15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

A fter narrowly dodging soldiers who'd swept through the Caldwell Estate searching for Ariadne, Madan returned to Laeton for his first Council meeting. Word had quickly spread of Azriel's death , and he was met with tearful greetings by Petre and Bella at the family manor in the capital. He dared not reveal the truth despite their discretion over their many weeks together. Azriel's true fate needed to remain unknown in case of the worst.

He shuddered to think what would happen to his brother if Ariadne failed to free him. He'd armed her with knowledge of Algorath's legal systems, though he feared she wouldn't utilize it. As different as she was from Azriel, his sister was also brash and acted before thinking.

The gutting she'd given Madan during her rescue attempt at the Gard Estate weeks prior, almost to his demise, only proved her lack of foresight.

Yet as he entered the Council Chambers, grimacing at the depiction of dhemons carved into the door, he sent a silent prayer to Keon to watch over both of his half-siblings and to protect them from their own tumultuous emotions. While Azriel often used his to fuel his rage, Ariadne's caused her to shut down entirely. Neither could afford to lose their heads as they waltzed into their own battles—his brother's matches in the Pits and his sister's against Melia.

Alek Nightingale was the first to approach Madan as he strode into the room. His onyx eyes glittered, and he stretched out a hand. Madan accepted, grasping his forearm, and gave him a subtle nod. Of the Caersans in the Council Chamber, only the Lord Governors and the Princeps knew the truth of his appointment. Assuming, of course, Loren told his father. Madan didn't doubt it.

"My deepest condolences," Alek said as he pulled back. "You missed a beautiful pyre."

Madan sighed. "Thank you. I am certain it was and am heartbroken to have missed it."

The Lord Governor of the Waer Province leaned closer and said, quieter this time so only they could hear, "The General lit the pyre. Tread carefully."

The very mention of Loren Gard made Madan's heart skip a beat and stomach clench. If not for his meager breakfast, he would have likely emptied the contents right then and there. To be back in this gods-forsaken town, so close to the vampire who'd put him through so much pain…

He could still feel Loren's hand grip his ankle and knee. He could still hear the General's question— You would die for a traitor? —as he snapped Madan's leg with ease.

Oh, how Madan had screamed. With nothing to bite down on, his teeth cracked from how hard he grit his jaw as again and again, Loren shifted the broken bone.

"I want to see if you heal like him," he'd said, prodding the leg out of place. "But I will stop if you tell me the truth: Is Azriel a dhemon?"

The bastard had known long before any of this happened. He'd pieced the truth together, and all he needed was proof. Any shred of evidence to condemn Azriel.

Madan had refused to give it. Again and again, all he did was scream.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, jolting him from the memories of that dark basement filled with agony—not only his own but that of the fae shifter who'd been brought down to join him after the first week. Madan released the hold he'd had on his own amputated arm. His gaze refocused on the Caersan before him, and Alek's dark brows pinched in concern.

"Lord Caldwell?" He glanced up at the others filing to their seats around them, then flickered to the place where Madan's sleeve rolled up to reveal the pale, scarred end of his arm. "All is well?"

Madan forced a strained smile to his face. "Quite."

"To your seat then," Alek instructed and nodded to the table across from the Princeps. "Your notes are in order?"

"Yes." Madan heaved a breath. "Thank you."

They separated and took their seats. He hadn't spent much time with Azriel and Alek during their evenings together. Waer's Lord Governor hadn't seemed to be a valuable asset to Madan at the time. Now he saw it. He understood his brother's insistence on having the Caersan's guidance. Alek was not only discreet, but he took his business seriously.

Even if that business included building an arena equivalent to the Pits, the construction of which had already begun.

Madan sifted through the papers on his desk, dropped there by Lord Knoll. He silently thanked the previous Steward of Eastwood Province for maintaining such careful notes. While Azriel was all action, he had struggled with the paperwork required of a Lord Governor. Gods, he'd struggled with many parts of ruling even as the dhom of the dhemons—no matter how hard he'd tried to run from the title, just like the Crowe.

When he looked up, however, his chest tightened. Markus Harlow watched him with peculiar interest. The Princeps scanned his face as though he'd never seen him before—as though he hadn't employed him for the last year and a half. His golden eyes, the same shade marbled into Madan's own, narrowed as his brows pinched.

