21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

L ord Edley Praad of the Central Province's Lower Council held the next ball of the Season purely for the entertainment of his wife, Lady Victoria Praad. Emillie had known the family for her entire life, with both Caersans only being a few decades younger than her father. They had always been kind to her, and she always felt comfortable in their home.

The pale pinks, blues, and purples of the foyer, parlor, and ballroom respectively always felt like a warm afternoon at the height of Spring. Lady Praad was, by far, the best model she had had during her youth for how to keep a house. Each room had the Caersan woman's touch, from the arrangement to the colors.

Entering the Praad Estate felt different as an engaged woman, however. Emillie felt the familiar pressure of expectations pushing down on her everywhere she looked. Each room held Caersans who eyed her and spoke in whispers as though judging whether or not she would live up to their expectations. To the expectations of the entire Society.

She never could, and it was that which made her palms sweat as she searched for someone— anyone —she could find solace in. Though Revelie promised to be in attendance, Emillie knew full well that it would be difficult to find her. She kept to herself, rarely dancing or entertaining potential suitors, and found far more enjoyment in speaking with Caersan clients and Rusan friends. Camilla, on the other hand, would likely be finding any vacant room to indulge in whoever caught her fancy for the evening.

Therefore, she was left with only one other she hoped to see—the Caersan she never imagined she would search for amongst the crowd of beauties such as Hyacinth Hooke. Yet even Lord Governor Alek Nightingale could not be found no matter how many times she rotated between the ballroom and parlor where the men loitered.

Instead, Emillie found herself in the sitting room with Caersan women for whom she did not care. The least of which were those who approached her first.

Lady Dierdre Kolson, the wife of a Lower Councilman, had a ghostly white complexion and shiny brown hair. Her round green eyes watched the ballroom crowd for prey and found Emillie alone. She nudged her best friend, Lady Belina Fletcher, another Councilman's wife, and they closed in like vultures.

Emillie groaned and eyed the door, too far for her to escape. Before they could comment on her disappointment, she plastered a sweet smile and turned toward them. "Good evening, Ladies. How are you faring?"

Like Revelie, Belina's silky black hair and tawny skin harkened back to the years before the Mage Wars when desert and plains mages married frequently. Her sparkling teal eyes only underscored how few generations had passed since the curse had been placed on their ancestors. She wore a stunning dress that highlighted her irises and shimmered in the candlelight as she swept around Emillie and said, "Quite well, future Lady Nightingale . And yourself? How have the wedding plans been coming along?"

"Quite well, indeed," Emillie said, pointedly using Belina's own words. "Have you received your invitations?"

"A mere week away," Dierdre chirped. "You must be thrilled."

For a long moment, Emillie let the statement hang. These two, Dierdre in particular, were the ones who pushed the rumors about the dangers of Alek Nightingale. Though she continued to feel those twinges of panic when she considered the truth behind them, her personal experiences with Alek assuaged her fears.

"I am honored to have caught Lord Nightingale's attention," Emillie agreed. "Speaking of whom, I must find him—"

"Nonsense!" Belina looped her arm through Emillie's and steered her further into the sitting room. "He will be here soon enough. Indulge us until then."

Once they had successfully wrangled Emillie away from her exit, Dierdre's wide eyes glinted with mischief. "We are so very curious as to where your sister has been these last few weeks."

Emillie's heart sank. The corners of her mouth tightened as she forced a small smile. Keeping her thoughts and feelings off her face was always a trial. The last thing she needed was gossip swirling around Ariadne any more than there already was.

"She has been in Monsumbra," Emillie said, keeping to the story her father had laid out before the previous ball for moments just like this. "She sent word that she will return by the end of the month."

Belina's eyebrows shot up. "Your own sister will miss your wedding?"

It was like being punched in the gut one after the other. Emillie gave her a single nod. "She is still in mourning. After everything she has gone through, I respect the space she needs."

"But the new Lord Governor Caldwell was just in Laeton," Dierdre said as she picked up a glass of wine from a passing servant. Belina followed suit, but Emillie waved them on. She needed her wits about her.

"Ariadne was with the Dowager Caldwell," Emillie said, pulling whatever she could from her chest of knowledge. "She is an Original and has so much wisdom. I am quite envious of my sister for having this opportunity."

Dierdre gave her a pout. "We have missed her. Please pass along our well-wishes next time you write."

Of course they missed Ariadne. They missed gleaning all they could about her and weaving falsities to spread amongst the Society. They missed finding any way to taint her name to make themselves and their husbands appear all the better. After the turmoil at the beginning of the Season, Emillie would not be surprised by it.

