23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

E millie could not sit still. Not with the wedding mere days away. The last time her nerves had gotten so terrible had been in the nights following Ariadne's abduction. That marriage provided the same level of anxiety as believing one's sister was dead? She certainly had not anticipated it.

So she threw herself into what she had done during those long nights of wondering what had become of Ariadne: she read. First, she devoured the classics on medicine. Those always soothed her immortal, quick-healing, and illness-barren soul. Learning about salves and tonics never failed to ease the tightness in her chest.

When she finished with medicinals, she moved on to history. To start, she poured over the same texts she always enjoyed. Comfort reads of sorts. Lineage of the high fae, the advancements of the avians, and even the ancient texts on the pantheon who ruled over Myridia.

Eventually, however, the tried and true tomes that once provided comfort were but a blur of ink on paper, no longer holding her attention for long. Perhaps she had read them too many times, and the repetition had burned through her.

So she looked to editions she had never before entertained. One in particular drew her interest with its plain brown leather binding and black lettering that spelled a title in an ancient language she did not know or even recognize. Her father was one for refined extravagance. To have a book that did not fit his typical aesthetic was a curiosity.

Emillie hefted the large tome from the shelf and sat on the library couch with it in her lap. The weight pressed down on her thighs as though attempting to pin her to the cushions. Though she would rather tuck her feet under herself to read, the awkward size of the book kept them firmly on the floor.

At first, she feared the text itself would be written in the strange language, and while much of it was, enough of the notes in the margins shed light on what was written. The beginning notes were as she remembered in her governess's history lessons, matching the information she had read enough times on her own to have memorized.

Vampires, once plains mages who roamed in clan-like communities, never settled for long in any one place. It was on the Steppes of Sora that they collided with the desert mages. They traded spells and rituals, potions and secrets amongst one another while mixing families and settling into sedentary villages.

Until, of course, several plains clans merged and sought to rule the Steppes. The desert mages, having just as much claim to the land and its bounties, retaliated. The Mage Wars not only stripped the Steppes of its natural magical qualities but ripped families apart as they chose sides in opposition to their parents, siblings, and friends.

Emillie had never seen a written account of the ritual the desert mages used to bring down the vampires' presumptuous ancestors. Whenever she inquired after how it happened, the response had always been the same: mages across Myridia forbade such practices, therefore losing the incantation and process to time, along with the potential to undo it. How, then, had her family come to obtain a book with its secrets?

Nonetheless, she consumed the information with morbid curiosity. A curiosity, she would not admit to herself, borne of the desire to reverse the vampiric curse and reclaim the daylight for herself. Instead, Emillie absorbed each word due to the slim likelihood that any other vampires, Caersan or Rusan, had ever read it. She dared not waste the opportunity to read and then reread the text in order to commit it to memory.

The ritual had taken place at the height of a midsummer solar eclipse. With twelve dozen mages, desert and allied plains alike, gathered wearing a stone called a Noct, they began an incantation. The words summoned their collective power to not only bind the attacking mages' magic but to curse them to remain in the sun's shadow for eternity.

Their intention, for the plains mages to eventually kill one another out of bloodlust or to perish in the sun, had been sound. They never imagined their new vampires would learn to control their urges and create an entire kingdom. In fact, they did not care…so long as they did not rule over others who did not wish to submit.

At the start of the incantation, one mage became the anchor for them all. The raw power channeled through the single human killed them, yet they did not falter. Failure held greater consequences than death. They struck with the force of over a hundred mages and ignited the hidden powers of the Noct to engulf the enemy camps with shadow. A shadow that seeped into the very bones of the mages they targeted.

They did not expect their own camps, located a good distance from that of the plains mages, to be struck down as well. Their sacrifice was not honored, turning those allies against the desert mages. While many of the affected plains mages escaped to the darker regions of the Keonis Valley and took their places as Caersans at the head of Valenul's aristocracy, it had been the innocent caught in the cross-fire who remained south far longer to exact their revenge. Those who lingered near the Steppes were more likely to marry with allied humans, and their descendants became the Rusans.

Valenul's government had begun as a monarchy, and thus labeled their new home a kingdom. The in-fighting, however, shifted the Caersans' perspectives, and an organized oligarchy took its place.

