The War of Two Queens (Blood And Ash, #4)

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

“Are you a lamaea?” Isbeth laughed. “Cute response, but I thought you were smarter than that.” She drifted to another candle, straightening it, as well. “I may be no god by your standards and beliefs, but I am no less powerful than one. So, how am I not just that? A god?”

When he prayed to anything that could be listening. Jasper had warned him that…something that wasn’t a god could answer. That a false god could reply. “Demis,” I whispered hoarsely, my eyes widening. “You’re a demis. A false god.” One side of Isbeth’s lips curled up, but it was the golden Rev who spoke. “Well, apparently, he is rather clever.” “At times,” she said with a shrug. Holy shit. I’d believed that the demis were as much a myth as the lamaea. “Is that what you’ve always been? A poor imitation of the real thing, hell-bent on destroying the lives of the desperate?” “That’s a rather offensive assumption. But, no. A demis is not born but made when a god commits the forbidden act of Ascending a mortal who was not Chosen.”

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.

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.

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.”

“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.”

“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 a...

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?”

“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.”

I pulled myself out of those thoughts with a shake of my head. “Exactly what does kill a god?” “A god can kill another,” Reaver said. “Shadowstone can also kill a god.” The same material had been used to construct many of the Temples and the palace in Evaemon. I’d never thought of it as a weapon until those skeletal guards we’d seen after entering Iliseeum had wielded shadowstone weapons. It was what had punctured Tawny’s skin in the chaos after everything had gone so terribly wrong. “Through the heart or head,” he elaborated. Immediately, I saw the arrow the Revenant had pointed in my direction, but the Revenant had spoken as if she hadn’t believed the shadowstone would kill me. I supposed it was a good thing she’d obviously thought wrong. “What happens if a mortal is stabbed with shadowstone?” “It would kill them,” he said, and air fled my lungs. “But your friend lives. There has to be a reason for that.” Reaver had definitely been listening whenever I spoke of Tawny. “What kind of reason could there be?” “I wouldn’t know,” he replied, and I tamped down a surge of frustration. “But you are the first female descendant of the Primal of Life—the most powerful being known. In time, you will become even more powerful than your father.” How I could be more powerful than my father was beyond me. Nor did I know why the female part mattered. Still, I got stuck on those two words. Your father. Ires.

“How long has Ires been held captive?” “He left Iliseeum while we slept, after waking one of the draken to accompany him.” The line of Reaver’s jaw flexed as he stared ahead. “I don’t know why he left or exactly when. I only became aware some eighteen years ago when the Primal awakened.”

“Why did Nyktos awaken?” Reaver’s head swung in my direction. Those ultra-bright eyes were unnerving even with the distance between us. “I believe it was when you were born. It was felt.” I hadn’t known that. He returned his gaze to the sky. “That was when we learned that both Malec and Ires were gone. As was…Jade.” It took me a moment to realize that he spoke of Jadis—Nektas’s daughter.

“I don’t know why Ires took her. She was young when we went to sleep. And when she was awakened, she would’ve been untested. It wouldn’t have been safe for her.” I felt the strange urge to defend a man I didn’t know. “Maybe he didn’t think it would be dangerous.” Reaver huffed, and I swore I saw faint wisps of smoke coming from his mouth. “I think…I think he knew something had happened to his brother and went to look for him. Malec was lost to us long before we realized,” he said, his words similar to what Nektas had told me. “But Malec was Ires’s twin. So alike as children, you couldn’t tell them apart. As they grew older, their differences became clear,” he said, his rough, unused voice turning distant. “Ires was cautious and thoughtful in everything, while Malec was reckless and didn’t often stop to think of what he’d done until afterward. Ires was content in Iliseeum, but Malec had grown restless, visiting the mortal world as the deities slowly built Atlantia. Because both he and Ires were born in this realm, he could come, but that was not without its limitations. The longer he stayed, the more his power lessened. Still, he chose to stay, even knowing what he would have to ...

