Page 16

Chapter 15

T he dhemon village did not fit the mental image Ariadne had conjured. Rudimentary structures built into cliffsides and movable homes for migrations occupied much of how she imagined it. Yet from her vantage point on Razer’s back, the buildings dotted a wide field in an eastern section of the mountain range. It appeared much like a village built by vampires but with stone homes and far less activity in the early morning hours. Roads and alleys cut neat lines between the architecture that stood much taller than that to which she was accustomed in order to accommodate the dhemons’ larger statures.

Summer still clung hard to these ridges with the warm desert air lingering from the day, having lifted with the winds into the mountains. The dragons circled a peak where they could see the Saalo Desert rise and fall in sandy waves in the distance. The flight had been hard and fast to get there before sunrise; with the Noct still in Madan’s possession, Azriel did not trust the potential for any exposure, no matter how many layers he made her wear.

Razer made a soft-footed landing just along the village outskirts. Flanking him, the pale green Bindhe with Kall and a black-scaled Venjawith Lhuka landed. The two and their respective bondhearts had agreed to accompany them—as if Kall would have ever let Ariadne go anywhere without him. Though Azriel often appeared greatly uncomfortable with their training and how close they had grown over the weeks, he knew as well as she just how invaluable their friend was. Kall took his duties as her unofficial bodyguard entirely too seriously.

Particularly after she had snuck away from Phulan’s home and nearly gotten herself killed by Melia.

Dismounting, Ariadne took in the handful of dhemons who stood nearby dressed in colorful and comfortable clothing she had never before seen. While those who had gathered in the great hall of Auhla wore specific stitching to show their clans’ colors, these dhemons were a beacon of patterns and embroidery. She had never been particularly good at stitching but could certainly spot skill, and their clothing demonstrated exemplary talent.

A woman whom Ariadne presumed to be the clan leader stepped forward. Her long raven hair, carefully coiled into hundreds of thin, tight twists, bore streaks of white from age. The horns were larger than any Ariadne had seen on a woman thus far, with a second smaller loop bringing them nearly a foot out from either side of her regal face. Fine wrinkles lined the corners of her cherry eyes and mouth. Laugh lines.

Yet she did not smile as they approached. She turned her attention to Ariadne and said something in the dhemon language.

Knowing so little of their grammar and words, Ariadne could do nothing but smile and hope it looked genuine. A quick glance up at Azriel told her that whatever was said had not been disrespectful or insulting; he remained neutral even as she tucked her hand into his, heart quickening while they exchanged words. All she caught were their names as he gestured to each in their party.

At last, Azriel looked down at her and said, “This is H’alhen, the clan leader. She apologizes for not speaking common, but they rarely have a chance to interact with outsiders this far east.”

Of all the things Ariadne expected from the clan leader, it had not been that. Reprimand for bringing a vampire into their home, perhaps, or a curt request for her to leave. Most definitely not an apology for something they could not help.

“Oh.” Ariadne blinked, not quite sure what to make of it. This was far from the first time she had to communicate with someone who could not speak her language, however, so she plastered a smile on her face again and addressed H’alhen directly, pausing every so often to allow Azriel time to translate, “No need for apologies. I am pleased to meet you, H’alhen. Thank you for inviting us to your home.”

Something akin to respect glinted in H’alhen’s eyes. She spoke again, then turned on her heel and gestured for them to follow.

As they walked, Azriel whispered, “She has asked us to join them in their meeting hall. It’s where we’ll stay for the day.”

Ariadne held firm to his hand, fingers entwined, and braced against the gush of wind caused by the dragons’ wings behind them. Looking up, she watched Razer sweep overhead, Bindhe and Venja close behind. All three chittered, their different tones recognizable now that she had spent so much more time with them flying, training, and in moments of tranquility. The sound, while comforting to her, had their hosts shrinking back in alarm and Azriel reassuring them of their peace.

The meeting hall, a large building of intricately painted stone, looked much like Auhla ’s great hall. A large fire sat in the center where a dhemon turned a slew of speared vegetables on a spit. The light spilled to the corners of the room, past long tables and bench seats on either side of the central hearth.