Much of it Emillie already knew. But this curious stone, the Noct, was not something she had heard of before. It sounded dangerous, though it was the incantation itself that seemed to be what made the powerful object do what it needed. All of those worn during the ritual, however, had shattered. Mere shards remained with very little power, and no matter how far Emillie read into the book, she could not find another mention of them. They were lost.

Likewise, the incantation had not been translated. Unless someone knew the ancient language on the page, there would be no understanding what else the ritual included. She required the assistance of someone far older, wiser, and more learned to assist her.

Emillie clutched the hulking book to her chest as she stood. There was so much more to read from the ancient pages. Mentions of ancient dhemon rituals, fae curses, and avian traditions provided a plethora to read. It would not be returning to the shelf like so many others. She slipped from the library, her soft-soled slippers padding quietly on the wooden floor as she made her way past the foyer balcony to the wing where her suite lay.

Motion in the foyer caught her eye, and Emillie slowed long enough to see the butler bow Revelie through the front door. Her friend carried a wide, stout white box tied together with a thick lavender ribbon. She spoke quietly to the Rusan, her bright smile lighting up the room.

What a different vantage she had in that moment, standing in the same location as the night Azriel had been dragged away, his ruby-red eyes gleaming with true fear.

She shook the memory from her mind and, with it, the rush of panicked terror.

"Revelie!" Emillie called and set the hefty book on a small table at the top of the stairs. She laid her hand on the rail and swept down the steps as her friend looked up, eyes alight with excitement. "What are you doing here? I was not expecting you!"

Her cheeks flushed. "I finished your dress and could not wait to see it on you."

Emillie's heart surged into action. She turned her attention to the box, realizing its significance. Too often, her dresses had been folded into smaller packages for easier transportation home.

"You closed the shop just to bring it to me?" Emillie took hold of the box. "You never deliver your gowns!"

"This is a special occasion," Revelie said, pushing it into her hands, then nodding to the stairs. "Come now, I must see it on you."

Together, they made their way back to the second floor. Emillie glanced at the abandoned tome at the top but left it there. She would eventually make her way back to gather it up and continue reading. As much as she looked forward to learning more about Myridia's secrets, it could wait while one of her best friends was with her.

The oddity of it tugged at Emillie despite herself. Revelie had not made the effort to deliver Ariadne's gown herself. They had traveled into Laeton to collect it before her wedding to Azriel. It had been an excellent way to break her sister out of the manor and get her some fresh air. Perhaps Revelie knew how needed that had been in comparison to Emillie. Though she was still under surveillance thanks to Sul's connection to Loren and her father's heavy hand as of late, she still managed to get herself off the Estate grounds regularly.

She would not, however, be absconding to the Drifter's Inn and Bistro like her sister had after the engagement to Loren.

Stranger yet, Revelie did not speak again until they had entered Emillie's suite and locked the door behind them. To ensure privacy, the Caersan had claimed after Emillie gave her friend a questioning look. No one entered her rooms without permission and never without knocking beforehand. Her own guard would be hanged for intruding in such a manner, except in the case of an emergency.

Emillie did not like to think about what kind of emergency would constitute Sul entering her rooms without first asking. She had not heard nor seen her sister's struggle when the dhemon had taken her away last year, but she saw the aftermath and knew how valiantly Ariadne had struggled.

She set the dress box on the squat table near her low-burning hearth and removed the lid. Beyond the careful wrappings inside, ivory satin gleamed in the candlelight. Emillie pinched the shoulders delicately to ease it from the box. It looked almost identical to when she tried it on at the shop, but no more pins lined hems, and the intricate periwinkle details were completed.

"Come, come," Revelie said with a nod. "Let us get it on you."

With the help of her friend, Emillie removed the simple gown she wore for lounging around the house and began the process of sliding into the wedding dress. With the slimmer waist design, they layered a corset beneath, so the delicate buttons would come together.

Halfway through the buttons that ran the length of Emillie's spine, Revelie whispered, "I have news."

In an instant, Emillie's head felt light. So that was why she delivered the gown. She had heard something while working in her shop and did not wish to risk repeating it where others could overhear. It also explained the locked door. If her father or Sul decided they did, in fact, need to speak with them, they would be found out.

And what she was about to say was obviously too important to let loose.

