Chapter 21
The journey to Eastwood, timed with the hope of gaining control of Monsumbra—and, therefore, the Keonis Tree—before Noxidium, had Ariadne on edge.
Her last descent from the Keonis Mountains to set foot in Valenul ended with her riding away on Loren’s horse.
While it had been entirely her fault, the very idea of returning to her home kingdom once more had her stomach churning.
At least this time they crossed the borders to take back what rightfully belonged to the dhemons.
Razer and Almandine flew overhead as she and Azriel remained at the front of the army.
Had they ridden through the sky, they would have made quick work of the journey.
As it was, it took them three days to navigate all their people down the mountain paths and through the forests of the foothills.
Three days of wondering just how reckless it all was.
Three days of wondering what would happen next.
Wearing the Noct provided Ariadne the ability to navigate through the daylight hours without problems. With the seasons plummeting quickly towards winter, the length of sunlit hours was waning, and with them, the clear skies that would normally pose an issue even with the stone.
Margot Caldwell, however, did not have the other half.
When she insisted upon joining them— “How dare you consider leaving me behind?” —the dhemons of Auhla banded together to put together sides and a roof on a wagon pulled by a pair of horses so she could travel without fear of contracting aegrisolis.
That the dhemons looked up to Margot so thoughtfully underscored just how much they wished for peace as well.
She had become something of a grandmother to all of them, and they loved her for it.
Ariadne certainly did. Margot was the grandmother she never had.
The trees thinned as the foothills eased into level ground. In the distance, specks of light shone from windows marking the village in the dying light. A halo of color spread out from the horizon where the sun dropped out of sight.
Beside her, Azriel called for a halt. Without needing to say anything more, the troops spread out from behind them and got to work setting up camp. After several nights of travel, the process had become second nature to the army—for everyone, that is, except Ariadne.
She floundered, as she always did in these situations, still not accustomed to the way large canvas tents were set up despite Azriel’s repeated instructions.
Like the other nights, Liulund found her and put his fae magic to use.
That she could not assist her husband in something as simple as erecting their tent made her more frustrated than she cared to admit.
By the time camp was made, a dozen winged shadows swept across the stars. One called to Ariadne, and a rush of euphoria made her stomach lurch as Almandine wove through the air. Heartbeats later, two massive shadows joined, circling above before gliding to the open space to the south of them.
“More are coming,” Almandine said. “Emillie is almost back.”
Images of two dragons escorting no less than five dozen figures through a low mountain pass from the desert flickered through Ariadne’s mind. She blinked hard, still not accustomed to seeing others’ memories as though she had experienced them herself.
“How long?” Ariadne tracked her bondheart as she ducked and weaved through the other young dragons.
“An hour.”
Razer’s rumble of a voice cut through. “More likely two or three.”
A moment later, Azriel was at her side. “You should eat, my love.”
Turning to her husband, Ariadne slid in close, wrapping her arms around his middle. He breathed deep, chest expanding beneath her cheek, and tucked her tight against him. Steady though his arms were, she could feel the ache through their connective bonds.
“Are you well?” she whispered.
Azriel kissed the top of her head. “I march into battle tomorrow with my heart bearing a sword beside me.” He paused, squeezing her a little more. “No. I’m not well at all.”
“All will be well,” she said, gripping him back and shoving away the uneasiness from his words. That was certainly one way to look at it. Such a metaphor held true for her, as well. Though she did not risk insanity were he to fall.
At least not in the same manner as he.
“Do you promise?” he murmured.
What else could she do other than nod? Ariadne’s head bobbed, cheek sliding against his chest as she said, “I promise.”
After standing together a little longer, she allowed him to pull her towards the fire outside their tent.
The circle in which they were positioned included others such as H’axinhum, Kholp, Liulund, Edira, and her siblings, plus an extra tent positioned just beside them for Phulan, Emillie, and Luce.
The food served was, as it had been during travel, not the most savory.
Ben, the lycan who had cooked alongside Kall at Auhla, did the best with what he had and the skills that he possessed.
