Page 19

Chapter 18

A zriel should’ve known, between all she’d seen and done over the last several weeks, that Ariadne would want to not only meet every dragon in their cavalry but to form a vinculum with one herself. The prospect of bringing a dragon into the world at this point in the war terrified Azriel more than anything else—even those he’d agreed to hatch for the clans. Though as newborns, they were quite large, not one hatchling was ready to battle in any regard.

Even Brutis, a seasoned and fully grown dragon, had gotten chained down and nearly blinded by the vampire soldiers at the Caldwell Estate. They weren’t invincible.

And the thought of Ariadne forming a vinculum to such a fragile creature that could very well get killed by Ehrun or Loren made Azriel’s stomach churn. His bond went mad anytime he considered the horrible possibility.

This is what you deserve .

Melia’s words haunted him at every turn. Ariadne’s decapitated head and his spiral into darkness following the illusion had him heaving his breakfast into a bush outside Auhla as he waited for his wife to join him.

“ You really need to get your stomach under control .” Razer’s cool voice only proved to irritate him more.

Spitting water from his canteen that he used to clean his mouth into the pile of sick he left behind, Azriel straightened back up. He stalked back toward the field at the foot of the keep’s steps and paused at a mint bush to yank off a few leaves. Chewing the fragrant herb that Kall had insisted upon planting when they returned, he turned toward the massive shadow as it descended into the grass before him.

“ You really need to mind your own business .” Azriel glowered at the dragon.

Razer chuckled in his mind, the deep chuffs of amusement rumbling from his chest in unison. “ If a hatchling emerges today ,” he said in all seriousness, “ none of us will allow anything to get to it .”

“ Accidents happen .”

“ Mhorn stayed behind for one reason .”

Stayed behind. As if any living being wished to die just because another met their end. “ He fought to live for himself .”

“ You know better than that .”

Images Azriel had seen a plethora of times were shoved into his mind. He’d examined them time and again, wondering what he could’ve done differently. What his father could’ve done differently.

Everything always returned to his own stupid mistake.

The distant scream that echoed in the memory was his own. Azriel watched, for what felt like the millionth time, his father’s final moments. Not from his own vantage point but through the Crowe’s eyes.

Emotions poured through the memory, striking Azriel through the heart as hard as it had the first time he witnessed it. Rage. Confusion. The pure terror of a parent listening to their child in pain—a pain they hadn’t been able to stop.

The Crowe ran through the front doors of Auhla and hurtled into the great hall. The nearest table had been shoved back, the benches scattered, and on the far side of the room lay Azriel clutching his leg.

Standing over him, Ehrun spoke in the dhemon tongue, “She would never love a half-breed bastard like you. I’m doing you a favor, really.”

Understanding flooded the Crowe, and as Azriel relived it alongside his father, he felt the familiar shattering of a bond. His father’s bond, ravaged over five centuries of loss and grief and anger. He’d known at that moment that Azriel had bonded—to whom, it didn’t matter. What he knew was that he had to protect his son. Protect one of the final pieces of Mariana left in the world.

He launched over the benches between them and pulled a knife from his belt, screaming Ehrun’s name as he blocked the sword from striking down his son.

“Traitor,” Ehrun snarled, shoving the Crowe back.

The Crowe stumbled, narrowly missing landing on Azriel, before kicking the dhemon square in the chest. Without looking back, he hissed to Azriel, “Get out of here!”

From the periphery of the memory, Azriel dragged himself to the side. Blood poured from fresh wounds, and his body shook as he pulled himself to stand despite his brutally broken femur. Each stumble brought him closer to the doors where Kall and Whelan fought with the dhemons loyal to Ehrun.

But the fight hadn’t ended. The Crowe dodged Ehrun’s blade and blocked the next blow with his knife. He circled, putting his back to the entry hall and retreating to cover Azriel’s escape.

It was at the threshold of the great hall that Azriel collapsed again. His hiss of pain from trying to stand had broken the Crowe’s concentration just long enough to make him look back. Look back and miss Ehrun’s swing of his sword. The swing that nearly cleaved the Crowe in half.