Atlantians could feed off mortals, but it did nothing for them. Apparently, however, the world was one giant buffet when it came to gods and Primals. However, this piece of news meant… I had to feed. “Do you…?” I swallowed hard. “Do you know how often?” “Probably not as often as Malec once you come into your power. Unless injured. But until then, you will need to ensure you do not weaken.” “Wait. I’ve Ascended—” “Yes, I know that. Thanks for pointing it out,” he interrupted, ...

“How do you know?” “Because I would feel it,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“Why can’t I feed from a draken?” I asked and then wondered if that was a rude question. “Because it would burn the insides out of most. Even Primals.” Oh. All right, then.

“What exactly would weaken a god? Besides being injured?” Reaver’s head tilted once again. “You do not know

“Well, this whole god thing is relatively new, and, you know, there aren’t any gods standing around ready to educate me. Nor are there any texts I can simply read.” He made a harrumphing sound as if those weren’t good enough reasons. “Most injuries would only weaken you unless they were serious. Then you will weaken more quickly. Using the essence of the gods can, o...

“What good is having that kind of power if it inevitably weakens me?” “It is a balance, meyaah Liessa,” he said, and I blinked. I hadn’t expected to hear him call me my Queen like the wolven did. “Even we have weaknesses. The fire we breathe is the essence of the Primals. Using it tires us. Slows us down. Even the Primals had their limitations. Weaknesses. Only one is infinite.” Nyktos. He would be infinite.

His head turned in the direction of the camp. “Your wolven comes.” A sugary ripple of amusement came from Delano as I looked over my shoulder, seeing a distant figure among the broken stone and tall grass. “If you’re talking about Kieran, he’s not my wolven.” The wind lifted the strands of Reaver’s hair away from his face, revealing the bland set to his features. “Is he not?” “No.” I ignored the quiet huffing sound that Delano made as I rose. “None of the wolven are mine.” I glanced up at him. “The wolven belong to no one but themselves. The same goes for you and the other draken.” There was a pause. “You sound a lot like…her.” Noting the softening of his tone, I looked up at him, opening my senses. As before, I felt nothing. In my chest, the essence of the gods hummed, and the urge to push, to see if I could shatter his walls was almost as hard to resist as not throwing a rock at him had been. “The Consort?” A brief smile appeared, and my gods, it was a breathtaking transformation. The chilly hollowness to his features vanished, turning him from someone uniquely appealing to a stunning, otherworldly beauty. “Yes. You remind me very much of the…Consort.”

“Will the Consort really wake upon Ires’s return?” “Yes.” “And what does that mean for the other gods?” For us, I wanted to add, but I wasn’t sure if I truly wanted to know the answer to that at the moment. “I imagine they will eventually wake.” I wondered why the Consort being awake had anything to do with the other gods. Or if it really had to do with Nyktos—that if his Consort had to sleep, he chose to be with her, which caused the other gods to sleep. I was also tired of calling her the Consort. “What’s her name?” His smile vanished, and his features sharpened as he stared down at me from his perch. “Her name is a shadow in the ember, a light in the flame, and the fire in the flesh. The Primal of Life has forbidden us to speak or write her name.” Disbelief flooded me. “That sounds incredibly controlling.” “You don’t understand. To speak her name is to bring the stars from the skies and topple the mountains into the sea.” My brows inched up my forehead. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

Tiny bumps erupted all over my skin as my gaze fell to the wooden box. A gift? “Have you opened it?” Kieran shook his head. “The Royal Guard said only your blood could open it.” I frowned as Reaver stretched his long neck, eyeing what Kieran held. “He had to be talking about old magic—Primal magic.” Perry’s handsome features were drawn tight by tension. “If one knew how to use Primal magic, they could create wards or spells that would work in a way that only responded to certain blood or bloodlines. They could use the magic for almost anything, really.” “It’s the same kind of Primal magic that created the Gyrms,” Kieran reminded me.

