34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

M adan and Margot spent the daylight hours following their escape from the Caldwell Estate in one of the huts he and Azriel had built along the foothills of the Keonis Mountains. His grandmother slept in the bed, tucked against Lhuka's side for warmth not unlike how Madan curled up with Whelan to keep from shivering. But while she closed her eyes and did not wake, he struggled to sleep.

When the sun set, Madan was not refreshed. He said goodbye to Margot as she was hoisted onto the back of Lhuka's dragon, Venja—much to her displeasure—and took flight to the one place they determined safest: Auhla . That they were returning to the dhemon keep after all that had occurred there last year made Madan's skin crawl. Nonetheless, Ehrun had abandoned the fortified keep in favor of constant migration in search of the clutch and dhemons to add to his cause.

Madan mounted Brutis with Cinisja behind him. Whelan nodded to him once from Oria, and together, they led their small company back into Eastwood Province. Though Madan had argued that Whelan's wounds from the previous night needed more time to heal, he'd argued that he wouldn't allow Madan to go without him and promised to stay with the dragons.

"Why are we risking our lives for bloodsuckers?" Jakhov had demanded at dusk when Madan ordered them all to prepare for another battle. The dhemon had not walked away from Madan's rescue unscathed and now bore a gash from his hairline that swept across the bridge of his nose. " You are one of us. They plotted our deaths."

It had been Whelan who rounded on him, eyes flashing. When he spoke, he did so in the dhemon language to punctuate his words. "We share this valley with the vampires, whether we like it or not. The more of them we convert to our cause, the more likely we are to end this war and focus on more important things…like keeping Ehrun from burning everything to the ground."

Jakhov had turned to face Whelan with tempered fury. "And what's stopping their King from joining the usurper and hunting us all down instead?"

"Pride." Madan had stood before the dhemon and looked him square in the eye. He was one of the few he didn't have to tilt his head back to look at. "As much as I hate to say it, I know Loren. He'd rather spill his own guts on the floor than partner with a dhemon."

There had been no argument against Madan's words. They knew what he'd endured at the hands of that bastard, and even Jakhov wouldn't dare demean what he'd gone through. After all, he'd never broken. He couldn't remember what Loren had asked him during those hours of torture—gods, he didn't even know if Loren had asked him anything—but he never sold out his brother. Never gave up the secrets of the dhemons. Never begged for mercy in return for the knowledge he had about any of their movements.

If there was one thing dhemons honored, it was their dedication to one another.

So when they took flight back into Eastwood, Jakhov and the other dhemons did so without further complaint. Rusan soldiers had likely reported back to their commanding officers about the absolute massacre at the Caldwell Estate. Due to this, Madan expected more to be stationed at the homes of the Lower Council currently in Eastwood Province. The others, still locked in their Laeton manors, would have to wait.

They flew with four dragons and eight skilled fighters. No matter the number of soldiers awaiting them at Lord Knoll's, Madan remained confident. They'd only had Brutis at the last battle as a way for the others to keep their exit path clear of Ehrun and his cronies. This time, they'd be better prepared.

Madan and Cinisja descended on Brutis first. They shot down from the sky fast at the largest group of soldiers patrolling Veron's high garden, effectively crushing half the foliage along with a handful of vampires. As expected, chaos broke out at the sight of them—at the sight of a dragon, long since believed to be nothing more than legend.

Cinisja swung down from Brutis, twin blades flashing fast as she cut down the two nearest soldiers before they could gather their wits. Madan followed suit and kept his left side close to the dragon to prevent any attacks on his weaker side. They moved in unison, the vinculum kept open between them as the others landed around the estate grounds to a chorus of shrieks and roars.

By the time Madan reached the manor, he and his partners had torn through every soldier in sight. Blood dripped from his face and sword, and he couldn't blame the servants on the other side of the door Brutis broke for screaming like they'd seen Keon himself searching for souls.

