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

“Run, Poppy,” Momma wheezed. “Run.”

She wanted me to leave her, but I couldn’t. I ran. I ran toward her, tears spilling down my cheeks.

“Momma—” Claws caught my hair, scratched my skin, burning me like the time I’d reached for the hot kettle. I screamed, straining for Momma, but I couldn’t see her in the mass of monsters.

They were everywhere, skin dull and gray and broken. And then there was the tall man in black. The one with no face. I twisted, screaming—

Papa’s friend stood in the doorway. I reached for him. He was supposed to help us—help Momma. But he stared at the man in black as he rose above the twisting, feeding creatures. Papa’s friend jerked, stumbling back, his bitter horror filling my mouth, choking me. He backed away, shaking his head and trembling. He was leaving us—

Teeth sank into my skin. Fiery pain ripped through my arm and lit across my face. I fell, trying to shake them off. Red streamed into my eyes. “No. No. No,” I screamed, thrashing. “Momma! Papa!”

Fire sliced through my stomach, seizing my lungs and my body.

Then the monsters were falling, and I couldn’t breathe. The pain. The weight. I wanted my momma. Nothingness slipped over my eyes, and I was lost for a little bit.

A hand touched my cheek, my neck. I blinked through blood and tears.

The Dark One stood above me, his face nothing but shadows beneath the hooded cloak. It wasn’t his hand at my throat but something cold and sharp.

He didn’t move. That hand trembled. He shook as he spoke, but his words faded in and out.

I heard Momma say in a voice that sounded strange and wet, “Do you understand what that means? Please. She must…”

“Good gods,” the man rasped, and then I was floating and drifting, surrounded by the scent of the flowers the Queen liked to have in her bedchambers.

What a powerful little flower you are.

What a powerful poppy.

Pick it and watch it bleed.

Not so—

I jerked awake, my eyes open wide as I scanned the moonlit chamber. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t in the inn. I was here.

My heart was slow to calm. I hadn’t had such a nightmare in a few nights. Others had found me—ones where pointed nails painted the color of blood dug into his skin—hurting him.

My closest friend and lover.

My husband and King.

My heartmate.

Those nightmares had joined the old ones, finding me if I managed more than a few hours of sleep—which wasn’t often. I averaged maybe three hours a night.

Throat dry, I stared up at the ceiling, careful not to disturb the thick blankets piled on top of the wide bedroll. It was silent.

I hated these moments.

The quiet.

The nothingness of night.

The waiting when nothing could occupy my thoughts enough to prevent me from thinking his name—let alone what could be happening to him. From hearing him beg and plead, offering anything, even his kingdom, to her.

Twenty-nine days.

A tremor coursed through me as I fought back the rising tide of panic and anger—

Movement by my hip jarred me from the rapidly spiraling thoughts. A large, furry head rose against the moonlight. The wolven yawned as he stretched long, powerful front legs.

Kieran had made it a habit of sleeping near me in his wolven form, which was why he got very little sleep. I’d told him more than once that it wasn’t necessary, but the last time I’d brought it up, he’d said, “This is where I choose to be.”

And well, that…that nearly made me cry. He chose to be beside me because he was my friend. Not because of some obligation. I wouldn’t make the same mistake I had with Tawny, constantly doubting the genuineness of our relationship because of how we had been introduced.

I also thought he chose to be here, needing the closeness, because he too was hurting. Kieran had known him his entire life. Their friendship went beyond the bond they’d once shared. There was love between them. And while I kept my senses to myself when there was no need for me to read another’s emotions, Kieran sat in silence at times, the sadness swelling out from him and breaking through my shields.

That sorrow also stemmed from the loss of Lyra. He’d been more than just fond of the wolven, even if they hadn’t been in a serious relationship. He’d cared for her, and now she was gone—just like the wolven Elashya, the one he had loved and lost to a rare wasting disease.

