28. Chapter 28
Chapter 28
A riadne hardly slept after the Pits. The short, brutal fight replayed in her mind again and again as she tossed and turned in the low-lit room, her heart thundering each time she pictured that fae stalking towards Azriel. If that prisoner had not wanted his death to be slow and dramatic, she would not have a husband. If that prisoner had thrown his dagger or slid the blade across Azriel’s throat the moment he grabbed the horn…
She could not breathe. Her stomach roiled at the thought.
Worse, she would not have been able to do anything about it. She had been helpless. No matter how fast vampires could move, it would not have been enough to stop a killing blow.
To avoid dwelling on it alone, she dragged herself out of bed, pulled on a long silk robe of dusty sage, and navigated to the door with the help of the blue fire sconces. She touched the Noct still hanging at her sternum and cracked open the door to find the sitting room windows obscured. The last of the day’s sunlight trickled under the drapes, but the ceiling remained open to the evening sky.
She stood there in the final glows of day for a long moment, thankful she had another chance to free her husband—not to collect his body from the Pits.
Before she could dwell on such thoughts for long, she turned and made her way to the kitchen. She hung the kettle in the hearth and spooned the dry mix of chai spices from a glass jar into a cup. When it came to the food, Ariadne never wanted to leave Algorath. The chai, far more flavorful than any tea she had tasted in Valenul, warmed her belly in the best of ways.
Far more than that, she could get used to a simple life like the one Phulan had crafted for herself. Ariadne did not need the grand layout of a manor or to be the lonely wife of a Lord managing their estate. After losing Darien, she had wished to grow old alone, making her own way in the world. Azriel had changed all that.
Perhaps now she had a second chance at something similar. Once she freed him from Melia, he could not return to Valenul. After being arrested, he would have no home or place there. Ariadne could settle down somewhere new with him. Or maybe they could travel Myridia. They could wander from the Irem Tundra all the way to the Vol Isles.
But he would not want to leave Madan, just as she would not want to stray far from Emillie. With the dragons to take them where they wish, they could stay close to them both somewhere in the Keonis Mountains. After all, they had not heard much of anything about Ehrun’s whereabouts. Perhaps he had succumbed to his wounds after all.
Unfortunately, she doubted he would have perished so easily. Eventually, he would be back, ready to haunt them and seek his revenge.
Ariadne poured the steaming water into the cup and stirred as she walked to the dining room. The fragrant spices drifted up to her on waves of steam. She inhaled deeply, wishing to hold onto them for a little while longer. All too soon, she would not have them again, just as everything she grew to love disappeared from her life.
A sharp knock at the door halted Ariadne just before she reached the table. She turned toward the entrance to the house and waited. Phulan did not seem to be home, and Kall had yet to wake, so she changed direction to the entrance.
She was not so foolish as to throw the door wide to whoever stood on the far side after seeing the way Melia looked at her last night. Instead, she cracked it open a few inches and peered out at the man on the step.
“My mistress, Desmo Melia Tagh, requests your attendance for a midnight tea.” The man, dressed in loose trousers the color of adobe that tapered to his ankle and a matching tunic, gave her a quick, unpracticed bow. It was not the normal greeting or farewell in Algorath, and his execution underscored that. When he straightened, he asked, “Shall I tell her to expect you?”
Ariadne stared at him for a long moment, uncertain what to say. When she found her voice, all she could say was, “I am not the mistress of this house. I could pass on your invitation?”
He shook his head. “This is for you alone, not Phulan.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip, twisting her free fingers into the hem of her robe. It would be rude to decline, and this might be her only chance to get Melia alone. A hazy plan took shape in her mind. “I will be there.”
“Excellent.” He smiled and disappeared into the early night.
She shut the door behind him. This was dangerous. The way Melia watched her at the Pits made her wholly believe she had been placed at the top of the list of enemies in Algorath.
It did not matter. She had trained for this. While against an opponent of strength and speed like Kall, she might falter, but if she could get near enough to the Desmo and catch her off guard…
Yes. That was what she would do.