"About Ariadne?" Emillie swallowed hard. What had happened to her sister?

"Yes." Revelie's deft fingers made quick work of the buttons, and before long, she steered Emillie to stand before her gilded full-length mirror. She straightened the skirts and hummed in satisfaction as she inspected the way it fit over Emillie's form.

But Emillie could not stand the silence. She turned to her friend. "What is it?"

"It seems Dierdre was not convinced by your tale at the Praads' ball." Revelie's brows angled in concern, and the small smile from a moment ago faded. "She went inquiring after Ariadne's whereabouts."

The room swam. She had done everything in her power to keep her sister's secrets. To keep the truth of her mission from reaching anyone as loose-lipped as Dierdre Kolson. "What did you hear?"

"Evidently," Revelie said with a glance at the door, "she heard from a Lady from Monsumbra that no one has seen Ariadne. No carriage to or from the Caldwell Estate. No mourning ceremonies. Nothing. If not for the Lord Governor's comings and goings, the entire town would have wondered if they had a Lord at all."

Nausea ripped through Emillie's gut. She would not be sick while wearing this dress, though, so she sucked in a steadying breath and said, "Who told you this?"

Revelie's eyes flashed. "Hyacinth Hooke. She was worried these rumors were true. I told her not to believe them."

Gods, if Hyacinth had heard of such gossip, that did not bode well. The young Caersan kept as far away from the usual rumor mills as possible, and yet there she was, indulging along with everyone else.

"Perhaps Hyacinth will tell others it is nonsense." Emillie prayed that would be the case. If she could get out there and stop the rumors, perhaps there was some way to salvage the story yet.

But Revelie did not look convinced. "There is more."

Emillie bit her lip. Of course there was. "Get me out of this dress. I cannot breathe."

In a flash, the modiste set to work. Perhaps she had noticed the green tint of Emillie's face. Perhaps it was the sweaty flush that had climbed up her blue-webbed neck. Perhaps the shaking hands had given her away. Whatever it was, Revelie recognized the look well enough to know when her beautiful craftsmanship was about to be ruined.

In naught but her underthings, Emillie perched precariously on the edge of an armchair. Heat pulsed through her body, and her breath hitched. "What else?"

With the gown safely out of harm's way, Revelie joined her. She settled onto the couch, watching Emillie with a wary eye. "Lady Teaglow came in to have a dress altered and told me that her husband heard from a merchant that Ariadne had been seen in Algorath."

"Did she tell anyone else?"

"No." Revelie twisted her fingers together, a motion she never made. Such anxious tendencies only made Emillie's stomach knot even harder. "I told her it was nonsense, and she promised to quell any such rumors."

Emillie swallowed, a hollow feeling in the back of her throat spelling trouble. "Thank you."

"Have you heard from her?" Revelie searched her face. What for, Emillie did not know.

Still, Emillie shook her head. Between her nerves, her father and Loren breathing down her neck, and now rampant rumors, she did not know what else could possibly go wrong. She needed the wedding to come to its conclusion so she and Alek could return to the Waer Province, far from Laeton, the gossip of the Season, and all the troubles that came with it.

"I do not even know whether or not that merchant could be correct." Emillie stared at her own palms in her lap for a long moment. "If she went to Algorath to find Azriel herself…then it does not bode well for either of them."

"Why do you say that?" Revelie's tone was one of surprise.

Emillie scoffed and looked up at her. "My sister? In a city ? She can hardly go into Laeton without something holding her back. I fear if she is in the desert, I may never see her again."

Her voice cracked at the final words. She had done nothing but shield her sister whenever possible since her return from the mountains. The idea that she was going up against mages with next to nothing in her arsenal pushed Emillie right over the edge.

She flew from the chair and to the veranda doors. After a quick fumble with the locks, she launched outside, where she hung over the railing and emptied her stomach into the bushes below. The cool summer night air clung to her clammy forehead as she spat the vile taste from her mouth.

Revelie joined her a moment later, brushing her hair back from her face before offering a kerchief. With a small, grateful smile, Emillie took it and let the tears, summoned by the sudden sick, flow freely.

"What if I never see her again?" she croaked, voicing the same fear for a second time. "What if I sent her away and…and it is all my fault?"

"It is not your fault," Revelie said and pulled her into her arms.

