Alastir stared at me, his jaw tight. “You would’ve been good for Casteel, but you never would’ve been my daughter.”
“Damn straight,” I said, my nails digging into my palms. It took me several moments to trust myself before I spoke again. “Casteel chose me. He’s not going to turn around and marry your great-niece or another family member you can drag out before him. All you’re doing is causing him to risk his life and the future of Atlantia. Because he will come for me.”
Pale eyes met mine. “I don’t think it will come to that.”
“You’re delusional if you believe that.”
“It’s not that I believe he’ll give up on you,” he said. “I just don’t think he’ll get the chance to stage a rescue attempt.”
My entire body locked up. “If you hurt him—”
“You will do nothing, Penellaphe. You’re not in a position to do anything,” he pointed out, and I swallowed a scream of rage and frustration. “But I have no plans to harm the Prince. And I pray to the gods that it doesn’t come to that.”
“Then what…?” It occurred to me then. “You think the Ascended will kill me?”
Alastir said nothing.
“You are delusional.” I tipped my head back against the wall. “The Ascended need me. They need Atlantian blood.”
“Tell me, Penellaphe, what will you do when you’re in their hands? The moment you are free of the bones. You’ll attack them, won’t you? You’ll kill as many of them as you can to get free and return to our Prince.”
He was right.
I would kill any and all who stood between Casteel and me because we deserved to be together. We deserved a future, a chance to explore each other’s secrets. To love one another. We deserved to simply…live. I would do anything to ensure that.
Alastir continued watching me. “And what do you think is the only thing the Ascended value above power? Survival. They will not have these bones to hold you. And if they believe they can’t control you, think that you’re too much of a risk, they will end you. But before that happens, I imagine you will take many down with you.”
Sickened, I forced my hands to relax. “Kill two birds with one stone?”
He nodded.
“Even if you’re successful, your plan will still fail. You think Casteel won’t know that you and every other so-called Protector handed me over to them? That the wolven won’t know?”
“There is still a risk of an uprising,” he admitted. “But it is a small one. You see, we will lead them to believe that you escaped your captivity and fell into the Ascended’s hands. They will never know that we gave you to them. They will turn their anger on the Ascended, where it should have always been. Every Ascended will be killed, and any who support them will fall beside them. Atlantia will take back what belongs to us. We will become a great kingdom again.”
Something about how he spoke told me that I would sense pride and arrogance in him if I could use my gift. I also had a feeling I’d feel the thirst for more. I didn’t, for one second, believe that his only motivation was to save Atlantia. Not when his plan put the kingdom at further risk. Not when his plan could possibly benefit him if he survived this.
“I have a question,” I asked as my empty stomach grumbled. He arched a brow. “What happens to you if Malik or Casteel becomes king? Will you still be an advisor?”
“It would be whoever the King or Queen chooses. Usually, it’s a bonded wolven or a trusted ally.”
“In other words, it wouldn’t be you?” When Alastir fell silent, I knew I was onto something. “So, whatever influence you have on the Crown—over Atlantia—could be lessened or lost?”
He remained silent.
And since Jasper was the one who spoke for the wolven, what effect would Alastir have? And what kind of power did he want to wield?
“What are you getting at, Penellaphe?”
“Growing up among the Royals and other Ascended, I learned from a very young age that every friendship and acquaintance, every party or dinner a person was invited to or hosted, and every marriage ordained by the King and Queen were all power moves. Each choice and decision was based on how one could either retain power or influence or gain it. I don’t think that is a trait just to the Ascended. I saw it among the wealthy mortals. I saw it among the Royal Guards. I doubt the wolven or Atlantians are different.”
“Some are not,” Alastir confirmed.
“You believe I’m a threat because of the blood I carry, and because of what I can do. But you haven’t even given me a chance to prove that I am not just the sum of what my ancestors did. You can choose to judge me based on what I’ve done to defend myself and those I love, but I do not regret my actions,” I told him. “You may not be able to feel the Primal notam, but if you planned for Casteel to marry your great-niece to bring the wolven and the Atlantians together, then I can’t see why you wouldn’t support this union. Give it a chance to strengthen the Crown and Atlantia. But that’s not all you want, is it?”
