Page 37

Chapter 36

T he plan had been to travel to Armington, searching the highways along the way for whispers of Ariadne or signs of dragons. When they reached the Hub, Loren had already grown anxious at the lack of information they were able to glean from any travelers heading east out of Waer Province. The sheer silence on the whereabouts of Ariadne Harlow and that despicable half-breed had him on edge and wondering whether or not Quinton Tress and his wife had lied to his face.

It was precisely why he brought the soldier along with him as they ventured out from Laeton. If Loren discovered that the information had been, in fact, provided as a way to prevent him from retrieving his future wife, such treason would be dealt with swiftly. Then he would proceed to Armington nonetheless and dispatch Tress’s wife and child with just as little mercy.

Yet with an entourage as large as Loren’s, and including large ballistae in the event they ran into a massive flying beast, swift travel eluded him. They made it to the Hub and rested for the day before proceeding—stopping in each town and village that speckled the highway in search of information. As such, it had taken them two full nights just to reach the point in the road where he had been told Emillie Harlow had escaped the same night they had left Laeton under forged papers.

Scouts, sent to search the nearby woods and foothills for signs of travelers, returned to Loren in a cacophony of hoofbeats not long after crossing the southern river. Their thunderous arrival had Loren pulling his stallion up short to turn in his saddle in the direction from which they came. None of them ever moved quite so quickly to deliver bad news.

Two soldiers in crimson burst through the trees on horseback, their faces flushed from the cold wind whipping at their cheeks. A hopeful glint sparked in their eyes, but Loren held no such frivolous optimism. The entire journey thus far had been as much as he could muster as it was, and with the endeavor revealing to be rather fruitless, he had begun eyeing the dagger on his belt with the vague waking dream of sweeping it across Quinton’s throat.

“Large shadows in the sky, Your Majesty, and distant bursts of light. Fire, perhaps.” One of the soldiers pointed through the trees. “We thought we saw a figure a way up the mountainside, but they disappeared into what appears to be some kind of cave. No other signs of life.”

Loren nodded. “Very well. Did you investigate further?”

The other scout shook his head. “No, Your Majesty. We thought it best to report back and receive orders prior to assuming.”

The kingly part of him had him sitting a little taller in his saddle, relishing the idea of the two soldiers wishing for his command. Yet the recently-abandoned military side of him wanted to roll his eyes. The purpose of the scouts was to identify potential encampments and seek out those to whom it belonged. That they wanted yet another order to proceed with what he had already told them to do made him wonder just how incompetent they all were.

He would need to have a conversation with General Wintre about increasing the rigor of the soldiers’ training. They needed to trust their instincts more.

Yet there was still another part of Loren, a small one that he often consulted in matters of suspicion, that told him that this had significance. There was a reason a lone figure disappeared at the sight of his soldiers. There was a reason for strange shapes and light in the middle of the night. There was a reason his scouts and even their steeds seemed on edge.

And it had nothing to do with addressing their King.

Loren turned to the company around him and nodded once. “Find who it belongs to and interrogate them.”

Without another word, two-thirds of the soldiers accompanying him spread out through the forest on foot. They spoke in low voices to one another about various things—who they believed they would find, what could be causing the light, and whether or not they believed they would come across Miss Harlow anytime soon.

Though Loren did not appreciate the way they spoke of his betrothed—as though she were an object obtainable by someone like them by the familiarity they said her name—he held his tongue. She was, after all, a tool for him . Nothing but a trophy who would stand beside his throne and lie in his bed, proving he would do anything for love and to gain the favor of Valenul’s most influential Lords.

Once he had Ariadne back, they would have confirmation of his loyalty to the kingdom, for if he had never turned his back on the woman he professed to love, why would he ever lead Valenul astray? They would flock to him and find nothing but indisputable power in the veins of his heirs. With the Gard and Harlow lines at last joined, they would become unstoppable. His future sons would become conquerors and thousands of years from now, when they took over his rule, they would do so with the strength of the entire aristocracy at their backs.

