Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The next time I saw Casteel, I was going to shove the stupid knife so far into his chest, he would have to dig it out.

Glaring at the door, guarded from the outside, I swallowed a shout of frustration and anger. With the exception of Delano arriving with lunch, I’d been locked up in this room all day, alone and going absolutely stir-crazy.

Casteel was gone when I woke, and that had been a welcomed discovery since waking up in his arms was not something I needed to experience again. The memories of such were already hard enough to forget. But hours later, as the snow fell steadily and the wind howled outside the narrow window, whatever gratitude I’d felt had shriveled up and died.

Delano had stood guard outside nearly the entire day. I knew because the last time I had pounded on the door, he’d answered through the heavy wood. He’d replied in virtually the same way each time I demanded to be let out.

“No one wishes to chase you through a snowstorm.”

“I’d rather not be gutted by the Prince, so no.”

“The Prince will return soon.”

My favorite was when I’d said that I just wanted some fresh air. “Nothing personal, but there is literally no way I would trust you enough to crack this door open to allow even an inch of fresh air to enter your chamber.”

How was that not personal?

I started toward the door, planning to bang my fist off it until the whole keep came running—

The door suddenly swung open as Delano rushed inside, hand on the hilt of his sword. He drew up short, eyes bright as he checked me over and scanned the room.

“Are you okay?” he demanded. Delano had the kind of face that often tricked you. Except for the nearly constant crease between his fair brows, there was a boyishness to his features. As if he would be grinning the second he thought you weren’t looking. But in that moment, with the hard set to his jaw and the steeliness in his eyes I’d never seen before, he looked as if he were a breath away from lopping off someone’s head.

“Other than being angry about being trapped in here? Yes.”

His eyes narrowed. “You weren’t yelling?”

My brows lifted. “Not externally. Did you hear me yelling?”

Delano’s head tilted. “What do you mean by…not externally?”

“I was probably screaming internally for being locked in here.”

“So, you weren’t screaming?”

“No. Not out loud.” I crossed my arms.

His already light skin seemed paler. “I thought… I thought I heard you calling my name.” The crease between his brows deepened. “Screaming for help.” Letting go of his sword, he ran a hand through his nearly white-blond hair. “It must’ve been the wind.”

“Or your guilty conscience.”

“Probably the wind.”

I started toward him.

There it was, a flash of a grin. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“Interrupt what? I’m stuck in this room. What could—?” I shrieked as the door closed and locked. “Now I am yelling!”

“It’s the wind,” he yelled back through the door.

I stomped my foot once and then twice instead of giving in to the urge to really scream.

Throwing myself onto the bed, I pictured all the different places I could stab Delano, but then I felt a little bad about that. It wasn’t his fault. It was Casteel’s. So, I pictured putting as many holes in him as I could until I started to doze. I didn’t fight it. Being unconscious was far better than rage-pacing. I had no idea how long I slept, whether it was minutes or hours, but when I opened my bleary eyes, a patchwork quilt had been draped over my legs, and I saw that I wasn’t alone. Across from the bed sat Kieran, in the same chair as the night before, practically in the same position—one booted foot resting on a bent knee.

“Good afternoon,” he said as I blinked slowly, looking between him and the quilt. “The quilt wasn’t me. That was Cas.”

He’d been in here? While I slept? That son of a—

“Though I’m glad you finally woke up. I was going to give you another five minutes before I risked life and limb to wake you. Unlike Cas, watching you sleep is not something I find all that entertaining.”

Casteel watched me sleep? Wait. How long had Kieran been sitting there? “What are you doing in here?” I rasped.

“Other than wondering exactly what choices I made in my life that led me to this exact moment?” Kieran asked.

My eyes narrowed. “Yes. Other than that.”

“Since I figured Delano would like a break and wondered if you might be hungry. I’m hoping that you are because I would like to eat, too.”

My stomach immediately decided that yes, it would like some food, and grumbled loudly.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Feeling my cheeks flush, I shoved the blanket off and stood. “Am I actually allowed to leave this room?”