Kieran’s head turned toward me, and he blinked sleepy, winter-blue eyes.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

I felt a touch against my mind like a light brush of skin against skin. His imprint reminded me of cedar, rich and woodsy. You should be asleep, he said, his words a whisper among my thoughts.

“I know,” I replied, rolling onto my side so I faced him.

He lowered his head to the bed. Another nightmare?

I nodded.

There was a pause, and then he said, You know, there are herbs that can help you rest. Help you find the kind of sleep where these nightmares can’t reach you.

“No, thank you.” I’d never liked the idea of taking anything that knocked me out, potentially leaving me vulnerable. Plus, I was already taking an herb similar to what he had taken for contraception. I’d figured it was wise to see if something was readily available since he wouldn’t be able to take anything. Luckily, Vonetta had known just the thing—an herb similar to the one Casteel took, which was ground into a powder and could be mixed with any drink. It tasted like dirt but stomaching that was far better than the potential of carrying a child.

That was the last thing any of us needed.

Though I suddenly imagined Kieran knitting little sweaters and grinned.

What are you thinking about? His curiosity was fresh and lemony.

There was no way I was sharing that. “Nothing.”

He eyed me as if he didn’t believe me. You need to rest, Poppy. God or not, you’re going to wear yourself out.

I bit back a sigh as I tugged the soft blanket to my chin, rubbing it. “Do you think this blanket is made of wolven fur?”

Kieran’s ears flattened. That was a poor attempt at changing the subject.

“I think it was a valid question,” I parroted his earlier words.

You think every question is a valid one. He made a very mortal-sounding huff.

“They’re not?” Flipping onto my back, I stopped rubbing my chin and let go of the blanket.

Kieran nudged my hand. It was his way of letting me know it was okay to touch him in this form—a way the wolven silently communicated need for affection. I reached down, and like always, it never ceased to amaze me how soft a wolven’s fur was. I ran my fingers through the fluff between his ears, thinking Kieran probably believed he enjoyed the touch more than I did. But touch…touch was such a gift. One so very often overlooked and underappreciated.

Several long moments of silence passed. “Do you…do you dream of him?”

I don’t. Kieran lowered his head to my hip. His eyes closed. And I don’t know if that’s a blessing or not.

I hadn’t been able to fall back asleep like Kieran had, but I waited until the faint traces of light crept through the window and across the ceiling to leave the bed. Kieran always slept the deepest as the sun rose. I wasn’t sure why, but I knew that my absence wouldn’t stir him for at least an hour or two.

Padding quietly across the stone floor, I secured the wolven dagger to my thigh and then picked up the ruffled, blue dress robe Kieran had found in one of the other chambers. I slipped it on over the slip and tights I’d slept in. It smelled of mothballs, but it was clean and luxuriously soft, made of some sort of cashmere. Tying the sash at my waist, I left the chamber without bothering with shoes. The thick socks were more than enough since I didn’t plan to leave the manor this early.

The people of Massene would be moving about at this time, meeting at one of the two shops that sat just beyond the interior wall of the manor, getting baked pastries and roasted coffee before leaving to work their crops. I didn’t want to disturb what little time they had to talk to one another, repairing their broken community. The people here were only slowly adjusting to our presence—the Atlantian Crests on banners draped in the halls I now walked past and hanging over the Rise. They were still nervous around the Atlantian soldiers and often stared at the wolven, caught between terror and curiosity. And when Reaver took flight…

Chaos ensued.

At least the screams and the running for their lives had abated. But when they caught sight of me, they froze before hastily bowing or lowering themselves to their knees, wide-eyed and filled with the same conflicting emotions they felt when the wolven drew closer.

I had a feeling that Wren had keyed the people of Massene into my whole godhood thing since there was no way anyone from Oak Ambler could’ve communicated what had been whispered to the people there. While I wasn’t upset with him for doing so, I sort of wished he hadn’t.

How they stared made things a bit awkward.

The way they hastily bowed as if expecting grave punishment for failing to do so immediately made me sad.