More than three dozen dhemons sat scattered about the hall sporting large ceramic mugs of steaming liquid. Many yawned, having spent the night awake or having just woken to begin their daily duties. All froze at the sight of them, turning almost in unison to take in the newcomers and, more specifically, Ariadne.

“If they do not often interact with outsiders,” she said quietly to Azriel as they followed H’alhen, “then do they also hold the same beliefs about vampires?”

Azriel pondered the question for a moment, his back straightening as he took on a similar stance to his nights as her personal guard back in Laeton. “Many here have been untouched by the war…but their lives have still been indirectly disrupted. Poor trade. Neighboring clans or family members killed. Many tell their children legends of deadly vampires stealing them away to eat in the night.”

Ariadne stumbled, clinging to his arm to keep herself upright as she tried to wrap her mind around the idea of her people being used as something to frighten children. It did not take much. Her own governess had been adamant about telling similar stories of dhemons to her and Emillie to keep them from wandering off on their own. What her governess had not warned them about was the possibility of a dhemon appearing in their home and whisking them away.

At least the dhemon who did so to her did not turn out so bad.

“Are they afraid of me?” The air around her felt thin. Many of the dhemons had no shame in staring at her as she passed. “Or are they angry?”

Again, Azriel did not respond right away. He took the time to look each dhemon in the eye and draw her a little closer so her shoulder rubbed against his arm. “Curious, I think.”

She tried to hold her head higher as she had the night she addressed the local clan leaders at Auhla . Being in a strange village with dhemons dressed so cheerfully yet appearing so hostile did not set her at ease in the same way she felt on a throne with her husband. “How can you be certain?”

“I’m not.” He squeezed her hand.

A strange juxtaposition took hold of Ariadne as the gentle pressure of his hand eased a knot in her chest while simultaneously sending a jolt of fear through her. Casting her gaze around the room, she saw faces both young and old, tattooed and pierced, decorated with makeup and plain. Some narrowed their eyes at her mutual curiosity while others looked away from her sudden attention. Still more smiled, though she could not place if it was in greeting or to ease their own minds.

When H’alhen came to a stop at the front of the meeting hall, she gestured for them both to sit beside her, facing the rest of the room. The others present quietened as they turned to look at their clan leader. H’alhen addressed the room at large, and Azriel translated her words quietly, never taking his eyes off the dhemons gathered before them.

She introduced them, going so far as to use their titles as Vhaltrin and Yvhaltrin , and announced their mission to gather more clans under a united monarchy. Though she did not make a stand as to whether or not the clan would be joining them, she spoke of the meeting during the daylight hours.

As Ariadne was present—a vampii as she was called—the meeting would be held within that very hall where the dhemons would be welcome to speak with her and Azriel. To give them time to rest and settle in, such an audience was scheduled to begin at midday. The dhemons were then instructed to spread the word amongst the villagers so everyone who wished may participate.

So after eating a quick meal of fresh bread and vegetables—Ariadne politely declined the raw meat presented to her—they were shown to the small rooms off the meeting hall. With Ariadne and Azriel together, Kall and Lhuka took an adjacent room. Dhemons, she learned, often had no qualms with sleeping in a shared bed so long as it did not impede on anyone’s bond or marriage.

Though she slept well beside Azriel, by the time they returned to the main room several hours later, Ariadne could not shake the pit yawning wide in her stomach. Hands shaking, her eyes kept wandering back to the door of their bedroom, where she could hide from the hundreds of inquisitive eyes waiting for them. Far more, she realized, than who had been present when they first presented themselves before the gathered clan leaders.

Ten…

She sucked in a deep breath. At the sound of her strangled inhale, Azriel found her hand with his and held tight.

Nine…

Ariadne let the air rush from her lungs, stomach roiling.

Eight…

Gods, why had she come? She would make a mess of things. Again. Perhaps she should have listened to Azriel and stayed at the dhemon keep.

Seven…

No. No, she was right to be there. She belonged at Azriel’s side.

Six…

Inhale. There were so many eyes. So many more dhemons in one place than she had ever experienced. Though the door to the outside was closed for her sake, she knew more would be gathered around its threshold if they could.