Ariadne sat at the amethyst table, lost in her own thoughts, when she saw a short note in scrawling script across from her. She pulled it closer, and her heart sank.
Went shopping. Be back soon. Don’t leave the house.
Phulan
As though the mage knew her plans. What had she said when they first met? She was plagued with visions of the future. Did she know what would happen if Ariadne chose to accept the invitation?
Crumpling the note and abandoning her chai, Ariadne left the dining room to feed it to the kitchen fire before hurrying to her room to change. If she did not leave before Kall dragged himself out of bed, there was no way she would make it out. He would never permit her to see Melia alone.
To her relief, Kall did not wake before she had changed into a flowing blue gown that hid the dagger she strapped to her thigh, slipped on her shoes, and left silent as a ghost through the front door. She remembered the way to Melia’s well. She had made a point of memorizing it in case she ever needed to access the mage on her own. It benefitted her well as she made her way across Algorath to the Suin District, braiding her hair back as she went.
By the time she reached Melia’s chateau, it was almost midnight. The servant at the front door let her in without question and led her through the entry to a familiar room with an arrangement of stout furniture. A doorway to the left led into the dining room where she had first seen Azriel so very out of sorts—just before he had been led upstairs to—
She would not think about it. Just being in the room made Ariadne’s stomach curl with disgust, and oh, how different that feeling was from the first time she had spoken to Melia.
That first night on the balcony, Ariadne could see how so many people were drawn to the mage. She was charismatic and appeared empathetic to those she oversaw as a Desmo. Now, Ariadne saw the snake beneath the mask.
Ariadne settled in on one of the couches, crossing her legs with how close to the floor she sat. A light spread of food was laid out before her along with three cups for tea. Melia must have believed she would bring Phulan with her despite the request to be alone.
Truthfully, if she had received the invitation with Phulan present, they would have attended together. As it were, it was likely best that Ariadne reveal herself alone so as to not ruin her host’s standing with the Desmo. She would be able to explain that Phulan had had no knowledge of the truth, though it would not matter if she succeeded in what she had come to do: kill Melia before Melia could kill her.
It did not take long for Melia to appear from down the hallway toward what Ariadne assumed to be her bedroom. The Desmo held her head high, as always, and wore a gossamer dress almost the same shade as Ariadne’s. Her silver eyes twinkled, and she smiled warmly as she settled into place across from her.
“Phulan permitted us to dine alone?” Melia poured two cups of tea.
“She is busy this evening.” Ariadne watched the steaming liquid slosh into her cup, her heart picking up its pace. She twisted her fingers into the fabric on her lap, hoping the small movements would hide their shaking. “I thought it best to come on my own.”
Melia set the teapot down and picked up her cup. “Well, then, Cressida. I’m pleased you made it.”
She nodded. “As am I. You are always such a gracious host.”
“Tell me,” Melia said after taking a sip of the tea, “what brought you to the Pits last night?”
Oh, Ariadne was going to be sick. The mage was not going to make pleasantries. She was direct, unlike the Caersan women back home. There was no time to remember the various conversations she had concocted on her walk over. So she hid her silence by drinking the tea. The spices tasted dull in comparison to Phulan’s blend.
When at last she spoke, Ariadne said, “I have been quite curious what it looks like.”
“And you’ve never been before?”
Gods, had she been seen the first time? She had not noticed Melia’s attention, and Phulan had worked so hard to keep them out of sight. It was for the best that she did not make up more lies. Sticking as close to the truth as possible always helped when creating an entirely false reality.
“Once.” She bit her lip. “I admit, I was impressed by the dhemons you have imprisoned.”
“Ah.” Melia chuckled. “Yes, you were here the evening one of them got a little out of hand. I apologize for that.”
Ariadne wanted to slap the smirk off her face. Instead, she gave her a weak smile and nod. “Yes. I had asked around for his name and had bet some money on his victory last night.”