Traveling the empty, winding halls of the main floor, I bypassed the banquet hall where the murmur of either soldiers or wolven drifted out. I continued, passing the lone receiving chamber and moving to the closed doors on the east side of the manor—which appeared to be the oldest part.

Cracking them open, I entered the cold, cavernous chamber. The musty scent of old books and dust greeted me. There was so much dust that neither Kieran nor Vonetta could be in the chamber for long without experiencing a sneezing fit. I stopped, turning on the gas lamp that sat on a tea table beside a worn settee the shade of rich chocolate.

Cauldra Manor was as old as Massene was, likely built when the city was a district of Pompay—much like the still-existing neighborhoods in Carsodonia. I had a feeling that many of the tomes on the shelves here were just as old.

Mainly because three or four had basically fallen apart when I opened them.

It was, admittedly, a creepy chamber with its heavy tapestries blocking any natural sources of light, the faded portraits of who I assumed were either Ascended of the past or perhaps mortals who’d once called Cauldra home, and the array of half-melted candles of various shapes and colors.

But I began to think that what truly kept the wolven and Atlantians away was the feeling in here. The distinct sensation of not being alone, even when you were.

I felt it now as I drifted among the rows of tomes and their dusty spines—the press of invisible fingers across the nape of my neck. I suppressed a shiver, withdrawing another ancient book from the shelf as I quickly glanced around the empty chamber. The feeling remained, but I ignored it as I took the book to the settee and sat.

However, I would take the possibility of being stalked by spirits over lying in bed with only my wandering thoughts—worrying about him, and Tawny, whether or not I would need to feed, and if we could truly win this war without leaving the realm worse than what it was.

I carefully cracked open the tome. No Atlantians were listed as far as I could tell, though much of the ink had faded. Still, what I could read of the paragraphs narrating the lives of those who’d lived here ages ago was fascinating. The births and deaths had been noted in two columns, grouped together by surname. Mixed in with announcements of marriages were paltry arguments over property lines, accusations of livestock thievery, and much more heinous crimes like assault and murder. Executions were recorded. The manner of death was almost always brutal, and they were held publicly in what had once been a town square.

A part of me realized that what had drawn me to look through these records, long forgotten along the lower shelves of the library, was that they reminded me of when I was in New Haven. When everything I had been learning had been so very confusing to me. But…but he had been there, vibrant and teasing as I discovered the different Atlantian bloodlines.

Chest squeezing, I flipped through stiff, yellowed pages chronicling a realm that’d existed long before the Ascended. Long before—

My eyes narrowed on the words before me. What the…? Lifting the book from my lap, I inhaled way too much dust as I read the passage again and then one more time.

Princess Kayleigh, first daughter of King Saegar and Queen Geneva of Irelone, joined Queen Ezmeria of Lasania and her Consort, Marisol, to celebrate the Rite and Ascension of the Chosen, marking the…

The rest of the ink was far too faded for me to read, but three words practically pulsed from the worn page.

Rite. Ascension. Chosen.

Three things that hadn’t existed before the Ascended ruled Solis.

But that had to be impossible. He had explained that the Ascended had created the Rite as a means to increase their numbers and to make livestock out of mortals. Except they didn’t feed from all third sons and daughters. Some carried an unknown trait, which Isbeth had discovered allowed them to be made into those things—a Revenant. Still, it made no sense for a Rite to be mentioned in a time so far in the past where the names of the kingdoms had been nearly forgotten. A time of no Ascended.

My gaze lifted to one of the faded portraits. A time possibly even before the first Atlantian had been created through the heartmate trials? Setting the book aside, the hem of the dressing robe whispered over the floor as I hurried back to the shelves, searching for older records—the tomes which appeared close to disintegrating. Taking one in my hands, I was even more careful as I opened the book and went through the pages, searching for any mention of the Rite—and dates.

I found it—a passage with just enough ink left to make out a reference to the Chosen, but I was even more confused. Because when I cross-checked the births in the other ledger, only the third sons and daughters born of the same family had no death dates—dates only marked by the month, day, and the age. I was positive that wasn’t due to faded ink.

