“Did you happen to forget about the blood tree?” I asked as we returned to the keep. “And that’s why you didn’t mention it?”

“To be honest, I had more pressing concerns.”

I arched a brow. “Really? What is more pressing than an omen sent by the gods?”

“You waking up uninjured was more pressing than a vague, rather unhelpful message from the gods,” he replied as we entered the banquet hall, and I almost tripped.

“You cannot be serious,” I stated.

He frowned. “I’m completely serious.”

There was no way he was being honest. The omen was far more important than anything that had to do with me. When was the last time the gods had sent any sort of message? There was nothing in the history books, and even if there had been, it was doubtful it would’ve been accurate.

But there was something more pressing than the blood tree, and it was what awaited us here.

The injured had been placed in a room adjacent to the banquet hall. Before the doors even opened, I could feel the pain radiating through the stone walls. My pulse tripped, even though my steps didn’t slow.

Casteel stepped in before me, and was immediately greeted by Alastir.

“I see you’ve returned,” Casteel said as I took in the room, thoughts of the blood tree fading. Six cots were set up, all of them occupied by men, except the last one. Red stained the bandage around her neck. I recognized her. One of the knights had grabbed her, and I was surprised to see that she had survived. But her skin was only a shade away from death, and she was impossibly still. An older woman sat beside her, hands pressed together as her lips moved in a silent prayer.

“And I see I should’ve returned earlier,” Alastir commented.

“You returned soon enough, according to Elijah.” Casteel clasped the older wolven’s hand. “I heard you and your men took care of the rest of the knights.”

Alastir nodded absently as he surveyed the room, lips set in a thin line. “Damn them. These people didn’t deserve this.”

“The Ascended will pay.”

“Will they?” Alastir asked.

“It is a promise that won’t be broken,” Casteel answered.

Alastir let out a shuddering breath as he turned to me. “I’m glad to hear that you were safely returned, Penellaphe, and that they were unsuccessful in their attempts to retrieve you.”

Unsure of what he’d been told, I nodded as I murmured my thanks. My skin buzzed with the need to move forward. Only one, the woman, seemed to have moved beyond pain. I twisted to Casteel.

Catching my eye, he nodded. I hurried forward, to the first man. He was an older gentleman with more gray than black in his hair. I didn’t know what his injuries were, but his unfocused gray eyes tracked me. I opened myself, sucking in a sharp breath as anguish, both mental and physical, came from the beds and those perched beside them. It crowded out the air, choking and suffocating. My gaze briefly swept to the woman and then to the elder beside her. Some would not leave this room. Others knew this. Hands giving in to a slight tremor, I focused on the man before me.

“I’m sorry about what was done to you,” I whispered, and the man said not a word as I placed my hand on his.

Normally, it took a few moments for me to call upon the kind of memories that led to the easing of pain. I’d think of the sandy beaches of the Stroud Sea, of holding my mother’s hand. But this time, I felt warmth in the skin of my palm. I didn’t have to pull upon anything, only thought of taking the pain. I knew the moment my gift reached him. His mouth went lax as his chest rose with a deeper, steadier breath. I held his hand until the clouds left his eyes. He stared, but did not speak, and neither did the man beside him, one too young to carry the haunted look in his eyes. I eased his pain from whatever wounds the blanket covered and from what ran deeper. Grief. Raw and potent.

“Who did you lose?” I asked once he’d stopped trembling, aware that no one was speaking. Not Alastir. Not Casteel, who shadowed me through the room.

“My…my grandfather,” he said hoarsely. “How did you…how did you know?”

Shaking my head, I placed his arm by his side. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Eyes followed me as I made my way to the next man and knelt. In the back of my mind, I wondered if it was Casteel’s blood that made it easier for me to use my gift or if it was because of the Culling. Either way, I was happy to find that it worked with little effort. Continuing to dwell upon happier times was not easy when death clouded the room.

The man before me was slipping in and out of consciousness, twitching and moaning softly as I placed my hand on his, channeling my energy into him. His sweat-dampened brows smoothed out within seconds.

“What did you do?” a young woman demanded as she fell to her knees beside the man, dropping an armful of clean towels. “What did she do?”

“It’s okay.” Casteel placed a hand on her shoulder. “She only eased his pain long enough for Magda to return.”