Fuck . What had Azriel told him? Markus now looked at him with too much familiarity as though searching for the little boy he once knew. The son he'd assumed died in the Keonis Mountains.

In truth, Mattias Harlow had died in the Keonis Mountains. After witnessing what Markus had done to his mother, listening to Azriel scream and beg the man they'd called Father to stop, and then unable to do anything as that same sword, still dripping with Mariana's blood, turned on his brother…

He'd ceased being a Harlow the moment the Crowe appeared. The moment he heard that dhemon cry in rage and anguish at the sight of the carnage before him. The moment the Crowe had struck down Markus and scooped Madan into his arms, cradling him to his chest as they ran back into the forest. He'd never been held like that by his blooded father. Only the horned fae he was supposed to hate.

"Let us begin," Markus said, still watching Madan, "the first Council meeting with Lord Governor Madan Caldwell."

The Princeps emphasized his name as he cocked his head to the side, daring him to interject. Then he turned to the others in the High Council, a light scowl settling on his face. Alek looked back with calm, cool interest. Lord Damen Gard, however, glared across the room to Madan.

Markus continued, "We have previously gathered to discuss the dhemon raids in Notten Province and—"

The door to the Council Chamber swung open. Everyone turned in unison to look upon the intruder.

And every bit of air in Madan's lungs punched from his chest.

Loren Gard closed the great door behind him and stepped into the room. "Pardon my tardiness, my Lord Princeps. I was detained at the Hub welcoming new recruits. They arrived later than projected."

The room swam. Darkness crept in on the edges of Madan's vision as he struggled to regain oxygen to his brain. His heart sped up to an unbearable degree, thundering in his ears. He shook from the sudden chill that choked the breath from him.

Madan couldn't let the General see his fear. Couldn't let on that what happened to him within that guard house cellar continued to torment him. That every slice of a blade, snap of a log in the fire, and pop of a cork made his entire body seize, trapping him inside his own mind. Loren could never know. No one could.

But then those icy blue eyes slid around the room and landed on him. Though Madan did his best to hide the internal screaming, he was certain he flinched. A small smirk curled the corners of Loren's mouth.

"Have a seat, General," Markus said, ignoring the silent battle of wills between them. "We will get to your business shortly."

Loren inclined his head before dragging a chair noisily to the empty space beside his father. When at last he sat, he leaned back as though ready to kick his feet up onto the desk before him and lounge.

"As I was saying," Markus continued, "The Notten Province raids. What is the status, Lord Gard?"

Ignoring his son, Damen stood, his silver hair shining in the firelight. He looked and moved too much like his offspring. Before Loren's interruption, Madan had been careful not to look at him. Now he had no choice but to see the similarities, and they stole the oxygen from the room.

"The raids continue." Damen leaned forward on his hands and looked to each of them to drive the point of the severity of his words. "The vampires of Notten Province continue to struggle, to flee, and to die ."

Some of the Lower Council looked to Madan as though he were responsible. He'd read through the notes Azriel had left behind and the orders given to the soldiers of Eastwood Province on how to best handle the carnage of the north, but the fault didn't lie with him. Gods, the fault hadn't even laid with Azriel.

"I have statistics from Eastwood," Madan offered, pinning a stack of papers with his non-dominant elbow and pulling the needed pages free with his fingers. He focused his attention on the words and numbers to avoid looking at the Lord Governor. "May we discuss how best to use them so we may end such unnecessary suffering?"

"Eastwood's aid has done nothing to stem the tide of dhemons on my lands."

Madan sucked his teeth for a moment, steadying himself before looking up at Damen. His eyes fell, instead, to Loren, who watched him with animalistic intensity. Like a wolf stalking its prey. His heart lurched, and he returned to Damen. "I do not believe we have yet to offer any aid aside from providing numbers to better evaluate our next steps."

A murmur of agreement from the Council as those around them also checked their notes. Even those behind the Gards nodded, and the sandy-haired Lord Huntingford leaned forward to whisper something to Damen.

The Lord Governor scowled. "And the results?"

"Eastwood requires additional soldiers to man the highways between us and Notten." Madan pushed to his feet to elevate his voice. By pressing his palm into the desk below him, the shaking ceased—at least temporarily. He turned his gaze to Loren then and added, "With the help of General Gard, we would need an additional five hundred soldiers to not only slow the dhemons but end their raids completely."

