Page 32

Chapter 31

A riadne did not know how long they flew before being forced to part ways with the dragons once more. With the next set of caves hidden somewhere in the heart of yet another forest, she dismounted Razer, riddled with apprehension. That they continued on despite what they had done that morning—flying in circles like vultures as their friends turned to ash below—made her mind whirl.

“They’d want us to keep going,” Azriel told her when she looked at the trees ahead of them with fear. “We can’t stop now.”

All she wanted to do was scream. To yell at Keon for taking them from her too soon, but the god was not to blame. As she started forward, hand in hand with Azriel, she knew deep in her soul that even Ehrun was not to blame. She had seen his heart in those brief moments and held the same hope as Kall that they had found someone worth saving.

But Azriel pulled her to a halt as Madan and Whelan continued. Around them, the dragons took flight, promising to stay closer and ready to turn the forest to ash if needed. As such, they flew low over the treetops, scanning the path ahead before twisting out of sight to a perch on the rocky alcoves where they could remain on the lookout.

“Don’t run without me,” Azriel said, the words cracking. “I know. I know they were chasing you, but I couldn’t find you.”

Ariadne squeezed his hand. “I was trying to get to Razer.”

Casting his shimmering gaze away, he nodded. “I keep telling myself that. But if Sehrox…Ehrun could’ve…” He struggled with the words, each disconnected thought trailing away as he fumbled for what to say. “If Kall hadn’t been there—I…I’ll kill him. Next time I see Ehrun, I’ll kill him for what he’s done.”

“No.” It left Ariadne on a breath. “I have said it before. I do not want you to kill him. I do not want him dead.”

At first, Azriel gaped at her, incredulous. They had just finished putting their friends to rest—Ehrun’s own brother was now nothing but ashes in the wind. “Why? Why are you so concerned for him? You’re protecting a murderer. After all he’s done, he deserves—”

“I want him to suffer .” Ariadne froze, surprised by the loathing in her voice and even more by how much she believed her words. Hate had become such a close friend after all Loren had done to them, and then after their most recent encounter with the wretched usurper, she no longer avoided the feeling. It consumed her. “I want him to remember every horrible thing he did.”

Azriel’s brows rose in equal surprise. Though he opened his mouth to speak, no words formed.

Instead, Ariadne continued, fueled by the mounting rage that brought about too-fresh memories of a dagger plunging into her friend’s chest. “I want him to remember every moment of agony he caused. I want him to remember Kall. I want him to remember your father. I want him to remember me .”

“Ariadne…” Azriel cupped her face, a mixture of adoration and fear in his red eyes—as though he did not recognize who he looked at, yet he loved her all the same.

“And I want him to live with that pain.” She swallowed hard, each breath like fire in her lungs as she remembered her own misery. The fear when Azriel had nearly died protecting her from Ehrun on the highway after finding Madan broken and alone in the guard house. The pain as she hung from chains in a dungeon, serving a sentence for a crime she did not commit. The sorrow that stole her breath at Kall’s hope just before the dagger pierced his heart. “He deserves that pain, and I want him to suffer as we did.”

A moment passed. Then another. When still Azriel said nothing, Ariadne began to wonder if, perhaps, she had taken it too far. That she had let the utter abhorrence take over, and it tainted his view of her. Ehrun had, after all, endured the one thing that Azriel could empathize with most: the death of a mate.

Despite it all, Azriel did not speak to her curses. He merely nodded and pressed a kiss to her lips.

There was no circumstance in which Ariadne expected someone to hear her declarations of hate and pain, then respond with a kiss. In her old life back in Laeton, her friends and sister would have looked at her with shock if she so much as wished a bad night upon someone. Such remarks were left to those like Dierdre Kolson and Belina Fletcher. Of all people, Ariadne would be the last person in all of Valenul to say the things she said to Azriel.

Despite her trepidation at entering the forest after all that had happened a mere day before, Ariadne did so. Not long after following her half-brother and his partner in the maze of trees, the clouds broke overhead to let the sun through to warm them. She turned her face to the sky and soaked it up—something she once believed would never happen again in her lifetime.

Shadows passed overhead, and her heart skipped, steps faltering. If Ehrun found them again…

“It’s Razer,” Azriel assured her, easing the knot that formed in her chest.

