A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire (Blood and Ash Book 2)
A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire: Chapter 7

With all the stress and trauma of the last several days, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that the past found me in my sleep. Still, it was a shock to the senses.

Blood was everywhere. Splattered against the walls, running down them in thin rivulets, and pooling along the dusty wooden floor—under the lumps on the floor, misshapen and not right. The air was thick with the scent of metal. A smear of blue in the lamplight caught my gaze. A shirt. Hadn’t the funny man who’d served our food that evening been wearing a blue shirt? Mr. La…Lacost? He told us stories about the family of mice that lived in the barn out back, who’d made friends with the kitties. I’d wanted to see them, but Papa had taken us back to our rooms. He hadn’t been smiling or laughing at dinner. He hadn’t since we left. He’d sat at the table, his gaze darting to the window in between every quick bite of food.

But Mr. Lacost’s chest and stomach looked strange to me as I stood there, trembling. No longer round, it was sunken, jagged—

“Don’t look, Poppy. Don’t look over there,” came Momma’s hushed voice as she pulled on my hand. “We must hide. Hurry.”

She pulled me down the narrow hallway, her hand wet against mine. “I want Papa—”

“Shh. We must be quiet.” Her voice shook, sounding too thin. The arms of her dress were torn, the pale pink streaked with crimson. Momma was hurt, and I didn’t know what to do. “We must be quiet so Papa can come and replace us.”

I didn’t understand how being quiet would help Papa come to us. It was dark in the room we entered, and the sounds, the ragged breaths and moans, the continuous shouts and cries were loud. Papa had gone outside when they came, went out there with the strange man who’d seemed to know him. I wanted my papa. I wanted Ian, but he had left with the woman who smelled like sugar and vanilla—

A shrill sound pierced the darkness. Momma tugged hard on my hand, yanking me down to where she crouched. She opened a large cupboard behind me as someone screamed. Pots clattered off the floor as Momma tore them from inside the closet.

“Get in, Poppy. I need you to get in and be very quiet, okay? I need you to be as silent as a mouse, no matter what. Do you understand?”

Looking behind me at the small hole of darkness, I shook my head. Momma wouldn’t fit in there. “I wanna stay with you.”

“I’ll be right here.” Her hands touched my cheek. Her skin was damp as she turned my head towards her. “I need you to be a big girl and listen to me. You have to hide—”

The high-pitched howl came again, and I clamored for her, clutching at her sides. My fingers dug into the sticky waist of her dress. “You have to let go, baby. You need to hide, Poppy.”

I held tighter, feeling wet warmth coursing down the sides of my face.

Momma jerked at the sound of something—a voice. Someone spoke, but my heart pounded too loudly in my ears for me to hear. It sounded like a rushing fall of water, and the nightmare sounds were louder, closer. Then, there was a voice again. And Momma, her hands were wetter, stickier…

Someone knocked a lamp over somewhere. Glass shattered. Momma yelled as her arms folded around me, the words mushed together, making little sense except for one—

Screams. Someone was shrieking. Momma? She was torn from me, her hands sliding down my arms, her fingers catching mine and then slipping. A body crashed into us—me—and I tottered to the side, losing my hold of Momma. Fiery pain sliced across my face, stunning me. I fell back. Hands grabbed at me. Hands that were too heavy. Hands that hurt. I screamed—

There was a voice again, somewhere in the darkness, living under the screams.

What a pretty little flower.

What a pretty poppy.

Pick it and watch it bleed.

Not so pretty any longer…

Poppy.

I jerked awake, a scream ringing in my ears, burning my throat as I gasped for air, struggling to move but unable. My arms were trapped against my sides, my legs tangled in thick warmth. My eyes peeled open, and it took a moment for my surroundings to make sense. I focused on the steady thumping under my cheek as I slowly dug out the thorns of panic and fear.

