The War of Two Queens (Blood And Ash Series Book 4)

Malik had led us past the row of doors and farther into the depths of the Temple. The entry point was a door we never would’ve thought to open—one that led to a pantry that hid a false wall.

The entrance to the underground chamber was narrow and appeared as old as the Temple, the steps crumbling under our weight. It dumped into a hall that fed into numerous pathways, and we didn’t walk more than ten feet before taking a left or a right.

I had no idea how anyone could remember this path, but I knew one thing for sure—the spell may have worked down here, but we never would’ve found our way back out without blowing through the ceiling and into the gods only knew what. Because there was no way we were still under the Temple.

We all kept our eyes on Malik. Kieran’s distrust of his former brethren was as strong as his reluctant need to believe that Malik hadn’t forsaken his family and his kingdom for the Blood Crown. He was fighting it. I could taste and see that every time my attention shifted back to the Prince from wherever he was leading us. There was anger in the set of his jaw. Hope in how his chest rose sharply. Disappointment in the narrowing of his eyes. Uncertainty in the glances he sent me, ones that mirrored mine. Had we made a mistake? If we hadn’t, did the reason Malik remained with the Blood Crown justify any and all of the things he’d done?

“Why didn’t you help Casteel escape?” I asked. “You could’ve at any point.”

“You’ve seen what kind of shape he’s in. He wouldn’t have made it far,” Malik answered through clenched teeth. “His disappearance would’ve been noticed quickly, too. They would’ve caught him, and that wouldn’t have ended well for Cas.”

“You could’ve gotten him out of the city and to us,” Kieran challenged.

“I won’t leave her here,” Malik said without hesitation. “Not even for Cas.”

Kieran’s conflict grew, but mine lessened. Because I could understand that. I’d chosen to save Casteel over my father before I even left for Carsodonia.

“How much longer?” Reaver demanded.

“Not very much,” Malik assured. “But we need to hurry. I ran into Callum minutes before the horns blared, and he hightailed his ass to Isbeth. We got into it,” he said, and I noticed his knuckles then. They were red, the skin angry and ripped but already healing. He’d definitely been in a fight. “Callum was…”

“He was what?” I asked.

Malik glanced at me. “He was just saying some shit about Cas. He’s always saying shit. Still, I got a bad feeling. I was going to check on Cas myself when the mist hit the city, and I saw you all.”

“Do you think he did something?” A cold wind of worry swept through me.

“Anything is possible with that fucker.”

Dread built. Everything looked the same as ten steps back. I began to fear that we’d been played, and I would have to kill Malik in this underground maze.

We rounded a corner, and the scent of musty decay reached us. Damp, torch-lit walls came into view, as well as a long, straight hall with just one cell to the left. A deep, awful growl rumbled from within.

A frayed sort of sound left me. I picked up my pace and then broke into a run, passing Malik.

“Poppy,” Kieran shouted as I rushed through the opening—

Jerking back, I choked on a scream as the creature chained to the wall lunged forward, its arms outstretched. Shock seized me. My feet slipped out from under me, and I went down hard on my ass, not even feeling the impact of the fall.

I barely recognized him.

His skin was ghastly pale, almost like a Craven’s. The striking lines and planes of his face were contorted, lips peeled back, and fangs thicker and longer than I’d ever seen. His eyes… Good gods, they were pitch-black—not a hint of amber visible. And his chest…

A jagged hole mangled the center of his torso, just below his heart. Blood covered his stomach. The floor. I realized it was what had caused me to slip.

“Oh, gods,” I gasped, my heart cracking open.

Casteel snapped at the air, the chains groaning as he pulled them taut. The shadowstone band cut into his throat, but it didn’t stop him from swiping at me and snarling.

“No.” Kieran grasped my shoulders, hauling me clear as his agony pummeled my senses. He stared at the man who was more than just a friend to him. “No.”

My senses opened, reaching out to Casteel as Kieran lifted me to my feet. I came into contact with no wall. No anger or pain. Not even a hint of anguish. There was nothing but a yawning, crimson void of insidious, unending hunger.

No sign of Casteel remained in the thick, red haze of bloodlust.

“He wasn’t like this yesterday.” I shuddered. “That wound—”

“Callum,” Malik snarled, entering the cell. He stuck close to the wall as Casteel whipped to the side, tracking his brother’s movements. His bloodied chest vibrated with sound. “He did this.”