“How was the Rite possible, then?” I asked the empty chamber.

The only answer was if the Rite had existed and then had stopped, somehow being forgotten by the time the first Atlantian was born. That was the only explanation, as I knew he couldn’t have lied about this. Every Atlantian and wolven I’d met believed that the Rite had begun with the Ascended.

As I stared at the ledger, it struck me that these records could be far, far older than I believed. Possibly written during a time when the gods were awake.

My lips parted. “These ledgers have to be—”

“Older than sin and most kin.”

I jerked at the raspy voice, my gaze swinging to the half-open doors. A shiver coursed down my spine at the sight of the hunched figure shrouded in black.

It was her. The old woman. The widow…who might not even be a widow.

“But not as old as the first mortal, birthed from the flesh of a Primal and the fire of a draken.”

I jolted again. Was that how the first mortal had been created?

The veiled head cocked to the side. “I startled you, I see.”

I swallowed. “A little. I didn’t hear you enter.”

“I’m as quiet as a flea, so most don’t hear me,” she said, shuffling forward. I tensed. The long sleeves of her robe covered her hands, and as she drew closer, I made out the barest hint of pale, creased skin beneath the lacy veil. “Strange reading for a time when most are sleeping.”

Blinking, I glanced down at the ledger. “I suppose it is.” I looked back at her, surprised that she had moved so close so quickly. “Do you know exactly how old these ledgers are?”

“Older than the kingdom and most wisdom,” she answered in that brittle voice that reminded me of dry branches.

The old woman swayed slightly, and I remembered my manners. Most wouldn’t sit before a Queen unless given permission. I imagined mortals would behave the same in the presence of a god. “Would you like to sit?” I asked.

“If I sit, I’m afraid to admit, I’m likely never to get up again.”

Based on how the robes barely moved to show whether she was breathing, I was also afraid of that. “I don’t know your name.”

“I know who you are, with that glow in your eyes as bright as a star,” she replied, and I did everything in my power to keep my face blank. “Vessa is what I was once called.”

Once called? I resisted the urge to reach out and touch her, to see if she truly was made of flesh and bone. Instead, I opened my senses to her, and what I felt was…strange. It was murky. As if whatever she felt was clouded somehow. But there were faint traces of sugary amusement, which was also odd. I wondered if her age made reading her hazy.

I had a feeling she was likely the oldest mortal I’d ever met—possibly even that existed. But her age meant that she must have seen a lot of what’d occurred in Massene. A lot of what the Ascended had done.

“What did you do here, Vessa?”

The lace in front of her face rippled gently, and I caught the scent of something vaguely familiar. A stale scent I couldn’t quite place as she said, “I served,” she said. “I serve still.”

Figuring that she meant the Ascended, I tamped down the surge of anger that rose. The Royals were all the mortals knew. And living for as long as she had under their rule, the fear of being seen as disloyal—as a Descenter—would be hard to shake.

I forced a smile. “You no longer have to serve the Ascended.”

Vessa was so unbelievably still. “I do not serve them while I wait.”

“Then who is it you serve?” I asked.

“Who else but the True Crown of the Realms, silly girl?”

“I am neither silly nor a girl,” I said coolly, setting the ledger on the tea table, assuming she referenced the Blood Crown.

Vessa gave a shaky bow I feared would topple her. “My apologies, Your Highness. I’ve lost all sense of coyness with age.”

I said nothing for a long moment, letting the insult roll off me. I’d been called far worse and dealt harsher insults. “How is it that you serve the True Crown, Vessa?”

“By waiting.”

Between the too-short answers and the longer, rhyming ones, I was quickly losing my patience. “What is it that you wait for?”

She straightened in short, jerky movements. “The one who was Blessed.”

I stiffened.

“One born from a grave misdeed, of a great and terrible Primal power, with blood full of ash and ice.” Her words rattled her entire body, raising the tiny hairs all over mine. “The Chosen who will usher in the end, remaking the realms. The Harbinger of Death and Destruction.”

