Chapter 25
Ariadne walked alongside Azriel as they reentered Monsumbra at dusk, her muscles tensing beneath her armor as they strode past empty homes and businesses.
On the roofs above, dhemons stood at regular intervals with crossbows and throwing knives, keeping the streets clear of any potential enemy soldiers who wished to take advantage of their fewer numbers within the city limits.
The closer they got to the main hub, the more of their people she saw.
This is where they would meet the Caersan army, then.
Allow them to move through the streets in hopes of regaining the ground lost yesterday, and remove them from the equation altogether.
There was a chance some waited within the buildings they had just passed, in fact, waiting for their orders to begin the battle.
A dark shadow flew overhead. Ariadne snapped her attention skyward to watch the dragon soar overhead. Reaching out through her vinculum, she found it to be Dhanin with Jakhov on his back. Not far behind, Lhuka flew past astride Venja.
“Don’t land if you can help it,” Azriel instructed when the third shadow passed by. Razer.
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Lhuka said with Venja’s echo of agreement.
No, Ariadne did not think they needed such instructions.
Not after what happened to Gavrhil and Rhun.
What Lhuka and Gavrhil had been—friends, partners, or closer to siblings—she had no idea.
She had never asked, but hoped to one day broach the subject with the dhemon.
All she knew as she continued on her path to the town square was that Lhuka had been devastated by Gavrhil’s death.
His mourning was equivalent to hers for Kall, and that hurt ran deep.
“Get ready,” Razer said. “I see them moving in from the west.”
Ariadne’s heart fluttered in tandem with Almandine’s somewhere in the nearby mountains, and she resisted the urge to glance up at Azriel as they both picked up their pace.
They were not yet in position and wanted to head off as many of the Caersan soldiers as they could.
If too many got into the city, they feared they could become overwhelmed despite the smaller number of night-bound vampires.
“How many?” Azriel asked.
The dragon circled overhead, then swept into the distance. The next moment, Ariadne’s vision was clouded by an image projected from Razer’s eyes, through Almandine’s, so she could see the soldiers alongside her husband. Whether this was a wise decision or not, it was too late to say.
Heart lurching into her throat as the image faded, returning her vision, Ariadne said aloud, “There are hundreds of them.”
To his credit, Azriel did not appear fazed. How he managed to keep his expression so neutral, she had no idea. All those nights accompanying her to balls and watching her dance with Loren had paid off: she could not read him at all as he digested the new information.
“This changes nothing,” Azriel said, projecting his words to every nearby bondheart. The smaller dragons that flew overhead, though they bore no riders, delivered the message to the dhemons on foot. “Stay together and do not let them past the town square.”
The instructions were repeated aloud by dhemons across the city, their voices echoing in their language and broken common from those who stood nearby fae or lycans or mages.
While there were so many Caersan vampires ready to fight here in Monsumbra, that meant one thing. Ariadne picked her way through her connection with Almandine to follow up, “Our victory here will secure our hold on Eastwood Province. There will be no one left to fight in the smaller towns.”
Azriel turned his attention to her. “How do you know this?”
“The perks of being raised the daughter of Valenul’s General.
” Ariadne pulled her sword free from its sheath.
That anyone had even located the blade after she was nearly crushed beneath a pile of Rusans was a miracle unto itself.
She now rolled her shoulders as she was wont to do anytime she squared up against Kall.
“I may have slacked in my governess’s lessons, but I hear everything the officers would discuss at our dinner table.
There are not enough soldiers to properly protect any of the provinces aside from Central. ”
“Loren has been re-assigning men here,” Azriel reminded her.
But Ariadne shook her head. “Even if there are greater numbers than normal, most will be incapable of living through an actual battle. He is pushing his men through training too quickly.”
His red eyes shimmered with wonder. “You and Madan are too much alike sometimes.”
A grin spread across her face. “Thank you.”
“Try not to be too much like him, please.” Azriel chuckled and dragged his own blade from his back as they rounded the corner into the town square. “I can only handle so much.”