Fury exploded, stirring up the Primal essence. “I want him dead.”

“Noted,” Reaver said from the entrance.

“We need to get him calm.”  I started to move closer.  “Then we—”

Kieran’s arm came around my waist, pulling me tight to his chest. “There is no way you’re getting close to him.”

Casteel’s attention snapped in our direction. His head tilted as he snarled.

“He’s…he’s too far gone,” Kieran said, his voice hoarse.

My heart stuttered to a painful stop. “No. He’s not. He can’t be.” I rubbed the blood off my palm. The golden swirl was dim in the fading candlelight. “He’s still alive.”

“But he’s in bloodlust, Poppy.” Kieran’s voice was loaded with broken shards of pain. “He doesn’t recognize you.”

Casteel snapped forward again. The chain jerked him back sharply. I cried out as he staggered and went down on one knee.

“That is not Cas,” Kieran whispered, shaking.

Those four words threatened to destroy me. “But we can get him back. He just needs to feed. I’ll be fine. He can’t kill me.” I pulled at Kieran’s arm. When he didn’t let go, I twisted toward him, our faces inches apart. “Kieran—”

“I know.” Kieran clasped the back of my neck, pulling my forehead to his. “He needs to feed, but he doesn’t recognize you, Poppy,” he repeated. “He will hurt you. I can’t stand here and allow that. I don’t want to see that happen to you. I don’t want to see how it will fucking destroy him when he comes out of the bloodlust and realizes what he’s done.”

Another shudder hit me. “But I need to help him—”

“What my brother needs is to feed and have the time for that to pull him out of bloodlust. He may need multiple feedings. Something we don’t have the time for here,” Malik said, shoving shorter strands of hair back from his face. “We need to get him out of here. Someplace safe where we have time.” A muscle throbbed in his temple as he stared at his brother. “I know of a place. If we can get him there, we’ll be good for at least a day or two.”

“Are you serious?” Kieran exploded as Casteel’s head whipped around. “You expect us to trust you?”

Malik’s lips thinned. “You don’t have much choice, do you?”

“Literally walking out of here and into the arms of that bitch Queen is a better choice,” Kieran spat.

“Come on, man. You know we can’t feed him here. You know he needs time.” Malik’s eyes were as bright as citrine jewels as he faced off with Kieran. “If we try to do that here, we’re going to get caught, and all of us—yes, all of us—are going to wish we were dead.”

That couldn’t happen. “How do we get him out of here?”

“You really want to risk this?” Kieran demanded. “With him?”

“How long does it take to recover from bloodlust?” I asked instead of answering. “How long before the person can become enough of themselves again?”

Kieran sucked in air, but no words came out. Looking away, he dragged his hand over his face.

“We don’t have a choice,” I said, softening my voice. “Malik knows that. I know that. You do, too. So, how do we get him out of here?”

Kieran’s hand fell to his side. “We’ll have to knock him out.”

My throat dried. “We have to hurt him?”

“It’s the only way.” Kieran shook his head. “And then hope he stays unconscious long enough.”

Heart hurting, I turned back to Casteel. He thrashed, reaching for me. I saw nothing of him in his face. His eyes. “I…I don’t know if I can do it without hurting him more. I’ve never used the essence for something like that, and I—”

“I can do it,” Malik said. “Kieran, I’m going to need you to distract him long enough for me to get behind him.”

Kieran gave a sharp nod and then made his move, stepping around me. A second later, Malik rushed under the chain. Casteel whipped around, but Malik was already behind him. He folded an arm around Casteel’s throat, clamping down on his windpipe with what I knew was likely one squeeze away from crushing that cartilage.

Casteel threw himself back, knocking Malik into the wall, but Malik held on, squeezing and squeezing as Casteel clawed at his arms, at the air—

I wanted to look away. I wanted to close my eyes and scream, but I forced myself to see this. To watch until Casteel’s movement became sluggish and blurred and he finally went limp in Malik’s arms.

It took minutes.

Minutes I knew would haunt me.

“Gods,” Malik grunted, gently laying Casteel down. He looked over his shoulder at the wall. “The chains? They’re in there pretty well.”

“Reaver?” I rasped. “Can you break them?”

The draken strode forward, kneeling near the wall. He looked over at us. “I would suggest leaving the chains on him until we know he’s calm.”

“No.” I stepped forward. “I want the chains off.”

“I want them off, too,” Kieran said. “But we’ll probably need them when he wakes up.”