“Of course.”

My brows lifted. “You say that as if I’m asking a stupid question. I’ve been locked in here all day!”

“If you could be trusted not to run, then perhaps you wouldn’t be locked in here.”

“Maybe if you weren’t holding me captive, I wouldn’t have to try and escape!”

“Good point.”

I blinked.

“But it is what it is.” Kieran arched a brow. “Do you wish to leave the room and eat, or would you rather sit here and stew? Your choice.”

My choice? I almost laughed. “I need to use the bathing chamber first.”

“Take your time. I’ll just sit here and stare at…nothing now.”

Rolling my eyes, I started to turn, and then my stupid mouth opened. “Where is His Highness?”

“Highness? Man, I bet Cas loves being referred to as that.” Kieran chuckled. “You miss him already?”

“Oh, yes. That’s exactly why I’m asking.”

He grinned. “He’s been speaking with Alastir and several of the others in town. If he wasn’t the Prince of Atlantia, with all his princely duties, I’m sure he’d be here…” His pale eyes glimmered. “Watching you sleep.”

“Thank the gods that he has something to pass his time with then,” I muttered.

Ignoring that, I hurried into the bathing chamber. I took care of my needs and then grabbed the brush from the small vanity. My hair was a mess from sleeping on it, and there was a good chance that I tore half of it out while trying to get the knots out. Once I finished, I placed the brush back and then looked in the small mirror, tilting my head to the side.

I wasn’t looking at the scars, though I thought they seemed less noticeable somehow—could be the lighting. Rather it was my eyes that I stared at. They were green, passed down from my father to Ian and me. My mother’s were brown, and I thought of how the Atlantians had golden or hazel-colored eyes. Had my mother’s been a plain shade of brown? Or had they been a golden brown? Was I just assuming that all Atlantians had some shade of gold in their eyes?

Turning my head to the side, I saw that the bite mark was now just a pale purple bruise. It looked like one of the love bites I’d read about in Miss Willa Colyns’ diary. I flushed as I quickly braided my hair. Once completed, I tossed the plait over my shoulder, hoping the thick tail would stay in place, concealing the mark.

My gaze lowered to my hands. I have a lot of blood on my hands. As angry as I was at Casteel, his words still haunted me, as did what he’d shared about the time he’d spent as a captive. He didn’t deserve that.

Part of me still couldn’t believe that he’d taken ownership for Vikter and the others, and I couldn’t help but wonder if their deaths were part of what stained his soul.

I also wondered if what he hadn’t been able to control when he was held also darkened his soul.

If so, that sat even heavier on my heart, and I wasn’t sure what to do with any of that. Horrific things had been done to him. He’d done terrible things. Neither canceled out the other.

Kieran was at least standing when I exited the bathing chamber. He faced the banked fire, and I wondered if that was as far as he’d moved.

“Do you ever get bored?” I asked.

“With what?” he replied, sounding as disinterested as possible.

“With standing around and waiting for me? It seems like you are tasked with doing so quite often.”

“It’s actually an honor to guard what the Prince values so highly,” he replied. “And since I’m never quite sure what you’re going to do from one second to the next, it’s not even remotely boring. That is, except when you’re sleeping.”

I made a closed mouth sound of annoyance as my heart immediately went to war with my brain over why I was considered something the Prince valued. My heart, which gave a happy little flop, was obviously stupid.

I went to the fireplace and picked up the thigh sheath. Relieved to find the supple leather dry, I asked, “Have you seen my dagger?”

“The one fashioned from wolven bone?”

I cringed. “Yes, that one.”

“I have not.”

Feeling a bit contrite and insensitive, I turned to him. “About the…the handle. I have no idea how that came into creation or when. It was given to me as a gift—”

“I know,” he interrupted. “Unless you are the one who carved it from the bones of a wolven, you don’t need to apologize. I imagine it was created shortly after the War of Two Kings. Many of my kind fell during the battles, and not all the bodies could be retrieved.”

