear. My chest seized as my senses rapidly attempted to decipher whether his fear was directed at me or… Then I remembered that he had been close to Beckett. The two had been friends. Did he know what had happened to his friend? Or did he still believe that Beckett had been involved in the
attack? I wasn’t sure, but I couldn’t believe that Quentyn had been involved. He wouldn’t be standing here if he were.
Casteel’s cool amber gaze shifted to the young Atlantian, but before he could speak, Quentyn dropped to one knee, bowing his golden head before us. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice carrying a slight tremor. “I did not know what Beckett was going to do. If I had, I would’ve stopped—”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” I spoke, unable to allow the young Atlantian to carry guilt that was so very wrongly placed. I realized that the others must not have learned what had truly happened. “Beckett was guilty of nothing.”
“But he…” Quentyn lifted his head, his golden eyes wet. “He led you to the Chambers and—”
“That wasn’t him,” Casteel explained. “Beckett committed no crime against Penellaphe or me.”
“I don’t understand.” Confusion and relief echoed through the Atlantian as he rose unsteadily to his feet. “Then where has he been, Your Highness—I mean, Casteel? Is he with you?”
My hand squeezed Casteel’s as the muscle in his jaw ticked. “Beckett never left Spessa’s End, Quentyn. He was killed by those who conspired with his uncle.”
If the others had any reaction to the young wolven’s death, I wasn’t sure. All I could feel was the rising tide of sorrow as it quickly rose in the Atlantian, following a brutal punch of denial. His pain was so raw and potent that it exploded into the salty air around us, thickening as it settled on my skin. I heard Casteel telling him that he was sorry, and saw Quentyn shaking his head. His pain…it was extreme, and a distant part of me wondered if this was the first real loss he’d experienced. He was older than I was, even though he appeared younger. But by Atlantian years, he was still so very young. He struggled not to show his pain, pressing his lips together, his back stiffening unnaturally. He was trying to hold it together as his Prince spoke to him, and as the wolven, Atlantians, and Guardians surrounded him. Sadly, he was losing the battle as anguish pulsed in waves through him. If he lost it, Casteel wouldn’t hold it against him, but I could sense that he wanted to be seen as brave and strong. And I hated that. Hated those who were responsible even more for the pain they had inflicted on others and the lives they had stolen.
I reacted without thought, only instinct. Later, I would obsess over everything that could’ve possibly gone wrong since I had no idea what my touch would do now. I slipped my hand free from Casteel’s and placed it on the Atlantian’s arm. His wide eyes shot to mine. Tears clung to his lashes.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, wishing there was something better to say, something more helpful, more inspiring. But words were rarely good enough to ease the pain of loss. I did what I knew, pulling on my happy moments—warm and hopeful emotions. I thought of how I felt when Casteel told me he loved me, how I felt when I realized that he did in Spessa’s End. I took those emotions and I let them flow through my body into Quentyn’s.
He jerked as I felt his grief and disbelief pulse intensely and then rapidly fade. The skin around his mouth eased, and the tension in his shoulders relaxed. He exhaled heavily, and I felt no more sorrow. I released his arm, knowing the reprieve wouldn’t last forever. Hopefully, it could give him some time to come to terms with his friend’s death in private.
“Your eyes,” Quentyn whispered, blinking slowly. “They’re strange
—” His cheeks flushed under the torchlight. “I mean, they’re really pretty. Strange in a pretty way.”
My brows rose as I looked at Casteel.
The lines and angles of his face had softened. “They’re glowing,” he murmured, leaning in slightly. “Actually, it’s not your entire eye that is.” His head tilted to the side. “There are wisps of light. Silvery light throughout your irises.”
Fractured eyes.
Casteel looked to where Kieran and Delano waited and saw what I did.
Eyes a pale blue streaked with luminous silver-white.
Eyes like those of the woman I’d seen in a dream that I knew was no dream—the woman who had spoken to me. Every part of my being at that moment knew that what she had said was the answer to everything.
