A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire(47)

He rose. “Poppy—”

“I can help,” I repeated, coming to my feet. “You know I can. Why shouldn’t I?” I raised my brows when he didn’t answer. “There’s no good reason for why I shouldn’t.”

“Other than that you were just injured?” he suggested.

“I’m fine, thanks to you.” My hands opened and closed at my sides. “You know I hated not being able to use my abilities before, being forced to do nothing when I can help people. Don’t do that to me.”

“I’m not trying to do that to you.”

“Then what are you trying to do?” I demanded. “These are your people. I want to help them. Let me do that.”

“You don’t understand.” He thrust a hand through his hair. “The people here don’t know you. They don’t—”

“Trust me? Like me? I already knew that, Casteel. I don’t need either of those things. That’s not why I want to use my abilities.”

Casteel fell quiet and stared at me for so long that I braced for an argument. “Then you should get changed,” he said, turning away. “I’ll get jealous if anyone else sees how pretty your legs are.”





Chapter 17





I found myself in borrowed clothing once more as Casteel and I left the room. The heavy sweater was a deep, forest green, warm and soft, but this time, the pants were a size or two too big. Gathered around my waist with gold rope, the breeches were baggy through the entire leg. I was positive the tie was normally used to hold curtains back from a window. I felt a little foolish, like a small child playing dress-up in adult’s clothing, but I wasn’t going to complain. The clothes were warm and clean, smelling of lemongrass.

As we reached the bottom of the stairway, Casteel took my hand in his. A charge of awareness seemed to pass between our joined palms, traveling up my arm. I glanced up at Casteel in surprise.

He stared down at me, lips parted enough that I could see the hint of fangs. The amber hue of his eyes was luminous in the dim stairwell.

“Sparks,” he murmured.

“What?”

Smiling slightly, he shook his head. “Come. There is something I want to give you when you’re done with the injured.”

Casteel pushed open the door before I could further question him about what he’d meant or what he planned to give me.

People huddled around the open doors of the front entrance of the keep, staring out. Wind had blown in a dusting of snow, but no one seemed too aware of the cold air creeping in.

“What are they looking at?” I asked.

“Something unexpected,” Casteel replied, and my brows knitted in a frown.

Now beyond curious, I started toward the doors. Casteel didn’t stop me. Becoming aware of the Prince’s arrival, the people parted, bowing at the waist, their pale faces and distracted gazes returning to the outside.

Walking forward, I saw more standing outside, arms wrapped tightly around their waists. They faced the stable. As the bright morning rays stretched across the snow-covered ground, we rounded the corner of the keep.

I came to a complete stop, my hand going lax in Casteel’s grip.

Ahead of us, where the space had been emptied, where Lord Chaney had found me the night before, was a tree.

My gaze lifted, following the wide, glistening bark and over the thick limbs stretching as tall as the keep, heavy with leaves gleaming crimson in the bright morning sun.

This was no freshly planted sapling. The tree was well rooted, as if it had stood there for decades, if not hundreds of years. Moisture seeped through the bark, beaded and rolled slowly to the tips of the leaves, falling in droplets of red, splashing against the snow.

A blood tree.

“How?” I whispered even though no one knew how the trees in the Blood Forest grew, why they bled. Why did one grow here overnight, where one hadn’t stood before?

“They’re saying it’s an omen,” Casteel answered quietly.

“Of what?”

“That the gods are watching.” His grip tightened on my hand as I shivered. “That even though they still slumber, they are signaling that a great change is coming.”





“Did you happen to forget about the blood tree?” I asked as we returned to the keep. “And that’s why you didn’t mention it?”

“To be honest, I had more pressing concerns.”

I arched a brow. “Really? What is more pressing than an omen sent by the gods?”

“You waking up uninjured was more pressing than a vague, rather unhelpful message from the gods,” he replied as we entered the banquet hall, and I almost tripped.

“You cannot be serious,” I stated.