“How is he doing?” she asked as the sweep of darkness disappeared through the trees. After the events of the last day, there was no possibility of the dragon not being as deeply affected by what happened. She knew Razer’s heart as she knew Azriel’s. Even if she could not hear either of their thoughts or share their connection, she had seen the dragons lamenting the same as them.

Ducking below a branch, Azriel navigated his horns through the dangling leaves. “As well as you might expect.”

No need to nod or affirm his words. Instead, she lifted her voice to ask Madan, “These caves. Are they the last you have on your map?”

“There’s one more set,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m hoping they won’t be necessary.”

“Why is that?”

Madan grimaced. “They’re about as far east as we could go without actually entering Valenul. I’d prefer to stay as far from there as possible, considering.”

Considering Loren was still looking for her. Considering the entire Valenul army remained on alert and could now use dragons to locate them. Considering if she did not show her face in Laeton, her friends risked enduring more pain because of her.

Gods, could she not have one day to breathe? To feel as though her world were safe and calm and good? Since the night of Azriel’s arrest, Ariadne had lived in fear—for him, for herself, and for every person she loved. Emillie had sacrificed her happiness to ensure her escape. Now Revelie paid prices for something she had no hand in. Most likely, Loren would go for Camilla next. Anything to force Ariadne into a corner and bring her back to him.

And for what? To parade her before the Lords of Valenul like a prized broodmare? She had spent a century of her life working towards just that, and now that she had escaped the confines of the Society, she never wanted to return. Not when she had everything she needed there in those woods with her.

Well…almost everything.

Kall’s ax hung from the pack on Whelan’s back. They had cleaned the blade with rainwater that morning, just before his final flight, when they brought him to Bindhe. It felt so long ago, and yet it had not even been a full day since last she saw her friend wielding the blade.

“How much farther?” Azriel asked. He trained his gaze straight ahead as though his thoughts had wandered in a similar direction, and he wished to avoid them, just as she did.

Madan pointed between the branches to a sheer rock wall that jutted out from the canopy. “It should be at the base of that cliff.”

At least something was going right today. With any luck, they would be able to explore the cave and find the tomb before nightfall. The only thing that could make it better would be if there was some kind of inscription detailing what they needed from the tomb. At the rate they were going, they would need to take a sample of anything they came upon in case it was needed.

Before silence could wrap them in its cold, unforgiving clutches, Madan did something Ariadne had both never heard nor expected from him.

He sang.

The lyrics were in the dhemon language, so Azriel quietly translated the idea of it as their half-brother’s voice rose and fell. Though the tone and melody, clear and beautiful coming from him, reminded her of a haunting, lonely tale, the words did not match. In fact, the story it described was of secret lovers who snuck out to find one another by moonlight. They hid their affection so well that they were then sought after by others, to no avail.

The feeling of the song shifted, turning bright and cheerful in tandem with the moment the two revealed their love. They had feared disapproval from their parents but found their union to be celebrated and honored. It was then that Whelan picked up the harmony, his deeper voice balancing with his partner’s.

Ariadne’s heart swelled and warmed with the music. She never imagined her brother capable of such beautiful artistry, yet there she was, walking hand-in-hand with her husband and trying not to let the love push her back over the edge. Her throat burned at the strain of holding in the flood of emotions, both good and bad.

The final note died away, and Ariadne did not know what to do other than clap. It had been years since she last went to a symphony, yet still she pulled her hand from Azriel’s and applauded the beauty of it.

“I did not know you could sing,” she said through the tightness in her throat.

Madan grinned back at her. “Anyone can sing.”

Heat flushed her cheeks. “Well…yes.”

“Just don’t ask Azriel to sing,” Whelan said, his own smirk revealing his sharp teeth.

Beside her, Azriel grumbled under his breath, “I sing just fine.”

Ariadne raised her brows at him. Of all the things she knew about him, never would she have guessed music to be one of his talents. His voice had always been raspy, like thunder or gravel. It was not an unpleasant sound, and in fact, she enjoyed the way he spoke—particularly when he said her name as he sank himself inside her. But for him to even care about how he might be judged by others? It did not seem like him.

“Why don’t you regale us with one of your songs, then?” Madan teased. “I haven’t heard you sing since we were children.”

Azriel flushed. “I haven’t had much reason to since then.”

