16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

W ith only a little over a month left to the Season, Emillie was not surprised by Alek's insistence on hosting a ball. Since he now had secured his future wife in her, he no longer posed a threat to the other Caersan men seeking brides. Once an engagement was announced, breaking it off for any reason would be considered…suspicious. And suspicion of such a nature had no place in the Society.

Some might begin to think the man was, perhaps, a rake whose unfaithful ways had been discovered. That, however, would be unlikely. In most cases, it would be considered the woman's fault.

What is wrong with her? They would say. Others might speculate she had not been as pure as they thought. Even worse, rumors would begin to circulate around both involved and no one would wish to associate with them or their families. At least for a while.

Emillie was determined for such gossip to never occur. So Violet helped her into a new lavender gown made by Revelie, paid for by Alek during one of their excursions into town, and pulled her hair up into a pile of curls atop her head. Her makeup, as usual, remained refined and enhanced her natural features.

By the time she made her way to the foyer where her father waited, his golden eyes searing into her with resentment, her lobes felt heavy from the earrings she had made to match her engagement choker, and her wrist glittered with jewels. If she were to be the bride of a Lord Governor, then by the gods, she would look the part. Something about her appearance softened her father's gaze for a heartbeat before his brows creased again.

"Good evening, Daughter." He held out his arm, lips pressing into a thin line. His curly brown hair swept back from his face, and the shadow of a beard graced his jaw. Though the fashions of Valenul changed slowly, they always happened during the Season.

Emillie took his arm without a return greeting and breathed in his familiar woody scent. Her heart throbbed. Memories of warm hugs and laughter accompanied that smell. Those were now a thing of the past—a past that was quickly slipping away from ever re-emerging.

Since their altercation the night of her engagement ball, nothing had been the same between them. He did not trust her. She did not trust him. She followed the protocols of the Society to save her own reputation and that of her sister, still said to be in mourning. If nothing else, they each wore a mask to fool those they kept at a distance.

"If anyone asks," her father said as they settled into the waiting carriage outside, the door shutting behind them with a snap, "your sister is still in Monsumbra. She will return by the end of the month."

She focused her attention outside the window. In private, she had no intention of giving him the same respect she would show at the ball. "And her plans when she returns?"

This had become a game to them. Like a chess match in which both players had the same goal—retain their reputation as much as possible—by playing their parts in very different ways. His was to plant the information amongst the lords who did not know better. Hers was to quash rumors with the same story.

Emillie hated it.

"Look at me." His voice was low and dangerous and not one to be trifled with.

Turning her gaze to him, Emillie curled her fingers into the skirt of her gown to hide the way they shook. She would defy him at every turn for what he had done to her. For what he had done to Ariadne. If she arrived at Alek Nightingale's Laeton manor with another bruise, there would be trouble, and he knew it. So she leveled her equally challenging glare at him and waited.

"When I find your sister," he said, hardly louder than a whisper, "she will marry General Gard as was intended originally. We are merely fortunate that a Caersan such as he would still take interest in her. This is the plan, and you will be happy for them both. Understood?"

Emillie snorted and shook her head, returning her attention back out the window. "She will never marry him."

Her father shifted, clearly agitated. "She will even if I have to drag her into the temple and chain her to him."

If she could open the carriage door and throw herself onto the road beyond without consequences, Emillie would to get away from him. The implications of what he said disgusted her. That he would deem his own daughter so insignificant that he would barter her away like an object made her skin crawl. She was suddenly very grateful for Alek's open mind and willingness to take her away from him.

Because being married to a man with a questionable reputation felt safer than belonging to her own father. How had so much changed in so little time?

"I do not think you will have the chance," Emillie said after a pregnant silence between them. She did not look to see his reaction but could feel the fury rippling from the other side of the carriage. "If you ever see Ariadne again, I will be surprised. She will never forgive you."

He shifted forward, the seat creaking with his movement. When he spoke, he was much closer than before. "Neither of you understands the seriousness of what happened that night. If anyone discovered what that bastard was—"

" Azriel Caldwell has a name," Emillie hissed and swallowed hard. "And when he gets free, I hope he kills you."