“My father, he wouldn’t dare anger the Arae or even the sleeping gods by using such magic.” “The Arae?” It took a moment for the image of Priestess Analia and the heavy tome called The History of The War of Two Kings and the Kingdom of Solis to creep into my thoughts. I remembered. “The Fates.” “Yes,” Perry confirmed. I remembered Tawny and I once talking about them, and the whole idea of beings that could either see or control the outcome of the lives of every living creature seemed utterly unbelievable to both of us. But then again, I hadn’t believed in Seers or prophecies either. I turned back to the box. “Lord Sven’s knowledge of Primal magic may come in handy. He’ll be arriving with Valyn, won’t he?” “Yes.” Kieran stepped in close, his earthy scent surrounding me, reminding me of the woods between Castle Teerman and the city Atheneum. “I don’t know about this, Poppy.” He touched my arm. “There could be anything in that box.” “I doubt she placed a venomous viper in there,” I replied as I tugged the glove off my left hand, shoving it into the pocket of my sweater coat. “She could’ve placed any manner of venomous or poisonous things in that box,” he countered, his voice low. “I don’t like this.” “I don’t either, but…” I turned my left hand over, revealing the golden swirl across my palm. The marriage imprint. Then I withdrew the wolven dagger from its sheath. “I need to know.” I lowered my voice as I met Kieran’s stare. “I have to.”

“I don’t give a fuck about these walls.” “You should.” She looked over her shoulder at me. “Gods walked these tunnels. As did the Primals. They walked other tunnels in other cities, connecting doorways and creating magical wards made of Primal essence that could keep things out—or in.” I watched her run her palm over the uneven stone, wondering exactly what in the hell she was talking about. “A god born a mortal, carrying the blood of the Primal of Life and the Primal of Death upon Ascension was foretold,” the Handmaiden whispered. “Or so they say—and they say a lot. Either way, she broke those Primal wards when she Ascended into her godhood.” It was clear that she was speaking about Poppy. She rested her cheek against the wall. “And anything that was kept in can now get out.” Eyes not so dull met mine. “Two questions remain. When and where. Not even he knows.” I didn’t even know what to say to any of that, but I caught how her lip curled when she said he. “Who?” “Callum.” “The golden boy Rev?” Her laugh was throatier, more real, and strangely familiar. “He’s old. Real old. Be careful of that one.”

“What in the hell are you rambling on about? And what does it have to do with Poppy’s Ascension?” “I do ramble, don’t I? Ian said Penellaphe rambles.” She turned sharply, facing me as she leaned against the wall. “Is that true?” My eyes narrowed. “Why? Why do you want to know that?” Her shoulder lifted. “Just curious.” “Odd thing to be curious about.” “Is it true?” she persisted. “Does she ramble, too?” I unlocked my jaw. “Her thoughts tend to wander about…out loud. Frequently and sometimes randomly.” The corners of her lips turned up as she toyed with an edge of stone by her hip. “I…I didn’t know the Queen would do that to Ian. I—” Her jaw tightened. “I didn’t expect that.” I believed her. Only because the look of shock on her face and on my brother’s when that bitch had ordered Ian killed couldn’t have been fabricated. “I would tell you that I would kill Isbeth for that, but my Queen is a god. She will kill her.”

“But she stopped. Maybe she’s not like her mother.” “She’s not,” I snarled. “There’s no one like her.” “You’re actually right when you say that.” Her gaze flicked to me. “But you don’t really know her. I doubt she even knows herself.” Her chin dipped, and her stare chilled my skin. “She carries the blood of the Primal of Life and the Primal of Death.” “I know. She knows she’s descended from Nyktos—” “If you think that Granddaddy is the true Primal of Life and the true Primal of Death, then you know nothing.” My eyes narrowed. What was she up to? Nyktos was the true Primal of Life. The gods Rhain and Rhahar oversaw the dead, but Nyktos was the Primal. The King of Gods. That meant he was the true Primal of Death, too. “Then educate me.” “I’m not that bored.” She

“The Queen has her plans.” “The whole remaking the realms bullshit?” “To remake something, one must first destroy it.” A cold wind hit the length of my spine. “The Blood Queen is not that powerful.” “She may not be.” The Handmaiden’s back was unnaturally stiff. “But she knew how to bring to life something that was.”