The Council Chamber exploded with the voices of outraged Caersan men. Some yelled about equality amongst the Provinces. Others demanded another month of data be collected.

Still others were silent. Alek didn't look surprised. Markus, the leader of them all, merely appeared bored. The bickering, it would seem, was a constant struggle within the Council Chamber and a great source of his irritation. A Lower Councilman from the Central Province, Lord Kolson, spoke in the Princeps' ear before sitting back in his place behind him.

"Now, now." The voice, loud and strong, didn't come from the High Councilman. It didn't even come from Lord Gard. It came from Loren. His gaze swept across the room, waiting patiently for silence, before continuing, "You all act as though I have not given you adequate support in the past."

No one dared speak. As the second most powerful vampire in Valenul, Loren wasn't one to be trifled with. Even if Madan hadn't suffered at the General's hands, he wouldn't have questioned the man—not in front of the entire Council.

Madan sank back into his chair, not wishing to appear ready for a debate. Though Damen remained on his feet, he looked at his son with uncertainty.

"Our numbers are growing." Loren took the silence as his moment to stand. " My numbers are growing."

Gods, Madan didn't like the sound of that. The implications of having so many soldiers at Loren's command were tremendous. Now that he'd gotten rid of Azriel and played the Princeps right back into his pocket…he may very well have shifted the power out of Markus Harlow's hands without anyone realizing.

And though Madan could see it, he could do nothing about it.

Nonetheless, he glanced at Alek to see if the other Lord Governor could sense the sudden spike of authority in Loren's tone. Beside him, Alek remained neutral. Upon catching Madan's look, however, he narrowed his eyes and nodded once. He felt it, too.

"I was asked here tonight to speak on this very matter by our Lord Princeps." Loren smirked without looking at Markus. "I am more than happy to provide additional resources for the outer reaches of our Provinces, particularly those closest to the Keonis Mountains."

Madan's stomach sank. The knots already twisting there tightened. He clenched his fist and turned his eyes to Markus, hoping the silent plea could be seen by the Princeps. This would not end up well for Eastwood or Waer.

Yet when Markus spoke, Madan's hope sank even more. "Very good, General. I had hoped for such assistance to be granted to our most susceptible communities."

"Indeed, my Lord." Loren rapped his knuckles twice on the table. The swift knock jolted through Madan like a blade—the same sound he'd heard when strapped to that cellar table when Loren had grown tired of his cries. "I have several battalions ready to be distributed between the Provinces, though according to Lord Caldwell's numbers, less will be required of Notten."

Damen frowned, turning his pale eyes to his son. "Excuse me?"

The General's smirk returned, and he flickered his attention to Madan. "Lord Caldwell claims the Notten raids will end with five hundred soldiers. I will give him more to ensure the safety of both Province's people."

"There is a risk with the Irem Tundra—"

"Nonsense," Loren said, cutting his father off with a wave of his hand. "Studies have shown very few dhemons reside in the tundra and therefore present very little risk to Northecrosse."

Alek then leaned forward in his chair. "I do not believe I have requested additional soldiers."

Loren cocked his head as though not understanding the Lord Governor's words. "Did I not just hear an outcry for equality from your Lower Council? I am but your humble servant, my Lord. Accept my assistance, and rest assured your Province will be all the safer for it so you may bring your beautiful new bride home in peace."

And with those few words, Madan saw the shift in Markus's face from passivity to ruthless determination. The Princeps struck Alek down with a single, hard glare and said, "Is this not the best solution for all involved?"

Jaw flexing, Alek returned the vicious look and bit out, "Of course, my Lord Princeps."

Whatever had happened between the two Caersans in Madan's absence had been terrible. Though Markus and Alek had never appeared to be close, neither had they been so vastly separated. The wedge between them, Madan guessed, was Emillie.

He needed to speak with Alek—or his younger half-sister—to piece together the missing parts of this puzzle.

To make matters worse, Madan had forced himself into a corner. He didn't want more of Loren's men in Eastwood. He had no use for them—not with the dhemons at his command. Not with Ehrun's fading presence. But with more vampire soldiers in the area, Whelan and his friends would be forced to evacuate. Such a move would leave Madan very much alone.

