The War of Two Queens (Blood And Ash Series Book 4)
The War of Two Queens: Chapter 34

Poppy

“My sister?” There was no way I could’ve heard him right. I sat up as if that would somehow change what he’d said. “She can’t be my sister, Casteel.”

A warm vanilla taste gathered in my throat as he smoothed his thumb just under the scar on my left cheek. “She is, Poppy.”

There was like some sort of barrier that flat-out repelled the whole idea. “And you think this, all because she told you so?”

“Because she showed me,” he said gently. “Have you seen her without that mask painted on her face?”

I frowned. “No.”

“I have.” He trailed his thumb along the curve of my jaw. “I’ve seen what she looks like after she’s washed away the paint and dye.”

“Wait. Was she bathing in front of you?”

“Sort of.” One side of his lips curved up, and there was a hint of a dimple in his right cheek. “She, with little warning, straight-up dunked her head in the bath that had been brought into my cell.”

That sounded like an odd thing to do.

But then I remembered how she’d climbed into that chair and lay upside down for no reason whatsoever.

“Her hair isn’t black,” he continued, and I thought about the flatness of her hair color, how it had looked patchy in some areas. “It’s a very pale blond, nearly white.”

I jerked back as an image took hold—one of the woman I’d seen in those strange dreams or memories. The one I’d believed to be the Consort. She had hair so pale it reminded me of moonlight. My heart started pounding.

“And her face?” Casteel leaned in, sliding his hand to the nape of my neck. “She has your eyes, except the color is different. Her nose. The structure of her features. Even the tilt of her jaw.” His gaze searched mine. “She has way more freckles than you do, but she could almost pass for your twin, Poppy.”

I was staring at him again, caught in a storm of disbelief. Almost pass as my twin? If that were true, how could I not have seen it? But the mask—the facial paint—was thick and large, making it difficult to even tell what her bone structure was like.

But he couldn’t be right. Somehow, he’d been misled. Tricked.

Leaning back, I shook my head. “This doesn’t make any sense. Revenants are the third sons and daughters. And if she were my sister, then that means I have two more siblings. And she would be a goddess.”

“I thought the same thing at first—that she had to be a goddess. But she said she wasn’t. The only thing I can figure is that she didn’t survive the Culling, and Isbeth used her knowledge of the Revenants to save her,” he told me.

A ragged laugh left me, and Casteel’s concern gathered in my throat, rich and thick like cream. “She can’t—if she’s my sister…” I trailed off, throat clogging as I remembered her desperation—the hopelessness that felt a lot like what I’d sensed from Ires as a child. I swallowed hard. “She said she saw me when I was a child. If what she says is true, why wouldn’t she have said something?”

“Maybe she couldn’t. I don’t know.” Casteel brushed a few strands of my hair back. “But she is your sister.”

Could this really be true? Had Ian known? I remembered her shock when he was killed. Her sorrow. There’d been no other children in that castle other than Ian and me when we were younger, but she had also said that she was nearly as old as Casteel.

A sister?

Good gods, it just couldn’t be true—

What Isbeth had said came back to me. He was angry, but when we came together to make you, he was not forced. Neither time.

Neither time.

I hadn’t paid attention to those words then. Or maybe I’d just assumed she’d meant they’d only been together twice.

“If she is Isbeth’s daughter, then how is she okay with her father being caged?” I asked, my heart still racing. I knew Cas didn’t have the answer to that, but I couldn’t stop myself. “She has to know Isbeth has him somewhere. Does she not care? Is she just like her mother?”

“I don’t think she’s like Isbeth. If she hadn’t gone to Malik—”

“Malik.” I scrambled off the bed, turning to look for my clothing. “Malik would know.”

“Possibly.” Casteel stood, finding my shirt halfway under the bed. He seemed about to speak again but fell silent as he donned a black linen shirt that shouldn’t have been as loose on him as it was. I had to stop my worry from growing into something bigger. He would regain the weight he’d lost, along with his strength—faster than I even probably expected.

The pants left for me were definitely breeches. They fit, if a bit snugly, but I really didn’t want to walk about pantsless, so I wasn’t complaining. Someone had also loaned me a vest, one that had seven hundred tiny hooks running up the front. I slipped it on over the shirt and started the tedious work of hooking the clasps without missing one.

“Let me help.” Casteel came to me, his hands replacing my trembling fingers. It took him a moment to get used to not being able to use his pointer finger on his left hand, but he managed far more quickly than I.

The intimacy of his aid had a quieting effect on my mind. My thoughts stilled as I watched him work the tiny clasps into the hooks. There weren’t seven hundred of them. Possibly thirty. I wished there were seven hundred. Because this moment felt so normal, despite everything. Something couples might do every day.

Something I’d missed desperately.

The backs of his fingers brushed the swell of my breast as he finished the last couple of clasps. “Have I told you how much I love this particular item of clothing on you?”