Nonetheless, the vegetable soup was not as flavorful as Ariadne would have preferred. She still ate it without complaint.
As Razer predicted, the five dozen or so who marched from Algorath appeared at the edges of camp a couple of hours later. His smugness rippled through the vinculums, making Almandine snarky with her responses and Ariadne oddly protective of the small dragon.
“How is she supposed to understand time like us yet?” she asked.
Razer poked back without hesitation. “If she wants to be a know-it-all, then she had better learn it all quickly.”
“That’s rich coming from someone who got lost in an ice tundra when he was a couple of weeks old,” Azriel cut in as he tore into a piece of sourdough bread. He had been interrupted so many times during his meal that he had yet to make it through a single serving of soup.
The huff from Razer was audible across the camp, causing some dhemons to stop and turn in his direction. “Everything looks the same up there!”
“And time feels differently after thousands of years in an egg,” Almandine snapped.
Ariadne could not help but grin. Getting to know Razer on an entirely different level had become one of the highlights of gaining a bondheart—even if he refused to speak to her most of the time.
The dragon was every bit as sassy as Azriel had previously complained about.
It did not stop her from enjoying their bickering.
It was an odd comfort to hear them argue like siblings.
Standing from her position near the fire, Ariadne craned her head in search of her sister.
Phulan appeared first, speaking in the dhemon tongue to an unfamiliar woman with a scar that curved up from the corner of her dark blue lips.
After acknowledging Ariadne with a nod, she pointed behind her to where Emillie wove from between tents with her huge lycan mate by her side.
How strange for them both to end up bonded to two very different races of fae.
The thought never ceased to amaze Ariadne.
Did they bear fae heritage as she suspected?
Or were the lines between kingdoms so solidly drawn that would-be mates merely never met?
She may never gain the true answer—nor did she care to search.
After all…she had seen enough to determine it to be possible. No one could refute that, not even the dhemon woman who had previously been held in the dungeons of Auhla and now journeyed with them in the hopes of reconnecting her to Keon to aid her broken bond.
“It appears you were successful,” Ariadne said as she embraced her sister. “There are far more than I expected.”
“I have quite the tale to tell,” Emillie breathed and looked over her shoulder to where Revelie stood with none other than Jakhov, the rather wicked-looking dhemon who sat beside Ariadne for her first meal at the Caldwell Estate.
Ariadne raised her brows. “About the break-out? Or that?”
Blowing out a long breath, Emillie shook her head. “All of it.”
“It looks as though you were successful.” Ariadne counted a handful of ex-prisoners veering straight for Azriel.
Their instructions would have been clear: pledge a blood oath to the Dhemon King and walk free.
She had listened to his husband mumbling the words under his breath for the last hour in preparation.
“With magic-nulling blood from Rev and me,” Emillie said, “it was a rather simple matter of accurately nicking the guards with laced arrows.”
Watching their friend pause and look Jakhov very seriously in the eyes before walking away from him, Ariadne’s stomach dropped. “How did Jakhov take to that?”
Her sister grimaced. “He and Luce had to go for a walk.”
“I would never have asked him to go if I had known.” Ariadne studied the dhemon whose eyes never left Revelie as she approached. She turned her attention back to the Caersan woman and raised her brows. “Are you well?”
“How do you do it?” Revelie craned to look over Ariadne’s shoulder at Azriel. “I never realized just how…” Her mouth twisted as she searched for the correct words.
“Emotional?” Ariadne offered.
“Volatile?” Emillie added.
With a sigh, Revelie’s shoulders sagged. “Well…yes.”
Talk turned to comparing their different bonded fae with the latest of them devouring their words in the hope of gathering some semblance of understanding when it came to Jakhov.
That he appeared to be having just as much difficulty adjusting to the bond as Azriel had Ariadne wondering if it was a dhemon problem…
or a male problem. Luce, though overly protective in her own way, did not seem to struggle with her bond to Emillie quite as much as either dhemon despite not having it reciprocated.