So when the time came for a vote, Madan had no choice. He raised his hand in agreement to the movement of troops within his Province, and at the conclusion of the meeting, a heavy dread settled into his gut for what would happen next.

The Hub sat in the farthest reaches of the Central Province. With Loren's access to every military steed available along the road from Laeton, he had no issues making the journey faster than most. Arriving at the Council Chambers when he did had been exactly as he planned. He needed the Lord Governors' attention and for the Princeps to see he was unperturbed by small setbacks.

So, after the Council meeting concluded, he set off back to his main home. The return journey was faster. A mere two hours of hard riding, exchanging horses as he went. While the stallions tired at regular intervals, he did not.

The best part about being a Caersan vampire was his ability to regenerate energy and strength at a high pace. It was what kept him going through delivering two hundred lashes to Azriel and how he rose to his place as the General of Valenul—a feared and respected position that allowed him the ability to walk into the Council Chambers late without repercussions.

When he finally arrived at the Hub, the northern gates opened for him long before he reached them. He sped through, reining in the horse only once he had crossed the threshold. Soldiers hurried out of his way, providing him a wide berth as he dismounted and left the stallion, where he stopped in the middle of the main courtyard.

Someone else would take care of the beast, not him.

At the heart of the Hub, the officer building rose above the rest. While the three-story barracks building created a ring, like an inner wall, that impressive bit of architecture paled in comparison to the structure at the center.

Made of alabaster stone, the massive, free-standing circular tower rose seven stories high. Glass-paned windows marked each floor at regular intervals, and from his position in the courtyard, Loren could see that of his office on the third floor. He would not be going there this evening, however. He had another meeting on the docket—one he had planned nights ago.

He did not need to open the door when he arrived at the entrance. The guard stationed there bowed him through to the broad entry beyond. A staircase ran up the right side of the room to the second story, and the floor underfoot was bare stone. A balcony overlooked the entry, at the far side of which were two massive doors. Long crimson flags hung down the walls with two crossed swords stitched in silver. Between their points rested a crescent, points down—a call to Lake Cypher at the heart of Valenul and homage to the God of the Underworld, Keon, who created the Keonis Mountains and Valley.

Loren took to the stairs, his boots muffled by the red runner up their center, and went to the double doors on the second floor balcony where he pushed his way through to the war room beyond.

Officers milled about, talking in small groups around the massive table with a three-dimensional depiction of Valenul and its closest surrounding regions. The mountains rose above the outlined provinces at their center. The Irem Tundra stretched above Notten, with L'Oden Forest to the west and the Saalo Desert to the east. Flags of different sizes and meanings stood throughout the map, depicting the number of soldiers in each area of Valenul.

The chatter died upon his arrival, and the officers turned almost in unison to set their fists to their hearts and incline their heads. With so many of them in one place, the most basic of soldier greetings was necessary.

"I have orders from the Council." Loren took up his place at the center of the map and leaned forward on his hands, not unlike the way his father had during the meeting. Apple, tree.

Officers found their places, and it was the stalky, curly-haired Colonel Trev Wintre who spoke first from across the table. "Expansion?"

Loren gave him a curt nod. "In a way. The Lord Governors are desperate for more protection."

"Are they unsatisfied with their current troops?" another colonel, George Rasterson, asked from Trev's left. His short blond hair and bushy mustache seemed to ruffle with indignation.

"Now, now," Loren said, holding up a hand and failing to hide his smirk of approval. His officers would consider the very notion of dissatisfaction an affront to their efforts. "I believe they fear for their people. Raids continue in Notten, and Eastwood has done their job in providing critical data to put an end to the attacks. Permanently."

In truth, Loren had been pleasantly surprised by Madan's compliance. Perhaps their time together a couple of weeks ago had done its job in softening him to Loren's demands. A pity, then, that Azriel had had to meddle so much in his affairs—Ariadne, after all, had no means of such atrocities as he found in that cellar. He had been ever so close to breaking the ex-guard to his will. What a perfect little servant the new Lord Governor would have made. Maybe, with another small push, Madan would bend.

"Permanently?" Captain Nikolai Jensen scoffed as though confused by how Madan could possibly know such outcomes.

