6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

K eeping up the fa?ade proved more difficult than Emillie anticipated. Each night she awoke, she grew more certain her father would finally ask the fatal question: Where is your sister ? And she would have no answer for him beyond the few words she had practiced in her mind again and again in preparation: I do not know .

Yet night after night, Ariadne's handmaid, Penelope, continued to enter her room with food and tea from the kitchens before claiming she did not wish to emerge. Night after night, Thom, the stablehand, kept their father from the fields to hide Astra's absence. Night after night, she took note of the staff's unease whenever the Princeps spoke to Emillie.

It took nearly a week for Emillie's own overthinking to wear her down. She avoided her father as often as possible and recognized his pattern of suspicion—the leading questions, sharp eyes watching the door for Ariadne to arrive, and tapping his fingers in agitation.

So when she was certain the night she dreaded most had arrived, Emillie did not break her fast in the small den where she knew her father would be waiting for her. Instead, she hurled the measly contents of her stomach into a basin of her washroom.

Emillie had never known such fear until then. Fear of not knowing what her father would do to her—something far more terrible than the time he had struck her sister. Fear for the servants she had convinced into helping, though she was determined to keep their names a secret for as long as possible. Fear for Ariadne, who was about to have the entire army searching for her—again—only this time to drag her back into the prison from which she so desperately needed freedom.

After using the early hours of the evening to collect herself, Emillie finally exited her room wearing a confidence-boosting periwinkle dress. The manor was abuzz with activity as the staff completed the final preparations for her announcement ball. Guests would be arriving at any moment, filling their ballroom with excited chatter. No doubt they hoped for a repeat of the last announcement. They would be disappointed to realize Alek Nightingale would not be dueling any guard for her honor.

If everything went as planned, she would walk away from the night unscathed and with a blessing for her future husband.

Yet, entering the drawing room made her stomach churn again. This was where Ariadne should be standing with her. Where her sister would reassure her that everything would be alright—or convince her to call it all off.

Emillie grasped her own hand and squeezed hard. She closed her eyes against the sudden sting of tears. She missed Ariadne. She feared for her. She grieved the losses her sister had endured too many times over after watching their mother's murder, then Darien's, and now facing Azriel's uncertain future.

Yet when she stopped to think more clearly, Emillie knew the true source of her sorrow: her own slipping freedom. Not only was she about to announce her unavailability to every member of the Society, but she would simultaneously shackle herself to a Caersan man for the rest of her life. It had not been what she imagined. In fact, it was what she dreaded most in the world: a political and loveless marriage.

And the moment her father discovered Ariadne's disappearance, he would know precisely who had allowed it to happen. She would shoulder that blame and take the brunt of his fury, and in doing so, she would have every one of her meager rights stripped away.

No trips to Laeton to visit with Revelie. No journeys to Udlow for tea with Camilla. Certainly no sneaking off to the Drifter's Bistro and Inn to find Kyra again.

To see anything beyond the Harlow Estate before her wedding night would be impossible.

"I must admit," said a dark, oily voice from behind her, "I was concerned I would find you in here with a member of the staff."

Emillie whipped around, her heart lurching into her throat. Alek Nightingale stood in the doorway beside her stone-faced father. Were she a woman who fancied men, he would have been the image of a perfect gentleman. The ideal fiancé. His long, black hair swept back from his handsome, heart-shaped face, and his hooded obsidian eyes sparkled with mischief. The clothes he wore complemented his pale skin with hues of cool blue and rich russet.

In comparison, her father appeared ever the pristine Princeps. His brown hair, the same shade as her own, curled at the ends around the white cravat at his neck. Those hawk-like golden eyes tracked her for a moment, then flickered around the room.

"Where is your sister?"

Her stomach dropped. There they were. The dreaded words she had prepared for yet still cursed. Ariadne should be there with her. There would have been no reason for her to hide away for such an important event. Even her anger with their father would not have kept her from Emillie's side.

Yet she was not there. She would not be there. Not tonight. So Emillie swallowed the rise of panic and said in a small voice the words she had practiced, "I do not know."

Alek remained calm as he cut in, "Perhaps she is down in the ballroom with the guests."