Oh, please let that be enough to convince her.
“Interesting.” Melia set down her cup and served herself a thin slice of spiced cake. “I didn’t see your name on the betting registers. I receive a copy for each of my fighters to ensure I am paid appropriately.”
She was going to be sick. “It was private between Phulan and me. She was eager for him to fail.”
For a long moment, Melia said nothing. Her silver eyes roamed across Ariadne’s face as though taking in every minute detail.
That’s when Ariadne felt it. The magic in the air. But as quickly as it began, it ended, and Melia peeled her gaze from hers.
“I don’t believe you’ve been entirely truthful with me.”
Ariadne blinked in surprise. She did not have to fake it. The statement caught her off-guard, and she sat back as though struck by a blow. “Pardon me?”
“You are not Cressida Quinn.”
The air suddenly felt quite thin. Ariadne struggled to inhale a breath. This had been a mistake. A trap. Melia had not wanted her here as a friend. She had wanted her here as a way to dispose of an enemy. Still, she had been convinced she could talk her way through it. Long enough, at least, to slip a dagger between her ribs.
Melia continued, “You lied to me.”
“I did not mean—”
“Enough.” The command sounded bored, as though the game Melia had been playing this entire time was nothing more than a nuisance. Her smile had long since disappeared, and those silver eyes turned hard and cold. “I think I know precisely who you are.”
Ariadne had to salvage this. She could not possibly know she was not Cressida. There was no evidence to speak against her. “My name is—”
“Ariadne?” But it was not Melia who spoke.
The voice was of someone she had not expected, though she knew entirely too well. Her heart sank like a stone. When she turned, her entire world fell out from beneath her. Every lie she had woven and plan she had pieced together faded in an instant. There was no escaping the trap. Melia had spun her web like the spider she was and could now feast upon her victories.
Nikolai Jensen stood in the doorway, his brown brows pinched together in shock. “Apologies. Lady Caldwell?”
“Right on time, Colonel.” Melia smiled up at him, though there was no warmth in it. Only cold, sharp victory.
“No,” Ariadne breathed, unable to hide her panic. No longer a Captain, then, but a Colonel. Which only meant he was ever the faithful servant of Loren Gard. “What are you doing here?”
Melia stood gracefully and swept around to him. “So this woman doesn’t go by the name of Cressida Quinn?”
With a shake of his head, Nikolai said, “This is Lady Ariadne Caldwell, wife of…”
A wicked smirk curled Melia’s lips. “ Azriel Caldwell.”
“Yes.” Nikolai scoffed, still staring at her. “ This is where you have been? Are you trying to free that monster?”
Ariadne pushed to her feet with far less finesse than Melia. She did not know whether to back away from the impending doom or face it straight on. What could she do to Melia now? There was no more element of surprise. Not when it was she who remained petrified with shock.
“Colonel,” Ariadne said, the word feeling strange on her tongue when looking at her former Elit, “listen to me: he is not what you think him to be. He is no criminal.”
“Treason is a crime in Valenul.” Nikolai’s lip curled in disgust. “What you are doing is nothing short of that. General Gard will want to speak with you.”
Melia hummed and tilted her head. “I believe her punishment for such crimes should be carried out here, in Algorath. After all, she is on our soil, not yours.”
“The Pits?” Nikolai gawked at her. “She would not last a night.”
Heat washed across Ariadne’s cheeks. He could not know she was so much more now. That she at least had a fighting chance in the Pits. She started forward, the blood pounding in her ears drowning out Melia’s response. If she was to go to the Pits, then she would make it worthwhile.
Flicking the dagger loose, Ariadne pulled it free through a split in her gown. She stepped closer to Melia and struck—
Nikolai caught and held her wrist firmly, a breath from Melia’s back, and hissed, “What are you doing ?”
“ She is the monster!” Hot tears slipped down Ariadne’s cheeks. Not from sorrow but frustration. She had been so close…
Calm as ever, Melia stepped aside and snapped her fingers once. A guard swept into the room, face obscured by their shemagh, and took hold of Ariadne’s arms. She struggled against the hold, the dagger dropping from her grip as an invisible hand pried her fingers loose.