briefly. “When he came to Spessa’s End, looking for you, the Guardians didn’t want to let him leave, believing he was a threat. I watched over him, and he spent the time telling me a story about Stygian Bay and the Temples of Eternity—how many of the Temples in Solis had been around since the gods walked the realm. They weren’t just places of worship but also places of profound power, able to neutralize gods. He also said they were gateways to Iliseeum, where gods ferried mortals through.” She picked up a braid, running it between her fingers. “Which I don’t think is remotely true. But what he said was interesting. He had a way of telling the story where you couldn’t help but get invested in it. I mean, he had me totally hooked on this tale about a girl picking flowers who had been startled by a god, falling to her death from some cliff. Anyway, Ian told me that he used to tell you stories, too, when you were lonely or upset…or when he was bored—which he claimed was often.” I knew that story. Sotoria and the Cliffs of Sorrow. Ian had shared it with me in one of the letters he’d written after his Ascension. “He could spin tales at the drop of a hat. Take something common like an old, dull sword and transform it into one once wielded by the first mortal king.” My laugh trembled. “He had the wildest imagination.” I lifted my gaze to the gently rippling curtains over the windows. “I wonder if Coralena and Leo were his parents. But since she was a Revenant, I don’t even know if...

“That was the essence of the Primal of Death. His stench. Oily. Dark. Suffocating,” Reaver said, and I looked to where Kieran stood a few feet from me. That was exactly what we’d both felt. “It doesn’t make sense.” “You mean Rhain?” Vonetta asked from where she sat on one of the chairs, her knees pressed to her chest. Reaver blinked. “What?” “Rhain,” Emil started to explain, his hands on the back of Vonetta’s chair. “The God of Common Men and—” “I know who Rhain is. I knew him before he was known as the god you recognize today,” he replied. From the entry of the chamber, surprise flickered through Hisa, mirroring mine. “Who was the God of Death before him?” she asked. “There was no God of Death before him. There was only the Primal of Death.” I remembered what Nyktos had shared with me. “Did Rhain replace one of the Primals that Nyktos said had become tainted and corrupt?” “In a way.” Reaver’s head tilted to the side as he looked at the ceiling, his eyes closing. “There was only one true Primal of Death, and that—the storm and the woman—felt like him.” “Nyktos is both the Primal of Life and Death,” Kieran said. “Wrong.” Kieran knelt. “I’m not wrong.” “You are.” Reaver lowered his chin, his eyes opening. “Nyktos was never the true Primal of Death. There was another before him. His name was Kolis.” “Kolis?” Naill repeated, stepping around Emil. “I’ve never heard that name.” “You wouldn’t have.” “Erased history,” I murmured, looking over my shoulder at the others. “Remember w...

“I cannot be the only person who’s sitting here thinking that the name Kolis is awfully similar to Solis,” Vonetta remarked. She wasn’t. It hadn’t passed me by either. “What happened to this Kolis?” Perry spoke up. The Atlantian had been quiet the entire time as he stood with a somber Delano. “Or the other Primals?” “Some of the Primals passed on to Arcadia, a place very much like the Vale but which can be entered without death,” Reaver said, and the confusion I felt from the others said they were as unfamiliar with Arcadia as I was. “Some?” Perry prodded. “Some,” Reaver repeated. “Others were ended. As in they died. Were no more. A figment of a forgotten past. Dead. No longer—” “I get it,” I stopped him. “We all get it.” “Glad to hear,” the draken retorted. “Kolis is as good as dead.”

“He’s been dealt with. Entombed long ago. None of us would be here if he hadn’t been,” he insisted. “And the only thing that could’ve released him is the Primal of Life. That would never happen. They…they were the kind of enemies that go beyond blood and bone.”