His nostrils flared as he continued staring at me.
“Casteel’s father wants retribution, just as you do. Right? For what they did to your daughter. But Casteel doesn’t want war. You know that. He’s trying to save lives even as he gains land. Just like he did with Spessa’s End.”
That was what Casteel had planned. We would negotiate for land and the release of Prince Malik. I would find my brother and deal with what he may or may not have turned into. King Jalara and Queen Ileana wouldn’t remain on the throne, not even if they agreed to everything Casteel set before them. They couldn’t. He would kill them for what they’d subjected his brother and him to. Strangely, the idea of that no longer made me squirm with conflict. It was still hard to reconcile the Queen who’d cared for me after my parents died with the one who had tortured Casteel and countless others, but I’d seen enough to know that her treatment of me wasn’t enough to erase the horrors she had inflicted on others.
But now, if Alastir had his way, that plan could never become a reality.
“What he did with Spessa’s End was impressive, but it’s not enough,” Alastir stated, his voice flat. “Even if we were able to reclaim more land, it wouldn’t be enough. King Valyn and I want to see Solis pay, not only for our personal losses but for what the Ascended have done to many of our kind.”
“That’s understandable.” Realizing what Ian could have become was hard enough. But Tawny, too—my friend who was so kind and full of life and love? If they’d turned her into an Ascended as Duchess Teerman claimed, it would be hard for me not to want to see Solis burn. “So, you’re not a supporter of Casteel’s plan. You want blood, but more importantly, you want the influence to get what you want. And you see that power slipping through your fingers even though I haven’t made a single claim to the Crown.”
“It doesn’t matter if you want the Crown or not. So long as you live, it’s yours. It is your birthright, and the wolven will ensure that it becomes yours,” he said, speaking of his people as if he were no longer one of them. And maybe he didn’t feel like he was. I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. “Just like it was Casteel’s. It doesn’t matter if you detest the responsibility as much as the Prince does.”
“Casteel doesn’t detest responsibility. I’m sure he has done more for the people of Atlantia in his lifetime than you’ve done since you broke your oath to Malec,” I shot back, infuriated. “He just—”
“Refuses to believe his brother is a lost cause, and therefore, refuses to assume the responsibility of the throne—what would’ve been in the best interest of Atlantia.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “So, it is up to me to do what’s best for the kingdom.”
“You?” I laughed. “You want what is best for yourself. Your motivations aren’t altruistic. You’re no different than anyone else who’s hungry for power and vengeance. And you know what?”
“What?” he barked as his façade of calm began to crack.
“This plan of yours will fail.”
“Y
ou think so?”
I nodded. “And you won’t survive this. If not by my hand, then by Casteel’s. He’s going to kill you. And he won’t tear your heart from your chest. That will be too quick and painless. He’ll make your death hurt.”
“I’ve done nothing that I’m not willing to accept the consequences for,” he replied, lifting his chin. “If death is my fate, so be it. Atlantia will still be safe from you.”
His words would’ve unsettled me if I hadn’t seen the way his mouth tightened or how he swallowed. I smiled then, just like I had when I’d stared down Duke Teerman.
Alastir rose suddenly. “My plan might fail. That is possible. I would be foolish not to take that into consideration. And I have.” He stared down at me. “But if it fails, you will not be free again, Penellaphe. I would rather see a war among my people than have the crown sit upon your head, and you unleashed upon Atlantia.”
At some point, food was brought to me, carried in by either a man or woman wearing the bronze mask of a Descenter. They placed the tray just within my reach and then quickly backed out without saying a word, leaving me to wonder if Alastir and these Protectors had played a role in the attack on the Rite. Casteel hadn’t ordered the attack carried out in the name of the Dark One, but it had been organized and well planned regardless. Someone had set a fire to draw many of the Rise Guards away—something Jansen could’ve ensured happened.
