His eyes met mine, and a long moment passed as he stared down at me like he…like he cared, as if he would do anything to take back the pain I felt. “He wanted it to hurt.”
“Bastard,” I whispered, letting my head fall back.
Casteel slipped his hand under my head before it could make contact with the hard floor. I wanted to tell him thank you, but my face hurt—my entire body ached, and my arm throbbed and throbbed.
“He could’ve killed you,” he said, and for the first time since I’d met him, I thought he sounded weary. “You’re only half-Atlantian.”
Something about that was important—something Chaney had said. But my thoughts were like scattered wisps of smoke.
“Bloodlust would’ve consumed him, and he wouldn’t have stopped. There nearly always has to be another vampry with them to get them to stop. And sometimes, that’s not even enough. I didn’t think…” His exhale was frayed, tattered. “I didn’t think you’d be alive when I reached you.”
Yet again, he sounded concerned, but that had to be the head injury I’d most definitely acquired. Or maybe it was the fading adrenaline.
Or perhaps the blood loss.
“Why?” he asked.
“He had…that boy. I had to do something,” I forced my tongue to move. My eyelids were too heavy. Everything was too heavy, even as I felt Casteel gather me into his arms, lifting me from the carriage floor. “It was the only way he’d let the boy go.”
“But he didn’t,” Casteel said as my eyes closed, and I slipped into oblivion. “He didn’t let that boy go.”
The journey back to the keep was a tumble of hazy images, broken pieces of dreams and pinwheeling stars. Casteel’s face was so close to mine that I’d thought he would kiss me, but it seemed like a strange time for that. There were sounds. Voices I recognized, ones tinged with concern. Then a strange taste against my tongue that reminded me of spice, citrus, snow, and Casteel. Warmth like the summer sun invaded my veins, and when the heat started to seep into my muscles and spread across my skin, I thought I heard the trickle of water and smelled something sweet, like lilac. But Casteel was a heavy whisper against my skin, and then there was nothing.
When I opened my eyes again, confusion swept over me. I recognized the exposed rafters of the ceiling and the dark spice and pine scent that lingered on the blanket tucked around me, but I had no recollection of how I got back here. My gaze shifted to the gray light creeping through the small window. The last thing I remembered was Casteel carrying me out of the carriage. There were disjointed images, things that didn’t make sense no matter how hard I tried.
“Poppy?”
Heart kicking suddenly against my ribs, I turned my head toward the sound of his voice.
Casteel was near the fireplace, rising from a chair. He was dressed as he had been when I saw him last, all in black. Only the swords were missing. He prowled slowly toward the bed, his face clear of the spots of blood. “How are you feeling?”
I had to tug down the cobwebs choking my thoughts to answer that question. “I…I feel okay.” And I did. I felt like I’d spent an entire night in restful sleep.
He stopped by the edge of the bed, one eyebrow raised. “You don’t sound like that’s a good thing.”
“I don’t understand. I should—” My next breath caught in my throat as I pulled my arms out from under the blanket. The loose sleeves of the nightgown slipped down to reveal…skin that was more reddish pink than normal in two spots, but not an angry shade, not torn. Slowly, I lifted my fingers to my mouth and then to my jaw. The skin wasn’t swollen there either. There was only a faint ache when I swallowed. I lowered my hands to the soft blanket as the spiced citrus and snow taste blossomed in the back of my mouth.
“Poppy?”
I swallowed again. “How did I get into this nightgown?”
There was a heartbeat of silence, and when I looked back at Casteel, both of his brows were raised. He seemed utterly caught off guard.
“Did you…did you do it?”
He blinked and then shook his head. “No. Magda did. We thought you’d be far more comfortable.”
That meant Magda was alive.
“Is that all you have to ask?” he said.
My gaze fell back to the faint puncture wounds on my arm. “You gave me your blood.”
“I did.”
“Was I that badly injured?”
“You were bruised and bleeding, and that is bad enough,” he stated, and I looked to him once more. “There was also a worrisome lump on the back of your head. Kieran didn’t believe it was all that serious, but I…I will not take any chances.” His jaw flexed. “And we cannot risk lingering here to allow time for you to heal. Others will be coming for you.”
Others.
“They were following us,” I said, clearing my throat. “Lord Chaney told me that they’d discovered that—”
“I know,” he said, and a hint of a grin appeared. “I had a small conversation with the vampry, and I can be very persuasive when it comes to obtaining information.”