Five…

A tight squeeze on her hand brought Ariadne’s attention up to Azriel. His deep red eyes bore into her like a beacon in the dark of her thoughts.

Four…

She squeezed back, her body shuddering violently.

Three…

Exhale. On her other side, Kall shifted closer and said, “You safe, Yvhaltrinja . I promise.”

Two…

Once upon a time, Ariadne would not have been able to stomach the idea of having dhemons in such close proximity to her, let alone swearing to keep her safe in the face of so many potential adversaries.

One…

Ariadne stilled on her final exhale. At her back, Lhuka murmured his agreement to Kall’s words. Though she did not know him well, she had witnessed his dedication to Azriel and Madan alike and knew it extended to her also. As such, she was surrounded by those who cared about her, no matter who she faced.

Unlike the meeting at Auhla , Ariadne did not wear flashy jewelry or a gown that would make women of the Society blush. She wore clean black trousers that hugged her hips and tucked into her boots, a deep red tunic dug out of an old closet that Phulan had helped her tailor to fit her much smaller frame and a leather belt that brought shape back to her waist. The usual braid she pinned up into a haphazard knot at the nape of her neck, as so many Caersan women did. On her thigh, she strapped Ehrun’s long dagger with a second, smaller knife tucked into a sheath in her boot.

After training for so long with the blades, she felt almost naked without them.

Azriel wore his usual all-black clothing and pulled his hair into a top knot as he used to do as a guard. The sword he kept on his back was larger than she was accustomed to seeing him bear; being in his larger dhemon form meant larger weapons as well. A knife’s handle stuck out from his own boot, twin to hers.

When he addressed the room in the same commanding voice he had used when speaking to the clan leaders, Ariadne gave a start. His booming words, so different a tone than when he spoke to her, sent a shock through her system. The words themselves rang with familiarity, though she did not know their meaning. It was a similar speech to the one he gave at Auhla .

They did not sit as they had during their first public appearance together. Instead, she stood at his side, hand firmly clasped in his to demonstrate their unity. She leaned close to him, taking strength from his presence despite having no interpreter.

A man near the center of the room called out a question at the end of Azriel’s speech.

In unison, the attention of every dhemon shifted to Ariadne. She froze under the sudden scrutiny before looking up at Azriel. “What did he say?”

“He asked if you have dhemon lineage.” Azriel studied her curiously. “He claims that dhemons can only bond to other fae, so you must have some in your ancestry.”

The idea of bearing fae blood made the Caersan side of her squirm. If anyone in her family had married or bore children with someone without vampiric blood, their descendants would have been considered Rusan. She wrestled with the discomfort, fighting back against her own internal and subconscious prejudices, then turned to face the crowd again.

“To my knowledge,” she said as firmly as she could, “I have no fae ancestry.”

Azriel translated her words, which were met with a murmur from the dhemons gathered.

Before they could run away with the idea that he was lying about his bond to her, Ariadne continued, “That does not mean it is not present, however.”

Another translation, a frown forming between Azriel’s brows as he searched her face. He no doubt had no idea where she meant to go with this. Saying such things were as good as ruination amongst the Society.

“Vampires are, after all, a young race in the context of Myridia and the world at large.” Ariadne paused for Azriel to catch up, then plowed forward. “Our heritage is traced back to the night we were cursed and no further. It is, therefore, possible that the ancient mages of my family once intertwined with that of a fae race. We do not have children often, you see, with our long lives. There are only about a dozen generations of Caersans since our conception during the Mage Wars.”

As the dhemons spoke amongst themselves, their chatter rising and falling like waves as they considered her words, Azriel returned his attention to her. “Do you believe that?”

“It is very possible I have fae lineage somewhere thousands of years ago.” Ariadne tilted her head. “I am not that far removed from mages, generationally.”

“No.” His frown deepened. “That fae can only bond with other fae?”

She considered the question for a moment, then shrugged. “If so, it sounds as though there is fae lineage in many vampire lines. Look at your mother, for example—the Golden Rose of her time. No one would dare say the Caldwells were Rusan, but with your mother being the daughter of an Original, it would have been stronger in her.”