Pain launched through Azriel as the memory began to dissolve into black. The last view of the world from his father’s eyes burned into his mind again: Azriel, covered by the spray of the Crowe’s blood, being hauled to his feet by his friends. Azriel, half-dragged out of the great hall as he screamed and screamed, reaching for his father. Azriel’s wide, red eyes glowing a brilliant green—the same green as Mariana’s. Azriel as he disappeared from Auhla , and Ehrun’s voice giving the order to kill them all.

“ Protect him .” The last thought—the last command—given by the Crowe to Mhorn.

The memory dissolved into the remnants of Mhorn’s pain as he broke the vinculum before the Crowe’s death could reach him. Most bondhearts weren’t able to find and disconnect quickly enough to save themselves before the other half succumbed to whatever killed them. Azriel had seen—gods, he’d felt —his friends die too many times when their dragon perished.

Now Azriel swayed in place, regaining his bearings as the memory left him with vertigo. A hand tucked into his and held firm, and a deep inhale told him exactly who steadied him. The rush of florals centered him in a rush.

“What is wrong?” Ariadne’s voice pulled him back to the present, and when he looked down at her, those perfect ocean eyes were wide with concern.

“I’m fine,” he breathed.

Her brows pulled together. “You are crying.”

With a curse, he brushed his cheeks with the palm of his free hand and repeated, “I’m fine.”

Ariadne sighed. “Azriel…”

“Razer here,” he said gruffly, “was just reminding me of my father’s last wish.”

She stared at him for a long moment as though at a loss for words. Tilting her head, she asked, “What was it?”

He winced and glared at the dragon, who looked quite pleased with himself as he lowered his belly to the ground. “For Mhorn to keep me safe.”

By the shock on her face, that hadn’t been what she expected. Ariadne tried to tame her expression before giving his hand a squeeze and saying, “Is that why Mhorn survived?”

“You’d have to ask him.”

In all honesty, Azriel had never spoken to the dragon about any of it. Aside from that final memory, he avoided Mhorn at all costs. Seeing the dragon was oftentimes too painful to endure. After all…it’d been Azriel’s wrong step that caused his father to turn and miss Ehrun’s killing blow.

It’d been his fault.

But he never really understood how Mhorn had survived. How had he been able to sever the connection if he hadn’t already planned on it happening? It felt too premeditated.

“Maybe after tonight,” Ariadne said, “I can.”

The bonded part of him shuddered. He never truly considered how fearful he’d become since their first meeting. Since the moment his bond locked into place. That fear kept him balancing on the edge of a knife, always teetering towards disaster.

“I need you to understand,” Azriel warned, “that this isn’t a certainty. We brought almost every single dhemon who followed my father up to the clutch in hopes of building a cavalry large enough to take on Valenul, but less than two dozen hatched. When we went up with the clan leaders a couple weeks ago, only about a handful were chosen.”

Ariadne’s eyes widened, and she glanced at Razer, sizing up the dragon. “And that was not enough to go into battle?”

“Several died when they were still young.” Azriel’s heart kicked up again at the thought of such events taking her from him permanently. “A couple because their bondhearts were killed in battle, but most through squabbles amongst themselves. Dragons are…temperamental.”

Razer blew a burst of hot air toward them. “ Speak for yourself .”

“And the dhemons whose dragons died…” Ariadne’s voice trailed away knowingly.

Azriel nodded. “They died as well. Good men. Friends of mine.”

The sympathy she shot in his direction didn’t sit well with him, but she continued, “How many are left?”

It was something he’d thought of many times since taking his place at Auhla . They’d discussed it in the war chamber to keep in mind whenever they considered an attack against Ehrun. “We have nine. Ehrun has eight.”

“So we outnumber them.”

“Yes…” Azriel started towards Razer, who grumbled about the odds. “But Mhorn refuses to fight, and Ehrun’s bondheart is quite possibly the largest and most ruthless dragon to come from the clutch.”

Ariadne cast him an exasperated look as he folded his hands one on top of the other to provide her a stepping stool. She used it with ease, unlike when he had first hoisted her into place; he didn’t even want to consider the struggle Kall had with getting her onto Bindhe for her first ride.

“Why is it that he seems to have the best of everything?” She gripped the black spike in front of her, shifting forward to make room for him.

Swinging up behind her, Azriel grumbled. “We encouraged their proficiencies early. No one suspected he would turn on us.”