Faint gray light seeped in through the narrow window across from the bed. I wasn’t at the inn, being ripped and torn into. I was in the keep, in bed, with a warm, hard chest against my cheek, a hand that continuously smoothed over my hair, a voice that whispered my name over and over, telling me it was okay, promising me that it was safe. I was nestled in his lap, held tightly to his chest as if he tried to keep the tremors at bay with his hold alone.

Casteel.

Reality came back to me in pieces as the disorientation from the nightmare eased, and I began to realize that he was slowly rocking us.

I knew I needed to pull away, should put some distance between us, but something about his embrace was grounding. Something that felt inexplicably right in the aftermath of the blood and terror. Maybe it was because I often woke alone after the nightmares, shaken and terrified, especially after Ian left for the capital. And even with my screams often waking Tawny, I never allowed such…comfort. I’d always been too embarrassed to seek it from my lady’s maid. But there wasn’t another option now, and it was the first time I’d ever been relieved to have the choice taken from me. I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of Casteel’s body soak into mine.

A hint of shame sifted through me even though he’d known about the nightmares. Vikter had warned him about them, and I knew that Vikter had done so not for Casteel’s benefit but mine. Sorrow tightened my chest. I missed Vikter, missed him so badly, and waking from these blood-soaked nightmares, the loss was raw.

But embarrassment also warmed my skin. How incredibly silly Casteel must think me to be suffering nightmares so many years later. I started to pull away. “I’m sorry,” I said, wincing at the hoarseness of my voice. Only the gods know what kind of sounds I must’ve made to scratch my throat so raw. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“When I was younger and I left Atlantia for the first time, I saw a Craven outside a small village. I’d never seen anything scarier in my entire life. I didn’t think there could be anything worse out there.” Casteel’s arms tightened around me. “Having been in its state for quite some time, it looked like a walking corpse. It was far more terrifying than anything my imagination could’ve created when I was a child. And hearing the way it wailed? I swore it would haunt my sleep, and it did. For weeks, even far away from any Craven, I woke in the middle of the night, swearing I heard it screaming.”

The tremors were subsiding as he curved his hand around the back of my head. “But then I was captured. And the worst part? It was my fault. I was still young and foolish. I thought I could solve everything by taking out King Jalara and Queen Ileana myself. I truly believed I could do it. I got close—near enough to make my move. Obviously, I failed. And then I learned what true terror was. You asked me earlier what they did to me. They refused me blood, kept me on the edge, giving me just enough to survive—sometimes barely, but the constant low supply affected my ability to heal.”

Bile crept up my throat, but I said nothing as I stayed in his arms.

“It takes a long time for that effect to occur, and they knew it. They didn’t brand me before they knew the mark would remain.” His chest rose against me. “When the ones they brought in to feed me were close to dying, no longer able to serve their purpose, they killed them right in front of me. Sometimes slowly, putting the same nicks and cuts into their skin until they died. Other times, they snapped their necks. But there were times that I was so hungry that I…” He swallowed. “It was me that tore into their throats and killed them. And they’d leave their bodies in there with me to rot. For days. Weeks. Nothing for me to stare at but the person I’d killed. Nothing to think about but what kind of life they’d lived before that moment, and what kind of future I’d stolen from them. Sometimes, the bodies would pile up, left in there long after the stench had passed.”

Oh, my gods.

My eyes were open but unseeing as I listened to him. Was this also a part of the grief he carried with him? If so, I could understand why. All the terrible things he’d done or caused didn’t matter in that moment. I couldn’t imagine the suffering he must’ve endured. No one deserved that. Even those whose actions warranted death didn’t deserve to be tortured, used, and abused.

And to be haunted by nightmares decades later? Centuries later? I didn’t think I could deal with a hundred years of reliving the night the Craven attacked.

There was an emptiness to his voice as he continued. “And they did things to me—things that caused reactions I couldn’t control. Females. Males. They made me—” He stopped, and I could feel his head shake. “I learned what true fear was.”

A shuddering breath left me. “I…I’m sorry. I wish—”

“You have nothing to apologize for. It wasn’t you, and I don’t want that from you.” His fingers curled around my hair. “I don’t want pity.”