I wanted to apologize again, especially when I thought about how families hadn’t had the chance to honor their loved ones with whatever burial practices they observed. I resisted the urge to comment as I slipped the bent meat knife into the sheath, half expecting Kieran to say something, but all he did was smile faintly when I glanced at him.

“Ready?” he asked. When I nodded, he peeled away from the wall. “Lead the way.”

I did just that, and it gave me great satisfaction to do so. Opening the door, I stepped outside and headed down the walkway. Why did it never feel nearly as cold when it snowed?

A better question resurfaced as I opened the door to the stairwell. “Are all Atlantians’ eyes a golden shade?”

“That’s an incredibly random question,” he said, catching the door before it swung shut in his face. “But, yes, most Atlantians have some shade of gold in their eyes. Only those of the elemental bloodline have pure golden eyes.”

I almost missed a step. “Elemental bloodline?” I asked, looking over my shoulder.

“Not all Atlantians are the same,” he remarked. “Did your history books leave that out?”

“Yes,” I grumbled, facing forward. The texts mentioned the wolven as being a part of Atlantia, but nothing had ever suggested there were different…bloodlines. “What is the elemental bloodline?”

“Those whose blood is purely Atlantian and can be traced back to the earliest known Atlantians,” he answered. “Not descendants by blood but by creation.”

“They were created by other…Atlantians?”

“Yes, by the deities, the children of the gods.”

“Really?” I said doubtfully. “Deities?”

“Really.”

My brows knitted as we reached the landing. I wasn’t sure if I believed that, but what did I know? I looked back at him. “Are any of them still in Atlantia?”

“If there were, Cas would not be our Prince.” A muscle flexed in Kieran’s jaw. “The last of their line was gone by the end of the war.”

“What does that mean? That Casteel wouldn’t be the Prince?”

“They were deities, Penellaphe. The ones who created the elemental Atlantians. A drop of their blood is a drop from the gods. They would usurp any bloodline that sat on the throne.”

“All because they can link their blood back to these…deities?”

“They ruled Atlantia since the dawn of time, up until the last of them died. They weren’t just a bloodline,” he said. “They were Atlantia.”

Okay, then. “And Casteel is of the elemental line?”

“He is.”

Well, if anyone would somehow be connected to deities and gods, it would be him. It explained his arrogance and high-handed attitude. “So, there are others who live in Atlantia? Besides the wolven?”

“There are,” he said, surprising me. I half expected him to deem the information confidential. “Those with mortal blood, usually first or second-generation with one Atlantian and one mortal parent.”

Those had been the half-Atlantians Casteel had spoken of the night prior.

“Very rarely does a third-generation or more removed have any discernible Atlantian blood or traits. But even though they have mortal lifespans, they aren’t often plagued by illnesses or disease.”

“Since their blood can feed one of an elemental line and be used to make vamprys, they don’t need blood after their Culling, do they?” I asked, realizing I hadn’t talked with Casteel about that part.

Kieran raised an eyebrow. “No. They do not need blood.”

That was a relief, although Casteel’s blood tasted nothing like I’d ever imagined. “Do those of the elemental line need food?” I’d seen Casteel eat. I’d actually seen the Ascended eat. “Do vamprys?”

“Those of the elemental line can go long periods without food but doing so requires them to take blood more often. Vamprys can eat, but they don’t need to. Food does nothing to slake their bloodlust.”

I stopped in the stairwell. “The ones who are part mortal…those are the ones with eyes that are hazel but more gold?”

“You’d be correct in your assumption.”

“Then why are mine green? Neither of my parents had hazel eyes,” I told him. “My mother could’ve had golden brown, but I’m pretty sure her eyes were just brown.”

He glanced at the door. “If your mother or father had Atlantian blood in them, that doesn’t mean they were purely Atlantian. They could’ve been second-generation and your memory of their eye color faulty.”

I frowned. “I remember the color of their eyes.”