It had been so long since someone had held her like that, Emillie froze at first. She was so accustomed to hugging her sister in such a manner, assuaging the terrors or easing her pain; to have it done to her instead felt odd. Before long, however, she melted into her friend's arms and cried.

"You did what you believed to be right." Revelie's voice was soft and calm. "You did precisely what she would have done for you."

Emillie nodded, knowing all too well the number of times Ariadne had taken the brunt of their father's wrath to shield her from it. Her sister, though frightened of so much as a shadow, would have stood up to anyone to keep her safe. Even her worst nightmares.

Gods, she had stood up to her worst nightmares, and rather than falter, she flourished and learned to love the ones who had hurt her so much. Emillie was so proud of how far her sister had come.

And so scared of what it meant for her safety.

Soldiers overran Monsumbra in the few days Madan spent in Algorath. When he had left with Brutis, there had been official word of several companies taking their places across Eastwood Province. Upon his return, however, he found the provincial capital turned into a beating heart. Crimson uniforms bled through the streets of the town, pulsing with the market crowds and surging into the outer reaches like an open wound.

After leaving Brutis at the farthest reaches of Monsumbra, not daring to fly closer with the rivers of red running between the buildings, he ran through the forest as fast as his feet could carry him, each breath burning. If a commanding officer had come to his home in search of him and found Whelan…

He couldn't bear to think of what would have happened. No questions would've been asked. Only action. Only an immediate disposal of who the Caersan would likely believe to be an intruder. For soldiers never traveled to homes alone. His partner—the only man he'd ever loved and ever would love—would be outnumbered.

At the estate grounds, crimson-clad soldiers spoke with the head of the few guards he still employed. Each of them knew of the dhemons coming and going. Each had been thoroughly vetted to ensure privacy. Each functioned under the threat of immediate death were they to speak of what occurred within the confines of his home. And every single one of them turned as he burst from the edge of the forest.

"Lord Governor!" a soldier hailed him, hand raised in greeting.

But Madan didn't look back. He burst through the front doors of the Caldwell Estate, his heart beating so hard and fast he was certain it would burst from his chest.

"Whelan!" The name tore from his lungs like fire as he shot through the front door. He slammed it behind him, and a servant scrambled out of the way as he flew through the foyer to the sweeping staircase.

His heart thundered in his ears. Hot tears pricked at his eyes. He tripped on the steps to the second floor, where their suite lay in the north wing.

A silhouette emerged from their suite, a wide pair of red eyes swiveling to him in alarm. Madan's knees gave out at the sight of Whelan. The dhemon wrapped his arms around him, catching him before he could hit the floor.

" Alhija ," Whelan crooned soft and steady before continuing in the dhemon tongue, "what is wrong?"

"The soldiers." Madan buried his face into the crook of Whelan's neck, breathing in the scent of him. The feeling of his partner's hands eased the panicked tension in his chest. "When I couldn't speak with Oria, I thought—"

"No, no." Whelan leaned back from him, forcing Madan to look up into his beautiful face. "Oria is hunting. I sent everyone else away in time. They came and searched the house but didn't find me."

Madan gaped at him, stroking a loose strand of black hair back behind the base of his horn. "Searched the house?"

"For Ariadne." Whelan shifted closer to his touch, closing his eyes for a heartbeat. "Margot told them you were in another village and that she'd gone with you. I'm glad you're home."

Swallowing hard, Madan pressed his mouth to Whelan's. The dhemon hummed in contentment, lips parting for him. Knots of worry eased, and Madan curled his fingers around a horn, holding him close as they kissed. He hooked his short arm around his partner's waist, wishing he could still feel the man beneath fingers he no longer had.

"Mmm," Whelan growled, rolling his hips against him. "I am eager to take you back to bed with me and show you just how glad I am to have you back."

Madan cracked open his eyes. "Why don't you, then?"

It wasn't as though Whelan hadn't ever tossed him over his shoulder and done just that many times before. Madan only wished he had the strength to do the same to him.

"Because you're a busy man, Lord Governor." Whelan kissed his neck, hands on his hips to hold their bodies together. His erection pressed against Madan's stomach, and gods, how he wanted to not have those clothes separating them. But then Whelan stepped back and said, "Lord Knoll sent a request to meet with you last night. It's urgent."