Ah, yes. The future was bright. Loren merely required his wife, and if his gut feeling was correct—as it was always correct—she was close. Close and ready to run back into his waiting arms.

“Your Majesty!” A soldier burst from the treeline. “Someone has emerged from the mountain. A woman in distress.”

Loren tempered his flare of victory. This could be anyone. By keeping his expectations low, he could only be happily surprised if it turned out to be precisely who he wished.

Dismounting, he handed the reins to another soldier before turning to the one out of breath before him. “Where is she? Of course we shall assist her.”

And if she was but a fae merchant, they would wring every drop of information they could from her lips. Who she had seen along the road. If there had been any strange figures. In which direction were they traveling. If they came from Armington, even better. She would be more likely to have seen them.

The soldier led him into the trees, his crimson uniform a beacon in the low light. All around, the soldiers could be seen through the darkness as they began centering in on the woman they claimed to be in distress .

Damsels had always bored Loren. They were not as entertaining when there was no urge to defy him. He enjoyed the process of taking an elegant woman filled with pride and ego and slowly chipping it away. Over time, she would bend to his will and be dependent on one and only one: him.

It had been his plan from the beginning with Ariadne those years ago before Darien got in his way. She had been a spitfire. A ball of light and energy. How Keon had not chosen her as the Golden Rose during her first debut always bewildered him. Out of every debutante, it had been Ariadne Harlow that caught the attention of every eligible bachelor.

Unfortunately, his little brother had gotten to her first. And what did that idiot do? He got himself killed trying to rescue her from dhemons alone—as though his elder brother did not rule over the entire Valenul army. Had Darien stopped to think even once, he would still be alive.

Well. At least until Loren concocted some sort of accident so he could take Ariadne for himself.

If only Loren had gotten ahold of her during her prime, before the dhemons broke her. Oh, what fun he would have had to watch that light die in her eyes over the years. It was an opportunity missed and one he would forever wish he could change.

But now…

Now Loren had a second chance. Ariadne had reignited a similar fire in herself—evidenced by the way she reacted when he arrested Azriel and regained his title in the army. The energy and hate she mustered behind every word as she put a blade in Nikolai and tried to attack him. Taking that and crushing it out of her, molding her into the perfect, docile Queen, would be a work of pride.

“I see her!” The soldier’s shout was closer than Loren expected.

He reeled to a halt, the forest closing in on him again as he pivoted to focus to where the shout had originated. The woman had entered the forest, then. With the treeline so far away, none of them could see her otherwise.

Then Loren heard the words he had waited weeks to hear: “Gods! It is Miss Harlow!”

It was enough to get Loren moving again. Turning in the direction of the soldiers, he rushed between the trees and saw before him, on all fours, the woman he had desired for so long. Her midnight hair hung in a thick braid over her shoulder, and she wore a shirt, trousers, and boots—unseemly for a Caersan of her status. When she looked up, her face was freshly scratched and dirty.

“Miss Harlow!” He closed the distance between them and took a knee before her. This had been for what he had waited for so long. She turned her attention to him, those blue eyes widening with shock. “I found you at last.”

Several beats passed before she breathed, “Loren…thank Keon. You have to help me.”

“What has happened to you?” Loren held out his hand and she placed hers in it without hesitation. It shook hard, and she flinched at something he could not see.

“I only just escaped.” Her voice was light and airy, as though she was out of breath.

“Escaped who?”

A thrill went through him. If that half-breed were nearby, he would be able to obtain two victories that night: gain a bride and put a permanent end to an enemy.

“ Land over there .” Madan sent the image of the ridge overlooking the cave where the dragons could let them dismount without being seen, yet far enough from the horses and wagon to not spook them. After spotting the crimson-clad soldiers picking their way through the forest below the tomb, the last thing they needed was to be discovered by the men who swore fealty to none other than Loren Gard himself.