I clenched my jaw as I stared at the hunk of cheese and the lump of bread wrapped in a loose cloth next to a glass of water. When Casteel learned that not only had Alastir betrayed him but that Jansen had, as well, his rage would be unyielding.
And his pain?
It would be just as ruthless.
But what I felt when I thought about Alastir’s involvement the night my parents died? The rage scorched my skin. He’d been there. He’d come to help my family and had betrayed them instead. And what he’d said about my parents knowing the truth about the Ascended? Obviously, they had learned the truth and escaped. That didn’t mean they knew for years as they stood by and did nothing.
And my mother? A Handmaiden? If that was true, why didn’t she fight back that night?
Or had I just not remembered that she had?
There was so much I couldn’t remember about that night, things I couldn’t decipher as real or only nightmares. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten them. Had I blocked them out because I was scared of them? What else had I forgotten?
Regardless, I had no idea if the Queen’s Handmaidens were guards or not. And I didn’t believe that any darkness—besides Alastir—was involved with that night. His twisted sense of honor and righteousness prevented him from owning up to what he’d done. Somehow, he’d led those Craven to us and then left everyone in that inn to die. All because I carried the blood of the gods within me.
All because I was King Malec’s descendant.
A part of me still couldn’t believe any of it—the old part of me that hadn’t been able to understand what about me, beyond a gift I hadn’t been allowed to use or being born in a caul, had made me special enough to be the Chosen. Blessed. The Maiden. And that part reminded me of when I was a child and used to hide behind Queen Ileana’s throne instead of going to my room at night because the darkness had scared me. It was the same part that had enabled me to spend afternoons with my brother, pretending that my parents were out walking together in the garden instead of being gone forever. It felt incredibly young and naïve.
But I wasn’t that little girl anymore. I wasn’t the young Maiden. The blood in me explained the gifts I’d been born with and why I’d become the Maiden—how my gift had grown, and why my skin glowed. It also explained the disbelief and agony I’d felt from Queen Eloana. She’d known exactly who I descended from, and it must have made her sick to think that her son had married the descendant of a man who’d repeatedly betrayed her and nearly destroyed their kingdom in the process.
How could she ever welcome me, knowing the truth?
Could Casteel ever look upon me the same?
My chest twisted painfully as I stared at the food. Would I even get the chance to see Casteel again? Seconds turned into minutes as I tried to keep my thoughts from straying toward what Alastir planned. I couldn’t let myself dwell too long on it—to think about the worst-case scenario playing out in my mind. If I did, the panic I’d been fighting off would seize control of me.
I wouldn’t let Alastir’s plan succeed. I couldn’t. I needed to either escape or fight back the second I could. Which meant, I needed my strength. I had to eat.
Reaching out carefully, I broke off a piece of the cheese and gingerly tasted it. There was little flavor to it. The section of bread I tried next was most definitely stale, but I quickly ate both and then drank the water, trying not to think about the gritty taste or how dirty it likely was.
Once I finished, I turned my attention to the spear. I wouldn’t be able to hide it, even if I were able to free it from the poor soul beside me. But if I could break off the blade, I might have a better chance. Drawing in a breath that felt…oddly heavy, I inched my hand toward the spear and stopped suddenly. It wasn’t the bindings. They hadn’t tightened.
I swallowed, and my heart skipped a beat. A strange, sweetness coated the back of my throat and my…my lips tingled. I pressed the tips of my fingers to them and didn’t think I felt the pressure. I tried to swallow again, but it felt weird—as if the mechanics of my throat had slowed.
The food. The gritty taste of the water.
Oh, gods.
That sweet taste. The sleeping drafts the Healers made in Masadonia had a sugary-sweet aftertaste. There was a reason I’d refused the drafts, no matter how little sleep I got. They were powerful and rendered you completely unconscious for hours and hours—leaving you entirely helpless.
