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

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

I was not prepared. This is going to crush my soul.

The Craven twisted its head down, sinking its fangs into my calf. Its teeth tore through the breeches and into flesh and muscle. Air hissed between my gritted teeth as fiery pain burned its way up my leg. Worth it. The pain was more than worth it. I would spend an eternity taking these bites if that meant she was safe. That it wasn’t her in this cell. That she wasn’t the one in pain.

STOP

Breathing heavily, I looked down. Just below the shadowstone bands, shallow slices ran up the insides of my arms, past both elbows and over the veins. I counted them. Again. Just to be sure. Thirteen. Thirteen days had passed since the first time the Handmaidens swarmed this cell, dressed in black and as quiet as a tomb. They came once a day to cut into my flesh, siphoning my blood as if I were a damn barrel of fine wine.

Only one of them actually stayed dead, though.

Not all of the Blood Queen’s Handmaidens were Revenants.

However, the cell was windowless like before, and the dank, musty smell told me they once again held me underground.

I’d always assumed it was due to an Ascended getting greedy and leaving mortals they’d fed on to turn. Now, I was beginning to think the Craven were possibly being kept down here. Wherever here was. And if that were the case, and they could get out and get aboveground, so could I.

One way or another, I would get free and make sure she felt everything she had ever inflicted upon Poppy. Tenfold.

The Blood Queen. Ileana. Isbeth. Better known as one soon-to-be-dead bitch.

I. Love. Casteel. POV

“You look like shit.”

“Yeah, but I can clean up. You?” I smiled, noting the tightening in the skin around her mouth. “You can’t wash off that stench or feed that away. That shit is inside you.”

“You killed him?” A savage rush of satisfaction hit me. “Yeah, I did.” “Did you make it hurt?” “What do you think?” “You did.” She turned away, drifting toward the wall as the two Handmaidens returned, silently taking up their posts by the door. “Good.” A dry laugh left me. “And I’ll do the same to you.”

“What in the hell are you?” “I am nothing more than a myth. A cautionary tale once told to Atlantian children to make sure they didn’t steal what they didn’t deserve,” she said, looking over her shoulder at me. “Are you a lamaea?”

“Where is he, Casteel?”

“Come on, Isbitch,” I whispered, leaning forward as far as I could. “You should know there is literally nothing you can do that will make me tell you that. Not even if you brought my brother in here and started cutting off pieces of his skin.”

ISBITCH

Isbeth thought she could control Poppy through me, but my stunning, vicious wife had checkmated her ass, and there was no way in hell I would jeopardize that.

The golden Rev stepped around Jalara’s head, careful not to brush against it. My gaze snapped to him. “I don’t know you, but I’m going to kill you, too, one way or another. Just thought I should let you know that.” He hesitated, his head cocking to the side. “If you only knew how many times I’ve heard that,” he said, a slight smile forming as he withdrew a slender shadowstone blade from the strap across his chest. “But you’re the first I think might actually succeed.”

Twenty-three days had passed since he’d given himself over to a monster who’d made him feel like a thing. Since I’d last seen him. Saw his golden eyes heat. Witnessed the dimple form first in his right cheek and then his left. Felt the touch of his flesh against mine or heard his voice. Twenty-three days.

“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.

“But not as old as the first mortal, birthed from the flesh of a Primal and the fire of a draken.”

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.”

I swear if it turns out to be stale lilacs…

“What is it that you wait for?” She straightened in short, jerky movements. “The one who was Blessed.” I stiffened. “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.”

“You.” The hem of the lacy veil fluttered. “I wait for you. I wait for death.”

Thirty days.

“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.

The wedding band made in Spessa’s End shone a lustrous gold, matching the one I wore. Always and forever. The same message was inscribed on both. Neither of us had removed our rings since the ceremony. And this one hadn’t been now, either, for it remained on the finger I had placed it on.

That was his ring. That was his finger. That was a piece of him.

“If you think that Granddaddy is the true Primal of Life and the true Primal of Death, then you know nothing.”

The consort👁️👁️