Were she not terrified, Emillie would have laughed. Though she had been with Camilla and Revelie as Ariadne prepared for her own announcement ball—much to her regret the moment the duel had begun—her sister would never do such a thing. Not only would she avoid large crowds such as those gathered below, but she would want to be with her at this moment. She would want to offer her advice or to make a joke so it would all seem normal.

Like Emillie, her father did not believe Alek's suggestion, either. His eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned. "I will not have another scandal on my hands at this announcement."

"Of course not, Father." She stood a little straighter and hid her hands behind her back, squeezing her fingers again and again. He would not strike her. Not right before presenting her to the Society.

"Then tell me," he growled, "where she is. She has not been about the manor in nights . Must I drag her from her room myself?"

Now Alek's coal-like gaze flickered to the other Caersan man, the space between his brows narrowing. "Perhaps she is ill."

"Perhaps," her father spat, "she has become determined to ruin me—after all I have done to conceal what would have been the scandal for the millennium. I will not have tonight ruined."

Emillie inhaled deeply and looked between them. "Father, I just want to move forward with this announcement, with or without her presence. Please, let us celebrate, not argue."

"Indeed." Alek nodded once to her and stepped forward, pulling a long, narrow box from his pocket. "I believe it would be inappropriate for us to proceed without the formal jewelry."

The engagement necklace within was simple yet stunning. Alek had remembered her love of all things minimal. A thin strip of blue velvet so dark it almost appeared black held a single pale sapphire. The rich color caught the light and sparkled like a diamond.

Pulling it from the box, he stepped around her and clasped it around her throat. "You look quite beautiful tonight, Miss Harlow."

"Thank you, my Lord." Emillie plastered a smile on her face. He knew as much as she that this was but an arrangement. A symbiotic relationship to benefit them both. He needed a wife. She needed a man's voice to speak for her. He had played his part well so far, so she would do the same for him.

"Shall we?" Alek held out an arm to her, which she took.

They turned to her father expectantly, but he did not return their look of eagerness. Instead, he glared at her, then said, "Lord Nightingale…I need a moment with my daughter."

Alek stiffened. "My Lord?"

"I must speak with her in private."

Emillie gripped his arm hard, a silent plea for him to stay. If he remained, her father might not escalate as he was wont to do when alone.

To her despair, Alek nodded and took his arm back. "I will be just outside, then."

With that, he was gone, and she remained, utterly alone, to face her father's wrath. For a long moment, they stared at one another. She did her best to not look away—to resist the urge to hide herself from him.

"You have lied to me tonight." Her father took a calculated step forward, his nostrils flaring with his temper.

She froze. He could not see her back away. To give in to a predator's advance and flee turned one into prey. She would not give him the satisfaction.

"Do you want to know how I know this?" He stepped forward again.

Emillie met his gaze and set her jaw in defiance. "I have no idea of what you are speaking."

"Astra is missing." Another step.

"What?" Gods, she prayed she could convey surprise in her voice. Perhaps the shock at him having investigated this was enough to make it realistic.

Her father bared his fangs—something he had only ever done toward someone he truly despised. "How long has she been gone?"

Emillie's eyes filled with tears. "What are you talking about?"

He slammed a fist onto the small table beside him. The wood cracked from the impact, and Emillie flinched with a small whimper. He flexed his fingers, the bruises already blooming on his knuckles. They would disappear in moments. " You did this."

"No," she rasped and shook her head again and again. "Please, Father, I had nothing to do—"

"Lies!" Another crack of his fist against the table. " Where is she ?"

The doors swung open behind him, and Alek swept back into the room like a wraith on the wind. His face drawn into taut, furious lines, he stepped between Emillie and her father. "You do not speak to her like that."

"She is my daughter."

"And she is my fiancée." Alek held his chin a little higher. "And tonight is to celebrate our upcoming union, not to threaten her for something she had no part in."

Her father seethed. "She knows—"

"She knows nothing ." Now Alek moved forward, forcing her father back a step. "If your other daughter is missing, that is due to your negligence, not hers."

"I will not be spoken to in such a manner."

"Very well," Alek held out his arm to Emillie without looking at her. "Then we will proceed with the night's events as planned. Or would you like another scandal on your hands?"

Together, they stepped around her father. Emillie's heart hammered in her chest, and she clung to his arm as though it were her only lifeline. Perhaps it was now. She had chosen him to be her voice when others would not listen. He had not let her down.

