Page 26

Chapter 25

E millie had never before traveled in such a large group. Though such lengthy voyages were not uncommon for her, what with her father’s movement about Valenul as General and then Princeps, often requiring her and Ariadne to join him, they had never been quite so slow. Their retinue of soldiers and guards had been so well-trained and expeditious that by the time she stepped outside their lodgings, everyone was already in their place, ready to move on.

The strange hodge-podge of lycans, fae, and mages that now made up their company, however, had no such discipline. As such, everyone left at different times, traveled varying distances, and converged rarely. The fastest of the group declared their desire to push onward toward the Crowe’s last known location on their own and did so after accepting the responsibility of collecting as many additional followers as possible along their route. In contrast, the slowest agreed to take on any stragglers or those injured during the journey.

As the displaced and unrecognized Lycan Queen, Luce determined that keeping a steady pace to remain in the middle of the caravan would be best. Edira honored the wish. She and her siblings, along with Emillie, maintained nightly advances, overlapping with the day-walkers. They always set up camp where those who preferred the sunlight packed up.

A handful of lycans joined them, including the man with a missing eye named Zeke. Unlike Luce, they were a bawdy bunch. Whenever they were sure to be far enough from camps, they took up singing in the fae language and telling loud stories about their various pasts. Occasionally, they would return to their lycan forms and grow quiet, but they enjoyed conversing so much that most of them remained in their fae form to communicate more effectively.

It was during one such tale led by Zeke that Emillie found her interest piqued.

“Wait,” she said, turning on her horse to look back at the one-eyed lycan, who had taken a seat beside Haen on the wagon of supplies. “You are saying that only fae can bond with fae?”

She had not spoken to Luce about her suspicions, and Luce had not said or done anything to further confirm them. Granted, the lycan woman had spent most of their journey in her wolven form. Whether that was to avoid Emillie and their lingering tension or because she had grown so accustomed to traveling as such, she did not know for certain.

What she did know was that her inquiry caused Luce’s hackles to rise as she swung her golden gaze to Zeke in a glare.

Unperturbed, Zeke nodded. “As far as I am aware, there have been no records of bonding outside of one’s fae race. Dhemons bond to dhemons. Lycans and high fae bond to one another. Avians bond to avians.”

Now that did not fit with Emillie’s idea of bonds. Not if her assumption about Azriel bonding to Ariadne were to be upheld. So she tilted her head and pressed, “What about fae to other races? Vampires or mages or humans?”

Zeke pursed his lips in contemplation for a moment. “I have heard of this, but oftentimes if one were to trace their lineage back far enough, there would likely be ancestral ties to those fae.”

Of course, such a thing was not out of the question. Vampires were, after all, mages and humans prior to the curse. There was always the possibility of the lines going back to fae heritage. If that were the case, however, the very notion of pure blood Caersan lineage would need to be reevaluated.

“Why can the fae bonds not mix?” May as well ask the important questions while on the subject. Emillie made mental notes to jot down all her discoveries so she would not forget them. If she were to reunite with her sister, after all, they would need to discuss the possibility of their ancestral fae heritage.

“The gods,” Haen offered, their hazel eyes shining in the moonlight in a way Emillie had not seen before. “Each race of fae is connected to a specific god. To bond, each individual must be tied to that god, which cannot happen if one is connected to Silve and another to Keon.”

Emillie frowned. “What of dhemons and vampires?”

“Are you suggesting that the Dhemon King bonded to your sister?” Edira asked, eyebrows raised.

Heat flushed Emillie’s cheeks, and she regurgitated the same words Alek had used when they had discussed the very possibility all those weeks ago, “I do not believe the Crowe would have acted as he did for my sister if that were not the case.”

“Fascinating.” Zeke hummed in thought and leaned back to stare at the cloudy sky overhead. “Dhemons are no longer connected to Keon in the same way as other fae. Perhaps that has something to do with it?”

“I heard there is a ritual that connects high fae and lycans to Silve,” Emillie said, flipping through her mental log of information she had collected since joining the spice merchants. “Is there not one similar for the dhemons?”

Zeke returned his attention to her. “Oh, yes. But they lost everything when the vampires arrived and killed all their priestesses.”