He glanced down at me. “It’s also possible that neither of them were your birth parents.”

I almost tripped again. “Did they just find me in a field or something and decide to keep me?”

“Mortals often do inexplicable and strange things, Penellaphe.”

“Whatever.” A lot of things seemed impossible that I was working to accept. Both of my parents not actually being my blooded parents wasn’t one of them. “Are there more…bloodlines?”

“There are.”

I waited while he stared at me. “Are you going to tell me what they are?”

Amusement crept into his wintry eyes. “There were many bloodlines at one time. However, most have either died off naturally or were lost in the war. The changelings are another bloodline, although their numbers have significantly dwindled.”

“Changelings?” I repeated slowly, having never heard the word before.

“Most are of two worlds, able to shift their forms.”

“Like a wolven?”

“Yes. Some.” His gaze swiveled to the door again, and his eyes narrowed. “Many believe they are distant cousins of the wolven, the offspring of a deity and a wolven.”

“What kind of forms can they shift into?” I asked, thinking of one of the stories Ian had sent, the one about the water folk. I almost asked if they could shift into part fish, but that was too ridiculous for me to even utter.

“Many different forms. But that will have to wait. He pressed a finger to my lips when I opened my mouth. “One second.”

I frowned, but he moved his hand, brushing past me to open the door. I followed on his heels. When he came to a sudden stop, I almost walked right into his back.

“Kieran.” The familiar, raspy voice caused my heart to lurch, even though I knew it wasn’t Vikter. It was Alastir. “I’ve been wondering where you were today. I expected to see you with Casteel.”

“I’ve been busy,” Kieran answered. “Is Cas back already?”

“He’s still with Elijah, speaking about…about the upcoming move.” There was a pause as I peeked around Kieran. Alastir’s hair was pulled back in a knot at the nape of his neck. Without the cloak, I saw that he wasn’t without weapons. A dagger was strapped to one thigh, and a golden-trimmed scabbard held a sword on his opposite hip. Alastir also wasn’t alone.

A man with auburn waves and the same vivid gold eyes as Casteel was with him. An elemental Atlantian, I now knew. His gaze slid from the wolven to where I stood, mostly hidden behind Kieran. One side of his lips tipped up.

Kieran moved to the side, blocking my view of the elemental.

“As I’m sure you know, there are concerns,” Alastir continued.

“Concerns from Elijah or you?” Kieran asked.

“Concerns from all,” Alastir answered. “It’s a sizable group to move and keep healthy and whole during the trip. And once there...”

My mind rapidly turned that over. Were the people who lived in New Haven making the move to Atlantia? Even the Descenters, who were of no Atlantian descent? I thought the concerns had a lot to do with their limited land. But why were they going there now?

Kieran crossed his arms. “It needs to be done.”

“Does it?” came the quiet reply from Alastir.

“I would think you of all people would know that it does,” Kieran said as I silently stepped farther to the side. “To do nothing is cruel.”

Alastir’s features were somber as he said, “I agree. Doing nothing is cruel. My hesitation doesn’t come from a place of apathy. Hell, you know I’ve spent the better part of my life locating our people and their offspring trapped in Solis and bringing them home.” Alastir placed his hand on Kieran’s shoulder. “My hesitation comes from a place of empathy. I hope you and Casteel realize that.”

“We do.” Kieran clamped his hand over the older wolven’s forearm. “It’s just a complicated situation.”

“That it is.” Alastir turned his head to where I stood. “But not nearly as complicated as this.”

Kieran started to block me once more, and I’d had it with the ridiculousness. “He can see me standing behind you,” I said. “You’re a giant oaf, but not that giant of an oaf.”

A wide smile broke out across Alastir’s face, and the elemental behind him laughed.

Kieran sighed.

“I was hoping we’d get a chance to cross paths again without the Prince rushing you off.” The wolven’s smile tightened. “He does seem quite taken with you.”

