The War of Two Queens (Blood and Ash 4)

I’d asked him once how he could be surrounded by so much death and remain untouched by it. For the longest time, I didn’t understand his answer.

“I’m not untouched by it. Death is death. Killing is killing, Poppy, no matter how justified it is. Every death leaves a mark behind, but I do not expect anyone to take a risk that I would not take. Nor would I ask another to bear a burden I refused to shoulder or feel a mark I haven’t felt myself.”

I eventually understood what he meant when I saw the true extent of how many—young and old—were really infected. There were a couple of dozen executions a year, but in reality, hundreds were infected. Hundreds of mortals cursed while doing what the Ascended would not do for themselves, even though they were stronger, faster, and far more resistant to injury than a mortal.

I thought I understood. But now? I sheathed the wolven dagger to my thigh. Now, I realized that Vikter’s words had meant far more than just aiding the cursed. He wasn’t a Descenter, but looking back, I suspected that he had been talking about the Ascended. The Blood Crown, who asked so much of those they were supposed to serve while doing so very little for them.

Whether I was a Maiden or Queen, a mortal or a god, I would never allow myself to become someone who would not take the very same risks I asked of others. Nor would I refuse to carry those marks Vikter had spoken of while expecting others to bear that kind of weight.

Tightening the thin strap that lay diagonally across my chest, I picked up a short sword made of iron and bloodstone. Far lighter than the golden Atlantian weapons, I slid the blade into the scabbard secured against my back so the grip was facing downward, near my hip.

Laid across the map, the remaining weapons beckoned in the early morning sunlight streaming in through the window. I planted a booted foot on the chair and reached for a steel blade. My fingers skimmed the straps holding my shin guards in place. I slid the dagger into the shaft of my boot and switched feet, placing a matching one in the other. Then I picked up a slender spike of bloodstone with a hilt no wider than my arm. I slid that into a forearm sheath. It was a favorite of Vonetta’s. She normally carried one on each arm while in her mortal form. I secured the second short sword, strapping it to my back so it crossed the first, and the pommel sat at my left hip. Picking up the final blade, a brutal, curved one, I glanced down at myself, wondering exactly where I would place it.

“Do you think you have enough weapons?”

I looked up to see Valyn standing in the doorway. I hadn’t seen him since he’d left yesterday.

Throat warming, I glanced down at myself. “I don’t think you can ever have enough weapons.”

“Normally, I would agree with that statement,” he said, his hand resting on the hilt of one of the three swords I could see on him. I was sure the gold and steel armor hid more. “But you will be the deadliest weapon on that battlefield.”

My stomach tumbled a little as I lowered the sickle-shaped blade. “I hope I won’t have to use that kind of weapon.”

Valyn’s head cocked in a painfully familiar way that twisted my heart as he eyed me. “You really mean that.”

“I do.” I wasn’t sure why, but Valyn’s observation nagged at me. Why had I picked up so many weapons? My brows knitted as I tried to understand my apparently unconscious choices. “I just… The abilities I have can be used to heal. I’d rather use them for that.” I looked up at him as I hooked the sickle blade to my hip. “Unless I have to use them to fight. And if I do, I won’t hesitate.”

“I didn’t think you would.” He continued staring, though not at the scars. “You look like…”

I knew how I appeared.

My lip curled as I eyed the sleeve of my gown—the white gown. The night in New Haven, when I decided that I could no longer be the Maiden, I’d made promises to myself. One of those was that I would never be garbed in white again.

I’d broken that promise today with the aid of Naill and the wolven, Sage. The linen gown was one of two that had been constructed from one of Kieran’s tunics, the hem ending at the knees and the sides left open to allow me to reach the wolven dagger strapped to my thigh. Under it, I wore a pair of thick tights that I’d borrowed from Sage. The stitches had been loosened, as the wolven was at least a size or two smaller than I, and then reinforced. Both were a pure, pristine white, as were the armor plates at my shoulders, and my breastplates. Naill had even managed to tack white cloth over the thin armor. He’d done an amazing job, providing exactly what I’d asked for, and then he’d doubled it. There was another gown. Another pair of tights.