I caught his arm, halting the blow as I shoved Casteel’s blade deep into his chest. Red poured across the front of his tunic as he shuddered, falling to the side. Four more charged me, and I spun under the arm of one as I thrust up the blade, slicing open another’s throat. Blood sprayed as I whipped around, swinging the sword through the metal mask. A sharp, stinging pain raced across my back as I planted my foot in the center of the man’s chest and pushed off as I yanked the blade free of his skull.
A hand grabbed me, and I twisted, slamming the blade deep into the attacker’s belly. I jerked the hilt of the sword sharply as I dragged it through the man’s stomach, voicing the rage inside me with a scream. That rage pulsed into the air around me, and a statue near the back of the Temple broke in two. Chunks of stone crashed to the floor.
Another ripple of pain flowed over my leg. I turned, sweeping the sword in a high arc. The blade met little resistance. A dagger fell into my hand as a head and mask rolled in opposite directions. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the Descenters grab Kieran’s stiff body by the arms. Flipping the dagger in my hand, I cocked back my arm and threw it. The blade struck under the mask, and the attacker pinwheeled backward, clutching at his throat.
Movement caught my attention. A wave of masked assailants raced across the Temple. Silvery-white light edged into my vision as I heard a voice—a woman’s voice—whispering inside me. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.
In a flash, I saw her, hair like moonlight as she thrust her hands deep into the ground. Some inherent knowledge told me that she was where this Temple now stood, but in a different time, back when the world was an unknown place. She threw back her head, screaming with a kind of pained fury that throbbed relentlessly inside me. Silvery-white light drenched the soil, radiating out from where she touched. The ground cracked open, and thin, bleached-white fingers dug out from the dirt all around her, nothing more than bones. Her words reached me once more. I am done with this, all of this.
As was I.
I shuddered, the image of the woman fading as I tossed the sword aside. In the emptiness of my mind, I pictured the glittering cords peeling off the columns. They did so before me, draping over a dozen of the attackers like fine webbing. I wanted them to feel as I did inside. Broken. Twisted. Lost.
Bone cracked. Arms and legs snapped. Backs broke. They fell like shattered saplings.
Others turned away from me, to run. Flee. I would not allow that. They would pay. All of them would taste and drown in my wrath. I would bring this structure down and then rip the entire kingdom apart to ensure it. They would feel what was inside me, what they wrought. Threefold.
Rage poured from me in another scream as I stalked forward, lifting my arms. The cords rose from the floor. In my mind, they grew and multiplied, stretching out beyond the Chambers of Nyktos to the trees and the city below. I started to rise—
In the chaos, I saw him. Alastir stood near the front of the Temple, just out of reach of the pulsating rage and energy. I didn’t sense fear from him. Just acceptance as he stared at me as if he’d expected this.
Alastir met my gaze. “I’m not the threat to Atlantia,” he said. “You are. You have always been the threat.”
Pain exploded along the back of my head, so sudden and so overwhelming that nothing could stop the darkness from rushing me.
I fell into nothing.
Chapter 3
What a pretty little flower.
What a pretty poppy.
Pick it and watch it bleed.
Not so pretty any longer.
I came to, gulping in a deep breath of air that smelled of damp soil and old decay. The horrible rhyme echoed in my aching head as I opened my eyes and gasped, choking on a scream.
Dark, empty eye sockets stared back at me from a dusty, dirty skull.
Heart slamming against my ribs, I shot upright and scuttled back. I made it about a foot when something tightened painfully, sharply jerking my arms and legs. I ground my teeth, stifling a whimper as the skin of my wrists and below my knees burned. Someone had removed my sweater and left me in only the too-thin slip I’d worn under the top. Any concern I might’ve felt over where my sweater and pants had gone, or how the cinched bodice of the slip did very little to hide anything, fell away as I stared at my hands.