“But how…?” She trailed off, her brown eyes widening as she placed a hand over her chest.

Meeting Casteel’s gaze, I rose and went to another, one with eyes of winter. A wolven. I had no idea how old he was, but in mortal years, he appeared to be a decade or so older than me, his onyx-hued skin drawn into tense lines. A deep slash ran across his bared chest, where a sword had sliced open tissue and muscle.

“I’ll heal,” he said gruffly. “The others, not as easily.”

“I know.” I knelt. “That doesn’t mean you need to be in pain.”

“I suppose not.” Curiosity seeped into his eyes as he lifted his hand.

I folded mine over it, and again, I sensed there was pain that ran deeper. Years and years’ worth of sorrow. My palm warmed and tingled. “You also lost someone.”

“A long time ago.” His breath caught as his breathing slowed. “Now, I understand.”

“Understand what?”

He wasn’t looking at me. I followed his gaze to Casteel. Behind him, Alastir stood as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Maybe we should’ve warned him.

“Jasper will be interested,” the wolven said, a faint grin appearing as he leaned his head back against the flat pillow.

“I’m sure he will be,” Casteel commented, eyes lightening. “Be well, Keev.”

The wolven nodded, and I rose, curious as to who Jasper was as I moved to the man beside Keev, the one that had watched me the entire time. I started forward.

“No,” the man gritted out, sweat coursing down his face. His eyes were a shade of golden hazel. “I don’t want your touch.”

I halted.

“No offense, my Prince.” His too-shallow breaths filled the silence. “I don’t want that.”

Casteel nodded. “It’s okay.” He touched my lower back, urging me on.

I went, looking over my shoulder at the mortal with Atlantian blood. He watched me, his face already flushed with fever. I connected with him, and immediately severed the connection. The hot, acidic burst of hatred and the bitterness of distrust stunned me. Quickly looking away, I swallowed as my senses stretched out to every corner of the room, and I stumbled under the mixed rush of emotions and tastes. Iced lemonade. Sour and tart fruit. Vanilla. Sugar. Confusion and surprise. Fear and awe. Distrust. Amusement. My heart started kicking against my ribs.

Casteel’s hand flattened against my back as he glanced down at me.

“I’m okay,” I whispered as I cut off the connections, focusing only on the two women in front of me.

The older woman, her eyes a spun gold and brown, looked up at me, watched me as I shifted toward the all-too-still woman on the cot. I knew she was mortal, or at least partially. An Atlantian like Casteel would be healing, but she…

She couldn’t have been all that much older than me, her skin free of lines and untouched by age. I lowered myself, even though I sensed…nothing from the woman.

“You don’t have to do that,” the older woman said.

Hand halting inches from the waxy, limp hand of the wounded woman, I looked across her.

“I know.” She swallowed. “Your gifts would be wasted on my daughter.”

“I…” I didn’t know what to say.

She gazed down at the woman, touching her cheek and then her brow. “I heard of you before I came here. I lived in Masadonia for a time, a few years ago,” she said, surprising me. “They whispered about you—the families of those you attended, that is.”

I pulled back my hand, aware of how intently Casteel was listening.

“They said you gave dignity to those cursed.” Her skin creased as she smiled at her daughter. “Ended their pain before you ended their suffering. I didn’t believe them.” A tear dropped onto the woman’s chest. “I didn’t believe anything raised by the Ascended could give something of such worth. I didn’t believe.” She lifted her gaze to mine.

My breath caught. Her eyes… Flecks of gold seemed to burn brighter as she stared at me, stared straight into me.

“You are a second daughter,” she whispered, sending a chill through me. “Not a Maiden but Chosen nonetheless.”

Unsettled by the emotions of those in the room and the shadow of death waiting to claim the young woman, I wished to go outside where a downpour could wash away the coating on my skin.

“Some of them were afraid of me,” I blurted after Alastir had closed the door behind us. “That guy—the one who wouldn’t let me touch him? He didn’t trust me at all, and I could feel their fear.”

Casteel’s gaze narrowed on the door. “They don’t understand what you can do.”

“They’ve never seen anything like that.” Alastir joined us by an empty table, his skin still pale. “I haven’t seen anything like that in...”

“Not since there were empath warriors?” Casteel surmised. “I think that’s the line Penellaphe is descended from. A few of them must’ve remained in Solis.”