“Was that before or after Rhana’s murder?”

A hollow pit opened up in his stomach. Was it empathy for the monster Ehrun had become? Most likely. Azriel hated it. But he understood and let the wave pass before answering, “He and Sehrox formed their vinculum about fifty years after her death. Not long after Razer and me.”

“ And Sehrox was responsible for most of those hatchling deaths ,” Razer reminded him with a snort. He rose to his clawed feet and lifted into the sky with far more grace than the previous night on their way to the mountaintop meadow. This trip was for a mission, not fun.

The clutch moved often. Mhorn regularly changed its location, so no prying eyes risked finding it. It worked well during the summer months when the heat of the day kept them warm during transfers. Winter was when it became the most difficult, for no eggs could be left unaccompanied, requiring near-constant heat from a dragon’s belly or fire. This strange time between summer and autumn remained acceptable despite the risk of snow in the mountains so long as egg movement happened only during the daylight hours.

“ Where are you tonight , Mhorn ?” Razer’s voice was faint in Azriel’s mind as the dragon cast his voice to anyone nearby.

Azriel resisted the urge to block out the conversation. Avoiding Mhorn had become trickier as of late, but he knew doing so wouldn’t be possible anymore. So when the low, answering rumble of his father’s bondheart made its way into his mind, Azriel flinched.

“ West caverns .” The words were accompanied by a flicker of images guiding the way from the dhemon keep.

Banking left, Razer followed the path Mhorn laid out to him. They wove through the narrow valleys, ascending and descending with the rolling hills of the mountains. Snow fell and gathered on still-frozen glaciers the farther north they crept. Wildflowers disappeared, replaced by white blankets.

In front of him, Ariadne shivered. He pulled her closer, his half-dhemon body capable of maintaining heat in such climates. One of the gifts provided by his father’s blood that remained no matter what form he took. She folded into him, sucking a chilly breath in between her teeth.

“It’ll be warmer when we get there,” he said, bringing his mouth close to her ear to prevent the wind from whipping his words into an unintelligible mess.

She didn’t respond but nodded in confirmation that she heard.

As always, when he started the journey, he hadn’t remembered that not everyone was like him. A similar problem had occurred when they first discovered the clutch on the Irem Tundra. Despite being prepared for the freezing temperatures, Madan’s body had grown so cold they were forced to stop multiple times to warm him. Though Azriel had no shame in wrapping his little brother in his arms and keeping him from contracting frostbite, Whelan used it as a prime opportunity to remain close to his partner.

Fortunately, the west caverns described by Mhorn weren’t far—as the dragon flies, that is. Had they been forced to walk through the rough terrain, it would’ve likely taken several nights. As it were, they landed at the edge of a cave on a sheer cliff near a tall waterfall of glacial runoff that crashed into the massive river that flowed all the way past Monsumbra into Lake Cypher.

Razer crept through the mouth of the cave, his broad body scraping the sides into a cavern that immediately had his brow speckling with perspiration. The heat slapped Azriel like a coal to the face, and Ariadne sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden rise in temperature. Paired with an alarming lack of humidity, it reminded Azriel of stepping into a sauna—or worse, stepping into the blistering sun of Algorath.

He shoved the thought away before all that accompanied such memories could overtake him and dismounted Razer before turning to help Ariadne to the stone floor.

Inside the cave, a collection of monolithic eggs stood bunched together. Small voices broke through his vinculum with Razer, the quiet chattering of hatchlings yet to break free of their shells. They were gathered near a burgundy dragon just larger than Razer, with spiraling silver horns, matching spikes along his spine, and eyes the shade of molten steel. Mhorn remained curled on the far side of the clutch, his fiery breath responsible for the arid heat. He studied them both with muted interest, keeping whatever thoughts he had about them to himself. It wasn’t often, after all, that he saw friendly vampires. It certainly wasn’t often that he saw Azriel in his vampire form.

“Are you Mhorn?” Ariadne asked before Azriel could say or do anything. She took a hesitant step forward, seemed to think better of it, and retreated so that her back bumped into his chest. Glancing up at him, a mixture of uncertainty and fear danced in her blue eyes.

The huge, red dragon brought his head low to the ground and snaked his long neck around the eggs to look at her a little closer. “ She is not how I remember her .”