I sucked in a sharp breath at the all-too-familiar words of the prophecy. She must’ve heard them from the Duke. It was the only explanation.

“You.” The hem of the lacy veil fluttered. “I wait for you. I wait for death.”

Icy fingers pressed against the back of my neck once more as if a spirit had touched me there.

The old woman lurched forward, black robes flapping like the wings of a crow as an arm whipped out from the vast folds. A glimpse of silver glinted in the lamplight. I locked up for the briefest second as potent, acute shock swept through me.

I snapped out of it, the dressing robe fluttering around my legs as I shot to my feet. I caught her wrist, my finger sinking through the heavy cloth and around the thin, bony arm.

“Are you serious?” I exclaimed, still caught in shock as I shoved away.

Vessa stumbled back, bumping into the tea table. She went down hard, her head snapping forward. The veil slipped and then fell to the floor. White, wispy hair spilled out from patchy clumps along a wrinkled scalp.

“Did you just try to stab me?” Incredulous, I stared down at her, my heart thumping heavily. “When you know what I am?”

“I know what you are.” She planted a pale, skeletal hand against the floor and lifted her head.

Good gods, she truly was old.

Her face was almost nothing more than skin and skull, her cheeks and eyes sunken in, her flesh heavily lined, creased, and a ghastly, grayish-white. Lips a bloodless, thin line peeled back across stained teeth, and her eyes… They were milky white. I took an involuntary step back. How in the world could she even see me?

But she still clutched the slender dagger, and that was rather impressive considering her extreme, advanced age.

“Harbinger,” she crooned softly.

“You should stay down,” I warned, really hoping she listened. Something was obviously very wrong with her—perhaps due to hearing that damn prophecy and the fear that festered because of it. Or, this behavior could be a byproduct of her age. Probably both. Either way, I didn’t want to harm an old lady.

Vessa heaved herself up to her feet.

“Oh, come on,” I muttered.

She lunged at me this time, faster than I expected. Gods, the fact that she’d gotten up at all was, yet again, impressive.

I easily side-stepped her. This time, I grasped both her arms as carefully as I could. Trying not to think of how brittle her bones felt, I pushed her down, this time onto the settee.

“Drop the dagger,” I said.

“Harbinger.”

“Now.”

“Harbinger!” Vessa yelled.

“Godsdamn it.” I put the slightest pressure on the bones of her wrist, wincing as she gasped. Her fingers opened, and the dagger fell to the floor with a thud. She started to push up. “Don’t even think it.”

“Do I even want to know what is happening in here?” Kieran boomed from the doors.

“Nothing.” I glanced at him. Clearly, he’d just risen. He wore only breeches. “Except that she just tried to stab me.”

Every line of Kieran’s body went taut. “That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“Harbinger!” Vessa shrieked, and Kieran blinked. “Harbinger!”

“And in case you can’t tell, she believes I’m the Harbinger.” I looked down at the old woman, half afraid to let her go. “No matter what you’ve heard or were told, I am not that.”

“You were born in the shroud of the Primals,” she screamed, and it was loud. “Blessed with blood full of ash and ice. Chosen.”

“I don’t think she heard you,” Kieran replied dryly.

I shot him a glare. “Would you like to help, or do you just want to stand there and watch me get yelled at by an old woman?”

“Is there a third option?”

My eyes narrowed.

“Harbinger!” Vessa shouted. “Harbinger of Death and Destruction!”

Kieran twisted at the waist. “Naill! Need your help.”

“You could just come and get her,” I said. “You didn’t need to call him.”

“Hell, no. I’m not getting anywhere near her. She’s a laruea.”

“A what?”

“A spirit.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered as Vessa continued struggling. “Does she seem like a disembodied phantom to you?”

Naill entered, his steps slowing and his brows lifting as Vessa continued screaming. Emil was right behind him, his head tilting to the side. “Oh, hey,” he said. “It’s the widow.”

