Page 121 of The Primal of Blood and Bone (Blood and Ash #6)

POPPY

“When you summon the essence, you’ll feel the warmth of it,” I told Kieran as he placed his hands on the man’s broken leg. The unconscious mortal had been found in the rubble of one of the warehouses. “Then think of something that makes you happy.”

Kieran’s crystalline-blue eyes lifted to mine. “That’s all?”

I nodded. “The essence does the rest.” I smiled despite how it made my entire face ache to do so. “You can do this.”

That earned me a quick grin. “All right.” Taking a deep breath, Kieran closed his eyes. “Here goes nothing.”

Maybe he hadn’t healed Malik.

Resting on my knees beside the prone mortal, I felt the moment the power, warm like the summer sun, rose within him. The eather in me didn’t react like it did when I felt it stir in Casteel. Strangely, it sort of comforted me.

Golden swirls appeared in Kieran’s warm-brown cheeks and spread down the sides of his throat and arms, swirling to where his hands rested above the torn, bloody trousers and the obviously broken bone. Gold-tinged eather sparked from his fingertips and flowed over the man.

I lifted my gaze to the injured mortals and Atlantians lying in haphazard rows across the dusty floor of a warehouse located about a street or two from the bluffs leading to Wayfair.

The cool breeze coming in from the buildings’ open doors and windows didn’t dispel the scent of blood and sweat.

Under the dim light cast by gas lanterns, around two hundred had been brought here, over half suffering from life-threatening injuries—well, less than half now.

Kieran’s eyes opened. “Holy shit,” he whispered and stared at where the essence began knitting the man’s broken leg bone. His gaze snapped to mine. “It’s working.”

My answering smile hurt a little less. “It is.”

There was something…adorable about his awe as he refocused on the man. Almost childlike.

A weary sigh left me as I shifted my gaze toward the back of the warehouse, where stacked crates shielded those neither the Healers nor I had reached in time.

Ten Atlantians. Twenty mortals. So far. It had taken nearly everything in me not to place my hands on them and restore the warmth to their bodies.

I couldn’t.

A life for a life.

If I brought a mortal back, another would be taken to keep the balance. It wasn’t the same for gods or Atlantians, but I couldn’t bring an Atlantian back and not a mortal. There was no balance in that.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

Soft fur tickled my cheek as Delano leaned into my side. Turning my head, I pressed my face into the side of his neck and let myself relax into him for just a few moments.

A minute was too long.

Poppy , Delano called.

I’m fine.

Pulling away, I used my hands to push myself up. Luckily, I didn’t sway as Delano stood. If I had, he would have dragged my ass from here.

Ignoring the stiffness in my body, I watched the servants from Wayfair rush in and out of doors, carrying baskets with clean linens and anything that could be used for bandages for a few seconds and then turned.

I looked for the fair-haired Healer, Syrus, finding him kneeling next to an Atlantian guard.

Casteel was with him, his dark head bowed.

I looked away before Casteel lifted the white sheet he held, already knowing the man had passed.

Eleven Atlantians.

So far.

The lower streets were still being searched, and I knew those found dead weren’t being brought here.

Chest heavy, I started to walk, though I did so with company.

Delano was at my side, and Emil and Hisa were only a few steps behind me.

The auburn-haired Atlantian was quieter than I’d ever known him to be.

I let my senses stretch out as I slowly moved between the beds made from blankets we’d had the servants bring.

Those conscious stared either at the large, snow-white wolven or me.

Or at my two shadows, whose hands rested on swords as if ready to strike if someone so much as twitched in my direction.

Probably at all of those things. I was too tired to care about the stares or worry about what they thought as they looked at me.

Something caught my attention. I wasn’t sure what, but I glanced toward the front of the warehouse just in time to see a cloaked figure carrying an empty basket. The figure was slender and tall, and as they neared the doors, a breeze lifted the hood just enough for me to glimpse white curls.

Tawny.

My wry smile froze as my stomach lurched.

No.

Nope.

I didn’t have time to think about that.

Turning, I kept walking until I stopped at the feet of a man with a pile of bloodied bandages wrapped around his stomach. I started to kneel—

Another faint quake struck, drawing a chorus of groans and muted curses as my gaze lifted to the ceiling. The slivers of moonlight seeping through the gaps in the rafters were widening.

“It’s holding,” Hisa advised quietly.