Both Azriel and Whelan acquiesced without thought and for a heartbeat, Madan was hopeful that neither would question as to why they needed to go elsewhere. Undoubtedly, the fae had been informed by Ariadne about the dragons. They would likely want to see their bondhearts.

It was, of course, his brother who broke the silence as they landed. Finally within earshot of one another, he spoke aloud. “Why not closer? It’d be easier”—he tugged Ehrun down from Oria, letting the dhemon fall in a heap on the stones below—“if we didn’t have to carry his ass.”

For a long moment, Madan considered not saying anything. How would Azriel react to knowing that there was a chance those soldiers had found not only the tomb but the one person they sought. The one person for whom Azriel would die without hesitation.

“Whelan and I saw soldiers near the cave earlier.” Madan kept his voice low and even as though addressing a cornered and rabid animal.

He’d been correct to assume nothing good would come of the proclamation. What he should’ve done, however, was anticipate the degree to which his brother would react. Of all the times Azriel had feared for Ariadne in the past…this did not compare.

“What the fuck , Madan? Whelan?” Azriel shouted, whirling on him with pure, unadulterated fear. “And you said nothing ?”

“This isn’t Whelan’s fault. I told him not to say anything. I needed you to stay focused!” Madan threw his hands up as his brother turned again to run over the ridge. “Like this—you wouldn’t have been there to take this fucking—”

But Azriel was already gone. His horns vanished over the edge as he all but threw himself down the mountain to get to the cave below, leaving Madan and Whelan to carry the prone and bound Ehrun on their own.

Whelan stooped and managed to sling the now-conscious dhemon over his shoulders and start the trek back to the cave. At first, they walked in silence. Tension thrummed between them, and it had nothing to do with the fact that his partner had to carry the huge dhemon alone—after all, Madan was strong, but lifting a man of Ehrun’s size onto his shoulders would be next to impossible.

When at last Whelan spoke, he did so without looking at Madan. “What we did was cruel.”

“He would’ve left.” Of that, Madan had no doubt, and they couldn’t risk it. “He wouldn’t have continued the fight.”

“And I wouldn’t have blamed him.” Whelan’s steps ate up the distance between them and the cave, forcing Madan to stretch his legs to keep up. Ahead of them, Azriel’s silhouette still moved, not quite to the entrance yet. “I should’ve said something.”

Madan grit his teeth in thought, then said, “And if Razer hadn’t been there—”

“We would’ve made it work.”

“Listen.” Madan pulled up short and waited for Whelan to pause and look back. “Azriel has a habit of leaving things unfinished. He didn’t kill Loren in the duel and look where that got all of us. He didn’t kill Ehrun on the highway when he attacked, and look at us now.”

The dhemon on Whelan’s shoulders struggled to smirk through the bind across his mouth, but mirth twinkled in his ruby eyes nonetheless. It made Madan want to punch the fucker.

“If he’d left for some soldiers,” Madan continued, “there’s a chance Sehrox would’ve killed one or both of us. There’s a chance those soldiers would’ve killed him .”

“We are not so incapable that each of us couldn’t take on two of them.” Whelan gave Ehrun a rough shake when the dhemon chuckled.

But Madan shook his head. “Azriel wouldn’t have been able to keep his head on straight if he’d left. He would’ve been just as worried about us and been torn between two places. Something would’ve happened one way or another. This way, we accomplished something big.”

Starting their trudge downhill again, Whelan said quieter this time, “But at what cost?”

That cost became very clear very quickly. Though they hadn’t been far behind Azriel in the march down from the ridge, his frantic call for Ariadne made Madan’s heart stop. Whelan half-jogged, jostling Ehrun unceremoniously as he did so, as Madan took to running. He closed the distance between him and Azriel as his brother entered the first room of the cave.

Grabbing for his brother’s arm, Madan did not feel it in his soul when he said, “Azriel, I’m sure she’s fine—”

“Ariadne!” Azriel ripped his arm out of Madan’s grasp and rushed down the tunnel at the back of the cave. The tone of his voice held nothing but pure panic. Pure heartbreak. As though Azriel expected her to be gone.