I tensed, immediately wanting to put out that based on what Casteel planned to do, he couldn’t be taken with me. But recalling that Casteel had said that he was working on making sure my life wasn’t in jeopardy with this man, I managed to keep that to myself. “I think he’s far more taken with himself.”

A loud laugh burst from the elemental. “I think I can now be counted as one of those taken with you.”

My cheeks flushed, burning even deeper when Kieran said, “I would advise against saying that in front of Casteel.”

“I like my head attached to my body, and my heart in my chest,” the elemental responded. “I have no plans to repeat that.”

“He did say you were…quite outspoken.”

I crossed my arms. “More like warned you?”

“Something like that, but surprising nonetheless.” Alastir’s pale eyes danced with amusement. “We didn’t get a chance to be properly introduced yesterday. I’m Alastir Davenwell and the one behind me is Emil Da’Lahr.”

Emil grinned as he nodded in my direction. “I will forever think of Kieran as a giant oaf now, thanks to you.”

“That’s great,” muttered the wolven standing beside me.

Sparing a quick glance at Kieran’s stoic expression, I said, “I’m Penellaphe...Penellaphe Balfour.”

Alastir’s gaze sharpened on me as his brows narrowed. “Balfour?”

I nodded.

“That’s an old name, one that goes back several hundred years in Solis,” Alastir said.

How old was this wolven? “My father’s family was involved in shipping. They were merchants.”

“Casteel has told me that you are of Atlantian descent,” Alastir said after a moment. “Which would explain why the Ascended have deemed you the Maiden and kept you close to them.” His head tilted. He must’ve seen something in my expression, because he continued. “You’ve learned what they had planned for you.”

A statement, but I nodded anyway.

“I am sorry for that,” he offered softly, bowing his head slightly. “I cannot imagine what it must feel like to learn that those who cared for you did so for such abhorrent reasons.”

It felt like the world was nothing but a violent lie.

“Your mother was close to the vampry Queen, and your father’s family a friend to the King? Correct?”

Surprise flickered through me. “Did Casteel tell you that?”

A faint smile appeared. “I knew some of your background before I met you, Penellaphe. Word of a Maiden, one Chosen by the gods, reached Atlantia long ago.”

That didn’t make me feel entirely comfortable. “I guess that came as a shock to your people since your gods are asleep, therefore unable to choose anyone.”

Emil chuckled. “That it did. We wondered if they had woken and forgotten about us.”

“I think what is more of a shock is learning that you’re of Atlantian descent,” Alastir said, brows knitted. “Especially since your mother and father were so connected to the Blood Crown.”

“The Blood Crown?”

“The Queen and King of Solis. The Royals,” explained Kieran. “They’re referred to as the Blood Crown.”

I was sure there was disturbing accuracy behind that title.

“It leaves me with the question of how you’re even here,” said Alastir.

Kieran unfolded his arms. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You can’t tell me that neither you nor the Prince has wondered how the parent of someone of Atlantian descent survived long so close to the Blood Crown.” Alastir looked at me. “It’s not that they can sense us, but being that close, I imagine it would’ve been discovered.”

“And they would’ve used one of them as what? A blood bag?” I finished.

Emil’s brows rose. “That’s one way of putting it, but yes.”

“I don’t know which one was Atlantian,” I admitted. “Kieran seems to think that I was found in a field.”

Emil sent a questioning look at the wolven.

Kieran sighed. “I did not say that. I merely suggested that one or even possibly both weren’t her blooded parents.”

“That’s possible.” A thoughtful expression entered Alastir’s features. “I never heard what became of your parents. Are they still in the capital of Solis? If so, then I imagine the answer lies with them.”

“My parents are no longer alive.” Unsure if he knew of Ian, I didn’t mention him. “They were killed in a Craven attack outside the city.”

Alastir paled as he stared at me. “Is that…?” He trailed off, lines bracketing his mouth.

I had a feeling I knew what he had been about to ask. “It was how I was scarred,” I told him, holding his stare.

