Chapter Text
Poppy
For the second time in my life, I had been taken from those I loved and fearing for their safety. I was being kept in a dark, cold cell, bound by stone shackles around my wrists attached to chains that were bolted to the floor. I tested the length of the shackles. I could straighten my arms, but very little slack remained. My movement was really limited, and that worried me. A chain of bone connected one wrist to another,, leaving a sickening familiar cold throughout my body. From my place in the center of the cell, I couldn’t help but remember the chains that Alastir and Jansen had bound me in not that long ago.
Except this time, I knew exactly who I was and what power I held. Unfortunately so did my captor— Queen Ileana, head of the Blood Crown. But I’d been lied to. A lie that led to my capture. Ileana was really Isbeth, a fact that I still had a difficult time accepting. We’d all believed that Isbeth was long dead, just a remnant of history. She was the reason for the War of Two Kings, she had held him prisoner, she now had me. She was perhaps the ultimate liar; a murderer, a conspirator, and much more.
But worse yet, she was my mother. A thought that I had yet to accept as truth—I was the product of her and Ires, Malec’s twin. Eloana must have known who Ileana truly was, and she let him and me walk in blind. And now, no matter what my situation may be, he was dealing with the aftermath. At least Kieran would be with him , at least he was safe and far away from Isbeth.
He would never be held captive by her again if I could help it , I vowed to myself.
I looked down, and there just above the white bone shackles were sixteen long cuts running along the veins in my arms.
Once a day a group of Handmaidens came to take my blood—for what purpose, I didn’t know. But I could guess. Each bore the same strange face paint and dressed in all black, performing their task never uttering a word. But I would keep taking it, so long as it wasn’t him in my place. So long as these chains weren’t around him—the image of it was enough to cause each beat of my heart to mimic the stab of a knife.
The pain in my chest had long overshadowed the pain in my body, in my wrists where the barbs of the bone chains had delved into the skin. The wall stood too far away for me to use as a brace for my exhausted body, but the bone chains allowed enough movement that I could lay on my back with each arm resting next to my sides.
There had been at least several days that passed before the first Handmaidens came to draw my blood. I wasn’t exactly sure how many. Two days? A week? Time was tricky in the dark cells, and I couldn’t afford precious energy trying to keep track of it.
The years of my childhood I had spent in Carsodonia, under the care of Isbeth, I’d learned of the tunnel system beneath the city. I figured it was the only logical place they could be keeping me. It was where they had kept him for fifty years.
I closed my eyes, and I couldn’t keep my thoughts away from him . Just thinking his name was enough to cleave my heart, so I did all I could to avoid it. But I had promised myself that I would do all I could so that I could see him again. I was no stranger to pain or never-ending hours of solitude, but this was something entirely new.
I had no semblance of an idea of what to expect from the Blood Queen. The Ileana I had known as when I was a child was kind, caring for me after the craven attack in Lockswood. The revelation that she was both my mother and the mistress of Malec was almost more than I could take. I couldn’t even begin to approach and comprehend the idea that Ires was my father, and that he and Malec were the sons of Nyktos and the Consort.
How was he handling the news that I’m not who we thought I was? He had accepted and even looked past it when we assumed Malec was my father, but all of this? It was nearly too much for me.
I opened my eyes and looked at my hands resting on the dirt covered ground. In the darkness, I almost couldn’t see the shimmer of the golden swirl of the marriage bond across my left palm.
Cas .
It was the first time I let myself think of his name.
Casteel.
My husband.
My heartmate .
I closed my fingers over the imprint, squeezing my fist tight, as if I could somehow conjure up an image of him to replace how I last saw him. Erase the sound of his screams. I wanted to see him as he had been on the ship, that mischievous glint in his amber eyes. I wanted memories of wicked fingers, strong arms, and the feeling of his skin on mine. My eyes closed once more, yet all I saw was the pain contorting his face, blood seeping from his ears.
Gods, I was going to rip the bitch of a Queen to pieces when I got free. One way or another, I would get free of this place and ensure that everything she had ever inflicted on Casteel, she’d experience tenfold.
My eyes snapped open at the faint sound of footsteps. This wasn’t right. Only a few hours could have passed since the last time the Handmaidens had cut into me. Unease settled in my chest as I rose from my position on the floor.
I focused on the sound of the footfalls, trying to judge how many and who were coming. Gods, I’d never been more envious of Casteel’s hearing than now.
A Handmaiden strode through the entryway first, nearly blending into the darkness, her gilded skirts swirling around her legs. With a strike of steel against flint, a flame caught the wick of the candle on the wall, where the other had long since burned out.
Four more Handmaidens entered as the first continued to light several more candles, their features obscured behind the winged, black paint.
All five stood on either side of the arched doorway, and I knew in my gut who was coming. My stare fixed on the opening, the scent of rose and vanilla reached me. Rage, hot and unending, consumed my chest.
Then she walked in, dressed as the complete opposite of her Handmaidens.
White. The bitch wore a skintight gown that was a pristine, nearly translucent white and left very little to the imagination. Disgust twisted my face. Other than the hint of red to the hair reaching a cinched, narrow waist, she looked nothing like me.
At least that’s what I kept telling myself.
I was nothing like the monster who claimed to have given birth to me.
She drew closer, and I still had no idea how I hadn’t realized she wasn’t Ascended. Those eyes were as dark and soulless as any vampry’s, but there was still something different about her. Stinging anger gnawed at me. The knowledge of who she really was might not have changed the outcome, but it certainly would’ve affected every aspect of how we approached dealing with her. Gods, we’d have been better prepared, knowing that centuries-old revenge drove the Blood Queen’s actions. She truly was capable of anything .
