Rylan promptly escorted me right back to my room while Lord Mazeen stood in the doorway, flanked by several others, his gaze fixed on the dead girl. I wanted to push him aside and close the door. Even if it weren’t for the state of her undress, with so much flesh exposed, it was a lack of dignity tossed aside for morbid curiosity.
She was a person, and while what was left behind was nothing more than a shell, she was someone’s daughter, sister, friend. More than anything else, people would talk about how she was found, with the skirt of her gown shoved up, and the bodice gathered at the waist. No one else needed to bear witness.
I hadn’t been given a chance, though.
And now Castle Teerman was on virtual lockdown as each and every space in the one hundred plus rooms was searched for either the culprit or more victims.
Pacing in front of the fireplace, Tawny worried the tiny pearl buttons of her bodice. “It was a Craven,” she said, the deep violet gown swishing about her legs. “It had to be a Craven.”
I glanced over at Rylan, who leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Normally, he didn’t stay inside my room, but tonight was different. Vikter was assisting with the search, but I imagined he’d be back soon.
With my veil removed, Rylan’s gaze met mine. He’d seen that girl. “Do you think it was a Craven?”
Rylan said nothing.
“What else could it have been?” Tawny turned to where I sat in the chair. “You said yourself she was bit—”
“I said it looked like a bite, but it…it didn’t look like a Craven bite,” I told her.
“I know you’ve seen what a Craven can do.” She sat across from me, her fingers still twisting the pearl just as Agnes had done to the button on
her blouse. “But how can you be sure?”
“The Craven have four elongated canines,” I explained, and she nodded. This was common knowledge. “But she only had two marks, as if…”
“As if two sharp fangs had penetrated her throat,” Rylan finished.
Tawny’s head whipped in his direction.
“What if it was a cursed? Someone who hadn’t fully turned yet?” she asked.
“Then it would look like either normal teeth marks or a bite from a Craven,” Rylan answered, shaking his head as he stared out the window toward the Rise. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
I had to agree with him. “She…she was pale, and it wasn’t just the shroud of death. It was like she had no blood in her, and even if it were a two-fanged Craven—” My nose scrunched. “It would’ve been…messier and not so precise. She looked like…”
“Looked like what?”
My gaze dropped to my hands as the image of the woman reappeared. She’d been with someone, willing or not, and as far as I knew, Craven weren’t interested in anything but blood. “It just looked like someone had been in that room with her.”
Tawny sat back. “If it wasn’t a Craven, then who would do something like that?”
There were many people in and out of the castle—servants, guards, visitors…the Ascended. But that didn’t make sense either. “That wound appeared to be right over her jugular. There should’ve been blood everywhere, and I didn’t even see a drop of it.”
“That…that is more than just a little strange.”
I nodded. “And her neck was clearly broken. I know of no Craven that would do that.”
Tawny folded her arms around herself. “And I don’t want to know of any person capable of that.”
Neither did I, but we all knew that people were capable of all manner of atrocities, and so were the Ascended. After all, they too had been mortal at one time, and the capability for cruelty seemed to be one of the few traits some carried over.
My thoughts wandered to Lord Mazeen. He was cruel, a bully, and based on our latest interaction, I suspected that he could be much worse.
But was he capable of what was done? I shuddered. Even if he were, why would he do it, and how? I didn’t have an answer for that.
There was only one thing I could think of that could do that, but it seemed too unreal to believe.
“Did you…did you recognize her?” Tawny asked softly.
“I didn’t, but I have to think she was a Lady in Wait or perhaps a visitor based on her gown,” I told her.
Tawny nodded silently, returning to twisting the pearl on her bodice. Silence crept into the space, and Vikter arrived not long after, stepping into the room to speak quietly to Rylan. I scooted to the edge of my seat when he stepped away from Rylan, sighing as he sat on the edge of the chest that rested at the foot of my bed.
“Every inch of this castle was searched, and we found no other victims or Craven,” he said, leaning forward. “Commander Jansen believes the grounds are safe.” He paused, squinting as he lifted his gaze. “Relatively speaking, that is.”
“Did you…did you see her?” I asked, and he nodded. “Do you think it was a Craven attack?”
“I’ve never seen anything like that,” he replied, repeating what Rylan had said.
“What would that even mean?”
“I don’t know,” he stated, rubbing his hand against his forehead.
My attention zeroed in on him, noting how he massaged the skin above his brow and how he’d squinted when he looked to where we sat near the oil lamps. Sometimes, Vikter got headaches. Not like the ones I got after opening up my senses or using my gifts too much, but far more severe, where light and sound made him nauseous and his head pulse.