"Will she be rejoining the Season?" Belina pressed. "Perhaps she will be searching for a new husband, though I am surprised Lord Madan Caldwell has not offered his hand."

Emillie fought back the curl of disgust from her lips, though they could not know that Madan was their half-brother. She and Ariadne had only just learned it themselves and had no intention of telling anyone. So instead, she said, "I do not believe she is ready to explore the offerings of the Season again so soon."

"A pity," said a familiar voice that chilled Emillie's blood. "I had hoped otherwise upon her return."

Dierdre and Belina swept into smooth curtsies as Emillie turned to face General Loren Gard. She did not give him the same courtesy as the other Caersans, much to their pleasure. The two women chittered behind their hands as she faced off with the General.

"Bold of you after all you have done," Emillie said. She looked at the three of them and bowed her head as she said, "Please excuse me."

Before anyone could say more, she rushed from the sitting room. She needed to find a friendly face. Quickly. If she was cornered by Loren, she might just cause a scene that would light up the Season with more gossip than he was worth. As if her words would not spark enough of a controversy.

The sitting room exited to a balcony overlooking the Praads' ballroom and twin stairs that swept down on either side. Caersans milled up and down the steps, the music below a perfect match to the lavender and cream backdrop. Emillie stopped at the balcony rail and leaned over the edge, scanning the crowd for any sign of Alek. She needed to find him before—

"Miss Harlow." Loren's voice was loud enough to draw the attention of others, so she could not escape.

Gritting her teeth, Emillie released the rail and turned to give him a shallow curtsy to avoid whispers about her impropriety. "General Gard."

Several Caersans paused their strides to eavesdrop, no doubt seeking some glimmer of truth amongst the chaos that lay between the Harlows and Gards. Emillie hated that they would likely walk away with exactly what they wanted. Or, at the very least, a delicious new morsel of gossip.

"I had been hoping to speak with you." Loren stepped closer, fully aware of the eyes on them both. He seemed to revel in it. "First, I am grateful for the invitation to your wedding to Lord Governor Nightingale."

"Of course, General." Emillie glanced around, praying for a way to escape. "You are quite welcome."

Loren smiled, and for a moment, Emillie could see what Ariadne had at the beginning of the Season. He was handsome, as Caersan men go, and could seem just as charming. Unfortunately for him, his crystal blue eyes and smooth speech held no sway over her.

"Will your sister be in attendance?" He searched her face as though seeking any hints to her answer.

But Emillie only slid a pleasant look into place, doing her best to mimic Ariadne's vacant look, and said, "No. She remains in mourning."

A quick glance to the listening Caersans told her that had been what they expected. She would have breathed a sigh of relief if it would not give her away.

Something darkened in Loren's gaze. His jaw tightened, and his fists flexed. "Is that so?"

"I am certain of it." She tilted her head, her patience waning. He wanted information she would not give him willingly. He would not dare do to her what he did to Madan.

"Miss Harlow." He dropped his voice so low, others would have to strain, even with their vampire ears. Leaning forward, he hissed through his teeth, "I know perfectly well your sister is not in Monsumbra mourning. Now be a good girl, and tell me the truth ."

Emillie drew herself up, heart thundering and breath hitching. When she spoke, she did so loudly enough to draw more attention. "General Gard, your accusations are an affront. I would never debase myself to lies to someone such as yourself in particular. My sister—nay, my family —have mourned the loss of the late Lord Governor, and for you to imply otherwise is outrageous."

For a moment, Loren appeared stricken. He gaped at her, having clearly not expected such a response, before taking another step closer. His voice remained quiet. Deadly. "You are lying . I know damn well she has been missing, that you have not been writing to her, and you were one of the last to see her aside from that sham of a stablehand."

Her heart sank like a stone. Thom. Thom had been killed for what she had convinced him to do. His death was on her hands, and it made her sick.

But who, then, had told Loren?

She knew the answer before the question finished forming in her mind. Sul. Her own personal guard was Loren's personal spy. Nothing she did was private. Every single movement she made would be reported back to Loren.

He smirked as the blood drained from her face. "I will take from you everything you hold dear if you do not give me what I want: your sister. Even that pretty little redhead from the Bistro."

"Loren," she breathed, her manners slipping as she scrambled to catch back up to where he was with the information. Gods, how did he know about Kyra? He had his claws dug in deep everywhere. "Please, I have no idea what you speak of or where my sister is. Why do you still want her so badly?"

Loren's eyes glittered with malice. "She tried to make a fool of me. She will right her wrongs and solidify my claim as your father's heir."

"All of this," she whispered, "to become the Princeps?"

