The ​Crown of Gilded Bones (Blood and Ash, #3)

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

“And bow before the…before the last descendant of the most ancient ones. She who carries the blood of the King of Gods within her. Bow before your new Queen.” The blood of the King of Gods? Your new Queen?

My first. My guard. My friend. My betrayer. My partner. My husband. My heartmate. My everything. Casteel Da’Neer bowed before me and stared up at me as if I were the only person in the entire kingdom.

“But ask yourself why your bonded wolven is guarding someone other than you.”

“You need to care,” his mother cautioned, a thin quiver in her otherwise steady voice. “The bonds have broken.”

can… I can feel it—the Primal notam. Her mark. Good gods.” His voice trembled as he stumbled back, nearly stepping on the crown. “They’ve all broken.”

“But what you need to know now is that they no longer serve the elemental bloodline. You are not safe. Please,” she begged. “Please. Listen to me, Hawke.”

“It’s what you are.” Eloana’s left hand balled into the skirt of her gown. “You have the blood of a god in you—”

“You may have more than just a drop, but what is in your blood, what is in you, supersedes any oath the wolven have taken.”

“I don’t know everything that is going on right now, but you—all of you—want to keep her safe. And I’m all about that. You know I would never hurt her. I would tear out my own heart before I did that. She’s injured. I need to make sure she’s okay, and nothing is going to stop me from doing that.”

When I first stepped into this Temple and looked out over the clear waters of the Seas of Saion, I’d felt like I was home.

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

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.

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.

“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.”

Your bloodline must’ve remained very clean for you to exhibit those kinds of godly abilities.”

“You will die,” I promised, smiling at the red blush of anger staining his cheeks. “It will be by my hand, and it will be a death befitting a coward like you.”

“Long ago, when the gods of names long forgotten were awake and coexisted with mortals, rules governed the mortals’ actions. The gods acted as their protectors, aiding them in times of crisis, and even granted favors to the most faithful,” he said. “I couldn’t care less about this history lesson if my very life depended on it,” I fumed. “But they also acted as the mortals’ judge, jury, and executioner if the mortals’ actions were deemed offensive or unwarranted,” Alastir continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “The problem with that was that only the gods chose what was and wasn’t a punishable act. Countless mortals died at the hands of those gods for offenses as small as raising the ire of a god. Eventually, the younger brethren rose against those gods. But the tendency to react without thought, often fueled by passion or other volatile, unpredictable emotions, and to react with violence, was a trait even the gods fell prey to—especially the eldest among them. It was why they went to sleep.”

“I did what I needed to because the gods’ violent trait was passed onto their children,” he stated. “The deities were even more chaotic in their thoughts and manners than their predecessors. Some believed it was the mortal influence, as the gods before them had coexisted with mortals but did not live among them. They remained in Iliseeum, while their children lived in the mortal realm.”

“I don’t know if it was mortal influence or not, but after the gods chose to sleep, the deities became—”

“Even if that was the case, you descended from the ones born of the flesh and fire of the most powerful gods. Your abilities are strikingly reminiscent of those who, if angered, could quickly become catastrophic, their tempers all-consuming. Families were decimated because someone offended one of them. Towns laid to waste because one person committed a crime against them. But all paid the price—men, women, and children,”

“He could sense emotion, like the empath bloodline. It was believed that their line branched off from the one that birthed Malec, having mingled with a changeling line. Some believe that was why the gods favored the empaths. That they had more eather in them than most,” he continued. “Malec could heal wounds with his touch, but he rarely did it because he was not only descended from the God of Life, he was also a descendant of the God of Death. Nyktos. The King of Gods is both. And Malec’s abilities had a dark side. He could take emotion and turn it back on others, like the empaths. But he could do so much more.”

“He could send his will into others, breaking and shattering their bodies without touch. He could become death.”

“But it’s not just the bloodline, Penellaphe. We were warned about you long ago. It was written in the bones of your namesake before the gods went to sleep,”

“‘With the last Chosen blood spilled, the great conspirator birthed from the flesh and fire of the Primals will awaken as the Harbinger and the Bringer of Death and Destruction to the lands gifted by the gods. Beware, for the end will come from the west to destroy the east and lay waste to all which lies between.’