I opened up my senses and immediately felt the sharp pounding ache behind my eyes. I quickly severed the connection, and it was like visualizing a cord connecting me to him being snipped in two. The last thing I wanted was to end up with another throbbing headache keeping me up.
“If it wasn’t a Craven, then are there any suspects?” Tawny asked. “The Duke believes it was the work of a Descenter.”
“What?” I demanded as I rose. “Here? In the castle?” Tawny cried.
“That is what he believes.” Vikter lifted his head as I walked over to him, his gaze wary.
“And what do you believe?” Rylan asked from where he still stood by the door. “Because I’m unsure how a Descenter could’ve managed to inflict wounds like that without leaving blood.”
“Agreed,” Vikter murmured, watching me. “There would be no way to clean something like that up, especially not when the victim had been seen less than an hour before.”
“So, why would the Duke insist it was a Descenter?” Tawny queried. “He’s not unintelligent. He would have to realize that, too.”
I casually placed my hand on the back of Vikter’s neck as I reached for a small fur quilt. His skin was warm and dry as I thought of the beaches and my mother’s laugh. I knew his pain was eased the moment he took a deep, shuddering breath.
“I’m unsure why the Duke believes this, but he must have his reasons.” Vikter’s gaze was grateful as I slipped my hand away and walked back to the chair, placing the throw in my lap.
Tawny looked over at me and then took a deep breath before she refocused on Vikter. “Do you know who she was?”
Sitting straight, he was definitely more clear-eyed when he spoke again. “She was identified by one of the servants. The victim’s name was Malessa Axton.”
The name was unfamiliar to me, but Tawny whispered, “Oh.” I twisted toward her. “Did you know her?”
“Not well. I mean, I know of her.” She gave a small shake of her head, sending several curls free from her twist. “I think she came to Court around the same time as I did, but she was often with one of the Ladies who lives on Radiant Row. I think it’s Lady Isherwood,” she added.
Radiant Row was the nickname given to the row of homes closest to the castle and to Wishers’ Grove park. Many of the opulent houses were owned by the Ascended.
“She was so young.” Tawny lowered her hand to her lap. “And she had so much to look forward to.”
I reached out with my senses and found that her sadness echoed my own. It wasn’t the deep pain of loss that came when it was someone you knew, but the sorrow that accompanied any death, especially such a senseless one.
Rylan asked Vikter to step outside. After a few moments, Tawny excused herself to return to her room. I managed to stop myself from touching her. I knew if I did, I would take her pain, even though I’d done it before without her realizing. I ended up at the window, staring at the steady glow of the torches beyond the Rise when Vikter reentered.
“Thank you,” he said as he joined me by the window. “The ache in my head was starting to get the best of me.”
“Glad I could help.”
“You didn’t have to. I have the powder the Healer made for me.”
“I know, but I’m sure my gift brought you much faster relief without the dizziness and sleepiness,” I said. Those were only two of the many side effects that brownish-white powder often caused.
“That is true.” Vikter fell quiet for several moments, and I knew his thoughts were as troubled as mine.
I had a hard time believing that it had been a Descenter, even though I imagined something like an ice pick could’ve made those wounds. However, the possibility of stabbing someone in the jugular and not getting blood everywhere seemed very unlikely, but even more baffling was the motive. What did creating those types of wounds indicate that was of any benefit to their cause? Because the only thing I knew that could make those kinds of wounds went against everything the Descenters believed in.
“Rylan spoke to me.”
I looked over at Vikter with raised brows. “Yes?”
His sea-colored gaze flickered over my face. “Rylan told me about Lord Mazeen.”
My stomach sank as I looked away. It wasn’t as if I had forgotten my run-in with the Lord, but it simply wasn’t the most concerning or traumatic thing to have happened in the last couple of hours. “Did he do anything, Poppy?” he asked.
A suffocating, stinging heat crept into my face, and I pressed my cheek to the windowpane. I didn’t want to think about this. I never did. Nausea churned, and there was this…weird embarrassment that made my skin feel sticky and dirty. I didn’t understand why I felt that way. I knew I’d done nothing to gain the Lord’s attention, and even if I had, he was still in the wrong. But when I thought about how he felt entitled to touch me, I wanted to scratch at my own skin.
And I didn’t want to think about how I’d been grateful for the servant’s screams, having no idea what the cause had been.
I pushed all of that aside so it could later come to the forefront, most likely when I was trying to sleep. “He did nothing other than be an annoyance.”
“Truthfully?”