Magic thrummed in the air here. Fae magic, which felt lighter and more ethereal than that of the mages, almost seemed to shimmer in the moonlight.
What traps had the high fae planted for the unwitting Caersans?
What horrors awaited them from the very people those vampires looked down upon?
The desert magic held a different sensation—one of grit and malice.
This did not surprise Ariadne. Most of the mages fighting alongside them were escaped prisoners, after all.
She had never asked what their crimes had been, but she assumed that since each and every one of them was at least daft enough to take up arms against Valenul’s army, they were seasoned warriors of the Pits and beyond.
The strangest magic of all, however, was the newly uncovered dhemon magic that they had not yet been able to quite understand.
Only a handful of dhemons had had the privilege of being reconnected to the Underworld, Ehrun included, and therefore left very few who had attempted to harness the new powers.
When Ehrun had appeared in Laeton, delivered on the back of Mhorn as a sort of savior sent by Kall, Ariadne had been confused by the dense cloud of fear that seemed to descend on the entire drawing room.
She had learned later that the magic was ancient amidst the dhemon lines.
His ability to strike fear into others had her wondering what the others were capable of.
Now she knew.
Doubt. It tinged the area farthest west, seeping through the ranks like a plague. Dhemons unaccustomed to it shifted uneasily and murmured amongst themselves. Others farther back called out something in their language that sounded encouraging.
“What are they saying?” Ariadne asked.
Azriel leaned in. “Reminding them to not let it affect them. One day we’ll be able to target these emotions, but for now…they seem very difficult to control.”
Indeed, from the north came a gentle calm that almost had their soldiers relaxing from their positions. From the south, the opposite emotion of rage emanated dangerously. Somewhere above, one of the dhemons on the roof radiated with panic.
All the clashing feelings had Ariadne reeling.
“What do you need most?” He looked around the square to where the others were struggling to maintain their composure in the midst of the heady dhemon magic.
Ariadne hesitated, then nodded to the south—toward rage.
“Don’t let it blind you,” Azriel cautioned. “These powers are meant to make the vampires unstable; we only have an advantage because we know of their existence.”
She grunted in confirmation as they turned to slip closer to the dhemon creating the passionate fury. They settled in with the others there, getting mere moments to adjust to the flood of foreign emotion before the first crimson uniform appeared.
In an instant, the fire growing in Ariadne’s veins bloomed, bringing with it a sharp sense of panic. She watched in mute horror as the first soldier cut through a dhemon so fast, even her Caersan eyes could not quite keep up.
This was not what she had expected. The crimson-clad soldiers slipped in and out of view, utilizing their speed and dexterity as Ariadne had never seen before.
She had trained most nights to overcome brute strength and sheer size differences.
This had been what Madan attempted to instill upon her: the difference between a dhemon and Caersan was far more significant than she had previously given credit.
“Focus,” Azriel said as though sensing her sudden apprehension.
Did she regret joining him in the battle? No. Did she regret not training harder to fight Caersan soldiers? Absolutely.
Before she could think on it too long, the soldiers were upon them.
Ariadne channeled the dhemon’s magical rage into every swing and parry, matching the Caersans’ speed with her own.
Their strength, far greater than the Rusans’ they faced during the day, still could not compare to that of a dhemon.
What she needed was to get her feet under her—to gain control of her movements—then meet the soldiers where they were at.
If Kall’s training meant anything in that moment, it was how to hold her own against a stronger, more powerful opponent.
Forcing herself to think of only that, Ariadne stopped getting pushed back.
Instead, she stepped forward, exchanging blows and cutting down the Caersan soldiers through the main advantage she had: they were caught off guard whenever they looked at her.
A Caersan woman fighting against them? No one had prepared them for the possibility. They hesitated.
Ariadne did not.
It did not take long for her to find a rhythm.
Using the soldiers’ momentum against them, her confidence soared as she sent them to the afterlife either by her own sword or quick shifts of her weight that sent them straight into Azriel’s.
For the first time since they began, Ariadne felt they worked beautifully as a team.
Where she fell short when fighting Caersans, he had centuries of experience.
Amusement rippled through her vinculum.