An unexpected irritation lit in Azriel’s chest. “ She isn’t half dead this time .”

His liquid silver gaze flickered to Azriel. “ I’m disappointed you didn’t show her to me before this .”

“ You have no claim on her .”

Mhorn chuffed. “ Of course not . Azazel would’ve wanted to know her , though .”

It took all of Azriel’s self-control not to march Ariadne right out of the cave. The sound of his own screams and the encroaching darkness from his father’s last memory stabbed him again. No one used the Crowe’s given name. Most didn’t even know what it was.

“ You aren’t my father ,” he finally mustered. “ Don’t speak of him when you let him die alone .”

Alarm radiated from Razer at that. The blue dragon looked at Azriel with wide, gold eyes. “ Dhomin . Enough . You know he didn’t —”

“ It’s alright ,” Mhorn said, returning his gaze to Ariadne. “ We aren’t here to bicker like hatchlings . Let her see the eggs .”

“He says you may meet the clutch,” Azriel said to Ariadne, who looked between him and the two dragons. Though their conversation was silent to her, the tension filled the cave like the arid heat. “Come.”

Ariadne turned back to Mhorn, her fingers twisting in the hem of her shirt as she bobbed an awkward curtsy despite her trousers. “Thank you.”

Mhorn almost purred in response, retreating to rest his head on a large, outstretched claw. He tracked their movements but didn’t speak.

At first glance, anyone would believe the eggs to be nothing more than strange, oval rocks. Their dull hues resembled stone until closer inspection. Though they appeared roughly textured, the smooth shells were merely mottled. The colors grew more apparent as they moved between them; deep earthy tones gave a hint as to the hatchling’s scales.

“How do you know if one chooses you?” Ariadne drew her fingertips along the smooth edge of the nearest cream-colored egg.

“It’s different for everyone.” Azriel glanced back at Razer. The bastard had almost ripped his arm off when they first met, but the dragon had been just as confused as he when he broke free of the confining shell. The only warning he’d been given was a piercing headache mere moments before the first crack appeared. “But it’s usually in your head first.”

She looked back at him with poorly masked hope. “The vinculum. Madan said it is like giving an oath. A test of your strength of mind.”

“Yes.” Azriel nodded. “It’s the first tether, and once it pulls taut, you must hold on tight. The hatchling will fight back. Think of it like holding a horse’s reins when they’re startled or not yet broken.”

The analogy was the best he could do. Luckily, Ariadne appeared to understand and began moving a little quicker through the clutch. “They are magnificent.”

“ Tell her mine was the best .”

Azriel shot Razer an exasperated look. “Razer would like you to know he was fond of his. Maybe he should go back.”

“ Just because you’re unreasonably mad at Mhorn doesn’t mean you need to be rude to me .” Razer laid down near the entrance, his big body making the cave rumble.

“ Says the one who forced me to watch my father die . Again .”

“I am glad he is here.” Ariadne smiled around an egg at the great brute. “Be nice to him. He was worried about you just as much as I was a few weeks ago.”

Guilt curled through Azriel at that. He hadn’t really considered what his imprisonment in Algorath had done to his bondheart. Of course Razer would’ve been worried. His impending death meant the end for the dragon if he wasn’t able to sever the vinculum in time. More than that, though, Razer had a big heart—literally and figuratively. He might give Azriel a hard time, and vice versa, but they both did so out of love.

“ I like her ,” Razer said. “ I look forward to being able to talk to her instead of you .”

“ Be nice to your bondheart ,” Mhorn cut in. “ And stop showing him that memory .”

“ You gave it to him .” Azriel didn’t temper the frustration behind the words.

Mhorn sighed, his sulfuric breath sweeping between the eggs in a rush. “ I didn’t mean to . Azriel, we should really talk about this —”

“ I don’t want to talk about any of it .” With a final painful pang, Azriel cut the connection between him and Razer, shutting out the voices of the curious unhatched dragons who could not see them. Yet, despite the sudden silence in his mind, the pain didn’t dissipate. If anything, it only festered in his loneliness.