I nodded, although that seemed a little too far from the truth, but I was okay with lying. What could Vikter do with the truth? Nothing. He was smart enough to know that.
A muscle throbbed in his jaw. “He needs to leave you alone.” “Agreed, but I’m able to handle him.”
Kind of.
I didn’t really want to think about how close I came to doing something utterly unforgivable. If I had unsheathed my dagger and used it, there would have been no hope for me. But, gods, I wouldn’t have felt a drop of guilt over it.
“You shouldn’t have to,” Vikter replied. “And he should know better.” “He should, and I think he does, but I don’t believe he cares,” I
admitted, turning so I rested against the ledge of the window. “You know I saw her in that room. I saw how she was…left. It made me think that she was with someone, either willingly or not.”
He nodded. “The Healer who looked at her body believed there had been some level of physical relations before her death, but he didn’t find any signs that she had been fighting. No dried blood or skin under her nails, but no one can be sure.”
I pressed my lips together. “I was thinking that it wouldn’t make sense for a Descenter to leave wounds like that, even if they were able to do it without it being…messy. What kind of message does that even send? Because the only thing that can do what was done to her is…”
Vikter’s gaze met mine. “An Atlantian.”
Relieved that he said it and not me, I nodded. “The Duke has to know that. Anyone who saw those wounds would have to think that and question why a Descenter would mimic something that could easily be attributed to an Atlantian.”
“That’s why I don’t think it was a Descenter,” he said, and pressure clamped down on my chest. “I think it was an Atlantian.”
 |
A Descenter moving freely through Castle Teerman was concerning, but the possibility of an Atlantian being able to gain access without anyone being the wiser was something truly terrifying.
I wanted to find something that would provide some sort of evidence that Vikter and I were being paranoid, so at the crack of dawn, when the castle was at its quietest, and Rylan guarded the room outside, I snuck down to the main floor and past the eerily quiet kitchen.
Once the sun rose, I didn’t have to worry about running into Lord Mazeen or any Ascended.
Entering the banquet hall, I headed to the left, to the second door, where I often met with Priestess Analia for my weekly lessons. As I stepped inside, I glanced across the dimly lit hall to the room where Malessa had been found.
The door was closed.
Tearing my gaze from it, I quietly shut the door and hurried over to the bare wooden chair, spying the book I never foresaw myself reading of my own volition.
Mainly because it seemed as if I’d read The History of The War of Two Kings and the Kingdom of Solis about a million times. I carried it over to the lone window and quickly cracked it open, holding it in the faint beam of sunlight. I carefully thumbed through the thin pages, knowing if I were to tear one, Priestess Analia would be most displeased. I found the section I was looking for. It was only a handful of paragraphs that described what Atlantians looked like, their traits, and what they were capable of.
Unfortunately, all it did was confirm what I already knew.
I’d never actually seen an Atlantian—at least, I didn’t think I had, and that was the problem. Atlantians looked like mortals. Even the extinct wolven, who had once lived alongside the Atlantians in Atlantia, could easily be mistaken for mortals, even though they had never been. The Atlantians’ ability to blend in with the populace they were known to subjugate and hunt made them deadly, expert predators. One could walk right past me, and I wouldn’t know. Neither would the Ascended. For some
reason, the gods hadn’t taken any of that into consideration when they initiated the Blessing.
Scanning the paragraphs, one word stood out, causing my stomach to dip. Fangs. Although I knew what it would say, I read the sentences anyway.
Between year 19 and 21, those of blooded Atlantian descent leave the vulnerable state of immaturity, wherein the ill-spirits in their blood become active. Noted during this period is a disturbing increase in strength, and the ability to recover from most mortal wounds as they continue to mature. It is also to be noted that before the War of Two Kings and the extinction of the wolven, a bonding ritual was performed between an Atlantian of a certain class and a wolven. Not much is known is about this bond, but it is believed that the wolven in question was duty-bound to protect the Atlantian.
For a true Atlantian, two upper canines will form fangs, becoming elongated and sharpened, but they will not be overly noticeable to the untrained eye.
I thought of the two puncture wounds on Malessa’s neck. An Atlantian’s fangs may not be as overgrown and noticeable as a Craven’s, but the Duke could order the mouths of everyone in the castle to be checked.
Admittedly, that would be invasive. I kept reading.
Upon the appearance of fangs, the next phase of their maturity begins, wherein they begin to thirst. As long as their unnatural demands are met, their aging slows dramatically. It is believed that a year to mortals is equivalent to three decades to an Atlantian. The oldest known Atlantian was Cillian Da’Lahon, who saw 2,702 calendar years before his death.