"All of this," he repeated, "to become the most powerful Caersan in Valenul. I will have her, for she is the key to convincing the lords of my power, and she will love me as intended."

Emillie was going to be sick. Still, she choked out, "She will never love you."

His lip lifted in a snarl, then disappeared as, for the second time that night, a smooth, dark voice behind her said, "Is there a problem with my fiancée, General?"

She could cry for the relief that flooded through her at the sound of Alek's voice and the heavy hand he laid on her shoulder. If they were anywhere but in public, she might have very well launched into his arms. As it were, she took a step back until she bumped into his chest. Between the two Caersans, she would always choose her betrothed.

"Not at all." Loren pushed his shoulders back, silver hair rippling with the movement. "I was merely thanking her for the thoughtful invitation to your wedding."

Alek's grip on her shoulder tightened. "You are very welcome. Now I must have a word with Miss Harlow. Enjoy your evening, General."

Loren scowled at the quick dismissal but inclined his head to them both nonetheless before turning on his heel to march away. Emillie watched him go, her breathing still ragged as she scrambled to figure out how he could possibly have such knowledge about her.

It was not until they were as alone as they could be on the balcony that Alek shifted so he stood before her, his brows low and black eyes searching her face. "Are you okay?"

She did not know how to answer that question. Instead, she blurted, "Did you tell him about my…"

"No." Alek's frown deepened. "What did he say to you?"

Emotions swelled to the surface. She laid a hand over her throat and averted her gaze to the gilded filigree ceiling. Each breath burned from the unspoken words, but sorting through the burst dam of thoughts was too much.

All at once, she understood Ariadne's penchant for keeping her thoughts to herself. It was safer to pretend all was well, particularly when it was not certain who one could believe.

"Emillie." Alek's voice lowered so only she could hear him, except unlike Loren, his voice remained light and concerned rather than threatening. "If our agreement is going to work, you need to trust me. I would never tell that snake anything . Your troubles are mine. Let me help you."

"He asked about Ariadne," she rasped. He was right. She needed an ally in all of this and he was the strongest one she had. "He knows I have something to do with her disappearance and threatened to take…everything I love…if I did not tell him where she is."

Alek's mouth thinned. His gaze swiveled to the ballroom below them to glare at the General from afar as he rejoined his soldier cronies. "Do you know where she is?"

"No."

"Wrong." His depthless eyes shot back to her. "She is in Monsumbra. Do not say anything different."

Emillie nodded. This was not her strong suit. She could recite information from books or devise a plan to accomplish anything, but ask her to wade through the infested waters of the Society, and she drowned. Books were straightforward. They never played games. People lied and swindled to get what they wanted. She could not keep up.

"Why was he asking about her?" Alek shifted again so his back turned to those on the balcony and he could lean his arms on the rail, effectively cutting off any other Caersans from joining their conversation.

Following suit, Emillie gripped the rail, her back rigid. "He wants to marry her…to be my father's heir."

A moment ago, she did not think Alek could seethe anymore. She had been wrong. His nostrils flared, and he sucked on his teeth as he thought. When he spoke next, it was little more than a breath. "He is growing dangerous."

" Growing dangerous?" Emillie looked up at him, stomach hollowing. "He is dangerous. Look what he did to Madan—"

She snapped her mouth shut, but it was too late. Alek's eyes widened just enough to tell her he understood exactly what she implied. Then he glanced over his shoulder. "Say nothing more for now, but that conversation is not over. I will keep an eye on the General."

With that, he pushed back from the rail and held out his arm. She took it, mind still reeling from the unexpected interrogations. Between Dierdre and Belina, then Loren, she had had more than enough of the Society for one night.

Madan had missed Algorath. He hadn't visited the mage city since Melia's threats, and he was quite glad vampires outlived mages. In another century, he could return without fear. So long as he kept his nose clean until then, of course.

His sister, however, was well on her way to making a name for herself amongst the mages. Not only did she lie to their faces about who she was, but her plans to free Azriel were questionable at best. By the time she left, hopefully in one piece and with his brother alive and well by her side, she'd have likely ripped through the Suin District like a wrathful tornado.

Watching her train with Kall over the two nights of his visit, stepping in when he wished to participate or provide guidance as a vampire with a far more similar body size than the massive dhemon, had shown him a side of Ariadne he didn't know existed. Namely, how cutthroat she could be. Any sign of weakness, and she took advantage of it. One slip-up, one tiny mistake, resulted in her capitalizing and, often, finishing the round with either a submission or concession.

Yet she never acknowledged the improvements. She only seemed to see her mistakes. No matter the praise, no matter the encouragement, she pushed it aside in frustration.

