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

Her words pulled me from the memory. “What?”

“When he would get angry, the essence would become more visible. Sometimes, the eather would swirl through his eyes. Other times, they were just green. Yours do the same.” Isbeth tipped her head back, her slender throat working on a swallow. The remaining Handmaidens and knights had backed off from us, leaving us in the center of the hall. “I didn’t know if you knew that.”

My eyes were…

Pressure clamped down on my chest and throat as I backed up, stopping when I bumped into a pillar. One hand fluttered to where the ring rested under my tunic. I didn’t know why that piece of knowledge affected me so intensely, but it did.

It took me several moments to speak. “How did you capture him?”

Isbeth didn’t answer for a long moment. “He came to me, almost two hundred years after the war had ended. He was looking for his brother, and the one who came with him could sense Malec’s blood and led him to me.”

“The draken?”

Tense silence followed, and in those moments, I thought about what I’d felt from the cave cat when I’d seen him as a child. Hopelessness. Desperation. Had he known who I was?

“Interesting that you’d know that,” the Blood Queen finally said. “Very few know what traveled with him.”

“You’d be surprised by what I know.”

“Unlikely,” she replied.

I lowered my hand to the cold pillar behind me. “Where is the draken?”

“The draken has been dealt with.”

I briefly closed my eyes. I knew what that meant. Did she have any idea that she had killed the first draken’s daughter? Probably not, and I doubted she cared.

“I knew Malec had a twin, but when I first saw him… I thought, my gods, my Malec has finally returned to me.” Her breath caught, and I tasted the tiniest bit of bitterness. Her emotions had briefly, for less than a heartbeat, punched through my shields. “Of course, I was wrong. The moment he spoke, I knew he wasn’t Malec, but I let myself believe that for a little while. I even thought that I could fall in love with him. That I could just pretend that he was my Malec.”

Bile crept up my throat. “You pretended by locking him in a cage and forcing yourself upon him?”

“I didn’t force myself upon him. He chose to stay.”

Gods, she was such a liar.

“He became intrigued by this world,” she added. “He’d never really interacted with mortals. He was curious about the Ascended. About what his brother had been doing. I think Ires even grew to become fond of me.”

“If my father showed up in the last two centuries looking for Malec, you would’ve been married at the time.”

“So?”

My gaze flicked to where the Handmaidens stood motionless. I figured that many of the Royals had open marriages, but would Ires have grown interested in his brother’s lover? Seemed kind of…gross, but that would be the least disturbing aspect of all of this.

“But then he wanted to return, and I wasn’t ready to let him go.” A pause. “And then I couldn’t.”

It took everything in me not to scream at her. She couldn’t? As if she had no choice?

“He was angry. But when we came together to make you, he was not forced. Neither time.”

A tremor ran through me. I couldn’t trust myself to speak. The essence pulsed too violently.

“You don’t believe me?” Isbeth asked.

“No.”

“I can’t blame you for that. It was not an act of love. Not on either of our parts. For me, it was necessary. I wanted a child. A strong one. I knew what you would be,” she went on, and I thought I might vomit. “For him, it was just lust and hatred. Those two emotions aren’t very different from one another once there’s nothing but flesh between you.” Another pause. “Perhaps it will please you to know that he tried to kill me afterward.”

I shuddered, feeling sickened. “No,” I whispered. “That doesn’t please me.”

“Well, that’s a surprise.”

The back of my throat burned, and I closed my eyes against a rush of tears. My stomach continued churning. Even if he was a…an active participant, she had already taken his freedom. There was no real consent there. And Isbeth was the worst sort on so many different levels.

“I used to wonder why it took Ires so long to look for his brother. Maybe because Ires slept so deeply. But Malec didn’t die all those years ago like I believed, did he? That bitch entombed him. Now I know that he must’ve been conscious up to that point. Two hundred years, Penellaphe. And then he must’ve slipped away, as close to death as he could get for it to then wake Ires.”

I opened my eyes. “You were heartmates. How did you not know he wasn’t dead?”

