The Crown of Gilded Bones (Blood and Ash 3)

I opened my mouth and tasted an awful metallic taste in the back of my throat. Viscous liquid bubbled up with each breath I tried to take, spilling over my lips. “Casteel…?”

Pain surged through my entire body, all-consuming and total. The agony came in wave after wave, shortening each breath I took. I’d never felt anything like this. Not even the night at the inn. All my senses shorted out, shutting down my gift. I couldn’t feel anything beyond the searing misery burning through my chest, my lungs, and every nerve ending.

Oh, gods, this kind of pain brought a razor-edged terror with it. A knowledge that I couldn’t escape. I felt slippery, wet, and cold inside. I took a breath as I reached for the bolt. Or tried to. Whatever air I sucked in, I choked on, and what made it past my throat crackled and bubbled in my chest. My fingers slipped on the smooth surface of the bloodstone bolt, and my legs—they just disappeared. Or seemed to. My knees buckled.

Arms caught me, stopping my fall, and for a heartbeat, the scent of lush spice and pine overshadowed the iron-rich smell of blood pumping from the wound. I lifted my head.

“I’ve got you. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Wide, dilated, amber eyes locked with mine—wild. His gaze was wild as he quickly glanced down at my chest. When he refocused on my face, he said, “You’re going to be okay.”

I didn’t feel okay. Oh, gods, I didn’t feel right at all.

Movement stirred the air as Kieran appeared at our side, his normally dusky skin so, so pale. He placed his hand on the base of the bolt, trying to stanch the blood.

The touch was torment. I twisted, trying to move away. “It…it hurts.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I know it hurts.” Casteel glanced at Kieran. “Can you see how far it went in?”

“I don’t see the ridges on the bolt,” he said, looking over my shoulder. I shuddered, knowing these bolts were like the jagged stems of some of the arrows I’d fired before, ones created to cause maximum damage. “The blood, Cas. It’s too much.”

“I know,” Casteel bit out as a snapping, snarling, fleshy and wet sound from somewhere behind us blocked out what he said next.

Kieran gripped my left shoulder, and my entire body spasmed with pain. I screamed. Or maybe it was only a gasp. Warm wetness splattered across my lips, and that was bad. My wide gaze moved between Casteel and Kieran. I knew this was bad. I could feel it. I could feel the bolt, and I couldn’t take deep breaths, and…and I couldn’t feel my fingertips.

“I’m sorry. I’m trying to keep your body stable so we don’t move the bolt. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Poppy,” Kieran said again and again. He kept saying that, and I wanted him to stop because he sounded too breathy, too rattled. He never got rattled. He sounded like he already knew what my body was trying to tell me.

Casteel started to move, and I tried to curl in on myself, to turn away from the pain, to use my legs. But I... My pulse skittered, and my eyes rolled frantically as panic fluttered through me. “I…I can’t feel…my legs.”

“I’m going to fix that. I promise. I’m going to fix all of this,” Casteel swore, and over his shoulder, I stared at the night sky—at each diamond-bright star disappearing.

Casteel sank to his knees and lowered me slowly. He angled my body so his chest cradled my right side.

“How bad is it?” Casteel’s father appeared behind him, his familiar features stark as he stared down, his eyes wide.

“We can’t pull it out,” Casteel said.

“No,” Kieran agreed, his voice thick and heavy and somehow tight. Now, the clouds that covered the stars were pitch-black. Kieran’s hand slipped on my chest, and he quickly replaced his palm. This time, it didn’t hurt as much. “Cas, man—”

“It didn’t get her heart,” Casteel cut him off. “She wouldn’t be—” His voice cracked, and I flinched, forcing myself to focus on him. His skin had leached of all color. “It didn’t get her heart.”

“Cas—”

He shook his head as he touched my cheek, wiping under my mouth. “I can give her blood—”

“Cas,” Kieran repeated as King Valyn placed his hand on Casteel’s shoulder.

“You’re going to be okay,” he said to me. “I’m going to take the pain away. I promise you.” The hand on my chin trembled, and Casteel…he rarely ever shook, but his entire body did now. “I promise you, Poppy.”

I wanted to touch him, but my arms felt weighted down and useless. The breath I forced myself to take was wet and reedy. “I…I don’t hurt so…much.”

“That’s good.” He smiled—or tried to. “Don’t try to talk. Okay? I’m going to give you some blood—”

“Son,” his father started. “You can’t. And even if you could—”