“Wait.” Reaver’s brows knitted and then smoothed as his head jerked toward me. “Holy shit, I should’ve caught on to this. Admittedly, I don’t always pay attention. You all talk a lot and do so in circles.” I started to frown when I heard what sounded like a choked laugh coming from Hisa. “You spoke of these…creations your enemy has. Ones that can survive any injury?” Reaver asked. “Yes.” Kieran placed a hand on the floor. “Do they come back to life?” Kieran tilted his head. “What else does survive any injury mean?” “Not the same as returning to life,” Reaver shot back. “Yes, they come back to life,” I jumped in. “Are they called Revenants?” “They are.” I looked around the room. “I’m sure I’ve said that before when you were around. More than once.” “Like I said, I don’t always pay attention,” he admitted. “Let me guess. They’re the third sons and daughters.” “Yes.” Emil drew out the word. “That would be correct. You know what these things are?” “Revenants were Kolis’s pet project. His crowning achievement,” Reaver said. “He used magic to create them—the kind that only worked on them.” Vonetta straightened as I thought of the ledgers. “Why only them?” “Because the third sons and daughters carry embers of eather in them.”

“Everything in every realm descends from a Primal—well, besides the draken. We come from nothing. We just are and have always been,” Reaver said, and I had no idea what to make of that—any of it. “And mortals descend from a Primal and a draken,” I finished for him. “From Eythos, the first Primal of Life—also known as your great-grandfather.” He pointed at me, and my eyes went wide. “What? Did you think Nyktos was hatched from an egg? He wasn’t.” I hadn’t thought that. I just hadn’t realized there was another before him. “Anyway, Eythos had a habit of creating things. Some would say it was out of curiosity and a thirst for learning, but I imagine it came from boredom. Who really knows? He’s been dead for a very long time. Anyway, he was close to Nektas, even before we were given mortal forms. One day, for whatever reason—and I’m still going with boredom—they decided to create a new species. Eythos lent his flesh, and Nektas gave his fire. The result was the very first mortal. Of course, they ended up creating more, and those, and the ones spawned by them, are, for the most part, ordinary. But what Eythos and Nektas did meant that an ember of essence exists in all mortals. It’s…dormant, for the most part.” Reaver leaned forward. “Except for in the third sons and daughters. The ember is not always dormant then. Why? I don’t know. Perhaps it’s just a pure-numbers game that, after so many births, the ember would be stronger. Who knows? It doesn’t matter.” Perry appeared as if i...

“Malec,” Kieran surmised with a growl. Reaver closed his eyes. “For him to share such secrets…it is a betrayal of the highest order. For he has given this Blood Queen the power to kill my brethren.” The angles of his features sharpened. “Just like she most likely killed Jade.” I stiffened. “She may not be gone, Reaver. My mother—” I closed my eyes, correcting myself. “Coralena was the Handmaiden who tried to bring me to Atlantia when I was a child. She was a Revenant, but Isbeth said that she killed her. That means Isbeth must have had a draken then—had access to the fire of the gods. That wasn’t that long ago.” “Yeah, I want to believe that, but the fire of the gods isn’t just talking about the fire we breathe.” A muscle ticked along his jaw. “The fire is our essence—our blood. Not even a Revenant is immune to that. All the Blood Queen would need is a drop of a draken’s blood, no matter how old it was, to kill a Revenant.” I rocked back, my heart sinking. Reaver’s eyes met mine. “That kind of magic, that kind of power this Blood Queen has learned? You just saw what it is capable of. It can only be used for death and decay.” Reaver’s pupils thinned and stretched vertically. “She is a far more dangerous foe than I think anyone has realized.”

you. I came to Oak Ambler, prepared to negotiate for you. Poppy came to Oak Ambler, prepared to do the same, and she didn’t even know you.” A strange look crossed his features, pinching his brow. “No, she didn’t know me.” He folded the gauze, covering the wound. “Or at least that’s what she remembers.” My head tilted. “What does that mean?” “You’ll understand soon enough.” Malik tucked the tail of the gauze under the wrapping. “I have a feeling you will be reunited with your Queen sooner rather than later.”