“Because whatever Eloana did to entomb him severed that connection. The bond. You know what I’m talking about. That feeling—the awareness of the other,” she said. And I did. It was an intangible sense of knowing. “It’s like the marriage imprint but not on your flesh. In your soul. Your heart. I felt the loss of that, and a part of me died. That’s why I believed he was dead and wished he was. For it took nearly two hundred years for him to lose whatever bond he shared with his twin. To become unconscious. Can you even imagine?”

“No.” I thought of those deities in the crypts.

“Eloana may not have known that he was a god, but she knew what she was doing to a deity. That type of punishment is worse than death,” she continued. “Your mother-in-law is not so very different than your mother.”

“You’re right,” I said. “Except she’s not nearly as homicidal as you.”

The Blood Queen laughed. “No, she just murders innocent babes.”

“And you haven’t?” I fired back, not even bothering to tell her that Eloana had claimed to have no knowledge of Isbeth’s son’s death. She wouldn’t believe me anyway. “Where is he?”

Her mouth tensed. “He is not here.”

I stared at her, unsure that I believed that. If she had brought Ires with her when she traveled, I doubted he was far. “So, if I had chosen to see him instead of Casteel, would you have allowed it?”

“You never would’ve chosen anyone but Casteel,” she replied.

Guilt churned in my stomach. “But if I had? You wouldn’t have allowed it, would you?” When she didn’t answer, I knew that I was right. Anger replaced the shame. “Why haven’t you let him return to Iliseeum?”

“Other than the fact that he would be sure to return once he regained his strength? When he couldn’t be so easily subdued?” Isbeth had drawn closer. “I need him to make my Revenants.”

A ripple of understanding went through me. “You needed a god to Ascend the third sons and daughters. And you already had knowledge of Kolis’s essence and how to use it, thanks to Malec.”

Isbeth studied me. “I was wrong earlier. I didn’t know that you would be aware of him. That is…curious.”

My palm slipped on the pillar, and I turned, feeling an indentation in the stone. I shifted slightly, looking down. There were markings there, shallow and spaced every couple of feet. A circle with a slash through it, half off-center. Just like the bone and rope symbols in the woods near the Dead Bones Clan.

“What are these marks?” I asked.

“A safeguard of sorts,” she answered.

I pressed my thumb against the markings. “More stolen magic?”

“Borrowed magic.”

“How do they act as a safeguard?”

Isbeth’s gaze lifted to mine, and she smiled. “They keep things in—or things out.”

Casteel

Poppy was here.

I pulled harder on the chain, cursing when the hook refused to budge even a centimeter. How many times had I tried to loosen these damn chains since I’d been here? Countless. In the last couple of days, hunger had driven the frenzied attempts. Now, I was just as desperate, but for different reasons.

Poppy was here.

Panic sliced through my gut. She could take care of herself. She was a fucking goddess, but she wasn’t infallible. No one was. Except for the Primal, who spent most of his time sleeping. I had no idea what the Blood Queen truly was or how Poppy was dealing with the knowledge of who Isbeth was to her. There were too many unknowns, and I needed to get out of here. I had to get to her before that red haze descended again. And it was coming. I could already feel it in the ache returning to my bones.

I struggled to ignore it. To focus on the task at hand and something Isbeth had said when she’d given me the blood. It had been a shock. Important. But it was on the fringes of my memories, existing just out of reach as I curled the chain around my forearm and pulled until my feet slid over the stone—

The sound of approaching steps stopped me. They were light. Quick. I heard them. Dropping the chain, I turned and then lowered myself to the floor, my back against the wall. I even heard blood pumping through veins before a shadow crossed the flickering candlelight. Hell. Whatever Poppy’s touch had managed to do was already fading.

The Handmaiden.

Chains rattled as I leaned forward, the thunder in my chest and in my blood returning and growing louder.

She stepped into the light of another half-burnt candle. The winged mask on her face painted in black made her eyes even lighter. More lifeless.

But she had life in her.

Blood.

I could hear it.

Hungry, starving muscles tensed. My jaw pulsed. “Where is Poppy?”