Why would he think that?

Then something happened that he hadn’t felt in several weeks. A drowsy, almost new consciousness brushed through the collective linking them together. Brutis let it in, just as curious as Madan, and in an instant, all hell broke loose inside his head.

Pain ricocheted through his skull—a headache-like agony he hadn’t experienced since…

“Oh, fuck.” It was Whelan who spoke as he dropped Ehrun on the stone floor with a thump and a groan. The bound dhemon grunted in discomfort but said nothing. As though he could manage to squeeze any words through the cloth around his mouth anyway. “Madan, that’s a new dragon.”

“ I only just escaped .” Ariadne’s voice echoed in Madan’s mind, and her pure terror had him reeling. Only Brutis tamping down on the connection kept him from experiencing the same flood of panic as his sister. A flicker of sapphire blue eyes shot across his vision.

“ Razer ,” Madan said, his own adrenaline spiking. “ Razer , shut it off . He can’t hear this . Don’t let him —”

But before his brother’s bondheart could do anything, none other than Loren Gard’s face swam fully into view. The connection between Ariadne and the hatchling dragon was untethered, uncontrolled, unable to be kept private. Every word and every image blasted through their minds at once.

Worst of all was the look on Loren’s face. Triumph. Pure, wicked glee as he asked, “ Escaped who ?”

“ Razer !” Madan screamed through the connections, and he ran after Azriel, whose anguish poured through the vinculum. His brother was breaking, and Madan could feel every second of it. Whatever was happening with Ariadne’s bondheart made it so that no one could contain their emotions on their own. “ Razer , please!”

Razer’s own dread poured through him. “ I’m trying!”

“ You were right ,” Ariadne was saying to Loren, her voice light and airy.

It was a tone Madan had heard many nights after her rescue from Ehrun when he’d asked her how she fared. It didn’t take long for him to realize what it meant: lies. She was lying to Loren’s face, and the fool who knew nothing about her ate up every one of her words.

Yet every syllable only shoved Azriel into a darker pit of despair.

“Where is she?” Azriel called ahead of him, down another passage. “Ariadne! Please!”

Madan followed his voice to where his brother reeled to a halt behind a horse-sized dragon with white scales that shimmered like opals. The hatchling turned, pure black eyes shining with interest as it took them in. On the far side of the dragon stood Emillie and the fae—as though the hatchling itself had kept them from escaping.

“Azriel,” Emillie said, her voice cracking. “I tried to stop her.”

Grabbing his horns, Azriel pulled his head down and buckled in on himself. “Where did she go? Where is my wife ? My mate ? Where—”

“The soldiers were coming,” Dahlia explained. She turned her wide eyes from the small hatchling to the dhemon who fell to his knees. “She went to them.”

“ Right about what ?” Loren asked Ariadne, the voices just as clear in Madan’s mind as though they were right beside them. No wonder Azriel had gone deeper into the caves. If he’d thought Loren was inside the tomb…

“Don’t listen to them,” Madan said, closing the distance between him and Azriel. He crouched down, searching for his brother’s gaze to lock him into reality. “She’s lying to him. Don’t listen.”

“She promised,” Azriel croaked. “She promised she wouldn’t leave me…”

Ariadne’s voice shook as she said the three words that were enough to break the heart of any man: “ He’s a monster .”

“You have to cut it off,” Madan said aloud, turning to the hatchling, desperate for his brother to gain any sort of relief from the onslaught of misery. A fresh flood of it drowned the connection between them all as Azriel comprehended Ariadne’s words. “Stop it!”

“ I do not know how ,” the dragon said, and that curiosity in its eyes turned to worry as it looked over Azriel. “ Who is he to her ?”

Through the strange link, Ariadne’s own sorrow washed through them. The images flashing through their minds halted as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. What his sister saw in her own mind, Madan wasn’t certain. But her thoughts rang clear: “ I am so sorry …”