“Her name is Vessa, and she just tried to stab me,” I bit out. “Twice.”

“Was not expecting that,” Naill murmured.

“I don’t want to hurt her,” I said. “So, it would be great if you two could take her someplace safe.”

“Someplace safe?” Emil questioned as he and Naill came forward, speaking loudly to be heard over the woman’s screams. “You just said she tried to stab you.”

“You see how old she is?” I leaned back as spittle flew from the woman’s mouth as she continued shrieking. “She needs to be put someplace where she can’t hurt herself or others.”

“Like a cell?” Kieran suggested as the two Atlantians managed to disentangle us. “Or a tomb?”

I ignored that as I bent, picking up the dagger. “Place her in a bedchamber that locks from the outside until you can figure out which of the rooms is hers.”

“Will do,” Naill said, guiding the now-wailing woman from the library.

“Do you think there’s any extra muzzles lying about?” Emil asked as Kieran stepped back, giving them a wide berth.

I turned. “Don’t you dare put a muzzle on her.” There was no answer, so I twisted to Kieran. “They wouldn’t, would they?”

He came forward, his gaze sweeping over me. “She should be in a cell.”

“She’s too old for that.”

“And you shouldn’t be roaming around. Obviously.”

I tossed the dagger onto the table. “I can take care of myself, Kieran.” I dragged my hand over my shoulder, pushing my braid back. “She must’ve heard the Duke speaking about the prophecy, and it messed with her.”

“No one’s questioning your ability to handle yourself, but there’s no telling how many others have heard about the prophecy.”

Maybe that was why the people seemed so afraid around me.

“This is why you should have Crown Guards with you.”

“I told you, Hisa, and everyone else who suggested that, that I don’t want a guard following me around. It reminds me…” I trailed off, tensing. It reminded me too much of Vikter. Of Rylan. Of him. “It reminds me of when I was the Maiden,” I lied.

“I can understand that.” Kieran stopped beside me, so close his chest brushed my arm as he bent his head. “But sending her to a bedchamber? You are a Queen, and that woman just tried to stab you. Do you know what most Queens would do in response?”

“I would hope that most would do as I did—recognize that she is more of a harm to herself than anyone else,” I countered.

His stare hardened. “You should at least exile her.”

“If I did that, it would be a death sentence.” I flopped down on the settee, surprised it didn’t collapse under me. “You saw how old she is. I doubt she’ll be an issue for much longer. Leave her be, Kieran. You wouldn’t feel this way if she’d gone after someone else.”

He didn’t acknowledge how right I was, which was annoying. “Is that an order?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes.”

“As your advisor—”

“You will say, ‘My, what a kind Queen our people have.’”

“You are kind. Too kind.”

Shaking my head, I looked at the records on the tea table as I shoved thoughts of the old woman aside. “Do you know how the first mortal was created?”

“That’s a random, unexpected question.” He crossed his arms but didn’t sit. “The first mortal was created from the flesh—”

“Of a Primal and the fire of a draken?” I finished for him, surprised that the widow had spoken the truth.

Kieran frowned. “If you know the answer, why did you ask?”

“I didn’t know until now.” It didn’t pass me by that I was called the Queen of Flesh and Fire, but my brain was already too full of confusing things to consider how or if those two items were related. “Did you know that the Rite existed before the Ascended?”

“It didn’t.”

“It did,” I said and then showed him the ledgers.

Kieran’s surprise was like a splash of cool water as he dragged a hand over his head. The hair there was growing longer. “I guess it’s possible that the gods had some sort of Rite and that the Ascended copied it.”

I thought that over. “Malec would’ve known about it. He could’ve told Isbeth. But did it stop because the gods went to sleep?”

“That would be a plausible reason.” He folded his arms, giving the chamber a not-too-discreet glance.

“It has to be related—why the gods took the third sons and daughters,” I said, staring at the ledgers. “And how they can become Revenants.”