Fragments of what Lord Chaney had said slowly pieced together. “He…he saw the bite mark on my throat, and he knew that I’d learned the truth.” My brows knitted. “He said he couldn’t understand how the Duke or Duchess had never fed from me—how they resisted knowing what I was. He said my blood is potent.”
His jaw clenched. “To a vampry, Atlantian blood would taste like a fine wine. A full-blooded Atlantian would be like—”
“Aged whiskey?”
He cracked a small grin. “Very aged, and very smooth.”
I shook my head. “Well, I guess the Teermans resisted because they knew the Queen and King would be mad. Plus, it would expose the truth about them.” I toyed with the edge of the blanket. “Chaney was wounded.”
“Elijah got a good swipe in before the coward ran off.”
I wished I’d seen that, but something else Chaney had said slowly fought its way to the surface. “I told him…I told him that I knew why they needed me alive. He insinuated that I wasn’t correct.”
Casteel smirked. “Of course, he would. I doubt the Queen or King would want you to know the truth or to believe it. They want you willing, to not fight them—for them to be able to lie to you until they have you where they want. If he hadn’t been wounded, he probably would’ve told you that everything was a lie. He would’ve worked to gain your trust.”
“But the lure of my blood was too much?”
Casteel nodded.
My stomach twisted with nausea. “When I saw Lord Chaney, he always seemed…kind,” I said. “And more mortal than the Duke or Mazeen.”
“The Ascended are masters of hiding their true natures.”
But so was Casteel.
My heart tripped over itself, still unable to think that all Ascended were like that. I thought of the Duchess, who’d told me to not waste one more moment thinking of Lord Mazeen when I questioned if I’d be punished or not. Maybe there was a reason I’d never seen her and the Duke touch one another. Just because she was a vampry, that didn’t mean she was protected from his cruelty. And then I thought of Ian.
In the silence and in my desperation to not think about my brother, I thought of the knight—Sir Terrlynn. Inherently, I knew he was the one who’d spoken while in front of the keep, the one who had disemboweled the Descenter. “Did you kill the knight?”
“I did what he’d done. Sliced him open and let him bleed. He was a vampry, but it was not without pain.” Casteel’s eyes burned with golden fire. “And then I killed him.”
“Good,” I whispered.
A measure of surprise flickered across his face. “There was very little dignity in his death.”
That was true. “But he’s dead now?”
Casteel nodded.
“At least it was a…relatively quick death.” I didn’t feel even remotely bad that the knight had suffered. And maybe I should be concerned about that. I probably would be later. I took a deep breath. “How many were lost?”
How many names would be added to the walls?
“Four were killed, in addition to Mrs. Tulis. Six seriously wounded, but they will survive.”
My heart ached. “What of the boy? He’s okay, right?”
His gaze turned sheltered, and suddenly I remembered what Casteel had said. He didn’t let the boy go. I rose onto my elbows. “The boy is okay, right? That’s the only reason why I laid down my dagger. Chaney said he’d let the boy go.”
“He did what all Ascended do. He lied.” Tension bracketed his mouth as I jerked. “The only blessing was that it was a quick death. His neck was snapped. He wasn’t fed upon.”
For several moments, I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even speak as the image of the boy’s wide, panic-stricken gaze filled my mind. Horror and grief seized me. “Why?” A knot clogged my throat. “Why would he do that? Why kill him and not even feed upon him? What was the point?”
“You’re asking for an answer to something that not even I can fully comprehend,” he replied quietly. “The vampry did it because he wanted to and because he could.”
Closing my eyes, I pressed my lips together as my heart squeezed and twisted. Tears burned the backs of my eyes, and I wanted to—I wanted to scream. I wanted to rage at the pointlessness of it all.
I didn’t know how long it took me to gain control, to not burst into tears or fall headfirst into the helplessness-induced rage. I’d done all that I could to save that boy, and it meant nothing. Nothing. He would still be just another name added to a long, endless list of them. And for what? And the Tulis’s son? I knew in my heart of hearts that he too was dead. I exhaled raggedly as I lay back down, smoothing my hands over my face. My cheeks were damp.
Casteel remained quiet, silent and watchful. When I opened my eyes again, I asked, “What was his name?”