From the corner of the meeting hall, another question rang out. Azriel responded without hesitation, igniting the room in a torrent of discussion, and when she squeezed his hand inquisitively, he murmured, “They wanted to know if you reciprocated the bond. I informed them that we’re attempting to rectify that.”

Before she could follow up with her own question, a woman pushed her way to the front and asked in broken common, “How you make vampii bond?”

Ariadne turned to the woman with her black clothes so unusual amongst the colorful palette of the room. A fire burned in the dhemon’s eyes, one she recognized and kicked her heart into a gallop. Still, she plastered understanding on her face and said, “We are trying to find the ritual to reconnect all dhemons with Keon. Our research has shown anyone can connect to a fae patron so long as the ritual is strong. I pray the God of the Underworld will accept me so that I may one day be Azriel’s mate.”

The woman spat at her feet. “No vampii mate. Disgusting.”

Beside her, Azriel surged forward with a snarl. Kall stepped forward in unison, hand slashing through the air and snapping something in the dhemon tongue that Ariadne could not make out. It only proved to amuse the woman more. She grabbed Kall’s wrist and tugged both dhemon men back. “ Sabharni .”

At her use of their language, the dhemon woman’s face twisted. “You mock us.”

“I respect you,” Ariadne clarified and took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Releasing Azriel and Kall, she eased closer to the woman. The wrathful glint in those red eyes reminded her of Ehrun…and Azriel at his worst. “I wish nothing more than to live in peace with my husband but will find none until we end this war and complete the mating bond.”

Despite the anger radiating off him, Azriel continued to translate their exchange so the rest of the gathered dhemons could understand what they said. Some stepped away from the dhemon woman as though to separate themselves from her challenging words. Those who did not merely looked between them with growing interest.

“War end,” the woman snapped, “when all vampii dead. All.”

At that, the dhemon shot forward, grabbing the back of Ariadne’s knees with the intention of tackling her to the ground.

All of Kall’s training over the weeks sent Ariadne’s adrenaline pumping. She whipped her feet out behind her, landing her weight on the woman’s back and blocking her attacker’s shoulders with her arms. Before the woman could reset, Ariadne worked an arm below the dhemon’s chin and grasped her hands together.

Azriel appeared beside her, knife in hand, but Ariadne shook her head and said, “Leave her to me.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he nodded once and stepped far enough back to stay out of her way yet close enough to put a swift end to the fight if needed.

Ariadne cranked her arms tight around the woman’s neck as the dhemon pressed her hands into her hips to push away. The horns of a dhemon made such an escape difficult but not impossible. They also created an added annoyance for the one holding them by grinding into their ribs and back. As such, Ariadne grit her teeth against the hardy ridges of the woman’s annuli so close to her spine.

Out of nowhere, the woman pivoted to the side, stuck out her leg behind Ariadne, and tripped her to the ground. Ariadne’s grip loosened enough for the dhemon to slip free one moment, then slam her fist down on Ariadne’s face the next.

The room spun. Kall had hit her before, but never at full force. Any other instance had never occurred with a closed fist. The woman reeled back for another blow, and Kall’s voice echoed in her mind: protect yourself .

Bringing her arms up to cover her face, Ariadne twisted her body to press her boots into the woman’s hips. Distance. Distance was important to maintain, so when the dhemon swung a third time, Ariadne remained out of reach.

By the fourth swing, she was ready. Ariadne grabbed the woman’s wrist with her opposite hand and yanked while simultaneously shoving one heel against the front of her knee. The woman toppled to the side with a snarl of outrage as Ariadne followed through and sat herself on the dhemon’s chest.

Now, it was the attacker’s turn to raise her arms in defense.

But Ariadne did not punch back. She grabbed a horn and, forcing the woman to look away, held it to the floor. The dhemon struggled beneath her, surging her hips toward the ceiling in an attempt to dislodge Ariadne from her seat. Though the woman was considerably larger, staying put did not present a challenge after training with someone the size of Kall.

“ Tohs .” The command left Ariadne with more power than she anticipated.