“I don’t pity you,” I told him. “And I know I’m not responsible for what happened to you—and neither are you, even if your actions led to your capture. I still feel horrible for what was done to you.”

“I don’t want you to feel that. I just want you to know that I had nightmares, Poppy. For years after being freed, I woke in the middle of the night, thinking I was still in that cage, shackled by my wrists and ankles. Sometimes, things I did after being freed follow me into sleep.”

His hand slid to my cheek, guiding my head back so my eyes met his. “So, I know all about how the past doesn’t remain where it should. How it likes to pay visits when you’re at your weakest. There is never a need to apologize, nor should you ever feel shame.”

My heart twisted even as some of the discomfort lessened. “How…how did you survive what you did?”

“I don’t think you’ll like the answer,” he said after a moment, looking away. “I promised myself that when I escaped, I would eventually watch the life seep from the soulless eyes of Queen Ileana and King Jalara.” He dropped his hand. “That’s how I survived.”

I swallowed at the utter coldness of his tone. “Revenge, then.” When he nodded, I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to feel about what he’d said. Was I supposed to think poorly of him? I still didn’t know how to reconcile what he’d told me about the Queen and what I knew, what I’d seen.

“How did you survive, Poppy?” His gaze swept back to mine, lashes lowered halfway. “How have you not let the night of the Craven attack make you afraid of everything? Because you are fearless, whether it be facing a swarm of Craven, staring into the eyes of a wolven, or when you push back at me, even knowing what I am.”

His question caught me off guard, as did the knowledge that he saw me as fearless. “I…it’s not that I’m without fear. I do fear things.”

Interest sparked in his golden eyes. “I don’t believe that.”

There was no way I’d admit to him that I feared myself more than I could ever fear a Craven, wolven, or even him. “I survived because I refused to ever be helpless again. That kept me from caving to the fear. That’s what helped me push through the pain of training with Vikter—the aches and bruises.” I thought of the brand on Casteel’s thigh, the pain he must have endured for something like that to scar when he healed so easily. “I can understand how the need for revenge helped you survive.”

His head tilted as his lashes lifted, revealing his bright, intense gaze. “Is that how you’re surviving right now? Picturing all the ways you will kill me?”

No. I wasn’t thinking that at all. Maybe I should be, but I wasn’t.

Slipping out of his embrace, I scooted over to my side of the bed. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and replace out.”

A half-grin appeared, revealing the dimple in his right cheek. Too soon, it faded. “Do you remember anything from the nightmare?”

“I’m really trying not to think about it,” I admitted, tugging the heavy blanket up to my chest.

He reclined back on an elbow, and my gaze dipped from his eyes to the lean length of his stomach. “You were speaking in your sleep.”

“What?” That jerked my traitorous eyes back to his.

Casteel nodded. “You were saying something that reminded me of a…disturbing nursery rhyme, to be honest. Something about a pretty flower.”

The moment those words left his mouth, the nightmare came back in a rush of startling clarity. “What a pretty poppy. Pick it and watch it bleed,” I murmured. “Not so pretty any longer.”

“Yes. That.” An eyebrow rose. “And it’s as disturbing as it was the first time around.”

“I can’t believe I was saying that.”

“Neither could I when I heard it,” he commented. “Has someone said that to you before?”

“I…” My brows furrowed as I shook my head. “I don’t know. Sometimes, the nightmares I have of that night aren’t exactly how things happened, but I don’t remember ever hearing that before.” I curled my fingers around the collar of the nightgown. “And I…I try not to think about it when I wake up. I could’ve heard it before and forgotten. Sometimes, it’s—”

“Disorientating,” he finished for me.

I nodded, sifting through what I remembered. Nausea rose as I did. I could almost smell the blood, feel my mother’s wet hand against— “Someone spoke to my mother. In my nightmare. There was a voice right before the Craven reached us.” My eyes widened. “I think it was the one who said the thing about the flower, and my mother responded. But I…”

Frustration ate at me as I tried to make sense of the garbled word I’d thought she said. It could’ve been more than one word. I could almost see her lips moving, but it could also be a false memory. “I don’t… I can’t remember.”