“I believe you have.” I straightened the hem where it fit and flared slightly over my hips. “Anytime I wore a garment like this, I thought about how much you liked it.”

That dimple appeared again, and I didn’t think it was so stupid then. He trailed a finger along the curved-edge bodice of the vest. A tiny strip of lace had been stitched there, the same deep shade of gray as the vest. “I think I would love it even more without the shirt.”

“I bet you would,” I replied wryly. My breasts and stomach were already testing the limits of the clasps, doing very little to hide the deep cleavage peeking through the V-shaped neckline of the shirt. Without the shirt, the entire kingdom would get quite the eyeful.

His other dimple made an appearance as he gathered the sleeve that had come undone and began rolling it. “I know that what I just told you is a huge shock, and it’s only one of many in recent months,” he said, folding the sleeve around my elbow. “I know it’s going to mess with your head once you accept it as truth.”

It was already messing with my head.

“And that’s not something you need right now.” He moved on to the other sleeve, giving it the same treatment. “But I couldn’t keep that from you.”

I looked up at him. Dark, glossy waves had fallen over his forehead, nearly into his eyes. The smooth jawline was familiar, and the hollowness under his cheeks already less noticeable. For forty-five days, I’d dreamed of standing before him. I’d wanted nothing more than that, and he was here.

Once he was finished with the sleeve, I stretched up and kissed him softly. The striking lines of his face softened under my palm. “I don’t know what to even think or what to believe, but telling me was the right thing. I would’ve done the same if you had a random brother or sister out there, roaming about.”

He grinned. “I don’t think my familial ancestry is nearly as interesting as yours.”

I shot him an arch look as I stopped to pick up the sheathed dagger and strap it to my thigh.

Casteel waited at the door, his eyes a heated gold as he watched me. Slowly, his gaze lifted to mine. “I still find that dagger sheathed to your thigh wildly arousing.”

I smiled, joining him. “I still find that to be slightly disturbing.”

“Only slightly? I see my dysfunction is rubbing off on you.”

“That’s because you’re a bad influence.”

“Told you once before, my Queen.” He touched his thumb to my chin and then moved the hand to my lower back as he opened the door, causing my heart to flutter about. Gods, how I’d missed these little touches. “Only the already enticingly wicked can be influenced.”

I laughed as I stepped out into a coffee-scented hall and immediately came face-to-face with Kieran.

He’d been leaning against the wall and straightened upon seeing us. “I haven’t been out here long,” he said, his pale gaze flickering over both of us. “I was just coming to tell you guys that you needed to stop making out for five seconds.”

“Liar,” Casteel murmured with a grin. “You’ve probably been out here the whole time.”

Kieran didn’t respond, and Casteel went to him as my senses opened, stretching out to the wolven. The heaviness of worry had replaced the teasing amusement from when I had fed from him. He was still concerned about Casteel, but I didn’t think that was the only reason he’d lingered outside the chamber. I thought that perhaps he just needed to be near Casteel.

And I also thought that Casteel possibly sensed that somehow because when he went to Kieran, he pulled him into a tight embrace.

Seeing the two of them together, holding each other so tightly, brought a wealth of warmth to me. There was no bond between Casteel and Kieran—I’d broken that when I Ascended into my godhood. But the love they felt for each other went beyond any type of bond. Still, there was also a bit of sorrow because I doubted that Casteel had shared any of those gestures with his brother.

Nothing was said, but as always, there seemed to be some kind of silent communication between them, one that must’ve come from knowing one another for so long.

Casteel extended his arm to me. I came forward, placing my hand in his. He tugged me into his side, and a heartbeat later, Kieran’s other hand fisted in my hair. The air shuddered from me as I squeezed my eyes tight against the rush of tears—the rush of…sweet emotion. The simple gesture was a powerful reminder that this moment wasn’t just about them. It was about us.

I breathed deeply, feeling as if it were the first real breath I’d taken in weeks. My eyes closed as Casteel’s and Kieran’s warmth surrounded me and reached inside. To the cold place in the center of my being that I forced myself not to think about. It had heated in those moments when it was just Casteel and me and nothing between our bodies. Nothing in my mind but the feel of his skin against mine. The chilly emptiness had returned while I bathed him, though. Abated for only a little bit when I fed and what had come after. But it had returned as I’d dressed.

But now there was only warmth as I stood between them.

Kieran shifted, pressing his forehead to mine. “Not feeling tired or anything?” he asked, his voice low. “You think you got enough blood?”

I nodded, stepping back, but I didn’t make it very far. Casteel’s arm had tightened around my waist. “I need to speak with Malik.”

Casteel glanced down at me. “I told Kieran while you were sleeping.”

“Do you believe it?” I asked him.