“She was with the Queen.” The Handmaiden knelt by the hip bath, her stare not drifting far as she gripped the rim. She knew better than to take her eyes off me.

I growled.

“You don’t like that, huh?” she asked, shoving the sleeves of her gown up.

I twisted my head to the side, fangs throbbing. Dread and anticipation collided with the fog of hunger. My skin tightened, pulling taut against the healed wounds. The shadowstone bands clamped down on my wrists and ankles. Get it together. Get it the fuck together.

It took everything in me, but the storm in my blood quieted as my chin dropped. “If…if she has been harmed, I will kill all of you.” The words scratched their way through my dry throat. “I will rip your fucking throats out.”

“The Queen won’t touch a hair on your precious Poppy.” She inched back, moving to the other side of the hip bath. “At least, not yet.”

The sound that came from me was the promise of violent death. “She’ll hurt others to hurt her.”

She stared for a moment, motionless. “You’re right.”

My head snapped toward the cell’s opening. I didn’t want that monster anywhere near Poppy, and Kieran was here, too. If either of them was harmed… The shackles weighed more than ever suddenly. Water splashed, jerking my attention back to the bath. The Handmaiden had dipped her hands into the water.

The fog of impending bloodlust waited at the edges of my being as I watched her grip the sides of the tub and bend over the water. “You going to bathe?”

She glanced up at me. “You got a problem with that?”

“I don’t give a fuck what you do.”

“Good.” She plucked up a matted curl. “I’ve got blood in my hair.”

The Handmaiden then tipped forward. She straight-up dunked her head into the tub. The once-clear water immediately turned an inky black.

What in the hell? I stared into the gloom as the Handmaiden scrubbed her fingers through her hair, washing away what seemed to be some sort of dye, revealing a shade of blond so pale it was nearly white—

Claws scraped over stone. I tensed as a Craven let out a low-pitched shriek. The Handmaiden tossed her hair back, sending a fine mist of water across the floor as she grabbed a blade from the shaft of her boot. Spinning on her knee, she threw the weapon, striking the creature in what was left of its face as it rushed into the cell. Knocked back, the Craven fell into the hall.

“The Craven are so annoying.” The Handmaiden cocked her head. Streaks of black dye ran down her cheeks, cutting through the painted mask and over her teeth as she smiled broadly. “I feel so pretty right now.”

“The fuck?” I muttered, beginning to think this was some sort of bloodlust-induced hallucination.

She giggled, turning back to the hip bath. “You know the Queen won’t send you food or water.”

“No shit.”

Shoving her hands into the tub, she splashed her face and commenced scrubbing as black dye slowly tracked down her arms. “I have something to tell you. Something very important.” Her hands muffled her words. “And it will hurt your little heart.”

I was barely paying attention to what she said because I was transfixed by what she was doing.

By what I saw transforming before me.

The sooty facial paint was almost all gone now, revealing her features—what she truly looked like. And I couldn’t believe what my eyes were telling me.

The hair wasn’t the right color, and the curls were tighter, but the face was the same oval shape. The mouth full and wide. She had the same strong brow. I saw freckles over the bridge of her nose and all over her cheeks—much more prominent and plentiful. The way she now looked back at me with a slight tilt of a stubborn jaw…

Good gods.

All of it was familiar. Too familiar.

The Handmaiden’s smile was slow and tight. “Do I remind you of someone?”

“Gods,” I rasped.

She rose, the shoulders of the simple black tunic she wore now soaked. Hair the color of silvery-white moonlight hung all the way to the multiple rows of leather encasing her waist, exaggerating hips that didn’t need the aid. She was leaner, not so amply shaped, but she stood there in a way…

Disbelief flooded me. “Impossible.”

Water dripped from her fingertips as she silently walked toward me. “Why do you think what you’re seeing is impossible, Casteel?”

“Why?” A hoarse laugh parted my dry lips. There was no logical reason, other than the fact that my mind couldn’t accept that this Handmaiden—this Revenant—was almost a mirror image of Poppy. But I couldn’t deny it. There was no way she wasn’t related to my Queen.