“Maybe it will come to you later.”

“Maybe.” I sighed. “But I don’t even know if what I heard was real.”

“It might not be. Sometimes, things in the past seem to overlap one another in dreams. My capture often gets mixed up with Malik’s.” He eased onto his back, his eyes on the exposed beams of the ceiling. “The night of the Craven attack isn’t the only ordeal you’ve been through.”

My fingers slipped from the neckline of my gown. I knew at once that he was referring to the Duke. Heat crept up my throat, and I hated the shame that caused it—the humiliation of what he did to me that I’d been unable to stop. And as I’d just learned, if anyone knew how that felt, it was Casteel. He’d had it far worse than me, though. “How did you replace out about the Duke? I never told you.”

“About his lessons?” Tension bracketed his mouth. “Duke Teerman was feared but not respected among his Royal Guards. It took only the smallest of compulsions for one of them to share what they knew.”

My mouth dried at the knowledge that he’d used compulsion, but it wasn’t that he’d done it that caused the reaction. It was the reminder of what he could do. That kind of ability was frightening—and awe-inspiring. And not using it whenever he could was also impressive. I doubted that I’d have that kind of strength of character.

I frowned.

Was I actually complimenting his character? The man who had lied, kidnapped me, and held me captive?

I obviously needed more rest.

“The thing you repeated in your sleep?” he said, jarring me from my thoughts. “It sounded like something the Duke might’ve said to you. It’s perverse enough for that bastard.”

Casteel was right. It was perverse enough for Duke Teerman. The voice had sounded familiar. Could he be right? Was it the two…ordeals overlapping? There were times I didn’t quite remember everything from the time spent in his private offices, when the pain of the canings had left me in a semi-lucid state.

“How often did he do it?” Casteel asked quietly. “Engage in his lessons?”

I clamped my mouth shut.

Casteel turned his head toward me. “I know what he did. I know that he wasn’t always alone. And I know that, sometimes, it only lasted a half an hour. Other times, the guard lost track of the time.” His features were sharp and stark. “And I know that he preferred to use the cane against bare flesh.”

Pressure clamped down on my chest at the image of Lord Mazeen holding my hands to the table, preventing me from covering my chest, stopping me from any shred of dignity. “Whenever he was disappointed in me,” I replied roughly. “He was often disappointed.”

His lips thinned. “If I had known that Lord Mazeen joined him, he would’ve been staked to that wall right alongside the Duke.”

I lifted my gaze to his. “I’m glad you didn’t. If you had, then I wouldn’t have gotten to see the look on his face when I sliced off his hand and then his head.”

Casteel stared at me, the corners of his lips curving up. His lips parted, and I saw a hint of his fangs. The dimple in his right cheek appeared, and then his left. I felt a curling motion in my stomach. “So incredibly violent, my Princess.”

The curl moved even lower. “I’m not your Princess.”

He chuckled as he turned his head away. “You think you can go back to sleep?” he asked. “We probably have a couple more hours before Kieran or someone will be banging on this door to make sure you haven’t found a way to murder me in the middle of the night.”

I rolled my eyes.

“As soon as the storm blows over, we’ll leave for Spessa’s End.”

I knew very little about Spessa’s End. Only that it was a small town similar to New Haven, sitting on the edge of Stygian Bay. It was the closest town to Pompay, the last Atlantian stronghold during the war. One of the Priestesses had told me that Stygian Bay was the gateway to the Temples of Eternity, overseen by Rhain, the god of Common Men and Endings. She’d described the Bay as black as the night sky.

Lying down, I turned onto my side, but I didn’t sleep. Instead, I stared at the dying flames, thinking of the Duke, the nightmare, and the knowledge that there would be little chance of escape between here and Spessa’s End.

“You’re not sleeping, are you?” Casteel asked sometime later.

“How did you know?”

“You’re rocking over there like you’re a babe being wooed to sleep.”