Madan had frequently tried to pry Azriel open about the Crowe’s death. In turn, Azriel often pushed Madan away. He couldn’t talk about it—particularly with someone who also saw him as a father. It hurt too much, and the agony of losing him remained too fresh a wound. When Razer tried picking through his mind to start a conversation, Azriel had begun shutting the dragon out more often.

There was no way he’d talk about it with Mhorn.

Being angry at his father’s bondheart was the easiest way to avoid grief. Hiding behind blame and accusations made it simple. It kept Mhorn at arm’s length. It kept Azriel from thinking about it.

Because he knew in his heart that if he and Mhorn spoke of his father’s death, there would be no shutting out his sorrows again. Azriel much preferred keeping that door securely locked at all times.

With the silence returned to his mind, Azriel refocused on the purpose of their excursion. Ariadne still wandered between the eggs and stopped only to inspect different colors. Each one she passed with no hint of a crack, her face fell a little more. He’d seen that look before. Seen hopeful dhemons walk by those same eggs only to leave without a hatchling of their own.

“ Alhija ,” Azriel said aloud, calling her attention to him as she circled back toward a section of the clutch she’d already looked at.

She stopped but didn’t look back at him at first. When she turned, a pleasant expression was plastered on her face. The same one she used anytime she’d been forced to discuss her engagement to Loren. The same one she’d used in the drawing room when she tried to reassure him that she was, in fact, fine despite the bruise on her wrist.

“I suppose,” she said in a light, airy tone, “it just was not meant to be.”

Heart cracking, Azriel crossed the distance between them and took her hand, pulling her to him. “I’m sorry, my love.”

“You got your wish, though.”

He froze and frowned. “What?”

“You did not want me to have a bondheart.”

“No, no.” Azriel searched her face as silver lined her eyes. “I feared for your safety. If I could make one of these eggs hatch for you, I would.”

Ariadne nodded and looked away, biting her lip. “I want to go back.”

Azriel swallowed hard, taking her hand. Though he hated seeing the pain in her face, he hated more that she was right. A dark part of him hadn’t wanted her to walk away from this with a dragon. It put a target on her life.

Ehrun, after all, would seek out the weakest of their cavalry first and order Sehrox to kill the hatchling. That the dragon would be connected to Ariadne was merely an added benefit to the dhemon.

Emillie did not see how the lycan curse was broken, freeing Luce to transform between her forms at will. According to Edira, the entire procedure was so esoteric that even the prisoners—or, in this case, ex -prisoners—were kept in the dark about it.

Literally, it would seem, for when the Handler arrived at their camp near dawn to collect Luce, the imperious high fae woman had brought with her an associate like Emillie had never seen before. The fae man had deep bronze skin, a shaved head, and black symbols tattooed into the palms of his hands. That which struck her as most frightening, however, were the whites of his eyes. Or, more accurately, the way they were tattooed black, taking the piercing green color of his irises to an entirely different realm.

Before she could ask who he was or what his purpose in it all could be, Pol leaned closer and whispered, “His name is Terun. He’s a shadow-wielder and the Handler’s…pet.”

The individual words, while comprehensible, did not make sense when stitched together in such a way. Emillie flipped through the pages of her mind in search of what any of it could mean and came up short. “So he works for the Handler like her guard?”

A wisp of shadows poured from Terun’s fingertips and encircled Luce’s eyes like a blindfold. Emillie’s heart stuttered, but when no one else moved or appeared alarmed, she looked to the siblings for more guidance. They said nothing as the Handler clasped a collar and chain around Luce’s throat—not unlike the one Emillie had seen used on Azriel all those weeks ago—and led the lycan away as though she were nothing more than an unruly hound.

“Shadow-wielders are notoriously used as assassins,” Pol said quietly once the Handler and Terun had disappeared from view with Luce. “Terun is suspected to be one of the most dangerous of them all.”

“Gods,” Emillie breathed and looked at him in confusion. “Why would he be working such a menial job here, then?”

Haen huffed their amusement and shook their head. “No one knows any of that for certain, Pol. It’s suspected because Terun disappears from time to time. Some believe he’s off taking care of prisoners the Handler no longer wishes to keep around.”

“That is…horrifying.” Emillie turned to look back at where Luce had disappeared with them. “Will she be alright on her own?”

“Quite.” Edira shot her siblings an exasperated look. “The Handler wouldn’t have collected Luce so publicly with Terun if she wasn’t going to be returned.”