"I'm sure it could wait." Madan slid his hand between them to grip Whelan's cock through his trousers.

The dhemon groaned deep in his throat, pushing into his palm. "But if I give in to your demands now…what will keep you in suspense until the morning?"

"As though I wouldn't come running back for you?"

"Oh, I know you will." Whelan cupped the back of his neck to tilt his head back so he could draw his tongue along the length of his artery. "And you'll be on your knees the moment I call."

Madan moaned at the thought. He tightened his grip, wanting nothing more than to push the dhemon against the wall, unbuckle his trousers, and take his thick length into his mouth right then. It'd been all he could think about on his flight back, and after the rush of terror—not knowing if Whelan was safe—he could think of no better way to release that tension than reassuring himself of his partner's safety in the most primal way.

"But not yet," Whelan said with a smirk. "Meet with the Lords, then return to me, and we'll finish this."

As much as Madan hated the idea of waiting, his own erection drawing his attention, he knew his duties as the Lord Governor needed to be attended to first. Particularly since he'd been away for almost a week, tending to some unnamed village.

"You're a tease." Madan took a step back, adjusting himself with a grunt. "I should clean up first anyway."

A wicked glint sparked in Whelan's gaze. "I wasn't going to say it."

Madan shook his head. "Fucking rude."

"It's not my fault you stink like a dragon."

"I thought you enjoyed sulfur."

Whelan chuckled as Madan pivoted and headed back for the stairs before calling, "No bath, then?"

"If Lord Knoll requires a meeting," Madan threw over his shoulder, "then I should send a response so he can be ready for my arrival."

And within an hour, Madan had not only received an acknowledgment from Lord Knoll but was riding Rune up his switchback drive to where his Monsumbra manor sat at the top of a steep hill. The humble building, much like the Caldwells' Laeton home, was built from burnt red stone and sported several beautiful stained glass windows. Madan had seen the outside of it once prior when he'd accompanied his grandfather on a similar visit during his reign as Lord Governor.

Now his approach felt quite different. Madan had managed to not get distracted by Whelan—a true feat since the dhemon had insisted on bathing with him—and therefore remained on edge. With no proper release, his tension only grew as he dismounted and handed Rune's reins to the stablehand, who already held another horse steady.

Who else would be joining them, then?

The manor butler opened the door before he could knock and showed him through the quaint foyer of black marble and cream walls to an evergreen parlor fitted with a roaring hearth, mahogany tables, and couches of green velvet so dark they almost appeared black. With the fire at full blast, the room was so sweltering that Madan was forced to unbutton his coat and loosen the cravat at his neck. He stood near the window with its emerald drapes—the Lord certainly seemed to like the color—in hopes of garnering some chill from outside.

It was no use. By the time the butler returned with a crystal glass of liquor, sweat ran down his spine.

"Thank you," Madan said, accepting the drink. "Is Lord Knoll entertaining? Perhaps I should reschedule."

The butler straightened, his blond mustache ruffling. "That will be unnecessary, Lord Governor. My Lord is just finishing business with Lord Theobald before the latter returns to Laeton."

Oren Theobald had been one of Azriel's first supporters in the Council Chambers. The paunchy redhead had done the same for Madan upon his arrival. The Caersan was one of the few he could honestly say he didn't hate.

"If I may," Madan said, "I'd greatly enjoy seeing Lord Theobald myself. Would you please request I join them?"

Anything to get out of that parlor.

The butler gave a quick bow and was on his way. Before long, he returned and motioned for Madan to follow. He did so, patting the sweat from his forehead with a kerchief.

And not a moment too soon. The Lord's office was not far off the foyer and almost as hot as the parlor. He stifled his groan of displeasure. At least this room was brighter than the last with its yellow walls and pale wood furniture.

"Lord Governor!" Lord Oren Theobald was on his feet and clasping his forearm in an instant, his strikingly long fangs making their appearance with a broad grin. "I am pleased to see you again. How have you been faring?"

Remembering to be mourning his brother—cousin, to them—Madan let his face settle into a wan expression. "Struggling, if I may be so honest."

It wasn't exactly a lie. He had no idea what he was doing as the Lord Governor. Documents to sign swept over his desk nightly, and more information than he could keep up with piled into his head. On top of all his new responsibilities, he worried for his siblings.

