Chapter A Soul of Ash and Blood: THIS IS PROGRESS

I waited until the Duchess’s guard left the hall outside Poppy’s room before I approached her door.

Reaching for the handle, I stopped. I doubted I was interrupting anything. Poppy was likely sitting by the window. That was all she’d been doing since she left her chambers in the middle of the night to seek revenge.

Poppy had grown even quieter than usual, more withdrawn. The jut of her chin more stubborn. Not once since I’d seen her awake had she cried or had her eyes even looked glassy. At first, I thought that was good.

But now?

I didn’t think so.

The gods knew I was no expert when it came to dealing with one’s emotions—obviously—but she’d lost someone important to her. That pain didn’t go away simply upon waking.

Knocking on the door, I gave it a moment and then entered. Poppy was by the window as I expected, but as I stood there, taking in her tired eyes and paler-than-normal skin tone, something occurred to me.

She hadn’t donned that damn veil in the days since she woke.

Poppy’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

I crossed my arms. “Nothing.”

“Then why are you here?”

Her churlishness threatened to bring a smile to my face. One that would likely irritate her further. “Do I need a reason?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t.” I had a reason to be in her chambers this time; however, she was actually speaking instead of staring at me silently.

“Are you just checking to make sure I haven’t figured a way out of the room?”

“I know you can’t get out of this room, Princess.”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped.

I fought a grin but welcomed the anger over the silence. “I’m going to take a second to remind myself that this is progress.”

Poppy frowned. “Progress with what?”

“With you,” I told her. “You’re not being very nice, but at least you’re talking. That’s progress.”

“I’m not being mean,” she shot back. “I just don’t like to be called that.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Whatever.” Poppy looked away, squirming a little on the stone ledge.

I watched her as she stared down at her hands, the tension seeping from her rigid shoulders. I quietly moved closer. She looked…I wasn’t sure. A little lost? Or maybe stuck between anger and grief. I knew that feeling.

“I get it,” I told her.

“You do?” Her brows rose. “You understand?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” The coldness had faded from her voice.

“I said this to you before, shortly after everything, but I don’t think you heard me,” I said. “I should’ve said it again sooner. I’m sorry for everything that has happened. Vikter was a good man. Despite the last words we exchanged, I respected him.” I meant every word. “And I’m sorry that I couldn’t do anything.”

She stiffened. “Hawke—”

“I don’t know if me being there—like I should’ve been—would’ve changed the outcome,” I continued, “but I’m sorry that I wasn’t. That there was nothing I could do by the time I get there. I’m sorry—”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” She rose, her hands falling to the skirt of her gown. “I don’t blame you for what happened. I’m not mad at you.”

“I know.” Part of me wished she was. I looked away from her, finding the Rise in the distance. “But that doesn’t change that I wish I would’ve done something that could’ve prevented this.”

“There are a lot of things I wish I would’ve done differently,” she shared. “If I’d gone to my room—”

“If you’d gone to your room, this still would’ve happened. Don’t put this on yourself.” I turned to her. She was staring at her hands. I placed my fingers beneath her chin, gently lifting her stare to mine. “You’re not to blame for this, Poppy. Not at all. If anything, I—” My heart lurched, and my throat dried. What had I been about to say? I drew in a shallow breath. “Don’t take on the blame that belongs to others. You understand?”

Her weary eyes searched mine. “Ten.”

“What?”

“Ten times, you’ve called me Poppy.”

I grinned, relaxing a little bit. “I like calling you that, but I like calling you more.”

“Shocker,” she replied.

My gaze tracked over the lines of her brows, the delicate arch of them, and the proud scar cutting through the left one. I thought about how I’d felt after Malik had been taken—after Shea’s death. There had been moments when I’d felt too much, and others when I felt nothing at all. And the latter? There had been shame in that. I imagined she was going through something similar. Grief, then nothing, and perhaps even normalcy, then guilt for feeling somewhat okay.

Holding her gaze, I lowered my chin. “It’s okay, you know?”

“What is?”

“Everything that you’re feeling and everything that you’re not.”

Her chest rose with a sharp inhale, then she moved fast, wrapping her arms around me. A jolt of surprise ran through me, but before I knew it, my arms were around her. I embraced her as tightly as she held me, folding my hand around the back of her head as she pressed her cheek to my chest. She needed this.

Maybe I did, too.

We held each other for a while, and I thought that maybe in a different life, I would’ve been built just for this.

But this wasn’t my life.

And it wouldn’t be hers.

Leaning back, I caught sight of the wisps of hair that always seemed to escape her braid. I smoothed them back. “I did come here with a purpose. The Duchess needs to speak with you.”

Poppy briefly closed her eyes. “And you’re just telling me now?”

“Figured what we had to say to each other was far more important.”

“I don’t think the Duchess would agree,” she said. “It’s time for me to find out how I’ll be punished for what I…for what I did to the Lord, isn’t it?”

I frowned. “If I thought I was delivering you for punishment, I wouldn’t be taking you there.”

Her eyes widened. “Where would you take me?”

“Somewhere far from here,” I said, a little stunned by the truth of my words. It caused a lurching sensation in my chest again. “You’re being summoned because word has come from the capital.”