“Yeah,” Malik agreed. “The last thing we need is for him to get away from us.”

I hated this. Hated all of it. “Can we get the shackles off his ankles and neck, at least?”

Malik nodded, looking down at his brother. “We can do that,” he said, his voice thick.

Reaver leaned down, his mouth opening as Kieran turned me away.

“Good gods,” I heard Malik rasp as silvery flames lit the dark walls. “You’re a fucking draken.” There was a beat of silence. “That’s why those knights were smoldering.”

Kieran’s gaze met mine as I heard a heavy chain fall, clanging off the stone. Silently, he lifted his hands to my cheeks. Another chain hit the floor. I flinched. Kieran swept his thumbs across my cheeks, wiping away tears. A third chain clattered, and Kieran’s eyes went beyond me. A few moments later, he nodded and let go. I turned to see Reaver carefully placing the bone chains still attached to the shackles on Casteel’s wrists on his too-still chest.

I looked down at my palm. The golden imprint shimmered faintly in the shadowy cell. He’s alive. I kept telling myself that. He’s alive.

Kieran went to Casteel’s side. “I’ll carry him.”

“No,” Malik bit out. “He’s my brother. And if you want him, you’re going to have to pry him from my dead fingers. I’m carrying him.”

Kieran looked as if he wished to do just that, but he relented. “Then where are we going?”

Malik strode forward. “To a friend’s.”

I followed him out of the cell, stopping long enough to place my hand on the stone. The essence roared through me as I brought the ceiling of the cell down.

No one would ever be kept there again.

We followed Malik through a winding maze of halls and tunnels until he turned into a narrow, cramped passageway that smelled of damp soil and sewage. I knew we were near ground level.

The opening ahead looked to be what remained of a brick wall. It had half collapsed, leaving an opening wide enough to squeeze through. I followed close behind Malik, my attention never straying far from Casteel. He hadn’t stirred once under Kieran’s cloak, which had been draped over him, hiding his body and the chains.

There was no time to stop and heal Casteel’s wound, something that cut at me with each step we took. But that kind of wound wouldn’t only take a few seconds to close, and we ran the risk of waking him during the process.

“What were you all planning to do when you found Cas?” Malik asked as I wiggled through the opening, the rough edges of the bricks snagging my cloak. “Fight your way out the main gates?”

Silence greeted him as I straightened, looking around. The mist was still heavy here but not nearly as thick.

“That’s exactly what you all were going to do.” Malik cursed under his breath. “Do you think you really would’ve made it out? Even if the Craven hadn’t joined in the fun?”

“What do you think?” Kieran joined us outside, followed by Reaver.

“What I think is that you all would’ve been caught down there. And even if Cas weren’t in the shape he was, Isbeth would’ve done exactly as she threatened to do once she realized that you were missing.”

“She threatened to put children on the walls and the gates of the Rise,” I answered, feeling Kieran’s gaze on me as I turned around, looking up. Above, the mist muted the glow of the streetlamps, but I could see enough to realize where we were. “The Golden Bridge.”

“Yes.” Malik started up the slope of the embankment, his hooded figure nearly disappearing into the mist. The ground was muddy and full of a slop I didn’t want to think about. “The tunnel entrance caved in there a few years ago. The Craven have been getting out from there, but no one’s fixed it.”

“Out?” Kieran questioned as several rounds of fiery arrows lit up the sky beyond the Rise. I tore my gaze from there.

“What do you think happens to the mortals the vamprys get a bit gluttonous with? Can’t let them turn in their homes,” Malik said as we cleared the embankment and continued on through the thick, still-swirling mist. “They’re dumped underground where they turn. Sometimes, they get out, you know, when the gods are angry. Of course, a sizable tithe to the Temples helps assuage that anger enough for the Craven to be dealt with.”

My eyes narrowed on Malik’s back. “And you’re okay with that? Innocent people being turned into monsters? Money being taken from people who can’t afford it?”

“Never said I was okay with any of it,” Malik replied.

“But you’re here.” Reaver scanned the mist and the empty street. “Accepting it all for a female?”

“Never said I accepted it either.”

Nothing was said after that for a long time, but Kieran seemed to watch Malik even closer. We walked what I knew was the very outskirts of the cramped district of Croft’s Cross, even though I couldn’t see any of the buildings stacked on top of one another in staggering, clustered rows. It was the smell of the sea and the scent of too many people forced to live in a too-small place that tipped me off.