"Where is Lord Knoll?" Madan asked a Rusan woman before she could run from him.

She shook her head. "I don't know."

Sucking in a calming breath, he glared at her. "Don't make me repeat myself. I'm not here to harm him."

"The library!" Another servant cried from the corner, dishes that had once bore the food now scattered in every which way. "I just spoke to him in the library. Second floor."

With a nod of thanks, Madan moved on. He picked his way through the manor to the foyer and up the stairs, past the drawing room. The library doors were locked. A sure sign that the Lord lingered beyond them.

"Veron!" Madan called, keeping one ear close to the seam of the doors. "It's Madan. I told you to be ready. Are you?"

At first, no one replied. He contemplated kicking down the door and pulling the Lord out with or without his consent but thought better of it. He needed Veron as an ally, not as a hostage.

"I know this may seem strange," Madan continued, hoping his voice sounded as calm and collected as he imagined it to be, "but the dhemons on your grounds are our allies. They answer to me ."

"Dhemons, I have no problems with," Veron said after a long, strained minute. "But the flying beasts are another matter."

Madan frowned to himself. That Veron trusted the dhemons more than the dragons seemed a bit ridiculous. They'd fought against the former for millennia while the flying beasts had never been their enemy. "They're dragons, my Lord, and no more dangerous than you or me."

A shuffle, then the lock clicked, and the door cracked open to reveal the Caersan's umber face. Veron's eyes widened at the state of Madan. "Dragons?"

"Indeed." Madan offered a reassuring smile. "Perfectly safe to you, my Lord."

Screams from the lower floors ruined whatever progress he'd made in an instant. Veron gave him a sharp look, then moved to shut the door. Madan slammed his amputated arm against it, holding it open with as much strength as he could muster, and shoved through.

"I must insist you come with me." Madan looked beyond Veron to the loaded crossbow on the low table. The Caersan may have locked himself away, but he wasn't unprepared. He was once a much younger vampire who knew perfectly well how to protect himself, too, and those habits were hard to rid oneself of, even as a Lord on the Council.

"And to where do you plan to take me, Lord Governor?"

Madan sighed. "Somewhere safe where we can plan our attack against King Gard."

With a scoff, Veron turned and collected his crossbow. "I received the letter appointing me in your place. He has grown bold, and the death of the Princeps—"

"Murder." Madan was certain of it. "Markus Harlow was perfectly healthy, and in his right mind last I saw him at his daughter's wedding. If Loren didn't kill him himself, then one of his officers performed the act in his stead."

Veron grumbled something under his breath and turned back around, his eyes flicking to the corridor over Madan's shoulder. He nodded once to the space behind him. "And I can trust them?"

Glancing over his shoulder, Madan groaned in frustration at the sight of Whelan, blood staining his shirt from his reopened gut wound. So much for staying with Oria. They'd discuss this later. He turned back to Lord Knoll and bowed. "If ever you've trusted me or my predecessors, please believe they too are your allies."

"Then let us be off," Veron announced. He started forward on shaky feet but pushed back his shoulders and lifted his head as he approached Whelan without faltering. "I trust you and I are able to communicate?"

Whelan cocked a brow. "We aren't mindless savages, my Lord ."

"Very well then." The Lord nodded and continued down the hall. He didn't so much as look back as he asked, "With whom will I be flying on these…dragons?"

"Lucky me," Whelan grumbled to Madan before starting off behind Veron. "You will join me."

Madan followed, picking his way through the vinculum with Brutis, connected to Oria, in order to speak to Whelan mind-to-mind. " Be nice . Take him to Auhla with Grandmother ."

" Yes, dhomin." Whelan tossed a sly grin over his shoulder, then disappeared down the stairs with the still-grumbling Veron.