The female wolven pressed her forehead to Hisa’s. “But be brave,” she replied, kissing her. “Always,” Hisa confirmed. “But be brave,” I whispered, looking away. I liked that. Be careful but be brave. And we would all be that today.

breath. There was no way Tawny could’ve known all of that. “Was Vikter a spirit?” “No.” Tawny shook her head. “He’s a viktor.” I jolted. Something about the way she said that tugged at a memory that lingered just out of my reach. “What do you mean?” “I hope I can explain this well enough to be understood.” Tawny blew out a breath. “A viktor is born with a goal—to guard someone the Fates believe is destined to bring about some great change or purpose. I got the impression that not all are aware of their duty, and they end up being there for that person anyway—like the Fates bring them together. I think other viktors are aware and are involved in the lives of the ones they’re protecting. Once they die, either while carrying out their purpose or from any other cause, their souls return to Mount Lotho.” “Where?” My brows lifted. “It’s where the Arae reside,” she explained. “Their souls return to Mount Lotho, where they wait to be reborn.” “It’s a place written to be in Iliseeum,” Kieran told me,

“How Vikter explained it to me was that when viktors are reborn, they have no memories of their previous lives like they do when their souls return to Mount Lotho where they are once more given mortal form. But some viktors are basically, um, predestined to figure out what they are, and who they are sent to either protect or lead. Like Leopold. Vikter said that he figured it out, and that was why he sought out Coralena before you were even born.” Another shock rippled through me, once more tugging at a strange feeling in the back of my mind. The sensation that I somehow knew this already. But I didn’t. “So, they weren’t together because they loved one another?” I asked. “I don’t know, but they had Ian together. Ian told me they were his parents,” she said. “That doesn’t mean they were in love, obviously, but there was definitely something there, and I don’t think that being a viktor means you can’t love.”

Ascended by a god but not a third-born and considered Chosen. The few who existed were considered false gods,” he explained. Kieran sent me a quick glance. “Do you know of their weaknesses?” “As I said, I never knew any. The act of Ascending a mortal not Chosen was forbidden, and few dared to break that law.” There was another pause. “Most didn’t survive the Ascension, but those who did, for all intents and purposes, were gods. I assume their weaknesses would be the same as any god’s.” “Meaning they could only be killed by another god or a Primal or by shadowstone through the head or heart.” I sat back. “That’s good news.” “It is.” Kieran’s gaze met mine. “We now know how to kill Isbeth.” It was good news, but if Isbeth was basically a god, she had far more years of experience when it came to using the eather—and, well, everything else.

“A god can be killed just like an Atlantian. Destroy the heart and the mind. But a Primal? You have to weaken them first. And do you know how you weaken a Primal? It’s rather cruel. Love. Love can be weaponized, weakening a Primal and becoming the blade that ends their existence.” A soft laugh echoed around me. Through me. “I wonder how much you even know about Primals. I must admit, I knew very little myself. If it weren’t for my Malec, I never would’ve learned the truth. I never would’ve known that a Primal could be born to the mortal realm.” A Primal born to the mortal realm? “When the gods you know now Ascended to rule over Iliseeum and the mortal realm, forcing most of the Primals into their glorious eternities, it created a ripple effect that caught the eyes and ears of the Fates. They made sure that a spark was left—a chance for rebirth of the greatest powers. An ember of Primal life that could only ignite in the female lineage of the Primal of Life.” My head jerked up, and I saw Isbeth in sudden, sharp clarity. What she was saying, suggesting… She hadn’t given birth to a god. She’d birthed a—

“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 fe...

“Love. Such a strange emotion. I’ve seen it take the most powerful beings down,” he said. Millicent’s words knocked around in my head again. “I’ve seen it give others unbelievable strength. But out of all the many, many years I’ve lived, I’ve only seen love stop death once.” “Is that so?” Callum nodded. “Nyktos and his Consort.” I stared at him. “You’re that old?” “I’m old enough to remember the way things used to be. Old enough to know when love is a strength or a weakness.” “Don’t really care.” “You should. Because it’s a weakness for you.” Those pale, unblinking eyes were unsettling as hell. “You know how?” My lips peeled back. “I bet you’re going to tell me.” “You should’ve fed from her when you had the chance,” he said. “You’re going to regret not doing that.” “Wrong.” I’d never regret not jeopardizing Poppy’s safety. Never. “We’ll see about that, too.” The Rev held my stare for a long moment and then moved. He was quick. I jerked back at the sight of a glint of steel. There was nowhere to go. My reflexes were shit— Pain exploded in my chest, taking with it the air in my lungs in a fiery wave. A metallic taste immediately filled my mouth. I looked down to see a dagger deep in the center of my chest and red everywhere, coursing down my stomach. I lifted my head, biting out, “Missed my heart, dumbass.” “I know.” The Rev smiled, yanking the dagger free. I grunted. “Tell me, Your Majesty. What happens to an Atlantian when there’s no more blood coursing through their veins...