The lines at his mouth deepened. “You wear your scars proudly, Penellaphe.”

“As do you,” I murmured.

“I am sorry to learn of your parents,” Alastir said. “I wish there was more I could say.”

“Thank you,” I murmured.

“We need to get going.” Kieran touched my back lightly. “Excuse us.”

Alastir nodded as both he and Emil stepped aside. “It was nice to speak with you, Penellaphe.”

“You, too,” I said, sending both men a small smile.

Kieran ushered me through the otherwise empty common area. I looked over my shoulder to see both males still standing there, watching us. I turned back to the hall. My steps slowed as I said in a low voice, “They…seemed nice. Are they?”

“They are both good men, loyal to Atlantia and the Da’Neer dynasty.”

Dynasty. Is that what Casteel’s family was? A dynasty?

“Come.” He touched my back again. “We must eat. You must eat.”

I forced my steps to keep pace with Kieran’s as I momentarily forgot about Alastir. I couldn’t see beyond the bend, but tiny knots tangled up my stomach. I didn’t want to see the walls with the hanging dead again. “Why is everyone so concerned about me eating?”

“We want to take you to Atlantia. Not starve you.”

Atlantia. My already churning stomach dipped. I knew so little about what rose from the blood and ash of war. “Do they really have running hot water there, available in…faucets?”

Kieran blinked once and then twice. “Yes. They do. It is probably the thing I miss the most when I am here.”

“That sounds lovely,” I murmured. “The hot water part. Not the missing it part.”

“I figured that was what you meant.”

As I neared the bend, I steeled myself for the grotesque sight of the bodies spiked to the walls. Was Jericho still alive? Had the others begun to rot? It was cool enough in here that the others would probably look as they had before, only grayer and waxier. My empty stomach churned as I stepped into the hall and lifted my gaze.

The walls were bare.

No bodies. No evidence of blood, nothing streaming down the walls and finding the tiny cracks in the stone to form little rivers. None on the floor, either.

I pressed my hand to my stomach. “They’re gone.”

“Cas had them removed last night after dinner,” Kieran advised.

Surprise shuttled through me. “And Jericho?”

“He is no more. Casteel took care of him while you were running off to start a new life, one which would’ve ended in certain dismemberment and death at the hands of the Craven.”

Ignoring that jab, I didn’t know if I should feel as relieved as I did. “Did…did Casteel believe his warning was heard?”

“I believe he was more concerned about what you said than if his warning was left up long enough to be heeded.” Kieran crossed through the open doors. “I, on the other hand, would’ve left Jericho up there for at least another day or so.”

My mouth dropped open. I wasn’t sure what shocked me more. That Casteel had acted upon what I’d said, or that Kieran would’ve left the traitorous wolven lingering in a painful state of almost death. “There should always be dignity in death,” I said once I found my voice. “No matter what.”

Kieran didn’t answer as he led me to an empty table. The chairs from the night before had been replaced by a long bench. I sat as I looked around, spotting only a few people toward the back of the banquet hall, near the hearth and several doors. Where was everyone? With Casteel and Elijah?

I turned as Kieran sat beside me. “I don’t think Casteel acted upon my words, but if he did, I’m grateful to hear that.”

He rested an elbow on the table. “I don’t think you realize how much sway you have over him.”

I started to deny such a statement, but an older woman with a white smock covering the front of her soft yellow gown hurried to the table, carrying two plates. The scent of food caused my stomach to make itself known once more. She placed one in front of us, both full of fluffy mashed potatoes, roasted meat, and glistening rolls on the side. As inconspicuously as possible, I noted the color of her eyes. They were brown with no hint of gold.

“Thank you,” I said.

There was a grunt of acknowledgment, but when Kieran offered the same thanks, he was given a warm smile and a sweet, “thank you.” My lips pursed, but I didn’t let it bother me as I snatched up the fork and started shoveling the potatoes into my mouth. Though it was a unique experience for me to even be able to look anyone in the face, or for them to see me, and for us to exchange even simple pleasantries. The mouthful of potatoes turned to sawdust on my tongue, so I guessed her response did bother me. A little.