“I sensed it when I looked into your eyes for the first time. They were old. Primal. I saw death in your eyes, even all those years ago.”

“It’s because I can no longer shift into my wolven form. When I broke my oath to King Malec, I severed the connection between myself and my wolven side. So, I wasn’t able to feel the Primal notam

“I will give the Ascended what they were so desperate to keep,” he said. “I will give them you.”

“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.”

He shoved his fist into the man’s back and jerked his arm back sharply, pulling out something white and smeared with blood and tissue. His spine. Dear gods, it was the man’s spine

“Casteel knew others in the Crown Guard had to be involved,” Kieran explained. “He made it very clear that if he didn’t find out who, he would start killing all of them.”

me and inside me. All I could do was obey. “I love you, Penellaphe. You. Your fierce heart, your intelligence and strength. I love your endless capacity for kindness. I love your acceptance of me. Your understanding. I’m in love with you, and I will be in love with you when I take my last breath and then beyond in the Vale.”

“But I have no plans to enter the Vale anytime soon. And I will not lose you. Ever. I love you, Princess, and even if you hate me for what I’m about to do, I will spend the rest of our lives making up for it.”

“I know. You’re hungry. But you can’t eat Kieran. That would make me a little sad.”

“You are the foundation that helps me stand. You are my walls and my roof. My shelter. You are my home.”

“Nothing’s happening.” “Thank the gods,” he growled, squeezing me tightly. “But I might be having a heart attack.” My brows pinched. “Can Atlantians have heart attacks?” “No.” “Then you’re fine,”

don’t think we know what you are exactly,” Casteel stated. “I’m not a deity,” I protested. “The fact that you are here and not a vampry means that nothing is off the table,”

“Death is power?” I repeated, not entirely sure at first how that made sense. But then it occurred to me. “Death and life are two sides of the same coin. Nyktos is…” “He’s the God of Life and Death.” Kieran’s gaze flicked to Casteel. “And this explains why you thought her blood tasted old.”

“It was written that the gods could sense it, too, whenever it was used,” Kieran said. “It felt like a seismic shift to them.”

“You think an Atlantian’s lifespan is unthinkable, but a deity is like a god. They are immortal. Instead of living two and three thousand years, they lived double and triple that,” he said, and my heart stuttered. “Living that long would make anyone apathetic or bored, impatient and intolerant. They…simply grew too old and became cold.”

Kieran sighed. “You smell of more power. Absolute. Final. I’ve never smelled anything like it.”

“I should’ve just left them there so you could return to the kingdom buck-ass naked.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kieran raise an arm and extend a middle finger. I

I couldn’t stop staring at the leaves above me and the deep red ones that had fallen to the ground, peeking out from behind rocks and shrubs. It was as if the entire mountain had turned into one massive Blood Forest—one absent of the Craven.

Three times now, a tree had grown rapidly where my blood had fallen, and in the ruins of Castle Bauer, the roots of that tree had seemed to gather around me—around Casteel and I both, as if the tree had tried to pull us into the ground or shield us.

I clearly remembered Kieran tearing through the slick, dark gray roots. Roots that had been identical to the ones that had wrapped around the bone chains.

“I’m not a monster. I’m not.” “You’re not,” a soft voice intruded, coming from everywhere and nowhere

The voice sounded like… Delano? “You are meyaah Liessa. Wake up.”

King Valyn turned to his son. “I can only assume what you plan to do with Alastir and the others who are held below, but I want your assurance that he will not survive the night. If he does, he will be executed in the morning,” he told Casteel. “And while the crown still sits upon my head, it is an order I will personally ensure is carried out.”

The wolven shrugged a shoulder. “Just chiming in with my two cents. Carry on. My father and I will pretend we can’t hear either of you.”

“It’s old Atlantian. The language of the gods,” Casteel said, his voice rough. He cleared his throat as he squeezed my hand again. “Meyaah Liessa. It means: my Queen.”