“Millicent would’ve needed powerful blood to complete the Ascension into godhood. Meaning, she would’ve needed the blood of a god. Or a descendant of the gods.” He gestured at Malik. “An Atlantian, for example. Elemental. The blood is stronger in them, but there’s no guarantee it would’ve been enough. There’s never a guarantee.” He looked at me. “You could’ve even died.” Casteel stiffened. “I didn’t,” I reminded him, which felt silly to do because, obviously, I hadn’t. “It wasn’t enough for Millie,” Malik confirmed. “Your blood wasn’t strong enough.” My stomach hollowed as I turned to Casteel. “What the fuck?” he whispered. “Isbeth took your blood while she held you captive and gave it to Millie, hoping it would be enough. But you were too weak at that point. Isbeth hadn’t taken your captivity and what it would do to you into consideration.” Casteel stared at Malik, his features sharpening and becoming starker. I stepped in closer to him. He was just as shocked as I was. “But Isbeth has Ires,” Kieran said. “Why couldn’t she use his blood?” “The cage Isbeth keeps him in nullifies the eather in his blood, rendering him powerless, and his blood useless,” Malik explained. “Another thing she hadn’t exactly considered. That’s why she kept you alive when she had other Atlantians killed. She needed your blood.” I pressed my fingers to my temple as Casteel’s hand started moving again up and down my back. “Then how did she become a Revenant?” “Callum,” Malik answered. “He showed Isb...

“How old is this…Callum?” Reaver’s eyes narrowed. “Old. Don’t know exactly. Don’t know where he even came from, but he’s real old. Callum knew how to make Revenants. It’s magic. Old, Primal stuff.” Malik’s jaw worked. “As fucked up as Isbeth is—and none of you truly knows how fucked that actually is—she loves her daughters. In her own twisted way.” My stomach gave another sinking twist. “She couldn’t let Millie die, so she used that old magic. And because Millie had eather in her blood, it worked,” Malik said after a moment. “It saved her, and she became the first daughter, and Isbeth started plotting for another chance. A second daughter.” First daughter. The full prophecy Tawny had shared with me had referenced the first daughter with blood full of fire and fated for the once-promised King. Good gods, we had even hypothesized that it had referred to Malik. This Handmaiden was my sister, the first daughter spoken of in Penellaphe’s prophecy, and we… “We are truly the product of a madwoman’s thirst for vengeance.” “No.” Casteel turned to me, lowering his mug. “You are more than that. You always have been.”

Malik leaned forward, “First off, you aren’t powerful enough yet to do that. You haven’t completed your Culling. Then, you will be.” “Powerful enough to destroy the realms?” I laughed. “A god isn’t that powerful.” “I don’t think that’s what you are,” Casteel said. Slowly, I turned to him. “Come again?” “It’s something I figured out a bit ago,” he told me. “I don’t fully understand or know how it’s possible, but I don’t think you’re a god.” “Then what the hell am I?” I threw up my hands. “A Primal,” Malik announced. I rolled my eyes. “Oh, come on.” “He speaks the truth,” Reaver announced, and we all turned to him. “Both of them. You’re a Primal—born of mortal flesh.”