“Who are you?” I choked out.

“I’m the first daughter,” she said, and shit if that wasn’t another shock. “I was never meant to be. Neither was the second. But that’s neither here nor there at the moment. I prefer to be called by my actual name—Millicent. Or Millie. Either works.”

“Your name means brave strength,” I heard myself say.

“So I’m told.” Millicent stared down at me, once again unblinking. Eerie. “Is that all you have to say?”

Hell, no. There was a lot I had to say. Fuck. I felt like Poppy because I had a lot of questions. “You’re…her sister, aren’t you? Full-blooded.”

“I am.”

My thoughts raced. “Ires is your father, too.”

She nodded.

And that also meant… “You’re a goddess.”

Millicent laughed darkly. “I’m no god. What I am is a failure.”

“What? If your father is—”

“If you’re anything like your brother, then you think you know it all,” she remarked. “But, just like him, you don’t know what is and isn’t possible. You have no idea.”

“Then tell me.”

Millicent gave me another tight-lipped smile as she shook her head, sending a mist of cold water across my chest and face.

Frustration burned through me, nearly as potent as the encroaching bloodlust. “What the hell? How are you not a god?”

“Where would I even start if I answered your questions? And when would your questions stop? They wouldn’t. Every answer I gave would lead to another, and before we knew it, I would have retold the entire history of the realms.” Millicent blinked and then turned away, stepping over my legs. “The real history.”

“I know the real history.”

“No, you don’t. Neither did Malik.”

Air punched out of my lungs at the sound of my brother’s name, momentarily stunning me. My brother… I hadn’t seen him since he’d wrapped my hand. What he’d said about the Handmaiden surfaced: “She’s had very little choice.” “Malik knows,” I bit out. “That son of a bitch knows who you are.”

Millicent moved quickly, crouching by my legs. Close enough that if I kicked out, I’d take her down. She had to know that, but she remained where she was. “You have no idea what your brother has had to do. You have no—” She cut herself off with a sharp twist of her neck. “Everything the Queen does…she does for a reason. Why she took you the first time. Why she kept Malik. She needed someone from a strong Atlantian bloodline to help Penellaphe through her Ascension. To make sure she didn’t fail. She lucked out when you came back into the picture, didn’t she? The one she originally planned to use. And then our mother waited until Penellaphe was going through her Culling—that’s happening now. And now she’s waiting again for Penellaphe to complete the Culling.”

“Poppy has Ascended to her godhood—”

“She hasn’t completed the Culling,” Millicent interrupted. “But when she does, my sister will give our mother what she’s wanted since she learned that her son was dead.”

“Revenge?”

“Revenge against everyone.” Millicent leaned in, placing a hand by my knee. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And she doesn’t want to remake the kingdoms. It’s the realms. She wants to restore them to the way they were before the first Atlantian was created. When mortals were subservient to the gods and the Primals. And that—that will destroy not only the mortal realm but also Iliseeum.”

Shock rippled through me. “And you think Poppy will help her do this?”

“She won’t have a choice. My sister is destined to do just that. She is the Harbinger foretold.”

“Bullshit,” I snarled. “She—”

“Remember what I told you before? Our mother isn’t strong enough to do such a thing. But she created something that was. Penellaphe.”

Cold air poured into my chest. “No.”

“It’s the truth.” Her features pinched, and I saw it for a moment before her eyes lowered. Sorrow. Deep, endless sorrow. “I wish it wasn’t because I know that no matter what I do—what anyone does—the Queen will succeed. Because you will also fail.”

I leaned as far as the chain allowed. “Fail at what?”

Millicent lifted her gaze to mine. “At killing my sister.”

I jerked back against the wall, barely registering the burst of pain along my back.

“Penellaphe will complete her Culling soon.” Millicent rose. “Then, her love for you will become one of the very, very few weaknesses she will have. You will be the only thing that can stop her then. If you don’t, Penellaphe will help end the realms as we know them, causing millions to lose their lives, and subjecting those who survive to something far worse. Either way, my sister can’t survive this. She will die in your arms, or she will drown the realms in blood.”