Though Ariadne was determined to rescue her husband, Madan couldn't help remembering the withdrawn woman he'd guarded for the last year. She trained hard and such dedication worked in her favor. Her confidence had improved, and she was beginning to hold her own when sparring. But he knew Kall held back. Phulan protected her, too. A dhemon fighting her at full strength and with the intent to kill would do just that. Likewise, a mage would stop her in her tracks.

Azriel could hold his own. So long as Melia played the role of a fair Desmo—and he knew she wouldn't. Not for long, anyway.

Emillie fought a battle completely different from that of the others. The mind games required of the Society worried Madan and leaving her in the care of Alek Nightingale wasn't ideal with Loren sniffing around. He could only hope she would be safer once they reached Waer Province.

"The position of Lord Governor is a difficult one," Lord Veron Knoll said from his seat behind his broad oak desk. The Caersan seemed unperturbed about the manor's incessant heat, his bald head and umber skin not showing a glint of perspiration. Though his features didn't reveal it, Veron Knoll was one of the eldest vampires still alive in Valenul. A feat not known to many who'd held the top seat in Monsumbra.

It was no wonder he'd been chosen as the steward during Garth Caldwell's illness .

"Quite!" Lord Theobald agreed with a nod. "You have done well, considering your circumstances."

Circumstances. As though Azriel's supposed death and his subsequent rise to power in Eastwood were nothing more than a business exchange. He knew the Lords meant nothing cruel by it, however. Being a Lord Governor was a hazardous occupation. Being the Lord Governor of Eastwood Province was like signing one's own death certificate.

"I thank you," Madan said with an incline of his head. He swirled his liquor, took a sip, and then continued, "What brings the two of you together?"

Veron gestured to the couch near the hearth and pushed himself to his feet to join them. Oren and Madan took a seat in the plush cushions as he rounded his desk and said, "The same thing which had me sending you a request for an audience. I am honored you made the trek to me."

"Not a problem." Madan leaned back in his seat as Knoll took his place in a wingback chair. "It's an honor to work with you."

Oren nodded his agreement, his face alight with understanding. "Your relatively sedentary position in Eastwood is invaluable to us all."

"And your guidance has been appreciated," Madan added. He needed to build a rapport with these Caersans before assuming to do more than either of them. "What's the news?"

Knoll shifted himself deeper into the chair with a sigh and looked between them. "These soldiers are more than we agreed to with General Gard, and they are far more undisciplined than we were led to believe."

By the way they moved through Monsumbra, Madan wasn't surprised to hear this. "He assured us the latest recruits would continue their training in the area."

"This is far from true." Oren shook his head with a curled lip of disgust. It was, perhaps, the first time Madan had seen the Caersan displeased about anything. "They are running amok."

The wheels of Madan's mind turned. He'd certainly been taken off guard by the surge of the army in the area in such a short amount of time. He had to give Loren credit for the swift execution of his plan…or had the plan been in motion long before it'd been agreed upon by the Council? The latter was far more likely, and it made Madan's blood boil.

"I will speak with their commanding officers and write to the General." Madan looked between them, moving to fold his hands in his lap until his right connected with thin air, and he was forced to rest his only hand on his thigh. "I'm not pleased with the way this has been carried out, nor does it build trust for the General."

Veron leaned forward on his arms. "I have long since ceased trusting General Loren Gard. I advised against his appointment all those decades ago to the Princeps but was ignored."

Interesting. Madan leaned onto the elbow of his amputated arm. "Is that so? May I ask why?"

"Loren was always conniving, even as a boy." The older Lord pinched his lips. "I could see well before his transition the Caersan he would become. If we are not careful, he will destroy Valenul."

He'd always intrinsically liked Veron Knoll, even from afar. Now Madan understood why he was drawn to the vampire: they were allies without even realizing it. He cocked his head to the side. "Do you suspect foul play?"

Veron's dark eyes glittered with a fierceness his body had long forgotten. "I suspect there is a game afoot, and we are not privy to the rules. We must be careful."

"How do we keep our people safe?" Oren asked, worry furrowing his brow.

"Prepare for the worst." Lord Knoll sat back again, sitting a little straighter now. "Prepare for war."