Emillie chewed her lip for a moment before asking, “And yet they blinded Luce so she would not know where they were going?”

With a nod, Edira sat back and set down the bowl of stew Haen had made. “No one knows who is responsible for the lycans’ curse or who breaks it. The prisoners are blinded and deafened with magic, and then it all happens. Luce doesn’t remember anything about how it was set, and I can guarantee she won’t know how it was broken after.”

Despite the finality of her words, Emillie had so many more questions to ask. Was it painful? For how long had this been happening? Was this curse similar in any way to the curse on vampires?

But she held her tongue despite herself. These people were likely not in the mood for one of her endless spews of questions—not when Luce was going through a process they could not even fathom. One that, even if it were painful or traumatizing, Luce would likely never admit to.

Her silence, instead, allowed her to listen as merchants began waking in the camps around them. Fires restarted with a flick of wrists, and food set to cooking almost immediately. They spoke of trivial things such as where to set up shop for the day or how many more days until their next stop.

It was one group of merchants across the road, however, that caught Emillie’s keen vampire attention.

“Valenul is falling apart,” said a high fae man with fiery red hair.

Emillie shifted away, tugging the collar of her tunic up to hide her Caersan veins.

“This isn’t new.” The man who replied did not appear to be of high fae lineage with his rounded ears and sharp canines. A Rusan, then. It explained the use of the common tongue.

Beside her, Edira and Pol dove into a debate about their own plans for the day, but Emillie paid them no mind. She stared at the bowl in her hands without touching its contents as she focused on the conversation across the road.

The high fae continued, “Their new King ordered soldiers everywhere, and it’s driving out the merchants.”

“The soldiers,” said the Rusan, “or the Crowe returning?”

Something twisted in Emillie’s gut at that. She had grown up hearing horror stories about the Crowe—about the damage he did in Eastwood Province. About the vampires he killed, seemingly for sport, and the villages he burned to the ground. He never left anyone alive. The remains were always found after, and she often heard them described to her father by some soldier or another in brutal detail.

“The Crowe died.” The fae’s tone told her he was already bored of the rumor.

“Then why are people coming out of Eastwood claiming to have seen him in the mountains?” The Rusan, on the other hand, spoke with reverence. “The Dhemon King is back and gathering an army.”

Emillie’s heart thundered. It could not possibly be…

“I heard the new Dhemon King is a madman who killed the Crowe.”

No. That was not Azriel. It could not be…right?

The Rusan scoffed. “From what I’ve gathered, that’s a usurper from the true King.”

How could they have heard any of this? It did not make sense. Every fiber of Emillie’s being screamed for her to march over to them and investigate further.

“Emillie?” Haen’s voice yanked her from the conversation.

Whipping her head up to look at the fae, she did her best to school her features from shock to curiosity. “Hmm?”

Haen, however, had been a keen observer since they met with sharp eyes that never seemed to miss anything. “Are you eavesdropping?”

And blunt. They were blunt, too.

“No.” Heat crept across her cheeks, and she looked back at her stew. After a moment of pushing the vegetables through the broth, Emillie returned her attention to Haen and asked, “Do merchants deal with dhemons?”

Interest sparkled in Haen’s gaze. “Sometimes. Why?”

“Have you heard anything about the Dhemon King?” She wanted to take the question back the moment it left her mouth, but the damage was done.

They glanced at the merchants across the road, then said, “We’ve spoken to several dhemons over the last week while you’ve slept. Such interactions are uncommon in L’Oden, but not unheard of.”

Emillie sucked in a sharp breath. She had been so close to them without even realizing it.

“I’ve been told the Dhemon King is in the eastern Keonis Mountains,” they said, studying her for any telling flinch. “With his Caersan wife.”

There had been a time in her life when Emillie believed herself to be a good liar and excellent at hiding her thoughts. She had watched Ariadne struggle to maintain any semblance of serenity and wondered how her sister could have possibly had such difficulty. After Azriel’s arrest, Emillie realized that she was no better than Ariadne in hiding her true feelings. It had made keeping secrets from her father entirely too difficult.

So when Haen smirked, Emillie knew her face gave her away before anything else. How could it not when such shock and relief cracked through her at the news?