Ancestral guilt hit Emillie hard. Her family, in particular, had been the cause for such devastation of the dhemon way of life. Until recently, she would not have felt the pang in her gut, but with her history lessons being as they were, she had seen the Caersan way of life through a lens that they had always been in the right. The dhemons had been her enemy for so long, particularly after her mother’s murder and their abduction of Ariadne, that she did not know how to overcome her own internal biases.

I love him , I love him !

Ariadne’s pleas all those weeks ago to garner their father’s mercy for Azriel returned. Her own sister, the one who feared an unknown shadow after all she endured, had learned to love a dhemon. Learned to reconcile what an extremist had done to her. If she could do so, then so could Emillie.

Therefore Emillie sat with that guilt for several long heartbeats before asking, “Could they not be reconnected? If the ritual were to be uncovered?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” Pol cut in with a pointed look.

Emillie glowered at him. “My knowledge of the world is limited to what Caersan men deemed appropriate for me to learn. Forgive me if I am seeking clarification on matters that could very well change my views.”

On the far side of Edira, Luce made a wolfish noise that sounded oddly like laughter. Whether it was directed at Emillie or Pol, she did not know.

“I’m happy to answer your questions,” Zeke said with his own pointed look at Pol, who grinned in reply. “I would assume that if the ritual were to have been preserved, it would be found in either dhemon libraries or, more likely since those were almost all destroyed, in books kept by vampire historians.”

She snorted. “I do not think vampires would keep that after working so hard to destroy it.”

But Zeke merely studied her with interest. “Do you not think there are other vampires who wished to preserve dhemonic ways of life? Not everyone in your kingdom agreed with colonization after the Mage Wars.”

At that, Emillie went very still. She had found a book that appeared to have preserved precisely what Zeke said. Even the curse the desert mages had put on her people had been in there, written in a language she did not understand and describing each step in detail. More than that, she recalled pages upon pages of dhemon rituals, annotated in the common tongue.

“Oh…gods…” Her mind whirled. She had meant to read about them all, but Revelie’s arrival had blown her path off course, and she never returned for the book. Someone would have put it back in the library at the Harlow Estate.

“What is it?” Edira asked, frowning at her.

“I think I know where to find it.” She bit her lip, then looked up at all the fae. “What happens to a fae if they bond to someone who is not connected to their patron god?”

Zeke raised his brows. “It’s why we all undergo the ritual as infants. If there’s no connection and a bond occurs, it often leads to madness when separated from their partner.”

Emillie was going to be sick. She had sent Azriel away from Ariadne, not knowing that in doing so, she could have very likely sent her brother-in-law into a spiral. “And that happens to dhemons?”

With a grimace, Pol said, “All the time when they lose their mate. Without their connection to the Underworld, they’re…shells of who they were.”

“Dangerous shells,” Haen added.

“I assume that is why vampires went after the priestesses,” Zeke said. “Without their connection to the Underworld, they were more likely to lose control of themselves and play into the narrative Caersans built around dhemons: that they’re volatile and never to be trusted.”

Everything Emillie had ever learned suddenly made sense. The stories she had been told all her childhood and the warnings she received as she grew.

“Never go into the forest without a chaperone,” her father had told her and Ariadne many times. “Dhemons are everywhere.”

She had listened to him, particularly after hearing the whispers of what had happened to his first family. He claimed his wife and sons were murdered by dhemons—by the Crowe himself. The lies he spun to keep them safe had worked for a century and a half. Now, Emillie knew the truth. Now, she had a way to help restore the balance.

If only she could get her hands on that book.

Well, it certainly had not taken long for the trip across Valenul to turn into a complete and utter disaster for Madan, and it had only been a mere four nights since leaving Auhla . He was certain the rest of the group would crumble before long, so as they flew into the mountains west of Armington, he couldn’t help but think—not for the first time—that he and Whelan should’ve made the journey alone.

The idea didn’t last long, of course. After all, they’d barely made it out of the southern keep once Ehrun showed up and Sasja abandoned them in favor of the usurper. He could only hope that she’d remained loyal and fed the false king bad information. In the chance she had not, they needed as many people in their company as possible, for they couldn't be certain if, when, or where Ehrun would appear or, worse yet, how many of his own he’d bring along.

Soaring over the mountain ridges and speckles of forest, Madan reached out to his brother. They couldn’t make another camp without addressing what happened at the first. The last day and a half of awkward silences were too much to bear. It reminded him of the nights they’d traveled to the Irem Tundra and gotten into fights when the cold had them all losing their minds.