Night after night swept past Ariadne in a blur of evergreens, fern-shrouded animal trails, and the desperate hunt for shelter as each dawn encroached. Abandoned huts or run-down shacks with enough of the roofs and walls left to provide refuge from the sun became her sanctuaries throughout the daylight hours. Thanks to Emillie's foresight, the satchel she carried with her out of the Harlow Estate bore food and water canteens. She ate and drank sparingly, uncertain when she would arrive in Monsumbra.

She kept to the fields and forests in the shadows of the Keonis Mountains. To wander too close to Lake Cypher's banks or even the eastern river feeding into it could result in her being found. Towns and cities dotted the waterways, filled with soldiers and members of the Society who undoubtedly knew her face. On the other hand, vampires kept far from the foothills in fear of dhemon raids.

Yet sticking so close to the mountains made Ariadne wary. No matter how much distance she put between herself and Laeton, and despite constantly checking over her shoulder, she could not shake the feeling that she was being watched. Followed. As though a shadow hung over her, tracking her every move.

When she neared the Eastern Passage, a twisted part of her prayed to find Azriel amongst soldiers escorting him to Algorath. Perhaps if she interceded alone, she could buy him enough time to escape.

But the Eastern Passage came and went with no signs of them, and before long, she crossed a wide, shallow part of the river into the outskirts of Monsumbra. The farmland on either side of the small road stretched out in great, rolling waves of emerald grass and golden wheat. Homes, large and small, speckled the horizons, and vampires worked the fields in the moonlight. Whether they did so to escape the heat or avoid aegrisolis, she could not tell from her distance. Some paused long enough to look up from their work and nod in her direction, but no one spoke.

Good. She did not wish to converse with any of them, either. She would not know what to say or whether she could trust them to not spill her secrets to passing soldiers.

Until, of course, Ariadne realized she had no idea where to go. She had never been to the Caldwell Estate, and her last visit to Monsumbra had been so long ago, the likelihood of her even being able to describe a landmark was slim.

That she had even made it to Monsumbra in decent time was a miracle, and all thanks to the map Emillie had ripped from an atlas to shove into her bag. Between her sister's scribbled directions and the notable constellations, she had been able to decipher which way to proceed at the start of each night. After all, her most recent journey in this direction had been viewed through a fog of blind terror.

"Excuse me," Ariadne called to a nearby field hand. She was still a good distance from town but knew better than to wander into Monsumbra proper, where soldiers may already be searching for her. News would have traveled faster than she could in her circumstances.

The vampire, a Rusan by the lack of blue veins spidering up his neck, paused and looked up at her, a scythe stilling in one hand. He studied her clothing—well made, but filthy from days of sleeping on the ground—and signs of her Caersan lineage before frowning. "Yes'm?"

Ariadne shifted in her saddle. "I am looking for the Caldwell Estate. Do you know where I would find it?"

"Yes'm." The Rusan tilted his head, pale curls sticking to the sweat on his forehead. "Where'd you come from, then?"

Another shift of discomfort. She plastered a smile on her face and said, "I really need to get there before dawn. My brother expects me."

He scoffed and shook his head. "Your brother's the Lord Governor?"

Fuck. She should not have said that. "Yes."

"Then why don't you know where it's at?"

Sucking in a deep, centering breath, Ariadne glared at the stars overhead and prayed for patience. "Please. I just need your help."

His chuckle, unexpected as it was, made her heart skip a beat. "Just north of the city. Cut through the next apple orchard you come across, then follow the road on the other side."

"Thank you very much." She paused, a hand digging into her pocket. No gold. The one thing neither she nor Emillie had anticipated needing had been money. As if Lord Markus Harlow would ever allow his daughters to manage their own finances. Credits in stores were all they were good for. So when she came up empty-handed, she grimaced. "I am sorry…I have no coin."

The Rusan's face scrunched. "I don't want your money."

"Is there anything I can do to repay you for your kindness?" Fair is fair, after all. She owed him something in return for him somehow understanding she needed to stay out of the city limits.

He surveyed her for a long moment, then shook his head again. "Just tell your brother we need help out here."

That was not what she expected. "Help?"