She wasn’t alone either. A tall male sauntered in behind her, looking like a walking lit candle. He was golden, from the hair to the matching facial paint across his face. His eyes resembled that of the Handmaidens, a blue so pale they appeared nearly colorless. Another Revenant.
He remained by the entryway, his weapons not nearly as hidden as the Handmaidens’. A black dagger lay strapped to his chest and two swords secured to his back, the curved handles peaking above his shoulders. My attention shifted back to the Blood Queen.
The limited candlelight glittered off the diamonds in the ruby crown atop her head as Isbeth focused on me.
“Oh, Penellaphe, you’ve certainly looked better,” disapproval filled her words.
“Like I care what you think,” I sneered. “I’m not here for your motherly —” I spat the word “—advice.”
Her lips curved in a slight smile, a ripple of sugary amusement hitting my tongue. “At least you acknowledge that I’m your mother.”
I rose to my knees, my arms at my sides and I could feel the slight pricking from the barbs nestled in the bone shackle as the chain began to stretch. “You are not, nor will you ever be, my mother,” I scoffed. “My real mother was Coralena.”
Tension bracketed her mouth as she narrowed her eyes slightly. “I’m not here to discuss Coralena.”
“Then why are you here?” Isbeth turned away, drifting towards the wall.
“Just so you know,” she began, sending a small smile over her shoulder, “I didn’t hate Eloana at first. She loved Malec, but he loved me. I didn’t envy her. I pitied her.”
I remained silent, wondering what kind of point she was trying to make.
“I do hate her now, though.” She declared, righting a candle that had fallen. Her fingers drifted through the flame, causing it to ripple wildly. “With every fiber of my being.” Smoke wafted from the flame she’d touched, turning a dark, thick black that brushed against the damp stone of the wall, staining it.
I stared at the smoke. That wasn’t even remotely normal. “What the hell are you?”
Isbeth’s gaze shot to me, pursing her lips. “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, the beginning of annoyance bleeding into her words.
Casteel hadn’t told me enough of Atlantian children’s stories, I knew nothing of what she claimed. If only he was here, he might know.
But I was glad he was far from the castle and its dungeons.
As if sensing where my thoughts had taken me, Isbeth spoke again with the authority of a ruler, “Your dear husband has sent me a message.”
My lips parted as the golden Revenant carefully tipped the sack, and a…godsdamn head rolled out. I immediately recognized the blond hair and square jaw.
King Jalara.
Holy fuck.
“As you can see, it was a very interesting message,” Isbbeth stated blandly.
I couldn’t believe I was staring at the Blood King’s head. A slow smile spread across my face. Gods, Casteel…maybe I was becoming more like him, because I deeply wished I had been there to witness his violence. He was magnificent , and I could not wait to show him just how much I approved of his actions. “That’s…gods, that’s my King.”
Surprise widened the golden Revenants eyes, but I reveled in the message Casteel had sent, and I knew Isbeth could see the grin on my face.
“I’m glad you find this entertaining,” she remarked coolly.
My grin deepened, “That is the best godsdamn thing I’ve seen in a long time.”
“Your language is unbecoming, regardless…” she waved her hand dismissively. “That was only a part of the message he sent.”
“There was more?”
Isbeth nodded. “There were quite a few threats included with it.”
“I’m sure.” I laughed softly, wishing I could have seen it. There wasn’t a single part of me that doubted it had been Casteel’s hand who’d ended Jalara’s life.
The Blood Queen’s nostrils flared. “But there was one warning in particular that interested me.” She knelt in a slow slide that reminded me of the cold-blooded serpents I hated. No doubt she was just as venomous. “Unlike you and Casteel, Malec and I were never granted the privilege of the marriage imprint—proof that either of us lived or died. And you know that not even the bond shared between heartmates can alert the other of death. I have spent the last several hundred years believing that Malec was dead.”
Every ounce of humor vanished.
“But it appears I have been mistaken. Casteel claims that not only is Malec alive, but that he knows where he is.” The golden Revenant cocked his head as he focused on her again. Isbeth appeared unaware of the action. Her dark eyes fixed on me. “Is it true? Does he live?”
Casteel…he really wasn’t messing around. “It’s true,” I replied softly. “He lives.”
Her slender body practically hummed at the revelation. “Where is he, Penellaphe?”
I leaned forward as far as I could, “Come on, Isbitch , you should know there is nothing you can do that will make me tell you that.”
She eyed me quietly for several long moments. “You’d do anything for Casteel?”
“Anything,” I promised.
Isbeth rose to her full height, looking at me with an emotion I couldn’t decipher, and I was too afraid of what I’d feel should I reach out with my senses.
“You deserve to have someone who cares for you as fiercely as you care for them.” She closed her eyes and I could see the shift in her, her entire body stilling before a cruel smile twisted her lips. “Too bad he isn’t here in your place, I immensely enjoyed his company last time.”
The rage that had previously settled in my chest expanded and flooded my system. I surged to my feet, and grimaced at the sharp pain in my wrists when the length of the chain fell short. “You will never lay another hand on him again.”
Isbeth smirked and raised a hand toward me. I pulled away and stepped back as much as the bone chains would allow, but I didn’t get far. Her expression faltered for a short moment before she once again schooled her features. I shut down my senses, I didn’t want to know what she was feeling.
Her cruel smile returned, “Oh, Penellaphe, I don’t have to touch him to achieve what I want. I just have to apply the right pressure.” She moved to exit the cell, her group of Handmaidens and the golden male, with the head of Jalara, in tow
She stopped just outside the archway, before turning back to me, “We both know Casteel will do anything for you.”
I launched forward, ignoring the bite of pain when the chains stopped me. Fuck her . I pulled against the chains, not caring about the damage it caused. I was going to kill her, and take my time doing it.