“Is that so?” Ariadne asked and took his hand again. Anything to keep the darkness at bay. “I would love to hear you sing.”

Brows furrowing, he averted his eyes. When he did not appear ready to start a tune, she squeezed his hand and leaned into him. He need not prove anything to her. The idea that he could, in fact, sing was merely another side of him she had yet to witness. They truly knew so little about one another, they continued to learn.

And Ariadne would be happy to do so for as long as the gods permitted.

Then Azriel stole her breath as he lifted his chin and started a lullaby that even she knew. His deep voice took the song, one she had only ever heard the melody of but could not pinpoint where, and gave it a fresh life. One with words and meaning.

Ahead of them, Madan stopped dead in his tracks. He turned to stare at Azriel, his marbled eyes wide and lined with silver. They all froze with him, watching and listening.

It ended as quickly as it began, and Azriel avoided his brother’s line of sight by casting his gaze to the trees.

“You remembered the words.” Madan gaped. “It’s been centuries , and you remembered them all?”

Azriel shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. “I used to sing it to you when we first got to Auhla .”

He left the rest of the words unspoken: after their mother died. No doubt it had been a lullaby she once sang to them. It would have been their one comfort in facing the death of such a prominent person in their life.

When no one so much as moved for a long moment, Ariadne blurted, “Could Kall sing?”

All focus turned to her. She had done it. She broke the unspoken pact they had all made not to mention him. But there was so much she never got to ask her friend. So much she still wanted to know and learn. So many questions would remain unanswered now.

Whelan replied first. A slow smile spread across his face as he said, “Actually, yes. He had a beautiful voice. Not like that bag of rocks.”

The joke landed, and Azriel chuckled. “There’s a reason I never opened this bag of rocks for you before.” He looked at Ariadne and smiled. “But he’s right. Kall’s voice was a gift from the gods.”

They started onward again. Conversation turned from singing to art—something Ariadne could proudly state she was accomplished in, unlike anything musical—before devolving into the three of them claiming their penmanship was the best. Having seen Azriel’s, Ariadne knew he bluffed. Madan’s was far more elegant. As for Whelan, she had no idea, and so they paused just long enough to demonstrate in the dirt with a stick.

Madan’s, she voted, remained superior.

By the time they reached the cave entrance, their stomachs growled. None of them had indulged in a bite to eat since the funeral. No one wanted to be the one to eat the last of Kall’s prepared food.

Though Madan slung the bag over his amputated arm to reach inside, he paused, brows lowering as he stared at the cave. At first, no one so much as breathed.

Then Ariadne heard it, too. Voices. And they were coming from inside the cave.

Emillie did not often get to socialize with her companions during the daylight hours. After being pushed east by the sudden arrival of no less than a dozen dhemons bearing weapons of war and led by one that Zeke claimed to be called Ehrun, the false Dhemon King, they found themselves in a thick forest nestled between two sheer cliffs. The cave they found, though almost too narrow at the entrance for their wagon, was massive inside and made the perfect place to settle down, light a fire, and wait out the day.

As such, Emillie did not sleep much. She had the rare opportunity to rotate shifts with the others until everyone had adequate sleep. The early afternoon sunlight dappled the entrance, keeping Emillie tucked farther into the cave to avoid the blinding glare.

“That was strange.” Edira leaned closer to the cave entrance with a frown.

Haen stood and stepped outside, looking up. “No clouds.”

“What was it?” Luce asked, eyes closed as she stretched her long legs out and leaned back on her elbows as though to bask in the little light they allowed themselves.

“It looked like a cloud blotting out the sun,” Edira explained. “But it moved quite fast.”

Emillie tilted her head, looking at the strip of sunlight with curiosity. Her vampiric eyes throbbed. Though accustomed to using firelight of all kinds to assist her vision, daylight was another beast entirely. So rare was it for her to see such brilliance, she never allowed her pupils to adjust enough to take it in.

“Could it have been a bird?” Emillie asked half-heartedly, turning her attention back to the lycan who had been informing her of more historical facts about the region.

