A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire (Blood and Ash Book 2)

I staggered back a step, my horrified gaze lifted to Casteel and then to where Duchess Teerman had stood. She was no longer there. I turned back to Casteel.

His chest expanded, but no breath left him as he stared down at the gift.

“Casteel,” I whispered.

Slowly, he turned from the grotesque sight and eyes nearly as black as an Ascended’s met mine.

And I knew there would be no more talking.

Locking down my senses and shutting off my emotions, my horror and fury, I exhaled roughly.

“Kill as many of them as you can.” Releasing the golden swords from his sides, he spun back to the edge and leapt.

He leapt from the top of the Rise, a dozen feet or more above the field.

Rushing to the edge, his name was a scream not given sound. He landed in a crouch, swords at his sides as he rose before an army of hundreds.

“Nice of you to join us,” a knight called out. “The Dark One all alone? The odds are not in your favor.”

“I am never alone,” Casteel growled.

Piercing screams rang from every side of me, pitching and falling in a battle cry that would send a bolt of dread through the most seasoned warrior.

The Guardians.

They moved as silently as wraiths, appearing on the battlements. They swept their swords above their heads, bringing them together in a thunderous clap. Sparks erupted from the swords, igniting. I sucked in a breath as golden flames spiraled over the blades, encasing the stone blades in fire. Flames erupted across the Rise. Then they too went over the side, one by one, falling like golden stars. By the time they landed, Casteel was nothing more than a blur among leather and armor, cutting a path into the line before they even knew he was there as he headed straight for the carriage. He was going to kill the Duchess.

And for once I cared nothing for dignity in death.

Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, I lifted the bow and nocked the arrow once more as the first wolven burst from the shadows, taking a guard down from his horse. To my left and right, the oldest among those here lifted their bows. I searched for flashes of black—of mantles that signified a knight instead of a guard and took aim as the others spilled out from the trees that crowded the right walls of the Rise.

Catching sight of a knight on horseback, charging a man who’d shoved a sword deep into the chest of a soldier, I took aim. The knight’s hand whipped out, and a barbed chain uncurled. The metal and spikes spun with dizzying speed as I focused on the one weak area not armored.

I released the string. The arrow flew across the distance, striking the knight in the eye. The impact knocked the knight from the horse, his body disintegrating as it fell to the ground.

Quentyn skidded into the space beside me, placing a shield against the stone walls. He stretched up, peering over the wall, jaw hard as he leveled his bow.

“Where’s Beckett?” I asked, not having seen him.

“He’s with the ones who can’t fight.”

I nodded. “The ones with black mantles are knights. Vamprys. Aim for their heads.”

“Got it.” His eyes squinted.

Notching another arrow, I scanned for Casteel, spotting him in the middle of the Royal Army ranks, sweeping his sword through the neck of one and the stomach of another. My gaze skipped over flaming swords, cutting down those with fire. A knight raced toward a Guardian. I released an arrow, and it caught him in the mouth.

“Archers!” a knight shouted. “On the battlements.”

Aiming at a guard who rushed toward a wolven, I only saw the arrow pierce the leather, spinning the mortal to the ground a second before a volley of arrows ripped through the air.

“Incoming!” someone yelled.

“Down!” Quentyn shouted as he lifted a shield that had to weigh nearly as much as he did. We knelt as the arrows zinged down, clanging off stone and the metal of the shield. Shouts of pain tugged at my senses, telling me that some had found their marks.

Quentyn lowered the shield, and I popped back up as I placed an arrow over the bow.

“Do you see him?” Quentyn asked, releasing an arrow. “The Prince?”

I shook my head as I surveyed the chaos below. There was too much going on—there were too many. I could barely even see the Guardians’ flaming swords in the clash of regular swords and bodies. “He’ll be okay,” I told Quentyn—told myself—as I pulled back the string, forgetting about the knights. I focused on the soldiers, going through a quiver of ammunition before several of them broke through the wolven and Guardians. A dozen or more reached the door. The shouts from below caused my gift to swell inside me. I knew they were going to make it inside.