Only then did Emillie look her father in the eye to drive home the seriousness of her statement. She had no desire to ever fall under his possession again, and she knew full well that Ariadne would rather die than return to Laeton under such circumstances. So Emillie prayed her sister stayed away. That she remained safe. That wherever she was, Madan had prepared her for what came next—whatever it might be.

To her crashing heart's relief, they trundled to a halt at the foot of the front steps to the Nightingale Manor before her father could summon the venom for a reply. Not for the first time, Ariadne's voice echoed out from her memories: You are one of the bravest people I know .

If this had been what she referred to, Emillie had to agree. What she had just said was akin to a threat. No, she had not claimed to want to kill her father herself, but if anyone else had heard those words…

Treason.

Sul opened the door before her father could utter his disdain, and Emillie scrambled from the close confines as fast as she could. Being Alek's fiancée had its perks…including skipping past the long line required of the other guests in their carriages. Had she been forced to endure his presence any longer, she was not certain she would have made it to the ball unscathed.

"Miss Harlow," Sul said and gestured up the steps, "I believe Lord Governor Nightingale is just inside greeting his guests."

Emillie gave him a tight smile. "Many thanks."

Then she picked up her skirts and ascended the steps without looking back at her father. If anyone saw, they might believe her to be merely in a hurry to see her fiancé. No one would even dain to think she ran from her father. The Princeps, after all, could do no wrong in the eyes of Society. He was untouchable. Unable to make mistakes so severe that his own daughter would not look at him.

The two large front doors to the manor stood open, letting in the cool summer night breeze and letting out the warm light of the house beyond. Inside, the broad midnight blue foyer rose up to a domed ceiling from which hung a golden chandelier with star-like fixtures. Dark wood floors in a herringbone pattern stretched out from the entrance and seemed to point toward the Lord Governor at the far end of the room near the sweeping staircase that led to the second floor.

At the sight of her, Alek cut his conversation with another lord short, grasped the Caersan's forearm, and turned to her. His black brows slammed down low over his inky eyes as he approached, sensing her apprehension.

"Miss Harlow?" He took her extended hand and kissed her knuckles but did not release his hold after her quick curtsy. If anything, he held on a little tighter as he dropped his voice and asked, "Is everything alright?"

Emillie forced a smile onto her face. "Of course."

By the way he cocked his head, then glared over her toward the entrance, she knew he did not believe her. She did not dare to look back to where her father stood—did not dare to move or even breathe as she was certain he made his approach from behind to greet their generous host and his future son-in-law.

"Lord Nightingale."

Emillie's skin crawled at how light and untroubled his tone was. Only then did Alek drop her hand to grasp her father's arm. As he did so, however, he held out his free arm to her. A silent way to extend his support to her even as he was forced to make niceties with the most powerful vampire in Valenul. She accepted it and turned to face her father, the air around her turning thin.

"My Lord Princeps," Alek said, his tone as oily as the grin that spread across his face. "I am honored by your presence in my home."

She fixed her gaze on a place just over her father's shoulder, praying to Keon he did not try to speak with her for the duration of the ball. She did not trust herself to remain calm and play their game in public. Though she would do her part in protecting Ariadne by saying what he wished of her, such courtesy did not extend to their interactions.

"I am pleased you were so willing to host," her father said, his hawk-like gaze slipping to her, "even though you have already secured yourself a bride."

Alek chuckled. "One must not be selfish and provide the opportunity for others to be so fortunate. Perhaps we will have more weddings as the Season comes to a close."

"I certainly hope so." Her father snapped his eyes back to Alek. "Enjoy your evening."

"You as well," Alek said and inclined his head in a departing acknowledgment.

It was not until her father moved away that Emillie finally inhaled a long, deep breath, and her shoulders dropped from her ears. How was she supposed to live with him for another fortnight before the freedom provided by her wedding? She could hardly make it through a carriage ride without getting into an argument.