Meaning that an Atlantian could appear to be in their twenties, but in reality, they would be over a hundred years old, possibly even closer to two hundred or more. But they still aged, unlike the Ascended, those Blessed by the gods, who stopped at whatever age they were when they received the Blessing. Only the oldest of the Ascended appeared older than someone in their thirties, and they could live for an eternity.
However, both the Atlantians and Ascended still lived an unfathomable amount of time, the closest thing to immortality—to the gods.
I couldn’t even fathom living that long. I gave a little shake of my head and kept reading.
At this time, the Atlantians are capable of passing on the ill-spirits in their blood to mortals, creating a violent and destructive creature known as a Craven, who share some of the physical traits of their creators. This curse is passed through a poisonous kiss…
A poisonous kiss wasn’t referencing two lips coming into contact with one another. The Atlantians did what the Craven did, albeit not as…messily. Atlantians bit and drank the blood of mortals, something they had to do to survive.
Their enormous lifespans, strength, and healing abilities all stemmed from feeding off mortals, their primary food source. I shuddered.
It had to be an Atlantian that had bit and fed from Malessa, which explained how there was no apparent bloodshed, and why she had looked so incredibly pale.
What it didn’t explain was why the Atlantian had then snapped her neck, effectively killing her before the curse could spread. Why wouldn’t the Atlantian allow her to turn? Then again, the bite wasn’t exactly in a place that could easily be hidden. The bite itself was the warning to all who saw it.
An Atlantian was deep within our midst.
Closing the book, I carefully placed it back on the stool, thinking about how my Ascension would occur on my nineteenth birthday and how the Atlantians reached a certain majority around that age. It wasn’t exactly surprising. After all, our gods had been their gods at one time.
But the gods no longer supported the Atlantians.
Making my way out of the room, I started for the kitchens when my gaze landed on the room Malessa had been found in. I needed to go back to my chambers before the staff became active, but that wasn’t what I did.
I crossed the space and went to the door, finding it unlocked when I turned the handle. Before I could really think about what I was doing and where I was, I slipped inside, grateful that the wall sconces cast a soft glow throughout the room.
The settee was gone, the space bare. Accent chairs remained, as did the round coffee table with some sort of floral arrangement neatly placed in the center. I crept forward, unsure of what I was even looking for, and wondering if I’d even know if I found it.
Other than the missing furniture, nothing seemed out of place, but the room felt oddly cold, as if a window had been open, but there were no
windows on this side of the banquet hall.
What had Malessa been doing in here? Reading a book or waiting for one of the other Ladies in Wait or perhaps Lady Isherwood? Or had she snuck in here to meet with someone she trusted? Had she been blindsided by the attack?
A shiver danced down my spine. I wasn’t sure what was worse—being betrayed or blindsided.
Actually, I did know. Being betrayed would be worse.
I stepped forward, stopping short as I glanced down. Something was behind the leg of one of the chairs. Bending down, I reached under the chair and picked up the object. My head tilted as I ran a thumb over the smooth, soft white surface.
It was…a petal.
My brows knitted as the scent reached me. Jasmine. For some reason, my stomach roiled, which was odd. I normally liked the smell.
Rising, I looked to the vase and found the source. Several white lilies were spaced throughout the arrangement. No jasmine. Frowning, I looked down at the petal. Where did this come from? I shook my head as I walked over to the bouquet, placing the petal in with the rest of the flowers as I gave the room one last look. There was no blood on the cream carpet, something that would’ve definitely stained if it had spilled.
I had no idea what I was doing. If evidence had been found, it had been removed, and even if it hadn’t been, I didn’t have experience in this. I just wanted to be able to do something or to find anything that would put our worst fears to rest.
But there was nothing to be done or found here other than what was most likely reality, and what did I believe about truth? That it often could be terrifying, yes. But with truth came power.
And I was never one to hide from the truth.
|
I’d made it back my room that morning without any issues and ended up remaining in it the entire day, which wasn’t exactly all that different from any other day.
Tawny had stopped by briefly, until one of the Mistresses summoned her. No one was sequestered, but I thought that the attack would at least slow down the preparations for the Rite.
Obviously, that was a silly thought. I doubted the Earth shaking would get in the way of the Rite.
I spent a lot of time thinking about what had happened to Malessa. And the more I thought about why the Duke would lie about the attacker being a Descenter, the more it started to make sense. Just like Phillips, the guard from the Rise, hadn’t wanted to talk about Finley’s death to stop panic and fear from taking root and spreading.