Bones… Polished, ivory bones were twisted around my wrists. Bones and…and vines. And some part of them dug into my skin. I carefully drew up one leg, chest rising and falling rapidly as I saw the same just below my knees. Upon closer inspection, I saw that they weren’t vines. They appeared to be some kind of root. Dried blood streaked my calves as I reached for the manacle—
Fiery pain branded my wrists, stopping me. “Gods,” I hissed through my teeth as I carefully leaned back against something hard, damp, and cold. A wall?
Throat dry, my gaze followed the twist of bone and roots to where it connected with the wall. My breath came out in short, uneven pants as I glanced back at the…the thing beside me. Patches of thin, stringy, blond hair hung in clumps from the skull. Only pieces of tattered clothing remained, darkened by age and dirt. I had no idea if it had been male or female, but it had clearly been here for decades—maybe even centuries. Some kind of spear rested against the corpse’s chest, the blade a chalky black. Ice drenched my entire being as I saw the same knotted bones and roots encircling its wrists and ankles. Air lodged in my throat as my gaze lifted to what sat on the other side of the body. More remains, bound in the same manner. And there was another, and another—propped against the entire length of the wall—dozens of them.
Oh, gods.
My wide gaze darted wildly around. Torches jutted out from gray-black columns in the center of the space and farther back, casting an orange glow across…
Horror filled me as I saw several raised stone slabs—long and square boxes situated between two rows of pillars. Oh, gods. I knew what they were. Sarcophagi. Sarcophagi smothered by coiled bone and root chain, the bindings draped over each one.
I was in a crypt.
And it was clear that I wasn’t the first to be held here.
Panic crept up my throat, making it even harder to breathe in the cold, dank air. My pulse pounded sickeningly fast. Nausea rose, cramping my stomach as I searched the shadows beyond the sarcophagi and pillars. I had no recollection of how I’d arrived here or how long I’d—
Casteel.
An image of him formed in my mind, reaching for me as his skin turned gray and hardened. Pressure clamped down on my chest, grinding my heart. I squeezed my eyes shut against the rush of dampness rising, but it was no use. I still saw him, his back arched and body contorted, his eyes dulling, his gaze fixing. He couldn’t be gone. Neither could Kieran or Jasper. They had to be fine. I just needed to get out of here and find them.
I moved to stand—
The bindings snapped against my skin, digging in deeper. A hoarse cry parted my dry lips as I fell back against the wall. Inhaling deeply, I lifted my arm to get a better look at the chain. Spurs. The bones had sharpened spurs on them.
“Shit,” I whispered, wincing at the sound of my voice.
I needed to calm. I couldn’t panic. The wolven…they would hear me, right? That’s what it had sounded like Casteel and the others were saying. That they’d heard or felt my distress before and had answered. I was definitely distressed now.
But I’d heard them yelping in pain after Jasper and Kieran were shot. None of them had reached the top of the Temple after that. What if they too were—?
I lifted my hands to my face. The chain had enough give to do so without pain. “Stop,” I told myself. They couldn’t have killed all the wolven.
They.
Namely, Alastir.
Anger and disbelief warred inside me as I focused on steadying my breathing. I would get out of here. I would find Casteel and Kieran and the others. All of them had to be okay.
Then I would kill Alastir. Slowly and painfully.
Holding that promise cl
ose to my heart, I forced out a slow, even breath and lowered my hands. I’d been chained before. That time in New Haven had not been as bad as this, but I’d been in bad situations before with Duke Teerman and Lord Mazeen. Like in the carriage with Lord Chaney, who had been bordering on bloodlust, I had to stay calm. I couldn’t cave to panic. If I did, I would lose myself.
Like I’d lost myself at the Chambers of Nyktos.
No. I hadn’t lost myself when I killed those people. I’d still been there. I just hadn’t…I hadn’t cared to hold back, to curtail whatever power had come alive inside me. I didn’t even feel guilt now. I didn’t think I’d feel remorse later, either.
My legs and back stung from the wounds those blades had left behind as I looked at where my bonds connected with the wall. No ring held the chain in place. It wasn’t just fused to the wall, it was a part of it—a growth.