Once her father left them, Alek steered Emillie away from the foyer, claiming he did not need to be greeting his guests and that it would suffice for him to do so throughout the night. She was thankful for his insistence, for she did not trust herself in the face of some of the vampires who would be present. If Lord Gard tried to speak with her, she had a feeling it would end very similarly to her conversation with her own father.

I hope he kills you .

Gods…had she really said those words? Her face heated at the thought. In truth, she did not want her father dead . Now that he was not cornering her in the carriage, she could think clearer. She understood what he wanted from her—from Ariadne—but that did not make it any better. In fact, it may have made it worse.

Claiming to want to chain her sister to the General was repulsive in so many ways, Emillie was appalled he had even suggested it. Whether he meant figuratively or literally, it did not matter. If by chain he had meant the very final act of marrying her to that loathsome man, she could not see her sister abiding by it. If he had meant the act of using physical chains to keep her from running away, then he had no sense of morals left. Not when he knew full well the suffering she had endured last year.

The ballroom opened up before them, a large cream-colored room with a high ceiling not unlike that of the foyer. It domed above them in a long rectangle with three chandeliers hanging along the length. Windows lined the long wall, and two sets of doors opened to a tiered lawn overlooking a pond. Lanterns lined the paths and silhouetted the figures of Caersans milling across the grass in pairs and groups.

"What happened?" Alek asked quietly as he led her to the dance floor for the first waltz of the night. He fixed her with a rare, serious look. "Tell me the truth."

Emillie scoffed, sorting through her thoughts. "He spoke of her ."

To her unending relief, Alek appeared to understand what she meant without needing to say it. Speaking her sister's name aloud right now would only invite too many ears to listen in on what they said as they moved through the steps of the dance. He kept his voice low and said, "She is still gone, then."

She nodded. "And I hope it stays that way."

"Oh?" Alek sent her spinning out, then back into his arms. They continued, the steady triplet beat of the cello keeping the rhythm of their steps in line with the other dancers. "Why is that?"

Unlike her sister, Emillie did not need to watch her feet as they moved. She knew the steps, trusted her body to move with them, and because of that, she kept her eyes up where she could see her partner…and the crowd around them. "If she comes back, he has plans for her that she will not take kindly to."

Alek frowned. "Such as?"

"Marrying the General."

The Lord Governor remained silent for several steps as he calculated her words. When he spoke, still quiet as ever, it was with the light of a sudden realization in his eyes. "He did something to her. The General."

Emillie swallowed hard. No one knew the truth of what happened aside from their family, Camilla, and Revelie. Azriel had likely been as tight-lipped about the incident as everyone else, for not even Alek knew, and they had grown close over the weeks. They had all kept it a secret—until now, it seemed. "He hurt her. The night of their engagement ball, Azriel discovered the injury."

"Interesting."

"What is?"

"That he did not kill the General outright that night." Alek looked around the ballroom, keeping a close eye on the dancers closest to them to ensure they were not listening in on conversations that did not concern them. "Not doing so would have been a great act of restraint, according to his lineage."

Emillie almost stopped dancing entirely. For the first time since they stepped foot on the dance floor, she stumbled much like her sister would. "You do not believe he bonded to her, do you?"

Alek held her steady as she regained her footing and her place in the waltz. "I do not believe he would have reacted in many ways were that not the case."

Though Emillie was a self-proclaimed scholar, her expertise on fae paled in comparison to vampiric and mage history. While her sister dabbled in tales of strange fantasy and romance, she always considered herself far more studious. Her interests had led her down the path of learning about medicines across Myridia and their numerous uses. It had been how she knew to give Madan the Algorathian salve for Azriel's back after his lashing. Fae life had never been high on her priorities, however. Particularly anything to do with their love lives.

She had, however, heard of fae bonds. Those soul-deep connections which knitted two unwitting participants together forever—or to the detriment of the men if their partner denied them. Worse, if their bonded partner died.

"I did not realize dhemons—" Emillie caught herself. She glanced around them before trying again, "I did not realize they could bond."

Alek gave her a small shrug. "I do not see why they could not. They are still fae."