Looking over at Kieran, I saw that he had been given a fork and a knife. My eyes narrowed. It was slightly thinner, but far sharper than my sad blade.

Finishing off the potatoes, I got back to my line of questioning. “She was mortal, wasn’t she? The woman who brought the food to us?”

Cutting up his roasted meat into neat pieces that all appeared to be the same size, he nodded. “She is.”

Then she must be a Descenter, a mortal of Solis. I used to wonder what sort of hardships someone had to face in their life to lead them to support the Dark One and the fallen kingdom. But that was before I knew the truth. Now, I wondered what hardship had awoken her to the truth.

“Are the people here planning to leave for Atlantia?” I asked.

“You put two and two together, I see.”

“I’m smart like that.”

He raised a brow.

“So, I’m right? Why are they leaving here?”

“Why would anyone want to remain under the control of the Ascended?”

Well, that sounded like a good enough reason. “But why now?”

“Sooner rather than later, the Ascended will realize that their Maiden is missing, and they will come looking for you. They will come here,” Kieran said. “And there are far too many supporters in New Haven.”

My gaze lifted to the now-empty hearth as I thought of all the filled homes along the street we’d come in on. “How many people live here?”

“Several hundred.”

“Is there room for them in Atlantia?”

His gaze slid to mine, and I could tell he was working out that I knew about their land problem. “We will make room.”

I had a feeling it wasn’t that simple. I wanted to know what would happen if they weren’t able to move them in time. I stopped before I could. It wasn’t my problem. Their problems weren’t mine.

Kieran had finally, after about ten years, finishing cutting up his food. “May I have that? If you’re done, that is? I’m not sure, but the last piece is a little thicker than the rest of the pieces.”

Slowly, he looked over at me. “Would you like me to cut your food for you?”

“Would you like me to knock you off this bench?”

He chuckled deeply. “Cas is right. You are incredibly violent.”

“No, I’m not.” I pointed my fork at him. “I’m just not a child. I don’t need someone else cutting my meat.”

“Uh-huh.” He handed the knife over, and I took it before he could change his mind.

I didn’t take nearly the same amount of time to slice the tender meat, but I didn’t hand the knife back over either. I kept it in my left hand as I speared the food with my fork. “Where is everyone?”

“Living their best lives, I suppose,” he replied rather wistfully.

I shot him a dark look, but I was undaunted. “Anyway,” I drew out the word, getting back to what we had been talking about before we ran into Alastir. “What do you call the ones who have mortal blood in them? The half-Atlantians? Like what would you call me?”

“Atlantian.”

“Really?” I replied, picking up one of the rolls. “That makes things confusing.”

“Not to me.”

Rolling my eyes, I bit into the bread and almost moaned. It was so buttery, and there was a hint of sweetness I couldn’t place. Whatever it was, it was amazing.

“The amount of blood someone has does not define an Atlantian,” Kieran elaborated. “Those who are elemental are no more important than those who aren’t.”

I wasn’t sure I believed that if those who were elemental were more powerful, lived longer, and were created by the children of the gods. “Do the changelings have longer lifespans? I’m guessing the wolven do.”

“We do.” He sighed, picking up his cup. “And they do.”

“How long do they normally live?” I picked up a cloth, wiping my fingers, and then I reached down, unsheathing my ruined knife.

“Longer than you can comprehend.” He stared straight ahead, chewing slowly.

“I can comprehend a long time. The Ascended live forever. The Atlantians—well, the ones who are of the elemental line, practically do, too.” I placed the ruined knife on the table and slipped the other one under and into its sheath.

“Nothing lives forever. Anything can be killed if you try hard enough.”

Overly proud of myself, I stabbed another piece of meat. “I suppose.”

“But no matter how hard you try with that knife you just swiped,” he said, and my eyes widened, “you will not be able to kill Cas with it.”