What in the hell kind of crypt was this?
I couldn’t break stone, but bone…bone and roots were fragile in comparison. Carefully, I twisted my wrist to create tension that didn’t press against my skin. I gripped the other length of bone and root with my other hand—
“I wouldn’t do that.”
My head snapped in the direction of the male voice. It came from the shadows beyond the lit pillars.
“Those aren’t normal bones you’re handling,” the male voice continued. “They’re the bones of the ancients.”
My lip curled as I immediately loosened my grip.
A deep chuckle rose from the shadows, and I stilled once more. That laugh…it sounded a little familiar. So did the voice.
“And because they’re bones of the deities, they carry Primal magic—the eather—within them,” he added. “Do you know what that means, Penellaphe? Those bones are unbreakable, imbued by another who carries the blood of the gods within them.” The voice drew closer, and I tensed. “It was a rather archaic technique crafted by the gods themselves, designed to immobilize those who had become too dangerous—too much of a threat. They say it was Nyktos himself who bestowed the power on the bones of the dead. An act he carried out when he ruled over the dead in the Shadowlands. When he was the Asher, the One who is Blessed, the Bringer of Death, and the Guardian of Souls. The Primal God of Common Men and Endings.”
The…the Shadowlands? Ruled over the dead? Nyktos was the God of Life, King of all the gods. Rhain was the God of Common Men and Endings. I had never heard of the Shadowlands before, but with that name alone, it sounded like a place I didn’t want to learn more about.
“But I digress,” he said, and I saw the hazy dark outline of a man in the gloom. I squinted, focusing on him, but I…I sensed nothing from him. “You pull on those bindings, they will simply tighten. You keep doing it, they will cut through your flesh and into your bone. Eventually, they will sever your limbs. Don’t believe me, take a closer look at the one beside you.”
I didn’t want to look, to take my eyes off the shadowy form, but I couldn’t help myself. I glanced at the body beside me and looked down at its side. The skeletal remains of a hand lay beside it.
Oh, gods.
“Lucky for you, you only carry the blood of the gods in you. You’re not a deity like them. You would bleed out and die rather quickly. The deities like the one beside you?” the man said, and my attention shot back to him. The shadowy mass was closer now, having stopped at the edges of the fiery glow. “He…well, he grew weaker and hungrier until his body started to cannibalize itself. That process alone most likely took centuries.”
Centuries? I shuddered.
“You must be asking yourself what he could have done to warrant such a horrid punishment. What did he and the others lining the walls and in their coffins do?” he asked. And, yeah, a part of me wondered just that.
“They became too dangerous. Too powerful. Too…unpredictable.” He paused, and I swallowed hard. It took no leap of logic to assume that those against the wall and before me were deities. “Too much of a threat. Just like you.”
“I’m not a threat,” I snarled.
“You’re not? You killed many.”
My fingers curled inward. “They attacked me for no reason. They hurt—” My voice cracked. “They hurt the wolven. Their Prince. My—”
“Your heartmate?” he suggested. “A union of not only the hearts but also of the soul. Rare and more powerful than any bloodline. Many would consider such a thing a miracle. Tell me, do you think it’s a miracle now?”
“Yes,” I growled without hesitation.
He laughed, and yet again, something tugged at the recesses of my memories. “You will then be relieved to know that they are all safe. The King and Queen—those two wolven, even the Prince,” he said, and I might’ve stopped breathing. “If you don’t believe that, you can trust the marriage imprint.”
My heart stuttered. I hadn’t even thought of that. Casteel had told me that the imprint faded upon the death of one of the partners. That was how some had learned of their heartmate’s demise.
Part of me didn’t want to look, but I had to. A hollowness filled my stomach as my gaze shifted to my left hand. It trembled as I turned it over. The golden swirl across my palm glimmered faintly.
Relief cut so swiftly through me that I had to clamp my mouth shut to stop the cry from rising up from the very depths of my being. The imprint was still there. Casteel was alive. I shuddered again, tears scorching my throat. He was alive.