He was, of course, correct. There was no reason why dhemons were incapable of bonding. They were just as connected to nature as any of the other fae races—just as connected to their patron deity, Keon. Why would the God of the Underworld, who had loved his mortal wife, Anwen, so deeply, not allow his horned fae to create such intense connections to one another?

"What happens to a fae," Emillie asked, her heart suddenly seizing at the thought, "when separated from their mate?"

"I have no idea," Alek admitted with a light frown, not quite meeting her eyes. "But I do not believe it to be good for them."

No. Emillie did not believe it would be, either. The question nagged on her mind as the waltz slowed to an end, however, and she knew it would become her mission over the next fortnight to learn all she could about fae. She would hide herself away from her father with piles of books and dive into her studies. It would be the perfect excuse to ignore him.

"Forgive me." Alek bowed and led her from the dance floor. "I must greet some new arrivals."

"May I join you?" Emillie smiled up at him. She did not want to be left alone. Not when she had yet to see either of her friends. Though she knew Revelie would likely be somewhere on the outskirts of the room, as usual, she wondered what Camilla was up to. Perhaps she had found a Rusan servant to spend time with in a dark recess.

Something lit up in Alek's depthless eyes at her request. She did not know what caused it, but there was something in the way he looked at her most nights that told her she had intrigued him. Be it something she said or one of her mannerisms, he watched her as though studying a puzzle and fitting in a piece he had not known existed before.

"I would love that."

Heat washed across Emillie's face, and her stomach sank at his words. The way he said it did not sound as though he merely loved the suggestion. She could see the way he looked at her and knew in her heart of hearts that she would not be able to return the affection that seemed to glow from him.

What had she done to garner such devotion?

Nonetheless, they began their circle through the throng of guests as she had seen Ariadne and Azriel do at balls. While her sister had not needed to greet guests or thank them for their presence, however, she was set and determined to appear as the dutiful future wife to a Lord Governor. It was a part she had to play to not only appease her father but to keep any gossip mongers from coming after her.

Yet it was as she smiled and laughed with Lord and Lady Daracot from the Waer Province that she saw a familiar figure move through the crowd. Not Camilla's head of golden hair, nor Revelie's crown of curls, but the vibrant red of a curvy Rusan woman with dark, enchanting eyes.

Emillie's heart skipped a beat as Kyra slowed to a pause, her beautiful round face turning toward her. Those perfect, plump lips curled into a small smile, heating up Emillie's core in an instant. As though knowing precisely what went through Emillie's head—their shared kisses and the way those skilled fingers had felt between her thighs—Kyra's cheeks flushed, and she ducked her face away, disappearing back into the crowd.

Gods. What was Kyra doing at the Nightingale Manor? Certainly, Alek had not invited Rusan vampires to join the ball. Not when the Society would be so cruel to them.

But Kyra was there and gone so quickly, Emillie wondered if it had truly been the same woman. Even if it had been, it was not as though Alek had intended it. He had likely sought to hire more servants temporarily for the ball, and Kyra had been one of the many employed for the evening.

For fear of holding on to hope, Emillie refused to allow herself to think on it again for the rest of the night.

After several nights in Algorath, Ariadne was met with more surprises. As she went to bid Kall and Phulan good day, the latter clucked her tongue and pointed to the chair beside her at the amethyst table.

Ariadne sat, her stomach twisting at what she could have possibly done wrong. She had not broken anything of value and drastically reduced the number of accidental wounds delivered to Kall.

"You have come to me on a mission," Phulan said, sitting back in her chair and eyeing her. "I'm happy to help however I can, but you've been distracted by our sessions and your training."

Her cheeks warmed. "I am not certain I am following."

"How do you plan to save Azriel?"

Kall shifted in his chair. He had not been allowed to leave the property at all. If Melia or any of her people caught wind of another dhemon in Algorath, they were certain she would retaliate by doing something to Azriel. Or, worse, she would attempt to bait Kall into becoming another prisoner for her collection of Pit fighters. He was helpless.

But Ariadne was not. "I planned to speak with the Mair."