But for how long? went unsaid.

“And that one was weaker,” Emil added.

It was.

The quakes had been happening every hour or so since the gods vanished, fading in strength with each pass.

I had a bad feeling about those quakes. Bad enough that I couldn’t let myself think too hard about them because I didn’t have the strength to deal with the answer.

“I think it would be wise to move anyone who can be to…” A wave of dizziness swept up the back of my neck and over my head. Inhaling sharply, I fought the icy-hot pressure that followed. It bore down on my skull, making my head feel like it was seconds from cracking open.

Don’t pass out .

“Poppy?” someone called, sounding as if they were outside.

Do not fucking pass out .

Delano nudged my hand, and I blinked several times as the pressure retreated—pressure I wasn’t sure was due to only having taken enough blood from Casteel to be able to use the eather to heal or something else.

I opened my eyes to find Casteel standing several rows away, his gold eyes fixed on me. A muscle ticked along his jaw. His brother was beside him, speaking to him quietly. I remembered he’d said he had something to show us.

“I’m sorry?” Turning away, I began to kneel beside the man again. “What did you say?”

“I was saying we can move them to the Wayfair gatehouse,” Emil suggested. “It’s large, pretty clean, and more secure.”

“I think that’s a good idea.” Eyeing the pile of bandages, I leaned over the man. “Can you start on that?”

“Of course.” Emil started to turn but stopped. His shoulders tightened as he faced me. “You’ve done enough, Poppy.”

“I haven’t.” All one had to do was look around and see all the carnage to know that.

“You have.” His voice lowered as he stepped closer. “You’re exhausted and barely standing. You need to rest.”

Rest?

How could I do that when people were still injured?

I was the Queen. I shouldn’t rest while others suffered.

And how could I rest when doing so inevitably led to silence and time—time to think about why this had happened and what it meant.

If the attack on Lowertown was just a trap designed to lure out one or more Primal gods, then I would have to acknowledge that sinking, suffocating feeling that it had been successful.

I would have to think about what had happened in Stonehill and the little hands clutching those dinner knives.

I would have to think about what the grul had whispered to me.

So’lis, I’ll be seeing you soon .

My soul.

And I would have to think about last night and how I’d stood in front of the window.

My memory was still hazy around the edges, but I had a feeling I knew why I’d stood there.

Why I’d asked Casteel what I had. Somehow, someway, I had known that he was watching, and that the attack on Lowertown wasn’t just a trap but a response.

A reaction.

And, worst of all, resting would give the seeds of fear that had taken root in the very core of my being time to grow. Prove that my biggest fear was no longer losing myself to anger and not being able to control my powers.

Because Kolis had done all of this in a little over a day with his will alone.

And that was terrifying.

So, no.

I couldn’t rest.

“I’m okay,” I said, opening my eyes. I stared at the crack in the rafters. “I promise.”

Emil sighed, his doubt rolling off him in waves. “Please, go easy on yourself, Poppy. We only just got you back.”

My gaze shot to him. He was already walking off to begin moving those who could leave, and for some reason, his parting comment made me want to cry.

Shaking my head, I turned my attention back to the man. What was up with these bandages?

“He’s right,” Hisa said. “You’re exhausted. I can see it.”

I can feel it , Delano told me.

“I’m okay.” I carefully peeled back a layer.

Delano grumbled, plopping his furry butt down beside me as I eyed the man.

He looked to be in his third or fourth decade of life, but his skin was swarthy, weathered by years under the sun.

Only the skin around his mouth was pinched white from pain now.

Working on the dock was backbreaking work for little coin. Men like him didn’t live long.

It took a few seconds for the reason for all the bandages to become clear. Something was sticking out of the man. Taking a breath to prepare myself, I lifted the last couple of completely soaked cloths.

“Good gods,” Hisa whispered.

A piece of board jutted from pink, ropey—

Oh, gods.

I quickly lifted my gaze, swallowing the bile threatening to rise and the anger—the bone-deep rage—that built with each injury I uncovered.

“It’s okay,” came a reedy voice.

Startled, I looked down to see the man’s eyes open to thin slits.

“I…I know it’s bad,” he said, a trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. The time between the rise and fall of his chest lagged. “There are others who…who need your…touch.”

Swallowing a lump this time, I set the soiled linens aside. He knew what I could sense. Death was close. “What is your name?”