But it didn’t explain why the Duke wasn’t being honest with the Royal Guard. If there was an Atlantian among us, the guards needed to be prepared.
Because while the Ascended were powerful and strong, the Atlantians were too, if not more.
Shortly before dusk, Rylan knocked on my door. “You want to try for the garden? I thought I would ask.”
“I don’t know.” I glanced at the windows. “You think it will be okay?” Rylan nodded. “I do.”
I really could use the fresh air and time away from my own thoughts. It just seemed… I wasn’t sure. As if it weren’t even twenty-four hours after Malessa had been killed, yet it was like any other evening.
“You don’t have to stay in here,” Rylan said, and I glanced back to him. “Not unless that’s what you want to do. What happened last night, with the poor girl and with the Lord, has nothing to do with what you find joy in.”
A small smile tugged at my lips. “And you’re probably tired of standing in the hall.”
Rylan chuckled. “Possibly.”
I grinned as I stepped back. “Let me get my veil.”
It took only a few minutes for me to don the headdress and become ready. This time, there were no interruptions as we made our way to the garden. However, there were servants who did the stop-and-stare thing, but as I continued down the path of one of my favorite places on the grounds of the castle, my worries and obsessive thoughts slipped away like they always did. While I was in the sprawling garden, my mind calmed, and everything and anything ceased to nibble away at me.
I wasn’t thinking about Malessa and the Atlantian who’d gained access to the castle. I wasn’t haunted by the image of Agnes holding her husband’s limp hand or what had happened in the Red Pearl with Hawke. I wasn’t even thinking about the upcoming Ascension and what Vikter had said. In the Queen’s Garden, I was simply…present instead of being caught up in the past or the future full of what-ifs.
I wasn’t sure why the gardens were called what they were. As far as I knew, it had been a very long time since the Queen had been to Masadonia, but I guessed the Duke and Duchess had named it after her as some sort of homage.
Never once while I lived with the Queen had I seen her step foot in the lush gardens of the palace.
I glanced over at Rylan. Normally, the only threat he may face was an unexpected rain shower, but tonight, he was more alert than I’d ever seen him in the garden. His gaze continuously scanned the numerous pathways. I used to think these trips bored him, but never once had he complained. Vikter, on the other hand, would’ve grumbled about literally anything else we could’ve been doing.
Come to think of it, Rylan might actually enjoy these outings, and not just because he wasn’t standing in the hall outside my room.
A cool wind whipped through the garden, stirring the many leaves and lifting the edge of my veil. I wished I could remove the headdress. It was transparent enough for me to see, but it did make traveling at dusk and beyond in low-lit places a bit difficult.
I made my way past a large water fountain that featured a marble and limestone statue of a veiled Maiden. Water poured endlessly from the pitcher she held, the sound reminding me of the rolling waves, crashing in and out of the coves of the Stroud Sea. Many coins shimmered under the water, a token to the gods in hopes that whatever the wisher wanted would be granted.
I neared the outer most parts, which fed into a small but thick outcropping of jacaranda trees that camouflaged the inner walls that kept Castle Teerman separated from the rest of the city. The trees were tall, reaching over fifty feet, and in Masadonia, bold, lavender-colored, trumpet- shaped flowers blossomed all year round. Only during the coldest months, when snow threatened, did the leaves fall, blanketing the ground in a sea of
purple. They were breathtaking, but I appreciated them not just for their beauty but also for what they provided.
The jacaranda trees hid the crumbling section of the wall that Vikter and I often used to leave the grounds unseen in order to access Wisher’s Grove.
I stopped in front of the mass of intertwined vines that crawled up and over interlocking wooden trellises as wide as the jacaranda trees were tall. Glancing up at the rapidly darkening sky, I then fixed my gaze ahead.
Rylan came to stand behind me. “We made it in time.”
The corners of my lips tilted up before my grin faded. “We did tonight.”
Only a few moments passed, and then the sun conceded defeat to the moon. The last rays of sunlight pulled away from the vines. Hundreds of buds scattered over the vines trembled and then slowly peeled open, revealing lush petals the shade of a starless midnight.
Night-blooming roses.
Closing my eyes, I inhaled the faintly sweet aroma. They were at their most fragrant upon opening and then again at dawn.
“They are quite beautiful,” Rylan commented. “They remind me—” His words ended in a strangled grunt.
Eyes flying open, I spun around, and a scream of horror knotted in my throat as Rylan staggered backward, an arrow protruding from his chest. A look of disbelief marked his features as he lifted his chin.
“Run,” he gasped, blood trickling from the corner of his lips. “Run.”