The Rusan turned back to his wheat, adjusting his grip on the scythe. "A lot of dhemon sightings lately. People are scared."

Of course there would be an uptick in dhemon sightings. With Madan back in Monsumbra, he was certain to be back in contact with his friends, allies, and most importantly, his partner. The man Azriel had originally allowed her to believe was high fae.

"I will do that, Mister…"

"Phillips." He sliced through the wheat with a powerful stroke of his tool. "Eli Phillips."

Ariadne adjusted her seat once more in the saddle and nodded. "I will do that, Mister Phillips. Thank you again."

When he did not respond, she nudged Astra forward again and followed his directions. She wove carefully between the twisting trunks of the apple trees, her stomach growling at the sight of the small, unripe apples hanging around her. Only a few nibbles of bread remained in her satchel, which she ignored. She could wait.

No other vampires made an appearance in the orchard. Dark silhouettes roamed between them in the distance, pausing to inspect and trim or otherwise care for the trees, but with the harvest a couple months out, the narrow spaces between rows remained relatively empty. Transforming blossoms and winking stars overhead remained her company.

And after so long alone on a road, Ariadne was desperate for some form of companionship. The very idea proved how far she had come since the beginning of the Season.

Yet the next road proved to be even less occupied than the last. Thick redwoods and firs lined the road opposite the orchard, interrupted only by finely trimmed hedges and broad driveways leading to what Ariadne could only assume were manors of Monsumbra's less influential Lords. No Councilmen or those with any sway amongst the Governors would reside so close to the farmlands.

So it was when she, at last, crested a hill overlooking the enormous swaths of well-manicured land owned by Valenul's most affluent that she breathed a sigh of relief. Tall privacy bushes lined the borders of each estate, where lush gardens sprawled in an array of night-muted colors. Ponds filled the low dips of land, often accompanied by weeping willows and gazebos overlooking the water. Lazy drives swept through pastures and fields to the grand entry steps at the front of the grand stone manors.

Compared to the small houses dotting the farmlands, the sheer size of the properties and their corresponding structures seemed superfluous. Despite the looks of them feeling like home, Ariadne could not wrap her mind around the privilege to which she had become so accustomed. Laeton's lack of local fields and orchards had played a large part in her blindness to it all. Her father rarely taking her or Emillie on trips outside of Central Province played another.

She descended to the lane of massive estates, pulling the hood of her cloak up to obscure her face from anyone looking on. No one, not even the guards in their towers, needed to see their Golden Rose sneaking into the capital of Eastwood Province alone. Each iron gate she passed at the mouth of the drives was embellished with family names. Councilmen and Lords of the Society.

When Ariadne finally arrived at the one she had been searching for, she frowned at the lack of guards at the entrance. Every other manor she had passed had at least two trained vampires glaring as she passed. They likely thought her to be some sort of vagabond, what with her filthy clothes and satchel.

Despite the pointed lack of vampires at the entrance, she felt eyes on her as she turned up the driveway. It was different than when she had made her way through the foothills of the mountains—closer and more intense.

Knowing now the company Azriel and Madan kept, Ariadne shuddered to think who observed her progress up the dark, lanternless lane. The longer she thought about it, the more glowing red eyes she saw. Whether they were truly present or not, she had no idea.

No stablehand met her at the entrance to the Caldwell manor. The massive pale stone building rivaled the Harlows' back in Laeton with tall windows and towers stretching into the night sky like fingers beckoning to the gods of Empyrean. Dark wood front doors, carved with elegant depictions of the surrounding mountains, leered down at her as though daring her to enter.

Ariadne sucked in a deep breath, knowing very well it may not be a vampire standing behind those doors, and dismounted Astra. Leaving the near-empty satchel dangling from the saddle, she hurried up the front steps, where she pushed through the doors without knocking.

The foyer beyond opened around her like a great cavern. The tiled floor gleamed and sparkled under the huge crystal chandelier. Deep burgundy walls, at once comforting and overbearing, stretched high. A circular wooden table sat in the center, bearing a single thin vase and one flower. The six white and red petals were now familiar and made her heart ache. The gladiolus tristis—the moonlight flower—and symbol of the Caldwells.

"You made it!"