He frowned. “I’m completely serious.”

There was no way he was being honest. The omen was far more important than anything that had to do with me. When was the last time the gods had sent any sort of message? There was nothing in the history books, and even if there had been, it was doubtful it would’ve been accurate.

But there was something more pressing than the blood tree, and it was what awaited us here.

The injured had been placed in a room adjacent to the banquet hall. Before the doors even opened, I could feel the pain radiating through the stone walls. My pulse tripped, even though my steps didn’t slow.

Casteel stepped in before me, and was immediately greeted by Alastir.

“I see you’ve returned,” Casteel said as I took in the room, thoughts of the blood tree fading. Six cots were set up, all of them occupied by men, except the last one. Red stained the bandage around her neck. I recognized her. One of the knights had grabbed her, and I was surprised to see that she had survived. But her skin was only a shade away from death, and she was impossibly still. An older woman sat beside her, hands pressed together as her lips moved in a silent prayer.

“And I see I should’ve returned earlier,” Alastir commented.

“You returned soon enough, according to Elijah.” Casteel clasped the older wolven’s hand. “I heard you and your men took care of the rest of the knights.”

Alastir nodded absently as he surveyed the room, lips set in a thin line. “Damn them. These people didn’t deserve this.”

“The Ascended will pay.”

“Will they?” Alastir asked.

“It is a promise that won’t be broken,” Casteel answered.

Alastir let out a shuddering breath as he turned to me. “I’m glad to hear that you were safely returned, Penellaphe, and that they were unsuccessful in their attempts to retrieve you.”

Unsure of what he’d been told, I nodded as I murmured my thanks. My skin buzzed with the need to move forward. Only one, the woman, seemed to have moved beyond pain. I twisted to Casteel.

Catching my eye, he nodded. I hurried forward, to the first man. He was an older gentleman with more gray than black in his hair. I didn’t know what his injuries were, but his unfocused gray eyes tracked me. I opened myself, sucking in a sharp breath as anguish, both mental and physical, came from the beds and those perched beside them. It crowded out the air, choking and suffocating. My gaze briefly swept to the woman and then to the elder beside her. Some would not leave this room. Others knew this. Hands giving in to a slight tremor, I focused on the man before me.

“I’m sorry about what was done to you,” I whispered, and the man said not a word as I placed my hand on his.

Normally, it took a few moments for me to call upon the kind of memories that led to the easing of pain. I’d think of the sandy beaches of the Stroud Sea, of holding my mother’s hand. But this time, I felt warmth in the skin of my palm. I didn’t have to pull upon anything, only thought of taking the pain. I knew the moment my gift reached him. His mouth went lax as his chest rose with a deeper, steadier breath. I held his hand until the clouds left his eyes. He stared, but did not speak, and neither did the man beside him, one too young to carry the haunted look in his eyes. I eased his pain from whatever wounds the blanket covered and from what ran deeper. Grief. Raw and potent.

“Who did you lose?” I asked once he’d stopped trembling, aware that no one was speaking. Not Alastir. Not Casteel, who shadowed me through the room.

“My…my grandfather,” he said hoarsely. “How did you…how did you know?”

Shaking my head, I placed his arm by his side. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Eyes followed me as I made my way to the next man and knelt. In the back of my mind, I wondered if it was Casteel’s blood that made it easier for me to use my gift or if it was because of the Culling. Either way, I was happy to find that it worked with little effort. Continuing to dwell upon happier times was not easy when death clouded the room.

The man before me was slipping in and out of consciousness, twitching and moaning softly as I placed my hand on his, channeling my energy into him. His sweat-dampened brows smoothed out within seconds.

“What did you do?” a young woman demanded as she fell to her knees beside the man, dropping an armful of clean towels. “What did she do?”

“It’s okay.” Casteel placed a hand on her shoulder. “She only eased his pain long enough for Magda to return.”

“But how…?” She trailed off, her brown eyes widening as she placed a hand over her chest.