As they disappeared, Madan made his way back into the library. The war was growing messier, and they needed all the knowledge they could get their hands on. He grabbed books from the shelves—everything he could find, from nonfiction titles such as The History of Caersans to those believed to be myths along the lines of The Garnet Tomb of Anwenja and Other Lost Fables . To build a battle plan against someone as indoctrinated as Loren Gard, he'd need to know everything he couldn't learn while growing up amongst the dhemons.

He shoved the books into a satchel dug out from a servant's supply closet and left the Knoll Estate on Brutis, Cinisja holding onto him in the same way as they arrived. As Oria, Whelan, and Lord Knoll flew east, they moved north with the others to collect Lord Oren Theobald.

Emillie settled into the carriage, ready to leave with Alek and Kyra early the following evening for Waer Province. Out of earshot, Alek spoke to the crimson-clad soldier leading their company as Kyra descended the front steps and stopped at the open door. Emillie shifted over to give her room, as she had the last time they had tried to leave. There was something about Loren's sudden change of heart that unnerved her, but the chance to get away from Laeton and all it represented stayed her tongue.

Kyra, however, did not climb into the carriage. Her russet eyes shimmered, and she twisted her fingers together. "I'm not coming."

Something hot and heavy pressed on Emillie's chest at the words. At the way Kyra would not make eye contact with her. She swallowed back the sudden panic. Certainly, she had misheard. "What?"

"I'm staying in Laeton." Kyra blinked hard, her words rasping. "I can't go with you to Waer."

"Why?" Emillie stared at her. The distance between them over the past few nights slammed into focus. She had been so lost, but it was Kyra's presence that kept her from shattering completely. "Did someone say something?"

She turned her attention to Alek. He had done something to cause this. They had to have spoken, and he convinced Kyra to stay. To keep them apart. Why? Out of jealousy?

But Kyra sniffled as she said, "No. I made this decision myself. I can't go with you. I thought I could do this. I thought I could be your secret, but I can't. Not when I can never truly be with you."

This was not happening. It could not be. Not after everything…

"Kyra," Emillie breathed and shifted to step down from the carriage again, "I will not leave you behind. I…I love you."

The beautiful Rusan woman shook her head, a tear slipping down her cheek, and held her hand up, barring Emillie's exit. "You can't love me. Not really. Not when I'm forced to stay in the shadows. I deserve more than that, and so do you."

"But I—"

"I've made up my mind." Kyra's voice grew stronger. She wiped the tears from her face and stood straighter, her jaw set with determination. When she looked up at her next, nothing but hard resolve shone from those perfect eyes. "I'll stay on staff here in Laeton if the Lord Governor allows. I'll be happy to attend to you during your visits. As your maid. That's all I am. All I ever will be."

Emillie's stomach roiled. She had never seen Kyra as her servant. Never seen her as anything less than the woman who held her heart so tenderly. "You are so much more than that…"

Kyra stepped back. She gave her one last, sad smile. "I will miss you, my Lady. Be well. Safe travels."

With that, Kyra turned and started back up the stairs. Her red curls bounced with each step. Emillie watched her go, heart cracking into a hundred pieces as the woman she had come to love so much walked away. The gasp of pain, louder than she expected, cut short as she covered her own mouth with a shaking hand and sank back in the carriage seat, where she closed her eyes.

"Em?" Alek's voice came from where Kyra had stood heartbeats before. "Emillie. What has happened?"

Shaking her head, she said nothing as the carriage shifted from the weight of her husband climbing into the seat beside her. The seat meant for Kyra. It could not have been him. He would not have done this to her. Not right after losing her father.

"Where is Kyra?" Alek prodded, a hand on her knee. Its weight, at once comforting and startling, only made things worse. It should have been Kyra's hand.

Emillie lowered her hand slowly and opened her eyes to stare blearily at the carriage ceiling. Hot tears rolled from them. She grappled for the right words before settling on the truth: "She is not coming. Ever."