The mist was fading over the edges of the district near the sea. I saw more of the moonlight-kissed waters, but orders were still being shouted from the Rise, arrows still being lobbed. No horn had blown again, alerting the citizens that it was safe.

The mist was damper here, closer to the ocean, and a fine sheen of sweat dotted my brow beneath the hood. The slender streets of what seemed to be shops and homes appeared empty and silent through the mist. Not even our footsteps could be heard as we cut between two one-story buildings and began climbing the steep path—an earthen pass through birch trees.

“Who is this friend?” Kieran broke the silence. “And where in the hell are we walking? Atlantia?”

“Stonehill,” I answered as Malik snorted. “Aren’t we?”

“We are.”

Stonehill was a district somewhere between Croft’s Cross and the Stroud Sea, where those who had a little coin but not a lot called home. Usually, there was one family per home and little space between the normally one-story houses with terracotta roofs used for patios.

“And this friend?” Kieran persisted as we found our way onto another uneven sidewalk.

“Someone who can be trusted,” Malik answered as we came upon a stucco home with no courtyard and a door leading right onto the sidewalk. I was able to see that it was dark beyond the two latticed windows on either side of the door. “His name is Blaz. Wife’s name is Clariza.”

“And how do you know them?” I asked as he hit the bottom of the door with his booted foot. “Why should we trust them?”

“I met Clariza one night in Lower Town when she and her friends were smuggling barrels from a ship that’d come in from the Vodina Isles. Barrels that smelled suspiciously of black powder,” he answered, kicking the door again and stirring up the mist. “You should trust them because those barrels did, in fact, carry black powder that they plan to use to blow up the inner walls of Wayfair.”

Reaver slowly looked at him. “What the fuck?”

Descenters. They had to be Descenters. But how was Malik involved?

“And you should also know,” Malik continued, “that they do not believe you to be a Harbinger of doom.”

Well, that was good. “And you? Do you believe that?”

Malik said nothing.

The door cracked open just then, revealing a sliver of a tan cheek and one brown eye. That eye lifted to the shadowy recesses of Malik’s hood, dropped to the cloaked body in his arms, and then darted to where we stood. The eye narrowed. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not at first,” Malik responded in a voice barely above a whisper. “But, yeah, you will once you know who I have in my arms and who stands with me.”

Wariness radiated from Kieran, tasting of vinegar as he crowded Malik’s back.

“Who’s in your arms?” the man I could only assume was Blaz demanded in an equally low voice.

I didn’t think Malik would answer.

He did.

“The King of Atlantia.”

My mouth dropped open as Blaz uttered, “Bullshit.”

“And I have his wife with me,” Malik continued. I thought for a moment that Reaver might actually eat him. “You know, the Queen.”

“Double bullshit,” Blaz replied.

Sighing, Malik looked over his shoulder to where I stood. “Show him.”

“Yeah.” The eye narrowed even further. “Show me and then tell me what my good man here was smoking that got him showing up at my door on a night like this, telling wild stories.”

The fact that the man hadn’t shouted to the sky at the mention of Atlantia was somewhat reassuring.

Deciding that we were already knee-deep in whatever this was, I edged past Kieran and came to stand beside Malik. I lowered the hood of my cloak.

That eye swept over my face and then darted back to the scar on my brow, going wide. “Holy shit,” he gasped as Kieran reached over, tugging my hood back into place. “It’s you. It’s really you. Holy shit.”

“Are my scars that well known?” I asked.

“Scars?” Blaz mumbled as the door swept open wide. “Holy shit on a sardine sandwich. Yeah, come right in.”

“I am slightly concerned about this mortal,” Reaver muttered.

I was more than slightly concerned about all of this, but when Malik walked in, I followed without hesitation since he carried Casteel. Kieran was right behind me, entering a small foyer. The space had no light, so all I could make out was the shape of what appeared to be low-to-the-floor chairs.

“It’s not the scars,” Kieran said, his voice low as Blaz closed the door behind Reaver. “It’s your eyes. They’re streaked with silver. Been that way since you entered the stairwell in Wayfair.”

I blinked rapidly, even though I had no idea if that would help or if it did. Maybe the adrenaline was causing it?

“Blaz?” came a soft voice from the narrow hall, lit only by a wall sconce. “What’s going on?”

