Setting the quill aside, I folded the parchment. It was late by the time I finished reviewing documents pertaining to the smaller farming communities outside the Willow Plains. Perry had been tasked with going through the Blood Crown’s records. Unsurprisingly, they were a jumbled mess. In his attempts to put them in some semblance of coherent order, he’d come across requests from the villagers between Carsodonia and the Willow Plains—requests that had gradually grown to outright pleas for additional guards to protect them against the Craven attacks. Perry had noted they had been denied. As had the request to increase the lands used for farming. I wasn’t even remotely shocked. The Blood Crown had never cared about the mortals or their needs. It was an incredibly short-sighted mentality. These farmlands served the capital, Three Rivers, Whitebridge, and the Willow Plains. Without those villagers to tend the farms or enough land to feed the mortals, they would lose their food source, which would happen sooner rather than later. Starvation brought disease. For all her faults, Isbeth wasn’t foolish. She knew what would happen—what was already happening. Basedon reports, starvation was a constant shadow over Croft’s Cross, the poorest district in the capital. Perry had also included notes on reported outbreaks of consumption. That would eventually cross the Nye River, finding the lungs of merchants and shop owners. Isbeth had lived long enough to see that happen time and time again. But it was as if they had no real plans for the future.
Perhaps she really hadn’t. After all, she wanted to see Kolis rise, and the woman was unhinged enough to jeopardize everything—including her own life—in her thirst for vengeance for the loss of her child and heartmate.
Eventually, we would clear the Blood Forest of the Craven, but that had to wait until we’d dealt with Kolis. So, I focused on whatcouldbe done now. I’d send guards in the morning—not nearly enough, but their presence would help. I’d also approved the expansion of some farmland and requested surveys for those in Croft’s Cross to discover if any had experience working the land or were open to learning. That also wouldn’t be enough in the long term. Especially not when Atlantians started migrating west, which had to happen. But there were lands closer to the Skotos. Lands such as Irelone and even Pompay could be developed for farming.
That thought reminded me of how I used to watch the farmers in the fields outside of Evaemon when I was a boy, their hands callused yet steady as they coaxed life from the earth. There was a rhythm and stability to it—a quiet kind of power in how they worked the land and provided for themselves and countless others. Leaning back in the chair, I thought about how I would watch them, wondering what it would be like to trade in the sword for a plow. Fuck. I still wondered what it would feel like to trade all this now. Except for a sword, it was titles, wars, and gods. What would it be like to give it all up for the simplicity of that life? My gaze shifted to the bed. For Poppy and I to wakewith the sun, tend to the fields, and let the rest of the realm transfer into the hands of one better suited?
A warm shimmer of awareness curled through my chest, drawing me from my thoughts. I tensed as my gaze shifted to the door, flattening my hand atop the parchment I’d folded.
Kieran.
I stayed completely still and tilted my head. After a couple of moments, I heard his footfalls. A muscle ticked in my jaw as he neared the door. The hand resting against my thigh fisted. I rose before I knew what I was doing and walked toward the door, stopping in front of it.
The silence of the chamber stretched out. I knew he heard my approach. He’d probably caught my fucking scent. I looked down to see my hand hovering above the handle.
Swallowing a curse, I closed my eyes and placed my hand flat against the door. Kieran didn’t knock. He didn’t speak. I lowered my shields. My mind remained as silent as the chamber. I had no idea how long I stood there before I heard him leave and no longer felt his presence.
Chest heavy once more, I pushed away from the door. After using the bathing chamber, I toed off my boots and joined Poppy. I stretched out next to her, weary to the bone but unable to sleep. So, I did what I’d been doing since she first entered stasis. I talked to her. Shared with her how I felt when I learned that she had been taken by Alastir and the absolute terror when I saw her take that bolt to the chest. I told her how proud I’d been when she saved the child’s life in Saion’s Cove and kept talking until I found myself staring at the vaulted ceiling above the bed.
Painted gods stared down at us. All of them. Who in the fuck wanted to wake up staring at that?
I saw the auburn-haired Rhain, the God of Common Men and Endings. He bore a peaceful expression. Beside him, Rhahar, the Eternal God, reflected the same. The artist hadcaptured two black-haired goddesses beside the gods of death. Bele, the Goddess of the Hunt and Divine Justice aimed her bow at us, and Ione, the Goddess of Rebirth, cradled an infant in her slender arms. Lailah and Theon, the twin gods of peace and war, crossed swords and arms. Wisps of wind fell from the fingertips of Saion, the God of Earth, Wind, and Sky. Aios, the redheaded Goddess of Love, Fertility, and Beauty, smiled seductively, and Penellaphe, the Goddess of Wisdom, Loyalty, and Duty—and, more importantly, Poppy’s namesake—held a book. Perus, the pale, white-haired God of the Rite and Prosperity, didn’t even exist, but the artist had also painted him, draped in gold. They all surrounded Nyktos, the King of the Gods, who was never painted with any features in the mortal realm. He was always represented as a being of brilliant, silver light.
Perhaps even the Blood Crown had been wary of truly capturing his features, given he was a Primal of Death and not the Primal of Life.
Shehadn’t been painted at all.
I eyed the rendering of Perus and cocked my head. The nearly white pale-blond hair. The heart-shaped face. I squinted. There were even…freckles. I immediately thought of Millicent.
The features were so similar they could’ve been fraternal twins.
Was Perus supposed to represent Seraphena, the true Primal of Life? The Blood Crown clearly knew of her existence. But that would’ve been a really piss-poor homage to her, and why would the Ascended have done that? It didn’t make sense, but who really knew when it came to them?
Shaking those thoughts from my head, I rolled onto my side to face Poppy and smoothed my thumb over her hand. She seemed paler to me, her skin colder.
Real terror seized my heart. I didn’t know how much longer I could do this.
I cursed, knowing Icouldn’tdo this. But as I lay there, I wasn’t thinking about that fucking promise. I was thinking only about her.
I needed her.
Needed to hear onlyhervoice. See onlyherin her eyes. Feel her warm touch, her hands guided by onlyherwill.
I needed Poppy.
Her shy smiles. Her throaty laughter. Her blushes that pinkened her skin and sometimes even the entire length of her body. Her curiosity. Her endless questions.
Closing my eyes, I did something I had only done a few times. Maybe lack of sleep had brought me to this moment. Or desperation.
I prayed to the gods.
To one in particular I knew was awake.
“I don’t know how much longer I can wait—thatanyof us can, but…I need her to wake. I need to see her eyes open again and see only her staring back at me. I need her beside me, even if she doesn’t remember me—even if she never remembers me. As long as it’s just her,” I swore, my voice thick and strained. “If you bring her back to me…” Eyes stinging, I did nothing to stop the tears building in them as I filled my thoughts and voice with all the love I had for Poppy. “I will do anything. Give anything. Please, Seraphena. Bring your granddaughter back to me.”
Time crept by slowly. It could’ve been minutes, but more likely, it had been hours. I didn’t sleep. I just kept repeating that prayer over and over—
A warm breath of air stirred the hair at the nape of my neck, causing my eyes to fly open.