"Why…" The question trailed away. A beat of silence followed as the understanding hit him. Alek snapped the door closed, then wrapped his arms around Emillie. He hauled her close to him and held her tight. "I…am so sorry, Emillie."

The carriage jolted forward at the same moment she broke. The words washed over her, and she buried her face into Alek's chest to cry. He held her there in silence as they trundled down the drive away from the Nightingale manor for the second time. Heartbroken exhaustion settled in Emillie's bones.

"I am with you," Alek said and tugged the curtains closed. "We will reach Waer Province tomorrow, and you will be safe. We will be safe."

When at last Emillie ran out of tears to shed, she let her eyes drift shut in the shelter of her husband's arms. Rest would help. It always helped. With a clear mind, she could approach a new night stronger than before.

It did not take long for her to drift into a dreamless sleep—a small mercy given the many days she had spent waking from the recurring terror of her father dying.

Yet slumber did not last. It never did. When she woke, the carriage had stopped moving, and Alek's voice grew demanding as he opened the door, letting in a breeze of cool summer night air. It smelled of damp soil and evergreens. Had it been raining?

Emillie wobbled to an upright position as he left the carriage—left her alone. She pried her sleepy eyes open, and when everything presented itself as blurry, she rubbed them with her hands. "Alek?"

He did not respond, and so she leaned out of the open door to look around. They were in a forest. The road was wide and empty aside from them and a new crowd of soldiers around them. Had they passed the Hub? Had Loren changed his mind about letting them go?

They had stopped not far from the bridge transcending the southern river fed by Lake Cypher. They had passed the Hub, then. She had slept entirely too long—they were hours from Laeton in the middle of nowhere. By the time they reached their first inn, she would be too alert to keep her eyes shut.

"Alek!" Emillie half-stood and leaned farther, her heart giving a tight throb as she remembered why she was so alone in the carriage.

Alek shouted something again, but the rushing waters drowned out the words. More male voices joined in, all speaking over one another in such dissonance that Emillie could not comprehend what they said.

She took a tentative step down from the carriage, mud squelching underfoot, and thanked the gods for her shorter traveling gown. She lifted the hem a little higher and followed the sounds of the argument. That was the moment she saw the difference between the soldiers who escorted them from the Nightingale manor and those who blocked their path. The uniforms, though the same color, were just different enough to tell them apart. The escorts were merely guards posing as soldiers.

"— my Province!" Alek snapped, the beginning of his sentence lost in the din.

"The King's orders were clear," shouted a soldier standing a breath from him. "You will return to your estate where we will—"

"Where you will imprison us again?" Alek pulled his lip back to bare his fangs. "I think not."

"You were not given leave to—"

"I do not take orders from you," Alek interrupted again. "My priority is to get my wife safely to our home. I received acknowledgment of my plans to leave Central Province and was told I would be free to return to Armington."

The soldier shook his head. "Your documents do not match."

"Alek?" Emillie's hands shook at her sides. He had lied. They had not been given permission to leave. He had forged the papers to get them out of Central Province. To get her out.

Her husband turned to her, black eyes almost glowing with anger not meant for her. "Wife, please return to the carriage. I will handle this."

Yet the officer closed the distance to Emillie and grabbed her arm. "His Majesty requires Lady Nightingale's presence in Laeton. You both will return with me. Do so immediately, and you will not be punished for your crimes."

Those were the last words Emillie heard before adrenaline dumped into her system, muddling her thoughts. Crimes. Loren wanted her to stay in Laeton for a reason, and Alek had known. Had tried to escape with her to the province he controlled.

Alek shot forward with a snarl, forcing the soldier to lose his grip and positioning himself between them. "Do not touch her."

"Failure to comply will result in your death." The officer glowered at him. "Either way, the King will provide for your wife."

"Fuck you," Alek spat, reaching one arm back to ensure Emillie was still there. She held his hand in reassurance.

"She comes with us," the officer said matter-of-factly. "Final chance."

