The War of Two Queens (Blood and Ash 4)

What had broken him.

This was it. And it had happened far before I ever imagined.

I couldn’t blame him.

It was then that I realized that Malik hadn’t been completely unaffected by what had gone down at Castle Redrock. Malik had shown some sort of emotion there. Twice. When Isbeth had summoned that Handmaiden and had one of her knights stab her, he had made a move as if to step forward. He’d been clenching his jaw, too, like he had when Alastir and our father spoke of war with Solis—something he’d been adamantly against. And he’d been shocked when Isbeth had killed Ian. He hadn’t expected that.

This was the third time I’d seen him affected.

“She told you my hand was infected, didn’t she?” I asked. “The Handmaiden.”

Those pupils expanded once more.

“She said some wild stuff while she was here.”

Malik didn’t blink as he locked stares with me. “Like what?”

“Like some nonsensical shit about things awakening, and Isbeth creating something powerful enough to remake the realms.”

He’d gone completely still, all except that ticking muscle.

Cold fingers of unease brushed the back of my neck. “What was she talking about, brother?”

Another long moment passed. “Who knows what she was saying. She’s a…”

I watched him closely. “A bit odd?”

Malik laughed, and it was a punch to the gut because it too was real. The amber in his eyes became more visible. “Yes.” He dragged his teeth over his lower lip. “I know you hate me. I deserve it. More than you realize. But you have no reason to hate her.”

“I don’t give a fuck about her.”

“Didn’t say you did, but she hasn’t done anything to you, and she took one hell of a risk searching for you and seeing what kind of mess you’d become. I know you don’t have any reason to protect her, but if anyone finds out that she was down here and talking to you? It will not end well for her.”

“Why should I care?” I challenged, wanting to know why he cared.

“Because, just like your beloved,” he said, his voice low as he held my gaze, “she’s had very little choice when it comes to her life. So, don’t take it out on her. That’s all I ask, and I’ve never asked you for anything.”

He never had.

It had always been me asking things of him. But that was a different life.

I searched those shielded eyes. If I weren’t so weak, I could use a compulsion—something Malik had never been good at. “You care for her.”

“I’m incapable of caring about anyone anymore,” he replied. “But I owe her.”

The flatness in the way he’d said that left a chill in my chest. I slumped against the wall. “I never gave up on you, Malik,” I said wearily. “And I didn’t live.”

“Until now.” He began wrapping my hand. “Until Penellaphe.”

“This has nothing to do with her.”

“Everything has to do with her,” he murmured.

“Bullshit.” I shook my head. “Why do you think I even entertained the idea of meeting with the Blood Queen after what she did to me—what she’d done to you? It wasn’t just about Atlantia. It wasn’t only about what the Blood Crown was doing to mortals. Those were secondary things. It was always about you. I came to Oak Ambler, prepared to negotiate for you. Poppy came to Oak Ambler, prepared to do the same, and she didn’t even know you.”

A strange look crossed his features, pinching his brow. “No, she didn’t know me.” He folded the gauze, covering the wound. “Or at least that’s what she remembers.”

My head tilted. “What does that mean?”

“You’ll understand soon enough.” Malik tucked the tail of the gauze under the wrapping. “I have a feeling you will be reunited with your Queen sooner rather than later.”

Chapter 12

Poppy

Running my fingers over the cool handle crafted from wolven bone, a faint smile tugged at my lips as I thought of the man who’d gifted me the dagger on my sixteenth birthday.

Neither Vikter nor I had known exactly when my birthday was. He’d said the same thing as Casteel: Pick a day. I’d chosen April twentieth.

I had no idea where he’d gotten such a blade. I’d never seen another. When he gave it to me, he’d placed his hand over mine and said, “This weapon is as unique as you. Take good care of it, and she will return the favor.”

My smile grew, relieved that I could think of Vikter without drowning in grief. The sorrow was still there. It always would be. But it had gotten easier.

“I hope you’re proud of me,” I whispered. Proud of my choice to lead the Atlantian armies, to take the same risks as the soldiers and weather whatever marks this war left behind. After all, he had taught me the importance of that.

Like when I’d accidentally discovered what those white handkerchiefs tacked to the doors of homes in Masadonia meant, and how Vikter had helped those families inside, those who couldn’t carry through on what needed to be done. He gave those cursed—those infected by a Craven’s bite—a quick, honorable death before they became a monster that would attack their family and anyone else who came near them. A peaceful death instead of the public execution the Ascended liked to carry out for the cursed.