With a shake of her head, Phulan doused the idea. "Mair Solt is as entrenched in the earnings from the Pits as the Desmos. You will not succeed through negotiation."

"I have no way to get to Melia," Ariadne said quietly, her fingers twisting at the leg of her trousers. "And no way to reach Azriel without her."

"That, my dear," Phulan said, setting something on the table between them, hidden beneath her palm, "is where you are wrong."

When the mage removed her hand, Ariadne frowned. A strange stone the size of a gold coin sat between them, as pearlescent as the moon and yet…black. Like the darkest depths of the chasm within her. It shone with the colors of the rainbow in shifting light, beautiful and disquieting at the same time.

"What is this?" Ariadne leaned back from the large, smooth stone. It radiated with a wrongness she could not place.

A slow smile crept across Phulan's pretty, ancient face. "This is called a Noct. There are few in existence, all cut from the same stone gifted by the gods a long time ago. It embodies the night."

Still, Ariadne surveyed the Noct with uncertainty. It was rare for her to feel the magic of an item, yet this one almost seemed to pulse with it. "How will this help me?"

"It is the night itself, my dear." Phulan winked at Kall, then continued, "The wearer of a Noct will be shrouded with its magic—night."

A new rush of hope burst forth from the spring at the base of that chasm. Now Ariadne leaned toward the Noct. "Do you mean…I would be able to go outside during the day?"

Phulan's smile turned solemn and sweet. "Yes. And no."

"Explain." She refused to allow herself the luxury of hope if it was to be quashed so easily.

"You'll be able to withstand the sunlight without risk of aegrisolis," Phulan confirmed. " However , it can only do so much. In Valenul, you could stand outside at midday in no clothes at all. Here in Algorath, however, you would be wise to keep your skin exposure to a minimum. No need to tempt the gods—or that nasty curse of yours."

The curse. Ariadne did not think of her vampirism as such very often, though she knew it to be a fact of her life and that of every vampire. She had never felt it limited her until she arrived in Algorath. Her sister, on the other hand, had never loved the night. Emillie had thrived in the sunlight and always wished for a different outcome prior to her transition.

Of course, like all of them, she had no choice. Instead, Emillie went through the transition as they all did. Like Ariadne, she had grown insatiably hungry. She ate and ate all that was put before her, never seeming to find the end of her pit of a stomach. Then she fell into a slumber that lasted four days and nights. Though the length of sleep differed for every vampire, Caersans typically fell on the longer end than Rusans. When she woke, her body had ached, and she cried as she teethed, the fangs pushing out the solid canines below to make way for the hollows capable of draining blood. The final stage of the transition was the same for everyone—Caersans and Rusans, men and women—and it had been Ariadne's turn to cry as they locked Emillie away in an inescapable room, just as Emillie had done for her. Unlike vampire men, the women were denied the ability to act upon their overwhelming sexual urges as they came of age. So instead, they were locked up like a prisoner so they may bid their days goodbye.

Until now.

Now Ariadne had the answer—the key to living whatever life she dreamed, be it in the light…or the dark. At least for as long as Phulan allowed it.

Yet Ariadne still looked up at the mage before her, offering this escape from the gilded cage in which she lived, and asked, "Are you certain this will work?"

The last thing she needed was to trust this legendary stone as truth and die of aegrisolis within the week. All her work would be for naught. She could not even consider what it would do to Azriel.

It was Kall, however, who answered. "Madan use many times."

In an instant, the strange weight that had begun pressing in on Ariadne's chest lifted. She had not known how heavy it grew until the moment it released, the tension easing from her muscles at the reassurance that her own brother had used the Noct.

"Oh," was all Ariadne could think to say in response, and she finally reached out to the strange item.

To the touch, the Noct felt…wrong. If the pulse of magic from it had been any indication of what to expect, it had not been enough. Before she even picked it up, Ariadne could feel its heft. The very magic pressed into her touch as though it held a force pushing out from its center—shoving her away. Yet when she plucked it from the table and turned it over in her palm, it was but a feather's weight.

The contradictions made Ariadne's head spin. The color. The presence. The weight.