The last night of his stay with Phulan, Madan sat across the amethyst table from her and finally asked, "Why don't you listen when we tell you you're doing well?"

Ariadne looked at him with wide, surprised eyes. For a long moment, she didn't reply. When she did, her voice was small. "I do not see what you see."

"I'm impressed," Madan said with as much sincerity as he could muster, "that you'd remained so focused for so long. You've only been training for a month, and the progress has been incredible."

Color flushed across her cheeks. She glanced at Kall, who said nothing, then to Phulan as though silently pleading for help. For some confirmation that she was right in her self-deprecation. "I rarely win."

Madan scoffed. "We are over thrice your age, and you've gotten the better of us both many times. How long do you train each night?"

At that, Kall grunted, his mouth twisting into a sour expression. "She no stop."

"So these last few nights haven't been just because I'm here?" He knew she'd trained all night when in Monsumbra, but he hadn't expected her to keep that stamina. That Kall could keep up with her quick-healing body and incessant endurance was a miracle unto itself.

His sister shook her head. "If I am going to get him out of that place, I have to be ready."

"But do you have a plan ?" How did he end up with two siblings who never thought through their actions? Azriel had always charged in head-first, and Ariadne, equipped with her new knowledge, was on the same destructive path. At least Emillie seemed to think like him.

"The Iudex won't hear his case," Phulan cut in. "Azriel's sentence by the Caersans was considered enough to keep him imprisoned for his full term."

Madan swallowed down the rising tide of panic. He'd hoped there would be a way around whatever the vampires had said against him—a way around Ariadne feeling the need to raise arms against Melia. But his hands were tied. He wanted his brother free as much as she needed her husband. He wouldn't stand in her way.

"Then let's make one."

"We'll go in and kill everyone in our way," Kall said in the dhemon tongue. "Like the Crowe and I did for Whelan."

Of course he had to bring that up. Madan's gut knotted, remembering all too vividly the sheer terror he'd felt when Brutis alerted them of his partner's capture. Of course, he later realized who'd orchestrated the entire thing. Ehrun wanted the Crowe out of the way to enact his own plans—plans their King had forbidden as he attempted to mend the rift between vampires and dhemons.

He'd never really asked what they'd done to free Whelan. He'd never cared so long as they were successful. It wasn't even until this moment that he'd truly considered the lengths to which the Crowe, his father in so many ways, had gone to ensure his partner's safe return.

Evidently, he'd fought their way out of Algorath, then died on Ehrun's sword and, in doing so, protected both his sons.

"The Crowe also had an army at his command," Madan reminded him in the common tongue after seeing Ariadne's look of confusion. "The mages couldn't risk challenging him without inciting a war."

"We have no such power," Ariadne said, looking between them. "And Phulan cannot risk exposure. We are but two of us, and the moment Kall is seen, we must act. There will only be one chance."

So she had given some forethought to this. Madan sighed in a mixture of relief and exhaustion. Unfortunately, she was correct. She was working alone with only Kall as backup. If they didn't move at precisely the right moment, they'd both die in the rescue attempt.

"You need to contact him," he said after a long moment of tense silence as the same thoughts dawned on them all. "He's training with a dozen of the city's best fighters. They'd look for any way to free themselves as well."

"You want us to recruit criminals ?" Ariadne gaped at him. "What happens when these people end up free to continue whatever got them thrown into prison in the first place?"

Kall leaned forward and said a single word, "Oaths."

But his sister shook her head. "What would we do with oaths?"

To Madan's relief, Phulan's eyes sparkled. "An excellent idea, Kall."

The dhemon dipped his chin in thanks.

"Melia's hosting another party tonight," Phulan said, then looked to Ariadne. "We'll go, and you'll have the opportunity to contact Azriel. I can't do it, or she'll be suspicious. He knows how to bind others to him."

Ariadne, however, didn't look convinced. "I do not understand."

"Vampires stole the ritual a long time ago," the mage said with a downward quirk of her mouth. "You didn't even realize what was happening when you did it."

"Pardon me?" Ariadne's eyes widened, and for a moment, Madan felt a pang of regret for not telling her the truth of the wedding ceremony. He'd known precisely what happened the moment her blood mixed with Azriel's—with a dhemon's.

Madan shifted forward, resting his elbows on the amethyst table. "Vampires took many things from dhemons when they first arrived in the Keonis Valley."

"I know this," Ariadne said a bit defensively, but her eyes went distant. Wherever she disappeared to in that moment was not pleasant. Blood drained from her face, and her shoulders curled in.