It reminded him of the time he stabbed Azriel out of spite, then left him to bleed out on the floor without remorse. Of course, the guilt hit not long after, and he’d returned to make sure his brother lived, but that didn’t negate his animosity.

“ Have you talked to him ?” Madan asked Azriel privately through the vinculum.

With how long it took for Azriel to reply, he’d almost written off the conversation completely. Yet his brother’s voice slid into his mind accompanied by a mixture of emotions: humiliation and self-deprecation. “ I don’t know what to say .”

Madan shook his head, making sure the action was relayed through their connection. “ You could start with an apology .”

Annoyance slapped back hard. “ I know that .”

“ Then why haven’t you ?”

“ Do you remember when we were at the Harlow Estate ,” Azriel said, shame washing out from him, “ and you told me that I was acting like him?”

Of course Madan remembered. Azriel had sent a flower to Ariadne after their first meeting and, when confronted about it, tried to deflect as though it were nothing of consequence. He’d told Azriel he’d been acting like an asshole and was turning into his father.

Then, like a real asshole, Madan had proceeded to demand Azriel be his father.

“ You’re different ,” Madan replied quietly. “ We need the Crowe , but you can do that without being him .”

“ I’m slipping , Madan .” His voice sounded so far away, as though he were trying to distance his mind. “ The potions help , but they aren’t fixing the problem . If anything , I think this is what Ehrun feels .”

Madan sighed. Concern from Brutis swept through him, hidden from Razer and Azriel. As much as he hated it, he couldn’t help but agree. The brother he knew and loved was crumbling before his eyes, and no matter how hard he tried to hold him together, there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“ I don’t even know what the problem is ,” Madan admitted after a beat. Yes, he knew the bond was badly damaged after he was locked in Algorath, but that didn’t mean he understood. Azriel kept everything so tightly under wraps that no one could fully comprehend the extent to which he’d gone to hold himself together. Not even Ariadne knew.

In lieu of a reply, Azriel opened his mind to Madan. He saw Ariadne’s severed head falling apart—something he’d never been told of before—and felt the soul-deep agony that ripped through Azriel as the echoes of his screams played like a memory in Madan’s mind.

Air slammed out of Madan’s lungs as he gripped Brutis’s spikes before him. The pain was like nothing he’d experienced before. He’d feared for Whelan and would rather drive spears through his own chest than for anything to happen to his partner, but nothing…nothing compared to what Azriel shared with him.

Another onslaught smacked Madan as the memory of Ariadne grappled blindfolded with Kall returned, only this time it was from Azriel’s perspective. Whelan’s arms were wrapped around his chest, hauling him backwards as he watched Ariadne’s face turn red, blood dribbling from her nose. When she freed her neck, relief lasted all of a heartbeat before Kall’s horns slammed her to the ground.

Everything went black after that. Only unfiltered rage and fear and pain wrapped around Madan, gripping him like a vice.

The sensation vanished as quickly as it’d come, leaving Madan’s stomach roiling. Bile rose in his throat, and he fought back the urge to be sick in midair. The last thing he needed was to rain vomit on whoever flew around him.

“ Don’t you dare ,” Brutis said, bringing them a little closer to the rocky slopes below. “ I will dump you right here .”

Shaking his head, Madan trembled from the waves of aftershock. How could anyone withstand those feelings? He’d only ever asked Whelan to relay what the bond felt like and when his partner shared, it’d been loving and tender. He never thought to ask what it was like to endure that side of the bond. Never thought it could possibly be worse than how he felt when Whelan was threatened.

“ It doesn’t stop .” Azriel’s voice returned, barely audible. “ The only time I get any sense of peace is …”

For a split second, Madan feared he’d get another vision, only this time of his half-sister being intimate with his half-brother. He prepared to shut off the connection lest the image be burned into his mind forever.

But that was not what Azriel shared. Instead, it was him in that exact moment, an arm around Ariadne’s waist and her hair tickling his throat and chin as they soared through the night.

“ Kall needs to know ,” Madan said after returning his attention to the sky before him. “ I don’t think he understands any of that . I don’t think even Whelan does .”

Pain radiated from Azriel. “ I pray Keon never makes them .”