And the longer she held it, the more she felt the cool embrace of night. It curled out from the Noct, twisting around her hand unseen, and crept up her arm to stretch across her chest and neck before flooding to the rest of her body. Like shadows, it beat back the warmth of the adobe house, and made her shudder.

"As you can likely tell," Phulan said, "it's most effective when touching skin. I don't believe Madan ever did so. He kept it tied to him in a pouch."

"Could I wear it?" Ariadne rubbed her thumb over the smooth surface, still acquainting herself with its strangeness. "Like a necklace?"

Phulan nodded and held out her hand. After Ariadne gave it to her, the mage stood and walked away with a gentle hum. She disappeared from the room for a long moment, leaving Ariadne and Kall alone.

She looked up at the dhemon she had come to trust. It had been easier to accept him as a friend and partner after he had come to her rescue on the highway in Laeton. If she had not trusted him, she did not want to know what would have occurred.

"Thank you," she said out of nowhere, her voice quiet as she studied the scars carving down his face, wondering, not for the first time, how they had come to be.

Kall gave her a quizzical look. " Ydhom ?"

Ariadne almost laughed at his uncertainty. "Thank you. For…everything. Protecting me. Keeping Azriel safe. Helping me in so many ways."

He must have seen the unspoken words in her face. The mixture of awe and sorrow she felt. That this dhemon, despite knowing how much vampires hated him—how much she had hated him—had done everything in his power to ensure her safety, was bewildering. Inspiring. Heartbreaking.

Though she knew without asking that he and Whelan, Azriel, and Madan had killed hundreds or even thousands of vampires over the centuries of this war, she now understood Ehrun's lessons. Those horrible nights of agony had actually taken hold…though likely not in the way the wicked dhemon had intended. For it had not been he who showed her the errors of Valenul. It was her husband. Perhaps dhemons had killed, raided, and burned villages.

But vampires had stolen land, appropriated customs, and murdered families.

No one was innocent. Every single one of them had blood on their hands, whether they had done the killing themselves or not. Ariadne was not safe from it. Not even Emillie, Camilla, or Revelie, for they lived and benefitted from everything they gained from the war.

So, as Ariadne sat with her new friend and mentor, she let the turbulent emotions roll through her. When he did not reply right away, no doubt searching for the correct words in the common tongue, she laid a hand on his and said, "I will never stop saying it. Thank you."

The hard lines of Kall's face eased. His brows released tension, and his eyes softened. He smiled—a rare sight, indeed—and laid his other hand on top of hers. " Ydhom ."

Phulan returned with the Noct and a thin chain. Settling back in her seat, she ignored the way they pulled their hands apart, purposefully oblivious.

Then Ariadne leaned in to watch the mage work. So rarely in Valenul did she actually see the magic-wielders use their craft. Too often, their work had already been completed for their wares and were ready to sell by the time they reached Laeton. Seeing magic at work was always a treat.

Yet, as it always was, it began and ended far too quickly. Phulan laid the Noct in her palm and twisted the chain around the outer edge. No incantations were uttered, but the air vibrated with the call to magic, and the chain seamlessly melded to the stone. She crossed the chain, like the letter X, over one side of it before pinching the free ends together and sealing it off.

"This should fit over your head," Phulan said with a twinkle in her eye at Ariadne's slack jaw. "It'll rest on your sternum, I think."

Remembering her manners, Ariadne accepted the necklace with a word of gratitude when the mage handed it over. She slipped it over her head, and the Noct's coolness washed over her as it settled between her breasts.

"Excellent." Phulan sat a little straighter, inspecting her handiwork. "It looks stunning on you. Now let's go outside."

Ariadne's heart skipped. "What?"

Even Kall stilled and fixed a hard stare at Phulan. He spoke low in the dhemon tongue, his crimson eyes flicking from the necklace to the mage, those hard lines returning between his brows. In response, Phulan narrowed her eyes.

If ever Ariadne wished she could speak the language, it was at that moment. What had he said to make her so wary?

As though reading her mind—something Ariadne had a sneaking suspicion the mage was capable of—Phulan spoke to her without taking her eyes off the dhemon. "Do you trust me, Ariadne?"