“Were you trying to kill me? I have every right to defend myself.” The magic flared again. Melia tilted her head in thought, then said in a calm, cool voice, “I want her head.”
Azriel woke with a start. A distant scream split the air before coming to a sudden, nerve-shattering end as though whoever had made such a sound had been stifled in the worst of ways. His bond, reignited by Ariadne’s appearance at the Pits, ached. It throbbed through him like a wound, demanding to be tended to. Seeing her, hearing her voice…it had not been enough to satiate that horrible monster inside him.
He squeezed his eyes shut against the haunting sound that echoed through his mind. It sounded so familiar…but whoever Melia tortured was none of his business. She was unhinged with the power her position as the Desmo gave her, and she took it out on her prisoners entirely too often.
Nonetheless, he lay awake for a while in the eerie silence, grateful for the blood he had consumed in the Pits. Though his stomach and leg still ached from the daggers, the wounds had healed enough to not remain a threat to his life. And now that he knew Ariadne was somewhere in Algorath—was searching for him—he could no longer waste away.
The bond wouldn’t allow it even if he wanted to.
So when he woke the next morning, he didn’t get into the line for food. No healer, Fetor or otherwise, had been sent to his cell. Melia no longer cared if he lived or died, though he was certain she wished he’d died in the Pits. Instead, he slowly made his way to the training grounds and slumped against the outer wall before sinking to a seated position, one hand tucked tight against the slow-healing wound in his gut. If he wasn’t careful, he’d reopen it. It was bad enough that he still tasted his own blood every now and again.
It wasn’t long before Sasja sat beside him and, after setting down a bowl of food beside him, said, “Don’t eat it. It’s from her.”
So Melia still drugged his food. He nodded and picked up the bowl. A disgusting part of him wanted to feel the oblivion that would await if he ingested whatever she’d concocted. The bowl shook in his hands as he stared at it. As terrible as it was…it felt good, the release from it all.
“Don’t you dare.” Raoul sat cross-legged in front of him with his own bowl cradled in his lap. “Your head is finally clear enough to listen, so listen : that shit will get you killed, and we need you right now.”
Azriel frowned without looking up. “What?”
“The fae have rallied with you.” Raoul glanced over his shoulder to where the high fae men sat across the grounds. The one Azriel had met at Melia’s party, Liulund, raised his bowl in greeting. “Whatever you did for them…they won’t let it go.”
“And what are they expecting from me ?”
A small smile curled Raoul’s lips. “You’re gonna get us out of here.”
Laughable. He looked at the guards lining the top of the walls. “And how do you expect me to achieve that?”
Sasja looked between them and said in the dhemon tongue, “You’re the only one who can get close to Melia.”
“She’d never let me near her unless I eat this.” He lifted the bowl.
“Or maybe you need to convince her you have.”
“I’m not an actor.”
“Someone please tell me what you’re saying,” Raoul grumbled. “She can understand us, but not the other way around.”
Azriel translated, just as perplexed as Raoul appeared. It’d been clear from the beginning that if he was going to get anywhere near Melia, he wouldn’t be in his right mind. Pretending to be as out of sorts would be almost impossible to pull off, and he wanted her to know he was fully aware of his actions when he killed her.
Nonetheless, Sasja was right. He had history with her. He was the only one with whom she might invite an audience. If anyone was going to get them out…it would be him. And he hated that.
“I need food, though,” Azriel said in the common tongue so both friends understood him. “Or I’ll never be strong enough to overpower this fucking collar.”
“Not a problem.” Raoul held his bowl between them. “We’ll share. You gave me half of yours most days anyway.”
“Thank you.”
Even if their plan wasn’t ideal, Azriel would do what he could to get out for Ariadne. If that meant pretending to be under Melia’s hold…then he’d do it.
He’d always do anything for her . Until the very end.