Another wave of arrows went up, and I cursed as we ducked under the shield again. Several clattered off, hitting the floor beside us. Screams tore through the air. My gaze swung in the direction of the stairs. There weren’t enough out there to hold them back. They’d keep coming, just like Craven would. They’d swarm us before the larger army even arrived.

And I was up here, hiding behind a shield.

My gaze met Quentyn’s. “You’re really good with a bow?”

He nodded. “I think so.”

“Good. Cover me.”

“What?” His golden eyes widened.

“When you see me down there, cover me.” I dropped the bow.

“You can’t go out there! Casteel—I mean, the Prince will—”

“Expect little else from me,” I told him. “Cover me.”

Without waiting, I darted toward the stairs, unsheathing my dagger as I raced past the gruesome gifts. I sped down the winding staircase, my steps slowing as I heard the clang of stone against stone.

They’d made it inside the Rise.

I inched down the rest of the steps, keeping close to the wall.

A body stumbled across the mouth of the stairs, falling to the ground. A Royal Guard appeared. All I saw was a young face splattered with blood. A face too young. Blue eyes. Did he know what he fought for? He had to. He had been out there when the Duchess spoke. It didn’t matter either way.

Sword dripping with blood, he halted for a fraction of a second. That was all I needed. I sprang forward, shoving the dagger under his chin. His breath gurgled as he pinwheeled backward, the sword clanging off the ground.

Stepping out of the stairwell, I switched the dagger to my left hand and picked up the fallen sword. Testing its weight, I scanned the torch-lit yard, the bodies standing and the ones falling. And then I did what Vikter had taught me through our hours of training.

I closed it down.

Shut it all down.

The horror. What my eyes wanted my brain and heart to recognize. The fear, especially the fear—of being injured, of stumbling, of missing my mark, of dying—of losing those I cared about. Vikter had once told me that when you fought, you had to do so as if each breath may be your last.

I stalked forward, the cloak billowing out from behind me, catching in the blood-rich wind. And all I saw when a soldier turned to me were the faces of their gifts.

The soldier raised his sword, his face a mask of violence. There were different kinds of bloodlust. What vampry and Ascended felt, and what mortals experienced when violence spilled into the air. I dipped under his arm, spinning back as I thrust the sword into his back. Yanking the blade free, I turned, shoving the dagger deep into the chest of another soldier. The bloodstone pierced leather and bone.

Whirling, I sliced through the neck of a soldier who went to drive their sword down on one who’d fallen. Wet warmth hit my cheeks as I turned, shoving my elbow into the throat of another. Bones crunched and air wheezed behind me as the pain of those around me scraped even harder at my senses.

Reaching up, I tore free the buttons at my neck. The hood slipped down, and I shrugged off the cloak. It fell to the ground behind me as I broke into a run, racing out of the Rise and into the battle we were sure to lose.

It was…madness.

Swords crashing against swords. Screams of pain and shouts of fury. Glimpses of fur and thick claws and flaming swords as the Guardians cut through mortal and vampry alike.

A man moaned as he clutched his bloodied stomach. He was a Descenter, and I started to stop, to either ease his pain or heal him—

An arrow whizzed past my head, striking a guard rushing toward me. Quentyn was very good with a bow.

I stepped back from the fallen man, knowing that now was not the time for that particular set of skills. As much as it hurt, as wrong as it felt, I turned away.

And then…I fell into the madness as I thrust my sword into the stomach of a soldier who couldn’t have been much older than I was. I let my thirst for vengeance seize me as my blade sliced through the neck of another. I didn’t hesitate or pull back when I saw recognition flare in the eyes the moment they saw the scars on my face. It took only moments out on the field to know that they’d been given orders not to harm me. It was clear they didn’t expect me to be down here, to be fighting, and it was an advantage for me, one I used. Because orders from an Ascended hadn’t sent me out here. I chose to be here. I kicked out, catching a knight at the knees before he could lift the spiked ball he wielded. He fell to his back, and I drove the sword down.