Loren, however, got the feeling that with Madan's proximity to Azriel, he maintained some knowledge of the dhemons' movements or habits. Why Markus Harlow believed him to be no risk to Valenul, Loren had no idea. He would need to change that soon.

"Indeed." Loren looked to his officers with a swell of pride. Not one of them had turned their back on him during his temporary leave. Those who had…had been removed upon his reappointment. "We have new recruits to train so we can get them into their positions in Waer and Eastwood Province. I would like to increase our presence in each of them to prevent further enemy movement into our territory."

"How many soldiers?" asked Captain Pietro Niil from further along the table. "We are spread thin as it is."

"I want training camps set up in each Province," Loren said, pushing back from the table and crossing his arms over his chest. "We will distribute the new recruits into Waer and Eastwood. Those who prove ready to move on to duty, therefore, may do so as soon as possible."

George frowned. "We are to send them back home so soon? This will prevent them from remaining focused."

"No." Loren surveyed the map and the placement of his troops. "Recruits from Waer will go to Eastwood and vice versa."

"What of those from Notten?"

"Divide them between the two." Loren tapped his home province and continued, "Notten is protected by the tundra and neighboring provinces. By keeping them strong, we will see a fall in deaths across Valenul."

A low murmur fluttered down the table on either side. Whether his officers believed this to be true or not, Loren did not care. All evidence pointed to his statements being factual. Without the Keonis Mountains, and therefore without a direct line to the dhemon clans in them, Notten was the least likely to fall victim to large-scale attacks.

Nikolai leaned forward again, studying the map. "And what of the Central Province? We are to empty our resources here in the Hub?"

"We will maintain our numbers here." Loren refolded his arms and leaned back on his heels. All eyes were on him, and he reveled in it. "We are, after all, the main defense for the capital. After this summer's numerous attacks, it is critical we continue protecting the heart of our great kingdom."

Nods and calls of agreement came from this statement. Around the room, shoulders eased down from ears as ease swept across the gathered officers. These Caersans will be the ones to either ensure his orders are carried out or deliver the message to those in the other provinces who were not able to be at this meeting. Having each and every one of them on his side was, as always, vital. Without such, he would be having a very different conversation, and Loren did not enjoy having to defend himself.

Nonetheless, the General answered his officers' questions until they were satisfied with the plan. At last, as the night crept to an end, Loren rapped his knuckles on the table to settle down the latest debate about who would oversee the training camps in each province and return their attention to him.

"A final announcement." Loren looked each officer in the eye and pulled from his pocket a gold patch of the Valenul crest. There was a collective inhale as he turned to find the one he trusted above all else. "Step forward… Colonel Nikolai Jensen."

Applause erupted from the gathered officers as the Caersan's face flushed red, and he made his way around the table. He stopped before Loren, who took out a small knife from his pocket and flipped it open with a flick of his wrist. Holding the lapel of Nikolai's jacket, he dug the blade beneath the silver patch, prying it from the fabric.

With both patches in hand, he pressed them into his new Colonel's palm. "Well done."

The officers shouted their congratulations, some pounding their fists on the edge of the map as Nikolai took his new place on Loren's left.

"You are excused," Loren announced after several minutes of this but placed a hand on Nikolai's shoulder. "Stay a moment, Colonel."

Nikolai remained in the war room as the others filed out to find their sleeping quarters throughout the tower. The Colonel kept his chin lifted and face neutral until the door closed behind the officers. Only then did he seem to relax, his eyes tracking Loren's movements as he neared.

Once close enough to ensure he could lower his voice to a level unable to be detected by vampire ears outside the door, Loren said, "I need you to return to Algorath."

"General?" A frown formed between Nikolai's brows. "Is everything alright?"

"I trust no one else." Loren tapped the empty lapel awaiting the new patch. "You are my eyes, ears, and voice. Check in with our prisoner, collect our earnings, and then take your new station at Monsumbra."

Now Nikolai looked perplexed. "Monsumbra is not what I expected."

Loren gave him a sharp look. "Eastwood is in the hands of a sympathizer. We must keep a close watch on any movements. Report back all you see."

Colonel Jensen hesitated, his brown eyes darting to the door as though afraid another officer had overhead, then nodded. "Of course, General. I leave at dusk."

"Celebrate tonight," Loren said with a small smile. "You have earned it."