“Sweet,” he whispered. “So very sweet.”
An uneasy sensation crept over my skin, stealing bits and pieces of the relief.
“But he would’ve been greatly injured if you hadn’t been stopped,” he said. “You would’ve brought the whole Temple down. He would’ve fallen with it. Maybe you would’ve even killed him. It is possible for you to do that, you know? You have the power within you.”
My heart skipped a beat in my chest. “I would never hurt him.”
“Maybe not intentionally. But from what I’ve gathered, you seem to have very little control over yourself. How do you know what you would’ve done?”
I started to deny what he’d said, but I tipped my head back against the wall, unsettled. I…I wasn’t sure what I had become in that Temple, but I had been in control. I had also been full of vengeance, just like the strange flash of the woman I’d seen in my mind. I had been prepared to kill those who ran from me. I’d been prepared to tear apart the entire kingdom. Would I have done that? Saion’s Cove was full of innocent people. Surely, I would’ve stopped before it got to that point.
I was lying to myself.
I’d believed that Casteel had been gravely injured, if not killed. I wouldn’t have stopped. Not until I’d sated that need for vengeance. And I had no idea what it would’ve taken for that to happen.
The air I breathed turned sour, and it was an effort to file that realization away to stress over later. “What did you do to him? To the others?”
“I did nothing.”
“Bullshit,” I snapped.
“I fired no arrows. I wasn’t even there,” he replied. “What they did, was use a toxin derived from the shadowshade—a flower that grows in the most eastern regions of the Mountains of Nyktos. It causes convulsions and paralysis before hardening the skin. Quite painful before they enter into the deep sleep. The Prince will take a bit longer than normal to awaken from what I hear. A few days. So, I imagine tomorrow, perhaps?”
A…a few days? Tomorrow? “How long have I been out?”
“Two days. Maybe three.”
Good gods.
I didn’t even want to think about the damage done to my head that would have knocked me out for that long. But the others hadn’t been struck as many times as Casteel. Kieran would likely be awake now. So would Jasper. And maybe the other—
“I know what you’re thinking,” the male cut into my thoughts. “That the wolven will feel your call. That they will come for you. No, they won’t. The bones nullify the Primal notam. They also negate any and all abilities, reducing
you to what you are at your very core. Mortal.”
Was that why I felt nothing from this man? That wasn’t exactly what I’d wanted to hear. Panic threatened to dig its claws into me once more, but the shadowy form moved closer, stepping into the glow of the torch.
My entire body went rigid at the sight of the man dressed in all black. Every part of me rebelled at what I saw. It didn’t make sense. It was impossible. But I recognized the dark, buzzed hair, the hard-set jaw, and thin lips. Now I knew why his laugh sounded so familiar.
It was the commander of the Royal Guard.
Commander Jansen.
“You’re dead,” I breathed, staring up at him as he drifted between the pillars.
A dark eyebrow rose. “Whatever gave you that impression, Penellaphe?”
“The Ascended discovered that Hawke wasn’t who he said he was shortly after we left.” What Lord Chaney had told me in that carriage resurfaced. “They said the Descenters infiltrated the highest ranks of the Royal Guard.”
“They did, but they didn’t catch me.” One side of Jansen’s lips curved up as he strolled forward, his fingers skating over the side of a coffin.
Confusion swirled through me as I stared up at him. “I…I don’t understand. You’re a Descenter? You support the Prince—?”
“I support Atlantia.” He moved fast, crossing the distance in less time than it took a heart to beat. He knelt so we were at eye-level. “I am no Descenter.”
“Really?” His superspeed sort of gave that away. “Then what are you?”
The tight-lipped smile grew. His features sharpened, narrowed, and then he changed. Shrinking in height and width, the new body drowned in the clothing Jansen had been wearing. His skin became tanner and smoother. In an instant, his hair darkened to black and became longer, his eyes lightening and turning blue.
Within seconds, Beckett knelt before me.
The Crown of Gilded Bones (Blood And Ash Series Book 3) Page 4