Bright, twin flames passed mere feet from my face as a Guardian kicked off the back of a falling soldier. The dark-haired Guardian spun in mid-air, catching two in the chest. The fiery blades sliced through leather and bone. Landing in a crouch, she rose with the fluid grace of a goddess, her eyes briefly meeting mine. She nodded before disappearing into the crush of soldiers.

A sudden yelp from a wolven spun me around. A fawn-colored one that reminded me of Kieran but smaller, limped backward away from a knight, blood coursing down the hind leg. Vonetta? I wasn’t sure as I shifted the sword to my left hand and withdrew the wolven dagger. The knight lifted the sword as the wolven bared her teeth, crouching on the wounded leg. Flipping the dagger so I held it by the blade, I cocked back my arm and threw it. The bloodstone struck the knight in the forehead, taking him down before he even knew what’d hit him as I shoved the sword into the gut of another soldier who reached for me. The wolven whipped toward me and suddenly launched into the air. My breath caught as she crashed into a soldier behind me. They went down, her jaws locked on his neck. She shook her head, flinging the soldier like he was nothing more than a rag doll. Bone cracked as I turned, scanning the mass of bodies standing and on the ground. There were wolven among the fallen. Faces I recognized. I retrieved my dagger from the dusty ground as a wolven the color of snow darted past me. Delano. I turned, catching sight of Casteel behind the catapults.

Blood streaked his face as he spun out his blades, catching two soldiers in the chest. Yanking the swords free, he stretched his neck, and my heart stuttered. There was a wound on his neck and shoulder, ragged and seeping blood. Surrounded, he roared, fangs bared as he caught a soldier by the throat, ripping into flesh as Delano took a knight down from his horse, his claws tearing through the metal armor like it was nothing more than loose soil. Another wolven shot across the field—an impossibly large, silver one. Jasper? He grabbed the knight’s arm as he swung the sword toward Delano and…good gods, he tore it straight off, sword and all.

I would have to vomit about that later.

Another knight leapt from his horse, landing like a mountain behind Casteel. He tossed a soldier aside to get to Casteel, flinging the mortal into the side of a catapult. The crunch of bones told me that the soldier wouldn’t be getting back up.

I picked up my pace, jumping over a body and closing the distance just as the knight went for Casteel. Grabbing a fistful of the knight’s hair, I yanked his head back as I thrust the wolven dagger into the weak space at the base of his skull, angling it upward. The knight shuddered as I let go, his body breaking apart.

Casteel spun then, fangs bared and mouth streaked with crimson. The sword he swung at me halted a mere inch from my neck. His breath came out in short, ragged bursts.

“You’re welcome,” I panted. “For saving your life.”

Breathing raggedly, he jerked the sword back. A wide, bloody smile broke out across his face. “Would this be an inappropriate time to let you know I’m incredibly turned on by you right now?”

“Yes.” My gaze shifted to the guard staggering to his feet behind him. “Highly inappropriate.”

“Well, too bad.” Casteel pivoted, and the guard’s head went in a different direction of his body. “I find you highly arousing.”

My lips curved up as I turned, seeing the carriage. “Is she in the carriage? The Duchess?”

“I believe so.” He looked over his shoulder at me. “You want to kill her?”

I nodded.

“You’re going to have to beat me to it.”

Jamming the dagger into a soldier’s throat, I said, “Doable.”

Casteel’s laugh was wild as he caught the arm of a knight, spinning him as he drew one of his swords around, cutting through the soldier’s neck. I started forward when fire sparked to life in the waiting darkness of the western road. I drew up short, breathing heavily as the spark repeated itself, over and over and over. The sparks flew into the air—

Arrows.

Casteel crashed into me, grabbing me around the waist as he shoved us under the catapult. His body flattened over mine, pressing me into the hard, blood-and-dirt-packed earth.

The arrows fell, striking Solis soldiers and those who fought on Atlantia’s side alike. I jerked back against Casteel at the sound of arrows piercing flesh, at the sudden intense flares of light all around us as the fire swept over bodies, igniting the catapult beside us. The world descended into chaos and death.