“You should come in here.” Blaz backed up slowly into the hall. The man’s hair matched his name. Fiery strands brushed the skin at his temples that surely burned upon a few moments in the sun. A beard in a deeper red color covered his jaw. “We’ve got guests. Elian and special guests.”

“Elian?” I repeated under my breath, thinking I recognized the name.

“That’s his middle name.” Kieran nodded at Malik’s back. “Named after their ancestor.”

Elian Da’Neer. The one who’d summoned the gods after the war with the deities to smooth over relations with the wolven. The very first bonding between wolven and Atlantian resulted from the meeting. Was that why Tawny hadn’t known Malik when she’d been at Wayfair? Because she’d known him as Elian?

A moment later, a short figure stepped out from one of the chambers off the hall and into the lamplight. Shoulder-length dark hair framed cool, olive-beige cheeks and a rounded chin. The woman appeared to be about the same age as Blaz, somewhere in their third decade of life. She wore a dark sleeping robe, belted around the waist.

Her hands weren’t empty.

Clariza held a slender iron dagger as she crept forward. “What kind of special guests did you bring us, Elian?” she asked, dark, intelligent eyes darting over the group and lingering on Reaver, whose face was the only one visible. His pupils were normal, but the mortal still swallowed.

“The King of Atlantia,” Blaz answered, joining his wife. “And the Queen.”

“Bullshit.” Clariza echoed her husband’s early sentiment. “Have you been indulging in the Red Ruin?”

Casteel was likely to awaken at any moment. I stepped forward to avoid any lengthy attempts to prove our identities when I could just show them. I lifted the hood, letting it drape from my shoulders.

Clariza’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit.”

“What he claims is true. My name is Penellaphe. You could’ve known of me as the Maiden at one time. He does hold my husband in his arms. He’s been held by the Blood Crown,” I told them, noting the tightening in Clariza’s jaw. “He’s been injured and is in need of shelter so I can provide him with aid. We were brought here because we were told that we could trust you.”

Without taking her eyes off me, Clariza lowered herself to one knee. She placed one hand over her heart and the other, which held the dagger, she pressed to the floor. Her husband followed suit.

“From blood and ash,” she said, bowing her head.

“We will rise,” Blaz finished.

I shuddered. Those words echoed through me, the meaning so very different from when I’d first heard them.

“That’s not necessary. I’m not your Queen,” I said, glancing at Casteel’s shrouded form. “We’re just in need of space. A private place where I can help my husband.”

Malik’s head cut sharply in my direction but he said nothing.

“You may not be our Queen now,” Clariza said, her head lifting, “but you are a god.”

“I am.” I swallowed thickly, worry pressing down on me. “But you still do not need to bow before me.”

“Not what I expected to hear from an actual god,” Blaz mumbled. “But I’m not going to complain.” He reached over, taking his wife’s hand so they rose together. “Whatever you need.”

“A chamber?” Malik suggested. “With a sturdy door.” He paused. “And walls. Just in case.”

Clariza frowned.

“We have a bedchamber that Riza’s mother once used.” Blaz pivoted and started walking. “Not sure about how sturdy the walls or door are, but they’re standing.”

We followed, passing what appeared to be an entryway to a sitting chamber and then another closed door. Blaz opened the rounded door to the left on the opposite side of the hall.

“He’s been starved, hasn’t he?” Clariza asked as her husband hurried into the chamber, lighting a gas lamp on a small end table.

My gaze snapped to her as Malik carried Casteel to the narrow bed. The chains clanged together as he laid him down, drawing Blaz’s attention.

“My great-great-grandmother was Atlantian,” Clariza explained. “My grandmother used to tell me what happened when her mother couldn’t easily find another Atlantian to feed from. From what I remember, it didn’t sound like many walls or doors are strong enough.”

I had a lot of questions about why her family had chosen to remain and not head for Atlantia, but those questions would have to wait as I went to the other side of the bed. Malik pulled the cloak off.

“Fucking gods.” Blaz’s gasp turned into a wheeze. “Sorry. That was probably offensive. I am deeply regretful.”

“It’s okay.” My heart ached anew as I took in Casteel’s too-pale skin and the grisly wound.

“Shit,” Malik cursed, and my gaze flew to Casteel’s face. The dark slash of brows had furrowed. I saw tension creeping into the stark lines of his features.

“You should all leave,” Kieran advised, coming forward as Malik took hold of the chains. He lifted them from Casteel’s chest. “He’s about to wake.”