Jumping at the sudden call from above, Ariadne whipped around for the owner of the familiar voice. Madan, his marbled eyes shining with delight, bounded down the curving staircase. He had been expecting her, it seemed. How he had known she would be arriving, she did not care—only that he was there, and he welcomed her with open arms.

She nearly wept with relief as she breathed, "Madan!"

As he reached the foyer floor, he held his arms wide and rushed forward. "I can't tell you how much I've missed you."

Ariadne folded herself into his embrace, going so far as to hold him longer in search of a physical touch she had not realized she craved in a long, long time. A torrent of emotions twisted and expanded in her chest. The good and bad knotted together in a thorny bramble that stung her, inside and out.

"You are in quite a pleasant mood." Ariadne sniffled and turned her watery gaze up at him. "Have you not heard?"

Madan's initial excitement faded, the corners of his mouth turning down. He took a step back, his arms dropping back to his sides. His left sleeve, rolled to the length of his amputated arm, scrunched to expose the still-fresh skin. "I have."

"About what really happened?" Certainly by now her father would have spun some sort of story to not only conceal the truth of her marriage, and now, her disappearance.

He sighed and glanced back up the stairs behind him as though expecting someone to join them in the foyer. When no one came, he refocused on her and nodded. "Yes, I know the truth of it. What I don't know is how you got out of Laeton…or why. You were safe there."

Discomfort twisted in her gut. "Do you wish for me to return?"

"No!" He looked behind him again. "Why, though, did you leave?"

"I want to help." She searched his gaze, unreadable as it had been during his nights as her personal guard. As unreadable as the night he had broken her free of that cell in the dhemon keep. "I cannot let him die in Algorath. I could not bear it…"

His face blanched. "This is not your burden, Ariadne. I will find a way to free my brother. They've appointed me the new Lord Governor, but I have…help from others."

" Please , Madan." Ariadne took his only hand in hers and squeezed it hard. "I have to do this."

"It's dangerous." He squeezed back, that soft pressure so much like Emillie's comforting hold. "Azriel would never forgive me if I let you."

Now Ariadne pulled back. She stared up at her half-brother in mute shock. After all she had done to rescue him from Loren, how could he keep her from doing the same for her husband? For the man who had bonded with her.

For the first time since learning her relation to Madan, she saw the familial resemblance beyond the physical. Yes, she could see the same curls in his hair and gold in his eyes as their father, Markus Harlow's sharp jawline, and even the way Madan stood. But it went beyond that, proving that despite being raised by a very different father, her brother had the same mind.

Their father did not become Valenul's General, then Princeps, out of pure luck and family name. Those had helped, certainly, but he had always been sharp of mind and skill. His analytical thinking and the paths he created for himself and his family had propelled him into those high-standing positions. He sought to care for those he loved and protected them at all costs, even if it meant locking them in a manor or marrying them to a foul, cruel man who would do the same.

Madan's hesitation at accepting her assistance mirrored Markus to a fault. The way his brows pinched at the thought, and how he brushed her offer aside without serious consideration, underscored the fact that no matter how estranged they were…they were still father and son.

"I will go to Algorath with or without you," she declared and took another step toward the door to demonstrate her determination. He would not keep her in Monsumbra, away from Azriel, the same way their father had tried to cage her in Laeton. "You cannot stop me."

A beat of silence drew out between them. She swallowed hard and gripped the front door's handle behind her, staring at him with what she prayed looked to be confidence.

"Alright!" Madan held his hand up in surrender and closed the space between them. He laid his hand on her shoulder, sucked in a deep breath, and repeated on a breath, "Alright. I will accept your help."

That spring of hope gushed forward again, filling in the cracks and crevices of that deep, dark chasm in her chest. She searched his face, drawn tight with concern, and smiled. "Thank you."

Madan smiled back, but worry glinted in his marbled eyes. "You may be taking that back when you meet my…associates."

As though summoned by Madan's words, a figure made its way down the curving staircase behind him. At first, Ariadne thought nothing of it. Black boots and rough leather trousers appeared first. Then, a midnight blue hand slid down the rail.

Ariadne's heart skipped a beat, and she jerked back as though the inches between her and the wood door would provide enough space to escape. His hand still on her shoulder, Madan squeezed gently and put his face in her line of sight. The dhemon disappeared behind the Caersan.

