“Are my scars that well known?” I asked.
“Scars?” Blaz mumbled as the door swept open wide. “Holy shit on a sardine sandwich. Yeah, come right in.”
“I am slightly concerned about this mortal,” Reaver muttered.
I was more than slightly concerned about all of this, but when Malik walked in, I followed without hesitation since he carried Casteel. Kieran was right behind me, entering a small foyer. The space had no light, so all I could make out was the shape of what appeared to be low-to-the-floor chairs.
“It’s not the scars,” Kieran said, his voice low as Blaz closed the door behind Reaver. “It’s your eyes. They’re streaked with silver. Been that way since you entered the stairwell in Wayfair.”
I blinked rapidly, even though I had no idea if that would help or if it did. Maybe the adrenaline was causing it?
“Blaz?” came a soft voice from the narrow hall, lit only by a wall sconce. “What’s going on?”
“You should come in here.” Blaz backed up slowly into the hall. The man’s hair matched his name. Fiery strands brushed the skin at his temples that surely burned upon a few moments in the sun. A beard in a deeper red color covered his jaw. “We’ve got guests. Elian and special guests.”
“Elian?” I repeated under my breath, thinking I recognized the name.
“That’s his middle name.” Kieran nodded at Malik’s back. “Named after their ancestor.”
Elian Da’Neer. The one who’d summoned the gods after the war with the deities to smooth over relations with the wolven. The very first bonding between wolven and Atlantian resulted from the meeting. Was that why Tawny hadn’t known Malik when she’d been at Wayfair? Because she’d known him as Elian?
A moment later, a short figure stepped out from one of the chambers off the hall and into the lamplight. Shoulder-length dark hair framed cool, olive-beige cheeks and a rounded chin. The woman appeared to be about the same age as Blaz, somewhere in their third decade of life. She wore a dark sleeping robe, belted around the waist.
Her hands weren’t empty.
Clariza held a slender iron dagger as she crept forward. “What kind of special guests did you bring us, Elian?” she asked, dark, intelligent eyes darting over the group and lingering on Reaver, whose face was the only one visible. His pupils were normal, but the mortal still swallowed.
“The King of Atlantia,” Blaz answered, joining his wife. “And the Queen.”
“Bullshit.” Clariza echoed her husband’s early sentiment. “Have you been indulging in the Red Ruin?”
Casteel was likely to awaken at any moment. I stepped forward to avoid any lengthy attempts to prove our identities when I could just show them. I lifted the hood, letting it drape from my shoulders.
Clariza’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit.”
“What he claims is true. My name is Penellaphe. You could’ve known of me as the Maiden at one time. He does hold my husband in his arms. He’s been held by the Blood Crown,” I told them, noting the tightening in Clariza’s jaw. “He’s been injured and is in need of shelter so I can provide him with aid. We were brought here because we were told that we could trust you.”
Without taking her eyes off me, Clariza lowered herself to one knee. She placed one hand over her heart and the other, which held the dagger, she pressed to the floor. Her husband followed suit.
“From blood and ash,” she said, bowing her head.
“We will rise,” Blaz finished.
I shuddered. Those words echoed through me, the meaning so very different from when I’d first heard them.
“That’s not necessary. I’m not your Queen,” I said, glancing at Casteel’s shrouded form. “We’re just in need of space. A private place where I can help my husband.”
Malik’s head cut sharply in my direction but he said nothing.
“You may not be our Queen now,” Clariza said, her head lifting, “but you are a god.”
“I am.” I swallowed thickly, worry pressing down on me. “But you still do not need to bow before me.”
“Not what I expected to hear from an actual god,” Blaz mumbled. “But I’m not going to complain.” He reached over, taking his wife’s hand so they rose together. “Whatever you need.”
“A chamber?” Malik suggested. “With a sturdy door.” He paused. “And walls. Just in case.”
Clariza frowned.
“We have a bedchamber that Riza’s mother once used.” Blaz pivoted and started walking. “Not sure about how sturdy the walls or door are, but they’re standing.”