Zeke opened his mouth to respond when two more wolves hurtled into the cave. Between steps, they transformed into their bipedal fae forms and bent over their knees to catch their breaths. Both preferred to keep to their wolven bodies, so seeing them otherwise shocked Emillie. The first, Riu, had floppy brown hair that often hung over his rosy eyes and so many freckles, his pale skin almost appeared tan. The other, Dahlia, pushed her blue-black hair back from her face as she straightened to look around the cave with eyes tattooed black—the symbol of an accomplished assassin amongst fae.

Dahlia spoke first, her common tongue heavily accented, “Two male dhemons and a Caersan man and woman are making their way towards us.”

The words did not register in Emillie’s mind at first. All she heard was dhemons , and the air caught in her lungs. It took several heartbeats for the rest of the sentence to worm its way into her brain. Several more before it made any sense.

Emillie had never heard of Caersans willing to travel with dhemons. At least…no one other than…

“What did they look like?” Her question rose above the others clamoring for more information: are they armed? Could they be with the Crowe? Did they look familiar? She stood, ears ringing at the possibility.

All eyes shifted to her. Luce frowned but pushed to her feet, shoulders rolled in as though preparing to turn into a wolf. As always, Edira remained calm beside Haen as they studied her. Pol’s brows raised with curiosity.

When no one answered her question, Emillie lifted her chin and used the most imperious voice she could muster as she faced the two lycans. “Describe them to me.”

Riu tilted his head and shuffled his feet awkwardly. “One looked like you.”

“That is not helpful,” Emillie snapped. The fae—lycans in particular—had a tendency to tease her about how similar all Caersans looked. Between the distracting blue veins on their necks and pompous attitudes, they were but one big group of unidentifiable nightwalkers.

Though the others chuckled, Riu’s pink eyes widened. “No, really. Her hair is darker, but she looks a lot like you. The man was missing an arm.”

The world spun. Only Emillie’s deep sense of self-preservation kept her from sprinting into the sunlight to find her sister. Then, all at once, it stopped.

“Caersans cannot go in the sun,” she said quietly and tilted her head, focusing on the cave floor just in front of Dahlia. “Are you certain they were vampires?”

The lycan assassin scoffed. “They reek of blood and had teeth like a lion.”

“They were singing,” Riu added as though the information was at all helpful. “But they were definitely coming this way.”

Well, that certainly could not be her sister. If Ariadne’s dancing was awful, her ability to stay on key was positively abysmal. Music was not a strong suit of hers, which was why she had turned into a recluse of sorts with her romance books and small paintings. Whoever was out there were some Rusan vampires, capable of withstanding sunlight, and happened to have stronger veins on their necks.

But Luce looked at her, those golden eyes filled with worry. “Who did you think they were?”

With the initial excitement dying, Emillie shook her head. The more she thought about it, the less likely it all became. “Impossible. They are in the east.”

After all, that was why they were headed in that direction. There was no reason for Ariadne, Azriel, or even Madan to be in this region. Every source pointed them past Monsumbra, and there was no way they would have been able to travel this far so quickly.

Sinking back to her seat near Zeke, Emillie sighed. They would get there soon enough. The reunion could wait just a little longer.

The shriek of a sword being pulled from its sheath echoed into the cave. Everyone froze, then turned to find an elongated shadow of a dhemon spilling across the floor. The stranger took a step closer, paused to speak to his comrades, then entered the cave.

It was everything from Emillie’s sleep terrors. Shining red eyes, black spiraling horns, and sharp teeth exposed by lips pulled back in a snarl. His black hair was pulled into a knot at the crown of his head, and his dark blue skin glistened with perspiration. He lifted the blade as though readying to block an attack, then froze, those frightening eyes swiveling to bore into her soul.

“Emillie?” The dhemon lowered the sword, face relaxing as he took in her companions, and stepped out of the bright light.

“Gods.” She covered her mouth, the world falling out from under her.

“Who is he?” Luce asked quietly, positioning herself between them without taking her eyes off the dhemon. “How does he know your name?”

Finding her feet, Emillie laid a hand on Luce’s arm. “It is alright.”

“Who are you?” Luce demanded when Emillie gave her no insight.

The dhemon’s face shifted. Horns seemed to retreat into his skull, and the blue complexion peeled away to tan. Red eyes muddied, then turned to a pale green. Within seconds, Emillie stood face-to-face with her brother-in-law.

“My name is Azriel,” he said, his shock as evident as that she felt knocking the breath from her lungs. “Azriel the Crowe.”