My head swung in his direction. “I’m not planning to kill him with it.”

“I would hope not.” He looked at me from the corner of his eye. “It would probably only further endear you to him.”

I gave a small shake of my head. “I’m going to ignore that incredibly disturbing possibility.”

“Ignoring something doesn’t make it less true, Penellaphe.”

“Why do you call me Penellaphe?”

“Why do you have so many questions?”

My eyes narrowed. “Why can’t you answer the question?”

Kieran leaned over, dipping his chin. “Nicknames are often reserved for friends. I don’t believe you consider us friends.”

What he said made so much sense that I wasn’t quite sure how to respond. When I did, I doubted he would be happy to learn that it was another question. “Like how Atlantians only share their middle names with friends?”

“With close friends, yes.” He studied me a moment. “I’m guessing Casteel told you his.”

“Yes.”

“Did that change anything for you?”

I didn’t answer because I still didn’t understand why it mattered to me. Or maybe I did, and I just didn’t want to acknowledge it. Kieran didn’t push it, and we finished what was left of our lunch in silence. I kept glancing toward the open doorway. Not that I was looking for Casteel, but I…I was looking for anyone. The few people who had been at the back of the room had all but disappeared.

I imagined Kieran was grateful for the reprieve, but sadly for him, it was short-lived. “You know what I don’t understand?”

“Yet another question,” he said, heaving an absurdly loud sigh.

I pretended not to hear his comment. “Alastir brought up a good point about my parents. I must be a second-generation, right? Since neither of my parents were full-blooded, like born in Atlantia as far as I know,” I told him. “But Queen Ileana knew what I was…” I trailed off, frowning.

I truly had no idea if the Ascended knew what I was before or after the Craven attack. Surviving the Craven’s bite and not turning would’ve been a dead giveaway to Queen Ileana.

“What?” Kieran prodded.

“I…I honestly can’t remember being referred to as the Maiden or the Chosen before my parents left. But I was so young, and there are so few memories.” And what I remembered of the night of the Craven attack, I couldn’t exactly trust as real. “I don’t know how they learned what I was. If it were my abilities before the attack or if it was after that.”

“And you don’t remember what made your parents leave the capital?”

“I remember them saying that they wanted a quieter life, but what…what if they knew what would happen to me? To their children?”

“And they were escaping the Ascended?” Kieran took a drink. “That’s a possibility.”

I glanced back at the doors. “Alastir helped to relocate Atlantians who were stranded in Solis?”

“He did, but if your parents were first-generation, unaware of what they were, I doubt they would’ve known how to even contact someone like Alastir. “

“How would they have contacted him?” I turned back around.

“They would’ve had to know someone who knew someone who knew someone, and through the whole chain of people, they’d have had to trust each and every one completely.”

Considering how Descenters were treated, I couldn’t imagine anyone having that kind of trust. But still, what if they had been seeking someone like Alastir? What if they’d left without even knowing that there were others out there that could help them? Would that have changed the outcome at all? Probably.

“Alastir did bring up another good point,” Kieran commented.

“How either of my parents didn’t end up being used to create more vampry.”

“Unless…”

I knew where he was heading with that. “Anyway, back to my original question.”

“Yay,” he muttered.

“If my parents were first-generation, then I would be second.”

His gaze flickered over my face, passing over the scars without even so much as a slight widening of the eyes. “Assuming that they are both your parents, yes. I would almost think your abilities would make you first-generation, but it’s possible that you’re second.”

“And all Atlantians have golden eyes, in some shape or form,” I said. “As I’m sure you can tell, I don’t have golden eyes.”

“No, you don’t. But I never said all Atlantians have golden eyes. I said most do,” Kieran said, toying with the fork. “Changelings don’t, and they have no unique eye color. Neither did a few of the other bloodlines we believed had died off,” he added, the fork stilling between his fingers. “Maybe we were wrong to assume that some of the older lines have ceased to exist. Perhaps you’re proof of that.”

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