Alek shook his head. "Blind obedience will be the death of you."

The soldiers around them drew their swords as the officer said, "No. But disobeying your King will be."

When Alek held his ground, the officer started forward again with a swing of his sword. Emillie jumped and gasped as Alek used a long knife from his boot to block it. She stumbled back at the same moment two of Alek's crimson-clad guards snapped into action. Within a breath, each had killed a soldier. The Lord Governor picked up a fallen sword before turning to the fray and diving in.

Emillie could do nothing but watch in horror as the men fought. Her heart thundered, and every fiber of her being screamed for her to run. Run and never look back. But she could not leave Alek there alone. Gods, where would she even go? If Loren wanted her in Laeton, he would hunt her to the edges of Myridia, same as her sister.

A guard fell to the blade of a soldier still on his horse. In response, another guard dragged that soldier down to slit his throat. Again and again, blood rained from the deaths mounting around her. With only a handful of soldiers left, the final guard and Alek moved in a whirlwind.

He did not use tactics like Azriel or even Sul. Alek had been trained with the privileges of a Lord Governor's son. He followed the rules of a sword fight, did not seek alternative ways to outmaneuver his opponent, and kept his back straight.

Such fighting technique kept him alive against the unseasoned soldiers, but when the officer killed the last guard and turned to Alek, Emillie's heart sank.

"I will go!" She stepped forward. "Alek, please! Stop!"

Whether he heard her or not, he did not acknowledge her words. Alek engaged with the officer, trading blows again and again. He scored a deep gash on the officer's thigh, forcing him to limp, but still neither put down their sword.

Emillie saw the split-second opening when Alek lifted his blade. Unlike the officer, he wore no armor. As he searched for a killing blow to the neck or another exposed spot on the body, the officer had an open target.

The sword punched through Alek's chest, not unlike what happened to her father. Blood dribbled from his mouth, and as the officer yanked back his weapon, Alek heaved his sword through the air again. The blade cleaved through his opponent's neck just before his knees gave out.

Emillie did not scream. She had lost that ability when she watched her father die. This time, however, she ran to her husband's side and landed on her knees in the red mud. She pulled him onto her lap and tore open her wrist.

"Run, Vi," he choked out. "Hide."

Vi? Had she heard him correctly? Or did he see someone else as his lashes fluttered over his hooded eyes.

Still, she did not fight the fresh tears that streamed down her face as she pressed her wrist to his open mouth. Somehow, she had not cried them all. "Drink… drink. "

But he did not drink. His eyes, a strange mix of onyx-marbled crimson, stared at the night sky beyond her shoulder, empty and unseeing. No matter how many times she shook him, no matter how much she begged him, he did not heed her pleas to take from her vein.

Emillie sat for a long time in the mud, cradling Alek. The world she had so carefully constructed burned to ash with every slow rock. In her mind's eye, she watched her father look to her as blood poured from his lips. She heard Kyra's words, I'm not coming . Now she held the last person who had cared for her, his final act in this life to protect her. Rain slipped down her face, mixing with the tears, and all she wanted was to sit there. To let the world move on around her.

But she could not.

She pressed her lips to Alek's forehead. "I am so sorry, Alek. I loved you. I really did. Thank you…"

Run , Alek had said, and run she would. He had died to keep her from Loren's grasp. She could not let his death be in vain. She could not let herself fall into the same darkness that had once claimed her sister.

After lying him gently in the mud, Emillie closed his empty eyes for the last time. She had never noticed the strange tint to them before. Never looked hard enough. Never cared enough to find it.

Her heart shattered, and a moan of agony ripped from her. She stood and wrapped her arms around her as though she could comfort herself as her dead husband had in the carriage mere hours ago. Alone and blinded by pain, she turned to face the world. The woman she loved had left her, and now…now her husband had passed to Empyrean.