“I am not—” I swallowed a groan as I realized that I was doing exactly that. I stilled my lower half. “Sorry. It’s an old habit from when I was a child. I usually can’t sleep after the nightmares,” I admitted after a few seconds.

“Is that when you sneak off to explore the city?”

Since he couldn’t see me, I grinned. “Sometimes. It all depended on how late it was.”

“Well, there’s no city for you to explore,” he said, and I felt the bed shift as he moved. “I’m confident you remember how adept I am as a sleep aid.”

Sparks danced over my skin. Of course, I remembered the night in the Blood Forest, when he’d slipped his hand between my thighs, and for the first time in my life, I’d discovered what pure pleasure was. I tried to block those images. “That’s not necessary.”

“That’s disappointing.”

“That’s your problem—” I sucked in a sharp breath as I suddenly felt him against my back. I twisted. “What are you doing?”

“Holding you,” he answered, curving an arm over my waist.

My heart bounced like a child’s ball. “I don’t—”

“That’s all I’m doing,” he cut in. “I sometimes replace that being close to another helps me fall asleep.”

I wondered how he’d gained that knowledge. Instead, I asked, “Then why didn’t you suggest that in the Blood Forest?”

“Because this is not nearly as fun or interesting as what I did then,” he replied. “I do have that diary around here somewhere. You know, the one with the throbbing co—”

“I know exactly which journal you’re speaking of. And that won’t be necessary either.”

“That’s all so disappointing.” He settled his head behind mine as he all but pulled me down. “I need my sleep, and that’s not going to happen when it feels like I’m on a boat.” He paused. “A rickety one.”

“I wasn’t rocking that much!” I denied, wiggling to put space between us.

“I wouldn’t advise that,” he said, voice gruff as his arm tightened.

“Why?”

“Squirm a few more inches lower, and I’m sure you’ll replace out why.”

My eyes popped wide as I grew very, very still. Was he…? Was he aroused? Simply because he was lying in bed next to me? Was that all it took? After what we’d just talked about?

I bit down on my lower lip. Sometimes, all it took for me was to look at him, and I’d feel a certain way. Knowing that he could experience all the want and desire after what he went through was a relief. What he felt now had nothing to do with what had been done to him. What I felt when he touched me had nothing to do with how I felt when the Duke placed his hands on me. I knew that.

And I shouldn’t be shocked to discover that Casteel was attracted to me. That had been abundantly clear unless…that too had been an act.

No, I didn’t think it was an act.

There’d be no reason to force the attraction now, especially not when it was just us—

“I can practically hear the wheels of your brain turning, Princess,” he said.

“Why do you believe I’m thinking about anything?” I demanded.

“Because you couldn’t be stiffer. Sleep, Poppy. We have a lot to talk about tomorrow.”

The marriage.

Our future.

Two things that were irrelevant because the first was never going to happen, so there could be no future for us.

Besides, how was I supposed to sleep with him curled around me like one of those small, fluffy animals that lived in trees near the capital? What were they called? I couldn’t remember. I’d only seen drawings of them in a children’s book I’d once found in the Atheneum. They were cute and looked soft, but Vikter had once told me that they were vicious little creatures.

“Do you know what the fluffy animals are called that live in the trees near the capital?” I asked.

“What?”

“The ones that hang onto the limbs,” I explained. “They’re fluffy and cute, but are supposedly vicious.”

“Dear gods, do I even want to know why you’re thinking of the tree bears?”

“Tree bear?” My brow puckered. “That’s the name?”

“Poppy,” he sighed.

I rolled my eyes. “You remind me of a tree bear.”

“I would tell you that I’m offended, but that requires speaking, which means neither of us would be sleeping.”

“Whatever,” I muttered.

Lying there stiffly, I debated snatching the meat knife and stabbing him in the arm with it. That seemed like a bit of an overreaction, but it was one I’d enjoy, at least in the moment.

I didn’t know exactly when or how long it took, but somewhere between staring at the knife and doing everything not to rock, my eyelids grew heavy, and I did eventually sleep.

And I did not dream.