“Do you know the Dhemon Queen?”

Queen . Had they not once joked about Azriel being a secret fae prince? Now, Ariadne was the Queen of the people she hated most.

“Did they give a name?” She could not slow the racing of her heart. After so long not hearing from or about her sister, she had begun to assume Ariadne to be lost…or worse. Keeping her hopes up had been draining, to say the least.

But now? Now that hope returned.

Haen tilted their head and studied her. “No. But they called him King Azriel the Crowe.”

Tears burned Emillie’s eyes. She covered her mouth with a hand and set the bowl beside her to keep from dropping it. Warm flutters swept through her chest, squeezing her heart with relief.

“Emillie?” This time, it was Edira who had said her name.

Haen spoke quickly in the high fae language, their frantic words no doubt stating they had no idea what about their conversation triggered her. Azriel’s name cut through the explanation as they relayed the conversation to their siblings.

Then, a voice Emillie recognized faintly demanded, “Why is she crying?”

Looking up, she found Luce before them in her fae form, her amber eyes fixed on Emillie. A part of her wanted to throw her arms around the woman. To tell her that Ariadne was alive. That her sister had not only survived but rescued Azriel from the terrible fate Emillie had forced upon him.

Yet the anger radiating from Luce stayed her tongue. Instead, she shook her head and said with a laugh, “I am happy.”

Haen frowned. “About the Crowe?”

“Yes!” Oh, she had made a huge mistake in keeping her life a secret from any of them. Maybe if they had known, they would have asked more questions and discovered this sooner. Then, she would have had her worries put to rest.

Luce’s face softened. “The Crowe is the dhemon you saved?”

Shrugging, Emillie wiped the tears from her face. “Azriel, yes. He is my brother-in-law, and when he was arrested for being a dhemon, I…”

Memory after memory of Alek flashed through her mind. His sad smiles, distant eyes, and comforting words.

“You married someone to save him,” Luce finished for her, recalling the information Emillie had purged while setting up camp upon their arrival in Cerelis. A muscle in the lycan’s jaw ticked, and she squatted beside the fire. “Why didn’t you tell us any of this sooner?”

Emillie let loose a long, shaking breath. “Those mercenaries wanted to take me back to Laeton because Loren Gard ordered my return.”

“Why?” Pol asked through a mouthful of food.

“He wants my sister and knows she would come back for me.”

Haen nodded in understanding. “Your sister is the Dhemon Queen.”

“But you aren’t a dhemon,” Pol said, waving his spoon at her. “So I’m assuming your sister isn’t either.”

The laugh left Emillie more freely than she had felt in weeks. It had been too long since she felt so light-hearted—so at ease and at peace with where her life had taken her. “She is not. But she loves Azriel more than I can comprehend.”

“A Caersan and a dhemon.” Edira chuffed. “I never thought I’d hear of such a thing.”

“It is, oddly, more common than most realize.” Emillie shook her head in disbelief at it all. They were alive . Alive and raising an army. For what? To attack Valenul? Ariadne may love Azriel, but she would never hurt her own people on purpose.

“What are you going to do now?” Luce asked the question at the same moment the inquiry came to Emillie.

For a long moment, she did not respond. She did not know what to think. What to do. For so many nights, her only concern was to put distance between her and Valenul. To run and hide like Alek told her.

But the answer was clear. Emillie’s heart sank, and she flicked her attention between the fae around the fire. “I need to find them.”

The siblings and Luce looked at one another. Whether or not Edira hosted a telepathic meeting for the lot of them, Emillie had no idea. All she knew was that, at that moment, she did not want to leave this band of spice merchants. They had saved her, taken care of her, and treated her like part of their family despite their abrupt and violent beginning.

When Edira spoke next, it was with the confident air of someone who knew what was best for the party. “You need to find them…and we will come with you.”

Warmth nearly choked Emillie. She gaped at the fae around her in disbelief. Pol smiled broadly. Haen gave her a brisk nod. Luce remained unreadable. But Edira held out a hand, which Emillie took, and gave her a firm squeeze. That was the moment Emillie knew that so long as they were beside her, she could do anything.

Even traverse the Keonis Mountains in search of a king and queen or rescue friends still trapped in Valenul.