“I didn’t at first, but I don’t see why she’d lie or how she could look so much like you.” Kieran turned. “Malik’s in the kitchen.”

“Still surprised he’s here,” Casteel said, and I tensed at the wariness in his tone.

Kieran nodded. “I can understand that.”

Casteel’s hand returned to the center of my back and remained there as we followed Kieran down the hall to the area of the kitchen. I’d only taken a few steps before one word entered my thoughts.

Sister.

I exhaled roughly as we passed through a rounded opening. The chamber was well lit, but the shades had been drawn on the windows lining the wall, blocking out the morning sun. Blaz and Clariza were at a well-worn table, the surface dull and full of many nicks of various sizes. Marks that must have come from the various daggers and blades laid out upon it.

Malik sat with them, staring at the cup of coffee between his hands. He didn’t look up as we entered, but his shoulders tensed in the same way Casteel’s did beside me. There was no warm, long-overdue embrace. There was no acknowledgment.

Chairs scraped against wood as Blaz and Clariza rose, and I suspected they were about to kneel. “Not necessary.”

The two exchanged glances. Blaz gave me a toothy grin as he sat.

“Thank you for opening your home to us.” Casteel addressed them as his hand moved up and down my back. “I know that this was of great risk to you both.”

“It’s our honor and worth whatever risk,” Clariza said, her eyes wide as she clasped her hands together. “You look much better.”

Casteel inclined his head. “I feel much better.”

“Would you like a cup of coffee, Your Majesty?” Blaz asked.

“Coffee would be nice.” Casteel glanced at me, and I nodded. “And you don’t have to use any title. We are not your rulers.”

Clariza gave a small smile as she rose. “I’ll get you two some coffee. Blaz tends to make it more cream and sugar than actual coffee.”

“I see nothing wrong with that,” the mortal replied, leaning back.

Neither did I as Clariza hurried to the hearth. There was a lot we needed to be updated on, but Malik remained at the table, his head bowed and body rigid. I glanced at Casteel. He eyed Malik. Had been since we entered the kitchen. I looked around, my brows knitting. “Where’s Reaver?”

“Cleaning up,” Malik answered, taking a sip of coffee.

“Finally,” Kieran muttered, and Casteel looked at him.

I opened my mouth and closed it, but then Malik finally lifted his gaze. The question burst out of me. “Is Millicent my sister?”

Several sets of eyes landed on me as the mortals’ lemony curiosity gathered in my throat, but Malik… His eyes narrowed as he sat straight. “Blaz? Riza? I hate to ask, but can we have a moment?”

Blaz rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. I would like to know the answer to this question. I’d also like to know who Millicent is.”

“I bet you would,” Malik replied acidly.

Clariza came to us, two cups in hand. “There are also some biscuits if you’re hungry,” she said as I took one of the cream-colored mugs. “Blaz and I will check on Reaver.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Her stare held mine for a moment, and then she nodded. She turned to her husband. “Up.”

“Really?” Blaz exclaimed. “You know how nosy I am, and you’re asking me to leave?”

“Really.” She pinned him with a stern look that was rather impressive as I took a deep drink of the hot, rich coffee.

Blaz sighed, grumbling as he got to his feet. “I’m going to eavesdrop, just so you know.”

“No, he won’t.” Clariza threaded her arm through his. “He’ll just bitch and moan in our bedchamber.”

“Could just be moaning instead of bitching, you know?” Blaz responded with a waggle of his brows.

“You keep talking,” she said as they walked from the kitchen, “and that becomes even more unlikely.”

Casteel’s lips twitched around the rim of his mug. “I like them,” he said as they disappeared down the hall.

“They’re good people,” Malik said, staring up at me. “Did Millicent tell you this?”

“She told me,” Casteel answered. “And showed me.”

“You don’t believe him?” Malik asked of me.

“I believe that’s what he was told, but I don’t see how it’s possible,” I said. “Even if she looks like me—”

“She does,” Malik interrupted, and my stomach dipped. A muscle ticked in his temple. “It’s eerie how much you two look alike.”

“Not just looks,” Casteel commented, that hand still moving up and down my back—soothing, grounding. “Personality, too.”

My head swung to him. “Excuse me? We really are talking about the same person, right?” I glanced at Kieran. “The one who flounced—literally flounced—out of the chamber and sat upside down in a chair for no reason at all?”

“There are similar mannerisms. The way both of you…move,” Casteel said, and I felt the frown permanently etching onto my face because I didn’t flounce anywhere. “She also has a tendency to…”

“Ramble?” Malik finished for him, a half-grin appearing.

My eyes narrowed. “I do not ramble.”

Casteel coughed on his drink as Kieran silently hoisted himself onto the counter, his brows lifted.

“I do not,” I insisted.

“Yes, you do,” Reaver said, entering the kitchen. He glanced at Casteel. “Reaver. Nice to meet you. Glad you didn’t bite me, and I didn’t have to burn you alive.”