"You know who Azriel is." Madan's eyes flicked across her face. "You know who raised us. Who our friends are."

She swallowed hard, shoving down the memories of similar blue hands reaching for her in the dark of her cell. They had pinned her wrists to the stones, locked them in shackles, and taught her the meaning of fear and pain. Whoever walked down those stairs was not the same dhemon who hurt her. Madan would not allow such a man into his home.

"Ariadne." Madan squeezed her shoulder again. "Come back. This is not Auhla ."

Auhla . The dhemon keep in the mountains. She had heard that name before. The title of that horrible place. No. She was not there—she would never go there again, not so long as she had anything to say about it.

"Monsumbra," she breathed and refocused on her brother's concerned face.

Relief flooded Madan's eyes, and he nodded. "Yes. We're in Monsumbra. I need you to understand that these people will never hurt you."

She gaped up at him, no other words forming in her mind.

"They would die for you." Madan took a small step back, his hand still lingering on her shoulder. "You are, essentially, their ydhom ."

Now she frowned, looking over his shoulder at the dhemon behind him. She recognized that face. It had burned into her mind during her rescue. He had been with the Crowe—the dhemon who had stopped and stared at them but said nothing. Done nothing. Just kept running back to the keep. To Auhla .

"What does that mean?" she asked quietly, never breaking her gaze from the dhemon who wisely lingered at the far end of the foyer.

Madan chuckled and stepped aside, gesturing to the dhemon to come forward.

At first, the horned fae did not move. He looked between her and her brother and opened his mouth as though to decline the offer to join them. Then, he took a hesitant step forward. His deep ruby eyes glimmered in the chandelier's light, and when she did not try to flee further, his long legs ate up the distance between them, so she was forced to crane her neck back to look up at him.

But not for long. The dhemon knelt on both knees before her, a small smile on his lips.

Her heart thundered. She sucked in a deep breath. He would not hurt her. He was friends with Madan. With Azriel. With the scarred dhemon who had intervened on the highway to protect her from Ehrun. She would not fear him.

" Ydhom ," the dhemon said in his heavily accented voice, "means princess."

Ariadne could not help the scoff of disbelief. "I am not a dhemon!"

Now he chuckled, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. "No, but Azriel is dhom , so you are ydhom ."

She looked up at Madan with wide eyes. He shrugged and said, "Azriel is their prince—in a way. He hates it, but it's who he is. You are his wife and, therefore, their princess."

Refocusing on the dhemon kneeling before her, Ariadne shifted with discomfort from foot to foot. She had been raised as the daughter of the Princeps, the highest ranking Caersan in Valenul, and as such had been trained to act a certain way. Conduct herself with grace and humility in tribute to her father's successes.

But a princess? No such monarchy had ruled her people since the beginning of the curse of night put on her people during the Mage War. How was one supposed to present themself as a royal?

"I do not know what to do as… ydhom ." The word felt strange on her tongue and to her ears. She looked at the dhemon, then Madan again.

"Be yourself," her brother said and shrugged. "Azriel's never done anything special." Then he looked to the dhemon still kneeling before her. He smirked and crooked a finger around the lower curl of his horn to give it a small tug. "Stand up, you big oaf."

The dhemon bumped Madan's shorter arm with his horns and stood, mumbling something in his language. Ariadne did not know what he said, but by the way Madan's face turned red, it was obvious he understood just fine. What had been said had clearly been something she was not meant to hear.

Realization dawned, and she turned back to the enormous dhemon—so much taller than Azriel in his dhemon form. "You must be Whelan!"

A broad smile cracked across the dhemon's face, and his chest swelled with pride. "So you heard of me."

The last of her tension melted away. She crossed her arms and glowered at her brother. "You should have said who he was in the first place."

"Would you have been any less frightened?" Madan raised a quizzical brow.

She glanced at Whelan, still adjusting to just how far up she had to look to see his face, and said, "Perhaps."

Madan snorted with amusement. "Then I'll be certain to introduce the others right away."

"The others?" The blood drained from her face as the two laughed at the look of terror. No one else joined them in the foyer, but she had the gut-sinking feeling that she had not been entirely paranoid upon her entrance to the Caldwell Estate. There likely had been others watching her, waiting to meet her…to meet their ydhom .