From Blood and Ash (Blood And Ash #1) - Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,145

here,” he said, and I believed him. He’d do what no one else would, not even…not even Vikter. “You’re being summoned because word has come from the capital.”

It felt strange when Tawny arrived to help me with the veil, to be wearing it after everything, and even more weird to realize that the castle looked the same as it had before the attack. All except for the Great Hall. It had been barricaded from what I could gather. One brief glance at the room Vikter had died in told me that the door had been replaced.

That was all I needed to know.

The Duchess wore white, like I did, but while I wore the clothing of the Maiden, she wore the color of mourning. She sat behind what had been the Duke’s desk, looking over a piece of paper. Not the desk that had been in the Duke’s more private office. If we’d been meeting there, I had no idea what I would’ve done.

I still couldn’t believe how the Duke had been killed. Surely, the weapon had been coincidental, but it still pecked away at something in the back of my mind.

The Duchess glanced up as the door closed behind us. She looked…different. It wasn’t the color, or that her hair was pulled back sharply from her face in a simple twist. It was something else, but I couldn’t place it as I walked past the benches. There were two other people in the room, the Commander, and a Royal Guard.

Her gaze flickered over me, and I wondered if she could tell that I had left my hair down beneath the veil. “I hope you’re doing well.” She paused. “Or at least better than the last time I saw you.”

“I am well,” I said, and that felt like neither a lie nor the truth.

“Good. Please. Take a seat.” She gestured at the bench, and I did as she asked.

Tawny sat beside me, but Hawke remained standing to my left. I did everything in my power not to think about how Vikter belonged here.

“A lot has happened while you’ve been…resting,” the Duchess started. “The Queen and King have been notified of recent events.” She tapped one long finger on the parchment.

The message must have been sent through carrier pigeon to the capital, but only a Huntsman would deliver a Royal message here. He had to have ridden night and day, changing horses along the way to have made it back. It generally took several weeks to travel that distance.

“After the abduction attempt and the attack on the Rite, they no longer believe it’s safe for you here,” the Duchess announced. “They have summoned you back to Carsodonia.”

I knew this was coming. Since the abduction attempt, I’d accepted that there was a high chance that the Queen would summon me to the capital, and I knew that could mean an earlier than expected Ascension. That was probably why I wasn’t surprised, but it didn’t explain the lack of dread and fear.

All I felt was…acceptance. Maybe even a little relief because this castle was now the last place I wanted to be, and I wasn’t thinking about what could happen when I got to the capital. I wasn’t even thinking about seeing Ian again. I knew what else I felt, though. And that was confusion.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out. “How am I not punished?”

Hawke turned to me, and without looking, I knew he probably had the same expression on his face that Vikter would have had.

The Duchess didn’t respond for a long moment until she said, “I assume you’re speaking about Lord Mazeen.”

My stomach tightened as I nodded.

Her head tilted. “Do you think you should be punished?”

I started to respond as I would’ve two weeks ago before the attack, back when I was still trying so damn hard to be what I was beginning to believe I was never meant to be. “I don’t think I can answer that question.”

“Why not?” Curiosity marked her features.

“Because…there was a history there.” I settled on that, aware of how Tawny shifted so her leg pressed against mine. I drew in a deep breath. “I know I should be punished.”

“You should,” she agreed. “He was an Ascended, one of our oldest.”

Tension radiated from Hawke as I felt him move just the slightest bit toward me.

“You cut him up like a butcher would a slab of meat,” she continued. I should’ve felt horror or disgust—anything other than the surge of gratification that swamped me. “But I’m sure you had