Without thinking, Madan reached across the table and took his sister's hand. She jumped in alarm, having not seen him move despite her gaze locking on the space between them. Her eyes slammed into his as though to remind herself who touched her before turning her palm against his and wrapping her fingers around his hand. He squeezed once. She returned the gesture, loosing a breath as she did so.

"What is this ritual?" she asked, her voice no longer holding the same strength it had mere moments before. "And what does it do?"

Phulan gave her a sad smile. "The Caersans have changed it enough that the steps are no longer the same, but the end result is. With Azriel's connection to you, he likely hadn't even realized what he was doing. He only saw his bond solidified by the wedding ceremony."

"But what does it do ?"

"It's an ancient practice," Phulan continued a bit cautiously, "to bind clans to their leader or even non-dhemons to a dhemon spouse."

Madan gave Ariadne's hand another squeeze. "It doesn't take away free will, but it does make one more…loyal to the dhemon who initiates it."

Looking between them, Ariadne frowned and moved to take her hand away. To retreat within herself as he'd seen her do so many times in Laeton. "Does that mean…when I chose to stay with him—"

"No!" Madan held fast, refusing to let her lock herself away. "You stayed with him out of love. Not loyalty."

"You strong." Kall moved to catch her gaze, his ruby eyes serious. "You fight oath like dragon."

Her frown deepened.

"Most dragons don't appreciate the vinculum process," Madan offered. "Even as newborns, they fight back. The individual that triggers the reaction must be strong enough to control it."

He remembered his own vinculum with Brutis all too well. They hadn't meant to stumble across the clutch in the Irem Tundra. The Crowe had sent them north a century ago in search of ancient temples for Bastien, the God of Rain. So few called upon the god, the dhemons had hoped to seek his help in the war. Whether it was in response to their devotion to finding him or their stupidity for traveling so far north, Madan didn't know.

They hadn't even understood what they'd found at first. After traveling so long in brutal cold, Azriel, Madan, Kall, and Whelan thought they'd finally discovered ruins on an expanse of the tundra without any snow. In fact, the air in the space felt warm. What looked like monoliths from afar were oddly round as they started between them. It didn't take long before the first stone cracked.

To his surprise, it had been Brutis who emerged first. Most ancient texts depicted newborn dragons to be the size of a cat. They couldn't have been more wrong. Brutis had been equivalent to a large horse, though wobbly on his legs and unclear in his thoughts.

That was when the vinculum snapped together for them both. Two shaky steps out of what they had realized were pieces of shell, Brutis lunged teeth-first at Madan. Mind scrambled, he barely got out of the way. He saw the huge lizard-like beast before him one moment, then looked down at himself through blurry eyes the next.

He'd gotten sick from the back and forth, but when Azriel had drawn his sword and readied to kill the dragon, Madan stopped him. He couldn't let the creature die. Once he steadied his own mind and understood the connection between him and Brutis, the vinculum was complete.

No sooner had he reined in the tie than the next egg began to crack.

"What does this mean about my oath to Azriel?"

Ariadne's question snapped Madan back into the present. Gods, he missed Brutis, even though it'd only been a couple of nights since he'd seen the dragon. He missed Whelan, with whom he'd completed the oath in reciprocation of the bond he had for him.

"It means you've controlled it," Madan said, remembering the way the vinculum felt when it settled and how it compared to an oath. They were similar, as Kall suggested, though his oath had been to the Crowe and not to a partner. "Think back to when you found out the truth about him. It felt different, didn't it? Like two sides of you were at war."

"How is that any different than loving and hating him for what he did?"

"You wanted to leave." Madan felt a soft pang in his heart for all the times he'd sat with his brother in the nights following their fallout. She'd avoided him like the sun. "But you stayed anyway."

"Out of love…right?" Ariadne looked uncertain now. "Or was it loyalty?"

Madan shook his head. "Love. If it'd been out of loyalty, it would've been done begrudgingly."

Still appearing unclear, she sighed and waved a hand in defeat before pressing her fingertips to her temples. "But if I can fight an oath, how would this help us with the prisoners?"

"Desperation makes for the best soldiers," Phulan said. "They won't fight the oath because they need it to get free. And once they are, they'll be forever loyal to Azriel. To you . You need an army? Liberate one."

Ariadne gave a hollow chuckle. "A dozen prisoners is hardly an army."

"Perhaps," the mage agreed. "Until word spreads throughout the Districts. Once the other prisoners hear of an uprising, they'll flock to you."

Madan nodded his agreement. "Once you speak with him tonight, you'll have very little time before you can move. Don't risk Melia finding out what you're doing."

"And if we're going to attend," Phulan said, getting to her feet. "We need to leave."