The woman pushed at her hips, trying to squirm a leg out and regain control. Ariadne used her free hand to pin an arm to the ground long enough to replace it with her leg and shift higher up the dhemon’s chest.

“Die,” the woman spat back.

In one fluid motion, Ariadne yanked the pinned horn from the ground and wrapped her far leg around the back of the woman’s head. Taking hold of the arm she had not pinned to the floor, she tugged it across her lap and hooked her bottom foot behind her free knee.

The woman bucked and rolled onto her knees as Ariadne anticipated. With her legs already locked firmly in a triangular formation, she raised her hips and squeezed her legs. Fury twisted the dhemon’s face, but rather than sit back to create the necessary space to breathe, she leaned closer to Ariadne’s face —a common mistake, according to Kall, and one Ariadne had made more times than she could count.

Grasping the back of the woman’s head, Ariadne shifted and tightened her hold again.

Kall always told her that in a real fight, it did not matter if the opponent tried to tap out. So Ariadne refused to release the woman’s neck until her trainer forced her to look at him as he said, “Enough, Yvhaltrinja . Let go.”

At first, his words did not register. Rather than untangle her legs, Ariadne stared at the scarred face beside her in shock. Blood pounded in her ears and muffled the voices of the onlookers.

“Let her finish,” Azriel snarled from somewhere nearby, just out of sight. “Kill her.”

But killing the dhemon woman took away Ariadne’s ability to help her. It kept her from finding a way to mend the wounds in her soul.

So, with a numb understanding, Ariadne unlocked her hold on the woman, letting her crumple to the floor in a heap where her chest heaved in a much-needed breath. The next second, her body seized. Ariadne sat up and watched in mute horror at what she had accomplished.

Yet no onlookers moved to help the dhemon woman. Rather, Azriel stepped closer and flipped his dagger in his hand in preparation to stab. His red eyes glowed with that same hatred that had shown in the woman’s.

“No!” Ariadne found her voice and lurched forward, putting herself between her husband and the dhemon on the ground. “Stop!”

Fangs bared, Azriel did not turn his fiery gaze from the woman. “She tried to kill you.”

“She did not know!” Hip aching from the awkward angle of the triangular hold, Ariadne pushed to her feet and guided his blade-bearing hand back to his side. She took hold of his horn and forced him to look at her. “She could not help it, just like you cannot help it. Stop.”

He blinked, searching her face, and each heartbeat brought back her husband from whatever depths his bond had swallowed him. Clarity softened the lines of his face, so when she cupped his cheek, he exhaled and leaned into the touch as he always did.

Bit by bit, the sound of the room returned. As though the bubble of her consciousness expanded, the cacophony swallowed Ariadne. She pressed her lips to Azriel’s, then turned to find Kall speaking to the woman on the floor as she peeled her eyes open again. What he said, she could not comprehend, but it kept the dhemon woman still and calm even when she looked up at Ariadne.

“They are impressed,” Azriel murmured in her ear, wrapping an arm around her waist and guiding her back to the edge of the crowd. “They didn’t know vampire women could learn to do that.”

Though his words said one thing, his tone relayed another. He had not known she could do that, either. When she fought against Melia, he had been trapped in the mage’s illusions. Training at the keep had been between her and Kall—Azriel avoided them as much as possible.

“Are you alright?” She leaned against him. Kall helped the woman to her feet and instructed a pair of H’alhen’s escorts to take her away.

Azriel shot her a quizzical look. “I should be asking you that question.”

Tilting her head, Ariadne fought back the smile that threatened to curl her lips in amusement. “I can take care of myself.”

He hummed in displeasure. “You should not need to.”

“Until we decode that ritual,” she said and tracked the woman’s exit, “we have no choice.”

A chuff of annoyance brought her attention back to her husband as he said, “Or I could just kill anyone who looks at you wrong.”

She almost laughed at that. Instead, Ariadne shook her head at him, planted another kiss on his lips, and turned back to the crowd. Curiosity shone back at her now from the dhemons gathered. Their questions continued, and by the end, Ariadne felt far more confident that they had just gained a new clan of supporters.