“ I’m sorry .” What else could he say?

“ So am I .”

The connection ended as Azriel shut off his end of the vinculum. Razer’s mental presence lingered in a silent communication with Brutis. The dragons were likely lamenting their shared experience of transmitting such strenuous feelings between them. If Madan knew Razer at all, he was probably just as angry with Azriel for submitting him to the bond as Madan was ill after enduring it.

When they landed in a valley tucked on the eastern edge of the mountains overlooking the Keonis Valley, Madan slid from Brutis’s back with aching legs. After yanking the saddlebags down, he bent and twisted his body in the hopes of alleviating the discomfort while the dragon stretched like a cat and fluffed his wings before finding a particularly thick patch of grass in which to unfurl himself. By the way everyone else dismounted and arched their bodies, they felt the same.

No one spoke for a long time as they settled in. It wasn’t until Madan started across the clearing to his brother that anyone said a word, and it wasn’t what he expected to hear.

“I’m sorry.” Azriel didn’t look up at first. He frowned at a small white flower not far ahead of him. Everyone froze, then turned in his direction. “I know I’m making it difficult for all of you, but I’m trying to keep it together.”

Ariadne bit her lip, her eyes shimmering in the moonlight. She stepped forward and tucked her hand into her husband’s, squeezing it gently without a word.

When no one responded, Azriel shifted his attention and continued, “I’m sorry, Kall. I don’t expect your forgiveness after what I did. It was no better than what Ehrun—”

The embrace happened so quickly, Madan didn’t even see the dhemon move. One moment Kall stood next to Bindhe, his bag of food clutched in one hand. The next, he’d crossed the distance between them and dragged Azriel into a tight hug. Ariadne pulled her hand back, allowing her husband to wrap his arms around his friend as he hid his face on Kall’s shoulder, their horns clacking together.

Muffled words from Kall in the dhemon tongue barely made it to Madan. “There’s nothing to forgive. I’m sorry I pushed. I didn’t realize how it would affect you.”

“You’ve done more for her,” Azriel said in their shared language, “than I ever have. I owe you everything.”

Kall pulled back and took Azriel’s face in his hands. Tears streaked down the half-dhemon’s cheeks as Kall said, “Let me share your burden as my brother never allowed me. Give me your pain and I swear to do all I can to ease your troubles.”

That was when Madan looked away. The two friends needed their moment of peace. He caught Ariadne’s eye and jerked his head, signaling for her to give them space and to speak with him instead.

She did so, pulling her lip between her teeth as she walked and twisting her fingers together. Yet she said nothing as she stopped beside him and Whelan. A sure sign, then, that something was on her mind. Something more than what had occurred between Azriel and Kall.

“What’s wrong?” Madan asked quietly, not wanting to distract his brother from his tête-á-tête. At his question, Whelan swiveled his attention to them and cocked his head.

Ariadne glanced back at her husband. “It can wait.”

But Whelan frowned with concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she said in a too-high voice and tucked her hands behind her back to hide the tell-tale sign of her agitation. She’d never been very good at masking her feelings. Even when betrothed to Loren and she attempted to act the part of a happy fiancee, her too-calm expressions and constant fiddling always gave her away.

“Is it Azriel?” Madan looked to his brother, who was nodding and mumbling something to Kall.

Shaking her head, Ariadne’s eyes swept between them. She sighed and said, “We are so close to Armington…”

Madan grimaced. He knew precisely where this was going, and everything about it was a bad idea. Every soldier in Valenul knew her face. Every soldier in Valenul would be searching for her. Every soldier in Valenul would do anything to get the recognition from Loren—including risking their life to get ahold of the Golden Rose.

To deliver Ariadne to their King.

“I need to see Emillie.” The words left Ariadne in a rush. “I need to know she is alright. After all she did for me, I could not live with myself if I did not just…”

The words trailed away, cracking as they did so. She swallowed hard and turned toward the east as though by merely looking in that direction, she could see her sister. Placing a hand over her throat, she sucked in a strangled breath.

As though summoned by some phantom sense, Azriel was by her side, eyes wide with concern. “My love?”

Kall followed, nostrils flaring to hunt down some adversary on the wind. He turned in the same direction as Ariadne and frowned when he found nothing.