“Wait a minute. Why would the notam have been an indicator that she was a Primal?” Kieran asked. “The gods have the notam.” “Why would you think that?” Reaver frowned. “It’s a Primal notam. Not a god notam. Only a Primal can form any type of notam—a bond such as that.” “Because that’s—” Kieran cursed. “I don’t think anyone really knew. We just assumed it was connected to the gods.” “You assumed wrong,” Reaver stated flatly. Out of the chaos that was my mind, something suddenly made sense. “That’s why Malec never had the notam.” I turned to Casteel and then Kieran. “I thought it was because of his weakening powers, but he wasn’t a Primal.” My head swung back to Reaver. “That’s why you said I would be more powerful than my father. Why I wouldn’t have to feed as often. And the mist? I didn’t summon it, did I?” “Only a Primal can create the mist.” Reaver’s head tilted, and a curtain of blond hair fell across his cheek as he picked up another biscuit. “Which is a sign that you’re probably close to completing the Culling. That, and your eyes.” “The streaks of eather?” I asked. “They’re going to stay like that?” “They may turn completely silver like Nyktos’,” he answered. “Or they may stay like this.”

“Secondly, those weren’t just some random Gyrms that can be conjured to do one’s bidding. As I said, they were Sentries.” I opened my eyes. “What is the difference between them?” Reaver still held up one finger. “Most of them were once mortal—those who summoned a god and pledged servitude to them upon death in exchange for whatever favor the god granted them. Hunters hunt things. Sentries—you guessed it—guard things. Items. Usually, people. But Sentries, like Hunters and Seekers, can sense whatever they’re searching for. They either find said thing and bring it back, or they die in the process of defending it.” My gaze flicked back to the ground. Those things had once been mortal? Good gods… Now, I felt a little bad about killing them. Casteel slid his arm around my waist, squeezing. “So, these Gyrms were down there for hundreds of years?” Reaver nodded. “That must’ve been really boring,” Emil said. “Again.” Vonetta looked at him. “Understatement.” “And it wasn’t whatever your mother did that sent the Sentries here,” Reaver said. “What do you mean?” Casteel’s eyes narrowed. “And can you please stop giving Kieran the middle finger?” “I was actually giving it to everyone, but whatever.” Slowly, Reaver lowered his middle finger. “I have a feeling this mountain formed as a way to guard Malec’s tomb, but these types of Gyrms can’t be summoned by Primal magic. They can only be sent by a Primal.” Slowly, I turned to the mouth of the cave. “You think Nyktos sent them? That he and ...

Casteel was silent for a moment. “I was thinking about what you said. If Nyktos could send Sentries to watch over Malec, wouldn’t he have known when Malec was entombed? Couldn’t he have prevented that?” Reaver was quiet for a moment. “The Primal of Life could have. Malec must have been weakened greatly to be entombed. Hurt. Both Nyktos and the Consort would’ve felt that. Neither intervened.” I stared at the casket, a general sense of unease returning. They sought to protect him but not free him. “Do you know why they didn’t?” Casteel asked. Reaver shook his head. “I don’t, but I imagine they had their reasons.”

“You’ll drink first,” he reminded me in a soft voice. His stare held mine. “From my chest first, and then from Kieran’s throat. We’ll each drink from each other after you. Then, we will both drink from your throat. We will need to be in constant contact with each other once you start drinking and then through the whole thing.”

He’d explained all of this. Because a wolven could not take in blood like an Atlantian, a blade was used to draw the essence from the Atlantian, and the mark was made near the heart at the center of the chest, roughly where I felt the eather throbbing restlessly in mine. Blood was taken from the wolven’s throat because they were a conduit of sorts, the bridge designed to link the lifespan of the Atlantian to their mate. But in our case, to link his with ours—theirs with mine. Blood was then drawn at the same time from the strongest one—the one who would hold both life forces. Me. Casteel’s gaze still fastened on to mine, he brushed his fingers over the curve of my cheek. “You need to speak the words I told you,” he instructed softly. I took a shallow breath, recalling them and what to do. “Do you, Casteel Da’Neer, enter this Joining freely and with will of your own, only your own?” I asked as I lifted my left hand. It trembled slightly. “I enter this Joining freely and with will of only my own,” he said, taking my left hand in his. The nightbirds fell silent. I lifted my right hand. “Do you, Kieran Contou, enter this Joining freely and with will of your own, only your own?” “I enter this Joining freely and with will of only my own.” Kieran’s warm right hand enveloped mine, and he brought our joined hands to the center of my chest where Casteel’s ring had once rested between my breasts. The air stilled around us. And with the last words needing to be spoken—it was only a ha...