I had nothing to say to that.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Casteel drawled, eyes glimmering with a hint of bewildered amusement as he stared at the draken. “Thank you for your aid.”

“Whatever.” Reaver strolled past us, heading for the covered plate near the hearth.

“Anyway,” I said, focusing on Malik while Casteel watched Reaver. I realized this was probably the first time he’d gotten to see a draken while here. “If she’s my sister, how is she a Revenant and not a goddess? Is it what Casteel suspects? Did she have problems Ascending?”

Malik said nothing. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Casteel’s hand stilled on my back as Reaver shoved half a biscuit into his mouth. “Brother, if I were you, I would start sharing whatever it is you know.”

“Or what?” Malik inclined his head in an act that was so shockingly similar to Casteel’s, I thought maybe there really was something about sibling mannerisms. “You’re going to make me?”

Casteel’s laugh was dry. “I don’t think you have to worry about me making you do shit.”

“True,” Malik murmured, smirking as his gaze flicked to me. A moment passed. “Cas is right. Millie…she would’ve been a god if she’d survived the Culling. She didn’t.”

“Wait a second,” Reaver said, wiping crumbs from his mouth with the back of his hand. “That Handmaiden is Poppy’s sister?”

Kieran sighed. “Where have you been?”

“Not in the kitchen,” Reaver snapped. “Obviously.”

The wolven rolled his eyes.

Reaver focused on Malik. “Ires is the father?” When Malik nodded, the draken’s brows flew up. “Oh, shit. She’s going to be…” He shook his head, taking another bite. “If that is true, the Handmaiden would’ve needed blood—”

“She has a name,” Malik interrupted, his tone flat. “It’s Millicent.”

Reaver cocked his head to the side, and for a moment, I feared there might be fire. “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 Isbeth what to do.”

“The golden fuck?” Casteel growled.

“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.”

I was. I repeated that over and over until it felt true.

Malik smiled tightly. “Millie should’ve kept her mouth shut about who she truly is. Only a handful of people know, and most of them are dead now.” His gaze shifted to his brother. “She knew what would happen if she told someone that little secret. That person would be killed, and Millie would bear the brunt of Isbeth’s displeasure.”

I stiffened.

“So, it’s got me wondering, why would she tell you that? There had to be a reason for her to take such a risk.” Malik stared at his brother, unflinching. “Wasn’t there, Cas?”

Casteel had set his mug aside. “She said some shit.”

His brother’s lips thinned. “I bet she did.”

The hand on my back slipped away as Casteel stepped forward. Kieran tensed where he sat, his eyes burning a pale, luminous blue.

“Let me clarify,” Casteel said, his voice dropping low in that soft, deceptive way it did that was often a prelude to someone being relieved of a vital organ. “She said some stuff that may be true, and other stuff that’s definitely bullshit.”

Malik chuckled. “Sounds to me like she said what you didn’t want to hear.”

“You know what I want to hear?” Casteel’s chin dipped. “Why you’re here. Why you’re helping us now.”

“Maybe you should tell your wife why her sister would take such a risk,” Malik countered.

“Are they going to fight?” Reaver murmured.

“Looks like it,” Kieran answered, glancing at him. “It wouldn’t be entirely abnormal if so.”

My heart had started pounding again. “What did she say?”

“I was going to tell you,” Casteel growled, his anger stroking my skin. “But it’s nothing worth repeating.”

Malik raised his brows. “Maybe it’s you who’s living in denial. Can’t blame you for it. I wouldn’t want to believe it either.”

“Believe what?” I grabbed Casteel’s arm, stopping him as he took another step forward. “What did she tell you?”

His eyes swung to me, but he said nothing. My senses stretched out, coming up against a wall. Air snagged in my throat. He was blocking me, and that could only mean—

“You were created for the same reason that Millie was. For one purpose,” Malik said. “Your sister failed her Ascension. You didn’t. And you already said what that purpose is. Except you’re focusing just on Atlantia, and it’s so much bigger than that. Your purpose is to—”

“Remake the kingdoms,” I cut in. “The realms. I know. I’ve heard that.”

Malik shook his head. “Your purpose is to destroy the realms. Mortal and Iliseeum. That’s how she plans to remake them.”

“That sounds a bit excessive,” muttered Reaver.

I drew back. Isbeth had said that she wanted to see Atlantia burn. But this…this was not the same. It was entirely something else. It sounded a lot like…

Beware, for the end will come from the west to destroy the east and lay waste to all which lies between.

Stomach dipping, I inhaled sharply.

The prophecy—what had it said? That the first and second daughters would remake the realms and usher in the end. No. Just because it had been written didn’t mean it would happen. What Isbeth wanted didn’t matter for a slew of reasons. “First off, I’m not even powerful enough to do something like that.”

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.”

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