It was Whelan who answered—more calmly than Madan could muster in that moment. “She wants to go to Armington to see Emillie.”

Face scrunching in horror, Azriel shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“For once,” Madan said, “we are in agreement.”

“No safe,” Kall added, looking at Ariadne with an expression Madan knew all too well as the one he used when he had set his mind to stopping someone from doing something stupid. Usually, it was directed at Azriel.

Yet Ariadne lifted her chin and set her jaw. “I was not asking permission.”

At that, Kall muttered something about tying her up and sending her back to Auhla in the dhemon tongue. He did not, however, directly contradict her. Instead, he looked to Azriel, brows raised as if to say, Are you going to let her do something so reckless ?

Madan looked between them. On the one hand, he was glad to have them working in unison again. On the other, he feared what kind of force they would become in their mutual understanding of the one thing they took very seriously: keeping Ariadne safe. To accomplish such a task when she was just as prone to acting irrationally would require nothing less than Kall’s idea of restraining her.

“If I have to hike these mountains alone,” Ariadne continued when no one spoke, “then I will do so. My sister risked everything for me. I will not miss this opportunity to ensure her safety. Not after everything that happened in Laeton.”

Holding up a finger, Madan said, “Last I knew, all of Valenul was locked down. No one had permission to travel. They may not even be in Armington.”

His sister rounded on him like a viper, ready to strike. “Would you sit by if Azriel were in danger and not even check to see if you could help him?”

“This isn’t the same,” Azriel said, his voice straining to remain level and calm.

“How so?” She turned to him next, cheeks flushing red, and Madan knew it wasn’t in embarrassment but frustration.

Azriel gaped at her for a long moment. “She’s safe with Alek.”

Ariadne threw her hands in the air. “Oh, certainly! Let us trust the man everyone says tortures women for fun!”

All four men froze in unison. Madan gaped at her for a long moment. “That’s what all those rumors are on about?”

“Yes!” Ariadne slammed her hands on her hips and glared back. “And you expect me to believe my sister is safe with him?”

Eyebrows raised, Whelan blew out a breath and turned away, shaking his head. He spoke into Madan’s mind, “ How did you not catch that, Mister Know-It-All ?”

“ I was a bit busy trying to figure out how to run a fucking province after my brother got thrown in prison ,” Madan snapped back, then said aloud, “I trust Alek. I trust that he will keep our sister safe at all costs.”

Ariadne’s eyes flared. “You cannot pretend to—”

“Alek called me dhom ,” Azriel cut in, dragging everyone’s stunned faces to him. “Not dhomin . Not Lord Governor. Not guard or bastard or even half-breed. He used my dhemon title.”

Again, no one spoke. Everyone merely stared at Azriel as though he’d grown a second head. Why was everyone keeping secrets? It made Madan’s job a lot more difficult when he was, in fact, supposed to know everything .

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Madan crossed his arms, the awkward shuffle of his amputated limb making it more difficult than it needed to be.

Cocking his head, Azriel frowned. “When was I supposed to? It happened so long ago, I forgot he even said it until now.”

“This does not matter.” Ariadne looked east again. “Whether you all trust him or not, I am going to see my sister, and if any of you”—she paused to glare at each one of them in turn—“try to stop me, I will put a knife in you.”

Kall snorted. “She do it.”

If the spark of madness that had overcome Madan when he stabbed Azriel was passed down by Markus, he didn’t doubt Ariadne’s willingness to fulfill her promise. No one needed to warn him twice that if he prevented her from seeing their sister, he’d wake up with Ehrun’s dagger in his gut.

Recognizing the acceptance on Madan’s face, Azriel growled in frustration. “Seriously?”

“She’ll be nicer to you,” Whelan pointed out, “than she would any of the rest of us. Besides…it’s not like Kall or I could go with her.”

“Sorry, Brother.” Madan clapped Azriel on the shoulder and lifted his short arm. “Everyone will recognize me too quickly.”

Azriel pinched the bridge of his nose. “As if they won’t be looking for either of us.”

“We can go during the day,” Ariadne suggested, her tone light with excitement. “Fewer eyes.”

“On one condition,” Madan said, and she deflated a bit. “We will be close by, and if anything happens, you leave immediately.”

“Of course.” Ariadne hid the flash of affront by nodding sagely.

He raised his brows. “With or without seeing Emillie.”