The War of Two Queens (Blood and Ash 4)

Emil let out a short laugh. “More interesting than stalactites?”

“Careful,” Vonetta warned as what sounded like twigs snapped under my steps when I walked forward. “I don’t think those are rocks or branches on the floor.”

I looked down. There were chunks of something ivory in color, shards here and there, mixed with slender, longer, and darker-colored—bones. They were definitely bones.

Oh, gods.

Kieran made a sound of disgust as he toed aside a piece of rag, revealing what appeared to be a partial jawbone. “These didn’t come from animals.”

“Animals do not serve the True King,” the Priestess said, drifting forward.

Stomach churning with anger, I started to speak, but what the Priestess walked past caught my attention.

It was like the ground had erupted, and snake-like roots spilled across the floor of the cavern from a deep, dark hole. The roots wormed their way through the discarded bones—bones that were too small. I carefully made my way forward, avoiding the scattered remains as much as I could. Something was on the roots and under them. Something dry and rusty-hued. And it was everywhere, splattered across the floor and pooled in thick, dried puddles. It was what had stained the walls and the bizarre rock formations that pinkish-red.

Kieran’s arm brushed mine as he crouched, running a finger through the substance. His jaw clenched as he looked at me. “Blood.”

The Priestess reached the other side of the cavern and touched her flame to the wall. Once more, a series of torches lit. Light splashed across a narrow opening and another sunken chamber.

And then we saw…

“Good gods,” Hisa rasped, bending at the waist.

I opened my mouth, but I was beyond words. I’d believed the sight of those impaled on the gates, and the murdered girls from earlier, had been the most horrifying things I’d ever seen.

I’d been wrong.

I couldn’t look away from the pale, bloodless limbs—some long and some so, so tiny. The piles of faded clothing, some white and some red, barely holding together dried-out husks where patches of hair remained, and legs and arms curled. Withered. Some dropped side by side in the ceremonial red of the Rite, their clothing fresh, their decay not even begun to take hold. Dimly, I wondered how there could be no smell—perhaps it was the cold or something else.

My heart started pounding as I stared into the sunken…tomb. And that was exactly what this was. A tomb that had been in use for only the gods knew how long, full of remains haphazardly left about.

The Priestess quietly placed the torch into a holder jutting from the wall and then clasped her hands loosely at the waist. “They have all served a great purpose.”

Slowly, almost painfully, I turned to her. The eather pulsed in my chest and swelled, pressing beyond me and brushing against the walls. The air thickened as if filled with choking smoke, but there was no fire. Not outside of what burned inside of me.

“Just like we all do,” the Priestess continued softly, joyfully, and her face lit up as if she spoke of a glorious dream. “As will you, the one whose blood is full of ash and ice.”

I stepped forward, skin sparking with Primal essence, but an arm blocked me. “Don’t,” Kieran seethed. “Don’t waste any energy on her. It’s not worth it.”

My hands closed around air as the Priestess smiled, and her eyes closed. Peace. That was what I tasted from her. Soft and airy like sponge cake. Peace.

The breath I took was full of daggers. “Give her what she so eagerly awaits.”

I stepped back and turned stiffly, walking away. The only sound I heard was that of a sword meeting flesh.

“Is that all of them?” I asked.

“The Temple is empty,” Valyn answered stoically, staring at the bodies carefully placed on the ground—the too-small bodies wrapped in rags with sunken stomachs and shriveled, pale skin. Bodies treated worse than diseased cattle.

“Seventy-one,” Kieran stated. “There are seventy-one that are…”

Fresh.

Seventy-one that must have been taken in the unexpected last Rite and the one before. That number had to include the second and third sons and daughters. Which meant none had been given over to the Court as was normal for the second-born. It also meant that those who carried that not-so-dormant ember of life had been slaughtered.

Even worse was that the soldiers had carried outside what had to be…hundreds of older remains.

I’d never seen anything like it.

The underground chamber in New Haven, with all the names etched into the walls of those who’d died at the hands of the Ascended, paled in comparison to this.

Because most of these bodies belonged to children. Only a few may have been older, like the ones in the chamber under Redrock. But these were innocent children. In some cases, babes. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about that floppy, stuffed teddy bear that smelled of lavender.