"Yes." She gave the answer so quickly, she startled herself. When had she become so trusting of people she had just met? But if this woman had tended to her husband, kept Madan alive through midday, and made someone as stoic as Kall laugh, then she must be good.

Phulan gave Kall a look that clearly stated her unspoken words: I told you so . Like a sister taunting her little brother. As though anyone would ever consider Kall to be little .

Then the mage stood and motioned for Ariadne to do the same. She did, her still sweat-damp trousers sticking to her legs uncomfortably as she moved. If they were to go into the city, she would need a bath and fresh clothes. She felt like a drowned rat and likely smelled something similar.

But Phulan didn't lead her to the front door. Instead, she flung open those to the garden where Ariadne had spent the night exchanging blows with Kall and magic lessons with Phulan.

On instinct, Ariadne flinched away and slipped into the shadows, closing her eyes hard against the morning light. Her heart thundered in her chest. Each beat roared in her ears, drowning out the sound of Kall getting to his feet and stepping between her and the doors. She only knew he had moved when his body bumped hers, and she heard him grumble something in his language.

"The Noct will protect you." Phulan's voice drifted from the garden. She sounded so far away beyond the thrumming. "If you don't believe me, believe your brother. Believe that I wouldn't dare put my own life at risk for killing Azriel the Crowe's mate ."

Ariadne froze, the words washing over her as she had never heard them before. Two parts of her statement stood out. First was Azriel the Crowe . Though she knew his father's name, she had never heard it used in such a manner. A surname of sorts. She filed it away to ask about later. The second, however, made her heart ache.

Mate .

Gods…Azriel was out there somewhere. Somewhere so close, she could find him right now if she so wished. Find him and bring him back to her.

And if the hollowness she had so desperately tried to hide from was any indication, she knew his suffering would be tenfold. A fae bond dug its claws in soul-deep. It held the fae almost against their will to the other individual, and when separated, those affected often grew…volatile. At least, that was what she had learned over the last month.

If nothing else, Ariadne had to trust Phulan for Azriel alone. He—her mate —had given up everything for her, and now he needed her more than ever. Without her finding a way to break him free of his prison and return him to his people, she did not want to think of what would happen. Too many lives were at stake, hers included.

So she straightened her back. She lifted her chin as she had the night of the Reveal so many months ago when she received her title as the Season's Golden Rose. She heaved in a deep breath, opened her eyes, and laid a gentle hand on Kall's arm—a signal to step aside.

She was ready.

At least, she thought she was as she moved around the dhemon and slid into the low morning light. Though her mind and body screamed for her to run, she held firm and ignored her vampiric instincts.

And, gods, was it a sight to behold.

The sun rose above the distant horizon, casting tints of pink and orange across the frail, wispy clouds overhead. Shadows stretched out long and dark from sandy red dunes that rose high enough to be seen from her vantage point at almost wall height. The city below crept into life as, bit by bit, the light crawled across the flat roofs and doused the adobe in fresh color.

Because she had forgotten what color looked like in the sunlight. Though her eyes had compensated for her cursed vision by drawing in light from meager sources and alighting the darkness, they could not match what she saw now. What her heart had remembered the world to be before the transition, even if her recent memories had dulled its hues.

Warmth rose in the dry air. Where she had become accustomed to the crispness of a desert night, she now felt the beginning of what the days here had to offer. Even the taste and smell shifted as the sun awoke over Algorath into something arid and raw.

"It is beautiful," she breathed and stood beside Phulan at her garden gate. She could not stop staring at everything, lapping it all up as though she may never experience it again.

The mage nodded, a small smile curving her mouth and softening her beautiful, aging features. "Indeed, it is."

Ariadne hummed with excitement. With the Noct, the world had opened up to her. "When will we go into the city?"

"Tomorrow." Phulan looked at her and grinned at the dismay. "You need to bathe and rest. We will explore soon and after that…" She nodded to where the shadows still lay in the southwestern reaches of Algorath, hidden behind the wall. "After that we will find your husband."