They’d drugged me.
This was how Alastir planned to move me. How he planned to deliver me to the Ascended. He’d be able to remove the bindings safely when I was unconscious. And when I came to…
There was a good chance I’d be in the Ascended’s hands once again.
And Alastir’s plan would likely come to fruition because I would never allow the Ascended to use me for anything.
Anger at them—and myself—exploded within me and then quickly gave way to panic as I staggered to the wall. I barely felt the pain of the bindings tightening. Desperate, I reached for the spear. If I could get that blade, I wouldn’t be weaponless, even with the damn bone and root bindings. I tried to seize it, but my arm wouldn’t lift. It didn’t feel as if it were a part of me any longer. My legs became heavy, numb.
“No, no,” I whispered, fighting the insidious warmth seeping into my muscles, my skin.
But it was no use.
Numbness swept through my body, deadening my eyelids. There was no pain when the nothingness came for me this time. I simply fell asleep, knowing I would wake to a nightmare.
Chapter 6
Twinkling lights blanketed the ceiling of the crypt when I opened my eyes. My lips parted as I dragged in deep gulps of…fresh, clean air. That wasn’t the ceiling or lights I saw. They were stars. I was outside, no longer in the crypt.
“Dammit,” a man to my right swore. “She’s awake.”
My body immediately reacted to the sound of the voice. I reared up—
Pressure pressed down all over my body, followed by a sharp, stinging wave. My jaw clamped shut against the cry of pain as my head lifted off a flat, hard surface. Ivory bones entwined with thick, dark roots lay across me from my chest to my knees.
“It’s okay. She’s not getting free.”
My gaze swept in the direction of the voice. Commander Jansen stood to my left, a silver wolven mask hiding his face. He angled his body toward mine. Beyond him, I saw the crumbling remains of a stone wall bathed in moonlight, and then nothing but darkness beyond. “Where am I?” I rasped.
His head tilted to the side, his eyes nothing but shadows inside the thin slits of the mask.
“You’re in what remains of the city of Irelone. This,” he answered as he swept his arms out widely, “is what is left of the once-great Castle Bauer.”
Irelone? That sounded vaguely familiar. It took a couple of moments for my mind to clear enough for the old maps with their faded ink, created before the War of Two Kings, to form. Irelone… Yes, I knew that name. It had been a port city to the north and east of where Carsodonia was now. The city had fallen before Pompay during the war. Good gods, that meant…
I was in the Wastelands.
My heart thundered in my chest. How long had I been asleep? Hours or days? I didn’t know where the Crypt of the Forgotten Ones had been in the Skotos Mountains. For all I knew, the crypts could’ve existed in the foothills of the mountains, a half a day’s ride north of the outer reaches of the Wastelands.
Throat dry, I lifted just my head to look around. Dozens of the so-called Protectors stood in the center of what could’ve been the castle’s Great Hall at one time and around the edges of the decaying structure, all hidden behind gleaming bronze masks. It was the kind of sight conjured from the depths of the darkest nightmares. Was Alastir among them?
In the darkness beyond the ruins, a single torch flared to life. “They’re here,” a masked man announced. “The Ascended.”
Air halted in my throat as several more torches caught fire, casting an orange glow over heaps of fallen stone and earth that had refused to house new life in the hundreds of years that had passed. Shadows formed, and I heard the sounds of hooves and wheels on packed earth.
“Believe it or not,”—Jansen drew closer, placing his hands on the stone as he leaned over me—“I wouldn’t wish your fate upon anyone.”
My gaze shot to his as anger coated my insides. “I’d be more worried about your fate than mine.”
Jansen stared down at me for a moment and then reached into the pocket of his pants. “You know,” he said, lifting his hand now filled with a bundle of cloth, “at least you knew when to keep your mouth shut when you were the Maiden.”
The Crown of Gilded Bones (Blood And Ash Series Book 3) Page 7