After wrangling a dead guard's horse, she mounted and gripped the rain-slick reins. She wiped her face, smearing mud and the blood of her family across her cheek before nudging the stallion with her heel. The hooves clattered across the bridge before turning off the road and into the wild underbrush.

Emillie did as Alek bid: she ran .

With dawn less than an hour away, Loren looked out of his new study at the lightening sky. The bloodstained rug had been removed at the same time as Markus Harlow's corpse. Both had been burned unceremoniously in a pyre off-property. He did not need the ex-Princeps's stench lingering about the home he had taken control of.

He had always known the Harlow Estate would be his. Its grandiosity had called to him from a young age, and as he progressed through the military ranks, he set his eyes on the key to inheriting such magnificence. He was determined to become something greater than his father or brother ever imagined. Darien had always followed his heart. He had not seen what was in the palm of his very hand.

Ariadne Harlow had always been Loren's. If the dhemons had not killed Darien, there was always the probability that his brother would have found his end in another way so Loren would have his chance. He nearly succeeded, too, if it were not for Azriel fucking Tenebra.

Now, he was a king without his queen—a problem easily rectified so long as he kept his head on straight. She may not love him yet, but he would show her the might of a true Caersan man. Once he found her, they would wed, and she would submit to him as any good wife would do. With her by his side, no one in the Society would doubt his claim. No one would dare stand against him or the many heirs she would bear him.

The only one who stood in his way had been the filthy half-breed. With him locked away in Algorath, he would send word to the Desmo in charge to have him killed. A simple solution.

In the meantime, Loren would use Emillie as his bait. Ariadne would return before long. Between her disgraced husband's death and her sister as security, she would walk into his open arms willingly.

A knock at the door drew Loren from his thoughts of the future. He turned, hands clasped behind his back. "Enter."

The door swung open, and a breathless soldier stepped in, sweeping into a low bow. "Your Majesty."

"At ease." Once General, always General. He would adjust to the new terminology eventually. "What news?"

The young Caersan stood stick straight. "I have come from the Hub."

"And does Lady Nightingale accompany you?" Everything was coming together nicely. He would have his wife on his arm within a month.

A beat of silence. The soldier shifted on his feet. "There was a struggle, Your Majesty. All the men are dead."

Loren stared at him for a long moment. He stepped forward and braced his hands on the desk, leaning onto his palms. "What do you mean all the men ?"

"The soldiers," the soldier said and swallowed hard before continuing, "as well as Lord Nightingale and his guards."

A ringing sounded off in Loren's ears. He dropped his gaze to the fine wood grain beneath his fingers. Tracing them with his eyes did nothing to settle the steady beat of rage building in his chest. Without looking up, he asked, "What of Lady Nightingale?"

Another strained silence, then, "Missing. A company is tracking her now."

Missing. Alek Nightingale had sworn his allegiance to him and broke it in the next breath. He had died a traitor and sentenced his wife to suffer his shame. Indeed, he would find Emillie, and she would pay for Alek's crimes.

"You bring that treasonous bitch to me the moment she is apprehended," Loren hissed, lifting his gaze slowly.

"Of course, Your Majesty." The soldier looked sick to his stomach. As he should—alone with the wrathful King of Valenul was a precarious place to be. "May I be of any further service to you?"

Loren ground his teeth and pressed off the desk to stand at his full height. "Waer has been under the direction of Nightingale for quite some time. His missives have been dangerous and may have secretly instructed the Lords of the Province to act as he has. Until further notice, Waer is to be considered a threat to Valenul. Every Lord and his family is to be eradicated immediately. I will see to new appointments. Any retaliation is to be a call for war."

The soldier bent at the waist. "It will be done, Your Majesty."

"Dismissed." Loren waved his hand, and the soldier disappeared, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

Ariadne had better return before her sister was dragged before him. If he got his hands on that bitch without his future wife to protect her, Loren was not certain what he would do to make her pay.

Death would be a mercy.